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iamstartraveller776 · 4 months

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THE TRUTH IN OUR HEARTS 1/?

Written for the @darklinaserver's Secret Sankta Fic Exchange for @goldcranes. I hope you enjoy it! Ack!

Summary: Seemingly on a whim, Alina is given away in marriage to the leader of Ravka's most feared warriors. Though terrified, she's prepared to make the union one he'll regret. Only, he's much more than he seems to be with hidden truths that can either bring them closer together or tear them apart.

Genre: AU (No Powers), Arranged Marriage, Romance, Slow burn

Rating: T (may or may not change)

Also on AO3

THE TRUTH IN OUR HEARTS

Alina’s attendants are silent as they dress her. The gown isn’t the bright brocade currently in fashion at court, but black with a hint of gilded embroidery in the skirts and at the collar. A fitting omen for what she’s about to do. One of the servants yanks at the corset laces, though not tight enough to quell the stir of bile in Alina’s middle or quiet the pounding in her chest. Her lungs burn with a trapped scream, but she says nothing as they pull a dark glove over her hand and up past her elbow and then the other. She doesn’t wince as they wrench her hair into an elaborate twist or when one of the hairpins gouges her scalp. Her reflection stares listlessly back at her before a thin veil of starless lace falls over her face.

The servants exit as wordlessly as they came, leaving her alone in front of the mirror. She looks like a young woman in mourning. She supposes she is. Her life—what little was left of it—ended the moment King Pyotr made that terrible declaration.

A knock on the door interrupts her bleak musings. A man stands just outside the threshold, square-shoulders with his hands clasped behind his back. With a quavering breath, she takes in his long high-collared crimson coat with dark filigree—kefta, they call it—and the obsidian mask that obscures his features. Her eyes want to slide away from the grotesque image sculpted into the false face. Despite her time in the First Army and despite her brief apprenticeship at the Grand Palace, she’s never grown accustomed to the unsettling guise that the Grisha general and his shadows favored. She grew up with the whispered tales of what hid behind those masks, men and women more creature than human. Half-mad with battle lust.

Dark as night with snarling white teeth, the specter stands holding an onyx blade, blood dripping from its tip as an inferno rages beyond. Burning, consuming, coming for her.

She squeezes her eyes shut against the old, familiar nightmare. She can’t remember a time when she didn’t have it, when she didn’t wake with a gasping breath, tangled in sweat-soaked sheets. But the light of morning always chased the dream away. She won’t wake from the new horror that awaits her.

“Follow me, Miss Starkov,” the nameless shadow commands in a frosty monotone.

For a heartbeat, she toys with the idea of flinging a chair at the window, of climbing over the fractured glass and somehow scaling the rough granite walls to flee into the waning twilight. A brittle laugh bubbles in her throat at the futile plan, though. Trained practically from birth for speed and agility, the Grisha warrior will be on her before she can lift a stick of furniture. Even now, there’s a tension in his stance as though he suspects her wistful thoughts. No, there is no escape for her—not here.

With grim resignation, she nods for him to lead on. He scrutinizes her for a protracted moment as if he distrusts her but then he turns, his posture rigid as he heads into the empty corridor. She trails after him, quickening her pace to keep up with his determined strides. His boots bang against the stone floor, the sound echoing in the stairwell when they descend, and it reminds her of the army. Of marches for days in the perpetual chill next to creaking wagons. Of the boom of rifle and cannon fire. The shouting. The shrieks of pain and eyes like glass, unseeing as his life ebbs away, hand going slack in hers.

“Why me?” she asks too loudly, anxious to drown out the unwanted memories.

“Because he’s chosen you,” her escort says gruffly as if that ought to be answer enough.

She almost has to jog to keep up with him. “What could he possibly want with me? I’m nobody.”

Just a middling cartographer who lost the only friend—only family—she’s ever had. A soldier with battle shock whose commander sent to the Grand Palace to help update the war maps. Not out of pity. No one pities an orphan with the face of the enemy. No, she’d become a liability.

The Grisha snorts dismissively but doesn’t reply.

Maybe that’s the point—that she is a nobody. That she can be used and abused without consequence. The revelation turns her blood to ice.

When her companion pushes open a set of large, ornately carved doors and gestures for her to enter, fear climbs out of the pit of her stomach and claws up to squeeze her heart. Her legs are sluggish as she obeys, slippers dragging on the floor with every step down the aisle of the chapel. The Apparat waits behind a pale marble altar, his aged face pinched in a grimace. He’s dwarfed by statues of the thirteen Saints, glittering in the orange glow of candlelight.

She turns toward her escort to—to what? Plead for her life? Her freedom? She chokes on the half-formed appeal when it’s not the Grisha she sees through her veil, but him. The man who will steal the last crumb of peace she’s managed for herself with this unwanted union.

“Have you met our novice mapmaker, Kirigan?” King Pyotr says, clapping a meaty hand on Alina’s back. “I’m told Miss Starkov is getting on brilliantly in her apprenticeship. As talented as she is pretty.”

The compliment feels a touch disingenuous, too saccharine, but she blushes anyway. The king’s much taller companion, the infamous Darkling, gives her a passing glance through his sinister mask made to be the unholy spawn of wolf and boar.

“Indeed,” he replies indifferently, gaze already elsewhere.

She attempts to excuse herself, but the king holds her in place, thick fingers digging into her shoulder.

“How are you enjoying the festivities, young lady?” he asks with uncomfortable interest. He’s never spoken to her before this night, and she’s not entirely sure that she likes his sudden attention.

“It’s incredible,” she answers honestly. “There isn’t anything like it in Keramzin.”

The Darkling’s head swivels back to her, dark eyes searching her face. “Keramzin? Is that where your family is from?”

Heat rises to her cheeks. He, like everyone else, has probably mistaken her to be some Shu refugee. “If you count Duke Keramsov’s orphanage as family.” She swallows back a spike of grief and offers him a gaunt smile.

He wears the same black-on-black kefta from the fete, the same unnerving mask. Somehow more than his towering height and stature, he looms over her. She glances behind him at the doors swinging closed, panic building like lightning beneath her skin. If she’s fast enough, maybe—

The Darkling takes her elbow, tugs her toward the altar. She tries to yank out of his grasp, but he’s too strong.

“Wait!” She hates the desperation cracking at the edge of her voice, the burning in her eyes. “This is a mistake.”

He pauses then, lancing gaze sweeping over her. “I don’t make mistakes.” The statement is cold, sharp steel cutting away the anemic thread of fight remaining inside of her—almost.

When he pulls on her arm again, she digs in her heels. “I won’t take your name.”

“You can keep yours,” he replies as though her demand is inconsequential.

Emboldened, she makes another: “I won’t bear your children.”

At this, he releases her arm, draws so close to her that she has to crane her neck to keep her eyes on his. She remembers then that he’s no mere man. He’s killed dozens—hundreds, even—some with his bare hands, if the stories are true. He could snap her in two with hardly any effort at all. But she stands firm despite her racing pulse and the quiver in her knees.

The Apparat clears his throat.

“If that is your wish.” There’s a finality in the Darkling’s tone, as if the concession used up his short supply of goodwill.

She doesn’t resist when he ushers her the final few steps to the altar. As she sinks to her knees before it, she looks up at the stony-faced Saints and almost begs them for a miracle. But when had they ever answered her prayers? Ana Kuya used to say that it was because Alina lacked faith.

“General Kirigan,” the Apparat says, “I worry that the king will be most displeased to be excluded. Perhaps we can postpone until the royal family can attend. A week, maybe two at most. Surely a man of your standing should have a proper ceremony.”

Alina looks up, a germ of hope taking root in her chest.

“There have been festivities enough,” the Darkling bites out. “I will not delay any longer.”

“And if I would delay?” She tries to infuse the question with as much backbone as she can muster, but her trembling voice gives away the truth. She’s afraid. Angry, but terrified.

The Darkling looks at her, and she wishes he would take off that abominable mask, bare whatever savage face he’s hidden beneath so she can read his expression. “Begin,” is all he says.

The Apparat opens his mouth as if to object further, but then closes it as quickly. Alina catches movement from the corner of her eye, traces it to the man in the red kefta. He stands near where his general kneels, hand casually resting on the hilt of the long dagger at his waist in unspoken warning.

And with that, the seedling is irrevocably crushed.

She turns back to the altar, only half-hearing the Apparat as he begins the marriage rites. A pair of flower crowns lay before her. The buds are dried, the greenery yellowed. She wonders who lent their keepsakes for these rushed nuptials. Did they know that, instead of a love match, the unwitting bride has been given away as a prize for ending the decades-long conflict with Shu Han?

She very nearly had it once—love. Dreamt of it. Of a farm far away from war where they would raise sheep and goats. A beautiful picture shattered by a bullet.

“Miss Starkov?” The Apparat stares down at her. “Your vows.”

She blinks back tears and glares at her wretched groom, willing him to see through her veil the vows she wishes she could speak. Promises to hate him. To make their marriage so difficult that he’ll regret ever demanding her as his boon from the crown. Aloud, though, she spits the traditional words with gritted teeth, swears herself to him but makes it clear that she doesn’t mean any of it.

His vows are different. Not a covenant of undying love and devotion, but one of protection. The weapon in her hand, the fighter at her side. To march with her in times of war, to rest with her in times of peace. The speech has a disturbing air of authenticity to it, at odds with the impersonal act they were engaged in, and it stokes her building fury.

The Apparat picks up the crowns, chants in old Ravkan as he places them on their heads. Though light as a feather, the crude circlet might as well be an iron shackle, forever binding her to the man known as the monster of all monsters. As the last phrase echoes out into the empty chapel, she steels herself, prepared to turn away should her new husband attempt to seal their union with an unwelcome kiss.

“It’s done,” he says, rising to his feet and holding a hand out to her. When she doesn’t take it, he pulls off his crown, nodding to the other Grisha. “Bring her to the Little Palace.”

He leaves without another word to her.

“This way,” her escort says.

She drops her crown on the altar, tears off her veil as they exit through an exterior door. It’s full dark outside, the night air chill, and she hugs herself. The journey to the Little Palace—her prison—isn’t far enough to require horse or carriage. She casts furtive glances at her torchlit surroundings as they walk, fantasizing about hitching up her skirts and dashing off. But there are a few guards milling about and a handful of Grisha in black masks and colorful keftas. The latter watch her pass with tactile curiosity, and she turns away. Do they know what she is? A young deer to be sacrificed to their god? Have there been others before her?

Blessedly, they arrive at the doors. Once inside, she’s passed off to the care of a young woman hardly older than her. Alina doesn’t catch her name, doesn’t care to, and when it becomes clear that she’s not interested in making idle conversation, the girl leads her quietly to her rooms. His rooms.

She notices little of the outer areas, but the bed chamber she sees with stark clarity. It’s smaller than she expects—bigger than every place she’s called home in her short life, but terribly simple for the general of the Second Army. A bureau with a small mirror, a wardrobe, and a desk match the four poster bed that she tries not to look at, tries not to think about.

The girl undoes the laces of Alina’s dress, says something about the general having her things brought over from the Grand Palace in the morning. Nods to the night gown laid out on the back of the desk chair. It’s made of soft white fabric with delicate lace at the cuffs and neck. Trepidation coils in Alina’s stomach, makes her ill.

Too soon, her companion finishes her work and is gone. Alina pads to the door, cracks it open and sucks in a hissing breath when she finds the same Grisha in red sitting in a chair across the way. He stares back at her as if daring her to make the attempt. She slams the door shut, locks it, though she knows it won’t keep the Darkling out.

She checks the windows to no avail, then goes in search of something to defend herself. There is little in the wardrobe and bureau. Small clothes, shirts, and trousers, though surprisingly few. She finds pens, ink, and parchment in the desk. Candles and boot black and—thank the Saints—a knife. The blade is hardly longer than her thumb, but it will do.

He may have forced her into marriage, but she will not be forced into his bed.

She props the chair against the door, climbs onto it, drawing her knees to her chest. Knife clutched firmly in hand, she finally lets herself weep.

Exhaustion eventually darkens her vision and takes her to a field of long grass bowing in the wind.

TBC

#darklina secret sankta 2023 #darklina #darklina ff #darklina fic #aleksander morozova x alina starkov #alina starkov x aleksander morozova #au #no powers #my fic

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idaoftheburningmind · 1 year

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Dawn Greeting Dusk Falling

A reimagining of the events after ‘Siege and Storm’ and a coping mechanism for the SaB S2 ending we would rather not have…

She had kept a little of his shadow, he enough of her light. This is what made it possible, this meeting at the roiling edge of the Fold where Alina knew she would one day find herself.

Fifty years did he say? She knew it had been more, and still it surprised her as the seasons dragged on that love had endured — the love of so many, and the love of one above all. Even if she had to watch each one shrouded and laid in the ground. Each and every one.

What she means to do here now is neither a reckoning, nor a reconciliation. The moment is simply right. She looks into the shadows, and lifts her hand. The globe of light is muted, as though in a fog; but she knows he will not fail to see it.

“Alina.”

There is no rage in the way he says her name, not even a question. They are past that, she supposes.

One who was too young, and one who lived too long; they were here now, nearly unchanged but for her white hair worn unbound. He did not expect her to come sooner, he knew time well enough. He might have thought he knew her as well.

She did not destroy the Fold.

Thought dead after the collapse of the Chapel, legend had it that her spirit guided skiffs as they made each journey. For not a soul has been lost to the Fold since.

That was how she knew that he wasn’t lost. And the knowledge, when she realized it, caused her that day to weep with joy.

The two of them lived because they could not let the other die; when his humanity was burning away, she held on blindly to what remained and he … she could not name what he did, but in the end she knew he had kept her from falling into darkness.

He had kept — some essence, some hope? Light either way.

And a resolve not to lose her to the void.

What was left of him that day was drawn to the Fold, the only place where he could still exist.

A shadow among shadows.

“You might have left me with a fresh set of clothes. An eternity disheveled is its own unique torture.”

She startles with laughter, the unexpected joy at the even more unexpected attempt at humor freeing the tension in her shoulders. She lets herself smile at him, and his smile is genuine as he smiles back.

“Are you angry?” she asks.

“What is anger for?” is his reply.

Flame sputtering to life in sunlight has more purpose.

A silence heavy as the weight of loss they now share settles between them.

“I could not bear it if you turned from me now.”

He spoke the truth. It was the same truth she would always understand, no matter the centuries left to them, no matter their choices that will always hang in the balance.

She reaches for him with a tendril of shadow.

He holds out his hand in welcome.

————-

A/N: For my AU sister @becauseicantthinkwritings who has been putting up with my not-fun era for longer than she should 😅

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valeriaanne · 6 months

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Shadow summoner ft. Sun summoner

Courtesy of Jessie Mei Li's Instagram Story

RIP Shadow and Bone TV Show.

Time to continue reading the books.....

#shadow and bone #the darkling #darklina #alina starkov #shadow summoner #sun summoner #aleksander morozova x alina starkov #grishaverse

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no-mercy-bby · 5 months

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Lovely people, are there any Darklina fics where Aleksander has to save/rescue Alina? Or maybe the "I had no where else to go" trope with them?

#I've been looking but i haven't found any☹️#please recommend darklina fics i beg #i want protective aleks🖤#darklina #aleksander morozova #alina starkov #shadow and bone #shadow and bone fanfiction #shadow and bone fic #aleksander morozova x alina starkov #the darkling #of course feel free to self promote as well no shame in that

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cozy-possum · 1 year

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"Grisha who control the elements are controlled natural disasters waiting to be pointed to the target" IM FERAL OVER THIS DESCRIPTION its so *chefs kiss*, I'm absolutely obsessed.

Personally, I'd be throwing hands with any Inferni making everything all muggy and humid; I live in New Zealand, so I live in 80%+ humidity every day and its the worst 😭😭 i LOVE the concept of the Tidemakers essentially being able to become puppeteers, though – how terrifying would it be to be forced to move against your will, especially in a battle situation??

I know you've mentioned before how Tidemakers could feel "clammy" or Inferni having burnt hands or how Sun Summoners don't have a shadow; how else do you think this body horror take on Grisha talents could impact them physically? I think the physical implications are just SO interesting and really add to the perspectives of other nations (and maybe even non-Grisha Ravkans) to be looking at Grisha as dangerous, abominations, something to be fearful of.

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I'm glad you like it! I was particularly proud of it haha

Oh man I've escaped previous heat/humidity and do not want to go back lol

Yes, being moved against your will, or being unable to move when you hit a certain range that the tidemaker can control! That would be terrifying!!! Thinking you're on a scouting mission and suddenly you think you can hear voices, so you rush forward, and there's a group, the lost patrol, but they're froze to the spot, screaming for you to run back, instead you find yourself walking towards them, a strange sound of waves in your ears. You don't cry, no matter how much you want to, they don't want to waste the water for tears.

I think it would be really interesting if what they controlled didn't effect them or hinder them, that their science automatically compensated for it. And going of the fact Grisha are supposed to be 'rare' it would be a cool like 'natural protection' for them, and possibly another tool for people to find them before their powers develop, a way to hunt them if you go darker. The closer it gets to their powers showing, the more automatic processes their body does.

Also the more they use their powers the more visual it becomes. Shadow summoners who's limbs blacken, and seem to vanish into smoke in certain light. Sun Summoners who slowly go blind from their own light, burning from the inside out and collapsing like a dying star. Tidemakers who slowly drown themselves, every manipulation of water fills there lungs drop by drop, or the opposite, they pull water from their very being. Squallers who pull air from themselves, slowly suffocating, or they fill themselves up with so much they combust, they dissolve into the air itself. Inferni who have burns creeping up their hands, who cough and breathe out ash and smoke, their bodies being burned from the inside out, after all that's all oxygenation is

Tidemakers who never get wet or damp, even in the rain, not because they're moving it, but because the water knows not to effect them. Like how some birds have oil in thier feathers that makes them hydrophobic. They can hold their breathe for too long, the water dividing itself into oxygen for them to breathe. One of the ways to check if a child might be a squaller is to hold them underwater, of course, not many abide this old superstition. The can handle slightly hotter or colder temperatures as the water in their bodies adjusts. Tidemakers that can direct small bits of water, when it's raining the runoff never seems to dampen their feet or the area they stand.

Inferni that are never uncomfortable in any temperature their body naturally adjusting, they're immune to certain chemicals/combinations because of the combustion particles. They can gain bursts of strength, their bodies manipulating them as they would flame from the world around them. Depending on what specific particles it is they can manipulate (Would other Inferni be better at different particles/combinations?? That would be very interesting) they can breathe in highly toxic areas like nothing is wrong. They can track or recognize places and soldiers by particles, they can tell where things have come from if they've been exposed to certain particles from certain areas. They can effect the temperature of those around them, especially with strong emotions. Those that make an Inferni anger or someone that causes lust/ a crush are often the source of a sweltering gaze and prickling heat, sometimes when their gaze is averted, something close by will combust/light on fire/heat up. Inferni who give off steam when they become emotional.

Squallers that never seem to slow in movements, the wind pulling and pushing their bodies for them, keeping them moving, keeping them out of danger even if their body can't or shouldn't be moving. Like when a strong gust of wind moves you. They can handle low oxygen environments like mountains or caves easier than most. They can alter air pressure around objects to make them heavier or lighter to an extent. The wind seems to influence their emotions, or the other way around, most aren't sure and no one want to anger a Squaller enough to find out.

Sun Summoners who move faster, are stronger in the sunlight, seemingly full of energy when in the lights path. They can see in the dark because they produce a natural light that encompasses themselves, the more power they have the more others can see it. When they become angry or too excited, or just too many strong emotions it will blind others from their reactions. They never seem to get sunburned, or sun stroke. They become effected by the season more easily, the lack of sunlight causing them distress if they're lacking in a strong family

Shadow Summoners who can see in the dark, who don't recognise that there isn't a light source. They can move the shadows to hide them. They often move silently when in darkness. The changes in season are usually when they're stronger, they don't seem effected by the shorter days or longer nights. They can travel better and night, they can stay in darkness for days at a time, so different methods of torture must be used for them. They suffer from light sensitivity often struggling to be out during the highest points of the day or they hide from flames and other light sources.

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#grisha #grishaverse #shadow and bone au #shadow and bone #shadow and bone fanfiction #alina starvok #alina starkov #general kirigan #aleksander kirigan #aleksander morozova x alina starkov #aleksander morozova #stattic #zoya nazyalensky #david kostyk #genya safin #feydor kaminsky #ivan shadow and bone #six of crows

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finnicks · 2 months

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( fic ) don't get cut on my edges

don't get cut on my edges

the grisha trilogy | alina/aleksander; explicit; 3.7k — ruin and rising alternate ending

Soulmates, he said, were meant to be complementary to one another. Light and dark. Earth and sea. Where one lacked, the other prospered. Alina didn’t quite understand what it was she brought to their relationship. He brought power—and resurrected hers along with it.

#aleksander x alina #alina x aleksander #darkling x alina #alina x darkling #darklina #darklina fic #darklina fanfic #darklina fanfiction #alina starkov x aleksander morozova #aleksander morozova x alina starkov #grishaverse fic #grishaverse fanfic #grishaverse fanfiction #userjaded #my fic

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sanktaofsweets · 10 months

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Full credit to the cover art: @lilynails88

Read here on ao3 | E

Twitter (if it’s still alive)

#Darklina #ao3 #Please read the tags #darklina modern au #darklina fanfic #darklina fic #modern au #uncle sasha #beauty school student x mafia boss #aleksander morozova x alina starkov

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stardustmorozov · 2 years

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Shadow & Bone Masterlist

Key:

💞 Fluff

😭 Angst

🥺 Hurt/Comfort

🔥 Smut

🔖A/B/O

The Darkling:

A Shadow’s Luck (Young!Darkling x GN!Reader) 💞 (Ao3 Link Here)

Half In Shadow Half In Moonlight (Young!Darkling x Ignis Redwood (OFC)) (Ao3 Link Here) Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

A stable situation (Darkling & GN!Reader) 💞 (Ao3 Link Here)

Can’t you feel my heart beating? (Darkling x GN!Reader) 💞 (Ao3 Link Here)

All The Things We Hide In The Dark (AO3 Link Here) (Darkling x F!Reader) Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Winter Stitches (Darkling x GN!Reader)

Behind The Old Oak (Implied Darkling x F!Reader)

Unseelie Fae King!Aleksander moodboard

Under The Surface (Darkling x GN!Reader)

Best Laid Plans (Con Artist/Thief!Aleksander x Police Officer!Alina x Con Artist/Thief!Reader) Chapter 1 (in progress)

A confession 💞 Making him a flowercrown 💞A quiet night 💞

Getting caught in a rainstorm together 💞 🔥

Sharing the only bed in the room 💞

Alina Starkov:

Best Laid Plans (Con Artist/Thief!Aleksander x Police Officer!Alina x Con Artist/Thief!Reader) Chapter 1 (in progress)

Coffee Stained Cashmere (Sub!Alina X Dom!Reader)🔥Chapter 1 (in progress)

Wonderfully Wrong (Alina x Reader)🔥(In progress)

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thebadgerclan · 2 years

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Abandoned

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Alina Starkov

Summary: He won’t leave her...

A/N: This is a canon divergence from chapter 14/15 of Shadow and Bone, but if you’ve seen the show, you’ll still understand what’s going on

Aleksander climbed the stairs to Alina’s room, his heart beating quickly in his chest. He’d asked if he could come to her tonight, and while he hadn’t said yes, she certainly hadn’t said no. It played into his plans to make Alina trust him, yes, but Aleksander couldn’t deny her beauty, her charm, the innate draw he felt to her. He desired her, but if she said no, he would leave her be, no matter how much he might want her.

But as Aleksander approached Alina’s door, he was overcome with an odd sense that something was amiss. He knocked on the door, and when there was no answer after several minutes, Aleksander opened the door. Any semblance of desire he felt withered at the sight that met him: Alina was knelt on the floor, her head in her hands, sobbing. “Alina,” he said, kneeling at her side. “Alina, what’s the matter? What happened? Are you hurt?”

His mind was spinning with possibilities of what had happened; she’d been stabbed, cut, shot, hurt and left to die. She lifted her head, her face a mask of pure agony, and Aleksander couldn’t help himself; he took her face in his hands, scanning her for any injuries. He felt her power brushing against his, strong and vibrant, and there was no blood, she didn’t shy from his touch, so Aleksander discerned she was unharmed, at least physically.

“Alina,” he said, and she opened her eyes, looking at him. “Tell me what has happened.” “Mal,” she managed before letting out another sob. The tracker, Aleksander realized, her tracker. The one she’d been writing to since she arrived, the one she pined over, the one who had found the stag. “I saw him, and he…he said such horrible things about me! About us! He called me a cosseted little princess, he said you own me.”

Rage flared in Aleksander’s chest, but he tamped it down, forcing himself to remain calm for Alina. “Oh milaya,” he said, pulling her into her arms. Alina was desperate for comfort, for reassurance, and she sobbed into his chest. “Shh, let it all out, Alina. I’m here, I’m right here.” She cried for a moment, letting her sorrow envelope her before speaking again. “He left me,” she croaked. “I told him to go, but he left. The Mal I knew would’ve tried to talk it out, but he just turned and left.”

“I know, Alina, I know.” Aleksander stroked her hair, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “I can’t imagine how torn up you’re feeling, but I need you to hear me when I say this. I am here, and I will never leave you. Whatever happens, I am by your side until the very end. As your friend, as your general, as anything you want me to be.” It was all he could bring himself to say on the topic when Alina was hurting, but he needed her to know to offer stood. If she wanted him, he was hers.

Alina sniffled, wiping her nose on the sleeve of her kefta. “I’m sorry,” she said. “This isn’t why you came here tonight, to see me crying over some ass.” Aleksander shook his head. “No, but I don’t mind. Nothing is expected of you, Alina, nothing will ever be expected of you.” Alina managed a weak smile. “Even when I tear down the fold?” He paused, cupping her cheek tenderly.

Now wasn’t the time to explain his true plans, not when Alina was so distraught, but he would. He would make her see that Ravka needed a change, and this was the only way to accomplish it. “Not even then,” he said. “But I have good news on that front.” Alina cocked her head as she wiped her tears, and Aleksander smiled. “What do you mean?” “My men have found Morozova’s Stag,” he said. “We head North in two days’ time.”

Alina gaped, and to Aleksander’s delight, she smiled. “Really?” “Really,” he confirmed, shifting her in his lap. “When you have it, you will be unstoppable. Like I said, you and I are going to change the world.” She smiled wider before leaning in and kissing him, taking Aleksander by surprise. He allowed her to deepen the kiss as she saw fit, resting his hands on her waist.

For nearly a half hour, they sat on the floor in each other’s arms, trading soft, tender kisses. Alina eventually rose and changed into a nightgown, finding Aleksander stripped to his boxers when she emerged from behind her dressing screen. “If you don’t want me to stay, I can go,” he said, and Alina smiled, lifting the covers of the bed. “No, I want you to stay.” Aleksander climbed into bed at her side, pulling her into his arms. Alina fell asleep snuggled into his chest, any thoughts of Mal far from her mind.

#darklina #aleksander morozova x alina starkov #aleksander x alina #the darkling x alina #general kirigan x alina #shadow and bone fanfiction

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marvelmusing · 1 year

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AU: Alina joins in on Aleksander’s plot to overthrow the monarchy

#darklina #alina starkov #the darkling #aleksander morozova #darklina edit #alina starkov x the darkling #aleksander morozova x alina starkov #shadow and bone #netflix shadow and bone #shadow and bone au

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iamstartraveller776 · 1 year

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A/N: In jest, @averbaldumpingground challenged me to write all 20 prompts from this fake dating list. Well, joke’s on my friend, I accepted the challenge. I’m doing 500-word ficlets for each, using different fandoms/ships.

Another Modern/Non-Magical AU for this ship. (I know. Shocker.) To be clear, despite the gif, this is not a Punisher AU.

Trigger warning: mentions of cancer and treatment

16. “I guess we don’t have to pretend any longer.” “Maybe we can just tell the truth from now on.” —Shadow and Bone/Darklina (ao3)

THAT WHICH BLOOMS IN STILLNESS

Alina met him at the wake. She’d gone outside, needing air untainted by alcohol and laughter and tears. Grief was a vise in her throat, squeezing at the loss of her childhood friend. Squeezing, too, at thoughts of her own mortality.

“You alright?”

She looked up at the man whose features she vaguely recognized. Kirigan. She’d heard of him, the captain who headed the most decorated special forces team. Genya’s fiancé served with him, spoke about his tactical brilliance, his absolute commitment to the mission, to those under his command. Mal had mentioned him too, said he was a soulless machine that would get the job done no matter the cost. But in the moonlight, what she saw was just a man with concern written in his furrowed brow.

“I’ve had better days,” she admitted before taking a sip of the tepid beer in her hands.

He nodded solemnly, joining her at the edge of the deck. She was grateful he didn’t offer flimsy platitudes. He listened to her silence. Then listened when she broke it. Stories about Mal. Confessions of loneliness, of feeling untethered. Especially when her body had become its own enemy and the cure was beyond reach for a starving artist like her.

The next afternoon, she received a text from an unknown number. I think I can help.

An officer of the court served as a witness to their nuptials where she learned his first name. Aleksander. Marriage certificate in hand, next was a trip to base. More signatures. A camera flash, then she had a spouse ID. She moved into his townhouse that weekend; he gave her the master bedroom despite her protests.

He was gone most of those early months. Genya took her to her appointments, sat with her after work most nights. But then radiation turned to chemotherapy, and Aleksander didn’t leave anymore. Held her hair when she emptied her stomach. And when her hair came away in chunks, shaved her head and his. Made her soup. Read her books. Opened up to her in the quiet hours of twilight—about his first love, Luda, an interpreter who died in a bombing. The toxic mother he’d cut out of his life. Never knowing his father. What he sacrificed for duty. He fell asleep next to her when the words ran out.

He was her roommate. Her friend. Then, as the disease abated and he turned the spare room into a small studio for her, she realized he’d become something more. Something she wasn’t supposed to want.

Then came her final appointment. Six months of clean labs and scans. Officially cancer-free. News worth celebrating, but her stomach sank instead. It was over. All of it.

“I guess we’re done pretending now,” she said.

“Yes,” he murmured. “Let’s not pretend anymore.”

There was an ache in his unblinking gaze that made her chest tight. She kissed him before her courage could falter. His hands grasped her jaw, pulling her closer.

And she was finally home.

~FIN~

ETA: my amazing friend @vesperass-anuna wrote a companion piece to this: too in love to let it go. Please read it! It's incredible!

#sab #darklina #aleksander x alina #aleksander morozova x alina starkov #my fic #modern non magical #darklina fic #darklina fanfic

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