#.aleksander morozova : thread.

[jomiddlemarch]

Except you enthrall me, never shall be free

He would have been too late if the Fjerdan assassin hadn’t wanted Alina to die in the gravest torment. The belly wound she’d suffered was a lethal injury and the man had dragged her to the edge of the trees, where she wouldn’t easily have been found, where no one would have heard her faint cries. She would have died slowly, blood loss and infection warring within her, possibly injured a second time by a hungry wolf errant from its pack; if he had only wanted her dead as quickly as possible, he would have cut her throat and there would have been nothing left for Aleksander to do but turn the howling abyss inside himself into something far more devastating than the Fold.

The Fjerdan was a monster among monsters, cruel and glorying in his cruelty, and Aleksander dispatched him with greater mercy than the man deserved, wielding the Cut in a sudden blow that the assassin and his comrades never saw coming. Alina, watching, looked less afraid than Aleksander would have expected and more disinterested, which meant she was very near to death, occupied with her own agony and the need to cast it off.

“Miss Starkov,” he said, crouching over her, a finger laid at the pulse in her throat. She started to close her eyes and he feared she would not open them again. He began again, leaning closer to her, speaking softly but very clearly, “Alina, moya golubka, stay with me. Stay with me. I’m here, I’ll help you, just don’t go—”

“Hurts,” she mumbled. “Cold.”

If the Fjerdan had slashed her throat, there would be no words left. None for Alina to murmur, almost to herself, and none for Aleksander to use to coax her, to prepare as an incantation. Aleksander realized, in this moment, that he lived in a world of miracles, and he thanked whichever Saint was responsible. The Fjerdan dagger protruded from the dirty red wool of the spare kefta she’d been given, her blood staining the fabric only a darker color, almost the black of his own kefta and cloak. She was bleeding steadily and she wouldn’t survive transport to the nearest Healer, not even if one were only across the meadow or within shouting distance. He had a matter of minutes, possibly only seconds, and he was a passable medic after his centuries of battlefield experience, but he hadn’t a Healer’s power to repair the grievous wounds she’d suffered.

What he did have was access to colossal power. What he had was merzost and trancework and years of study in libraries and hovels and grand Imperial suites. What he had was the memory of Luda’s face as she worked to save a young girl and how she had felt in his arms afterwards, how his shadows could be a balm when she was spent.

What he had was Alina Starkov, her belly pierced by a silver dagger, her blood on his hands and her dark eyes regarding him with something like faith. He had his own knife and his own blood to spill, he had his shadows and their ability to coax forth her fading light, the affinity of two Summoners and the unnamable connection that had existed between them since they’d met. There was no time to waste, he would have to act, and together they would have to bear the consequence of his decision if she lived. If she lived, he would explain what he could and accept that she might argue he should not have chosen as he did. She would be alive then, to argue with him, even to turn her back and let him have the taste of her bitterness in his mouth without her kiss. She had burned maps to cross the Fold and had lit up the Fold to save her friend; how could he do less for the person he had been waiting for his whole life? She would have to forgive him or she would stay angry. He would rather spend every night of his life sleepless, knowing she dreamed of his destruction.

He laid a hand on her cheek and slipped the other beneath her sodden kefta, to rest lightly where the dagger had been thrust. He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering himself, and heard the effort of her faint inhalation. He stroked the Fjerdan blade and felt his own blood well and begin to mix with hers.

“This won’t take very long, Alina, and I will be with you,” he said. “You won’t understand what I’m saying, but I’ll tell you later what every word meant.”

She only looked at him. He could not wait for her to nod or try to form the word yes or no or please. He could only begin, holding her dark gaze with his own, feeling the ancient words new on his tongue lotzen zaitut, ene maitea, the incantation coming slowly at first and then taking on its own rhythm like a song he was remembering from his childhood returning to him without the accompaniment of a domra or kaval. Indeed, he spoke and then he sang, his voice rough, as if he swallowed his tears, or had had surrounded them both with smoke instead of shadow. It took forever and only a few moments and then he was finished. The Fjerdan dagger came away as if it had never stabbed into her belly and he let it fall to the ground beside her. He looked down and saw the wound was healed, not as if it had ever happened, but in such a way as would perplex the most expert Grisha Healers. The poison that had stirred within her was still. He blew out a breath and their mingled blood flew away like the finest dust, though there remained a dried streak across her cheek. He drew the sides of the kefta together, grimacing at the heaviness of the fabric with her blood and bodily fluids caking the wool. She would never wear it again, he knew that, though it could not be disposed of, as he’d made it a relic.

“Better now, neshama?” he asked, hoping she would speak before she slept.

“It doesn’t hurt, not much,” she said. He tried to smile at her, as he hadn’t when he had cut her with the silver ring and her light had poured forth like the dawn over the horizon. To be kind, because she had needed that and he had withheld it, even after discovering who she was. It was little enough to give to her now, but he gave it, wanting her to be soothed.

“That’s good,” he said. “I don’t want you to be in pain—”

“What did you do—are you a Healer too? Not just the Shadow Summoner? Or does being the Shadow Summoner mean you can heal as well?” she said, trying to sit up but too weak to accomplish it. He put his arm around her back and helped, but kept her in his arms, her head in the crook of his elbow, cradled like a lover.

“It means you and I, Sun and Shadow Summoners, can do for each other, with each other, what others cannot. If we will it, so mote it be,” he said. He would keep the explanation simple now and share the treatises that went into greater depth when they were safely at the Little Palace, her heart assessed by the Chief Healer and senior Heart-render. He could only pray that what he did was something neither of them came to rue. She’d told him she was a map-maker, however junior; she would understand that there were regions unexplored, that could hold terrors or marvels. Or both.

“I didn’t do anything,” she said. “Except not die.”

“That was all you needed to do. There is no tally sheet to square the sum between us, neshama,” he said. He had expected to feel the bond, to feel drawn to her most powerfully, from the first instant when he’d cut her open and then when he’d sealed them to each other, but the surge of affectionate tenderness that overtook him as he looked down at her, so delicate, pale from blood-loss and the wasting sickness but still lovely, curious and intrepid despite all she’d been through, was a shock. He wanted her, in a way he hadn’t wanted anyone in years beyond counting, and he knew he could not ask anything of her when they were as they were, before she understood the world and her place in it. He would tell her the truth, as much as she could bear, bite by bite, given to her like a sustaining broth, to taste and hold before she swallowed.

“What does that mean? What you called me just now?”

“It’s an old word, from a language no one speaks anymore. It means ‘my soul,’” he said.

“You said it. You must speak it,” she said.

“I did,” he said. “In a few minutes, we’ll try to see if you can stand. I need to get us back to Os Alta. It will not be the easiest ride, but we’ll manage.”

“Will you teach me?” she asked. She could have asked anything, she could have complained about the journey or protested his instructions. She could have fainted as soon as he’d finished the chant, but her eyes were bright, even if her lips were chapped and bitten.

“To ride?”

“To speak it with you,” she said. “I think, I don’t know why but I think we must be able to. I admit, I’m not very good at languages, I only speak Ravkan and a little of the dialect from Keramzin. I won’t be the best student.”

“I won’t be the best teacher,” he said.

“I never wanted this, to be Grisha,” she offered. Or was it a confession? He was quiet, waiting for her to go on. “I—we hid, when they came to test us, I cut my hand so they couldn’t tell. And now—”

“And now? You are Grisha. You are not alone,” he said.

“Do you mean because I am one of many? Or do you mean us?”

“You are the one among the many. And we are never alone, we won’t be, you and I,” he said.

“Because of what you did,” she said.

Fleetingly, he wondered whether he would remember her saying what you did, the kernel of an accusation hidden within the three words. What he had done was only merzost but was of it, and well he knew how merzost could not be undone, only grappled with. When he was Eryk, he would not have made such an observation, nor when he’d answered to Zuzen or Khenbish. What names would Alina take in their future? She’d lived to choose and that had to be worthwhile.

“Yes. I will teach you the old language. It has many obscenities. Some of them are quite…vivid. You shall be able to curse me in a thousand ways, if you want,” he said. It was an admission, one he made gladly, though he didn’t dare risk letting her see his lips curve.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said. She tried again to exert herself and ended up wincing. Not much clearly did not mean she was comfortable. It meant she had been told not to complain, had been left to suffer even if she did. “I don’t see how we’re getting back to the city. I don’t think I can ride, I���ve got no experience and I’m still—”

“I’ll take care of that. Of you,” he said. The words resonated inside him, a bell struck out to tell the people of a birth, a death. A great fire coming in across the sea, an impossible mystery.

“It sounds like a promise, but it might be a threat. Or a warning,” she said.

“It could be all of those or none. A reassurance. One I make to you, make to myself,” he said.

“I don’t understand,” she replied, but she turned her face so her cheek pressed against his arm, seeking the solace he could give her. Did she know how sweet he found it to be so regarded?

“Neither do I, neshama. I’m a man who has bartered my soul for the world and yet here you are and here am I,” he said.

He held her against him all the way into Os Alta, his thighs pressed against hers, his arm wrapped around her waist. He could not hold her too tightly where she had been wounded, but he could not risk her falling from the saddle. After an hour, she let her head drop back to rest against his shoulder, the tang of her blood in every breath he took. She slept, when the moon rose and the city was still a league away, and when they rode in through the central avenue, the linden trees dark against the night-sky. He allowed Ivan to help her down from his horse but his deputy saw what was necessary in his General’s face and then Alina was back in his arms, blinking drowsily.

“We’re home,” he said. “Here you are and here am I, neshama. Home.”

He decided to leave any havoc to the dawn.

[emfyredarchived]

@roseguided wrote, ❛ have you given any thought to where this ends? ❜

greed was no stranger to the darkling, he wanted and wanted and wanted. there is a deeply rooted ache inside of him that has been alive for centuries. the monster would never sleep never give him a moment of peace. that was, until the sun summoner had appeared in his life. for a moment, he had truly believed that he could have everything. she was a beacon of hope after all. now, what they had was tainted. the power that she wields was far more important to him than she was. this is, at least, what he has himself believe. there is no denying the yearning he felt for her, however. ❝ my little saint.. ❞ she finds him shrouded in shadow, the only dim light being a dying fire in the hearth. this is where he belonged, in darkness, how dare he hope to find himself in the light.

❝ alina.. ❞ her name like a prayer, whispered upon his wicked lips. ❝ i once had a vision you and i stood side-by-side, all of ravka bending to our will. they would never hurt us or treat us like slaves to do their bidding again. the grisha would be safe. ❞ why can she not see that he was doing this all for the grisha? ❝ every throat i cut, every goblet i poison, every breath i steal it is all to achieve this end. the grisha will be leaders, or will be the dictator if anyone tries to protest. ❞ he leans against the front of the desk he had been standing by. there are several maps strewn about without any certain kind of organization. if the light were brighter, then she would see the deep dark circle beneath his eyes. the scars that cross his face somehow look worse than when he first got them. ❝ the fight has merely just begun. join me. if you are in need of someone to do dark deeds, look no further from me. i will be your monster. ❞

[maimingaffairs]

hellooo i would like to request something <33

basically hanahaki disease w/ Aleksander? when alina arrived at the little palace, reader had been coughing and Aleksander noticed then reader found out that she was coughing petals and eventually got to know it was a disease with the help of some of the plant expert grishas i guess perhaps the healers? then reader starts to distance herself from Aleksander so he wouldn't know but he eventually found out because one of the grisha witnessed one of reader's coughing session and maybe an angst to fluff fic 👉👈

first of all, i am so sorry.. she's a long one... this has been tentatively proofread so i apologise for any grammar or spelling errors. this is my first time writing this trope so i hope it will do alright. thank u for ur beautiful req, my lovely anon, i love u!

warnings: hanahaki disease, blood, vomiting, aleksander is an idiot here lowkey.

word count: 11.9k

To Love Another & Be Loved (aleksander morozova x fem!reader)

-

The Sun Summoner had to be one of the nicest people you’d met in your entire life. 

You wanted to dislike her, after all, she was the center of Aleksander’s attention almost all of the time. Not even the scraps of his time had been reserved for you as of late. 

But you simply couldn’t hate her. She was nothing but kind to you. You spent much of your time with her, anyway. You were the only other Tailor besides Genya and often helped her ready herself for important things when Genya was tending to the Queen. At first, your service to her was only out of obligation to Aleksander. After all, he was your best friend and he fought the King constantly to keep you away from the Grand Palace. The least you could do was help a bit. Surely it would be temporary. 

You sat in Alina’s room with her and you focused hard on twisting her hair up and braiding little bits of it to create an elaborate updo. She was to have dinner with the King and Queen and the Prince that night along with Aleksander. You wordlessly pinned up a thin, tiny braid and Alina sighed. 

“At what point does this all just… stop?” She asked warily and you eyed her through the mirror she sat in front of. 

You raised an eyebrow and shook your head, “What do you mean?” You questioned and flickered your eyes back on her hair. 

“Just… the showiness of it all. When do I become a person with capabilities rather than a spectacle?” 

“Likely never.” You replied with a frown and you met her eyes in the mirror, “But that shouldn’t discourage you. Be the best damn spectacle this country has seen.”

Her shoulders squared a bit and she seemed to at least somewhat like what you had to say. You smiled and went back to her hair, your fingers deftly weaving braids and little twists together for a while longer. You sat back after some time and then placed a few decorative pins in her hair, giving her an approving smile. 

“Lovely. I’m sure the royal family will just eat you up.” You teased and rose from the stool you sat on.  

“I’m sure Aleksander won’t like that.” She countered playfully and the smile slowly faded from your face. 

You blinked in surprise a few times and then let out an uneasy chuckle, “So he’s told you his name?” 

You didn’t know why it bothered you. But it did. 

Alina nodded and she slid on her kefta and buttoned it up while she hummed. You eyed her and bit down on the inside of your cheek. It was black, of course. You glanced down at your own kefta and smoothed it down almost self-consciously. You wore a red kefta that was intricately embroidered with blue threads, and you’d never been disappointed in it until now. 

Why not dress her in gold? You asked silently as you stared at her and you felt that same bitter twinge of jealousy you’d felt ever since she came to the Little Palace. Furthermore, the little sparkle in her eyes when she said his name didn't go unnoticed by you. 

“Yes, is it not very common knowledge?” She asked once she finished buttoning up her clothes and you shook your head. 

You opened your mouth to speak but a knock on the door cut you off. You took this as an opportunity to end this conversation before it made you more upset and you hurried to the door. You opened it up and you were instantly met by a familiar pair of dark eyes. A little weight was lifted from your chest and you smiled up at Aleksander who gave you a smile right back. 

“I figured you’d still be here.” He remarked and leaned down to press a chaste and polite kiss on your cheek. Your skin felt warm and tingly where his lips had made contact and as he pulled away, you prayed he didn’t see the way your face was flushing. 

“It probably wouldn’t have taken so long if Alina didn’t have so much hair.” You noted and then tucked a piece of your own back behind your ear, “I haven’t seen much of you recently.” You remarked, trying your best to keep your tone casual. 

Aleksander clasped his hands behind his back and he gave you a wide smile, “Well, as you know, I’ve been very busy. Join me for tea tomorrow afternoon, I would love to catch up with you.” He said earnestly and you felt a tug in your chest. 

“Of course. Tea sounds wonderful.” You replied, and watched as his eyes shifted over your shoulder. 

The look on his face made your own smile falter. His eyes were fixed on Alina who stood behind you and his smile had turned into an awestruck expression, his eyes softening in ways they didn’t even soften for you. 

“Miss Starkov, you look dazzling.” He commented and you suddenly felt very small, standing in the middle of them. 

Her shy giggle sent a gravelly itch up your throat and you blinked a few times, trying to fight back a cough. 

She thanked him and said something else, but you didn’t hear it because a dry, gritty cough came tearing up through your throat. You held your hands over your mouth frantically and doubled over. You felt a hand on your back and slowly you straightened yourself back up and gasped for air, the coughs ceasing. 

“Are you alright? Would you like a bit of water?” You heard Alina ask and you shook your head, shifting your eyes downwards. 

“What was that? Did you choke on a fly?” Aleksander asked with an amused little chuckle. You gave him a terse laugh in response and felt your throat burn again. Another much smaller and shorter cough reverberated through your chest and you held your hands tightly over your mouth. A warm, wet feeling coated your palms and your face paled. 

Once you recovered you frantically balled your hands up in fists and lowered them to your sides, clearing your throat, “I’m not sure where that came from. I think I’ll go make some tea. Have a lovely dinner.” You murmured hoarsely and scurried past Aleksander, not bothering to look back at them. You made it halfway down the hallway before you slowly unfurled your hands and held them up so that you could see your palms. 

They were sporadically coated in blood.

-

“You don’t have a cold, y/n. Perhaps it’s just the dry air. Winter is upon us.” Genya stated as she stirred a sugar cube into her tea. 

You looked over your shoulder and expected to see Aleksander any time now and then you turned back to Genya with a shrug. 

“I don’t know what else it could be. I can’t stop coughing.” You replied, leaving out the part where most of your coughs dragged blood up from your throat. 

She hummed and took a sip of her tea before shaking her head, “No. Grisha don’t get sick, lovely. You can’t have a cold. Perhaps you’re allergic to something you’ve been smelling or using or eating. Anything new in your diet? Perfumes? Lotions?” She pressed and you shook your head, “Well, then I’m not sure what to tell you. See a Healer if you’re concerned about it but I’m telling you it’s likely the dry air.” She urged. 

You looked down at your own tea and watched tendrils of steam climb the air above it. You let out a sigh and reached out to grab a sugar cube, when you felt a hand on your shoulder. You jumped and spun around, feeling instant relief when you saw that it was only Aleksander who had his hand on you. You sighed contently and leaned your cheek down against the back of his hand. 

“Please, forgive me. I know I’m a bit late to tea. I just had a rather disappointing conversation with a few trackers.” He hummed and then pulled his hand away from your shoulder, leaving you with a certain kind of emptiness. 

He slid into the chair next to you and grabbed your hand tightly, and you felt your heart beat a little bit faster. Genya must have heard it, because she smirked and quickly raised her teacup to her lips to hide it. 

“You weren’t at breakfast this morning.” He commented and tapped your knuckles with the side of his thumb. 

“I wasn’t feeling the best.” You drawled and looked up at his face. He didn’t seem overly concerned when you mentioned that you didn’t feel well, but he didn’t brush it off, either. 

“Odd. Perhaps you should see my Healer.” He pressed and then he reached out and poured himself a cup of tea with his free hand before he released your hand. 

You didn’t respond. Instead, you turned back to your own tea and took a sip of it, looking up at Genya who cleared her throat and stood up.

“Well. I’ll leave you two to it then. I’ve got to get back to the Queen.” She stated and gave you a small wave before scurrying off. 

“Y/n. My Healer?” Aleksander pressed and you glanced up at him. 

You gave him a polite shake of your head and you smiled, “No, it’s all okay. I feel much better now.” You insisted. And it was partially true. You did feel a bit better now that you had some tea. 

You felt his onyx eyes on you as you turned back to your tea and before you could turn towards him, he reached up and brushed a bit of your hair back behind your ear. 

“You look very tired.” He commented and frowned, letting his fingers linger against the side of your face for only a second before dropping them. 

“I am tired. But I have a lot to do today. Besides, I’m getting fitted for my dress today. For the Fete.” You commented, trying to change the subject. 

He hummed and then picked up his teacup, “What are you going to wear?” He asked curiously and he shifted his entire body towards you. 

You looked over at him and slowly turned yourself to face him as well and you gave him a little smile, “Well, not red. That’s for sure. I picked something soft. Pink. A pretty pink dress.”

“Pink is a form of red.” Aleksander pointed out, an amused little smile forming on his perfect lips. 

You giggled and then shook your head, reaching out to give his arm a very gentle smack, “Pink is a very nice color and even if it is red at the very core of it all, I will be wearing it.”

He rolled his eyes playfully and then he chuckled, “Determined little thing, aren’t you?” He asked and then set his teacup down, “I’m glad you’re coming. I was worried you would skip this Fete like you did last year.” 

“Well, last year Vasily was all over me. And I hated it. Of course I didn’t go.” You remarked with a little snort. Aleksander laughed softly and shook his head, turning back to his tea. 

You looked at him, your face softening. Everything about him seemed so… inviting in that moment. The way his hair was immaculately brushed back and curled around the back of his neck, the little curve of his lips as they stayed in their smile from your antics. His dark eyes shone with a rare light of humor and the light of the afternoon sun illuminated them perfectly as you stared at him from the side. He was so heartbreakingly beautiful. 

And you wanted him so badly. You wanted to kiss him, you wanted him to hold you, you wanted him to look at you the way he’d looked at Alina the night before. You wanted to wear black with him and you wanted to be at his side during the Fete. 

You were desperately in love with your best friend, and the worst part was that you could never tell him. 

Your silence must have concerned him in some way, because he slowly turned to face you, the smile slowly vanishing from his face. 

“Y/n, you look like you are about to cry, darling. What’s going on?” He asked softly and you shook your head a few times. 

“N..nothing is wrong.” You lied and felt your throat begin to tingle with the familiar preceding another coughing fit, “I think I just need to go lie down. I feel… unwell.” You added, your voice getting weaker as you tried to keep a cough at bay. 

“Please,” Aleksander began and slowly rose from his chair, “let me walk you to your room, my dear. You are starting to worry me a little bit, if I’m being perfectly honest with you.” He stated and held his arm out for you to take. 

You reached up to grab his arm but instantly yanked your hands back and brought them to your face as you began to cough violently into your palms. The sharp, metallic taste of blood filled your mouth and you heaved forward on your chair, nearly falling off as you coughed. Aleksander’s strong hands caught your shoulders, and before you could protest, he was lifting you up into his arms. 

“Alright. I’m going to take you to your room and then I’m going to send for a Healer. This isn’t natural. You shouldn’t be coughing like that.” He stated. 

You held your hands over your mouth for a while longer as your coughs subsided and you blinked a few times. Once you were sure no more coughs were to come, you pulled your hands up into the sleeves of your kefta and you cleared your throat, wincing as it burned, “No, you don’t need to. I swear to the Saints it’s just allergies, Aleksander.” You said wheezily. 

He looked down at your face and his brows furrowed together and he shook his head, “You have blood on your chin.” He commented and you gaped up at him. 

You reached up and wiped your chin with the sleeve of your kefta and he simply shook his head. You closed your eyes exhaustedly and let him carry you the rest of the way to your room. Once he’d gotten you to your bedroom, he laid you out on your bed and frowned down at you. 

“I’m sending a Healer up here. Don’t be stubborn, please let them help. I’d stay but I’m taking Alina riding. Promise me you will accept the help I send for you.” He said sternly and you opened your eyes. 

You stared up at him, something snapping in your chest. He couldn’t even stay to make sure you were okay? 

“That’s fine. I promise.” You said bitterly and then shook your head, “Have fun riding with Alina.” 

You were sure he caught the bitterness in your tone, because he scowled slightly and then shook his head. He looked as if he might argue with you but instead he wordlessly turned on his heel and left your room, slamming your door behind him. 

A brutal cough tore itself free from your chest and it sent you shooting up into a sitting position. You held your hands over your mouth to catch the droplets of blood that loosed themselves from your throat. Your throat burned as if you were swallowing acid and you miserably pulled your hands away from your mouth between coughs. You stared down at the blood in your hands and suddenly your stomach twisted. You launched yourself off of the bed and grabbed the waste bin that sat near your bed and you coughed violently into it until something sharp tore its way up through your throat and out of your mouth. You had to blink a few times before it registered what exactly sat in the once-empty waste bin; what exactly came out of your mouth. A small cluster of thorns lay in a thick puddle of your blood, and a cluster of bloody rose petals laid around it.

Your mouth hung agape as you stared down into the wastebasket and you pushed it away from you with a frightened yelp. 

Something soft slid against your tongue and you reached up and shakily pulled a blood wetted rose petal off of your tongue, and it was the last thing you saw before your vision went black. 

-

Something wet and cold mopped across your feverish forehead and you slowly opened your eyes. Someone’s hand moved back and forth in your line of sight and you heard a loud gasp before your hands were being clutched tightly. You cleared the fuzziness from your vision by blinking a handful of times and you slowly sat up a bit to see Genya standing over you with her hands clasping yours. A Healer stood at your bedside with a cloth in her hand and you looked back and forth between the two of them before you let out a raspy sigh. 

“Y/n! Sweetheart! What is going on? Emilia found you this way. She said The Darkling sent her up here to you and that when she came in you were out cold on the floor.” 

Emilia must have been the name of the Healer girl at your side and you looked over at her with a terse smile before you looked back at Genya. Her wide eyes were even wider with fear and you frowned, not wanting to have frightened her. 

“I’m fine, I promise. It just must be aller-“

“It is not allergies!” Genya cut you off viciously and dropped your hand to point at the waste bin, “What kind of allergy has you throwing up… plants?” She demanded and you simply shrugged. 

She exasperatedly squeezed the hand of yours that she still held and she frowned, “Emilia tried to heal you but couldn’t find anything wrong with you. Your lungs sound terrible but other than that, you’re healthy.” She said with worry lacing every word she spoke, “When The Darkling gets back from riding-“

You shook your head and held your hand up, “No. No we are not going to tell him a single thing, do you two understand me? You will tell him I am suffering allergies and will be fine in a week or two. I don’t want him around.” You said in a clipped tone.

Genya looked surprised when you said this but she didn’t protest. Instead, she comfortingly brushed her thumb across the back of your hand and let out a defeated little sigh, “Oh, honey. Are things that bad?” 

You slowly looked up at Emilia and Genya did as well. Emilia looked between the two of you and she let out a little sigh. 

“I’ll go get you some tea for your throat.” She said, excusing herself from the conversation that you so desperately wanted to keep private. 

The moment the Healer left the room, you burst into tears. Your ragged breaths seemed to tear trenches into your throat as you cried and little coughs escaped your lips between sobs. You buried your face in your hands and barely noticed when Genya sat right next to you and wrapped her arm around your shoulder, pulling you against her side. 

“Sweetheart, what happened? This afternoon you were all smiles for him.” She breathed and gently rubbed your arm, soothing your cries just slightly. 

“Oh, Genya. I love him. I’m so very in love with him and he hardly gives me the time of day anymore. He speaks of Alina like she’s hung his entire sky. He looks at her like she’s more precious than jewels. He noticed I wasn’t feeling well, and he couldn’t even stay with me. He just tossed a healer at me and left to go with her. It hurts, Genya.” You cried, hiding your face against her shoulder. 

The red haired girl stroked your hair and your back and your arm as you cried against her and at some point, reached out to grab the cool cloth Emilia had left behind. She gently dabbed it against your cheeks and the side of your neck and she frowned, letting you cry. 

Your chest ached terribly at the idea that you loved your best friend who would never love you back, but it seemed to hurt more that you were all in all losing said best friend. Genya coaxed you down until your cheek was against her upper thigh and she ran her fingers through your hair, dabbing the cold cloth against your burning skin still. 

“Things will work out the way they’re supposed to, honey.” Genya said softly, still trying to soothe you. 

Tears rolled down your cheeks still, but your cries subsided for the most part. You exhaustedly closed your eyes and relaxed underneath the Tailor’s touch. You took painful, deep breaths and attempted to calm yourself. You laid in silence against Genya’s thigh for a long time, the only sounds being your sniffles and coughs and little whines. You desperately tried to clear your head of Aleksander, and nearly had, before your door swung open. You heard the handle smack against the wall, and heavy footsteps made their way across your floors. Aleksander. You laid still against Genya and prayed that he thought you were asleep. 

“Emilia says it’s only allergies.” Genya said quietly and you felt her hand slow in your hair until it rested protectively against the crown of your head. 

You heard him shuffle for a moment before he hummed, “She looks miserable.” He remarked. 

He lifted his hand to touch your arm, but Genya shooed his hand away and shook her head. 

“Let her sleep.” She murmured and you heard Aleksander snort. 

“Well, according to my Healer, she’s been unconscious for three hours up until now. How is she sleeping again?” He asked and you could tell he didn’t believe you were asleep. 

That didn’t stop you from pretending, still. 

“Because she is feeling unwell. Why don’t you come and see her tomorrow morning?” Genya suggested and slowly began to drag her fingers through your hair again. 

“I don’t want to see her tomorrow morning. I want to see her now.”

“I don’t think she wants to see you, moi soverenyi.” The Tailor countered. 

The room was silent for a moment and then you heard the rustle of his kefta as he shifted in place. You bit the inside of your cheek, fighting back every desire inside of you that screamed for you to launch yourself into his arms. Maybe if you did, he would carry you like he had earlier. You wanted to scream how you loved him in his face and cry on his chest about how he was hurting you. But you stayed rooted in the bed. 

“Mm, alright then. Let her know that she needn’t seek me out then. If she truly does not want to see me. I won’t bother her.” He said coldly and you felt your face screw up in despair. 

“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m only saying she likely doesn’t want to be bothered and roused from an already uncomfortable sleep just so you can ask her what I’ve already asked a hundred times. It’s just allergies. It happens with the turn of the seasons.” Genya explained calmly, her voice steady. 

“I’ve known her for years now and she’s never had allergies at the turn of the seasons.” He stated. 

“Well, that’s the only thing that it can be. The Healer said it herself. She’s perfectly healthy otherwise.” Genya insisted. 

There was another long silence in the room and you could feel his near-black eyes boring into you, traveling your crumpled form. But he said nothing more. After a while, you heard his footsteps as he left the room and the door closed, much more carefully this time. 

You didn’t dare open your eyes until Genya sighed and gently tapped the back of your head, “He’s not here, it’s okay.” She murmured and you slowly opened your eyes. 

Another cry escaped your lips. 

-

The next few days were absolutely miserable. You’d spent the first day and half in your room, and when Genya wasn’t waiting on you, you were alone. Aleksander didn’t come to see you once, and you came to accept that it was just going to be your new normal. 

The first time you emerged from your bedroom in days was for dinner, and Genya held you tight to her side as she walked with you down to the dining hall. Normally, she didn’t eat with the other Grisha, but she had neglected many of her duties to the Queen to take care of you for the past two days. 

Now, three days had passed since you had last seen- or heard, rather- Aleksander, and you sat out in the courtyard on the grass with Genya. The red haired girl had insisted that you needed sunlight and she sat and read under a tree with you while you laid your head in her lap. You could hardly speak, and when you did, your voice was raspy and quiet. Every now and then, the girl would look over her book to check on you, and each time she did, she’d give you a kind smile. 

“Are you hungry?” She asked after a while and brought her hand up to your forehead to feel for your temperature. 

You shook your head weakly and rubbed your cheek with the back of your hand, “I don’t have an appetite, admittedly.” You murmured and she clicked her tongue, but didn’t press the subject. 

You tried your best to enjoy the cool breeze on your feverish cheeks, but you couldn’t seem to distract yourself from the pounding in your head and the raw burn in your throat.

“What are you reading?” You asked Genya absentmindedly and she hummed. 

“Reading up on rare diseases. I found a few books that have information about sicknesses and accounts of Grisha becoming ill with certain ones. I thought maybe it would help us figure out what’s going on with you.” She stated and turned a page as if on cue. 

A warm feeling tickled your nose and you felt it travel downwards until your skin was wet and you gasped and let out a curse. You sat up quickly and held your hand over your nose as it bled and you glanced down at the little bloody spot on Genya’s kefta. 

“Saints. I’m so sorry. I’m such a mess.” You breathed and cupped your hands underneath your nose to catch the rapidly flowing blood. 

The girl simply shook her head and pulled handkerchief out of her pocket and passed it to you, “Don’t be sorry. We can get the stain out easily.” She insisted, and you gratefully took the handkerchief from her and held it against your nose.

“Perhaps we should get you inside?” She suggested and you nodded once. You grabbed onto the tree with your free hand and balanced yourself as you rose to your feet. You felt winded as you stood and your throat began to prickle and you let out a groan that was cut short when you leaned forward and coughed viciously into the sleeve of your kefta. Little petals spewed out of your mouth as you coughed and got stuck with your blood onto the fabric of your sleeve, but you weren’t surprised anymore. Thorns and petals came along with the coughs now. At least now your nose had ceased its bleeding. You wiped your mouth with your sleeve and groaned in pain as you felt Genya touch your back. 

“Oh, Saints. Hurry. Let’s go inside. The Darkling is out here.” She said in a hushed tone, and though you two tried to hurry into the palace, it seemed you weren’t fast enough, because Aleksander called your name.

You looked up at Genya worriedly and she took a glance at your face. Blood was smeared under your nose and on your chin and she let out a huff before she snatched the handkerchief from your hand and quickly cleaned up your face. She stuffed the soiled fabric into her pocket once more and you turned around just in time to see Aleksander approach you with Alina not far behind.

His kefta billowed like smoke behind him in the breeze and when he reached you, his face was nothing short of irritated and accusatory. His beautiful face was set in an angry grimace and his eyes were hard. You shied back slightly and felt Genya’s hand press encouragingly into your back. 

“It must be rather fun ignoring me, since you’ve done it flawlessly for three days now.” He snapped and you looked down at your feet, biting down on the inside of your cheek. 

“I haven’t felt well, I’m sorry.” You mumbled. 

He snorted and reached out to grab your jaw, tilting your face up so that he could look down upon you, “That’s not an excuse. I don’t expect you to be prancing and frolicking around, but as someone who cares about you, I would at least like to be updated about your state.” 

His words sent a shockwave of sadness through your chest and you frowned, your eyes watering. You blinked away your tears rapidly, refusing to cry in front of him and Alina. He let go of your face slowly and he shook his head. 

“My dear, I worry about you, that’s all. I’m not truly angry, oh please don’t cry.” He said softly, his expression ridding itself of all anger as he watched your eyes gloss over with unshed tears. 

You shifted your gaze over his shoulder and watched as Alina gently grabbed his arm and he subtly pulled her into his side. The action had you biting down on your cheek hard, a terrible cough fighting its way up your throat. You felt something sharp rise to the back of your throat and you shoved past all three of them to get inside of the palace, holding your hands over your mouth as you raced to your bedroom. 

You were unsure of how you held it in for so long, but as soon as you got to your room, a violent retching sound ripped it’s way up through your chest and your throat and you fell to your knees and a slew of blood and petals came spewing out of your mouth. The heavy, sharp presence was still in the back of your throat and you coughed, and coughed, and coughed until you felt something shred the back of your throat and come loose. A rosebud tumbled from behind your lips, followed by a thick mixture of blood and saliva. You stared down at the sticky, bloody mess you had made all over your pale blue rug and you brought your shaky hands up to your clammy face, covering your mouth as you sobbed. 

Your chest ached and burned as if you’d swallowed blades and you let out a shrill scream of frustration. You sunk down onto the floor even further and curled up into a ball, your cheek resting a bit too close to the sticky puddle of blood and floral matter. You were too exhausted to care. Everything hurt, nothing made sense. Every breath you took sent shards of glass sliding down your throat and you coughed again, bits of petals getting stuck to your bloodied lips. You slowly closed your eyes and shivered once, reaching down and holding your knees to your chest. 

No one had followed you. Not even Aleksander. Even just thinking his name sent a pang of raw emotion through your chest and a few little tears rolled down your cheeks as you laid against the ruined carpets. Too busy with Alina. Too busy with everything. When did the busy excuses end? At what point did you need to accept that he didn’t love you as much as you loved him, and certainly not in the same way. You cursed yourself for thinking of him. Why were you thinking of him? He surely wasn’t thinking of you. You should have been thinking about why the hell you were sick. 

But all you could think about was Aleksander. 

-

You weren’t sure how or when, but at some point, you’d been moved up onto your bed and your blood-ruined dress had been switched out for a light, breathable nightgown. A hand dragged itself through your hair slowly and you almost thought you were imagining in your half-asleep state, until you heard voices. 

“I don’t really care. I will remove someone from the frontlines if we must. I need a very, very good Healer and I need them promptly.” 

You recognized Aleksander’s voice anywhere, and now that you were a bit more aware, you could tell that it was not Genya’s delicate little hand running through your hair.  

It was his. 

You kept your eyes closed and tried to enjoy the very minimally important action of his hand stroking your hair so gently. 

“Then find someone. But I don’t think this is anything to worry about.” 

That voice belonged to Genya, and you felt a sense of relief that she was still covering for you. 

“Genya, do not give me excuses any longer. I know she is ill. To the extent and with what, I am unsure. But she is my dearest friend, and I will not be so easily deterred from finding a solution to her health.” He spoke quietly, as if he didn’t want to wake you and you felt your lip nearly wobble. 

You didn’t know if you were joyful or devastated to hear him call you his friend. You longed for ignorance. You longed to think that he was here to confess his love for you, you wanted him to play with your hair like this for hours and hold you in his arms while you slept. 

You wouldn’t get your wish, though. 

“Sir, I think it would just be best to give her space.” Genya suggested quietly. 

Aleksander’s hand stilled against your head and went rigid, “And why do you say that?” He asked coldly. 

“Well, you just hardly… see her anymore. I think perhaps she’s a bit bothered by your neglect.”

“Has she told you this?”

“Yes.”

The room was silent and you wanted to sob as you felt his hand slowly leave your hair. You wanted to catch his wrist and bring it back, beg him to never let you go. 

“Well, she always has been a bit of a jealous little thing. She’ll get over it. I’ll be back to check on her tomorrow sometime.” He said dismissively and you felt the bed move and assumed he had climbed off of it. 

You waited until you heard him leave to open your eyes and you let out a long, ragged sigh. You felt the bed dip beside you and Genya was placing her hand against your forehead. She let out a little hum and then shook her head.

“You’re very lucky I managed to clean everything up before he came barging in here.” She said softly and reached down to grab your hand. 

Tears welled up in your eyes and you blinked them away, shrugging. 

“At some point we need to tell him what’s going on, Y/n.” She urged gently and then squeezed your hand as softly as possible. 

You felt a little wave of gratefulness in your chest at Genya’s determined and dedicated presence and you squeezed her hand back, “Eventually.” You murmured and then closed your eyes again, still feeling exhausted. 

“You sound terrible.” She noted and sat up against the headboard, resting her back against it. You very slowly rolled over and laid your head against her thigh and you sighed. 

“You’re my best friend, Genya.” You murmured. 

She let out a little sigh and she laid her hand on top of your head, “You really love him, don’t you?” She asked quietly. 

You didn’t answer her at first. She knew the answer and so did you, but the moment you spoke it aloud, it became real and it became capable of ruining everything. 

“Yes.” You finally answered in a squeak. 

There was a silence that filled the air around the two of you and you felt her lean over the edge of the bed for a moment. When she settled back in her spot, she tapped your head very gently and cleared her throat. 

“I found something. While you were sleeping.” She said almost nervously. 

“What do you mean, ‘something’?” You asked and stared off at the wall ahead of you. 

“I mean about your… condition.” She said quietly and you could hear her flipping through a book above you. 

Finally, she laid the open book down in front of your face and you reached up with a shaking hand to grab it. You sat up slowly with a bit of her help and laid the book in your lap as you peered down at it. The pages were old and weathered but the drawings were clear as can be. Roses were sketched onto the page and you ran your fingers over the paper as you read the text next to it. 

‘In extreme cases of unrequited love, the affected person will become sick with envy and begin to exhibit signs of serious illness…’

You blinked a few times and read through the recorded symptoms. 

Every single one was something you were experiencing.

“No. Absolutely not.” You breathed and looked up at a frowning Genya. 

“The symptoms are all there. This is what’s ailing you.” She said, her eyes growing watery. 

“Genya-“

“I’ll spare you the heavy reading. There is no cure, not unless he confesses his true and honest love for you.” 

You felt dread add itself to your already sore chest and you turned your head to look up at her. 

“Oh.”

She brought her hands up and cupped your cheeks and she shook her head, “I swear, we won’t let you die. We will find a way. Me and Baghra, Saints, I’ll even tell Him-“

“You can’t tell him.” You whispered and looked up at her tearfully, “You have to swear to me that you will not tell him. Genya, I’m begging you. Let him just… let him be happy with his Sun Summoner. He’ll forget about me, he’s already beginning to.” You said and sniffled, reaching up to wipe your eyes. 

Tears were falling down the redhead’s cheeks now and she shook her head, “No, this isn’t how it ends.” She said sternly and wiped her own eyes with the backs of her hands after she lowered them from your face. 

You leaned your head against her shoulder and closed your eyes, “I’m so tired.” You whispered, feeling exhaustion course through your body at a rapid rate. 

“Sleep, sweetheart. Please. I’ll stay here with you until morning.” Genya promised and you nodded. 

She helped you lay back onto the pillow behind you and she tucked the comforter around your shoulders before feeling your forehead once again.

“Thank you for being so good to me.” You whispered and she gave you a heartbreakingly sad smile. 

“What are friends for?”

-

The next morning was excruciating. A terrible coughing fit roused you from your sleep and you’d- yet again- made a bloody, flowery mess all over. This time, you helped Genya clean the mess up despite her protests. Once she’d helped you clean up, she announced that she had a hot bath drawn for you. 

You followed her into your bathroom and pulled your clothes off before you stepped into the hot water and let out a long, relieved sigh as you sunk down into it and sat. 

“I need to go tend to the Queen for a little while. I shouldn’t be too long. Will you be okay if I leave for just a few hours? If you need anything, I’ve already informed Baghra of your condition, you can go find her.” She explained and then gave you a little smile. 

“You’ve been busy this morning.” You commented and she shrugged. 

“Well, I’m just making sure you’ll be alright while we figure this all out.” She said softly and patted your head a few times, “Well, off I go. Please, please be careful. And if you have a coughing fit, do it over the tub. We can drain the water easily.” She said, half joking.  

You bid her farewell and she left your room and you sank deeper into the water, letting it soothe your sore muscles, though it didn’t do much for your stinging throat and aching chest. You brought a hand to your forehead and you felt a wave of melancholia drag you down. 

There was really no way that you were going to get out of this alive. It wasn’t like Aleksander was going to burst in on his knees and confess that he’d loved you the entire time, and you highly doubted that if a Healer couldn’t help you, then you were beyond help. You rubbed your temples very slowly and let out a very long, exasperated sigh, which triggered a few coughs. Little droplets of blood flew forward into the water from your mouth and you winced as a few petals loosed themselves from your throat as well. They floated atop the hot water and you picked one of the soft, pink petals up tentatively. It looked like a rose petal. It was a rose petal. You were grateful that it was only a few soft petals this time rather than the thorns and stems you’d cough up other times. You dropped the petal back in the water and you laid your head back against the edge of the bathtub weakly.

Your chin wobbled slightly and you closed your eyes just as tears started to stream out of them. You soundlessly cried as you sat in the steaming water and you reached up to hold your hands over your face as you cried. Soon enough, your cries were no longer soundless and you sobbed into your hands. Your whole entire body hurt and you were in agony. Emotional and physical agony. You wished for it all to stop and you pulled your hands away from your face and gripped the edges of the tub as you continued to cry with your eyes squeezed shut in pain.

Your mind wandered to Aleksander, something it often did, and you gasped painfully. You could practically feel his fingers running through your hair again, and you pictured what it would have been like if he had gathered you in his slender arms instead of just messing with your hair. The thought brought you a split second of comfort before it brought on waves of pain, crashing against your chest like rogue waves in a tumultuous ocean. 

Oh, you loved him. You couldn’t just stop loving him. Even though you sat and wished so desperately that you could. You gripped the edges of the tub impossibly tight and sputtered out a few heavy coughs that left your chest feeling split open. Your bathwater was tinged pink now and there was an arrangement of fragmented and full rose petals floating around in the water.  

A little tap made you open your eyes and you looked up to see Aleksander standing in the doorway of your bathroom. You made a move to cover yourself but he simply shook his head. 

“I’m not looking, it’s okay.” He stated, staying in the doorway. 

You glanced away from him sadly and you gave him a nod. You heard his boots tap against the marble floor and you heard a bit of rustling before you turned your head towards him again to see that he was now kneeling at the side of your tub. 

“You look terrible. Really, really terrible.” He commented. 

“Thanks. You really know how to make someone feel great, Aleksander.” You snapped and narrowed your eyes at him. 

He let out a sigh and shook his head a few times, “You’re still lovely. You just look miserable. Have you looked in a mirror recently? You look malnourished, you look poorly rested. Your face is sunken, your eyes are lifeless, you look terrible.” He explained and you laid your head down on the edge of the tub. 

“I’ll be fine.” You said nonchalantly. 

“Yeah, you all keep trying to tell me that but I don’t believe it all that much. Look at you. You can’t even move without it looking like it’s causing you pain.” 

“What do you care?” You asked and closed your eyes, biting back a sob. 

“What do I care? What do I care? Are you an imbecile? I care more than you seem to even care to imagine!” He snapped angrily and stood up abruptly. 

“Whatever. I know you’d rather be with your Sun Summoner right now. Please just go.”

“Saints, you’re such a bitter thing! You knew what the Sun Summoner coming here would mean. You know what it does mean. Get over yourself, this is bigger than you and your need for attention!” He exclaimed. 

Though he hadn’t, you felt as if he’d lifted you to your feet and slapped you until you fell. You slowly opened your eyes and looked up at him. Your eyes grew glossy with tears and you bit down on your cheek before you shifted your eyes away from a seething Aleksander.

“Please just go away.” You whimpered and brought your hands up to your face, hiding it from his sight. 

You cried silently for a moment and you rubbed your eyes vigorously before lifting your head out of your hands to tell him once more to leave. 

But he was already gone. 

-

The week leading up to the winter fete was exhausting. 

Not that you had been doing much other than laying around in your room and taking brief walks whenever Genya had a moment to accompany you outside. 

Nothing had improved though. 

You were still weak, still coughing, still in pain. Nothing was better, in fact, it seemed to only worsen by the day. 

The day of the fete was upon you and you had argued with Genya for nearly two hours so that she’d let you go. Finally, she had conceded and told you that you could go as long as you left early and were very, very careful not to cough around anyone. 

“And if you start feeling worse, you’re going right back to bed. Do you understand me?” Genya asked critically as she held a big, white box to her chest. Your dress. She was holding it hostage until you agreed to her terms. 

“Yes, fine, anything! I’ve waited so long to go.” You weren’t sure why you were so excited to go to the fete. You had previously been excited to go because you’d be going with Aleksander, but of course, that wasn’t the case now. You hadn’t seen him in nearly a week. Genya told you he’d been in to check on you while you slept, but you doubted it. You doubted a lot when it came to Aleksander these last seven days. 

Genya set the box down on a small table near the fireplace in your room and she opened it up, humming softly to herself as she did, “Pink? I didn’t pin you as a pink girl.” 

“Well, I am one. And it’s pretty, isn’t it?” You asked and watched as she pulled the gown out from the box. 

It was beautiful. It was a pale shade of blush pink with long sleeves and lots of beautiful embroidery and bead work. The dress earned you an approving sound from Genya and she looked over at you as you sat on the edge of your bed. 

“It is pretty, yes. I’m a bit worried you’ll stain it.” She said and eyed you with a frown, “Are you sure you want to go? You’re still so sick. Worse, even.” She said with a frown as she walked towards you and laid the dress out on the bed at your side. 

“I want to go. We can go together. Besides, I’ve been stuck in here for so long now.” You said, sighing dramatically. Your throat burned with your sigh and Genya watched as you brought your fingers to your throat. 

She quickly grabbed the waste bin next to your bed and held it up to you and you grabbed it. You coughed over it painfully for a few minutes, an array of petals and a few small thorns freeing themselves from your inflicted lungs. Genya held her hand against your back comfortingly and waited for you to spit the last of the sticky blood out and then she gently took the waste bin from your hands. She passed you a glass of water from your bedside table and you sipped it, even though it felt like you were swallowing broken glass. 

“Y/n, you look awful.” Genya said sadly and pushed some of your limp hair away from your face. 

You knew she was right. Your entire face had sunken in and you were aware of the dark circles under your eyes. Any luster your hair or skin once had was now gone and you looked dull and lifeless. You looked almost like a walking corpse. Your nails were thin and brittle and your lips were chapped and had traces of dried blood on them. You did look awful. 

Realistically, you could use your abilities and make yourself look better, but you had absolutely no energy to do so. You were lucky if you had the energy to get up and take a walk with Genya. You sighed quietly and wiped your lips with the back of your hand and shrugged once. You shakily passed the glass of water back to Genya and you rubbed your eyes. 

“Will you help me get ready? Nothing fancy, I just don’t wanna look so unhealthy.” You asked quietly and she nodded a couple of times.

She leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead and then offered her hands down towards you. You accepted them gratefully and pulled yourself to your feet with her help and she passed you your dress. 

“Go change, I’ll help you button up.” She prompted and you took the dress from her and wandered off towards the dressing screen in the corner of your room. 

You slid behind it and undressed yourself with weak, shaking hands, and you pushed your nightdress off of your body. You tossed it aside and then took on the next task of stepping into the soft pink gown. You climbed into the dress clumsily and once you’d pulled the sleeves on and gotten it situated on your body, you wandered out from behind the screen. Genya awaited you by your bed and you made your way over to her and turned around so that the undone back of your dress faced her. 

“You need to promise me one more thing.” Genya said quietly as she began to button up your dress nimbly. 

“What is it?” You asked, looking back over your shoulder at the redheaded girl. 

“Avoid the Darkling at all costs tonight please. Your condition worsens after he’s around, I’ve seen it. Please just, don’t seek him out, stay away from him. Have fun, mingle, have a drink, but leave him alone. For your sake, please.” She begged softly and then finished buttoning your dress. 

You nodded compliantly and you ran your hands down the front of your dress, smoothing it all down before turning around to face her. You smiled up at her and she pointed at a chair in the middle of the room. 

“Sit. I’ll fix up your hair and make you look a little less tired.” She said softly and you walked towards the chair. You sat down in it and you closed your eyes, a prickling becoming bothersome at the back of your throat. You swallowed it down and winced at the sharp pain sliding back down your throat. 

You just had to get through tonight. 

Genya stood behind you and she worked at your hair for a while until it was in simple waves. She then walked around to face you and she determinedly waved her hand over your face a few times slowly. After nearly fifteen minutes of this, she pulled away from you and handed you a hand mirror. 

“I did all that I could. How do you feel about it?” She asked. 

You glanced at yourself in the mirror and hummed. Though you still looked frail, you didn’t look nearly even half as bad as you had beforehand. You looked as if perhaps you hadn't slept in a few days but otherwise you seemed healthy. You looked up at her with a smile and you nodded, passing the mirror back to her. 

“Thank you. Truly, thank you.” You said softly and she gave you a sweet smile in return and kissed the top of your head. 

“I have to help the Queen get ready. Will you wait for me? I’ll come back and accompany you to the party.”

You looked over at her and gave her a little nod and stood up from the chair you sat in. You gave your friend a little hug and she hugged you back delicately, as if she was afraid you’d break. 

“Thank you. Really, Genya. For everything.”

“Don’t start talking like that. It almost sounds like goodbye and I won’t have it. I’ll see you in an hour or two.” She stated and then marched out of your room. 

Goodbye. You scoffed. You didn’t even want to think about goodbye yet. 

But of course now you were faced with the reality of it all. There was no obtainable cure to your ailment. The thought of it spread dread through your body like you’d never felt before and you felt even sicker than you ever had prior to today. 

A particular wave of nausea had you sprinting to the waste bin by your bed and you dropped to your knees and retched into it, your throat getting sliced up with an especially sharp slew of blood and thorns and a few battered petals. The door behind you opened and you heard a gasp from the doorway and wiped your face with the back of your hand before you turned around. 

Still on your knees, you looked up to see Aleksander’s personal favorite Healer, Emilia, standing in the doorway. The two of you stared at each other for a moment before she walked towards you and gently helped you to your feet. She looked over your shoulder into the wastebasket and then she looked up at your face, her mouth making a little ‘o’. She glanced back in the bin and then she shook her head. 

“Are those…?”

“Yes. They’re petals. Why are you here?” You asked and slowly sat down on the edge of your bed. 

“The Darkling sent me to check on you.” She whispered and then she placed her hand on your head, feeling your temperature. 

“Genya is doing a fine job on her own, thank you, Emilia.” You wheezed and then leaned your head into your hands. 

She stayed put for a moment and looked back and forth between you and your bloody, flowery vomit and then she gave you a tedious nod, “Yes, okay. I’m sorry to have intruded.“ she said quietly and you gave her only a small hum in response before she scuttled out of the room, retreating as if you were some feral dog, before you could even think to stop her. You would have certainly been wise to. 

You glanced at the door and felt a cold, sick dread fill your stomach. She was going to tell Aleksander. 

-

 You sat, slumped, in the chair by your fireplace and you closed your eyes, letting out labored breaths. Your chest had become impossibly tight and you sat in fear that Aleksander would burst in and berate you at any moment now. 

Your eyes filled with tears at the thought of just Aleksander and you wrapped your arms around yourself. It wasn’t like you couldn’t miss him. He was, at the end of the day, your best friend. Or at least, he had been. You didn’t really know where you stood with him now. 

Panic gripped your lungs when you heard hurried footsteps down the hallway and when the door swung open you winced. No yelling ensued and you turned around to see Genya standing in the doorway, gazing over at you with a little frown. 

“Are you sure you’re up to this?” She asked softly as she strode towards you. 

You simply gave her a little nod and you rose to your feet off of the chair and grabbed onto the hand she was now extending for you. She helped you steady yourself and she frowned once, pulling you into a gentle side hug. 

“Okay. The party has already started, I hope you don’t mind. There was a… choreographed display. Of shadow and light.” She explained slowly and then glanced down at you. You knew who she was talking about. Aleksander and Alina.

She gave you a sympathetic smile and you realized your face must have fallen, “I just figured you didn’t want to have to watch them.”

“No, I appreciate it. Thank you, Genya.” You said quietly and then nodded towards the door, “Let’s go. I don’t want to be out long tonight, I don’t think.” You murmured, a frown ever present on your face. 

She nodded just once and whisked you out of your room. The walk from the Little Palace to the Grand Palace was made in comfortable silence and you leaned your head against Genya’s shoulder. She wrapped her arm around your shoulders and gently patted your arm, and you let out a small sigh. As soon as the two of you walked inside of the Grand Palace, you instantly regretted coming to the fete. 

People were crowded around the hallway and spilled out from the room of the event, leaving you hardly any space to breathe. You wrapped both of your arms around Genya’s and you nearly buckled under the wave of nausea that crashed over you. 

Genya slowly pulled away from your side and she grabbed your hand and nodded towards the grand hall, “I’m going to go get a drink. Would you like one?” You nodded idly and she gave your hand a little squeeze, “Okay. Stay here. Don’t get around too many people.” She advised and you nodded again. 

She scurried off hurriedly down the hall and you looked down at your dress. You ran your fingers down the embroidered bodice and you let out a little sigh. You sorely regretted not staying in bed and you looked around at the other partygoers. Some were drunk, others were just boisterous. Most hid their sordidness underneath fine clothes and expensive perfumes. You looked down at your feet and felt guilty for making Genya drag you to the party and you turned to go find her. 

“Y/n!” 

You turned around to see Alina bustling towards you with two guards in tow behind her. You had to blink back the urge to cry when you saw her. She wore a black kefta with yellow and gold embroidery and her hair was done up beautifully. The nausea hit you harder and you held your hand over your stomach instinctively, giving her a terse smile. 

“Hello.” You breathed and leaned back up against the wall behind you. 

“You look beautiful.” She commented sweetly, “Feeling better?” She asked and you gave her a bleary nod. 

“Mhm, so much better.” You mumbled and sucked in a deep breath through your nose. A sharp feeling began to climb the back of your throat and you began to panic. 

“I’m glad to hear, you look so pretty. I’ve missed you readying me.” She admitted and then chuckled nervously. 

One of the guards leaned forward and mumbled something in her ear and she frowned, but nodded. 

“I have to get going. But please, come see me tomorrow.” She pleaded and you gave her a simple nod, your throat and chest beginning to ache and burn all the same. 

The guards urged her forward and everything began to sound as if you were underwater. You stared off absentmindedly after Alina and frowned deeply. Aleksander strode down the hall towards her and his eyes fell upon you. His stern expression seemed to falter a bit when he looked at you and you glanced down at the bundle of flowers he had in his hands. Your eyes filled with tears involuntarily and you watched as he stopped the guards that stood with Alina and he passed her the flowers before he locked eyes with you again. 

Your face burned with shame and sadness and your vision began to blur and shift and you pushed away from the wall dizzily, ignoring the muffled shouts of your name coming from his mouth. You shoved past a few people and gathered the skirts of your dress up in one hand and you rushed down the hallway. You stopped briefly a few times to steady yourself against the wall and you felt a sickening pressure at the back of your throat. You just had to make it back to your room. 

You carried on almost deliriously and you made your way into the nearly totally empty Little Palace. You bustled up the stairs with your hand over your mouth when a sharp cough ripped its way up your throat and you heaved forward, falling to your knees on the stairs as you coughed violently. Tears burned in your eyes and fell down your cheeks helplessly as you spewed the hot, metallic mixture of your blood and bile over your gloved hand. You crawled up the stairs weakly and you pushed yourself to your feet, leaving a bloody smear on the marble floor. You stumbled hurriedly down the hall to your room and you threw your door open as soon as you could. You fell to your knees again and let out a long, sad wail before you were coughing out thorns and petals all over the pristine skirt of your dress. 

The flowery vomit looked even worse tonight, and the blood mixed in with it was darker and there was much more of it. You coughed and heaved and choked on whatever was in your throat until an entire rose bloom came hurtling out of your mouth. You stared down at it shakily and reached out to touch it before you coughed again, much harder this time. Blood flew from your open mouth all over your carpet and your dress and your chin and you cried loudly, lowering yourself to the floor weakly. You reached up shakily to wipe your eyes with the back of your hand and you looked around at the bloody mess you had made and you whimpered. 

You thought about Aleksander again as you coughed more, your chest feeling as if it was going to collapse at any moment. You missed him.  You desperately wished it was you that he gave his affections to. You loved him. It became impossibly hard to breathe and you could see black spots dancing in your vision and you could swear you heard him calling out for you; Something so bittersweet that brought you so much comfort as you laid in a mess of your own blood and shredded flower petals. Your heart pounded against your chest and you could feel cold exhaustion climbing up around your mind. You could still hear his voice, closer now. You weren’t sure if you were ready to die, but at least you could try and make peace with it. You drew in a labored breath and then found yourself gasping in fear as you felt two hands grip your arms. 

You were yanked up against somebody and you slowly looked upwards to see Aleksander kneeling over you, holding you against his chest. 

“Say something, dammit!” He ordered, but his voice sounded far away. 

You tried to speak his name but your chest seemed to collapse in on itself and you turned your head to cough away from him, not wanting to get any blood on him. As soon as you finished coughing, he gripped your chin and turned your head towards his and he stared down at you wildly. 

“Y/n, I really, really need you to say something.” He pleaded and you weren’t sure if you were imagining the glint of unshed tears in his eyes or not. 

You let out another wail and you tried to push away from him, but his arms were like steel around you and you were too weak to even attempt to get away from him, so you resigned to crying in his arms. 

“Aleksander.” You wheezed and weakly grabbed onto the lapel of his kefta. 

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?” He demanded and cradled you gently against his chest. 

“You don’t care!” You cried, finding your very, very weak voice suddenly. 

“I do care!” 

“You don’t! You just care about Alina, you want Alina, you need Alina, you’re in love with Alina. You don’t care, and I don’t expect you to. Why should you? It’s my own miserable fault for falling in love with you.” You sobbed and felt as if you were going to vomit again. 

Aleksander didn’t say a single word. Instead, he leaned down until his forehead was touching yours and he nudged his nose against yours just slightly. You fought to get away from him, but he didn’t allow you to move. He shushed you softly as you cried and attempted to get as far away from him as possible and you sobbed, grabbing at his wrists.

“Stop! Please just leave me alone! I can’t take this.” You cried and hit his chest, but he still didn’t move. 

Tears rolled down your cheeks and you sniffled and eventually stopped trying to get away from him. He seemed to want to make it hard for you until your bitter end. One of his hands was gently moving through your hair as it had many nights ago and you whimpered, a sound that broke his heart. 

“I care. More than you know, little love.” He murmured and kept his forehead pressed against yours, “You think I don’t care? How could I not? You are so special to me.”

You cried and subconsciously leaned into his touch as he ran his fingers through your hair. 

“Please stop.” You begged. You wanted to cover your ears. 

“Stop what? Do you not want to hear how I care? How I feel ashamed of myself for making you feel as if I don’t? Do you not want to hear about how in love with you I am?” He asked in a whisper and you froze. His hand continued to sweep through your hair and you let out a loud cry and struggled against his arms as he lifted his forehead away from yours. 

“You’re lying.” You sobbed and brought your hands up to your face as you cried into them. 

“I’d never lie to you about something like this.” He insisted softly. 

“You are lying.” 

“How can you accuse me of that?” He asked, his tone incredulous. 

“Because I’m dying! I’m dying and you know it’s what I want to hear!” You argued, but you let your head fall against his chest nonetheless. 

“I don’t lie. I’ve never lied to you. Saints, you’re inconsolable. I have my own reasons for getting close to Alina, but none of them are even close to being because I’m in love with her. No, my love is saved for you and you alone.” He murmured, “I have loved you for years. Ages. For so long, hoping and praying that perhaps you’d see me in the same light one day. I never wished for it to be like this.” He finished, voice breaking just slightly at the end. 

You felt the tightness in your chest ease up just a little bit and you pulled your head away from his chest so that you could look up at him, only to find him already gazing down at you. You studied his face for any sign that he might be lying to you and when you found none you leaned your head against the side of his arm. You weakly nuzzled your cheek against it and you could hear him let out a long sigh. 

“Are you going to tell me what is wrong with you? Or are you just going to leave that to my Healer relaying information to me?” He asked and you shrugged once, more pressure leaving your chest. 

You let out a pathetic sounding sigh and you clung to him as if someone was going to take him from you and you quietly began to explain your condition to him, leaving little to nothing out. When you finished, the silence around the two of you was painful and you looked up at his face. He seemed angry and he seemed as if he was going to cry, but he looked down and met your eyes, and everything on his face melted into sadness. 

“I did this to you?” He asked quietly and you shook your head. 

“You couldn’t possibly have known. I mean, I didn’t. None of us did until Genya found it in a book.” You murmured and he gathered you entirely against his chest. 

“I’m so, so sorry.” He breathed, his voice practically trembling. 

“No, please. Don’t be sorry. It’s okay, everything is okay now.” You said hoarsely and he shook his head once but didn’t argue further. 

He stayed quiet for a moment before he sniffled and then slowly rose to his feet, pulling you with him, “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah? And then you can lay in my room.” He suggested quietly. 

“Okay.” You whispered, leaning against him entirely.

-

You sat in Aleksander’s bed an hour or two later, wrapped in a few thick blankets. You watched him scurry around his room as he tried to ready himself for bed and you smiled affectionately. After a moment he turned to you and let out a small sigh.

“What are you smiling at? You should be sleeping.” 

“Can’t. Not without you.” You murmured and he blew out a few candles in the room before he came and crawled into bed next to you, his arms snaking around your waist. He tugged you against his chest protectively and he let out a long sigh. 

Your damp hair was splayed out over the pillow behind your head and you pushed it away from him, clearing a little space for his head on your pillow. He took the hint and scooted his face closer to yours and he nudged his nose against yours a few times. 

“You looked so beautiful tonight. In the hallway. In your pretty dress. I think pink might be your color now.” He said sweetly and you shook your head, leaning in to peck his lips a few times. 

He took the opportunity to capture your lips in a deep, long kiss and finally when the two of you were properly breathless, you pulled away and shook your head. 

“Forget pink. Black looks nicer on me, anyway .”

[dearmantis]

Back from the dead

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/The Darkling x Reader

Summary: As a new servant hired to help out in the Little Palace you have a bit of trouble finding your place in the new, unfamiliar environment. It doesn't help that some of the people there seem to know you.

Warnings: mentions of death/dying alone, bleeding out

Word Count: 4k

Authors' Note: I have written something. Congrats to me. I'm not sure if I like it. This isn't edited and I'm not a native English speaker.

"Who is this for? There's no name." You ask with a frown, holding up the dark brown wooden hanger. Usually, the clothes you're supposed to deliver to the Grisha have their name and order on the hanger, but this one is empty.

The other servant in the room with you, Mira, who is currently busy hanging the Kefta of a Tidemaker onto a dark blue hanger, looks up, eyes scanning the wood before her face contorts into a grimace.

"That's for Baghra. She prefers to wash her clothes herself, but once a month, the General asks us to steal her clothes and wash and repair them. Small warning: she's probably going to yell at you when you give them back."

You pull your eyebrows together, a deep wrinkle forming between them. "Wouldn't it make sense to just put them in front of her house in a basket or something instead of giving them to her personally? Or waiting until she's out again to bring them back inside?"

Mira shakes her head quickly. The movement makes her hair look like the most expensive black satin available.

"She has definitely noticed that someone took her clothes while she was out training the kids. She's waiting for someone to return them to let out some of her anger. There's no way Baghra is leaving her house until her clothes are back and she got to verbally abuse someone. I'm sorry."

Her attention goes back to the Tidemakers kefta, her long fingered hands carefully smoothing any wrinkles out of the material while her gaze checks the clothing item for any loose threads before hanging it up on the clothing rack next to her and moving onto the next item, a cream coloured cotton blouse with some beautifully carved wooden buttons.

Your hands dig slightly into the dark fabric of the dress you're holding, trying to determine if Mira is just trying to mess with you for fun or if she's seriously trying to warn you. You've only started working in the Little Palace a week ago and rumours about Baghra quickly found your ears as well, but you foolishly assumed that you would never have to interact with her after finding out that she usually only terrorizes the kitchen staff who bring her her meals.

Carefully looking through the other clothing racks for other dark brown, unnamed hangers, you end up with eight items before you finally leave the room, Miras "good luck!" following you through the halls like a death sentence as you move to leave the Little Palace.

You want to get this done quickly, trying your hardest to talk some bravery into yourself. Getting insulted by the old woman is basically a rite of passage according to some of the things you've heard over the past few days, like getting scared to death by the General or one of his Oprichniki randomly appearing behind you, getting into a fight with a servant from the Grand Palace after they said something mean about the Little Palace, and slipping on the stairs that lead to the kitchens.

You will survive this. Many have survived this before you, and many will continue to survive this after you.

The sun is slowly disappearing behind the palace, dipping the sky into a lovely shade of bright orange, pink, purple and grey-ish blue, reminding you that you will probably be done with work soon after this delivery. You will eat dinner with the other servants, who will probably want to gossip about Baghra with you, and then you will go to sleep for the night. It'll be a nice day, maybe, after you're back.

And then a new day will begin, and hopefully, someone else will be tasked with bringing her clothes back next month.

Of course, there's still the risk of being asked to steal her clothes, but you'll simply try to avoid joining the group scheduled to collect dirty laundry, at least when it's time to sneak into her house.

You've never been a fast runner, and you can't run for long either. She would catch you and beat you to death with that stick you've heard so much about before you even realise that she noticed someone breaking in.

When the house finally becomes visible, you can feel your muscles stiffen, but you force yourself to keep going. This is your job, after all. It's already a big miracle that you got this position in the first place, considering you have no training or experience as a servant. You really can't afford to run back into the palace and cry that you're too scared of the old woman to bring her her clothes.

And saints, what if she finds out you're that scared of her? Your mother always said that people only bully you to get a reaction out of you. They find the fear in your eyes amusing.

And that's what the old woman is, right? A big, old bully who kicks the children she's supposed to train around like pebbles and verbally abuses everyone who gets a bit too close to her.

You can't be weak in front of her. You won't be weak in front of her.

You can't see the woman, but you know she's waiting. You can feel her, somehow. She's lingering in that house, waiting for you to step closer, for your shadow to come just a bit too close to her door, and then she'll rip it open before you get a chance to knock to scare you as much as possible.

It's predictable, simple, and childish, and for some reason, it feels exactly like something Baghra would do. Which is weird because you don't actually know her. You've only heard what the servants and Grisha have gossiped about in the halls of the Little Palace.

But you feel like you've known her. Back when... when you were a child, maybe? No. You grew up in a village so small that the testers don't even bother to go there anymore. You would remember a woman like Baghra, just like you remember everyone else who has ever lived in the village.

Readjusting your hold on the old woman's clothes, you finally get close to the house and take a deep breath, waiting for her to rip the door open. Your steps become heavier and slower a few metres away from the door, hopefully catching her attention before she slams it right into your face.

The plan works. When the door gets thrown open, it misses you by two whole steps. You only feel a bit of air move against your face when an older woman steps out of her home, her dark eyes focused on the clothes bundled up in your arms.

Her thin lips open, ready to begin her verbal attack and insult and ridicule everything about you, when her eyes finally move up to your face.

The words get stuck in her throat and she simply stares at you for a few seconds, eyebrows pulling together as she looks you over.

"I have your fresh laundry, Miss." You announce, trying to make your voice sound as even and calm as possible.

She. doesn't. scare. you.

You might be scaring her a bit though.

A deep frown appears on her face, quickly turning into a scowl when you hold the clothes out to her.

"Did he hide you from me for all this time? Or did you hide yourself from both of us and decided to come back because he has more power now?"

Now it's your turn to frown, confusion written all over your face.

Baghra rolls her eyes, clearly already tired of you and whatever game she thinks you're playing. You try to prepare yourself for some other speech, some explanation of whatever she believes is your plan, but then she says your name, the name you've never given her, and any form of control you had over your body seeps out of it like water through a cheese cloth.

"You supid child. Faces reappear through history, and so do voices. But both? Together? And exactly the same as the first time? Impossible. I'm not gonna fall for your schemes. Take what you need and leave before he sees you. I don't need to hear his pathetic sobbing again. I had enough of that when you first died."

Her thin arms reach out to rip the clothes out of your graps before she moves to return into her house.

"Or, well, didn't die." the old woman murmurs, her gaze finding yours once more. "You really should just stay dead."

Slamming the door shut behind her, she leaves you to stand in front of her house, completely speechless.

What just happened? What was that?

You slowly turn around and walk back to the Little Palace, unable to tell if you can actually feel Baghras eyes following you, her gaze burning itself into your back, or if its a wave of paranoia making you think that that's what's happening.

Of course you're scared. Someone who's not supposed to know your name knows your name. Nobody knows a servants name – except other servants, of course – because no one ever bothers to learn their names. That's just how it is. You're background characters who clean up and take care of the main characters. Nobody learns the name of a background character because they don't matter.

You don't matter.

But why does Baghra know? The only explanation you can come up with is that she harassed some other servant to find out everything about the new servants in hopes of scaring the absolute shit out of them. But why bother with that? For fun? Is she that bored?

Huffing quietly, you slip back into the Little Palace and go back into the basement, simply letting out a deep sigh when Mira asks you how it went. She smiles encouragingly and promises you to give you half of her desert at dinner tonight in hopes of cheering you up a bit.

You have trouble sleeping that night, and it doesn't get better the next night, or the one after that. Instead, you dream more vividly than ever before, waking up completely exhausted rather than well rested like you should be after six to eight hours of sleep.

You never remember what you dreamed about.

"You didn't have to..." You say quietly, carefully cradeling the fresh herbs.

"Well, if you don't want them-" The man playfully reaches out to take the bundles back, but you move them out of his grasp quickly, accompanied by a bright laugh. "Come on, I can give them to someone else. I bet my mother would appreciate them."

"You are not going to re-gift these, Sasha! They're mine now." You giggle. "I have some flowers you could bring your mother though! I doubt she's going to openly appreciate them, but she might like them. You know, in her own way."

He smiles and takes a slow step forward, his face hovering directly over yours.

"I will bring them to her later. Right now, I just want to focus on you."

A soft smile paints itself onto your lips and you wait for him to lean down and press a kiss against them.

Your laugh echoes loudly through the house when he finally catches up to you, his arms wrapping tightly around you.

"Caught you," He huffs, his head bending down to lean against yours. Your hands move to his, holding onto them tightly as you let yourself sink down onto the soft carpet in your living room, pulling the man down with you. He sits down before you get the chance to, pulling you onto his lap, his lips pressing small kisses onto your shoulder and neck.

You lean back against his chest and soak up the warmth his body gives off. "It's not fair. Your legs are longer than mine. Of course you're faster than me."

"You were the one who suddenly ran off and yelled you'll have to catch me first! when I asked you for a simple goodbye kiss." The man laughs, and you can feel how the amusement and joy you felt before disappear slowly.

"I don't want you to go, Sasha."

You don't like admitting it. It makes you feel weak. A voice in the back of your mind whispers that he would never miss you the way you miss him. It sounds a bit too much like his mother, and you wonder when your inner voice of self-doubt started copying her voice. Since when do you even care what she thinks?

"I know, lapushka... But I'll be back soon, I promise. It'll be fine. You won't even notice I'm gone. Everything will be alright. I would never let anything happen to you, I swear it."

You can't hear anything.

You can't tell if it's actually that quiet or if your body is starting to give up and you lost your hearing. Hopefully, it's just silent. It would be a shame if you could never hear Aleksanders voice again.

But silence isn't good either, you think. There are supposed to be screams around you. If they stopped screaming, that means they're dead. That means you're next.

But you can't be next. Aleksander isn't here yet, and he promised he would be back. He promised, and he never breaks his promises.

He has to come back. He swore he would make sure you would be safe, and while you told him that that's a stupid and impossible thing to promise someone, you did believe him when he said it.

But where is he?

How are you supposed to keep your own promise if he's not here to save you?

You said you wouldn't leave him behind, but you can't keep that if they burn you. You're not strong enough to withstand flames and endless torture. No one is.

It's shocking how bad he is at cooking. He's completely devoid of any talent.

Sure, simple broths and soups are no issue, but as soon as the recipe requires a bit more thought, he is suddenly helpless.

Of course you would never tell him that. Not when he always tries so hard to help you, eyes wide and pleading as he begs you to let him take over some of the work.

"Please. I promise I won't mess up."

He always does, but you love him anyway.

He is a fantastic baker though. Every loaf of bread he works on, every cookie and every cake, turns into something perfect. As soon as sugar is involved, he suddenly becomes the most gifted man in all of Ravka.

Probably because he doesn't want to waste precious sugar, no matter what shape it comes in. Honey, fruit, berries, it doesn't matter. If it's sweet he loves it. That's just how he is.

He has a big smile on his lips when he shows you the freshly baked loaf of bread he worked on that day, already talking about what he's going to pair it with later when it's finally cooled down.

You know you should tell him not to eat so much sugar, to instead pair the bread with some of the cheese you still have in the house, but his smile is such a rare sight nowadays. You can't bring yourself to ruin his good mood.

Your head is resting on his chest, ear pressed against his skin to listen to his resting heartbeat. His face is relaxed.

He looks younger like this. Every time he is awake he looks and acts like the fate of the whole world rests on his shoulders, but when he's stuck in the world of dreams he is completely calm.

He looks like the boy he was never really allowed to be.

You're glad that he managed to find rest relatively quickly considering how outraged he was after his fight with his mother just an hour before, his loud voice booming through the small abandoned house you're hiding in.

"Who does she think she is to keep trying to force her opinions down my throat? I don't care about what she thinks. I get to choose who I want to spend my life with. She has no say in this. She doesn't even know you! You would never leave me, right?"

A quiet mumble leaves his lips, his arms moving to wrap around you, pressing you closer to him before he rolls to his side and presses his face against the space between your neck and shoulder, his warm breath brushing over your skin and pulling you out of your thoughts.

You try your hardest not to flinch at the sensation, no matter how much it tickles you. Instead you start to brush your hands through his hair, carefully massaging his scalp with your fingernails. His body tenses slightly, just for a few seconds, before he fully relaxes again, letting out a content sigh that sounds suspiciously like your name.

Smiling weakly you press a kiss onto his neck before closing your eyes as well.

"I promise that I won't leave you behind. I'll stay with you until the end of time if you let me. I swear it, Sasha."

Baghra is oddly possessive of her son considering she clearly doesn't like him.

That's the only thing you can think about as you watch her fuss over the boy she has tried so hard to keep hidden from the rest of the small Grisha village.

You want to talk to him. Everyone your age wants to talk to him. There aren't many teens in the village and while you all like each other, you're getting a bit sick of each other as well. Having someone new here to talk and play with could help soften the rising tension.

But that woman... she just shoos you all away as soon as you get too close to her precious son. You can't help but notice that he doesn't seem particularly happy about her behavior either.

He always looks so sad when he watches you and the other play and train, desperate to join you and have some fun instead of helping his mother wash dishes and fix clothes.

Most people would've fought back at some point, would've tried to defend themselves against their mother, but he just sits there and takes it as she scolds him over something stupid again. It's always something stupid, and he just listens to her words with that sad look in his eyes before his gaze begins to wander in hopes of finding something else to focus on, his face flushing from embarrassment.

This time his gaze find you, and even from several metres away you can see how his ears turn red. You try to give him an encouraging smile, but his attention snaps back to his mother before he can see it.

You really need to get him away from her, at least for one night. Maybe you could convince him that you could hunt together or something. He deserves some normal interactions without his mother hovering around him like a bird of prey.

There are screams again, and you're almost glad. Almost.

It's cold now, and it keeps getting colder with all of the blood seeping out of your body, stealing all of the warmth from your limbs and spreading it on the dusty stone floor you're laying on.

You're not sure if its just the exhaustion making you hallucinate or if the shadows are truly moving in your little cell. It would make sense. Aleksander always draws pictures and scenes onto the walls or floor when you can't sleep. Nothing relaxes you more nowadays, except maybe his voice and touch. If your body wants you to stay relaxed as you slowly die, it would probably show you that, right?

You can feel how your powers try to put your body back together. The familiar, almost tingling sensation spreads all over your body, but the blood is still seeping out of you like a small river.

You will die here, you realise. Aleksander hasn't come back and you will die, leaving him behind. He will be on his own again.

You both broke your promise.

Your mind feels like a glass bottle, ready to burst at any moment. You feel fragile and weak, disoriented and somehow... misplaced. You're not where you're supposed to be and you don't know how to get back to your original position.

Where do you belong?

Your physical health deteriorates further as well, alongside your mental health. You're often confused and lost, and your body never stops shaking, forcing you to wear the long, three coloured scarf you used to wear back when you still lived on your families little farm. It's against the uniform guidelines, but no one ever says anything because of how pitiful you look.

Mira compares you to her little siblings a lot, which is always followed by a sad sigh. Both of them are sick, which is why she works at the Little Palace, so far away from home. She sends the money she makes home to make sure they get the medicine they need, and now she takes care of you, giving you easy tasks like repairing small tears in clothes, sowing buttons back on and, of course, bringing the clothes back to their original owners.

You're never asked to go to Baghras hut again though.

"It would just exhaust you more, and you already look like you can barely stand. I don't want you to collapse."

That is Miras' official explanation when you asked why she didn't want you to go, but you're starting to question that reasoning now. If she really wanted to protect you from fainting, why did she send you to bring the General his clothes?

That seems a lot more exciting than being yelled at by the old woman again.

The basket filled with his clothes is also quite heavy and hard to hold with your sweaty palms, a lot harder than the eight hangers that you could simply hug against your body, letting the clothes drape over your crossed arms.

But you really don't want to tell Mira that you don't want to bring him his clothes. It's already embarrassing enough that you are officially no longer allowed to bring clothes to Baghra because of your illness. If you now say you can't bring the General of the Second Army his stupid socks, you might as well resign from your position and go back to your families farm in the middle of nowhere.

He's probably not even in his office. He's a busy man, after all. You will just swoop in, place his laundry basket on the floor next to the door, and take the basket with his dirty laundry back to be cleaned.

A simple job. You're scared for no reason. And even if he is there, he never interacts with the servants. You haven't seen him once since you started working in the Little Palace, and you know several other servants who have been here for longer and have never seen him either.

It'll be fine.

You repeat those words to yourself over and over until you finally see the dark, beautifully carved wooden doors that lead to the Darklings quarters.

The oprichniki standing in front of them eye you suspiciously, but they knock and open the door for you anyways, stepping aside to let you in.

They close the door behind you as soon as you're inside, and your gaze automatically swoops up to the man sitting at the desk at the other end of the room. You planned to just drop the basket off and get the dirty one, but now that you're actually here and in front of the General, you can't bring yourself to move.

There's a tingling sensation at the back of your neck, like your brain is trying to dig up a memory that isn't there anymore. Like you've seen this man before, but you don't remember where.

He's bent over his desk, his dark eyes reading through a thick, several pages long letter, paying you no attention while you shamelessly stare and try to remember where you could've possibly seen him.

He has definitely never been to your village. He is the Darkling.

A sigh leaves his lips after a few agonizing seconds, but he does not look up.

You're starting to get a headache now. The bottle feels like it's going to burst.

"Drop the basket off at the door. The dirty laundry is in my bedroom. Simply go through the door on the right and you'll find it."

You take a step backwards, your back hitting the door as you try your hardest not to drop the basket. There is a name right on the tip of your tongue, demanding you speak it into the silence lingering in the room.

The headache is now a sharp pain, right at the base of your skull. It feels almost like a warning. Like your body is begging you not to say it. To simply get the laundry and leave and never come back. To not let the botte burst.

"Aleksander?"

He looks up, eyes widening when his gaze finds your face. He whispers your name so quietly you almost miss it.

The bottle bursts.

[simp2537]

Masterlist

🔥-Smut 🧨-Angst

🩹-Hurt/Comfort 🧸-Fluff

🫶🏻-Yandere

🗝️-Dark/Darkish Aleksander Morozova

Series

Moon Helios: Y/n Starkov a legendary warrior, fierce protecter and monster. Bred and broken in servitude to her saint. She knows nothing but her mission in life. To live, and die at her saint’s command. Aleksander Morozova the most powerful of the grisha, a monster. A general who has been fighting alone for hundreds of years. She hates him, he needs her. 🔥🧨🩹🧸🗝️

Series trigger warnings: Child abuse, anxiety, religious trauma, racism, manipulation, division of canon, Alina hate?, trauma, ptsd, bullying, insomnia, self-neglect, mental health issues, guilt tripping, cult theme, blood consumption, cannibalism?? Lost of murder, talks of SA in other characters, Sexual acts, future smut, predatory behavior(not from Aleks) and all other shadow and bone stuff

Act I : Face Claims Act l : Prologue Act l : The academy Act I : Burn Marks Act I : Where’s my epic background music Act I : Necklace for a Lifetime Act I : The Motherland Act I : A Helios is Born

Series Blurs

I Have a Dream

Oneshots

Marking (Aleksander Morozova x fem!reader) 🔥 Touch her and die (Aleksander Morozova x fem!reader) 🩹🧨 Scars (Aleksander Morozova x wife reader)🧨🩹 Tension (Aleksander Morozova x fem!reader)🔥

Harry Potter

Series

N/a

Oneshots

A Miracle (Mattheo Riddle x pregnant!reader) 🩹 A Fathers love (Matthe Riddle x wife!reader)🩹🧸🧨 Reunion (King!Siris Black x fem!reader)🩹🧸

John Wick

Series

Pupllis: She was a weapon from birth. Born and bred to kill for the high table. John Wick a legendary assassin who knew more fame than any. She was a gift to him, he didn’t want to keep her. As there time together passes and they learn to care for one anyone the High Table comes for them. platonic! John wick x child!fem! Reader.🩹🧨🔥🗝️🧸 (Smut is not with John but future Oc)

Chapters One

Oneshots

N/a

My Hero Academia

Series

The Final Alice: Aizawa never wanted to be a father but that plan was thrown away when he found a girl during a mission. This girl was like no child he’d ever seen before. As she grew her power and background remained a mystery. How will her life turn when she meets a charming red head with sharp teeth and an explosive blonde. platonic!Aizawa x daughter!reader, KiriBaku x fem!reader.🧨🩹🔥🧸

Help Pick A Hero Name Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter EightChapter Nine Chapter Ten

Oneshots

N/a

Narnia

Series

From the Stars : A star fairy and the prince of the kingdom that destroyed hers. What could happen? Prince Caspian x fem!reader🧨🧨🧨🔥🩹

Sneak Peak

Oneshots

Yandere Prince Caspian x reader headcannons🫶🏻 Something New (King Caspian x wife reader) 🔥

Percy Jackson

Series

N/a

Oneshots

Runaway (Percy Jackson x gn!reader)🧨🧨🩹🫶🏻🗝️ Misery is the Truest way of Love (Yandere Pereabeth x gn!reader)🫶🏻🧨🗝️ Lovers Quarrel (Pereabeth x gn!reader)🧨🩹 Stage Lovers (Yandere Perceabth x male!reader) 🧨🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🗝️

Blurs

Bottom Percy 🔥

Winx Club

Series

Fairy of Monsters : Alastaria the forgotten sister of Bloom. She slowly begins to unravel her true nature, thread by thread. How will she survive the many trials of her life. Sky of Eraklyon x Oc. Dark Winx Club fix.🩹🧨🗝️

Chapters one : Advesperascit  Chapter two : Monochopsis Chapter three : Kalopsia

Oneshots

N/a

The 100

Series

Project SS: It stared as an idea. Take a dying child and infect them with the SS serum. These children would be raised in isolation, to be the future soldiers for the ark, then earth.

Most died out over time.

Not her, Not Y/n Kane. The only child of Marcus Kane and his wife Alice Kane. After her birth, born with a weak heart Alice Kane decided to give her to the scientists that were working on the project.

Forging her husband’s signature upon the document Alice Kane was sentenced to death. The deal though and Y/n Kane became the most deadly of the super soldiers.

When protecting a friend she finds herself in a cell. Then in her way to earth with the rest of the 100. How will her love continue knowing she’s just puppet to be controlled. Will she grow out of such a horrible situation and blossom with the help of her friends and loved ones. Or will she fall so deep into her created identity that there is no hope. Bellamy Blake x fem!reader.🔥🧨🩹🗝️

Sneak Peak Chapter One Chapter Two

Dead Boy Detectives

Series

Scylla: She’s a half-breed mutt and he’s a crow. She was trapped in hell for hundreds of years before she met a teenage ghost who helped her escape. They later met another boy who would soon die and join there friendship. The group created the Dead Boy Detective Agency. Later as their classes become more difficult pieces of her life before her friends is slowly revealed. What should happen when she met and falls deeply and helplessly in love with an enemy crow. 🔥🧨🩹

Sneak peek Cast Chapter One Chapter Two

Oneshots

Poly Crystal Palace x mermaid reader x Niko Sasaki🧸

Request list/Requests are Open

[thebadgerclan]

The Price

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x reader

Summary: Merzost always demands a price...

And so the fix-it fics begin 😂

You knew merzost always had a price, your mother-in-law had told you as much, but you’d never expected this.  Handkerchiefs soaked with blood from Aleksander’s incessant coughing, his moans of agony from the pain that felt like it could split his head in two.  Yes, merzost had a price, and your husband was paying it.  He’d tried the usual remedies, the tried and true otkazat’sya methods that usually worked.  But these were no ordinary headaches, he knew that, and no ordinary remedies could fix them.

There was an Alkemi living at the sanctuary, Vladim, who Aleksander thought could help him.  You’d been at his side when he sought him out, confessing his plight.  “I have…pain,” he’d said.  “Pain that splits the head.”  Vladim had offered to concoct a serum for your husband, a temporary solution.  The fool had suggested reversing Aleksander’s creation of his nichevo’ya, though you knew that was all but impossible, which had sent your husband’s heart pounding with rage.

But Vladim had made the serum and given it to Aleksander, still warning that its effects would be temporary.  When you found him hunched over, a red-stained cloth pressed to his lips, you gently tipped the tonic down his throat, waiting for it to take effect.  It didn't work.  It might as well have been water Vladim had put in that vial, for Aleksander still coughed violently, blood still trickled from his mouth.  “Y/N,” he whimpered, looking at you with tears in his eyes.  “Y/N, it..it still hurts.”

“I know, darling,” you said, doing your best to soothe him.  “I’m sorry, I know it hurts.”  You felt the nichevo’ya writhing around you, invisible, but feeding off of Aleksander’s pain.  But they would never hurt you, they could never hurt you.  “They obey my will,” your husband had told you.  “And I would never will anything to harm you.”  When he coughed again, you gently wiped the blood from his lip, laying your palm on his cheek.

“I’m going to speak with Vladim,” you said, easing Aleksander from the chair before the fireplace and leading him to bed.  “Try to rest, my darling.  I’ll be back soon.”  Aleksander didn’t answer, but you felt his heart skip a beat when you kissed his forehead.  As soon as you were outside of the rooms you’d claimed, you let anger fill you, anger and fear.  Grisha hurried to get out of your way as you strode down the hallways, and when you arrived at the Alkemi’s workshop, you threw the door open.

Baghra looked at you through the bars of her cage.  “Well, if it isn’t my darling daughter-in-law.”  “Quiet, woman,” you snapped.  “Where’s Vladim?”  “H-here, moya soverennyi,” he replied, entering the room.  “What can I do for you?”  “It isn’t working,” you said, rounding the table to stand before him.  “The serum, it isn’t working.  The pain hasn’t decreased and he’s still coughing up blood.”  The Alkemi fidgeted with a loose thread on his cuff.  “I…I did inform the General that its effects would be temporary, but I-” “It hasn’t worked at all!” you shouted.  “My husband is in agony, and you have been of absolutely no help.”

“I’m sorry,” Vladim said.  “I’m working as hard as I can to improve the tonic, but without being able to study merzost, it is extremely difficult.”  You stepped closer, making the Alkemi cower before you.  “Work harder,” you said, voice low.  “If our General is not at his strongest, we will not win this war.”  “O-of course, moya soverennyi.  But…if I might suggest something?”  Your temper flared, and you willed it down, willed yourself to be calm.  “What?”

“The General used merzost to prolong your life, did he not?”  “How do you know that?” you asked, but a glance at the old woman in the corner answered your question.  “Yes, he did.  Why?”  “Well,” Vladim continued.  “I believe the only way to control merzost is with more merzost.  And you are already a very powerful Heartrender.  So if you were to attempt to alleviate his pain, perhaps that would work.”  You swore under your breath; why hadn’t you thought of that?  Genya had tried, and failed, to heal his scars, but she was nowhere near as powerful as you…

“Don’t think this means you can stop working on the serum,” you said as you turned and left his workshop, hurrying back to your husband.  When you entered your rooms, you found him curled in on himself, his breathing shallow, his heart racing.  “Aleksander, my love?” you said gently, perching on the edge of the bed.  “Y/N,” was all he managed to say, the pain was so great.  Hurriedly, you stripped off your kefta and slid beneath the covers, opening your arms.

Though it pained him greatly, Aleksander moved into your embrace, gritting his teeth so he wouldn’t cry out.  “Vladim told me that I might be able to ease your pain,” you whispered, and your husband nodded, willing to try anything to stop the ache in his skull.  Breathing deeply, you folded your hands, focusing on Aleksander’s heartbeat, the blood flowing through his veins, the neurons firing in his brain.  You crooked your fingers, seeking out the part of the brain responsible for feeling pain, and after a moment, you shut it down.

Aleksander gasped, lifting his face from where it was buried in your chest.  “Did you…?”  “Yes,” you responded, smiling softly.  “How do you feel?”  The pain was gone, not even dulled or numbed, but gone.  His lungs felt clear, his throat felt soothed.  “I feel perfect.  Thank you, my love.”  You gently pressed your lips to his, feeling his heart slow, his blood pressure drop, his muscles relax.  “You never have to thank me, Aleksander.  I would do anything for you.”

“And I for you,” he replied, bringing a hand to your face, gently stroking your cheek bone.  “I love you so much, moya malyshka,” he whispered, wrapping his other arm around your waist.  “I love you too, Sasha.  Vladim’s still working on the tonic, but for now, I should be able to help you get some rest.”  Aleksander nodded, already falling asleep now that he could properly rest.  You remained awake through the night, ensuring your husband felt no pain and that he was able to get the rest he desperately needed.

[marvelmusing]

Just for Tonight

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Fem!Reader

Summary: After a long day of work, you manage to convince Aleksander to put his papers aside with the promise of a bath.

Warnings [18+]: smut, cockwarming, bath tub sex, fingering, the tiniest hint of choking, a smidge of pain kink

My Masterlist

“Aleksander.”

“No.”

He hears the small huff leave your lips as you pout at him. His back is to you, but he can sense your reaction as he reads over the missive he’s been writing.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say,” you argue.

“I do. You were going to try and convince me to come to bed.”

He runs a hand over his face, momentarily accepting his own tiredness before he pushes it aside and continues writing.

“No I wasn’t.”

He hums, unconvinced by your words though the flow of his pen against paper slows as your hands trace over his shoulders, sliding down his chest.

“I was just coming to tell you that there’s a warm bath waiting for you.”

Turning his head slightly to glance at you, he raises a brow in surprise.

“A bath?”

You nod slowly with a soft hum of confirmation.

“You work too hard, Sasha.”

His lips part, ready to justify his late hours, never ending piles of papers, and journeys throughout Ravka. But you beat him to it.

“I know,” you whisper tenderly, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “I know why, but I still hate to see you so burnt out.”

Aleksander’s heart flutters in his chest as you nuzzle your nose affectionately against his cheek before you leave a trail of kisses along his jawline. As always, he shivers under your touch, deprived of such tenderness for centuries.

“Let me take of you - just for tonight at least.”

He shouldn’t relent. There are far too many things for him to complete. Drafts to finalise. Missives to send. Orders to hand out.

To the world he is the unflappable General, the Darkling with an immense power crawling beneath his skin waiting to be unleashed. But with you he is only Aleksander. He is a man who wants to be wanted. He wants to belong.

He nods.

“Just for tonight.”

Like candle wax, he melts under the warmth of your touch and the adoration in your eyes.

With gentle coaxing, you remove the pen from his fingers, slotting it away and taking his hands in your own. Hands that have been cruel and deadly, crafted for destruction. Yet with your touch they are light, the weight of his sins removed by your tenderness.

After blowing out the candles in his study, you guide him through the bedroom you share, into the steam-filled bathroom. Aleksander hadn’t realised how cold his study had been and the sudden warmth sends a shiver over his skin.

Threading a hand through the hair at the nape of his neck, you urge him closer, burying yourself against his chest as your lips meet. The kiss is slow, one of your hands slipping under his kefta, travelling over his chest before you reach the spot where his neck and shoulder meet, squeezing the muscle there gently.

He groans as you work your fingertips against the sore muscle, easing at a tension previously unnoticed by him as he had worked.

When you break away from his lips, both of you breathless, you take the opportunity to slip his kefta from his shoulders. The heavy fabric drops quickly onto the tiled floor.

The metal clasps at the front of his tunic come undone easily enough revealing the white undershirt and dark breeches attached to his trousers. When he tugs his breeches from his shoulders, you raise a brow at him, discarding his tunic onto the floor so that you can continue to undress him yourself.

Aleksander doesn’t lift a single finger.

There’s an unusual intimacy to it, as you lift his shirt over his head, tossing it away to shift your focus onto his lower half.

The breath catches in his throat as you kneel in front of him, eyes innocently focused on unlacing his boots. Obediently, Aleksander lifts each foot once you have loosened the leather away from his ankles, sliding his boots off and tucking them neatly next to the cabinet beside you.

He watches your fingers as you slide the leather of his belt from around his waist, curling it up and placing it on the cabinet. His heart pounds heavily with want and you smile with a knowing sparkle in your eyes.

Slowly, you undo the button at the top of his trousers, sliding down the zipper before allowing the fabric to drop down, pooling at his feet. At the sight of his erection, straining against his underwear your gaze turns into something sheepish.

Flustered by the topic but still focused on his comfort, you gesture lightly towards his bulge and ask in a wavering voice,

“Do you want to-”

“Will you join me?” he asks.

At that moment, he tugs down his underwear, casting the dark fabric onto the floor with the rest of his clothes. He smirks when your eyes fix on his cock which he begins to stroke lazily, enjoying the sight of you so flustered.

This is far from the first time you’ve seen him naked, but he suspects your flushed state has something to do with the fact that he has derailed your initial plan of providing him with a relaxing evening.

“In the bath tub?” you ask quietly, an adorable frown creasing at your brows as you no doubt attempt to figure out the logistics of him taking you against the slippery sides of porcelain.

He breathes out a small laugh before he suggests in a low voice,

“I could sit you in my lap, and slide my cock inside you, while you wash my hair.”

When your eyes flutter closed momentarily, Aleksander knows he has you. The nod you give him is wide eyed which he mimics with a teasing smile before he climbs into the warm water.

He watches intently as you undress, loosening the ties of your bath robe and dropping it to the floor, revealing the silk nightdress you had worn for the evening. Aleksander regrets not paying attention to you sooner, if he had seen you wearing such a piece earlier he would have taken you to bed instantly.

His eyes darken as you push the fabric down over your hips, offering him the sight of your naked body. He beckons with two fingers and you follow his wordless order to join him.

The water sways as Aleksander adjusts your position in his lap, settling you onto his bare thigh. He knows you are aching for him just as much as he aches for you. Despite this, he wants to take his time.

His mouth explores yours leisurely, his head tilting and dipping to change the angle constantly, eager to take as much as you can give him. His hand settles over your back, palm pressed between your shoulder blades as your body is moved backwards unintentionally by the natural force of his kiss.

It’s only once you’re rocking your hips against his, desperate for more, that he shifts you in his lap, manoeuvring you with ease.

His forehead presses against yours as your legs straddle his, then he slips a hand between you both and pushes a finger inside you. He smiles when he hears you sighing in relief, prompting to add another finger.

Aleksander runs his other hand other your body, cupping your face to kiss your lips, squeezing lightly at your throat before he seizes a handful of your breasts, rolling your nipples expertly between his thumb and finger.

He watches you as a moan wracks your body at the attention given to your body accompanied by the stretch of his two fingers as he curls them perfectly, stroking that tender spot inside you that has you whimpering.

“Can you take me now, my love?” His question is gritted between his teeth, eyes lidded as he watches your back arch, willing more of him inside your tight heat.

If you told him no, he would continue to stretch you open, making you come undone over his fingers with a thumb on your clit. Instead, you nod.

“Please Sasha, I need you now.”

Aleksander knows it will be a stretch for you, to take him in this position with such little preparation, but he trusts you to know what you want. In all honesty, he’s glad you don’t want to wait any longer. He needs you too.

He withdraws his fingers and soon he’s nudging the head of his cock against your entrance. Both of you are loud, moaning and grasping tightly onto one another as you sink down onto his cock.

“There we go,” he sighs once he’s finally buried deep inside you.

He knows you’ve lost all brain capacity in this moment, as you mouth over his shoulder, pressing kisses along the line of his throat mindlessly, suckling on his earlobe and prompting a groan from him.

His fingers curl around the back of your neck, urging you backwards to look at his face. He smiles with a wicked twist curling at the edge of his lips and half lidded eyes as he admires the sight of you impaled on his cock, skin flushed and damp.

The warm water and feeling of your cunt clinging to his aching cock removes all the tension in Aleksander’s body. The exhaustion that had been weighing down his mind has dissolved like the smelling salts you had mixed into the bath water.

He breathes out a sigh, his eyes fluttering closed as he tilts his head back, resting it against the edge of the bath with a content hum.

Aleksander feels you press your cheek against his chest, your lashes brushing delicately over his skin. He keeps one arm wrapped around your middle, fingers skimming over your bare shoulder as he lies his other arm on the edge of the bath tub.

When you lift your head up, finger tracing circles over his chest, Aleksander presses a kiss to your temple and reaches for the soap.

Simultaneously, you clean one another, smoothing soap suds over skin and scooping up handfuls of scented water to clear away the bubbles. The two of you trade kisses whenever you can.

Aleksander chuckles every time he shifts his hips, relishing in the little gasps that leave your lips when his cock nudges a different place inside you.

He enjoys every second of you washing his hair. Every firm press of your palm, lathering the shampoo into his wet hair, and light scrape of your nails against his scalp has him leaning further into you.

When he tilts his head back, for you to rinse the suds from his locks, a shudder runs through him at the feeling of your lips against the hollow of his exposed throat.

Holding tightly onto your hips, he grinds your body downwards, making you tremble.

“Sasha,” you whine, trying to maintain your focus on the task at hand. “Please, I’m nearly finished.”

“Then don’t tease, my love.”

At the sight of your nod, he loosens his hold, keeping his hands settled at your waist, occasionally smoothing over the sides of your body as you wash the rest of the bubbles from his hair.

As you run your hand through his hair one last time, to ensure no soap lingers there, you begin to circle your hips, moaning softly at sensation of the head of his hardened cock nudging against your soft walls.

You moan his name, settling your hand at the nape of his neck and squeezing in encouragement for him to rock into you. His hands tighten once again, bouncing you over his cock, increasing the pace as you gasp loudly.

His pelvis grinds against yours, the swollen bud of your clit catching against his skin as he tilts your hips downwards. As you arch your back, he thrusts up into you, water swaying frantically around you both.

Aleksander increases his pace, fuelled not only by his own desperate need to climax but also maddeningly eager to hear you fall apart. He watches as you writhe, clinging to him, nails biting into his flesh, begging him not to stop.

You’ve reduced him to nothing but groans and harsh breaths against your neck as he leaves marks over your dewy skin. He licks over your throat, feeling the motion of the small sob there before it escapes from your lips.

If he could speak he would tell you how divine you are, what a perfect lover you are, how much he adores you, and worships the very ground you walk over.

Instead he manages to murmur a rather wrecked sounding,

“I love you.”

That’s all it takes for you to succumb to your pleasure. Those three words set a fire in your chest that rushes down to your cunt, flushing over your skin and you whimper pitifully as you’re overcome by the sensation of him filling you so completely.

Aleksander groans through gritted teeth, hissing at the rapid clench of your cunt, drawing him deeper inside you. Despite the sensitivity, you grip onto his hips, ensuring that he continues to thrust inside you.

Part of him thinks he should stop, he doesn’t want to hurt you, and he can see the way your face scrunches together with pleasure pain. Then you’re begging for him to spill inside you, to fill you up with his spend.

Aleksander can never deny you anything.

His climax prickles at the edge of his senses, just out of reach. Digging your nails into the space next to his hip bones causes Aleksander’s thrusts to become desperate little jerks. The sound of your pleas whispered against his ear as you lie over his chest sends him straight to his peak.

As he spills inside you, he feels your teeth scrape over his shoulder which only adds to his pleasure. His heart beats wildly, bliss warming his body as his thoughts melt away. The only thing he is conscious of is the smooth porcelain against his back and the warmth of your body slumped over his.

Slowly, he comes back to himself. He feels your own heart hammering against his chest and he manages to gain the strength to lifts his hand, running it down the length of your spine.

Still slightly breathless, he cups the back of your head, guiding you backwards so that he can see you, assessing for any damage he may have inadvertently caused. He doesn’t find any.

All he sees is your bright eyes and kiss swollen lips as you smile and say,

“I love you too, Aleksander.”

»»---------------------►

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity @slytherheign @ellooo0ooo @vixenofcourse @dumb-fawkin-bitch @jane-arthur @ilikefictionmen @budugu @watersquirtpewpewboomm @mysweetlittledesire

Aleksander M Tag List: @nyctophiliiiiaaa @jazmin2211 @wooya1224

BB Characters Tag List: @rachlovesactors @noortsshift @aikeia @weallhaveadestiny @two-unbeatable-beaters

»»---------------------►

[courtofmuses]

               OH   HE   VERY   MUCH   DID   LEAVE   A   LASTING   IMPRESSION,   one   that   she   knew   would   always   and   forever   be   engraved   onto   her   heart   and   her   mind.   She   couldn't   deny   the   attraction   to   her,   the   very   way   he   made   her   heart   beat   an   entirely   new   rhythm.   As   much   as   she   had   tried   to   deny   those   feelings,   tried   to   transfer   them   onto   Mal,   it   hadn't   worked.   He   was   right   -   there   were   no   others   like   them   and   if   they   did   not   work   together   the   Grisha   may   not   survive.   

❝   You   did   not   have   to   deceive   me,   Aleksander.   That   is   the   part   that   hurts   most,   ❞   she   admitted   softly.   ❝   We   have   all   made   mistakes   in   our   lives,   done   things   we   are   not   proud   of.   You   didn't   have   to   hide   that   from   me.   ❞   Alina   sighed   as   she   moved   away   from   him,   toward   the   window   of   the   room   where   the   light   was   streaming   through.   

Alina   looked   out   onto   the   grounds   of   the   Little   Palace   where   Grisha   went   about   their   daily   routine.   ❝   You   could   have   had   my   powers   and   my   love   if   only   you   had   been   honest.   ❞

@courtofmuses / alina

i’ll be getting over you my whole life.

𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃𝐍'𝐓 𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐇𝐈𝐌. They shouldn't bother him. That she would wish to get over him at all, it should carry no impact to him. He'd used her for what he needed, and while it could have backfired--

❝ Then I made a lasting impression. ❞ He smirks, with an almost self-knowing, self-satisfied expression crossing his face. ❝ I told you once, Alina. There are no others like us. And there never will be. ❞

She might have clung to her tracker, to her otkazat'sya past that she harbors, but it is false. All of it.

Because she is meant to be his. At his side, tempering the rage--

[mistiell]

Strange Love Pt. 5

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Fem! Healer! Reader

Summary: The winter fete has arrived and you can't help but be a little nervous. Aleksander manages to quell your nerves until you finally get there. Turns out, you had good reason to be worried.

Warnings: Description of a panic attack

Word Count: 3.2k

Part 4 < Current > Part 6

The day of the winter fete has arrived, and to say you’re nervous would be an understatement. You’ve always wondered what it would be like to attend, but it always seemed like one of those dreams that was fun to fantasize about because it was guaranteed to never come true. Now that it’s your reality, you can’t help but feel a little anxious.

“Nervous?” Aleksander asks as he shrugs on his kefta, pulling you from your thoughts.

You huff a short puff of laughter as you start with the buttons on your own kefta, “A little.”

He turns you around by your waist and pushes your hands away, doing up your buttons for you while you continue talking, “I’ve only been to a handful of parties over the years, and they were never anything this large or extravagant. I guess I’m worried about how many people there are going to be.”

“It gets crowded, but I’m certain you’ll enjoy yourself.” He assures, running his hands down your waist to smooth out any wrinkles.

“Do you enjoy it?” He hesitates before smiling rather sheepishly.

“The food is delicious.”

You snort at that, “I assume you aren’t one for crowds either?”

He makes a sound of indifference as he fusses over your collar.

“I don’t hate them.” He states, brushing his hands over your shoulders until you take his wrists, allowing you to drop them between the two of you to hold his hands.

“Should I be worried?” You ask softly, clarifying when you see the confusion suffused in his expression, “About the king, I mean.”

He seems to consider your worry for a moment before shaking his head, “He won’t have any reason to suspect you.” When you hum and stare down at your entwined hands, he pulls one away to cup your cheek and tilt your face up to look you in the eye, “You have nothing to fear, milaya. I promise.”

“I believe you.” He smiles, pressing his lips to your forehead before leaning down to peck your lips once, twice, three times before you push him away, giggling, “We’re going to be late.”

He hums and pulls you flush against him by your waist, silencing your squeak of surprise with yet another kiss, smiling and chuckling into it when he feels you thread your fingers in the hairs at the base of his skull to pull him closer. There’s a small voice in the back of your head that eggs you on – it’ll be fine if you’re a little late, nobody will notice – But you silence it, reluctantly pulling away from him and tugging lightly at his hair when he attempts to chase you, “Aleksander.”

“Y/n.” He mimics the stern tone of your voice and laughs when you scoff and swat at his chest, “I’m only teasing, lapushka.”

You huff but can’t help the smile that creeps up on your face, “We really need to get going.”

He glances at the clock on his dresser and lets you go, finally relenting with a sigh, “I suppose you’re right.”

“As always.” You tease as you walk away, grinning puckishly at him before you disappear around the corner.

He follows you out the door into the hall – empty save for Ivan standing at his post – and leans down to whisper in your ear as you walk, squeezing at your waist playfully, “Cheeky little thing.”

You laugh and let him lead you through the halls.

You can’t help but marvel at the palace as you go. It’s beautifully decorated, and the scent of a wide variety of delicious food floods your nose. As you pass by a set of stairs, you spot a silk dancer performing in the middle and can’t help but stare. 

When you enter the ballroom, it’s crowded just as Aleksander said it would be, nobles from all over nursing fancy glasses of kvas and gossiping about who knows what. 

You spot the king and queen sitting in their thrones and tense. There’s nothing to fear, you know that, but it’s still nerve racking. Aleksander pulls you from your thoughts.

“May I have this dance?” He asks, coming to stand in front of you and offering you his hand.

“Oh, erm…” Your face flushes and you glance down at the floor, “I don’t know how.”

“That’s alright. We’ll go slow.” Carefully, he takes your hand, watching you stare down at your feet, “When I step forward,” He takes a careful step forward and you step back just in time to match him. He smiles, “You step back. See? You’re a natural. Just follow my lead.”

You stumble a few times but you quickly fall into a steady rhythm, counting your steps to the music in your head while Aleksander leads you across the dance floor. You’re half way through counting your sixth one, two, three when he speaks up again, “You look like you’re trying to solve the meaning of life.”

“I’m trying not to step on your toes.” He laughs at that, nosing at your forehead subtly to soften the crease between your brows.

“Relax, milaya. I’ve got you.” You shoot him a skeptical glance but stop counting nonetheless, letting him guide you through the movements. With your focus no longer on counting, you notice that he’s been staring at you the entire time.

“Enjoying the view, General?” You grin and he chuckles.

“Very much so, yes.” He leans down and his lips ghost over the shell of your ear, “You look gorgeous.”

“You’re just saying that because I’m wearing your colour”

“While that is part of it,” He pulls back to look at you properly and there’s something intense in his gaze that has your stomach doing flips, “The rest is all you, darling.”

He pulls away to twirl you once and as he pulls you back to him, you catch a flash of blue near the king’s throne in your peripherals. It has an unusual and unsettling sense of dread twisting up your stomach and when you crane your neck to see more, you spot Zoya speaking to the king. 

Your heart sinks. 

Aleksander opens his mouth to ask what’s wrong but when he follows your gaze, the question dies in his throat. You’ve stopped dancing now, the people around you and the sound of their clapping for the musicians fading into the background as you watch the King seek you out in the crowd. When he spots you, he scowls, leaning over to whisper to one of his guards. The man sets his sights on you.

“Aleksander.” You half whisper, half whimper and he tightens his grip on your waist, turning you and leading you toward the exit. 

“Stay calm.” He whispers in your ear, weaving through the crowded hallway in a zigzag pattern in an attempt to lose the guard. You spot two more guards headed towards you and hang a sharp left down a blocked off section of the palace, catching Aleksander off guard, “What are you—?”

“Trust me.” You whisper, speeding up to a jog as you turn right down another hallway, keeping a firm grip on his wrist. You can hear their heartbeats, there’s four of them now. They’ll turn down this hall any second. You spot a door to your right and clock it as one of the storage closets you’d found when you were planning your escape. Throwing open the door, you practically shove Aleksander inside before squeezing in next to him, shutting the closet just as the guards round the corner. 

The space is so cramped that the two of you are chest to chest, the only sound between the two of you being your ragged breathing. A sound you attempt to muffle by clamping a hand over your mouth. When they pass by the door, you go rigid, eyes screwed shut as you send up a silent prayer to the saints. You don’t notice you’re holding your breath until Aleksander removes your hand from your mouth, whispering a soft but urgent, “Breathe.”

You breathe out sharply and take a deep, shuddering breath, the both the sudden loss and intake of oxygen making you woozy. He steadies you by your waist and you grip the front of his kefta like a lifeline, resting your forehead against his chest as you force yourself to control your breathing. He smooths a hand up and down your spine until you pull back, finding his worried face in the dark. 

“They’re gone.”

“You’re sure?” He watches you close your eyes and subconsciously angle your head toward the door. The first thing that draws your attention is him. With the proximity, you can sense just about everything going on in his body right now. You let your awareness of him settle into the background and strain your ears to search a little further. There’s a monotonous, far off thrumming of heartbeats in the direction of the party, but aside from that, nothing.

When you open your eyes, you find him staring, “I’m sure.”

He nods, peeking his head out the door to check just in case before sliding out from beside you, opening the door a little wider to let you out, “We aren’t far from the war room.”

“How will we get there? The halls are full of people.” 

“I know a way. Come.” He takes your hand and begins leading you down the hall in the opposite direction that the guards went. 

Eventually, you reach the library. He leads you through the aisles of bookcases before stopping before one that sits against a wall. Running his fingertips over a few different books, he stops at one with a dark green cover, hooking the tip of his index finger over the lip and pulling at it.

There’s a click, and suddenly the small sliver of the bookcase swings open to reveal a dark, dank tunnel. With your anxiety already at an all time high, the thought of traversing through a tunnel in pitch black darkness has tears pricking your eyes.

“Please tell me you have a light.” 

He catches the fear in your voice and glances around quickly, spotting a lit oil lamp hanging over one of the desks. He plucks it off the wall and hands it to you, setting a hand on your waist to usher you inside before shutting the bookcase behind you. You do your best to hold it still, but in your trembling hands, the metal shakes, edges clanking rapidly as if it were vibrating as the candle flickers.

“Perhaps I should hold onto this.” Carefully, he takes the lamp back from you and gently guides you through the tunnel, shadows pressing against your side attentively when you come a little too close to tripping over the uneven ground. The tunnels are more like a maze with winding turns and forks in the path. You wonder briefly what they’re for, but that thought is quickly swallowed by the growing amount of ‘what if’s’ swirling around your head.

By the time he opens the door to the war room, you’re thoroughly panicked, breaths puffing quickly out your nose in an pathetic attempt at pretending to be calm. As he’s closing the secret passage, you shuffle a little further into the room, your back to him. When he turns around, he can see the swift but subtle rise and fall of your shoulders and realises what’s happening immediately.

Before he has a chance to comfort you, there’s an urgent knock on the door that has your heart clawing its way up your throat. Staring at it as if you could will the person to leave, you utter a shaky, high pitched, “Sasha.”

It slips past your lips by accident but neither of you have time to dwell on it. Instead, he urges you into his bedroom, having you stand in the corner just beyond the edge of the window curtains.

“Don’t move.”

“They’re going to see me!” 

“They won’t so long as you stay still.” The terrified look in your eyes makes his heart clench and he takes your face in his hands, “As long as I’m here, no harm will come to you. I promise.”

You nod and he nods back at you, pecking your forehead before rushing off to the door. 

As you listen to him speak to whoever was knocking, the shadows around you begin to lengthen, enveloping your corner of the room in darkness. Where you would have been scared, Aleksander’s shadows feel different from regular darkness. There’s an invisible sort of pressure as they wrap around your form and press against your skin. It feels as though it’s an attempt at soothing you while he’s occupied with who you assume is a guard.

“This won’t take long.” 

When the guard enters the room your breath catches in your chest and it takes the entirety of your willpower to stay put. He inspects the room painfully slowly, taking his sweet time checking every corner. When he starts heading in your direction, you have to slow your heart rate in fear that it may burst in your chest. His face is uncomfortably close to yours as he scrutinises what he thinks is a dark corner. Just as he’s about to reach out, Aleksander clears his throat.

“If you’re quite satisfied, I’d like to return to my work.” The guard whips around to face Aleksander and nods, though he still looks rather suspicious.

When he’s finally gone, you release the breath you were holding and slide down the wall to the floor, not trusting your legs to hold your weight. Your breathing is shallow and ragged and no matter how many times you attempt to suck in a deep breath, there’s never enough air.

When Aleksander returns, he calls your name oh so softly to avoid startling you, but you flinch anyway, head snapping up to look at him. You’re holding your hands close to your chest and you’re so tense your shoulders are nearly scrunched to your ears. 

“S–Sorry,” You squeeze your eyes shut and hide your face in your hands, blowing all the air out of your lungs in a forceful huff. You can’t hyperventilate if you just stop breathing.

“You have nothing to apologise for.” His tone is careful and even as he slowly moves to kneel before you, “You’re having a panic attack.” 

Is that what this is?

When you don’t respond, he realises you’re holding your breath again.

“Y/n,” You peek over your fingertips at him, “Breathe.”

You suck in a shuddering gasp and hold it for a moment before letting it out, but you still can’t seem to get enough air into your lungs, and there’s this persistent, prickly feeling under your skin that makes you squirm and shake your hands out in an attempt to rid yourself of the excess energy, “It’s- It’s like there’s not enough air.”

There’s never enough air.

The tears that pricked your eyes earlier return tenfold, wetting your lashes and trickling down your cheeks.

“Can I touch you?” You’re a little confused by the question but nod nonetheless. Slowly, he helps you to your feet. The room tilts to one side and it’s then that you feel his arm wrapped firmly around your waist as he walks you somewhere slowly. When you open your eyes again, he’s guiding you to sit down on the edge of his bed. He watches you slide up to press your back to his headboard, gaze flitting behind him to check the doorway as if someone was going to pop out and murder you where you sit.

Slowly, he sits down in front of you and offers you his hands. Shakily, you take them, and he squeezes them firmly for a few seconds before releasing his grip for the same amount of time, repeating that pattern over and over again.

“Can you feel me squeezing?” He asks and you nod, hiccuping and glancing behind him again. He leans over a bit to block your view of the door, “Focus on me, milaya. You’re safe. I’m the only one here with you.”

“But– But��.” You huff, unable to get the words out.

Still, he understands.

“How many heartbeats do you hear?” 

You close your eyes and attempt to focus, listening hard. You can hear Aleksander's beating clearly in his chest. You can hear him breathing, lungs expanding and shrinking in a steady rhythm. There’s a pleasant, tingling warmth that starts where his hands hold yours and it’s like your awareness of him gets cranked up to a hundred. Suddenly, you’re aware of his ribs expanding in time with his lungs, of the synapses firing in his brain, of the blood flowing through his veins.

 He’s still squeezing your hands consistently. You squeeze back weakly once.

Slowly, breathing becomes a little easier, your breaths syncing with his the longer you focus on him. When they finally even out, you’re exhausted, head throbbing and limbs feeling heavy and numb. 

“Sorry.” You whisper again and he shakes his head, pulling your hands up to press your knuckles to his lips.

“I already told you, you have nothing to apologise for.” He states, cradling the crown of your head in his palm when you lean forward to drop your forehead onto his shoulder.

Drained and feeling utterly helpless, you let out a choked sob and wipe at your eyes, “What are we going to do?”

There’s a long, dreadful moment of silence as he strokes your hair before he speaks against your temple.

“We’ll figure it out.” 

The pit in your stomach sinks further and you shake your head against him. His hands slide over your neck to cup your face, gently guiding you away from his shoulder in order to look at you properly. Thumbing the tears away from your waterline, he speaks ardently, “I swear on all that I hold dear, I will shield you from danger by any means necessary. I will do anything and everything in my power to ensure that you are safe.”

You can still hear his heartbeat. He means it.

You nod, sniffling and blinking away your residual tears. He pecks your forehead, the tip of your nose, and finally your lips before resting his forehead against yours, thumbs stroking your cheeks lovingly, “Rest. I’ll take care of everything.”

“Okay.” Your voice is small as he reluctantly pulls away to grab some clothes from his wardrobe. Standing up on shaky legs, you slip off the outer layer of your kefta and trade with Aleksander, taking the black night shirt from him as he hangs up your kefta. He turns around and lets you dress, only turning back around when he hears the ruffle of sheets as you slide under the covers.

As you pull the comforter up over your shoulder, he sits down on the edge of the bed, brushing your hair back from your face.

“I called you Sasha earlier.” You state softly, watching an equally soft smile spread over his lips.

“You did.”

“Is that okay?”

He leans down to press a kiss to your hairline, “More than okay, my love.”

You smile tiredly, sleep tugging at your body. The last thing you’re aware of is the feeling of Aleksander’s fingers carding through your hair before you drift off into a fitful sleep.

Strange Love Taglist:

@watersquirtpewpewboomm @sorrow-and-bliss @sande5098 @rachlovesactors @trinity-dose-stuff @maggie-da-rat @budugu @winteryoungie

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Portrait of a Dead Girl

Summary:

Alina Starkov was given to Duke Aleksander Morozova of Os Alta in marriage when she was fifteen years old. Within a year, she was dead. The official cause of Alina's death was marked as putrid fever, but many at the time believed, and many in the future will go on to believe, that she was poisoned by her husband.

-

This fic is completely inspired by The Marriage Portrait by Maggie O'Farrel, which is a work of historical fiction based on the real lives of Duchess Lucrezia d'Este (née de' Medici) and Duke Alfonso ii d'Este of Ferrara. You don't need any prior knowledge of The Marriage Portrait or history to read and enjoy this fic, but know that my writing is very much going to mimic that of O'Farrel in format and although I'm hoping to write the story in my personal usual writing style I will definitely be borrowing a lot of my descriptors, symbols, and so on and so forth from O'Farrel - there will be some of mine too though :)

Warnings for these chapters: discussions of death and murder, xenophobia and religious discrimination, underage forced marriage references, fear of violence, implied violence, animal abuse/mistreatment

If anyone would like to be tagged in future chapters let me know :)

Note: Two chapters today! (partly since the first one is so short) Both are going up on AO3 at the same time and both are in this post :)

AO3 link

Chapter 4 - What He Is Capable Of

Krepost, near Pykan - Now

“Perhaps tomorrow,” Aleksander is saying, “we shall go for a ride along the river. The views are beautiful, I think you will enjoy them. I shall see to it that your saddle is adjusted,”

Alina restrains the sudden want to look up at him sharply, her nerves on alert. Her husband does not appear to have noticed, so either her repression has been successful or he is not paying her particularly close attention. She feels that he is someone who can read the truth of a person on their face, who makes too easy a habit of reaching inside you with choice, precision words, and can find just the right thread to unravel you. He doesn’t pull it right away though; he holds it in place, sometimes with his thumb tucked into the perfect position that it applies just enough pressure for you to know that he has hold of it, know that he could tear you apart with one simple motion - but sometimes it is subtler than that, sometimes he holds it secretly so that you will never see it coming when he begins to undo all that careful stitching with such ferocity, ripping all that you put so much effort into until all that remains is a confetti of who you used to be. For all Alina knows he has already found her thread, and he is just waiting to give it a sharp tug. 

“It seemed today that it was listing on one side,” he continues, “and of course your mare’s hooves will need attention,”

He keeps talking, of this she has no doubt, but as she sits and stares at him the words become nothing more than a distant thrum in the back of her mind, background noise to the voices in her head. Why is he saying these things? How can he sit here talking of horses, of groomsmen and saddles and beautiful scenes, when somewhere in the same mind that speaks of these things is a plan to end my life? 

The hoarse, desperate voice of his sister, Marie, grabs at Alina once again; it is clawing at her edges, threatening to fray her fabric. You have no idea what he is capable of. The air feels frigid, like her skin is bare and being pressed against cold iron. Even the candle in front of her seems to shiver.

The candles on the table, hardly many in number, are the only light in the room except the fire behind Alina’s back, and now they are casting a flickering, pathetic glow onto Aleksander’s face that makes shadows dance across his skin. She feels as though the shadows are chasing the light, threatening to swallow it. Consume it, until they are left alone in the darkness. In every flash of light that illuminates him, his expression changes. He is thoughtful, kind, stern, animated, forbidding, handsome, amorous, detached. Her husband is a man of many faces trapped beneath the skin of one, and where she’d once naively thought that some of them were trustworthy she now saw every single one of them for what they really were. Marie was right. She has no idea what this man is capable of. 

She does not want to find out.

The intending murderer reaches out across the tiny space between them, as though to take her cold fingers in his and wrap them close. It is this that finally shakes Alina back to life; she pulls away to pick up her spoon, hoping he has not realised that she was drawing away from his grasp but believes the movement entirely innocent, and attempts to draw soup with trembling hands. She wonders if her fingers will be this cold, when she is dead, or even colder. 

A terrible rage begins to burn inside Alina almost unexpectedly - How dare he? She studies the broth below her, trying to control her thoughts. How dare he? She keeps her gaze low, feeling that if she has to look him in the eye again that she will scream or shout or do something else altogether ridiculous and stupid. 

You need a plan, she hears - or rather, feels she hears - her old nurse, Ana Kuya, saying at her shoulder, to lose your temper is to lose the battle. 

Alina will not let this man kill her. She will not lie down and quietly die, she will not let his shadows swallow her whole. But what can she, a bride of sixteen, small for her age, far stronger in will than limbs, possibly hope to do against him, a man of almost thirty, tall and broadly built, a soldier no less, trained his entire life for battle? A plan, a strategy, a scheme of some sort - some way of outwitting him, if she could manage it, in mind instead of body?

So be it, she told the invisible Ana, without moving her lips, but I made myself a plan three years ago, didn’t I? And look how that turned out.

Chapter 5 - Tigers Do Not Belong In Os Kervo

Os Kervo, nine years ago

The first lesson that Alina and her siblings were to sit through the morning after she had snuck downstairs to see her father’s newest acquisition was not one that would have interested her much on a normal day, let alone with the images of a tiger prowling through her little head. Apparently Vadim was not very interested either, he was kicking his feet beneath his desk and staring out of the window - though what out there there was to be more intriguing Alina could not be sure - but Zoya was typically more studious, her head bent over her slate on the desk in front of Alina as she inscribed whatever the tutor was telling them about the times of Saints. Of course most of these were tales they knew but the finer details were lost on young minds, or they still needed to expand their horizons beyond the Saints they prayed to every day to make sure they remembered to honour them all. 

“And then of course we go on,” the tutor was saying as he moved his cane down the timeline he was pointing it at, “towards the Heretical Period. This was a time during which people would start to claim that they had magical powers from the Saints, that they had been chosen by them. In Old Ravkan these people were called Grisha, derived from the name of Sankt Grigori because… Zoya?”

Zoya jumped almost imperceptibly at the sound of her name, but you never would have known it unless you were studying her as closely as Alina had been because when she lifted her chin and announced her answer the confidence in her voice rang like a bell that could be heard for miles around. Eva, sitting next to Zoya, had her attentions turned towards Alexei and was pulling faces at him every time the tutor turned his back, followed by unsubtle glances back towards Alina. She settled deeper into her chair.

“The Grisha believed Sankt Grigori to be one of them,” said Zoya, “What they called a Grisha Healer, rather than a Saint,”

“Correct,” 

The tutor continued talking, whilst Zoya preened like a peacock that had just seen its reflection for the first time. Her chalk scratched on her slate and Alina screwed up her nose almost involuntarily at the unpleasant noise.

Alina sat alone at a smaller desk behind the one that her sisters shared, staring at her blank slate and half-listening to the tutor whilst her mind wandered on. She had been attending lessons since she turned seven and always it was the same; after this the music tutor would arrive, and after him would come the drawing tutor so that Alina could be prescribed the dull task of writing and rewriting her alphabet over and over again whilst the others took their drawing lesson in earnest. It was the drawing lesson that intrigued her more than any other, but she was told she must wait until she was ten. The years seemed to lay themselves out in front of her like a never ending road beneath a clear sky, and every time she tried to run down it she would trip, or someone would grab hold of her and force her back to her slow, plodding pace. The consistent trot of a horse stuck behind another, when all Alina wanted to do was spur the mare onwards and chase the wind into the distant horizon. 

“And what,” the tutor was saying loudly, probably for the second time judging by the impatience sneaking into his tone, forcing Alina out of her head and back into the classroom, “did the heretical sorcerer claim to be asking of Sankta Vasilka so that he could steal her secrets?”

Vadim was blinking as he pulled himself away from his fascinating window; Zoya twisted her lips together as though a thought she did not enjoy had crossed the forefront of mind; Eva drew slightly away from where she had been busy whispering something in her elder sister’s ear. 

Her hand in marriage, Alina thought. 

She turned over the paper in front of her and on its smooth, pale back drew a long horizon line. According to the drawing tutor’s lesson on perspective that she’d been eavesdropping on last week, instead of practising her letters, the world was formed of different layers and depths that could all be constructed by lines in the way that they overlapped and intersected. Alina had been desperate to try it out ever since. Now she sketched a tower onto her horizon line, a set of stone steps at its base before a winding path. 

“Eva?” the tutor tried.

“Yes?”

“How did the sorcerer trick his way into Sankta Vasilka’s tower?” he repeated, his lip twisting slightly, “If you so please,”

He said he was lonely, and he wanted only to speak with her. Alina thought again, as she sketched a window into the top of her tower. This, she realised, was where some of the difficulty with perspective came in. She had to adapt the shape of the window so it would make sense to the eye. 

“Is it perhaps…?” Eva began, with no intention of finishing, cocking her head to one side as she made a great show of thinking about the question.

“Alexei? Zoya?”

They both shook their heads. 

“He claimed that he was lonely and wanted to marry her,” the tutor sighed, “We went over this just recently. Can anyone tell me why this was what granted him access to the tower, to see Sankta Vasilka?”

There was a pause. Eva pushed a stray piece of hair behind her ear; Vadim played with his sleeve. 

Her father thought nobody would ever want her. She was too strange, too solitary. Alina began to try and form the structure of a girl above the window, her arms outstretched with woven wings strapped across her shoulders.

“Anybody?”

Alina recalled every word of the story that the tutor had told them last week. That was how her mind worked; things clung to it like thick footprints dried into mud, never to be entirely erased. Sometimes she felt overstuffed, overfilled, like all the things inside of her were throbbing and rising and going to overthrow her like a girl cast from the window of a tall, tall tower with no wings to guide her onwards. When this happened Alina would find herself getting dizzy, overwhelmed with all the things inside her that she could not bring out again, and Ana Kuya would send her to bed with the curtains drawn tightly and medicine Alina didn’t have a name for stirred into her tea. Alina would sleep, and when she woke her head would feel like a cupboard that had been tidied and reorganised - still full, but easier to keep under control. 

Suddenly afraid, or something close to it, as she tried to begin pencilling the shapes of the sorcerer at the window and of Sankta Vasilka’s father below, Alina pushed her drawing beneath the lid of her desk with discomfort curling in her stomach. Her head hurt. The room melted somewhat away from her as she pulled her hands up to her eyes, trying to find that darkness that Ana would create in the bedroom for her to sleep, trying to stop her eyes from aching, wondering whether - if she could not see - nothing else could crawl inside her brain and take up the last few tiny pieces of space until suddenly all of it burst out of her in an uncontrollable overflow. It didn’t seem to be working very well. She could hear the tutor talking, hear the shape of the words marriage, threaten, fall, now threat again, and then - 

“Is she alright?” 

He was looking at Alina. 

“She’s fine,” Zoya’s voice was cool, precise, clipped, “Mama says this is just what she does for attention. If we ignore her, she says, then she’ll stop,”

“Is that so?” the tutor sounded uncertain, “Should we call for the nurse?”

Alina pulled her hands slowly away from her face, met by such terrible brightness that for a moment she could see nothing at all. Her eyes adjusted slowly, bringing the peering faces of the tutor and her siblings into view, and then, behind them, Alina was the first to see the shape of her father pacing through the door. 

Eva immediately sat up straighter, like someone had pulled on a string that ran up her spine, and Alexei applied himself industriously to his slate. Vadim raised his hand, and when the tutor - with a slight blush in his cheeks and a slight tension in his shoulders - called upon him he kept his tone quite forcibly neutral, as though his eyes did not keep straying towards the Grand Duke. Gregor came to oversee their lessons with not unusual frequency, but with no schedule or specificity that any of them could divine, and now he wandered slowly between their tables and peered down at what they were working on. He placed a hand fondly onto Vadim’s head, nodded at Zoya, patted Eva’s shoulder, walked past Alina’s desk with slow, deliberate steps. She made sure that her sketch was out of sight. A moment passed in silence as Gregor continued to pace, before he stopped at the window and nodded towards the tutor. 

“Continue,” he said, in his low voice, “Please,”

The tutor nodded, turning his attention back to his students and saying: 

“Eva,” 

Alina was intrigued by this choice. Did the tutor know that he had successfully chosen the Duke’s favourite? Was he purposefully going to give her an easy question?

“Could you tell us, please, how the stories of Sankta Ursula and Sankta Vasilka are linked?”

Eva pulled on her sleeve to adjust it, cupped her chin in her palm. She glanced at Gregor, who was watching her from across the room, and as Alina watched a plan suddenly burst into her head. She leant forwards, as though simply reaching for her stylus, and whispered into Eva’s hair as she did so:

“They escaped heretics; the sorcerer, and the worshippers of Djel,” 

Eva cocked her head in surprise. Something that might have been annoyance or might have been a warning for caution flashed through Zoya’s eyes as she looked briefly over her shoulder. 

“The sorcerer was a heretic…” Eva said, as though putting great thought into her words, “Was he Grisha? And the Fjerdans that attacked Sankta Ursuala were heretics as well, because they worship the false god… Dell?” 

“Very good, Eva,” the tutor said with considerable relief, watching Gregor’s proud nod from the corner of his eye, “The name of the false god is pronounced Djel. There is no more important story for understanding the dangers that we still face from the heathen North than Sankta Ursula’s, and as you can see-” his cane thumped back into the timeline behind him on the wall, “She was one of the most recent Saints. How do we know that this makes sense in her story?”

The lesson went on. Alina quickly wrote as she was supposed to, recording the prayers that Sankta Ursula made to all the Saints that came before her, and tried not to wonder why Ursula was a Saint and not a Grisha. What was the difference? What made one who claimed to be blessed by the Saints blasphemous, and yet another one divine? 

Only when she was sure she had picked the perfect moment did she lean back into her sisters’ desk and whisper:

“Papa has a tiger. It was brought here overnight,”

Zoya turned towards her, as though to make some response, and then seemed to think better of it. Just as Alina was sure her plan had failed and Gregor was about to leave, Eva called out: 

“Papa!”

He stopped, one hand on the door, and turned slowly back to face them. 

“I heard a rumour…” Eva began, drawing her words out long and stringing them together as she leaned forwards with her famed, charming little smile, lifting her chin up towards her papa, “That-”

“That there is a tiger here,” Zoya finished, as though tired of how long it was taking Eva to speak, “Is it true?”

Gregor was silent for a moment, and then he smiled. 

“Did you hear that?” he asked, looking at the tutor, “My daughters know everything that goes on in this dvorets, don’t you girls?”

He wagged a finger at them somewhat playfully. 

“You are just like your Mama, both of you,”

“Oh, can we see it Papa?” Eva clasped her hands together, “Please?”

“Perhaps I shall take you all,” he smiled, “If your tutor tells me you have done well in your lessons today,”

*

Alina forgot about the piece of paper half hidden in her desk, carrying its sketch of Sankta Vasilka and her wings, and it was not until some time later that she thought of it again. It was discovered, not that she will ever know, by the religion tutor that same day as he paced the empty classroom to tidy slates and chalk and styluses. She’ll never know that, upon finding the page and plucking it between his fingers, the tutor was so surprised to find a study in perspective and the recognisable shape of Sankta Vasilka’s tower that he looked about him as though he thought he might be the subject of some kind of strange trick. How could this have possibly come from the child that sat at this desk, the child that was so quiet he practically forgot that she was there? The image was so compelling that he felt quite bowled over by it. 

Later, with the paper tucked into his jacket, he passed the drawing tutor. The paper slipped from one hand to another. 

The drawing tutor was hardly expecting much when he received this sketch. But as he ran his eyes over it, as he was drawn from horizon to treeline to tower window to winding pathway, as he studied the lightness in the outlined figure, the way she genuinely seemed about to fly straight forth out of the page, the sizes and angles of windows and wings and stairs, the gradation that brought the eye from foreground to background and back again, any other thought he might have had for the charming man in front of him tumbled straight out of his head. 

“Who did this?” he asked, turning it over and then back to face up again, “Surely not Zoya? She is more skilled than Vadim, but-”

“It was Alina,” 

The drawing tutor had to think for a moment before he ventured: 

“The tiny little creature who sits at the back?”

“Yes, her. I thought that you should know,”

The religion tutor gave him a sharp nod and began to pace away down the corridor. Half paying attention to the receding figure and half still trapped in the world of this sketch, the drawing tutor only afterwards realised that he had once again missed his chance to ask the religion tutor to accompany him into town for the evening. 

*

The five eldest children of Gregor and Milana Starkov would remember their nocturnal walk to their father’s menagerie for the rest of their lives and though more than one of them would be admittedly short, the gravity of this for them, as small as they were at the time, still stands. The journey, for with such small legs and knowing so little of the home they lived in to the children this walk felt like it had the gravity of a journey, took them through so many new and wondrous rooms, with stars painted on the ceilings and chandeliers and panelled walls, and down so, so many stairs that Alina’s mind was lost in and amongst it all. How big this dvorets truly was, she could not get over, nor how well her father knew it. 

It was a strange feeling to step into the menagerie in their nightclothes, gowns, and slippers, as though they were crossing a threshold that they could not return from - and one that perhaps they should not have touched. Alina felt her skin prickle as they passed the first few cages; the yellow eyes of a wolf roving over her, the snout of a bear snuffling against the stone floor. They passed a tank of water, but nothing disturbed its surface. Alina imagined a mermaid inside it, her human fingers pressed against the glass, her gills twitching and her tail ticking back and forth behind her scaly head. When they reached the end of the row her father stopped and looked on with some pride: here were the lions. 

There were two of them, a male and a female, pacing in a circle and glaring at each other across the cage. Every fourth step - Alina counted them - the male yowled. After what felt like far too long, their father moved on and his children shuffled after him. 

The final cage, beyond it only the outer wall of the dvorets, was lit across the front by the light of a sconce, but left its back recesses in darkness. A slab of meat lay on the floor, untouched. There was no sign of the tiger. A long pause hung in the air as all six of them craned their necks, strained their eyes - but none so much as little Alina. Please, she thought, desperately, I won’t be able to come again.

“Is it sleeping?” asked Alexei. 

“Maybe,”  

“Wake up!” called Eva, leaning towards the bars of the cage, “Wake up, pussycat, come on!”

Their father smiled down at her, putting a hand on her head. 

“What a lazy pussycat this is,” he said eventually, “Not coming out to make friends,”

Eva wrapped both her little hands around Gregor’s large one. 

“May we see the lions again?” she asked, “They were my favourite,”

“An excellent idea. They are much more interesting than a sleepy tiger - let us go,”

As he began to lead his children back down towards the lion cage, it proved almost too easy for his youngest daughter to pause, to take a step back from the group, and to slip unnoticed back towards the tiger. The darkness folded around Alina like a cloak as she tiptoed back to the bars of the cage, her sibling’s chatter fading into the distance. 

Please. Please. Please.

Alina gazed into the depthless black, her mind wandering even now to how she might draw it, how perspective was supposed to capture something when the lines were hidden by the dark. Whether it was because she’d become distracted or because she was looking the wrong way or for another reason entirely she didn’t know, but Alina did not see the tiger until the very moment it was almost upon her. 

[ragingstillness]

I got into S&B right after finishing Punisher and it’s interesting to me how different Billy Russo’s scars and Aleksander Morozova’s are.

*insert endless jokes about people not wanting to ruin Ben Barnes’ beautiful face, haha why has it happened twice haha*

Anyway, Billy’s scars look like, well, scars. The skin was cut but it healed over with new skin. Aleksander’s scars look like fissures. Like there’s literally a hole/notch in his face, a tunnel of skin that was carved out and never healed, the skin on either side only held together by stitches.

And not to get too English major on y’all, but I think that’s an interesting reflection on their characters.

Billy’s skin healed, but it healed different, something new appeared to paper over the hurt, like the way his mind tried various ways to process what he could and couldn’t remember, putting together the jigsaw of his own mind.

Aleksander’s scars were torn open, left to fester, held together by a thread. He’s been calm and calculated for hundreds of years but this recent betrayal has ripped open every emotional wound he’s ever had, released everything he’s ever bottled up. And there is no panacea, no healing, he’s open and raw, on the warpath with the thinnest line of self-control.

[courtofmuses]

THERE   WAS   A   NEW   HUNGER   that   settled   in   the   pit   of   his   stomach   he   couldn't   deny.   Alina   was   the   flame   that   ignited   his   desire   in   so   many   ways;   protecting   the   Grisha,   sharing   his   legacy   with   someone,   physical   yearning.   It   wasn't   as   if   Aleksander   didn't   have   past   lovers   because   he'd   certainly   had.   But   they   had   never   lasted   because   they   were   not   the   woman   he'd   been   destined   to   find   and   love.   Earning   her   love   in   return;   however,   had   been   more   difficult   than   he   could   have   imagined.   Whether   or   not   the   night   before   had   at   all   changed   her   mind   he   wasn't   sure.   Aleksander   was   sure   he'd   find   out.   

A   soft   smile   settled   on   his   features   as   she   turned   to   face   him,   the   sheet   slipping   lower   on   her   frame.   He   couldn't   help   but   allow   dark   eyes   to   drink   in   the   sight   of   her   smooth   skin.   He   had   touched   and   kissed   every   part   of   her   the   night   prior   and   he   was   eager   to   do   so   again.   Aleksander   had   been   as   gentle   as   possible,   focusing   on   Alina's   pleasure   over   his   own.   He   could   recall   the   beautiful   sounds   that   had   left   her   lips   as   he   tasted   her   between   her   thighs,   the   way   she   trembled   against   him   as   she   reached   peak   pleasure.   It   had   been   beautiful.   

❝   Good   morning,   ❞   he   replied.   Aleksander   pressed   a   gentle   kiss   to   her   lips   and   propped   himself   on   his   elbow.   ❝   How   do   you   feel   this   morning,   моя   любовь?   ❞   He   had   no   desire   to   leave   this   bed   any   time   soon.   He   would   summon   one   of   the   servants   of   the   Little   Palace   to   bring   them   breakfast   and   whatever   else   @sankta-alina-s   desired.   He   was   selfish   enough   to   want   to   keep   the   woman   in   his   bed   with   him   for   as   long   as   possible.   

Aleksander   reached   to   brush   a   bit   of   hair   from   her   cheek   before   dipping   his   head   to   press   a   trail   of   kisses   along   the   side   of   his   neck.   ❝   You   look   beautiful   this   morning.   ❞

THERE   WAS   A   NEW   HUNGER   that   settled   in   the   pit   of   his   stomach   he   couldn't   deny.   Alina   was   the   flame   that   ignited   his   desire   in   so   many   ways;   protecting   the   Grisha,   sharing   his   legacy   with   someone,   physical   yearning.   It   wasn't   as   if   Aleksander   didn't   have   past   lovers   because   he'd   certainly   had.   But   they   had   never   lasted   because   they   were   not   the   woman   he'd   been   destined   to   find   and   love.   Earning   her   love   in   return;   however,   had   been   more   difficult   than   he   could   have   imagined.   Whether   or   not   the   night   before   had   at   all   changed   her   mind   he   wasn't   sure.   Aleksander   was   sure   he'd   find   out.   

A   soft   smile   settled   on   his   features   as   she   turned   to   face   him,   the   sheet   slipping   lower   on   her   frame.   He   couldn't   help   but   allow   dark   eyes   to   drink   in   the   sight   of   her   smooth   skin.   He   had   touched   and   kissed   every   part   of   her   the   night   prior   and   he   was   eager   to   do   so   again.   Aleksander   had   been   as   gentle   as   possible,   focusing   on   Alina's   pleasure   over   his   own.   He   could   recall   the   beautiful   sounds   that   had   left   her   lips   as   he   tasted   her   between   her   thighs,   the   way   she   trembled   against   him   as   she   reached   peak   pleasure.   It   had   been   beautiful.   

❝   Good   morning,   ❞   he   replied.   Aleksander   pressed   a   gentle   kiss   to   her   lips   and   propped   himself   on   his   elbow.   ❝   How   do   you   feel   this   morning,   моя   любовь?   ❞   He   had   no   desire   to   leave   this   bed   any   time   soon.   He   would   summon   one   of   the   servants   of   the   Little   Palace   to   bring   them   breakfast   and   whatever   else   @sankta-alina-s   desired.   He   was   selfish   enough   to   want   to   keep   the   woman   in   his   bed   with   him   for   as   long   as   possible.   

Aleksander   reached   to   brush   a   bit   of   hair   from   her   cheek   before   dipping   his   head   to   press   a   trail   of   kisses   along   the   side   of   his   neck.   ❝   You   look   beautiful   this   morning.   ❞

[dhampiravidi]

sleepwalking: Aleksander Morozova

TELL ME that Bring Me the Horizon's "Sleepwalking" isn't a Darkling aka Aleksander Morozova song--

the merzost is kicking his butt post-S1 (or maybe it's always made him sick on certain days?) & he secretly wants to give up on his dreams for improving Ravka/getting his revenge on all the bigoted otkazat'sya, but his pride & rage keeps him from doing so. it's just so tiring, going through the endless cycle of fighting, loss & faking his death, but what else is there? he has his beloved, but what can they do (alone or together) to fix anything?

@starlsssankt reminds me of our current "post-S1 AU where Aleks is dying from merzost & desperately needs a cure" thread!

[gccdstories]

Roleplay History

The rules are simple! Post characters you’d like to roleplay as, have roleplayed as, and might bring back. Then tag ten people to do the same (if you can’t think of ten, just write down however many you can and tag that number of people). Please repost, don’t reblog!

Muses I RP Currently:

Aleksander Morozova/The Darkling (grishaverse) || @starlsssankt

Rhysand (acotar)

Cassian (acotar)

Azriel (acotar)

Feyre Archeron (acotar)

Nesta Archeron (acotar)

Elain Archeron (acotar)

Amarantha (acotar)

Nyx (actoar)

Ruhn Danaan (cc)

Hunt Athalar (cc)

Bryce Quinlan (cc)

Danika Fendyr (cc)

Baxian (cc)

Lidia Cervos (cc)

Aedion Ashryver (tog)

Alina Starkov (grishaverse)

Baghra (Natalia) Morozova (grishaverse)*

Genya Safin (grishaverse)

Zoya Nazyalensky (grishaverse)

Lara Fruszi (grishaverse)

Ivan [Kaminsky] (grishaverse)

Xaden Riorson (empyrean)

Violet Sorrengail (empyrean)

Rhiannon Matthias (empyrean)

Tairn (empyrean)

Sgaeyl (empyrean)

Andarna (empyrean)

Narcissa Black Malfoy (hp)

Bellatrix Black Lestrange (hp)

Sirius Black (hp)

Remus Lupin (hp)

Penellaphe Balfour Da'Neer (fbaa)

Casteel Da'Neer (fbaa)

Nyktos (f&f)

Alaric Ossinast (the hurricane wars)

Raihn Ashrahj (crowns of nyaxia)

Daemon Targaryen (hotd)

Rhaenyra Targaryen (hotd)

Muses I (Kinda?) Want to Write (that I never have before):

Liam Mairi (empyrean)

Sloane Mairi (empyrean)

Garrick Tavis (empyrean)

Imogen Cardulo (empyrean)

Nikolai Lantsov (grishaverse)

Daenerys Targaryen (got)

Muses I Have Written (in the past):

Lucifer (spn/biblical)

Gabriel (dominion/biblical)

Killian Jones (ouat)

Emma Swan (ouat)

Alice Jones (ouat)

Hope Mikaelson (tvdu)

Klaus Mikaelson (tvdu)

Rebekah Mikaelson (tvdu)

Lizzie Saltzman (tvdu)

Nick (spn)

Sam Winchester (spn)

(And I know there are more, of course. But these are ones that I've written as more than a single-thread and/or had as "official" muses on a blog/multimuse/etc.)

Muses I Would Write Again (maybe?)

Any of my OCs (that barely get off the ground but whatever)

Lucifer

Klaus Mikaelson

Tagged by : @smiletimeisrunningout Tagging : @ anyone who'd like to go down memory lane :)

[cheremorte]

#CHEREMORTE — to cherish death

Independent & private multimuse ft. characters from (YA) literature, videogames & more. Cherished by Bubbles. 25+. Formerly known as dearestdeaths. Sporadic activity until further notice. Rules & character information to be found under the cut.

RULES

INTRODUCTION. if you've made it this far, you're probably wondering why I suddenly changed blogs without any notice on my old blog. The truth is: I locked myself out like a silly little goose. So here I am once again, and hopefully this time for a longer period.

FOLLOWING. As per my previous blog, I made this one to enjoy interactions with people I've been writing with for a long time. That doesn't mean I'm not open to new interactions, but I won't be begging for any and I will not be following first. That being said, if we know eachother, hey!

ACTIVITY. This blog will be low activity due to being a new mom. I am, however, always available on discord for plotting and/or short threads.

DASH. I don't really care for aesthetic, I don't use icons and I couldn't care less about what you do, so long as you cut posts and don't use too many spaces between words in replies to me.

TRIGGERS. I tag basic triggers and any triggers you ask me to tag. Format: "trigger" tw. This blog may contain mentions of incest (as prevalent to the world of ASOIAF, not to be romanticized), violence, depression, crime. Any type of bigotry or discriminatory behavior is not welcome.

MUN. My name is Bubbles, I'm 26. I'm ethnically and religiously jewish, autistic and a mom. Life is a lot and RP is a hobby, not a jobby.

MUSES - WIP

ZELDA. Canon Character. The Legend Of Zelda (video game). 117 - 120.

THE OUTSIDER. Canon Character. Dishonored (video game). 4000+.

RHAEGAR TARGARYEN. Canon Character. A Song Of Ice And Fire (book-based). Verse Dependent. [ rhaegar fought valiantly. rhaegar fought nobly. rhaegar fought honorably. and rhaegar died. ]

BRYNDEN RIVERS. Canon Character. A Song Of Ice And Fire (book-based). Verse Dependent.

NIKOLAI LANTSOV. Canon Character. Grishaverse (book-based). Verse Dependent.

ALEKSANDER MOROZOVA. Canon Character. Grishaverse (book-based). 400+.

DA JAEHWAN. Own Character. 5000+. Vampire. [ you dangle on the leash of your own longing ; your need grows teeth. ]

SHERALITH OAKWIND. Own Character. The Elder Scrolls (video game). 34.

SABINE CALLAS AKA VIPER. Canon Character. Valorant (video game). [ blood on your hands ; as though it stops there. ]

[mxacegrey]

I posted 442 times in 2022

26 posts created (6%)

416 posts reblogged (94%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@honeybeezgobzzzzz

@sehnsuchts-trunken

@specialagentlokitty

@dotieeee

@tarafications

I tagged 202 of my posts in 2022

#the darkling x reader - 38 posts

#aleksander morozova x reader - 33 posts

#shadow and bone - 27 posts

#the darkling - 27 posts

#general kirigan x reader - 26 posts

#the sandman - 20 posts

#aleksander morozova - 20 posts

#doctor who - 18 posts

#morpheus x reader - 18 posts

#dream of the endless - 17 posts

Longest Tag: 98 characters

#christmas-themed episodes at times; but not a /real/ 'christmas special' like a lot of uk shows do

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Ring Mayhem

@imagining-in-the-margins

Prompt: [Hotch] Jack is the ringbearer and he informs the bride/groom that he’s lost the ring… a couple hours before the wedding.

Summary: 4 hours until the moment your wedding starts... Only the rings seem have gone missing.

A soft whimper from the other side of the door had your head turn sharply. With slow steps, you walked to the door and opened it slowly.

“Jack?” You questioned as you saw a teary-eyed Jack Hotchner at your door. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m- I’m sorry...I didn’t mean to...” Jack said, lower lip trembling. 

“What’s wrong, Jack?” You asked, crouching down to sit next to Jack. Your arm sat over his shoulders as you pulled him closer to you.

“Daddy’s ring...” Jack said, hiding his face into your chest. Your hand began to thread through his hair as you soothed him. “I lost it, Y/N.”

“Jack...” You whispered, tearing up not just because Jack was in tears but because the rings were missing.

“It was in my pocket and I was talking to Henry and Uncle Spence.... And I couldn’t find it!” Jack sniffled. 

“Okay. It’s okay, Jack. It’s not your fault.”

“I’m sorry...” Jack cried harder, sitting in your lap. 

“Jack. Buddy. I need to get up.” You stated, trying to move Jack’s hands from around your neck.

“No!” Jack exclaimed, holding you even tighter.

“I’ll be right back. I just need to get my phone.” Jack slowly unwound his arms from your neck and you darted inside the room, grabbing the phone from the table. You ran back outside and slid to the ground, lifting Jack and placing him back in your chest. You shifted through your recent contacts.

My Love 💕💖

De Macho 💪🏾

Genius 🦉

Em 😎

Blondie 👨‍👩‍👦‍👦

PG 💻

Papa Rossi ✍✍

You press the last contact.

“Rossi.” 

“Dave. Don't raise your voice, don't look alarmed, step away from Aaron and just listen.” You commanded before taking a deep breath. “We have a slight problem.”

“What?” Rossi hissed.

“The rings may have been misplaced.” Jack wriggled back and hid his face into your chest once more.

“Who lost the rings?” David asked alarmed. Jack looked up at you in alarm.

“Me.” You said, maintaining eye contact with a glossy-eyed Jack.

See the full post

149 notes - Posted August 5, 2022

#4

Speak Now

@imagining-in-the-margins​​

Prompt:  “Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Summary: Seven words to make or break a relationship

Warnings: angst & references to nightmares

“Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

You sat in the front row, eyes glossy, watching Spencer smile at his bride, Maeve, with such glee. A hand clasping your shoulder had you turn your head to the side. Your eyes looked at the hand, trailing upwards to Rossi’s face.

“You okay, kiddo?” He whispered, smiling sadly.

“Yeah.” You whisper back. You turned your head back to Spencer.

“I object!” You suddenly hear a voice yell. The audience gasped in shock as the man who had spoke stood up. He had sat in your exact seat, with your exact facial expression, only on the bride’s side. “Y/N. I know you object too.”

“Charles!” Maeve whispered. “What are you doing?”

“Y/N. What is he talking about?” Spencer asked, looking directly at you. His eyes glared at you, icy, as if he was disgusted by what he heard.

“I love you, Maeve. I have always loved you!” Charles confessed, walking up to her.

“I...” You stuttered under Spencer’s gaze before taking a deep breath. “I love you, Spencer.”

“Really?! Now?! You’re doing this now?!” Spencer shouted. “I’m happy! I am finally happy and you just had to mess things up, didn’t you?! You always do this! Why- Why would you do this?!”

“I...” You trailed off before saying, “I’m sorry.”

“No! You... You are pathetic and I’ll never love you! You disgust me.” Spencer snapped as he leaned towards you.

*****

They always show in films when you wake from a nightmare, you jump upright, breathing heavily. That’s a lie. Your eyes opened slowly as if begging for the nightmare to be fake, that Spencer’s voice wasn’t spitting venom at you. You listened for the sound of cars driving past and the sound of sirens. Tears building in your eyes, you reached out for your phone.

06/08 5:34 AM

Spencer’s wedding day. You sat up in your bed, tears streaming down your face. You sat there for what felt like minutes, trying to control your breathing when there was a knock at your door. A head popped in and the man it belonged to was a certain Spencer Reid.

Now Spencer and you have known each other for years. You met aged 7 and you were his best friend, even if you weren’t a child genius like he was. He graduated high school at 12 but you did at 14. While he went through 3 PHDs, you went through law school and were now one of the best criminal lawyers around. You had kept touch through everything, you slowly falling in love with your best friend. One day, (1 year, 3 months, 6 days, 18 hours and 23- 24 seconds ago) Spencer had come home to your shared apartment with a massive grin on his face.

“You good, Spence?” You had asked, looking up from some cases.

“...I got a date with Maeve.” Spencer grinned, face lighting up like it hadn’t in ages. You smiled in response (I mean of course you did, you were happy he was happy even if it wasn’t with you).

After a number of dates and phone calls and visits, Spencer had proposed. He had walked into your office at work one day, asking for ideas and like a good friend, you did. (Some nights, you wished you hadn’t. That maybe something would happen to break the two up. But as soon as those thoughts appeared, you snapped out of it because he was your everything and his happiness meant so much more to you.) It was a choice when Spencer asked you to be his best person and you chose to stay. Chose to have your heart stamped over but see him happy than see him not. 

****

“Good afternoon. Maeve, Spencer and I would like to welcome everyone on this gorgeous day. It's because of all of you—because of this strong community— Spencer and Maeve's relationship has strengthened and grown and led them to this very moment. Thank you for being here, now let's begin.” The officiant said, after Maeve had walked down the aisle with her bridesmaids.

“First we have a reading of ‘The White Rose’, which was written by John Boyle O’Reilly.” The officiant continued,

“The red rose whispers of passion, And the white rose breathes of love; O, the red rose is a falcon, And the white rose is a dove. But I send you a cream-white rosebud With a flush on its petal tips; For the love that is purest and sweetest Has a kiss of desire on the lips.” 

You listened from your front row seat, watching Spencer look at the love of his life, Maeve, with such glee and adoration. You glanced to the side to see Charles in your exact seat, with your exact facial expression only on the bride’s side.

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182 notes - Posted August 6, 2022

#3

WARNING: Fate the Winx Saga Season 2 Spoilers!!

Update: Series is now up! ==> Masterlist

Thinking of writing a Fate fic with Blood Witch Reader, Riven, Sky and Silva.

Reader was training as a Specialist and was really good. Never relying on their abilities.

But somehow they get revealed as a Blood Witch and outcasted. They never wanted to be a blood witch so ran away.

Maybe Reader fights Sebastian and becomes a traitor to them too.

Sky, Riven and Silva defend them???

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192 notes - Posted September 17, 2022

#2

Gone

Summary: Heartrender Y/N has been in the Little Palace for as long as they could remember. Now that Alina the Sun Summoner has come to Os Alta, Y/N can make their leave.

Being a powerful heartrender was not easy. You had to practice often to ensure no loss of control and occasionally you would catch the eye of someone powerful... Someone like the Darkling.

“Sir. My transfer?” You asked, as you walked into the war room.

“Has been accepted. Pack your bags for Ketterdam.” Your commander stated.

“Ketterdam, sir?” You asked, masking your glee.

“Yes. Now go!” You were commanded. Once you walked out of the room, you walked next door to your bedroom.

Now let me explain. There is a reason for your bedroom being so close to the Darkling’s. You were powerful in terms of your heartrending, yes, but that’s not all. You were born and raised as a Fjerdan warrior/shieldmaiden and tended to rely more on that and your abilites with your dual swords than using your Grisha abilites. As a heartrender, you were able to manipulate the human body. You could snatch the air from lungs, slow pulses until comatose, or even literally crush a heart — all from a distance. But you could do more. You could create illusions and hallucinations by affecting the neurotransmitters in the body, could alter memories and even manipulate one’s emotions. It was no wonder that the Darkling wanted you so close by.

You began packing your bags for Ketterdam, taking the kefta you had with you. You ignored the black kefta that stood on a mannequin next to your table. A dressing table with a latch sat next to your bed, which connected to the Darkling’s room. You didn’t use it but the Darkling liked to. In the middle of the night, while you slept and after his work had been done, he would turn the latch into your room after stripping out of his kefta. He would caress your sleeping face before slipping under the covers and wrapping his arm over your waist. He would often still be there by the morning when you woke.

2 years... It had taken 2 whole years for your transfer to be accepted. 2 years of being accepted by your immediate commanders and all other channels but always stopped by the General. There was never a good reason either, just a simple ‘You’re needed here’.

“I’m going to Ketterdam.”

**** 

Five Months Later

General Kirigan sat in his war room, maps all over the table with figurines on top of them. He leaned back in his chair, leaning his head back. Closing his eyes, he waited for hands to rub his shoulder and a voice to offer suggestions in his ears. He suddenly opened his eyes when he heard and felt nothing. Standing up, he began pacing.

“When was the last time I saw them? It was at dinner yesterday - no I had dinner with Alina. Breakfast? No...” Kirigan ranted before deciding to enter Y/N’s room. He looked around, finding the bed made but a few things on the table missing. His eyes widened as he opened the closet to find clothes gone. Worried, he walked (not ran, he was too sophisticated for that.) to find Ivan or Fedyor, Y/N’s closest friends.

“Sir.” The two heartrenders greeted as they began to walk towards the Winter Fete.

“Have you seen them?” The General asked, not bothering with pleasantries.

“The Sun Summoner, sir?” Fedyor asked bemused. “They were with Genya.”

“No. Y/N.” The General explained.

“They’re... They’re in Ketterdam, sir.” Ivan explained, rather confused.

“What? Why are they there?” Kirigan persisted.

“Sir, Y/N left months ago. Their transfer went through.” Fedyor explained after exchanging a short glance with Ivan.

“What? What transfer? I didn’t sign a transfer.” Kirigan denied.

“The one you keep stopping. And you clearly signed the transfer paper and the patrol papers.” Ivan nodded along with Fedyor. 

“Fine. I’ll get them back.” Kirigan declared, turning sharply on his heel before turning back around. “After the fete.“

General Kirigan walked away and Ivan and Fedyor sighed in unison. General Kirigan didn’t seem to realise that Y/N didn’t want to be brought back. After a few days and after Alina’s escape from the Little Palace, General Kirigan finally made their way to Ketterdam. He asked around and found their house, knocking on the door, his black kefta floating behind him.

“Aleksander?” You asked, as you opened the door.

“Y/N.” Came the swift reply from the man himself. “Can I come in?”

Part 2

302 notes - Posted August 7, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

The Masked Part 1

Fandom: Fate the Winx Saga

Pairings: Sky x reader, Riven x reader, Saul Silva x reader (Platonic or otherwise undecided)

Warning: Descriptions of violence. swearing and hints of childhood abandonment.

A/N: This part is based on Season 1 but the rest will be pre- and in Season 2 (Rosalind’s era). So spoilers for them.

Taglist: @v1naco | @instantplaiddream | @faithm120601 | @holyhumorliteraturelight​​

Series Masterlist

You woke to the vibrations of their makeshift bed and the engine of the Solarian guard car in which they slept. You could hear the words of the driver and passenger of the car, a pair of fairies, one a fire fairy and the other an air fairy. The two fairies were ‘friends’ with your best friends, Sky and Riven respectively.

“You stole a car? How do you know how to steal a car?“ You heard Bloom, the fire fairy, ask Beatrix, the air fairy.

“I know how to do a lot of things.” You heard Beatrix retort as they drove off to an unknown destination. Now why you were in a Solarian guard’s car was simple... No, you didn’t sleep with a guard that arrive that morning. You didn’t sleep at all the night before and when one of the guards, an old friend called Cathán, asked you to grab something from the car, you may have fallen asleep. 

The drive went on in silence, you laid stiff with tension. The car twisted and turned, the sound of tires over gravel the only other sound. Soon the car stopped, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Bloom and Beatrix stepped out of the car, causing you to exhale heavily,

“Aster Dell was a town, right? Are you sure this is the right place?” You heard Bloom ask, Beatrix replying.

“I'm positive.” 

“How could a town be marked on a map if it's on the side of a mountain?” Bloom asked as she walked further from the car. Your hand went towards your phone and read the most recent texts from Sky and Riven.

BlueEyes: Where the hell are you?!

Raven: Fuck this! Sky is calling Silva! So get your ass back here!

Soon enough, Bloom and Beatrix got back into the car, Bloom’s face depressed. You heard them talk about Rosalind and Aster Dell... Two very familiar names.

“Dowling imprisoned her. I'm at Alfea to break her out.” Beatrix explained before exclaiming as something hit the car. “Shit!”

The tires screeched and Beatrix ran out, only to be stopped by Headmistress Dowling and Professor Harvey, who was holding her in place using Earth magic. 

“Take Bloom. We’ll handle this.” Headmistress Dowling stated, your body froze in the back of the SUV. The group began to move away from the SUV when Silva then stated.

“You know... Y/N was missing today. Sky and Riven told me they weren’t on campus. Then one of the queen’s guards, Cathán, said that Y/N was helping him with something in the SUV before he got knocked out.” Silva explained, walking towards the back of the SUV. He opened the door to your sheepish face, staring blankly at you. “Get out, Y/N.“

Meanwhile back on the Alfea campus, Sky and Riven were talking to each other. They stood in the training grounds, wooden sticks in hand as they fought.

“And you’re sure Y/N isn’t here?” Riven asked Sky, his stick spinning as he hit Sky.

“We looked everywhere.” Sky explained, before dodging a swipe and blocking another hit. “I told Silva and...”

Sky was cut off by a loud ping and Riven’s phone went off a second later.

Silva: We’ve got them.

As they read the message, another appeared from their friend.

Y/N ⚔❤: You fuckers snitched! Silva hasn’t stopped yelling at me since he found me!!

Due to your ‘actions’, Silva placed you on house arrest with a curfew. Bloom was spied upon and Beatrix led away by Headmistress Dowling. A few days passed and soon you were called to arms against the Burned Ones.

“Y/N. We need to go!” Riven called out before you grabbed your dual swords with a silver hilt and ran outside the school. Unsheathing your swords, you began cutting down Burned Ones, leaving a trail behind you. In the distance, you could make out a redhead walking towards the Burned Ones and transforming, fire swirling around her. You began walking back to the school, passing out from exhaustion.

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326 notes - Posted September 19, 2022

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