#And Alina could have that influence on him but only after centuries would pass

[aleksanderscult]

It's stupid how much power Alina would have had over him if she knew how to manipulate her touch. But alas she was busy being slut shamed left and right because of her impure thoughtsTM.

She was slut-shamed so much, anon, it's crazy. These books feel like they judge you like they are the Bible or something. Screaming: "Be pure in your thoughts and actions!!"

About the influence she could have on Aleksander, I have thought about this a lot myself. And I'm divided between:

- Yes, she could have a certain amount of influence on him. Because we've seen him lowering his guard for her in certain scenes (chapel scene where he bent to kiss her and got close to her, throne room where Alina reached to touch his cheek and he closed his eyes and, of course, the name reveal scene). If Alina allowed herself to use her charm and touch on him Aleksander would react to it like the boy he used to be. When he used to be innocent and not that much cruel. If she knew how to play her cards right, how to use her influence on him, Aleksander would concede for her in a way. And Alina would be able to to bring to the surface the not-damaged boy he used to be.

You know, that reminds me the tale of Hades and Persephone. While Hades was a terrifying figure in Greek mythology, he was absolutely faithful and respectful to his wife throughout their marriage. And they say Persephone was the only one that could calm his dark moods.

So I imagine something like that with Alina and the Darkling.

BUT!

- Another side that I think of is that Aleksander wouldn't buy it. He wouldn't buy into her efforts of seduction because he's no fool. He's a highly intelligent person that can see through people's bullshit. So when Alina would try to coax him gently, he would be like "BAHAHAHAHA YEAH that's not gonna work, honey".

Now if we have to reach to a conclusion, I would say that his reaction would be a combination of these two. Depending on when Alina tries to entice him ('cause timing is everything) and in what circumstances. For example, if he wants to do something really important for him and Alina wants to change his mind, Aleksander wouldn't buy into her efforts. But if it's something less important and with Alina's decent effort and good timing, then he would concede.

It's all about the thing they fight about, you know? And how much experience and tact Alina would have.

[guadalupehesus]

"While there's life, there's hope." - Marcus Tullius Cicero.

Dear Harry,

I am writing to you with a warning. As I know, you often have or had inappropriate states due to mental or alcoholic intoxication. God forbid you to use drugs. Why did I bring up this personal problem of yours? I'm not judging you. A person of the 21st century is very vulnerable mentally to temptations. This is our life. Nowadays, even those who pray are afraid of disgracing themselves, if they have any intelligence, of course. Yesterday you were on a horse with a shield, today you are a laughingstock. And what will happen tomorrow is chaotic and unpredictable even for me. For example, Vladimir Putin unexpectedly gave us a kitten. You can say that the President of the Russian Federation gave me and my sister the whole world of tenderness and warmth that exudes from this furry baby. He did it secretly. However, I suspect it could have been a love spell, but I am deeply grateful to him for the only worthwhile act of a man on his part. The only thing that darkens my mood is that the Kyrgyz government used to cast a spell on me to take away the greatness of Russia and the Romanov Family for years. And now, this is being done by the respected Russian president at the behest of a migrant from sunny Uzbekistan - Alina Maratovna Kabaeva.

Don't make these mistakes, Harry. It often happens that a strong politician was ruined not by his professional qualities, but by his woman. You were a strong warrior in past lives. But Meghan Markle has always been a satanic temptation for you, Harry!

Harry, you got involved with a first-class, cunning escort-girl from the circle of the damned Epstein himself, according to the Western media. These are dangerous people who, through sex, subsequently dirty blackmail, achieve great material things. I wouldn't be surprised if they blackmailed some sheikhs, which often influences their big politics. For example, Arabs could at least verbally express their disagreement with the aggression towards the children of Palestine. I wish no harm to either Jews or Arabs. I just have a feeling that people like Epstein behave like spiders. And you, Harry, are naive by nature from your past lives. +You grew up in a palace where everyone respected you. You didn’t know what some people outside of your well-fed, successful circle of friends and sincere fan-girls who idolized you were capable of. And I was often humiliated by vile people and that’s why I tried to warn you from the very beginning.

Harry, if you are originally Elton John or Freddie Mercury, then everything is fine. But it’s another matter if, taking advantage of your intoxication, your wife pushes a homosexual adventure* up your ass for the purpose of blackmail in the near future. First of all, give up drugs and make an appointment with a psychologist. But remember that this psychologist can also work for the protector of your wife. Get a grip, Harry. For the sake of your children. What will they remember about their childhood? The first 6 years are the most important period in the formation of the human psyche. Then - adolescence.

I think, you must accept your mother's passing. This is your Achilles heel. Let Mom go, Harry. Her life was not so bad after all. Your mother lived a vibrant and noble life that one could only dream of. She left an unforgettable mark on the hearts of both whites and blacks. This (!) is important. Think about women in brothels in India, for example. They don’t even dare to dream about the Princess’s life. As for Diana's suspicious death, I will reveal to you the secret of the Higher Powers.

This is the meaning of your mother's suffering: Diana had to see the dark side of the black aristocracy. If she had been happy with Charles III and had not been helped to leave this world, then the hearts of her two sons would not have been pure and, perhaps, they would have been on the side of Satan. Think of it as saving the souls of Lady Di's sons. Apocalyptic times lie ahead of us. But there are few strong people with kind souls on Earth. We, the Light forces, need warriors.

However, I ask you not to immediately write a book 😉 about the fact that I am talking about the Apocalypse. People won't understand. They never understood...

Yours sincerely,

Asel

* I do not hate gays, but I would be dissapointed, if you did it with a man . Sorry, but this is not appropriate for men.

[politicalmamaduck]

to taste the feathery light

A Darklina jurda parem as sex pollen AU, prompted by Anonymous. Title taken from Pollen by Michael Waters.

Read it on AO3 here.

“Aleksander?”

Alina made certain the door was firmly closed behind her before she approached.

He looked up from his pile of papers, concern evident upon his face despite whatever he was reading.

“What’s wrong, my love?”

She took a deep breath, and prayed to Saints in whom she didn’t believe that he would have an answer for her.

“What have you heard about jurda parem?”

He sat back down, and set the parchment in his hand back atop the pile. The true cost of an eternal war, she thought, was paperwork.

Unless the Shu destroyed them all with Grisha controlled by jurda parem first.

She sat down next to him.

He met her eyes. “Not enough.”

The world was spinning, and Alina was soaring above it. She could fly, she could truly touch the sun and take it for herself. She did not need to summon it when she could simply take it out of the sky, claim it for her own.

She did not stop to think about plunging the world into an eternal darkness until she felt Aleksander soaring next to her, taking her hand.

“Mine,” she muttered, seeking to swat his hand away, but instead, pulling it closer to herself, somehow placing it around her hip to cup her ass. Her hand curved around his neck, her fingers stretching towards his hair.

His hair, always so thick and luxuriant, much like his lips, and his beard, and his cock.

She moaned into his kiss, their mouths open wide, devouring the other, the sun and the moon chasing each other across the sky.

Her sunlight became a flame, a fire that would devour them both.

…

“There is someone I could contact,” she offered. “Someone in Ketterdam that may be able to help.”

Aleksander eyed her carefully. “Nina is there.” Be careful, he did not have to add.

She nodded. “I believe they know one another.”

If Aleksander realized who she meant, he did not say. Her escape from the Little Palace, her kidnapping, her flight from the Fold—it was all in the past. It did not matter.

Her mistakes—his mistakes—their mistakes—all were forgotten after she returned and convinced him to help her truly destroy his creations.

The histories did not detail how she convinced him, nor any of the prior mistakes, only that the Darkling and Alina Starkov saved Ravka from truly splitting in two. Not content to rest after their courageous victory, they returned to Os Alta to end the wars against the druskelle and the Shu once and for all.

Perhaps those who wrote the histories would not have been so quick to deem them heroes—or Saints—if they knew the truth.

How Aleksander created the Fold in the first place.

How Alina seduced him to destroy it.

How they chose to spend the rest of their eternal lives together.

…

She screamed when she felt the jurda parem in her veins, interacting with her blood.

“Alina!” Aleksander roared. His voice was like a wave washing over her, tethering her to reality, through the hazy maze of pain.

She was going to black out.

She closed her eyes, felt herself sinking, heard the sound of the Cut in the distance.

She felt Aleksander’s arms around her.

The pain stopped.

She opened her eyes and the world exploded into colors she had never seen before.

She felt alive. She felt free.

She felt powerful beyond even the amplifier she wore around her neck.

She was a Saint. She was not just a Saint, but a goddess, one long forgotten and no longer worshipped, part of the Making at the Heart of the World.

She would make them bow down to her might and kneel and worship her.

…

His tongue was inside her and she was floating, causing the stars themselves to spin and collide. Somehow, they had transcended even the atmosphere. She had not taken the sun for her own, as it was upon the other side of the Earth. But soon. First, Aleksander was going to make her come. She begged him for more until she was weeping.

Each teardrop was a star, a snowflake, a diamond.

She spun among constellations and dreams, weaving a new galaxy, a blizzard, a crown greater than any she had worn or seen.

His hands gripped her hips so hard they should have left bruises, but what were bruises to a goddess? The divine bore no marks of age, weakness, or pleasure.

They made love among the stars, the only witness to her screaming and desperate gasps of pleasure.

She had never felt so whole, so complete, so endless before.

His seed dropped down her legs and she knew their children would be born among the stars. Their children would be mountains, forests, creatures that would become myth. Morozova’s amplifiers reborn, the world rebuilt in their image, as a haven for Grisha, a paradise of pleasure where the only pain would be that chosen for pleasure.

Goddesses did not bear human children.

She leaned back languidly, to stroke his cheek and look into his eyes.

His eyes were even darker and deeper than normal as they soared across the stars. She could get lost in those dark pools, and perhaps she would. She wanted to drink in the depths of him, drown herself in him, lose herself in the abyss and never look back.

She laughed and kissed him again, gloriously drunk on love and the jurda parem coursing through her veins.

…

Days passed before Alina awoke, truly awoke, herself once more.

Somehow, with his centuries of existence, Aleksander managed to fight his way back to consciousness and carry Alina until he found their horses. Holding her with one arm and the reins to her horse with the other, he returned them to the Little Palace, where he promptly collapsed with exhaustion, only managing to tell the first Healer on the scene the word “parem.”

Apparently his withdrawal was so severe that he destroyed half the hospital wing, but Alina was still unconscious and thus did not see it.

Her throat was raw when she awoke. She vaguely remembered screaming. Her thighs were sore—perhaps the sex was not a dream, then.

He was there when she awoke.

All she could do was look at him. Her life, her love, her husband.

He moved to sit down next to her, taking a bowl of broth from the bedside table. He held it to her lips. She drank. It helped soothe her throat, but her veins itched.

She wanted more.

She looked at him.

“What happened?” she managed to croak.

He looked at her.

“We are the second and the third Grisha to survive jurda parem,” he said. He looked away, appearing exhausted.

She breathed, tried to force her body to quiet its screaming. The memories began to return in a flood, a torrent.

What had they done?

…

It was an ambush near the Shu Han border.

They went, seeking information, a meeting, reconnaissance with their informants.

The Shu were ever careful, though, watching their borders carefully.

Alina did not remember, did not see the bodies strewn through the valley, their heads separated from their shoulders by the Cut. No one survived save Aleksander and herself.

Aleksander saw them when he awoke and realized it was a new body count record that he would never, could never repeat. Would never want to remember, repeat slaughtering even the enemies that caused him to have that power in the first place.

It seemed like so many of them when they were first ambushed. The two most powerful Grisha were easily overpowered, separated, surrounded. Until the jurda parem took effect.

He didn’t know what they were thinking. Why did they choose to drug Alina? What did they think would happen?

Part of him wished that he had left one of them alive so that there could have been an interrogation.

Part of him knew he would do it again in a heartbeat.

Once he heard Alina scream, there was nothing he would not do to save her.

Even if it meant following her to pain’s depths and jurda parem’s influence.

He thought perhaps it was for the best that she did not fully remember everything.

“I thought I was a goddess,” she said, her eyes finally clear of the drug’s influence. “I was creating constellations, galaxies. I wanted to claim the sun for myself.”

She smiled, sheepishly. “Instead I think I got distracted and claimed you.”

He smiled, took her hand, and kissed it. “That you did, my love.”