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call-sign-shark · 1 month ago

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Pairing: The Darkling x Heartrender!You || The Darkling x HeartrenderOC!Reader

Summary: A great healer, a terrifying heartrender, you are both the disease and the cure. With such a reputation, living on the run quickly becomes necessary for survival. When General Kirigan, ruler of the Shadow Fold, sets his eyes on you, he doesn't see just a weapon, but the key to his dark ambitions. And, most importantly, the echo to his shadows.

Words: 2.5k

TW: Mention of prostitution, child SA and murder, reader is physically described.

Part I - Keep Moving, Little Girl

Masterlist || Next

The Little Palace was veiled in an eerie calm, which wasn’t very usual for a place that crowded by both young promising Grishas and renowned, experienced ones. The luxurious wall, bathed in the golden light of dying embers, gave an almost supernatural aesthetic to the place. General Aleksander Kirigan sat at his desk, his fingers steepled and his black eyes fixed on the fragile flicker of a single candle before him. The little flame danced, its body undulating as it struggled to keep the surrounding darkness away from the little bubble of warm light it created. The room was silent, save for the crackle of the hearth a bit further, and yet, despite this silence, the general’s mind was far from quiet.

He had heard the rumors countless times over the past few months – it had started with nothing more than vague accounts of a few people found dead in a mysterious and gruesome way, but the narrative slowly turned into a monstrous witch, her hair as white as frost, leaving death and blood in her wake. At first, he dismissed them. Ravka was rife with tales of rogue Grisha, exaggerated to feed the fears of peasants and nobles alike. A chimera created by children to tell scary stories, or skillfully crafted clichés to create a deep-ingrained fear of Grisha by politics. But the more he ignored them, the more the whispers persisted: they spread like wildfire and grew darker with each retelling. The most recent account had given him a pause though: a Heartrender, they claimed, whose power was unlike anything ever seen. From what has been reported, the creature could control men as if they were marionettes, forcing them to turn on each other in a grotesque display of violence. One so-called survivor claimed that, with only a few movements of her hands, he saw his colleague forced to turn the barrel of his gun to his temples and shoot himself a bullet right through his brain. Aleksander had raised a brow at the statement:

Such abilities should not exist. Not without the cursed used of Jurda Parem.

Aleksander’s jaw tightened as he leaned back in his chair. If the rumors were true, this woman was no ordinary Grisha. She was a weapon – an unrefined, dangerous force that needed to be claimed before it destroyed itself or got destroyed. And if she truly possessed the kind of power described, that little white-haired heartrender could be either a great asset to his cause or an uncontrollable threat that needed to be neutralized. Or rather, a problem that needed to be resolved.

The shadows around him stirred, as if sensing his thoughts, their tendrils coiling in anticipation. He, who was often too absorbed by his own plans, surprised himself when he realized that his mind raced through the topic of that wild sorceress, weighing risks and rewards, battling between curiosity and schemes. However, one thing had become certain: he could no longer ignore the whispers. He had to find her. Kirigan rose from his seat, the folds of his pitch black kefta sweeping behind him as he crossed the room with hastened steps. He opened the door to find Ivan, who was waiting just outside, his stoic expression as adamant as ever.

“I need you to gather a small team,” The general said without preamble nor explanation. His voice was long and commanding, but Ivan could sense that he also seemed lost in his thoughts, “We’re leaving at first light.”

The tall Corporalki tilted his head, his brows furrowing slightly – the only other expression he had in his palette. “May I ask for what purpose, General?”

“There’s a woman,” Kirigan replied, his tone laced with intrigue but also something darker Ivan couldn’t really pinpoint. “A Heartrender whose power surpasses anything we’ve encountered… At least if the stories told are true.” He paused, his lips curling into a faint and slightly calculating smile, “I must say that these latest accounts intrigued me. If she is what they say she is, she could change everything.”

“And if she’s not?” Ivan asked, his skepticism carefully measured. As much as he trusted General Kirigan, the tall Ravkan man with a stern face couldn’t help doubting. He was a man of facts – not of silly rumors.

Aleksander’s eyes darkened, the flicker of the candlelight reflecting in their dizzying depths. Eyes so black that no one could distinguish the pupil from the iris, “Then we’ll ensure the stories end with us.” He turned back toward his desk without additional explanations, his mind already plotting the route, the approach, and the questions he would ask her. Hair white as the purest snow, eyes as frozen as the deadliest ice desert…There was a part of him that wondered if she even existed, if this was nothing more than another ghost tale spun by frightened villagers. But another part – the darker, sicker and more desperate part – felt the faint pull of something undeniable. He wanted her to be real.

He needed her to be real.

In the back of his mind, General Aleksander Kirigan thought he could almost hear her, like a faint hum carried on the wind. The monster they spoke of wasn’t just some distant threat. She was out there waiting, somewhere in the Ravkan snow, all alone and vulnerable – and she didn’t even know she already belonged to him.

Your shrill scream resounded in the bedroom, bathed in the soft and muted light of Ravkan mornings. Confused, your chest heaved as though you had run for miles even though you had just woken up. Your body was damp, covered in a thin layer of sweat, some locks of hair sticking to your temples.

If there was one thing that plagued your dreams, turning them into terrific nightmares, it was that smell.

The Menagerie smelled of desperation, as Tante Heleen liked to call it. Or rather the awful combination of fun fair treats, sweat, and a dash of discreet, but still noticeable, fragrances of blood. It clung to the air just like the cheap perfume the girls were forced to wear, a sickly-sweet mask that tried hard to hide the rot that lay beneath. One full year had passed since you had escaped from this hellish place and yet, the impression this foul smell was still clinging to your skin and hair, no matter how roughly you washed or how scorching-hot the showers you took were, remained. You had known it your entire life, ever since you were left at its gate as a child. As much as you tried, you couldn’t forget the way your tiny and cold hands tightened their grip around Tante Heleen’s skirt as the woman had dragged you inside, her soft voice cooing false kindness. Like a butcher leading a cattle through the death-smelling corridors of a slaughterhouse.

“You’ll grow into something beautiful,” Heleen had said, glancing at your long white hair while your own eyes surveyed the golden bars at the windows, though you were too young to understand why they were there as well as the malice behind the brothel Madam’s words, “A perfect White Tiger, ma petite chérie.” But the cruel truth was that beauty didn’t save anyone in the Menagerie. It only made you more of a prize to be shown off, sold to the highest bidder and then both used and abused. Beauty was nothing but a poison, a weapon Heleen turned against its bearer in this place made of gilded cages and broken spirits.

By your pre-teens, you had made quite a reputation: despite growing up in this foul nightmare, Tante Heleen never managed to break you entirely. Mastering the art of silence and deadly stares, your unyielding demeanor made you a source of fascination. The bruises on your porcelain skin faded away as quickly as the tears you refused to shed, never succumbing to the horrors clients would make you go through. The same clients who were willing to pay obscene sums not just to touch you but to try and tame you. The men who came for you were often the ones who wanted to conquer that defiance. The ones who wanted to make you scream. Still, you never gave them satisfaction. Worse, they often left more bruised than you because you did fight like a tigress. Even if they ended up overcoming you, your ice-cold eyes would bore into them, frozen and sharp, making even the most depraved feel as though they were the ones who were soiled. No, it wasn’t your beauty alone that drew attention; it was the air around you, heavy with something dangerous.

If being honest with yourself, you had to admit that most of the other girls at the Menagerie didn’t like you. Sometimes, you would catch them whispering about you, sometimes in awe, sometimes in jealousy, but most of the time it was in fear. Why? Because you were eerie. Unsettling, the least. Because you were something else with your pale skin – paler than the Fjerda wolf girl – and long white hair. With the slim hourglass figure and small height, which contrasted far too much with the hatred that burned in your void-like pupils. Besides, you never did much to befriend them: you didn’t weep after being summoned, didn’t cling to anyone for comfort and almost never gave yours to soothe the other poor animals’ pain. The only one you tolerated was the Suli Lynx.

The unsease the others would feel around you only worsened when they discovered that you were a Heartrender. Frightening abilities that manifested themselves one night in an uncontrollable outburst, leading to someone’s brutal death.

The nightmare you had lingered, its remnants jagged and raw. The menagerie’s cages, the laughters, the sensation of hands that burned like brands – they had all dissolved into the room’s silence. “Memories. They are nothing but memories” you told yourself, yet the weight of your not-so-far-away past pressed against your chest like iron shackles.

“Miss, you shall leave the room by eight o’clock.” A voice spoke behind the thick wooden door of the bedroom you rented – a small barren room you had found shelter in for the night. It was no more than a shabby inn, with walls cracked and floorboards uneven. You took off the thin, tattered blanket from you and swung your legs over the side of the bed to sit on the mattress for a moment, your head in your hands. Your fingers trembled slightly, not from the cold but from the residues of the dream.

“Yeah, sure.” You mumbled, staring blankly at your boots sat by the door through your slim fingers, and the satchel rested on the old rocking chair, packed and ready to leave. Never unpacking, that was one of the rules you followed since you fled from the Menagerie. Through the frosted window the snow was falling steadily. Frosty flakes swirled like restless ghosts in the early morning gloom, covering the world outside with a white coat that muffled every little sound. All of them except the relentless thumping of your heart, which threatened to burst your ribcage open.

The floor groaned under your weight as you stood and moved towards the small basin by the windows. Almost mechanically, you splashed your face with icy water, hoping for the chill to chase away the remnants of sleep. When you raised your head to take a look at the cracked mirror, the reflection that stared back at you was a stranger’s — diaphanous, long straight hair as pale as the snow, and eyes frighteningly empty. A doll’s face, your clients said. But no doll could house the kind of fury that simmered in your cursed blood, right?

You turned away, hating what you saw. Minutes later, you were dressed, your boots were laced, and your long dark cloak pulled tightly around you. When you reached for the door, you caught yourself hesitating only briefly… Maybe you could stick around for a while this time… No.

Keep moving.

The cold hit you immediately as you stepped outside. The wind bit you through your cloak like a knife with such virulence that you couldn’t help clenching your jaw. And yet, you welcomed it, let it numb you. Snow crunched beneath the sole of your boots as you walked on a little road, endless and uncertain. With one quick movement, you pulled your hood up and buried your face against the wind, going forward with determined steps. You didn’t know where you were going but you knew one thing for sure: you couldn’t stop moving away from the Menagerie. Not yet. The world might feel vast and empty, but at least there was something usually peaceful in this isolation. Not this morning though.

Even in this desolation, you couldn’t share the unpleasant feeling that you were being watched. It was subtle – a whisper of unease that prickled at the back of your neck, making your hairs rise. As stupid as it sounded, you quickly glanced over your shoulder at the empty snowy forest behind you. Nothing stirred, no sound broke the quiet save for the howl of the wind… And still, the feeling lingered, like a cold thread winding through your thoughts. In a reflex you couldn’t quite control, your hand tightened around your cloak’s collar, not knowing if it was to hide from the cold or from these unseen pair of eyes by shrinking into your coat.

Keep moving.

Above the faraway howl of the wind, a faint whisper seemed to hum at the edges of your senses. It resonated, too soft to be real, but to real to be a hallucination. You frowned as you walked faster, all your senses in alert. It wasn’t words, only a presence, dark and vast, like shadows stretching beyond the horizon. Keep moving! You clenched your fists and tried your best to shove the thought away. It was certainly some kind of paranoia that had gotten into you, fed by lack of sleep, proper food and shelter. A part of you rationalized, telling itself that no one had ever found you yet, and no one would – despite the little… troubles you created on your way. Crystal eyes fixed on the road ahead, your steps quickened as if you could outrun the unease that was gnawing at your mind.

But far away, very far away in the distance, a man dressed in black was studying a map. His gloved finger, covered in the finest leather, hovered over a region marked in red by himself. His lips curled into the faintest smile, as if doing so wasn’t common to him.

“She’s close”, he murmured to the shadows with a voice soft and filled with a quiet satisfaction.

“Are you sure?” They whispered back

“I can feel her,” He replied, black eyes riveted onto the horizon.

Soon, he thought,

Very soon.

Please reblog and/or comment if you liked it. 🖤

taglist: @augustwookie

#the darkling x reader #the darkling x you #general kirigan x reader #aleksander morozova x reader #ben barnes x reader #general kirigan #the darkling #aleksander morozova #aleksander kirigan #shadow and bone #darkling x reader #aleksander morozova x y/n #darkling x you #Darkling smut #Darkling x OC #Shadow and bone oc #grishaverse #the grisha series

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siriuslyobsessedwithfiction · 3 months ago

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Alina Starkov - the most inconsistent main character. A tragedy of not wanting to have an identity.

The main character in Shadow and Bone trilogy, a prime example of "she deserved better". A.k.a. soldier, Sun Summoner, Sun Saint. In reality, a false saint and a false hero, who has less personality, goals, spine and consistency than her three love interests. How did this happen? Short answer - bad writing. Long answer? Here we go.

Her character at the beginning - a blank slate.

Physically small and weak, sickly, fragile, with a sour face and sourer attitude. Grew up in an orphanage funded by a Duke, who they were taught to basically worship while looking down on religion and beliefs in saints. Children in the orphanage were beaten if they misbehaved or didn't do chores, but were given education and fine food, which means they were faring better than peasants and farmers. Alina had not many, but several options in her life. She could learn a trade that would not require physical labour, like sewing. Or, she could marry and hope her husband was gracious enough to buy a donkey instead of making her carry heavy sacks of salt on her back, as we see a random man do to his wife. But Alina had no hobbies, interests, aspirations or ambitions in her life. Except her childhood friend Mal. Mal gets a mandatory draft in the First Army, and of course Alina follows, and settles for being a mediocre cartographer. Mal thrives in the army, showing off muscles and hooking up with women, while Alina dutifully waits for him saints know why. She doesn't have other genuine friends, she doesn't like people, she doesn't like anything. This is not a bad start in a sense that there is much room for growth and improvement.

Refusing to belong

Alina discovers she's a long awaited sun summoner, who can vanquish the Fold and unite Ravka. She doesn't want to be special, but not for the reasons you might think. Instead of fearing the burden of such an important task or genuinely becoming paranoid of being assassinated (she gets over those in five minutes), she just...doesn't want the responsibility of actually being useful for something. She'd rather not have powers at all, and go back to being in a constantly sickly state. She'd rather be tailing Mal like a mouse. Which doesn't make any sense for following reasons:

Alina's insecurities in SaB:

Not being pretty and talented

2. Not being as pretty and talented as Grisha

3. Being an orphan, being unwanted.

Being a Grisha actually solves all those problems for her. She gets prettier and healthier once she stops repressing her powers, has a unique cool power, and a community that cares for her. Plus, the support from important figures in Ravka. In time, she could have a family.

Instead, she refuses to acknowledge she's one of them, doesn't train properly, preferring to cling to her prejudices and make digs at Grisha. She'd rather complain that they're prettier, confident and pampered than acknowledge they are serfs, nothing but glorified servants with no basic human rights. Instead of her superstitions and prejudices being shattered when she starts living with them and realizing what Grisha have to go through, becoming rightfully enraged that her people are being treated this way, she still doesn't feel any empathy. In fact, she still doesn't see the General as a HUMAN BEING WHO MIGHT HAVE FEELINGS, even though he makes time in his busy schedule of running an army to make sure she's comfortable, jokes along with her, listens to her fears and reassures her, etc. Why would he go through the trouble if he was heartless? He's the General of the Second Army, by the King's law, she's his soldier. She is obligated to obey him regardless.

The narrative supports her delusions.

I get missing her friend, I get struggling to adjust, but it's more than that. Alina is getting dragged along from a plot point to a plot point kicking and screaming, as if she has anything better to do. She doesn't have a life, why is she so against of getting one? Once she finally somewhat adjusts to her life in the Little Palace, it turns out Darkling has had malicious intents towards her powers all along! Aha, you were right to be prejudiced, Alina! Now abandon your people, your country, and run!

“He … he said that Darklings are born without souls. That only something truly evil could have created the Shadow Fold.”

Imagine telling a person who saved your life that he was a soulless abomination, even though you do not know him, and he is still kind to you and reveals as much about him as he can. There is no grooming and manipulation here, it's just called not being a bitch. Darkling tells Alina he's over 120 years old, Alina is an adult, and the damned kiss was consensual. Of course he didn't tell her everything. Even regular people don't reveal their life-long ambitions and deepest childhood trauma to their crush after several conversations. It took Alina months to stop being in denial about being a Grisha, still didn't like being one, you're telling me if Darkling set her down and explained the complex political situation and his plan to overthrow the corrupt monarchy and bring an end to the war, Alina wouldn't jump out of the window?

Alina running away, not confronting the problem, and straight up deciding Darkling was evil incarnate with no evidence snowballed into Darkling deciding she couldn't be trusted and taking more drastic measures. Liberation of his people was on the line and one pesky girl screwed up a carefully planned coup because she couldn't handle her feelings.

False badassery

Throughout the whole three books, every time Alina makes a decision, it's immediately followed by self-doubt, shame and scorn. But no actual objective criticism. We often see variations of "It was foolish, but I didn't care", "I knew it was reckless but I couldn't bring myself to care", but never her actually analyzing why, or deciding not to do something like that again. Her small victories are immediately followed by thoughts on how would others feel about it, even though the person in question isn't even there and couldn't give less of a shit: "Never is it to be said that Ana Kuya didn't teach us manners", "A cheap trick, but a good one. Nikolai would be proud". Ana Kuya was an abusive mother figure, Nikolai was using Alina's status to get the throne. Sure, it's good that Alina is capable of learning useful things from every kinds of people, but she doesn't think "That was smart of me. I learnt that. I'm proud of myself for an accomplishment". She thinks "Is it good? Would they like it? They like things like that, right?". She attaches herself to people that fit her view of "deserving" and helps them, even though it might not be for the best. Extreme lack of self-worth, combined with entitlement.

When Alina hears a rumour Darkling ordered his heartrenders to sew a traitor's mouth shut, she's horrified. Even though that's hardly the worst punishment for a traitor in an army. But when some pilgrims insult Genya, she orders to have their tongues cut out after they're given only one warning. When Alina commits violence at slightest provocation, it's baddass. But when Darkling commits a controlled necessary military act to stop enemies from overrunning the country, it's madness and is falsely labeled genocide. Look up the definition, genocide is what was happening to Grisha.

The Darkling never kidnapped children and put them in the war zone. He only lied to Alina that he did, a clever strategy with no bloodshed. Meanwhile, Alina let her cult fight for her, whose members were brainwashed children, some only twelve years old.

When Alina faces a dilemma or a tense military situation, her go-to strategy is suicide. That is not martyrdom, nor it is badass.

Darkling became a bad person out of good intentions and desperation, Alina is just a bad selfish person.

Desperate people are the ones capable of the worst acts. Darkling didn't go nearly as crazy as he could, and frankly had a right to on behalf of his people.

"Aleksander had marched south with the king’s soldiers, and when they’d faced the Shu in the field, he’d unleashed darkness upon their opponents, blinding them where they stood. Ravka’s forces had won the day. But when Yevgeni had offered Aleksander his reward, he had refused the king’s gold. “There are others like me, Grisha, living in hiding. Give me leave to offer them sanctuary here and I will build you an army the likes of which the world has never seen.”

It doesn't matter how much genocide, prejudice, abuse and dehumanization the Grisha suffered through for centuries all around the world, Alina never bothers to look at the big picture. Her help is only for those who she deems worthy of it.

She attaches herself to people who fit her narrow-minded view of "worthy". She immediately believes Baghra's rather flimsy expose of Darkling, even though the old woman has been nothing but unhelpful to her, only insulting her and beating her. But Alina associates her with her only mother figure, Ana Kuya, another old hag she had a toxic relationship with. And even though Baghra is an immensely powerful Grisha who refuses to help or even lift a finger, or just spit out vital information, Alina coddles her and provides protection. Instead of telling her to fess up the useful information and save her unhelpful comments, Alina looks up to her as a mentor.

When Genya tells her story, Alina feels bad for her, but not bad enough to see things her perspective. She only becomes protective of Genya once she gets mutilated, out of pity. If it was genuine compassion, she would've forgiven and understood her from the start.

Every Grisha has been hunted and shamed for merely existing, almost every Grisha has lost a loved one to war. But Alina pointedly ignores it, because she doesn't personally know and care for those people. Therefore, she doesn't feel empathetic. Because if she feels empathetic, she might start feeling guilty about how she runs away from her responsibilities at every given opportunity. Just look at this passage:

“You know what he plans to do, Ivan.” “He plans to bring us peace.” “At what price?” I asked desperately. “You know this is madness.” “Did you know I had two brothers?” Ivan asked abruptly. The familiar smirk was gone from his handsome face. “Of course not. They weren’t born Grisha. They were soldiers, and they both died fighting the King’s wars. So did my father. So did my uncle.” “I’m sorry.” “Yes, everyone is sorry. The King is sorry. The Queen is sorry. I’m sorry. But only the Darkling will do something about it.”

The Darkling never wanted power for selfish reasons. He didn't want to take over other countries or lift Grisha above regular people. He wanted his kind to have basic human rights. Centuries of diplomacy and servitude only gave him enough power to make a school for Grisha children and save adults from slavery and getting slaughtered by serving nobles. He wanted to use the Fold as a border, to stop enemies from invading whenever they pleased, so he would have the time to save Ravka from collapsing. What has Alina done? Started a civil war, destroyed the Second army and helped put a morally dubious man with no claim on the throne to continue an outdated absolute monarchy tradition.

Alina Starkov was meant to be the sun, but turned out to be a trick of the light.

Every time it felt like Alina was emerging from her cocoon as a beautiful butterfly, embracing her true self, she went back to the toxic situationship and the toxic mindset. The narrative also always struck her down. Every book begins and ends with her being sickly, fragile, missing an essential part of herself. It would be good if it was written differently and showed themes of being disabled or having a chronic illness accurately, but it's not. It started out well. Alina was removed from an abusive environment, found a purpose in life, started loving her newfound powers, outgrew the stupid crush who she was way too dependent on, but it all went downhill from there. And then some. This constant vicious cycle does not fit the theme of growth and improvement, and neither does the ending, where Alina loses her powers and goes back to the orphanage. Once again, she's frail and strange, servants (who she now employs) don't respect her, sneer and make fun of her, while her now husband Mal turns a blind eye. Everything is back to the way it was: Mal thrives, Alina is...there. The ending is supposed to be bittersweet, a couple who survived a war building a new life together, but I don't see the sweet part.

Trick of the light - definition: something appearing different from what actually is as a result of the quality of light.

Darkling wanted her to be a strong Grisha, his equal and balance. Grisha wanted her to be a capable leader, Bataar twins wanted a living saint they could worship, Nikolai wanted a wife interested in Ravka and politics. Alina tried to be all of that, but never really wanted to be any of those, so she half-assed it. Mal wanted the version of Alina who was small and insignificant, because anything more made him insecure, and he got his wish.

Illusion, mirage, spectre.

No matter how much the author tries to tell us that Alina's every problem is Darkling's fault, her thought process and actions paint a different picture. Alina was never mentally healthy and she never addressed or resolved her problems. Growing up in a controlled and abusive environment affected her more than anyone, including herself, wants to admit. I am not a licensed psychiatrist, so I will refrain from officially diagnosing Alina, even though she's a fictional character. I am NOT saying I know for certain that Alina has these, if any, mental problems, but she does have some alarming symptoms. It seems like depersonalization. While her symptoms don't fit into one particular mental disorder, I am reminded of psychiatric infantilism, but it is not a mental illness with symptoms. Psychiatric infantilism doesn't necessarily mean the person acts outwardly childishly. To explain very roughly and simply, it means the psych is not as developed as it should be (even if the person is very smart and clever). It shows in avoiding responsibility or not feeling it at all, problems with social connections, not seeing the big picture and taking it seriously, etc. When Harshaw tells the story of his brother getting brutally murdered by people who hate Grisha, even brash Zoya is appalled and expresses her condolences. While all Alina thinks about is that Harshaw might base his hope of having a better life on her now.

Alina also might have Dependent Personality Disorder, but it's hard to say, since we are never shown her being on her own long enough to see whether or not she can take actually care of herself. But her relationship with Mal, Darkling and Baghra (after she no longer objectively needs them) is weird, to say the least.

She never gains the sense of self or an identity, she refuses to become something, then delivers an inner monologue of accepting her fate and five minutes later goes back on her words. Her willingness to sacrifice her life is never out of thinking of the greater good and future, justice, or patriotism. She just doesn't want to live, especially without Mal, who has been doing nothing but shitting on her. Her titles are slapped on her, and she peels them off. Her personality never really changes. Everything she went through feels like a really bad exchange program she was in for a year, and from which she has learnt nothing.

P.S. I don't hate Alina's character, I just mourn her lost potential.

If you have made it to the end, I salute you, congratulations and thank you. 😊 🙏 ❤️

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adriiivna · 11 months ago

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Alina and the Morozova Stag

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aleksanderscult · 7 months ago

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Leigh Bardugo should become universally criticized just for the fact that she presented a victim of persecution and his actions as worse and more important to deal with than the genocide that takes place in that world.

She really said: "It's not the genocide we should worry about. It's that man and his efforts to stop it".

And people applaud her for it instead. Wow. You're all seriously fucked up.

#this book series is so unbelievably problematic #“the Darkling could have found another way!!”#WHICH way??? I would really like to know #and instead praise Nikolai who did nothing to stop anything and the Darkling did all the things for him #“Nikolai saved his country!”#literally where?????#passages please???#that author speaks from a privileged place and it shows #the Darkling was just a product of all this but the genocide and persecution were the true diseases #anti darkling bs #pro darkling #pro aleksander morozova #the darkling #aleksander morozova #anti leigh bardugo #shadow and bone #grishaverse #grishaverse trilogy #tw: genocide

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sugaredquillink · 1 month ago

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*drops this and runs*

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serpentthecrow · 3 months ago

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Sleepy time with the grishaverse characters

A/n: I... Don't even... Sorry about that. My executive dysfunction did its magic. But here you have this as a peace offering since you guys liked the crows one. I can't even believe how long it's been. I'm probably not going to keep writing too many fics, if any at all. But this one's mandatory. And short.

Summary: headcannons on the sleeping habits of (some of) the grishaverse characters.

Alina Starkov

Hear me out

The girl's out like a light

Exactly the type of person to roll around the bed, end up in peculiar positions, and mainly, accidentally slap you or kick you in her sleep

Isn't picky, but if she COULD choose- only the softest mattress, duvet and pillows

She's petty like that

Has absolutely no night routine. Like. NONE.

Owns no pajamas. Just normal clothes passing as sleep clothes.

Gonna use her sun summoner powers when getting up in the middle of the night to fetch water etc., only to curse profusely because ✨light sensitivity✨

Midnight snacks. No elaboration is needed.

Definitely owns a stag plushie. Cause poor thing.

Mal Oretsev

Sleeps like he's in a coffin

No honestly. Like, on his back, straight as a plank. Psychopath.

The nightmares tho.

The biggest duvet stealer

Never actually uses the duvet tho. Kicks it away every time

Can barely be bothered to change

Absolutely cannot be bothered to make the bed

Hasn't got a single idea how to put on a bedsheet

Red flag: eats in bed too often

Occasionally has a dream about Nikolai throwing him overboard Volkvolny and grinning down at him, saints know why.

Would fall asleep under any circumstance. Light, loud sounds, anything. Bang two pans repeatedly next to his head, and the guy will still fall asleep if he's sure he can afford to.

Has a phoenix plushie. Pun intended.

Aleksander Morozova

does this guy even sleep? Questionable.

But in case he does:

A side sleeper

Surprisingly heavy sleeper

Rarely sleeps in bed when unsupervised tho. Not uncommon for him to fall asleep in a chair.

Black silk sheets only.

Talks in his sleep

Seriously.

If someone walked in on him sleeping, he'd be long since executed for treason.

Absolutely unaffected by caffeine

Produces a whole lotta shadows before going to sleep, roused by the slightest amount of light.

The extensive night routine is canon.

Doesn't have a plushie. The only one in this hc series btw.

Nikolai Lantsov

my favorite sailor bo- anyway

(Let's ignore Volkralai for the purpose of these hc's)

A stomach sleeper. We stan.

A pillow hugger. We stan.

Mostly blue bedding, especially in the palace or the spinning wheel, since we all know he misses the sea.

Another one with a whole-ass night routine.

Reduced amount of clothes when sleeping- usually just pants

They're pajama pants tho

Has some trouble falling asleep on land, he's used to the rocking of the ship

nap king, especially as Sturmhond

Reads a LOT before bed

A night owl- has to be reminded to got to sleep

Sometimes starts to rant about some invention of his

C A N N O T fall asleep without cuddles. Like, he's physically unable

The biggest manchild about waking up early.

Has a fox plushie. A fact.

Genya Safin

babygirl has nightmares, okay? Gotta start with that.

lowkey got accustomed to some level of luxury in Os Alta

not the biggest fan of cuddling. For understandable reasons

a warm beverage before bed

fuzzy socks

tries to maintain an exact time to go to sleep but ultimately fails because she's got trouble falling asleep

probably improves on her sleeping habits once she becomes a part of the triumvirateonly cause she has to tho

overthinking before sleep queen

does she have a plushie? Does David count? You tell me.

#shadow and bone season 2 #shadow and bone #the grisha series #grishaverse x reader #grishaverse fanfic #grishaverse #grisha trilogy #grishaverse headcanons #alina starkov #Alina starkov x reader #mal oretsev #mal oretsev x reader #aleksander morozova #the darkling x reader #nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lantsov #genya safin #genya safin x reader

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aesthetic--mood · 4 months ago

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Shadow and bone Aesthetic

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periodcostumefantasylover · 1 year ago

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Favorite Character in a TV-Show 2023

The Darkling in Shadow & Bone Season 2

#the darkling #aleksander morozova #shadow and bone #ben barnes #grishaverse #perioddramaedit #period drama #the grishaverse #shadow and bone season 2 #he was an emotional wreck in season 2 #thank you ben barnes for playing him so well #the show got canceled but he was out anyway so it's okay #would have watched that crows spin off #season 2 dissapointed me a lot #because the book was better #but he was amazing #all the book quotes #when i have time i will make a series with the quotes in show and book

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marvelmusing · 10 months ago

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Our Souls

A ‘His Dark Materials’ Inspired AU

Aleksander Morozova x Fem!Reader

☽ Our Souls

As a well-known scholar, you’re invited to a gala at Lord Morozova’s estate. What you don’t expect is for the man himself to show a particular interest in you and your dæmon.

☽ Mirror Image

Aleksander finds you at another gala, and the two of you learn you have more in common than you realised.

☽ Handle With Care

Aleksander finds you in a vulnerable state and takes care of you and your dæmon after an altercation.

☽ His Attention

An interaction between you and Aleksander at the university doesn’t go unnoticed, and you decide to take a subtle stand against the rumours surrounding you.

☽ Conflict of Interest

The second Prince of Ravka shows an interest in you, which causes division between you and your dæmon.

#aleksander morozova x reader #the darkling x reader #the darkling au #shadow and bone au #shadow and bone x reader #series masterlist

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heliads · 2 years ago

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So, Before You Go Chapter One: First Call to Arms

Hellas is gone; so too is your life as a cartographer. You and the Darkling must quell Alina Starkov’s attempt at an uprising in order to protect the Grisha of Ravka. However, your gods are not as dead as they seem, and that which you have taken for granted will soon prove to be quite unpredictable indeed.

series masterlist / next

Once, a very long time ago, a girl named Psyche wielded beauty as her power. Envious, the gods foretold that she would be exiled with a monster as her husband. Psyche feared the monster, but soon she realized that he was not the demon others claimed. Still, as he only visited at night when the shadows hid him from her, she was tormented by the idea that he truly was horrific. One night, Psyche spied upon his face as he lay sleeping. She broke his trust, and they were separated until Psyche could prove that she did love him, and wanted no shelter but him until the end.

You wake slowly, painfully, aware of what could have been a dream slipping away from you. For several minutes, you cannot entirely tell if you are still asleep or awake. The air is warm, a breeze blows lazy circles of air across your face. Tell me, child, when was the last time you felt enough peace to trust it was not an illusion?

Someone shifts by your side, and one glimpse of your lover’s face is all you need to know that this is no dream. For all your nightmare’s best attempts, they cannot perfectly replicate his image. Perhaps it is because he is not of their kind, the man you love, but a monster of his own creation. Your people and your spells can only do so much. They cannot fully recreate something of the Small Science, something like him. You would know. Absence made you try.

Aleksander opens his eyes slowly, dark pupils scanning the room until they land on you. Every time he wakes, you can see him start to tense until he sees you again. That is what you get for running so many times, you suppose, it makes him too knowledgeable of how easy it is to lose you.

You were never able to stay away forever, though. The longest the two of you were apart was centuries, and although those cut like a poisoned blade, they ended. You made your way to the Little Palace under the guise of Y/N Stassov, First Army cartographer and good friend of Alina Starkov, and from there on out, you were under his watch again.

In all honesty, some part of you had known from the moment your paths crossed the second time that you would not be able to leave him again without revealing yourself. Sure, your face had changed since you were the Hecari he knew in the past, but he was Aleksander and you were Y/N and you would never allow anything to part you for long. He had made mistakes, and you had tricked yourself into thinking that anyone with as many centuries under your belts as either of you could be perfectly blameless, but you were still the same couple you had always been.

In the end, the result is plain. You showed your hand and the two of you reconciled. Sure, part of that may have had to do with Alina Starkov attempting to murder you whereas Aleksander saved your life, but sometimes love needs a slight bit of motivation to pick up the pace.

The two of you are on much more solid footing now, though. If anything, you will always be united in your wrath, your protective spirit. Aleksander watches out for his Grisha, his people, and you mourn your Hellenids, your kin who have already slipped beneath the sands of time. There is no one like the two of you, and there never will be. Alina can try, but she is young, foolish, full of hopes that have yet to die. Only you and Aleksander understand how time dulls any blade. Only you and Aleksander will ever be able to complete each other.

That does not stop this whole situation from feeling somewhat impossible. You spent centuries running from him, after all, and suddenly waking up in the morning to find him sleeping next to you feels unusual. Good, but unusual. It’s what you’ve secretly been missing since the very moment you left him, but still something you never thought you would experience again.

This change in your day-to-day life could explain why you woke up so disoriented, but in truth, you fear that it might be more than that. It has been getting more difficult to tell what is real and what is fiction. Reality blends into myth into memory. What happens here and now is only a slim shade of an idea when compared to the vastness of past experience, both yours and that of your people, the Hellenids.

You had assumed that the whispering of your ghosts would trickle off into ash and nothingness when the Shadow Fold engulfed you whole, but no. If anything, it just made it worse. You were hesitating on the banks of the River Styx, so close to crossing over into the Underworld, and then Aleksander pulled you back from death and kept you there. You cannot tread that closely to your end without bringing a little part of it back with you.

You are not the only changed one. Aleksander, too, is not the same man as he was when he set out on that sandskiff. As you look at him now, you watch the early light of dawn play on the dark slices in his face, the scars from his time in the Shadow Fold after Alina Starkov abandoned both of you to die.

It had taken every ounce of your combined abilities to make it out, but both of you are changed forever now. You cannot go a moment of your day without hearing the whispering of your ancestors increased tenfold. Aleksander used merzost and is haunted by shadowy demons of his own creation.

You both had dark, deep wounds when you emerged from the Unsea, but when yours disappeared after your natural healing had run its course, Aleksander’s injuries stayed the same. You can sense how they hurt him constantly, even as he tries to hide the full extent of it from you in an attempt to maintain strength. You know him well enough to both guess that he would try to put on a brave face, and can read his body language enough to recognize the stiff movements for what they hide.

His physical appearance matters not to you. He is still yours, the man you loved centuries ago and the one you do now. If the shadows that usually billow inside of him have now decided to carve out a more visible place for themselves, so be it. You only wish that he would not have to suffer so in the process.

That is why the two of you have been scouring the Ravkan countryside in search of Grisha. The practitioners of the Small Science have been left in upheaval after the ill-fated attempt to take back control from the Lantsov king. There are few things in life you despise more than a failing, useless, greedy monarch, and not a day goes by in which you regret that the otkazat’sya fool was not already dead.

He does, however, provide you with a good opportunity to build your ranks again as the elder Lantsov son cracks down on Grisha. You and Aleksander launch venture after venture to save Heartrenders and Healers, Summoners and Durasts and everyone you can find. They’re all terribly grateful to not be dead, which only gives you more allies in this fight.

Of course this will end in a fight, how could it not? You have seen plots like this play out before. Every story runs the same course, even if the players themselves do not realize it until the end. To build a war, you must have soldiers who will die for you. Aleksander will sacrifice himself to save you, but he is one man. You want hundreds.

Until then, you have moments like this, slow glimpses of what could be a far more peaceful future if this all plays out the way you wish it. For now, you are alone with the man you love, and for this brief instance, there is nothing in this world that can bring you down.

Aleksander leans up slowly, carefully, disguising his slow hiss of pain with a question directed to you. “Did you sleep well?”

The question isn’t just a pleasant nothingness. You’ve been having nightmares as of late, snippets of what could either be memories or prophecy. If this keeps up, your mind will start to shatter. You can only hope that you’ll be able to stop that before it happens. Madness and witches do not well mix.

You sigh. “As well as could be expected. I’m still on edge from yesterday.”

Yesterday had almost gone quite badly. A group of two dozen or so Grisha had been chained in a long line and forced into the Shadow Fold at gunpoint by cowardly First Army soldiers. By the time you and Aleksander had gotten wind of what had happened, the volcra had arrived at the scene as well.

You had fought them off, but such close proximity to the beasts had made you uneasy. Everything reminds you of what it had been like in the Shadow Fold when Alina’s light had left the two of you, how the darkness had come swooping in and left you bloody.

Aleksander had called for you to leave them, but you had insisted on saving who you could. You were jittery for the rest of the day, he could tell, but you had sworn you were fine. Perhaps he can see through you a little too well just like you with him.

Aleksander arches a brow now, likely thinking along the same lines. “So will you listen to me next time, my love? Will you let them go when it hurts you, or at least try not to disguise it from me?”

“I’ll make a deal with you,” you say as innocently as you can, “I will stop disguising my torments from you when you stop trying to pretend that those scars don’t hurt as much as they do.”

Aleksander smiles even as a fresh bout of pain turns the expression into a wince. “You drive a difficult bargain.”

“I’m known for being difficult,” you grin.

“Perhaps,” he admits, “but I like that best about you.”

It is easy, on mornings like this, to pretend that all might be well, that the two of you are not fighting a war that could be lost over something as simple as one Sun Summoner somewhere you cannot find. You have no idea if Alina Starkov has even survived, but if she did, you hope that for all the peace you wish to find with Aleksander, she will have none of it with Mal.

You and Aleksander leave your temporary shelter some time later that morning, leaving no trace that you’d been there except shadows in the corners of the rooms that fester slightly more than before. You’d heard rumors that the First Army outpost here was planning on making an example of some more Grisha near the boundary of the Shadow Fold, so that is where the two of you will be stopping first.

As dusk settles upon the area, you and Aleksander arrive upon the scene, lingering back so as not to draw unwanted attention. The two of you are technically still believed to be dead, although you doubt any smattering of soldiers could actually do so much as harm a hair on your heads. You keep your hoods up anyway. It would not do to be revealed now, not before your plan can fully come to fruition.

You narrow your eyes, straining to pick out the details in the dark night. The soldiers have put Grisha in cages, their hands bound so as to not use their abilities. The sight makes your stomach turn. Those blessed with magic should not have to die just because others are jealous of their power.

As your gaze roves from face to face, you see only weariness, fear, desolation. Aleksander had built a marvel of a world at the Little Palace, a place where all the Grisha could practice their gifts in safety. Alina claims she wants to make a better world for the Grisha, but look what she’s done. She ruined the best thing Ravkan Grisha had at peace.

You’ve almost finished scouring the captive Grisha when you notice one particular face stand out amongst the rest. It’s one you recognize, actually. It’s one you’ve been hoping to find for a while, both you and Aleksander.

You suck in a breath. “That’s– That’s Genya.”

Aleksander’s eyes harden. “It is.”

One stray glance his way and you already can guess at what he’s thinking. “We need to get her. Even if it costs us the rest. Genya can find David for us.”

Aleksander inclines his head once. “And David can fix me.”

You make a tsking sound in the back of your throat. “Men fix toys, not gods.”

He looks amused at that. “We are not gods, Y/N.”

“No,” you decide, “but we are the closest anyone will ever get to seeing them.”

Aleksander laughs, evidently pleased. “I missed your ferocity, my little soldier.”

You look at him askance. “You made me a member of your personal guard within two days of meeting me again, even before you knew it was me. I don’t know why you’re acting like this is the first time you’ve seen my ferocity in a while.”

You can just see the shadow of his smile under his hood. “And yet I still didn’t see enough of it. You left, as you might recall.”

“Yes,” you admit in a whisper, “but I came back.”

He takes your hand, interlacing your fingers with his. “I know. You always do.”

It is a statement spoken in complete calm, no trace of malice or accusation. In your eyes, it is the final proof that he has forgiven you, just as you have in turn forgiven him. Like calls to like. The two of you were never meant to be separate for long.

Aleksander turns his gaze towards the captive Grisha once more. The First Army soldiers are watching the Shadow Fold rumble ever closer, and you can feel the terror of the Grisha prick upon your skin like needles.

“Shall we deliver them from harm, then? Shall we take back what is ours?” He asks.

You nod once. This is it, then. From this point forward, there is no going back. Everything in the past was temporary, a step in the right direction without making enough of a scene to commit to your cause. When you save these Grisha, you’ll have enough to start making real changes, to find the people you truly need and hunt down those who have betrayed you. The war will be reborn.

.Aleksander raises his arms in time with yours. Shadow monsters of merzost stalk out of the Shadow Fold, sending the First Army fleeing. Those that run are only met with spells of your creation, which pierce through their hearts like daggers. In her cage, Genya Safin fearfully raises her head, expression changing from immediate terror to slow, dense horror. She knows what the dying soldiers do not: this is only the beginning.

series tag list: @britishbassett, @rogueanschel, @hotleaf-juice, @mxltifxnd0m, @kaqua, @nemesis729, @imma-too-many-fandoms, @cleverzonkwombatsludge, @yourabbymoore, @nemtodd-barnes1923, @heyyitsreign, @ponyboys-sunsets, @slytherinsssss, @fruitymoonbeams-blog, @lakeli, @darlinggbrekker, @rosesberose, @w1shes43, @fairyeunji, @cryinghotmess

grishaverse tag list: @deadreaderssociety, @cameronsails, @mxltifxnd0m, @story-scribbler, @retvenkos, @thatfangirl42, @amortensie, @gods-fools-heroes, @bl606dy, @auggie2000

#the darkling #the darkling imagines #the darkling x reader #the darkling oneshot #the darkling series #aleksander morozova #aleksander morozova imagines #aleksander morozova x reader #aleksander morozova series #general kirigan #general kirigan imagines #general kirigan x reader #general kirigan oneshot #general kirigan series #grishaverse #grishaverse imagines #grishaverse x reader #grishaverse oneshot #grishaverse series

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call-sign-shark · 22 days ago

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Pairing: The Darkling x Heartrender!You || The Darkling x HeartrenderOC!Reader

Summary: Your escape ends abruptly at the hands of the Drüskelles. And yet, on the night of your execution, the darkness has never been so warm and welcoming. Today is not the day you die, you hear it whispering.

Words: 3.2K

TW: Sexual assault attempt, graphic description of murders, mention of prostitution and child SA, hurt/comfort.

Part II - Their Frozen Shackles

Previous || Masterlist || Next

The thick rope they tied you up with bit into your slim wrists, their coarse fibers scraping your skin raw as you struggled against your bindings.

"Faster." A gargantuan soldier growled, pushing you with so much strength you tripped and almost fell on the snow-covered ground. You glared at him, your pale eyes briefly diving into his. After fleeing for one year, you finally got caught in the middle of nowhere. One minute you were walking through the frozen trees and the other you were shoved on the snow, a man's knee pressing on your back so painfully you couldn't breathe anymore. Those cursed Drüskelle had been prepared, ambushing you with a precision that left no room for escape. Now bound and gagged, you had no other choice than to follow them despite your weak body, aching from the journey's relentless pace.

Your captors barely spoke but their grim expressions as well as the disgust that was burning in their eyes each time they looked at you was a constant reminder of what awaited you in Fjerda. A joke of a trial. The stories of Grisha hunted like animals, dragged to the pyres where fire would consume them as crowds cheered, haunted you. So, that's how I'm going to die, you thought bitterly and a shiver ran through you. This time, it wasn't from the cold.

"Let's stop here for the night." The same rugged man from the North said.

The camp came alive as night fell, the Drüskelles setting up the perimeter with an efficiency that spoke of experience. Observing the silhouettes of tents and men, you let out a sigh at the unpleasant sensation of the cold gnawing at your cheeks. You were standing slumped against a tree, your legs and arms released from the bite of ropes only to be restrained by heavy and frozen shackles. Your white hair, matted with dirt and snow, clung to your seraphic face as you looked dagger at the men who dared approach a bit too close to your liking. Even chained and vulnerable, most of them didn't meet your gaze.

"She's quiet", one of them muttered, his tone uneasy but a sparkle of morbid curiosity twinkling in his dark pupils, "And she's so... frail." The soldier added, fascinated by how the witch's long white hair danced in the wind.

"She's dangerous," another corrected and, by reflex, his grip tightened on his axe, "Don't let her tricks nor look fool you. She's a goddamn murderous witch. And the worst of them."

A witch. A monster. An abomination. You had heard it all before and yet, the sharp edges of those words still cut you deep. Closing your eyes, you did your best to steady your breath and fight against the frustration of not being able to use your powers to break free.

The camp was quiet under the shroud of night, save for the occasional crackle of dying fires or the muffled rustle of snow beneath the guard's boots. While most of them were comfortably sleeping in their tents, the cruel wind that swept through the barren forest cut to your bones, but you had stopped noticing it. The cold had long since seeped into your skin, the frozen chain that bound your wrists pressing against your wounds. You sat in the cage they put you in, knees pulled to your chest and your snow-white mane tumbling around you like a grim shroud. The feeling of powerlessness crept into you, twisting your stomach and making you grind your teeth. That burning hatred simmered in you but what could you do except wait? Wait for this nightmare to end. Wait for your inevitable death.

You remained still, your icy aquamarine gaze locked on the frost-covered bars of your cage. As far as you can remember, rage has always coiled in you like a living thing and no matter your divine appearance, you were all but a saint. Nor a martyr. Just a storm waiting to roar.

The sound of boots crunching against the snow suddenly broke your reverie though. The Drüskelle captain who kept pushing you a few hours ago strode toward you, his tall and muscular frame looking even more massive against the dim firelight. Still, you could see his face in the twilight: a rough-hewn face, with a scar slicing through his brow and a look of cold, cruel authority etched on it. His long blonde hair was tied in a quick, messy man bun.

"Change of plans," he said to the guards who were watching you, "We're not dragging her back to Fjerda. Can't take the risk."

One of the guards hesitated. He looked at his fellow brother before he spoke. “But the trial—”

“No trial,” the captain snapped, refusing to wait for him to finish his sentence. “I’ll take her head myself. It’s cleaner this way. Fewer men dead because they underestimated what’s in that cage.” His voice was a low and predatory rumble.

Your chest tightened at his words, but you refused to flinch. It was something you never did in the Menagerie and you weren't going to start now. Even though you had remained quiet since they caught you, your eyes met his sky-blue gaze with defiance, "Afraid, are you? That's wise" Your voice, haunting and steady, howled with the winter wind.

The captain's lips curled into a thin, mocking smile. "You think you're clever, don't you, witch?" With one brutal shove, he pushed the guard out of his way and motioned for the others to step back, "I've seen your kind burn and, trust me, y'all scream the same in the end."

Brutal rage flashed within you as the captain opened the cage himself under his men's terrified eyes, stepping inside with the same disgusting look your wealthy client had on their face back at the Menagerie: the look of a man who thought he held all the power over you. His strong hand suddenly grabbed your wrist and forced you to stand.

"Before we finish this," He murmured, leaning over you until his face was level with yours. His unfinished sentence floated in the air as his eyes fell on your fleshy lips, chapped due to the cold, "I think I'll indulge myself. Never had a witch before. Pretty sure you're tight pussy might worth the risk and keep me warm in this cruel weather."

He reached out, brushing a gloved hand against your cheek. The sudden physical contact made your stomach churn with revulsion. A shiver of fear crawled beneath your skin, cold and sharp as a blade, at the thought of this man ravaging you. Despite your stillness, a tinge of fear pinched your heart for all your life men had used your body as if it was nothing but a toy to twist and break.

"Fucking animal." You whispered back to him without faltering. If anything, your eyes hardened, the frost within them sharper than the crisp winter air.

"I do fuck like an animal, y'know. Like a wolf." The captain leaned closer, all his height towering over you and his breath hot against your face, "Terrifying, they say. That you can kill with one sole movement of your little hands..." His hand trailed down your jaw to your throat, lingering there to feel your pulse quicken under his touch, "But here you are, helpless as a lamb." His hand freed your throat as he spoke but the relief was short for this time, he cupped one of your small breasts, "I wonder, does the evil witch they talk about bleed like a woman?" Fear followed close behind, a visceral feeling that bloomed in your chest as he started painfully playing with your nipple -- bile rose when he pressed his hardening cock between your legs, "Is your cunt tighter?"

You didn't respond, or struggle. In fact, you simply stared at him, until his smug confidence began to flicker with unease and his ego hurt by your lack of fear.

"What?" He snapped, gripping your chin roughly with his free hand, "No threat? No last words?"

To this, your only reply was a faint smile that ghosted across your lips, brittle as ice, "Just this: you should've killed me when you had the chance."

Before the captain could retort, the shadows seemed to shift around you. Then, the fire flickered, dimmed, and extinguished entirely even though the wind was low.

"What's happening?!" One of the Drüskelles hissed, his voice filled with fear as he looked around him. An unexplainable panic started to fill the camp, the air thickening with an oppressive weight that pressed against your chest and stole your breath. The darkness around you seemed to pulse, alive and watchful, carrying a power that made your blood hum in recognition — but in recognition of what? you thought, feeling suddenly as frightened by this suffocating presence as your captors. It was heavy, unsettling, as if an imminent threat other than you was about to be unleashed. And yet, contrary to the Drüskelles', you felt something deeper beneath the unease. A pull that felt like a whisper in your bones, calling you home.

Come to me.

I’ve been waiting for you all my life.

Come to me.

A figure emerged from the darkness, cloaked in black, his movement unnervingly calm amidst the chaos. The shadows clung to this tall silhouette like a living thing, shifting and weighting as though they obeyed his every wish and command.

"Who's there? Who the fuck are you?!" The leader barked, pushing himself away from you to reach for his sword and unsheathe it.

The mysterious and threatening man didn't answer. Instead, he raised a gloved hand and, all of sudden, the shadows that were dancing around him surged forward like panthers pouncing on a bunch of easy prey. The screams came next, sharp and agonizing, tearing the silent veil of the night as the darkness attacked the Drüskelle one by one — some devoured, swallowed by it, others cut into pieces by pitch-black blades.

Utterly terrified, you dropped to the ground, turned your head away and squeezed your eyes shut just like you did when you were a child. Your stomach twisted again as the air around you filled with the wet, choking sounds of death and the metallic smell of blood you knew far too well. The Drüskelles' shrieks were inhumane, otherworldly wrapped in pain, but all you could hear was the loud drums of your heart beating so violently in your chest that you thought it would burst your ribcage open.

Only when the silence returned did you dare open your eyes, blinking and cautiously surveying your surroundings for you feared the slightest hasty movement would cost you your life. The sight that met your icy eyes squeezed the air out of you again — a dozen bodies laid discarded on the ground, mangled in such a gruesome way that you felt slightly sick in the stomach, even with your high tolerance to horrors. Slowly, you moved your feet and crunched the snow beneath them to check if you were still alive: the snow around you was drenched in crimson, stark and jarring against its pale coat, and forming long trails like veins spreading through the ice.

Then the shock wore off, leaving its place to another surge of panic: the creature responsible for such manslaughter was still there. You raised your head with hast, looking for it.

The figure stepped closer and as he did the pale moonlight faintly illuminated his face, unveiling the traits of a man, not the wraith you were expecting. The more he walked toward you, the more his physical traits came into sharp focus. Your eyes locked onto his, breath still caught in your throat as he fully emerged from the shadows — hypnotizing features carved with precision, framed by black hair perfectly slicked back. His deep-set eyes, two haunting obsidians, glimmered with an unfathomable intensity, their depths both alluring and dizzying like the event horizon of two soul-sucking black holes. Your eyes lingered a bit longer on him, observing his angular jawline, the shadow of his beard and the way his seductive lips were curved in a faint, enigmatic smirk that exuded both charm and danger.

General Kirigan.

He knelt before you, his dark eyes sweeping over your huddled-up form, "You've caused quite a stir," he said calmly, his voice surprisingly smooth and tinged with a barely perceptible amusement. His long black coat draped over his form like liquid darkness, blending with the night.

“And you’ve made a mess,” You retorted after a few long seconds, carefully relaxing your shoulders and raising your head.

The corner of his mouth twitched in what might have been a smile. “Only a necessary one.” With a slight flick of his wrist, the shadows suddenly cut through your shackles and dropped on the bloodied snow with a muffled thud. As soon as you could move, you rubbed your raw and bruised wrists to soothe the soreness — your gaze never left his.

"Why are you here?" Your tone was wary, but far from trembling.

Kirigan straightened, his tall and lean body towering over you as he offered his gloved hand, "I've come for you" he replied, the inky abyss of his eyes was laced with an unearthly gleam, both inviting and terrifying. For a brief moment, you felt as if he could see into the deepest corners of your soul, the sensation was worse than being stripped naked in the cold, "I've been looking for you and I must admit that you are quite good at hiding."

Your jaw tightened, still taken aback by his magnetic presence and the adrenaline, but you finally took his hand and let him pull you to your feet. Despite the leather of his glove, you could feel the jarring warmth of his touch, which created a stark contrast to the coldness of the night. Back on your feet, you had expected him to release your hand but he did the opposite — his long fingers gently squeezed it, trying to warm your skin up.

"What do you want from me?" You pressed, behaving like a wild and cornered animal no matter the fear that clawed at you.

"What do I want?" He echoed, his voice velvet and firm at the same time. Kirigan's gaze lingered on you, observing the tiniest details of your face just like you did. You were a vision of unsettling perfection, as though carved from ice and shadow. Your snow-white hair — damp because of the snow — cascaded in silken slight waves to your lower back and framed a face that seemed too delicate to be real. "I want like most people want when they hear tales and rumors," He drawled, his black eyes fascinated by your porcelain skin. Your features were impossibly dainty, the kind of beauty that felt so otherworldly that it came off as eerie. To be honest, reminded him of a broken doll. Your heart missed a beat when you noticed his pupils dropping on your plump, inviting lips, tinted like frost-kissed rose petals, "I want to unravel the mystery."

You could not help but snort, "A mystery... And why should I trust you, then?"

Aleksander shrugged off his black coat in one swift motion and stepped closer to drape it over your frail shoulders with unexpected care. The weight of the coat was grounding and the warmth from his body, still deeply woven with the fabric, seeped into your cold skin. "You don’t have to trust me, but consider your alternatives. You’ve seen what they wanted from you.” His gaze flicked to the Drüskelle corpses scattered nearby, then back to you. The beautiful contrast of the dark coat against your small and pale figure made you seem even more delicate, like a fragile snowflake caught in a storm. His hands lingered briefly on the edges, steadily and protectively, before he stepped back from your private space.

'You’re no different. You want something from me, too." You said but grabbed the collar of his coat and lift it to your throat to protect you from the wind.

"Of course I do,” Aleksander retorted, “But I’m offering you something in return. Freedom. Safety. A chance to control the power that terrifies them. Or would you rather keep running, waiting for the next set of chains?”

His words felt like a punch in the guts. Chains. The simple mention of it made all your body tense. Your breath hitched but remained silent.

"I don’t think you want to be afraid anymore. Don't you think you deserve more than a life on the run?”

You studied him, your icy eyes narrowing, as if searching for cracks in his composure. Or instruction to decipher his intentions “And if I say no?”

He tilted his head, a shadow of a smile playing on his lips. “Then I leave. You’ll never see me again.” His voice dipped, a subtle thread of urgency weaving through. Aleksander sounded sincere, but a part of him knew that he was openly lying: letting you run away was not an option, "But you know I'm right, even though you'd probably hate admitting it."

Your cold fingers curled into the fabric of his coat as your mind try to come up with a solution. Yet, exhaustion was weighing on your shoulders like lead now that the adrenaline was wearing off, making his promise of safety even more tempting. You finally exhaled, shoulders slumping. "Fine."

"Let's get you some food and a warm bath." He said, the ghost of a smile flirting with his lips for a brief moment as he offered you his hand again.

You hesitated before taking it, your small and bloodied fingers disappearing into his gloved palm. The promise of something filling to eat and a comfortable place to sleep definitely convinced you.

Moments later, General Kirigan helped you climb onto the back of his black horse. The mighty beast's hairs were gleaming like onyx under the moonlight and a little voice in your head couldn't help but wonder if the animal too was made of shadow. Too drained to argue or ask other questions, you leaned against his back as he mounted, your body limp except for your arms wrapped around his waist. Admittingly, his warmth was an unexpected comfort against the chill of the night and the latest events. Despite yourself, you let your head rest lightly against his shoulder and tried your best to forget about the Drüskelle Captain's hands roaming all over you. To forget about the clients' hands too.

Aleksander stiffened for the briefest moment, surprised by the sudden sensation of your small frame pressing against his back. A flicker of something unnameable crossed his face —possessive, almost tender— before a satisfied smirk crept over his lips. The general's hands tightened around the reins as if anchoring himself too, the faintest whisper of a thought blooming in his mind: Mine.

"Rest now," he said softly, riding into the night. His soothing voice lulled you, resulting in your eyes fluttering close, "You're safe with me."

And though you weren't sure you believed him, for the first time in years, you allowed yourself to hope.

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