#Alina seeing the beautiful and jeweled ladies of the court and getting self conscious and Ivan giving her a little pep talk

[jomiddlemarch]

There are as many forms of love as there are moments in time

“If your shoes pinch, I can send for Genya. She’ll have another pair ready in a few minutes,” Ivan said, after watching Alina fidget, fuss and finally raise herself on tip-toe, one foot behind the other in what was an unacceptably precarious posture, though the marble railing of the gallery was high enough to keep her from plummeting to her death in the ballroom below. She might only have been maimed by such a fall, landing on one of the elaborately gowned ladies of the Imperial court; a silk skirt with a number of taffeta petticoats would soften the impact enough to allow Alina to escape with a broken hip if she twisted the right way mid-air. If he mentioned any of this to Fedyor, his husband would shake his head at Ivan’s allegedly morbid catastrophizing, which Ivan would insist was simply part of the position as the General’s chief of security. He was not seriously worried about Alina tripping and catapulting herself, but something about the angle of her neck, the way her hand had repeatedly touched the gold fillet at the back of her head, that slender little ankle hooked behind the other stirred something in him. Not pity, not fondness, but there was something of both in the nameless feeling that had led him to speak.

“Oh, the shoes are fine. Lovely. Please don’t bother Genya, she’s done so much to get me ready for tonight. I expect it’s rather a waste, but there’s no use throwing slops to a sick sow as they say,” Alina said, revealing quite a lot. Ivan allowed himself to smile slightly at her choice of idiom, one popular in the rural farmlands of the south.

“They say good kopeks after bad here in Os Alta, because they don’t know the value of a pig. Or the hard work of farming. The otkazat’sya here are all merchants and guildsmen, given to gambling and usury,” Ivan said. “Not much like Keramzin, I imagine.”

“No,” Alina said quickly, then paused. “I suppose not anyway. I don’t know much about Keramzin besides the orphanage. It might have just been something the woman who ran the place said, Ana Kuya. She had a saying for every situation, I used to joke to Mal that she’d written them down in a great big book but Mal said—”

“He was your friend, the one on the skiff,” Ivan said when Alina broke off and made no attempt to resume speaking.

“He was. He’s in the First Army. A tracker. He’d laugh to see me here tonight, like this,” she said.

“Like what?” He suspected he knew what she meant but it was better to let her talk.

“Like a fool, trying to pass herself off as an elegant lady, Tailored and gussied up. Plain, scrawny Alina parading around in a silk kefta and gold slippers, acting like she belongs at the Imperial court,” she said, all in a rush as he’d anticipated. She was even glowing a little around her fingertips as she gesticulated.

“You are Grisha, not one of those silly otkazat’sya women. Sheep, the lot of them,” Ivan said.

“But they are nobles, the Tsar’s nobles, the daughters and wives of the best families,” Alina said. Was she genuinely scandalized? Ivan shrugged to keep from laughing; that he would do later, when he told Fedya about this before they went to sleep.

“And the Tsar is only an otkazat’sya with the most money, who’s fooled them into bowing down to him. He cannot command the wind or the rain, the tides or the flames on a hearth, nor heal the smallest wound,” Ivan said. “They are not worth any adulation, not from a Grisha and certainly not from the Sun Summoner.”

“It’s not just that,” Alina muttered.

“No? What it is then?” Ivan asked.

“They are all so beautiful, so splendid and grand and graceful—all their silks and lace and velvet ribbons, their jewels and combs, they all look completely at ease, natural, like flowers, roses and lilies and orchids. And I look like a Shu drab who’s stolen her mistress’s castoffs, no matter how long and hard Genya worked on me and it was hours, Ivan, hours!”

He had to smile then. She’d never called him by his first name before.

“Genya is a perfectionist. The length of time is not a reflection on your features or complexion,” Ivan said. Alina raised an eyebrow, her expression skeptical and for once, he could see her charm.

“I wouldn’t mind so much for myself but I’ll going to embarrass him,” Alina said.

“You mean General Kirigan,” Ivan said. “That you will shame him in front of the Imperial court.”

She nodded, the misery in her eyes, her pinched lips, the slump of her narrow shoulders in the black silk kefta, the weight of the Corecloth lining visible as it hadn’t been before. He felt her heart beating in her chest, the quickened pace of being found out.

“He would never be ashamed of you, to be seen with you,” Ivan said. “Not even if you looked as wan and plain as you seem to imagine and not like a fresh little wildflower amongst all these forced hothouse blooms.” If Fedya heard him now, Ivan would never hear the end of it…

“You’re just saying that.”

“I prefer to tell the truth,” he said. “It’s easier to keep track of than lies. Lies are tools. Telling you a lie would serve no purpose.”

“But I’m nothing like those women,” she said.

“You’re nothing like anyone. You’re the Sun Summoner and you’re the only Grisha to survive  to adulthood outside the Little Palace with their power suppressed in at least a generation. You’re an orphan who made a family for herself and a mapmaker who found her way home,” Ivan explained. “You must know how he looks at you. How he feels about you, how deeply he cares—”

“How deeply?” she asked, bold then, as she often was, but he knew what she risked to ask him the question.

“Without measure,” he said, unwilling to say anything more, to speak before the General had told her for himself.

“He hasn’t said—”

“He won’t see anyone but you when you enter the ballroom,” Ivan said. “I am not exaggerating for effect, I’ve had to plan for an extra security detail because of it.”

“You’re joking, you’re laughing at me,” Alina protested.

“He signed off on the additional oprichniki himself,” Ivan said.

“He did?”

“He’s General of the Second Army and the head of the Little Palace because he is most astute about risk and vulnerability. He would not allow his pride to endanger either of you,” Ivan said. The General had given him a long look when Ivan put the paper in front of him but he hadn’t argued.

“Thank you, Ivan,” she said. She straightened up and lifted her chin which meant he’d finally convinced her.

“You don’t need to thank me for telling you the truth,” he said.

“That’s your opinion,” she said, with some of the smartness she used with those she was closest to. He did not dislike it. “And that’s not why I thanked you.”

“No?”

“No. I thanked you for being kind when you didn’t need to be,” she said.

“I’m not often accused of being kind, especially not when I don’t need to be,” he replied.

“Who in their right mind would dare?” Alina said, finally, merrily, laughing.

#shadow and bone #darklina #ivan #fluff #prompt fill #Alina seeing the beautiful and jeweled ladies of the court and getting self conscious and Ivan giving her a little pep talk #canon au #soft ivan #heartrender husbands #fivan #genya safin #in a sea of second best fic #alina as the apple of aleksander's eye

[jomiddlemarch]

I posted 867 times in 2021

445 posts created (51%)

422 posts reblogged (49%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 0.9 posts.

I added 1,125 tags in 2021

#shadow and bone - 318 posts

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#alina seeing the beautiful and jeweled ladies of the court and getting self conscious and ivan giving her a little pep talk

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

I too have been covered with thorns

After Aleksander ordered the Stag’s collar to be put around her neck, even after his explanations, the anguished look in his dark eyes, the alteration in his posture that told her he’d kneel before her, Alina declared she’d never forgive him. Never.

“Fine, make me—"

And then before he had taken two steps away from her, they heard the cries and shouts, the desperate keening of wind and flame just outside the tent. Ivan, his face streaked with blood, ran in, and told them in a few, rasping words.

Shu-Han and Fjerda had invaded.

The encampment was overrun.

They were at war.

*

“You and Fedyor must go to the Little Palace and secure it,” Aleksander said, his clipped tone one Alina had never heard before, the General under duress.

“And leave you here, moi soverenyyi?” Ivan said, clearly completely opposed to the order but unwilling to challenge his superior directly.

“There is no one else I would trust to save the younglings at the Little Palace. Botkin cannot defend it by himself and the Shu-Han will be merciless to him if he is captured,” Aleksander said.

“You don’t even know they’re in danger at the Little Palace,” Alina said. Ivan looked at her as if he’d very much like to rend her heart.

“If they have attacked us here, they will be waging war on every location the Grisha are known to congregate, to destroy us beyond regrouping or recovery, beyond any surrender,” Aleksander explained.

“The First Army would protect the Grisha at the Little Palace—”

“Perhaps,” Aleksander said. Ivan grimaced and Alina noticed there was a dark stain on the left sleeve of his kefta. Was he in pain or merely annoyed by her? “I cannot take the chance, risk all their lives, on the First Army perceiving this as an attack on Ravka and not solely the Grisha. There are First Army officers who would gladly join the Fjerdans in murdering any Grisha they found, however young.”

“Your mother, Dame Baghra,” Alina began, stopped when Aleksander laughed, a brief, harsh sound, that had something in it of respect and something more of an endlessly long despair.

“She’ll survive if that’s what she wants. I wish them joy of any attempt they make on her, they will tremble and wish for oblivion if she decides she will make them suffer,” he said. “She is the one person in all Ravka I needn’t worry about. Ivan, the ambassadors, who has them?”

“Nazyalensky. She rounded them up, put them under guard, and then called forth a storm. It rages worst where she has them,” Ivan said.

“They’re hostages?” Alina said. Aleksander opened his mouth to speak but Ivan interrupted.

“What part of a war don’t you understand, Starkov? They are high-ranking officials, they have to be kept safe from Fjerdan bloodlust and the Shu-Han ‘serenity clinics.’ The Grisha are the targets, not the aggressors. We wouldn’t even be this vulnerable if you had not run away—”

“Enough!” Aleksander exclaimed. “Go now, Vanya, get Fedyor and the fastest horses you can find—make haste for Os Alta. I will send word to you when I can.”

“Saints guide your hands, moi soverenyyi,” Ivan said, bowing. Alekander gave him a quick nod and clasped his shoulder for an instant, in what was clearly a Grisha ritual.

“I could go with Ivan, help to protect the younglings,” Alina offered, warming to the words as she spoke them. “I could blind anyone—”

“You cannot leave my side,” Aleksander said. “Not for a moment. Our best chance lies in our conjoint power and now, with the collar—”

“I see,” Alina said. She felt the weight of the Stag’s horns against her throat. This was what he’d wanted, to use her as a weapon, to wield her light as readily as his shadow.

“You can’t fall into their hands. The Fjerdans would only kill you. The Shu-Han would make you into such a devastation as cannot be imagined,” Ivan said, almost kindly. “I go now, General Kirigan. We shall not fail you.”

Ivan left and they stood there, the same tent where they’d just been arguing so fiercely, now silent, even the sounds of the raging combat dulled and distant.

“I could not fight for the rest of them if I didn’t have you with me, Alina,” Aleksander said, his eyes lowered.

“You need me to defeat our enemies, I understand,” she said.

“You don’t,” he said. “I could not think of anything, anyone, if I could not be sure you were safe. I cannot lose you, even if you despise me.”

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114 notes • Posted 2021-10-30 18:52:29 GMT

#4

If this doesn’t scream for a Darklina modern AU or even any Darkling/pairing AU, I don’t know what does. I think a collection of drabbles on the theme of Aleksander in a Pink Bathrobe would be a solid addition to the universe as a whole.

And I haven’t see it floating around Tumblr, so, you’re welcome :)

159 notes • Posted 2021-07-30 18:24:51 GMT

#3

178 notes • Posted 2021-03-26 21:38:40 GMT

#2

what it is to be a thin crescent moon

Chapter 17

“I’d rather go to the Library, but not like this,” Alina said, gesturing at her First Army uniform. “Could we go to the Vezda suite first so I can change quickly?” If Ivan thought it was odd she said the Vezda suite and not my rooms, there was certainly no way to tell.

“You do not have to make requests of me, Miss Starkov. I take my orders from you,” he said.

“But only if General Kirigan approves,” she replied. “If it came to it, you would do what he told you, not me.”

“That would be…a complex situation. One I cannot imagine encountering,” he said. Alina glanced up at him. His eyes were dark but not brown like her own or black as Aleksander’s. Ivan’s were a very deep grey like stone wet with rain or the sky filled with storm-clouds. He could imagine it, had imagined it, she saw that, as well as noticing that he hadn’t decided what he would do if it happened, what duty was supreme, and it troubled him though he wouldn’t admit it. Not even to Fedyor.

“You have more pressing matters to occupy your thoughts,” she offered. “Rather than hypotheticals.”

He looked almost thankful she’d given him an out instead of pressing him to dissect which obligation was greater, his duty to Aleksander, his General, the leader of the Grisha, and the oath he’d sworn to Alina after nearly killing her.

“I’ll only be a few minutes,” she said, since they’d come to the door of the Vezda suite.

“No,” he said. “I go first if there is no maid within to open it.” He didn’t look fierce, only grim, and she wondered how many assassination attempts on Aleksander’s life he’d foiled. She let him pass in front of her and waited for him to call out that she might enter. Once she stepped inside, he withdrew.

When Genya had first pinned the veil to the shako, Alina had imagined tearing it off afterward and wadding it up and throwing it into a corner of the suite for Genya or the maids to find and shrug over, but Aleksander had transformed it into something precious with his hands and his voice and his dark eyes watching her face. Alina took the fur hat off her hair and unlatched the catch of the brooch, then let the shako fall to her bed and folded the veil as carefully as she would have touched Aleksander’s face, tracing the line of his jaw, the delicate skin of his closed eyelids, the bridge of his nose, his lower lip. She put it away in the same locked chest she kept his kefta in and then hurried to shed the First Army uniform and throw on a shirt, trousers and her blue kefta over it all. Her hair and face were still Tailored, but the Librarian was unlikely to make any remarks.

“You didn’t need to rush, Sun Summoner,” Ivan said as she walked out of the room. “Not because you think I am impatient or have something more important to do.”

“But General Kirigan—”

“General Kirigan would not have dispatched me if he felt I was needed at his side,” Ivan replied.

“The way you spoke of Dame Baghra, I don’t know, it made me uneasy,” Alina said, working to match her pace to his.

“No Grisha would blame you for that,” he replied. “It has been many years since my own training with her and I wouldn’t want to relive it.”

“General Kirigan has not introduced me to her,” Alina said.

“However soon you meet her will be soon enough,” Ivan said. Alina sensed this was as informal as he was likely to be with her or perhaps anyone other than Fedyor. They’d arrived at the Library and she went over to the table that had become hers, Ivan nodding at the Librarian when he was told the security measures were all in place. The texts she had been studying were still stacked where she’d left them and she told herself she’d immerse herself in the philosophy treatise she’d been reading and let everything else fall away.

It was a miserable failure.

First, Alina told herself it was the chair and she wriggled around in it trying to find some ideal position that would let her focus her attention without it making a lick of difference. She moved the treatise around, picked up her pen, put it down, dipped it in the inkwell, wrote Notes on Treatise of Merzost and Zalitnuud, underscored it and made a tick mark with nothing to follow. She fiddled with a piece of her hair which was not loose in the least, until it was loose in the least and then she brushed the end across her cheekbone and sighed and took a series of deep breaths and even conjured a sfera the size of a onion beneath the table and worked to keep the light the even dimness of a winter dawn, but while she felt marginally better and would happily have eaten a roasted onion with good appetite, she was no more able to concentrate than when she’d started.

She’d asked Aleksander what have you done? because there was part of her that suspected it was enough for him to have recited the vows, that he hadn’t simply said some beautiful words or proposed but actually joined them in some attachment that couldn’t be broken, a marriage or a bond that went beyond what any ozkazat’sya would consider a marriage. There was part of her that hoped he had, that he’d done something irrevocable that would mean she could go to him or he could come to her and it wouldn’t need to be concealed or barely tolerated, but required, accepted, celebrated. And there was part of her that felt she was tipping on the edge of an abyss, one she could never light to its utmost depth, no matter how hard she tried, and she couldn’t tell if Aleksander was trying to pull her back or push her in.

“Making faces won’t help,” the Librarian commented. Alina had not been able to divine whether the Librarian was a man or a woman, a Grisha or some creature willing to work alongside Grisha, but Togtuun was patient, prescient, delighted with Alina’s endless questions, and only annoyed by a disregard for the proper care and shelving of the books given to Alina for review. Alina supposed that last might be a characteristic of any good Librarian, as a stablemaster might fuss over his horses and a Healer the proper preparation and storage of their pharmacopeia. “The treatise won’t mind that grimace, but it won’t give up its secrets any sooner.”

“I’m sorry, I’m bothering you,” Alina said.

“You’re not but I can see you cannot do the work you wanted to. Cannot lose yourself as you wished,” Togtuun said.

“You can see all that, even through the Tailoring?”

“The Tailoring was for the Tsar,” Togtuun said, adjusting the cowl of their deep brown kefta, as unlike the Apparat’s habit as rich loam was to ash. “Nothing about you looks different to me, except that you’ve had some sort of a shock, beyond the discovery of your light.”

“That’s not wrong,” Alina said.

“Stop reading and draw,” Togtuun said. “Let your hand guide your mind until you can ask the question you need, of the one you need to ask.”

“I should leave—”

“You don’t have to,” Togtuun said. “The Library is not only for reading. You need to think and you can’t think how. See what the ink says to your palm, what your palm says to your eyes. The treatise has no feet, it won’t run away from you.”

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249 notes • Posted 2021-08-13 18:36:54 GMT

#1

Here are two choices (among others) for options to support women in Afghanistan right now:

Women for Afghan Women: https://womenforafghanwomen.org/

A GoFundMe “Women Globally Working to Protect Afghan Women” here: https://www.gofundme.com/f/protect-women-leaders-in-afghanistan?utm_source=facebook&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=m_pd+share-sheet

Both allow anonymous donations and both are vetted. Even if you can’t afford to donate, you can share these options with others.

3838 notes • Posted 2021-08-16 11:43:24 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #when I posted those darklina fic #I'm pretty sure I included an after the cut #happy that the most popular post is about helping other people #mercy street number 7 don't forget your roots!