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ven-brekker · 2 years

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The Stars and Her Sun

My fic entry for @grishaversebigbang 2022! This was so fun to write and the accompanying art is AWESOME!! Go check it out ;)

Materialki:

@pollyplantar (x) @pinaplelee (x)

Summary: A celebration is held for Alina Starkov, the Sun Summoner's, birthday. Only, it isn't really her birthday, and she'd much rather be spending the evening with a certain red-headed Tailor.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/38751312

Full fic also pasted under the cut (from ao3, so forgive formatting errors!)

Before she was a Saint, a martyr or a god, Alina Starkov was a girl. Simple, orphaned and herself. Summoning had taken that away from her, and there was nothing she would not give up to be treated as she once had; as a person. Luckily for her, Genya did not ask anything of her, only gave her what she desired without a question uttered on either side. Her white and gold ensemble split by strikes of red hair had always been a welcome and comforting sight. Especially when the Sun Summoner was nervous - which, right now, she very much was.

She sat in a large, plush chair, in which she had far too much space, underneath a large window in her bedroom. The vanity was taken up by Genya’s tailoring kit, as well as various little trinkets: rings, hair combs, the odd scrap of parchment. All of it was painted by the dusky lilacs, oranges and pinks of the sunset streaming through the glass in fractured light - a beautiful display for the oncoming darkness. Genya’s hands were cool against Alina’s face, each slight brush of her fingertips an immense relief against the Summoner’s flushed skin. Her hands rested in her lap, her nails digging into her palms as she tried to resist the unbearable itching. She fiddled with the rings that adorned her fingers, each one a perfectly smooth gold that had been Fabrikator-made to glint and glimmer as though it were better at home in the night sky. Her kefta hung on the back of her chair, and her shoulders felt alien, bare from its soft lining, with only an undershirt protecting her from the slight chill of the room’s emptiness.

The event tonight was, on paper, for her birthday; a gala held for a falsehood attributed to her name. She recalled a time wherein such festivities were not in her name. A time wherein a younger her and a younger Mal would sneak off to their meadow and celebrate each other’s “birthdays'' amongst the grass. A time where despite the day being the Duke’s in history, it was theirs to celebrate and theirs alone. Now, it was hers and it was Ravka’s; a human show of their Saint. The smile she bit back was one of nostalgia, and partially one of sadness. Anger, too, though she denied it with her whole chest. It was a smile and a memory she pushed harshly aside.

To her left, a few feet away from where she sat, was a mannequin. It towered over her, now, as though it were taunting her with its costume, ridiculing her with how stupid she would later look in what it wore. It donned a dress of the deepest blue, embroidered in delicate gold thread, with miniature stars and suns coiling up its long sleeves and bodice. It had a center paneling of pure white, with matching embroidery spanning out from the center and twisting in spirals as it moved farther away. The dress’ trail was long, swathing the floor as the sea did the shore. At its waist, where the skirt and bodice met, was a ribbon that matched the outer skirt’s blue; it was fastened with a gold buckle that featured Ravka’s double eagles, sitting comfortably in the middle. It was, all in all, fit for a Saint. It did not seem fit for Alina Starkov.

“Genya?” She asked. The Tailor paused in her acts, setting down one of her vials and resting herself on the desk.

“Hmm?”

“What will you be wearing tonight?” Genya laughed, the sound sweet like honey, as though the question were somewhat daft.. She gestured down at herself. Alina looked at her, clad in her white and gold - servant’s colors. She wore them as though they were the finest noble silks, but the image of the shock and envy on her face when Alina had been offered the Darkling’s black was burned into her mind. She didn’t know if it was horror at Alina’s then refusal, or a sadness that she would never have that honor, that Alina felt more sorry for.

“This, I suppose. Perhaps I’ll do my hair differently, specially for you.” Alina couldn’t stop a small pang of disappointment striking her, although she did her best to hide it. It was to no avail, though, as Genya smiled sympathetically at her. “This isn’t the winter fête, Alina. This is about you .” Alina smiled. Genya often went on about the fête - it was mere months away, and she assumed Genya loved the excuse to dress up in something aside from her cream kefta . She sighed, and fluffed her hair. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to take your spotlight with my immense beauty.” Alina couldn’t help herself from laughing.

“I’m assuming that would be paired with your immense humility?” Genya threw a small petal at her, then returned to working on her face.

Her cheeks burned with the itch of Genya’s tailoring. Her nails dug into her palms, and she was sure they would leave deep marks. It was all Genya could do to allow Alina to distract herself with conversation. “You don’t need to do anything differently,” Alina continued. You’re already showing solidarity with me.” She tapped the embroidery on Genya's cuffs, causing her to tear her eyes away from Alina’s now rouged cheeks. “Sun Summoner gold. We match.” Genya smiled at her, amber eyes lighting up gold. Those were the eyes Alina found she could spend hours staring at. Carefully tailored, and still so raw.

“Well, speaking of Sun Summoners.” Genya said, raising herself from her seat on the vanity with a soft sniff. She opened one of its drawers and pulled out a small box. “I figured someone of your status deserves at least one proper gift.” She handed Alina the box. It was blue, the exact shade of the Kefta that hung on her chair, and had a sun painted on its lid. She looked at Genya’s amber eyes, then opened it. Sat there inside, in its soft velvet cushion in full gleaming glory, was a ring. It was a delicate thing; gold, most likely real, spiraled into a dainty sun with an opalescent gemstone in its center. It was beautiful, and looked the work of a Fabrikator. “It isn’t much,” Genya began. “I had David make it. I wasn’t sure-”

“It’s perfect. Thank you, Genya. Really.” She held her hand out to the tailor, offering her the ring. She took it, slipping it onto the ring finger of Alina’s right hand. A small flush filled Genya’s perfect cheeks, illuminating the soft yellow in her perfect eyes. She took the Summoner’s hand and examined the ring, tilting it and raising it to the light. It shimmered as it was moved, painting soft fractures of light onto Genya’s face. It made her eyes seem paler, like sun through honey.

“It fits.” She said with a sigh. “That’s a relief.”

“Perfectly.” Alina said, admiring the shine of its gemstone and the glitter of the gold band as she moved her hand. “Tell David I commend his work.”

“If he ever looks up from it for more than ten seconds, I’ll make sure I do.” They laughed, and then Genya moved behind her, pulling Alina’s hair back from her face. She looked into the looking glass on the vanity, then out the large window above it.

“I suppose we better get you ready. You’re supposed to enter at nightfall. Dramatic contrast and all that.” Alina rolled her eyes, but allowed Genya to do the hard work of pinning her hair up.

“You know, I think you’d look good blonde. You’d suit light colors. It’d bring out your eyes.” She said, doing something Alina could not fathom with a few strands of her hair.

“Yes, well you think I’d look good with every hair color other than my own.” Genya shrugged.

“I don’t see why I can’t recommend what I think would look good. That’s my job, after all.” Alina gazed out the window.

“It’s also your job to get me ready on time .” Genya cussed, seeing the deep coal gray of nightfall tearing apart the sky’s lovely dusk, and hurried her work.

By the time Genya was rushing her to get dressed, her hair had been done-up in some kind of elaborate coiffure. It sat fairly low on her head, and she could feel the soft swoop of some tailored hair on her neck. It was coiled up in soft waves and braids, accented with small pins of gold suns. In the front, two tendrils hung loose, framing her face with their curls. She couldn’t stop herself staring in the vanity, at every angle, trying to put words to every small detail. For once, she did not look plain, even though she still looked like herself. It was a wonder Genya was not classed as a Saint, looking at the miracles her hands could work.

The dress had been put on with a haste that only Genya’s band of servants could achieve, and she was ready in under five minutes; five long, long minutes. The dress was indescribably thin, but warm, as though she were covered in a blanket of smoke. A very beautiful, court-like blanket. Alina fiddled with her new ring, twisting the band round and round the base of her finger. Relief seemed to be bonded to its delicate metal. Relief could not save her from the fear of walking down multitudes of stairs with the long, silk train that followed her like a serpent. As if those stairs couldn’t get any worse.

Genya took her arm, and a young blonde girl in the same gold and white took her train, and they exited the room. The stairs were, as always, fatal. Alina had to grip onto Genya’s arm and the thin banister on multiple occasions to stop herself from tripping and arriving torn and bruised.

The walk was short, by description, but it felt impossibly long. Would the nerves of being classed a “miracle'' ever truly cease? Some incessant ramblings from the Apparat rang in her ears, and she had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. Despite his obsession with creeping her out, he may have been right. She hadn’t done a practical demonstration before, not since the performance she’d put on in the Darkling’s tent back in Kribirsk. She wouldn’t have counted that, though. It was the work of him and his amplification. It wasn’t her power, not back then.

She reached for Genya, wanting a few whispered words of encouragement, or an “I’ll find you later”, but the girl was already gone, her fiery hair long out of view. Perhaps she’d gone to hunt down David, or perhaps she’d been called away by one of the Queen’s servants for some last minute touch-ups. With the comfort of her only friend gone, Alina could at least revel in the comfort of the Little Palace. Since the night was, supposedly, about her, it was allowed to commence in her abode. It was somewhat a relief that she did not have to make the trek to the Grand Palace. Besides, she liked the idea of being shown off twice; once on her own terms, here, and once on Ravka’s, at the Grand Palace during the winter fête.

The loud bustle of the room fell quiet, and Alina felt slightly sad that it hadn’t when she had entered. The corridor outside the domed hall was full of Grisha, each in their kefta lined with soft fox fur. Each of them except her, that was; if the Darkling could not make her stand out in his deep black, she supposed he would find a way. Speak of the devil , she thought. Approaching from one of the various arches was the Darkling himself. He was clad in his kefta , too. She made a note to mention it to Genya later. She knew the Tailor lived vicariously through her, and perhaps would enjoy the tales of her being the center of attention where Alina herself did not.

The Darkling approached, his coal-black hair pushed back. He clearly had not had the work of a Tailor imposed on him, but given the sharp slice of his features and the fact he’d be cloaked in darkness for most of the demonstration, Alina supposed it didn’t matter. He held out his arm for her to take, and she obliged, resting her palm on the top of his wrist. That certainty flooded through her like a wave - it was reassuring, but she was glad it was not a feeling she had to rely on to call her powers anymore. That same certainty led her to the makeshift stage, directly beneath the dome. It was that certainty which steadied her when the darkness consumed everything, including the twinkling Fabrikatored lights that had been strung up around the heights of the ceiling. It was that same certainty that allowed her to summon and split beams of pure sunlight, despite the Darkling’s hands being nowhere near her skin. It was that certainty that made her display go by in a whirl of sighs and gasps and soft murmurs from the crowd, until the murmurs became loud and the darkness receded.

Alina had not come down from the pride of summoning light yet. The show was less flashy than it would have been at the fête, Genya had made Alina sure of that. The Darkling, clearly, was not on any pride. He immediately excused himself and made his way to the Tsar and Tsaritsa, striking conversation on something Alina could not and probably did not want to hear. Then, she was once again alone. She debated searching for Genya’s head of fiery red hair, or looking around for Marie or Nadia or even Zoya, but decided against it. Their kefta were the same deep blue, and it would be impossible for her to search in the packed confines of the domed hall.

She could feel the room’s eyes on her; all blank stares, with no substance. It was the eyes of aristocrats hungry for power, and merchants desperate for the opportunities West Ravka would bring with the destruction of the fold. It was the eyes of a desperate people looking at their Saint, their Sun Summoner. The eyes of a people, a nation, who put their trust in her as a symbol, not a person. Not in her. Perhaps it was better that way; she was content with being a symbol if it alleviated some of the pressure, made her larger than herself, made people look beyond who she really was.

She plastered on a smile, a habit she had grown accustomed to in Kribirsk, and let the swarms of nobility take her. There were questions and prayers, and the demand for an acknowledgement of certain rumors (many of which she had to hide offense at - her status as an orphan and a member of the Second Army was clearly a subject of interest for the wealthy), all of which she did her best to answer pleasantly. One woman had requested a blessing, an uncomfortable occurrence that was becoming far too frequent for a girl who did not know how to bless, and who certainly wasn’t going to ask the Apparat for help in learning.

By the time one wave had ended, another took its place. She was surrounded by a cluster of people at all times; the devout, the wealthy, the skeptical. None of them seemed to discriminate in invading her personal space. She had to restrain herself from sighing when a servant came to fetch her for the monarchs. It was an odd feeling to have.

She realized, after a few minutes of enabling their questions, that the Tsar intended only to gawk at her, and the Tsaritsa to observe her with her odd too-blue eyes at any angle she could crane her neck to reach. Alina wasn’t sure why, but she half expected the Tsarevich to be here; though, given Genya’s gossip about his habits, she wasn’t sure she would have wanted him here, anyway. The Darkling had, evidently, been swept away by his duties, and Alina felt a sadness that she wasn’t important enough for him to stay.

“So, Sun Summoner.” The King started. Then, his voice took on a hushed tone. “When will the Unsea be destroyed?” She understood, then, the earlier claims of the King being a child. Such topics were best left to war rooms and Darklings, not Alina Starkovs who had no clue when or how to destroy the fold. It was foolish to discuss such matters in the open, where many foreign ambassadors had sat, amazed by her light show. Even then, it had been subpar. The Darkling had ensured her power not be shown in full, as to not let the surrounding countries know of Ravka’s true progress. It didn’t make much of a difference; her power had grown, but it was still growing, and nowhere near the power needed to destroy the fold. Even so, she was grateful for the excuse to have less people trying to kill her.

Alina turned her gaze to the King’s watery eyes. “I do not know, Moi Tsar.” He seemed dissatisfied with the answer. She supposed that was a thing to remedy. “But, I can assure you it will be soon. The Darkling has made that clear to me.” A lie, but one that proved to work. The King gave a satisfied huff, and waved his hand, conversing with a servant to bring him more kvas. Alina took her moment to escape, slipping to the side of the room behind one of the intricate pillars. She’d been in the room countless times, passed through it every day, but it felt foreign covered in the stench of alcohol and the energy of celebration. It was then, breathing deeply in, that she realized how suffocating the crowds had been. She felt hot, and could feel redness creeping up her neck. Her eyes darted around the room. Everyone was preoccupied with their gossip and their drinks. She surveyed the door at the end of the hall. She stuck out like a beam of sunlight in a dark room. There was no way she could sneak out. At least, in a room of sober people, maybe. She’d never been much of a drinker, but at that moment, she’d never been more thankful for alcohol.

She hiked up her skirt slightly, and began to walk, ignoring the image of Genya’s disapproving face in her mind at her gathered silks. She dodged and darted groups of people, but each was too drunk to properly notice her. It was all she could do to keep herself from sprinting once she had passed the entrance, and she made her way down the familiar halls of the Little Palace.

She approached the carved doors of the library, peeking her head in. The large room was empty, and it was dark without the daylight to pour in through its many windows. She entered, closing the door behind her as quietly as she could, and then she slid down the door, her dress crumpling beneath her. She could have sat there for hours, but her back began to ache against the heavy wood after mere minutes, and she rose from the carpeted floors. She made her way up to the second floor, and sat herself down on one of the plush chairs on the balcony. The banisters were chiseled from the finest marble. It occurred to her that she’d never actually been on the balconies; though, theory and history had almost put her off the library altogether. The balcony overlooked the grounds beyond the Palace. She could make out the expanse of lush forest, though the onset of winter had plucked some of the leaves from the trees, and their bare branches were lacquered in a frosty sheen. She could make out the glittering of still water in the far distance, unidentifiable aside the track of light that contrasted its deep abyss.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Genya’s clear voice made Alina jump. She whipped her head round, and the redhead stood at the door to the balcony, her hands on her hips. Surely enough, she had changed her hair. It was done up in a bun of some sort (not as elaborate as Alina’s, of course, as to not steal her thunder) and her ears were decorated with small sun studs. Alina groaned.

“Sorry. I just couldn’t take it in there for another second.” Genya sighed sympathetically and rested her arms on the balcony’s railings, looking out.

“That bad, huh?” Alina laughed dryly.

“The King practically couldn’t hold a conversation with the amount of kvas he'd had, and he had the nerve to ask me about the shadow fold!” Genya giggled, but Alina could see the crease in her brow at the mention of the King, and the breath that escaped in a visible plume at the mention of his drunkenness. She swiftly tried to change the topic, and Alina let her.

“If you wish to run away and hide from all social functions, perhaps I should have David give you lessons.”

“Did you go and see him?” Genya studied the hems of her kefta .

“No,” she said. “I was busy with some other things. You know how the Queen’s court is.” She didn’t, but she nodded nonetheless.

“I’m glad you managed to get out. I’d rather be here with you than in there.” Alina confessed. Genya smiled and turned her head to face Alina, a wisp of hair falling over her face.

“Oh? Don’t tell the Darkling that. He might not offer his colors up again.”

“I don’t want his colors.” she said with an exasperated sigh, which formed into a shared giggle. “Really, though. Thank you for coming to find me.” Alina stood and joined Genya at the railing. “They kept talking to me like I wasn’t there. They asked me questions, but it was like they were asking the gunman of a canon. Like they were just asking me about the specifics of a weapon I controlled.” “Like you were an object?” Alina nodded, and the understanding in Genya’s eyes was unmistakable, and heartbreaking.

“I didn’t mean- I’m sorry, Genya, I didn’t think, I-” Alina stuttered over her words, trying to remedy herself. Genya placed her hands on Alina’s cheeks. Her eyes flicked over the Summoner’s features, admiring her own work; the soft darkness on her eyelids, the pink of her lips and the glow of her cheekbones. She smiled to herself, and laughed as Alina struggled to say her words, getting more frustrated as Genya did so.

“Alina,” Genya said, tenderly; she never said anything without perfect grace. Her voice was sweet, like honey, or fresh flowers in the meadow, or a soft kiss. It was kind, and Alina stopped her humiliating attempt at explaining herself. She glanced up and met Genya’s amber eyes; she could have mistaken them for stars in the late darkness. “Shut up.” Genya said, and then in one fluid movement, their lips were together. It was only a brush, there and then gone, but the moment they touched, she felt something she’d never felt before. Hunger, greed, desire. No name could describe the soft, delicate craving she had. Genya’s eyes had fluttered closed, her perfect lashes fanning over her perfect cheeks, her lips pulled in their perfect smile. Her face was flushed, basked in the soft blue moonlight. No Saint could have matched her then. With her control all but lost, Alina cupped the redhead’s cheek and closed the distance between them once more. She recalled the kiss she’d had with the Darkling by the lake, but even that felt wrong to compare. It was nothing to how she felt now. Her stomach was warm, as though an Inferni had sparked a flame in her belly and brought it up, out her mouth and onto her lips. It was a sensation she lusted and hungered for, and one she wanted to savor; she didn’t want it to end. It did, of course, and Genya pulled away again, breathing heavily. They rested their foreheads together, and shared silence. Alina would have shared the emptiness of the fold with Genya if she only asked for it. And then, they laughed, and smiled, and Genya peppered her flushed cheeks with more kisses, as though they were an abundance she needed to get rid of.

Above, onlookers to a girl’s first love, the stars twinkled, and the moon bore down on them in a divine spotlight. It was as though Fate saw them and only them, then; pushed together by the Saints and celebrated by the forces of nature. The Sun Summoner and her colorless Grisha ; how fitting was it for their love to be given in darkness? How fitting was it for their love to be given where a thousand small suns glittered idly above them? It was perfect. Genya was perfect, everything was perfect. And whilst it might not be fated to last, it would be fated to be true, as sunlight is to the day. And they would be fated to each other.

#gvbbmb22 #gvbbmbfic22 #the stars and her sun #grishaverse #shadow and bone #ao3 #genyalina #gvbb #genya safin #alina starkov #alina and genya #alina x genya #darkling slander #s&b trilogy #my fic

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kneelingshadowsalome · 4 days

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I know the König x secret admirer reader is not gonna be officially continued but I was wondering if you could maybe explore part of it😭 there’s a part that mentioned that König gets laid in the military and I was wondering how angsty it would be if reader found out?🤭

Yes of course! ^^ It would be angsty... and fluffy! These two are the silliest people who ever lived tbh 🩷🐥

König is young in this AU (around his early 20s) and wildly inexperienced compared to some of the other recruits his age.

His first time was with a girl who joined the army when König had been there for about 1.5 years already. Desperate as he was with hiding the fact that he’s still a virgin, he tumbled into bed with this lady after a night out at the bar. She thoroughly seduced him, and König’s instincts told him she was only looking for fun, but he went with her anyway because, well. Loneliness can kill you, you know?!

He tried to woo her a bit after that until it became quite clear that this woman was not planning to settle down anytime soon. If anything, she was looking for a new conquest – and it’s fine, totally fine, except that König had surrendered a tiny piece of his heart to her along with his dick... That’s just how he is, and it took him more than a few months to get over the fact that it was “just a shag” and he “shouldn’t take things so seriously”.

That’s also why he closed off from people again, decided to concentrate on work and training and gym – until our cute little angel stumbled into his life like the prettiest saving grace! König was a goner from the start because this girl's approach was very different, so gentle and sweet compared to grimy shot glasses and smudgy lipstick and raunchy jokes. It’s a given that he was a little shocked when she sent her that pic 🙄 reminding him of promiscuous women who are not looking for a soul but a body, but because he is what he is the first thing he did was crank things up a notch and send her a dick pic back…

Yes, he’s desperate, but he’s also an go hard or go home man and this time, König is relatively sure he’s dealing with a lovely, delicate soul. Someone who wouldn’t just leave him out in the cold after getting what she wants.

And everything is like a fairytale between these two until she finds out he’s not a virgin despite he seemed a bit… like one… (in this scenario I think reader is a virgin and she thought König was one too because of obvious reasons? lol) And it’s fine, totally fine for her as well, except that the image of König having the night of his life with some military babe is haunting her from dusk till dawn.

There’s bound to be some drama when she starts asking timidly whether she’s still there… Whether they see each other every day. If they talk to each other, if he trains with her, etc. What if they test rifles together, or go out again with the sniper crew and get drunk and König feels… a little lonely?

She knows he would never cheat on her, not in a million years, but knowing how much of a wet dog he is she can’t promise that she’ll be all calm and relaxed during weekends, knowing her boyfriend is out there, full of testosterone and heart, his heart somewhat susceptible to female influence… Maybe even good old seduction…

And what’s even worse is the jealousy, the envy.

What if she’s more badass than her? That doesn't take much... She must be fierce if she’s in the military, something completely different, a forbidden apple König might want to taste again. It’s maddening, and when she finally opens up about it to him, spitting it out one night when he asks what’s bugging his sweet angel, there’s a big fat silence that follows.

König can't even believe she has torn her heart to pieces over something like this, alone and upset and ashamed when she's a literal angel. He sits her nice and pretty in his lap and talks her ear off about how he has nothing against this woman, truly, but that she is nothing compared to his first (and hopefully last!) girlfriend. Their love could never be compared to what happened between him and that girl, these things can’t even be spoken together in the same sentence. If he’s completely honest, his first time was... disappointing. Awkward, humbling, a total drunken mess of which he remembers nothing except that the woman wasn’t completely present either and that he was ashamed that his first time had to be like this.

Honestly, he felt like he lost his virginity on the night when he came to see her. She’s everything he’s ever dreamed of, all he thinks about these days... It’s quite annoying, actually, because he’s supposed to concentrate on how the wind blows and that the ammo doesn’t get wet and that he’s properly concealed.

He could be lying in a ditch with dummy rounds whirling past him and all he could think about are her eyes and lips and giggling and tits and, and… that. How warm it is, how nice it is, how he would just want to curl himself next to her when he hops back to his bunk in the evening. Her smile is the last thing he sees before he dreams, her voice is what he hears. All the things she said, all those sweet, silly little things, chime in his ear before he sleeps.

And all the precious moments they’ve already spent together, the times he made love to her under the trees... There’s nothing like that in the whole world and if she thinks something else can top that she's even sillier than he thought. He could comb through all the continents and he would never find a girl like her.

So tell him again... Why would he go to a shot glass of saltwater when he has a jar of wild honey right here at home?

#lmao what könig doesn’t tell her probablyyy is that the lady is not interested in him either #she just hops from D to D so she barely remembers König even exists #he’s only a co-star in some stories she tells her friends #like “Ooh yeah that one guy had a horse cock but he fussed around with the condom so much I almost fell asleep haha”#“what was his name again? shit I can’t remember”#meanwhile our angel reader is ascending to the 7th plane with the help of the horse cock in question like “Köniii T^T”#always the funniest thing when a secret admirer gets jealous of his object of obsession who’s actually fucking enamored with their no 1 fan #König gets jettisoned to the sun everytime she so much as *looks* his way #like are you both completely utterly dense or were you just born this way…#<3 sillies

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