#Ivan/Fedyor

[simp2537]

You don’t have request for the Darkling? Let me fix that (:

Someone wants to hurt Alek by kidnaping the reader so, Alek saves her and he’s mad AF

Touch her and die

a/n: I love writing over protective partners and stuff so I loved this. Also reader is a bit chaotic cause why not. Also made reader a Tidemaker.

Warning: kidnapping, language, blood, grisha hate, kinda bratty reader? Aleks goes psycho mode, injuries, drüskelle, mentions of Aleks and readers age gap

Aleksander Morozova x fem! Reader

It was an unspoken rule for all grisha, for all ravka, for everyone to not hurt his lover. It was no great secret that the Darkling, the Black general himself was absolutely smitten by his favorite Tidemaker. With her pretty e/c eyes and a pout on her rose colored lips she could get anything she wanted from her general.

His Tidemaker had grown up in a village boardering Fjerda, so grisha testers weren’t common to go there. In secret her older brother, also a Tidemaker taught her the ways of the grisha. Unfortunately a little ways after her nineteenth birthday drüskelle invaded her village and he brother died saving her life.

She ran through the thick forests of ravka with no idea where to go as they chased her when he appeared. His shadows cut through the drüskelle and not long after that the darkling infatuation with his Tidemaker became apparent.

Now his Tidemaker strut into the meeting he conducted, she was late. She walked right up to his side with a smile and adjusted some of the toy soldiers as he spoke. Then she walked right over to Zoya, who shock her head at her friend’s brazenness.

“You’re late, L/n.” Zoya muttered as she drew over the Ravkan maps. Y/n giggled softly as he began to help Zoya. Aleksander would glance back over at the pair every so offten. His Tidemaker clad in a black kefta with teal embroidery. He loved that she so proudly wore his color.

Her and Zoya began to giggle about something, probably a comment she’d made when one of the king advisors cleared his throat.

“Miss L/n have you something to add?” He asked cutting off the girls chatter. The room went quiet as she went stiff. Ivan and Fedyor shared a quick look as their generals eyes darkened. His tone was snobbish and rather rude.

He spoke as if he was better than she was, and it made her almost want to laugh as she turned. Slowly she made it back to the main table with the toy soldiers, this was a different plan than the one she’d just arranged. It was horrible and would lead to the deaths of many grisha.

Y/n would not sacrifice her soldiers when she could do better. Quickly she fixed up the arrangement with an empty look, Aleksander watched her in awe. As she finished she turned to the advisor with the same snobbish looked he’d given her.

“It seems you needed some assistance, don’t worry sir for I will always be there to fix the mistakes.” Y/n mocked as she bowed her head slightly. Aleksander chuckled slightly and moved a stray hair behind her ear. Such an open act of affection for his Tidemaker was nothing new, but for him to do it after she’d humiliated one of the king’s advisor was a risky move.

“Although Miss L/n was late she has fixed this plan to ensure the safety of all the grisha going into this battle. For that I am most grateful.” He amused as he stared at her. She smiled cheekily as she returned to Zoya’s side, a confident sway to her hips.

This was the last time Aleksander had seen her that day.

……………………

It was no secret that the darkling had a great many enemies, but as the fist collided with her face for the hundredth time, Y/n was growing tired. The kings advisor, whatever his name was had hired drüskelle of all people to kidnap her.

Of course her hands were bound apart and she was tied to the chair. She was surprised they hadn’t just killed her but she didn’t care. She was growing bored of all the punches. Her face was bruised, the right side more then the left, her lip busted, and she was sure at least one of her ribs were broken.

“It’s not to late to get me go you know.” She mumbled as she dropped her head back. Her hands quietly attempting to undo her cuffs.

“Drüsje your pleading for your life will not work.” The tallest announced. She sighed softly, he would come for her. If she was dead by the time he found her she knew all of Fjerda would pay.

“It would just be in your best interest.”

They all laughed and she joined in. Let them laugh, it’ll probably be the last time they do. She though softly.

“We will end you, and then we will break the darkling.” Y/n nodded softly at there words as they smashed their fist into her side. She groaned as she felt a rib snap.

“Then kill me, what is it you are afraid of?” Y/n taunted. They all froze, one of them brought there axe dangerously close to her neck.

“Will you not beg for your life?”

“Take it if it pleases you. It is not me who suffers when I’m gone.” They didn’t know what to say to that. They had heard the talks of the darkling whore. How she could boil the blood, pull the water from your body, freeze your nerves. But the women in front of them didn’t look the dangerous type.

“You aren’t the confident whore of the darkling we’ve heard tales of. You are just his pet he plays with from time to time.” Her face hardened at those words. She was not dressed in his color to be watered down to a simple whore. She smiled charming as she began to un click the cuffs.

“Most women aren’t as crude as you, they are modest.” Y/n giggled softly. She saw the shadows begin to move.

“Unfortunately for everyone I will keep doing whatever the fuck I want.”

Y/n snapped her cuffs and rolled her chair causing it to hut the ground. The shadows form into the cut and swore through the air above her. The shadows surrounded her till the familiar frame of her Sasha towered over her.

“Would mind untying these ropes?” Y/n uttered softly slumping against the grounds, her confident persona gone. The ropes were off and Aleksander pulled his Tidemaker to her feet. His hand clutched her face as he brought her in for a messy and passionate kiss.

She moaned softly into the kiss as he held her face. His hands slowly began to trail down and she pulled away with a wince.

“What is it?” Aleksander whispered as she clung to him.

“I think they broke a few ribs.” She whined as she lean into his frame for support. From the outside of the cabin she heard a few grunts, a scream or two and then silence. Aleksander placed his cloak around her shoulder in hopes of warming her.

“My healers will attend to you when we get back.” He placed a kiss to her head and began to pepper her hairline with kisses. The fear was evident in his eyes at her body. His eyes scanned her bruised face and body, her busted lip, the blood dripping down the side of her arm.

He hated that she’d gotten hurt so badly before he could save her. By the looks of her cuffs she was half way there in her own. With a slight waddle she made it to the door, with protest from her lover she pushed them opens, her jaw hit the ground.

Blood and carnage surround the cabin where she was kept. She limped her way through the bodies as Aleksander trailed behind her. Ivan, Fedyor, Zoya, and the twins were there.

“What happened out here?”

No one answered as Zoya hugged Y/n, attempting and failing to be cautious of her ribs. Aleksander pulled Y/n away after allowing Zoya to hug her, he didn’t want her to far.

“I thought they’d killed you… I lost my temper.” Aleksander admitted as he picked Y/n into his arms. Y/n stared at him for a moment.

“If this is what you do when you’re out of control, I’d hate to see what you do when you are.” Fedyor laughed softly as Ivan swatted at his husband. Y/n’s words were true. There wasn’t a thing in the world there general wouldn’t do for his precious Tidemaker.

[inaccuratewizard]

similar dynamics; one has big eyes and a sunshine, the other one is grumpy and wouldn't let anyone get close to them but only one specific person can, looks scary but is actually a softy, both fought for their people but joined in different sides and litterly married <:0

[wilwywaylan]

Have a very Crow-y Halloween, and other assorted birds-y one too !

The challenge was to keep their clothes somewhat accurate while making them birds. Wylan's outfit is inspired by Papageno's in the Magic Flute, and Genya's has shades of the ones used in Swan Lake. Nina's has been inspired by the hens in Tex Avery's movies. I had a lot of fun with the keftas !

I so want Matthias' fluffiest ever owl-coat. Also Kaz is wearing a well-known fur coat because I can.

Birds are : Matthias - Owl, Inej - Cormoran, Kaz - Crow, Jesper - Peacock, Wylan - Songbird, Genya - Swan, David - Mechanical Duck, Nikolai - Eagle, Darkling - I don't know and I don't want to know, Ivan and Fedyor - Hawks, and Nina - Hen.

[buffaluff]

my heartrender husbands fanart contribution for the year! ❤️❄️

for the yearly fivan secret santa, this year’s is for @lucienjynix! i hope you enjoy 💖

[little-cereal-draws]

Heartrender Husbands + Genya

Fedyor: I think I just figured something out. I got to go. Ivan: Aren't you forgetting something? Fedyor: Uh… *hesitantly kisses Ivan's forehead before running out* Ivan: No, pay your bill! Damn, who raised you?

-- Genya: I’m not like other girls. I’m way, way worse.

-- Genya: You saved me! Why? Ivan: People would think I murdered you if I didn't.

-- Genya, texting Fedyor: Fedyor! Help I'm being kidnapped! Fedyor: Where are you? Genya: I'm with some strange person. In a car. Help. Fedyor: I'll call Ivan. Ivan, answering his cell: Hello? Fedyor: Where's Genya? She texted me that she was being kidnapped. Ivan: Genya? What do you mean, She's right next to me- Ivan: Ivan: I'll call you back. *Hangs up* Ivan: THE NEW HAIRCUT ISN'T THAT BAD! Genya: WHO ARE YOU!?

-- Ivan: Surgery is basically just stabbing someone to life. Genya: Please never become a healer.

-- Genya: Hey, quick question. How petty am I allowed to be? -- Fedyor: Are you sure Ivan's even gay? He barely even looked at me. -- Ivan: Look, I know you think my judgement's clouded because I like Fedyor a little bit. Genya, holding Ivan's notepad: You doodled your wedding invitation. Ivan: No, that's our joint tombstone. Genya: My mistake.

[kasagia]

❄️️Warm my heart pt. 1❄️️

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/ The Darkling x fem! heartrender! reader Summary: December. Everyone in the Little and Grand Palaces is excited about the upcoming holidays. Only the Black General seems rather... depressed. Like every year when these holidays are coming closer. Maybe this year, since you've been promoted to his second-in-command, you can make the general's holidays a little more enjoyable? And you're not doing it because you're in love with him and you want to see him finally careless happy... not even a little bit. Nonsense from me: A spontaneous Christmas mini-series. We'll see how it develops... I hope you will like it 🩵🖤 P.S. I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I don't know if there's any equivalent to our Christmas… let's just say there is and I'll try to find out to be sure😅 Word Count: 3k Taglist: @aoi-targaryen ~•♤♤♤•~ Aleksander Morozova's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ ~•♤♤♤•~ Part 2 ~•♤♤♤•~

"Oh saints, I'm freezing here." Fedyor complains as he walks next to you through the snowdrifts.

"Don't be such a grump." you say, adjusting your black fur coat that protects your neck from the cold wind. You look at the sky. The clouds were swirling above you, and the snow was still falling. In moments like these, you kind of wish you were Inferni.

"Grumpy? We had been walking around, searching for this stag, the whole day. I start to doubt if that tracker can find it."

"That tracker had seen it." Mal's voice is coming behind you. You turn to see him helping Alina walk through the snow. "It had to go somewhere to await the snowstorm."

"We should do the same." you tremble as you hear General's right behind you. You feel his warm body and beating heart before he stands next to you. "It's getting worse with each hour. We should go back to camp." he says, looking at Ivan.

"Yes, sir." Ivan who came with him nods to him and looks at the rest.

All of you are following him. You see Zoya and the general talking to him about something in the front. Mal and Alina whisper something quietly to each other. The tracker looks distrustfully at the three Grishas in front of him. You decide to stay with Fedyor a little after them.

"Lovers' quarrel?" you ask him as you see him trying to stay as far away from Ivan as he can. He also has not looked at him even once since you all got together after hours of searching Morozova's stag.

"You can say that. I want to go on holiday with my family and take him with me. He refused... well, it's putting it mildly."

"He needs time. I'm sure he will gladly come with you to meet your cousins and siblings." you defend him.

You know very well that Ivan wasn't necessarily eager to leave the Little Palace. He rarely saw his family. Like you, he didn't have many... people in his family who accepted him as Grisha. Fedyor was lucky to have someone to write letters to and visit during the holidays. Ivan was also more conservative; he did not engage in closer relationships with people, except for his fiancé.

Just like someone else you know...—you think, staring at the back of the general's head.

Snowflakes fall on his black kefta, making it even harder for you to take your eyes off him. You stopped counting the number of times you just wanted to go up to him, run your hand through his hair, hug him while simultaneously hiding in his black kefta, or kiss those temptingly soft lips that gave orders to thousands of soldiers.

The beating of his heart has become wonderful music for you to work with since you somehow became his second-in-command and started to spend more time with him in the war room.

It also worsened your crush on him… but it was a sacrifice you could bear for the sake of Ravek and Grishas.

"I hope so. I haven't seen them for a year. I wanted to finally introduce Ivan to them. Especially after our engagement." he sighs sadly, staring blankly at the footprints in front of you. You look at him sympathetically. As you notice snowflakes gathering on his shoulder, you think of an idea to make him laugh and maybe feel a little better.

You stand for a moment and bend down to your shoe, pretending to try to tie it. Fedyor stops and waits for you, his eyes patrolling the area and the forest surrounding you. You weren't that far from the capital, but some of Drüskelle's unit could always show up. You take advantage of his moment of inattention, form a snowball, and throw it at him.

You laugh quietly as the snowball hits his back. Fedyor gives you a surprised look before smirking and accepting the challenge. You silently throw snowballs at each other from behind, trying to stay silent enough so that no one notices what you two are doing.

At one point, you dodge a snowball thrown by Fedyor, causing it to hit Alina. The Sun Summoner turns towards you and lets out a small huff of laughter as he sees the two of you covered in snow. He nudges Mal with his elbow, and soon the four of you are left far behind the others, throwing snowballs at each other.

You laugh as you form teams against each other. You and Fedyor do quite well against them... at least until, instead of throwing a snowball at Mal's face, you manage to hit General Kirigan, who seems to have noticed your absence and come back to find you.

You all freeze, watching the snow fall from his face onto the kefta. Beside him, Zoya tries her best not to burst out laughing. Ivan, on the other hand, gives the four of you an irritated, disbelieving look.

"Ten minutes… we can't let you out of our sight for ten minutes," Kirigan says, wiping his face with a handkerchief and brushing away the remaining snow from his face.

"Our apologies, General." Fedyor says, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his face straight.

"Whose genius idea was it?" he asks, hiding his handkerchief and brushing off the excess snow from his black coat. To no avail, judging by the snow still falling on you. But that didn't change the fact that he was as intimidating as he was in any setting.

You see Alina take a breath to take the blame, but you cut her off before she could. "My, sir. I wanted to lighten the mood. I apologise; it won't happen again. We won't delay our return."

Your remorseful look and tone of voice make him relax. His stern gaze softens, and you can practically hear Fedyor teasing you about it.

"Just don't get left behind." he says and turns on his heel, leading you all again back to the camp.

Zoya stares at you, surprised at how smoothly you managed to pull off something like insulting the general of the Second Army by throwing a snowball at his face. However, she quickly comes back to her senses and tries to catch up with the general to talk to him about something. Ivan, on the other hand, just shakes his head and wordlessly follows the Black General like his shadow.

"Seriously? If it were me, he'd tear me apart just by looking at me," Mal grumbles to himself.

"Don't worry so much. He would do it to anyone. He has a soft spot only for Y/N. Well, and maybe Alina, since she is one-of-a-kind." Fedyor says quietly and pats him on the back. Alina snickers and takes Mal's arm as they both follow the trail of the three Grishas. You roll your eyes at your dear friend's words.

"Stop it. It's ridiculous. Don't even insinuate something like that. With Zoya and Alina in the picture, I mean nothing more to him than a soldier, his second-in-command. At best, a friend."

"Sure. The beating of his heart every time you look at him is an obvious clue that this is the case. Besides, you've seen yourslef. You are the only one who can hit him with a snowball and stay safe and sound. He didn't even raise his voice at you. The two of you are so damn obvious and so damn stubborn that even if you ended up in bed together, you both would consider it an accident."

"Oh, shut up." he laughs, hitting me on the arm with his.

"What? Why do you think he made you stop your training as a healer and decide for you to be a heartrender instead of making you a main healer? You would have stuck in an infirmary far away from him. That way, he sees you often, plus you have black embroidery on your kefta." he says and winks suggestively. You huff in amusement, shaking your head.

"You are ridiculous. We work together. That's all. There's nothing more between us. At best, it's camaraderie. Besides, he can have anyone."

"But he wants you. Do you think he gives flowers to everyone on Women's Day? Or does he buy birthday gifts? Does he even remember about someone's birthday?" you blush, you feel your cheeks turn the bloody color of your kefta and it's not because of the cold.

"I remember him wishing Ivan a happy birthday." you mutter under your breath.

"Because he was standing next to us when I gave this idiot a gift." he says, obviously still angry at his fiancé.

"Give it up. Him and I—it's not going to happen. He's a womanizer. Zoya is not his first mistress. And I am definitely not his type or league."

"Well, now that you've brought it up... little birdie told me that he cut off all non-Army relations with her. And guess when? When you became his second-in-command. And guess who he pushes away, despite the fact that she's desperately trying to get back into his bed?"

"It does not matter. He probably has his eyes on Alina and wants to make a good impression."

Fedyor groans in annoyance at your response. Before you know it, you're back at camp, with no trace of the rest of your companions. The man next to you sighs in frustration and runs a hand through his hair.

"If you keep fighting it for so long and denying it, which makes no sense by the way, then yes. He'll find someone else. Take the opportunity before you regret it. Christmas is coming! Maybe some miracle will happen that will make you both see that you have to end together, because only saints can make the two of you see things together, you stubborn donkeys." he says and leaves you alone, going saints know where.

You sigh, walking back to your tent. However, before you strip off the layers of clothes that protect you from heat loss, you notice that you have no firewood. You go back to the forest and collect twigs and small logs of wood that you can use to light a fire at night.

You go back to camp, dragging a small wood sled behind you. You think about Fedyor's words and whether they might actually turn out to be true. You blush as you remember the countless late nights spent in the war room talking to the general about plans, reports, new recruits, or just drinking his kvass with him and talking about anything and everything. It's true, you were close... but would you be willing to jump in and risk everything—your entire career and the life you created in the Little Palace—to try to be more to him than just one of his soldiers? Especially when he could have had a Sun Summoner?

Lost in your thoughts, you don't notice familiar, dark shadows starting to swirl behind you. You scream in shock, both from the feeling of someone suddenly pulling you into his chest and from the fact that the skin on your neck and face meets the icy snow.

General Kirigan's laughter, the familiar scent of his cologne, and the warmth emanating from him calm you enough to realise that you are not in the arms of anyone dangerous. Well... if a shadow summoner could be considered such. But the coolness of the snow he rubs into your face and neck effectively shakes you from thoughts of him as you try to fight back.

He chuckles and holds you tighter with one hand as you kick and struggle in his arms.

“A good soldier knows when to surrender, Y/N.” he whispers into your ear, clearly amused. His silky tone of voice was as mischievous as it was slightly defiant and dangerous. "Shouldn't you have enough honour to obediently endure the punishment of your general?"

"Punishment? What for?" you ask as you manage to wipe the snow off your face enough to keep it from sticking in your mouth as you speak.

"Do you think I would let your little stunt get away with it? I wonder if you can still throw so accurately with snow in your kefta…" he says, slowly scooping up more snow and guiding his hand with it under your coat.

"NO!" you scream, amused and scared at the same time.

You use your powers to stun him for a moment and pull yourself out of his arms. You don't get very far, though. His shadows chase after you, and he keeps you tightly against his chest again. You struggle with him so much that you both fall screaming into a large snowdrift.

You land on top of him, blushing furiously as you realise this. The snow around you cools you a little, and you start to feel the cold seep into your bones despite everything.

"Armistice?" you ask him, your hand full of snow ready to attack.

He chuckles, amused, which only makes your smile widen. You had rarely seen him so… carefree. Especially now that he was so focused on finding Morozova's stag.

"For now. I will still look for my revenge." you whine, dissatisfied.

"It was only one snowball, Aleksander. I wasn't even aiming at you!" you protest. You squeak, surprised, as he switches, so now he is on top of you. A dangerous smile played on his face as he looked at you with a mischievous spark in his dark eyes.

"You think so?" he asks with a cheeky smirk, the hand holding the snow coming dangerously close to the buttoms of your kefta under your coat.

"All right, you won! Please don't. I'm freezing."

He frowns when he hears that you are cold. He lets go of the snow and wipes his hand on his coat before touching your cheek. He sighs, feeling how cold you are. He stands up first and helps you up, still watching you carefully.

"Let's go back to the camp. I wouldn't want my second-in-command to get sick because she decided to play in the snow" he says, and you blush slightly.

He only makes you redder by taking your hands in his and breathing warm air on them. You see the nostalgia in his eyes, and you can't help but ask him a question.

"What is it?"

"It's just... it's been so long since I did it. The last person I threw snowballs with was my sister. It feels like... centuries ago." he whispers thoughtfully, not letting go of your hands.

Unconsciously, he starts drawing patterns on your hands with his thumbs. You see him going back to his memories. How his eyes darken with sadness, even hurt. You don't know what must have happened to make him so depressed, but you feel the inner need to fight off all his worries just to see his smile again—the gleam of joy in those dark, hypnotising eyes.

"Well… maybe you can do it again? After all, the holidays are coming. You'll definitely want to visit her. Or she you." you say, choosing your words carefully. He didn't talk much about his family. Even his name was a big secret. And from your information, as long as it was good, you were the only one who knew it.

"It's a little more complicated." he says it gruffly and pulls away from you. You curse yourself in your mind, not even knowing what you did wrong. "Neither of us sees anything... special about it."

"You don't have a family meeting? Never?"

"We're not close. I don't remember when was the last time we got together. Not to mention something as insignificant and trivial as all this exchange of gifts, celebrations and prayers to the saints." he replies, pulling your sled of wood as you both walk back to camp.

You can tell by the tone of his voice that he doesn't want to talk about it anymore, so you change the subject and ask about the next steps in his plan to capture the deer, and he perks up a little more.

Little does General Kirigan know that you're half-listening to him, thinking about something entirely else. The distant look in his dark eyes when he talks about his family—that hidden longing for something he pretends not to want—tells you one thing.

You will make sure he feels different this year. You will do everything to replace his clearly unpleasant memories with harshness from his loved ones, memories he doesn't want to share with something better.

"We'll discuss the details in my tent tonight. I hope you don't get sick. We don't have time for any delays. We have to finally catch that damn stag by the end of the year at the latest. Although our only tracker who saw it will keep hanging around the Summoner Sun instead of tracking, I don't see it well." he says, and anyone else would find his words harsh and irritated, but you've long since learned that his eyes are the true reflection of his feelings and emotions.

The one thing he couldn't control. He gives you the rope of the sled, and before he leaves you, he ties his scarf around your neck, mumbling something about how you don't know how to pack the most necessary things for the mission.

You go back to your tent and light a fire. After a while, a fabricator comes in and hands you black leather gloves without saying a word. He's gone before he can see you smiling and blushing, realising WHO told him to make them for you.

You shake your head, trying to get past Fedyor's teasing words from the hours ago. It's just a friendly gesture. Nothing more.

But this is the moment when you make your final decision.

You will see the general again, as happy and carefree as he was a few moments ago. So relaxed and calm as he deserves to be, at least in this time of year...

Even if, along the way, your stupid heart had to completely and hopelessly fail for a man you could never have.

Thank you! 🩵🖤🩵🖤

~•♤♤♤•~ Part 2 ~•♤♤♤•~

[feastofchildermass]

Ok but I need to talk about this.

Maybe it's just because I'm coming from a lot of regency-to-turn of the century fandoms, but this little moment kinda means everything to me.

Ivan knows Alina. He spoke to her outside the carriage, there was an exchange. He was there in the general's tent, that's all established.

So they're all in the coach together and Ivan is being himself, not saying anything, looking out the window. They've been riding in silence. Because Fedyor can't just start chatting out of nowhere.

He and Alina haven't been introduced.

He's being polite! It's phenomenally rude to start having a conversation with someone who doesn't know your name. He already knows hers, she's a known entity, but she'd never met Fedyor before.

Ivan is being difficult and ignoring social mores because he doesn't care to talk to Alina. It's Fedyor who has to nudge him. Fedyor who has to remind him that this is a chance to be pleasant and social with the fucking sun summoner.

Then Ivan gives the absolute barest minimum, which is all Fedyor needs to start talking about keftas and the second army and philosophy.

Fedyor is a well-brought-up and polite young man and I will fight for him forever, thank you.

[reallifegenya]

your heart is pounding. is it for him?

[x3no9]

Just realized that Julian Kostov's dimples can dimple even more. How adorable. Watched the first season to see what the Fivan ship was. Very sweet, but sadly like 6 minutes of material.

[stromuprisahat]

Siege and Storm- Chapter 11 -(Leigh Bardugo)

So the Darkling sent his second-in-command and some random dude in red to guard the newfound Sun Summoner? Wasn't he a part of Aleksander's inner circle like it seems in the show?

Let's see:

Shadow and Bone- Chapter 14

So his assignment was new. The only other time we see him, is during the carriage ride in chapter four:

That indicates some level of familiarity between the two. Non-verbal communication of this kind usually requires you to know what the other's thoughts on situation will be. Sure, you can glance at a total stranger and know you think the same, but it's much less common.

He's no rookie. He's either able to figure out the situation by himself, or he was taught what it looks like.

His reaction to Alina's denial is patience and reason. That makes him more thinker than mindless repeater.

Now it's starting to look like a pattern. Ivan and Fedyor have non-verbal communication as a part of their common language.

Oho!!!

Fedyor doesn't have an amplifier and it's a sensitive topic for him. Ivan's smug cunt about being daddy's favourite.

Ivan's threatening, while Fedyor's the one to think about socio-political impact.

Again, Fedya assumes the role of a teacher.

He's interested in Alina's life. Polite and friendly.

I love that if we put this together with his show!personality, it makes him into:

Alina's "How can KILLING save people?!" confrontation fits into it nicely.

This is SO FRUSTRATING!

Fedyor's interactions with Ivan are so vague, they could be interpreted as co-workers trained in the same place or professional couple able to separate work and private life! WHy?!

In crisis, Ivan's ordering Fedyor, not "Kaminsky". They're on first-name basis.

With them, or AMONG them?

To sum up what we've learnt- Alina figured out Fedyor's only good, but not important, because he doesn't have an amplifier and Ivan's the one calling shots.

Both is circumstantial evidence at best.

Ivan and Fedyor are friendly at least.

[writerslittlelibrary]

Smolina masterlist

main masterlist ao3 profile

fluff #, angst *

 |—————————— ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ——————————|

ONE-SHOTS

The Little Keramzin Malenchki #* little Alina is only three years old when the testers find out she is Grisha. She is brought to the Little Palace straight away, and from the moment she first sees the Black General, she immediately takes a liking to him

The Little Palace Malenchki # coming soon

"You is a meanie!"# Alina meets the Tsar and Tsaritsa, but, of course, she is merely a toddler, and she doesn’t like the Tsaritsa one bit, which she insists everyone should know…

Alina's fourth birthday #* coming soon

Alina meets Baghra# coming soon

[greensaplinggrace]

a) they can bring one other character with them to survival, but you have to detail who it is, how it happens, and what sacrifices they make

b) murder is allowed, but you can’t rely on it as a crutch - this is mostly about bare bones survival

c) if you create an elaborate scenario I am kissing you on the mouth / giving you the cutest stuffed animal you have ever seen

[inaccuratewizard]

Guys, I miss fivan... and genlina and helnik (especially helnik) and wesper and kanej . I want fivan and genlina fanfics, they are LACK of fics and fanarts

(yes my Shadow and Bone and Six of Crows phase is coming back)

[whisperingexecutioner]

Rosemary's Masterlist II

{a.k.a WhisperingRaven}

Hello friends, here's a list of some fics I've wrote, neatly comprised and with easier mobile readability for your enjoyment ;3

Call of Duty

''Storm'' (Stitch Drabble)

''Sweater Weather'' (Stitch x Park )

''The Little Zookeeper'' (Stitch x Female!Reader AU NSFW)

''Black Ops Cold War One-Shots'' (Various NSFW)

''The Ghost of You'' (Vladimir Makarov drabble)

''A Guilty Pleasure'' (Vladimir Makarov x Female!Reader NSFW)

''What once was, can never be'' (OG Vladimir Makarov drabble)

''Like A Moth To A Flame'' (Vladimir Makarov x Female!Ikran Reader and Ikran!Vladimir x Female Reader NSFW)

''White Widow'' (Vladimir Makarov x Female!Reader NSFW)

''On Stranger Tides'' (Abyssal Horror!Vladimir Makarov & Caretaker!Andrei Nolan fic, heavy angst also NSFW for various reasons)

''A Turning of The Tide'' (Abyssal Horror!Vladimir Makarov x Female!Reader NSFW)

Shadow And Bone / Grishaverse

''Of a certain warmth'' (Ivan & Fedyor x Female!Heartrender Reader NSFW)

Beautiful Light

''Confrontation'' (Juggernaut x Female!Reader SFW / NSFW)

''Confrontation II'' (Juggernaut x Female!Reader NSFW)

Resident Evil

''Resident Evil One-Shots'' (Various NSFW)

Hellboy

''Restless Stranger'' (Karl Ruprecht Kroenen x Female!Reader)

The Thing

''It Had To Be You'' (Sam Carter x Female!Reader NSFW)

More to be added eventually, check my Ao3 page for more frequent updates.

As always, thank you for reading! 💖❤️💝

[jumbled-messy-confused]

Broken, Not Gone

jumbled_messy_confused

Summary:

None of them would have survived alone. None of them had to.

Notes:

This story is an AU, based on the first episodes of “Shadow and Bone”, when Alina is still relatively new to the palace. As in each of my stories, Kirigan is a leader, not the villain from the series Please note that English is not my first language, but I did my best to find most mistakes. (Feel free to point them out to me!). I took certain creative liberties, particularly with respect to magic, medical details and the characterization of the main characters but I hope, you will just roll with it. And now have fun! And thank you for reading.

The late afternoon sun bathed the Inner Courtyard of the Little Palace in honeyed light, warm and soft, as if the day itself had no intention of ending. The breeze carried the sweet scent of lilacs and warmed stone, the trees in full leaf, their shadows swaying gently across the flagstones. Botkin’s training group lingered by the archway, a mix of young and seasoned Grisha still lounging together after drills. Genya leaned against a pillar, her arms crossed, her copper hair catching the light in strands of flame.

Alina sat nearby with a few younger Grisha, coaxing a Tidemaker into shaping patterns in the fountain’s surface. Laughter rose, easy and unguarded. It was the kind of day that felt stolen from time.

Then the quiet fractured.

Hoofbeats—not frantic but dragging. Heavy. Wrong.

Genya looked up, and her heart dropped.

Two horses emerged through the western arch, their riders hunched, their mounts moving with a jerky, exhausted gait. There was no formation, no elegance. Just survival.

Ivan led, pale as parchment, blood dried at the corner of his mouth. His horse limped slightly, foam crusted at its bridle. Ivan held Fedyor in front of him, cradled tight against his chest. Fedyor’s Kefta hung open, his arms limp, head lolled back, hair matted with sweat and something darker. His lips moved slightly, as if dreaming, but he didn’t wake.

Several paces behind them, General Kirigan’s black stallion stumbled to a halt, flanks heaving. It stood there, trembling, as Kirigan sagged forward in the saddle like a broken thing, his hand still wrapped around the pommel as if sheer will alone kept him upright. He didn’t even lift his head.

And then—he fell.

It happened in a slow, sickening arc. His body tipped forward, unresisting, and for a breathless moment Genya was sure he would crash headfirst into the stones.

But from nearby, Botkin moved—faster than seemed possible for a man of his bulk.

There was no grace in it, no time for precision. He lunged. Threw himself into the fall. He hit the ground hard, shoulder-first, arms thrown wide as he practically slid beneath the falling General—just in time to block his head from hitting stone. Kirigan’s upper body slammed into His chest, folding over him in a boneless collapse. For a breathless moment, they were just a tangle of limbs and momentum—Kirigan slack, unresponsive, one leg still caught in the stirrups before slipping free and thudding to the ground.

A young Squaller rushed to their side and gripped Kirigan’s torso, helping the instructor shift and sit up. Then the heavyset man found his grip.

One arm under the shoulders. One beneath the knees. A clean, practiced lift, and with a grunt, Botkin stood. Kirigan’s head lolled backwards, throat exposed, face the colour of ash. Sweat plastered dark strands of hair across his brow. He didn’t move. Not a sound. Not even a groan. Just dead weight, held fast in arms built for carrying what others couldn’t.

The courtyard had gasped as one when Kirigan fell, the shock hitting the moment Botkin had broken into a sprint. Genya had already started running, too. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Alina; frozen, her hand half-raised, her face gone stark with fear. No sound. Just a breathless, broken stillness.

“Warn the Healers—they're coming in bad!” Genya shouted, voice like a blade. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Alina jolt into motion—no hesitation this time, no paralysis. The girl ran. And Genya felt something in her own chest ease, just a little.

Two Grisha had reached for Ivan as he half-slid, half fell from his saddle, fumbling to keep hold of Fedyor. His legs buckled as soon as he touched the ground, but someone caught his arm. Fedyor was lifted from him with care, two pairs of hands cradling him between them, but Ivan didn’t let go right away. His fingers remained clenched around Fedyor’s arm, too tightly, like his body hadn’t yet registered that the danger was past. One of the others had to gently pry his hand free.

Botkin was already halfway across the courtyard with Kirigan in his arms. Behind them, Ivan was being steadied between two Inferni, walking with stiff, dragging steps. Blood soaked through the side of his Kefta. Fedyor, in the arms of two others, twitched once and murmured something incoherent.

They looked like survivors of something far worse than a single skirmish.

Genya didn’t wait to ask.

They moved as quickly as they could with what they carried.

She stayed close to Botkin, who held the General firmly against his chest. Kirigan hung motionless in his arms, his Kefta soaked and torn, long limps dangling loose with every movement. He didn’t make a sound.

Ivan limped behind, jaw clenched, staying upright through sheer force of will. His gaze flickered helplessly from Fedyor — sagging between his helpers, his skin drained of colour — to Kirigan's unmoving form.

Far ahead of them, Alina shoved the infirmary doors open with both hands.

Botkin stepped inside and crossed to one of the beds. He lowered Kirigan down with a care that Genya had rarely seen in him—deliberate, quiet, every movement slow. The General didn’t react. His arms lay where they fell. No flicker of awareness.

The Healers moved immediately.  Two of them broke from the others and closed in, eyes sweeping over the torn Kefta, the slack limbs, the blood. One Healer extended both hands above Kirigan’s chest. The air shifted—tightened. Magic, pulled sharp and focused like a drawn wire. No physical touch. No whispered incantations. Just power, directed with absolute precision. Genya felt it hit the space behind her eyes, the unmistakable pull of Corporalki work threading through blood and breath and bone.

The second Healer sliced through the remains of Kefta and tunic, exposing Kirigan’s chest—and now, shockingly visible, the damage bloomed on pale skin, cruel and painful looking.

Not just bruising.

The scorched edge of a huge burn licked across one side of his ribs, a sickening heat-blistered crescent where the Kefta had failed to insulate. Dark slashes of ruptured capillaries fanned outward from an impact point near the solar plexus. The contusions were deep and fresh, blunt trauma. Shrapnel—thin, metallic—still protruded from one side of his abdomen in three places, each one ringed in blood that seeped sluggishly, as if the body were too tired to keep bleeding fast.

Without his voice, without the weight of his presence to fill the room, he looked— Not fragile. But stripped bare. Not young, not exactly; but without the armour of command, without the grimness that made him the Darkling. His face, pale and drawn, had lost its sharpness—no tension, no guarded edge. Just a man, without the weight he always carried, his handsome features softened in deep unconsciousness. Long lashes rested against blood-streaked cheekbones, his expression strangely peaceful. It was the kind of beauty that hurt to look at. Because it wasn't right. Because it meant something vital was missing. This wasn’t rest. This was the body clinging to the border between holding on and letting go. The silence was worse than screaming. Genya had learned to brace for blood, for wounds. But not this stillness. She wanted to reach for him, to anchor him somehow—but there was nothing she could do. So she watched.

Ivan was half-dragged to the next cot, silent, his expression locked tight until his legs gave out. The moment he sat, he went deathly still, gripping the cot’s edge as if anchoring himself there, even as a Healer began to draw power over the wound at his ribs. He didn’t flinch, didn’t speak.

Across the room, Fedyor whimpered as he was settled, a wet sound from the back of his throat. One of the Healers placed a hand gently over his ribs and immediately turned toward another with a sharp nod—silent urgency, not panic. Fedyor didn’t move—but Genya saw the way his fingers spasmed, twitching faintly against the blanket. Not gone. But hurt. Badly.

A second Corporalki stepped in beside the first, and the air above Fedyor shimmered faintly as power surged—controlled, precise. Burns marred his arms, his shoulders, the line of his collarbone— ugly and raw where the Kefta had been scorched away. But Ivan’s blood had soaked into Fedyor’s Kefta too, dark and clinging, smeared in broad, ragged streaks by the rough jolt of the ride.

Fedyor’s head turned slightly on the pillow, lips parting. He murmured something low and indistinct—something with weight behind it—but his eyes stayed shut. His breathing, at least, was steadying now.

Ivan didn’t look at him; didn’t look at anything anymore. He just sat, fists clenched in his lap, shoulders like stone. The Healer beside him had coaxed the torn Kefta aside and was working silently, both hands splayed over the side of his ribs. Genya saw the wound: deep, jagged—bone-deep, maybe—but clean. The work of a blade, not a bullet. Something fast and personal. He remained utterly still, though the tremor running through his arms betrayed him. Finally, when the Healer pressed lightly against his side, he slumped without protest, guided down onto his back with slow, careful hands. His breath caught, sharp and involuntary; it seemed, he couldn’t have stayed upright a moment longer.

Genya turned her eyes back to the bed in front of her. To him. Kirigan hadn’t moved.

Not a twitch. Not a sound.

His body was slack against the mattress, too still to be safe. The rise and fall of his chest—what little there had been—had grown uneven, fragile. Too light, too far apart. Fading.

Genya's eyes flickered to Alina, her friend's unease too evident to ignore. The tension in the air was palpable, Alina’s fingers trembling as she held her breath, a creeping panic rising that Genya could feel.

The two Healer worked even faster now, their magic tightening, movements sharp and focused, urgency crackling between them.

Ivan felt it too. He forced himself upright on the cot, one hand braced on the edge, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on his Commander.

And then it happened.

Kirigan stopped breathing. Ivan swore violently and threw himself off the cot. The sound he made was pure pain—but he didn’t fall. “Yevgeni!” he snarled. The Healer didn’t flinch. “I’ve got him!” he snapped back. They moved as one. Yevgeni pressed both hands against Kirigan’s ribs, sharp and focused, channelling power in a brutal, steady pulse. The other anchored Kirigan’s throat and temple, forcing a fierce, relentless current into the failing body. Kirigan’s spine arched off the bed. A horrible, wet choke broke from him; blood spilled from his lips, thick and dark, running down over his cheek into the pillow. That was the moment Alina bolted toward the bed. Genya caught her wrist. “Alina—” she gasped. Not loud. Not steady. But enough to hold her back.

Kirigan convulsed again, his entire body seizing in a brutal, uncontrolled spasm. The Healers didn't stop. They worked through it, faces tight with strain, forcing the power deeper, fighting to pull him back from the edge he was slipping toward.

Alina began to cry without sound. Ivan stood white as bone, gripping the bedframe like he could hold Kirigan there by force of will alone.

Then—

A breath. Shallow. Broken. But in.

Another.

Another.

Still faint. Still fragile. But steady.

The room exhaled.

Ivan nearly folded where he stood, all the fight draining out of him at once. Genya broke from Alina without hesitation, lunging to grab his arm; Alina moved to the other side, catching him under the shoulder. His head slumped forward heavily; his voice, raw and torn, rasped out between breaths: "That bastard better not do that again." Then he simply gave out, his body slumping without warning as they eased him down on the cot. No one spoke.

But the worst had passed.

The quiet in the infirmary wasn’t silence. It was the stillness of magic working its slow precision. The subtle crackle of power as Healers wove their intent over the injured. The faint hum of life being coaxed back into balance. The waiting.

Genya stayed near Kirigan’s bedside, a basin of cool water and a cloth in her lap. She’d already done what little she could—cleaned away the worst of the blood, eased the pull of bruises across his face. His chest still rose shallowly, but the rhythm was there now. Not perfect, not strong. But steady.

The Healers had said he would wake soon. That whatever internal bleeding Kirigan had suffered had been repaired under their careful mending. But that it would take time. And stillness. No riding, no fighting, no reckless strain—not for several days at least.

Genya wasn’t holding her breath, but she hadn’t stood either.

Alina sat across from her, elbows on knees, gaze fixed on the General. Her hands had stopped shaking. Mostly. Botkin stood in the corner like a statue carved of wariness, arms folded, eyes narrowed as though watching the room itself might prevent further disaster.

Ivan lay stretched out on a cot nearby. His breathing was even, but his face remained tense, exhaustion etched deep into his features. The worst of his injuries had been healed—but pain lingered in the way his fingers flexed faintly, one arm across his ribs. He still hadn’t said much. Just one-word answers, his gaze fixed almost constantly on Kirigan. And every few minutes, he shot a tired, silent glance toward Fedyor.

Fedyor, who had been the first to wake.

He’d come to groggily, blinking through a haze of exhaustion, then managed to ask—slurred but lucid—if anyone else was as dead as he felt. Alina had immediately assured him they were alive, that they had all made it back. He had given a small, painful sigh of relief and slipped back into sleep. Since then, he’d stirred occasionally, murmured half-formed thoughts, but now lay quietly, a faint flush returning to his cheeks.

The hour passed. Then another.

And then—

A rasp of breath.

Genya’s eyes snapped back to the bed. Kirigan’s brow furrowed. Not deeply, just the barest flicker of discomfort. A moment later, he inhaled again—a breath that sounded like it dragged nails through his chest. One hand moved, fingertips curling slightly into the blanket.

Botkin noticed, too. “He wakes.” His voice was gruff but low. Alina was already on her feet, eyes wide, like she didn’t dare believe it.

Genya leaned forward instinctively. “General?”

Kirigan didn’t open his eyes at first. But his lips parted, dry and faintly cracked, and a voice rasped out like gravel dragged across stone. "Someone tell me we won."

A breathless, startled laugh escaped Genya before she could stop it. Relief crashed through her like a wave.

Alina covered her mouth, half-laugh, half-sob.

Kirigan’s eyes opened slowly—just enough to squint at the room. He blinked a few times, taking stock of faces, ceiling, the sheer number of people in his immediate vicinity. And Genya saw it— the moment he caught the edge of their fear. The way his mouth tightened, just briefly, as he registered Alina’s shaking hands and the way Botkin hovered close.

“Call off the funeral,” he muttered, and Genya could have kissed him for it.

“No plans to bury you yet,” she assured him smiling, voice softening. “Welcome back.”

He didn’t smile. Of course he didn’t. But his gaze drifted briefly over them again—with the faintest brush of warmth in it. Then his focus sharpened. Searching.

He found Ivan first, and something unspoken passed between them, brief. Intense. Next, Kirigan’s eyes dragged to Fedyor, who lay half-submerged in rumpled blankets, motionless. “Fedyor?”

“I’m alive,” came the groggy reply, voice muffled by the pillow. “Though I might request a dramatic retelling of my near-death experience later. Preferably with alcohol. Strong alcohol.”

Kirigan’s lids slid closed. “Gods help us.”

“Don’t be mean,” Fedyor slurred slightly. “I saved you.”

Kirigan opened one eye. “You were on fire.”

“Details.” Fedyor shifted against the pillows, sitting up slightly with a wince. “And I still saved you.”

Kirigan didn’t confirm. But he didn’t deny it either. Just closed his eye again, and exhaled like it was the most he’d offer.

“Arguably, I saved you,” Ivan grumbled from his cot across the room.

“You nearly passed out on me,” Fedyor shot back, flopping back again with a groan. “You bled on my face.”

“You were unconscious.”

“Only after I stopped you from bleeding out.”

“Stop talking,” Kirigan rasped, voice dry as old parchment. “All of you.”

But there was no real heat in it. None of the iron-cold authority Genya had heard in a hundred war councils. Just exhaustion. And a kind of dry, guarded affection beneath it.

Fedyor let his eyes drift shut, a long breath shuddering from his chest. His mouth curved in a weak, almost triumphant smile. "I like when he gets bossy. It means he thinks he's fine."

"I am fine," Kirigan muttered.

"He’s definitely not fine," Fedyor countered, almost cheerfully, without opening his eyes again. "But at least he’s not actively dying anymore."

Kirigan didn’t even make the effort to answer; just the faintest trace of a smile tugged at his lips. Genya and her companions shared a quiet chuckle, torn between amusement and relief.

But Ivan— Ivan was silent again. He didn’t smile, didn’t laugh. There still was something unreadable about him, a tightness Genya couldn’t place. She turned toward him. "You're awfully quiet. Everything still attached?"

Ivan only looked down at his hands, staring at the blood dried in the cracks between his fingers. Genya frowned. "Ivan."

He lifted his head then, his face carved from stone. "Attached. Aching. Intact." A pause. “Because of him.” He nodded toward Kirigan. “He jumped in front of it. An explosion. Shadows went out like a shield.”

Genya’s stomach twisted. “That’s why—?”

“Yes,” Kirigan interrupted, eyes still closed. “Let’s all not recount how I made a terrible decision for noble reasons. It won’t help my case when I inevitably insist I’m fit for duty tomorrow.”

“Oh, scratch that. At least four days,” Botkin countered firmly.

“A week,” Genya protested.

“A month,” Fedyor suggested, grinning.

“Shut up,” Kirigan groaned.

Genya glanced at Alina, who gave a faint, tearful smile. Across the room, Fedyor let out a small chuckle. Even Ivan allowed the corner of his mouth to twitch, just once. And then—without a word, without needing one—they all let it go. The conversation, the laughter, the relief. They let the quiet return—because they knew he needed it.

The worst had passed. The dark tide had crested, and here they were—bruised, bleeding, burnt and stubborn—but here.

Alina, who had stood quietly this whole time, finally moved again. Her gaze dropped to the cloth in Genya’s hands. She hesitated, then looked up for permission—and when Genya gave a small, encouraging nod, she took it. Dipping it into the basin, she wrung it out with trembling fingers, then pressed it gently to Kirigan’s brow. Her movements were careful, almost painfully so, as if she feared even a feather-light touch might do harm.

He didn’t flinch. But when Alina’s gentle touch brushed over him, a low sound escaped him—a quiet, broken sigh, like tension leaving bone-deep. For the barest fraction of a second, his eyes cracked open, dazed and unfocused—just long enough to find her. They slid closed again immediately, the effort costing too much; but his head tilted almost imperceptibly toward her care, as if seeking it. And Genya smiled despite herself, warmth blooming in her chest. Across the infirmary, Ivan leaned his head back against the wall, finally closing his eyes. His fists unclenched where they had been white-knuckled against the blanket. The tension bled out of his frame by inches, grudgingly. Relieved, Genya watched it happen—the slow unwinding of a man who had been holding too much for too long. Fedyor still breathed. Kirigan would live. Ivan would be fine.

Outside, the evening had tipped fully into night. The golden light had faded from the infirmary windows, replaced by that soft, still kind of quiet that only came after dusk. Inside, no one moved. Not the Healers. Not the ones standing guard. And not the three who mattered most. For now—just for now—they rested.

[little-cereal-draws]

Ok my sister and I have constructed a large mosaic of a family for our favorite heartrenders

Genya and David are married. Canon.

Ivan and Fedyor are married. Basically canon.

Nina is their adoptive daughter. Very popular headcanon after SaB Netflix.

Ivan and Genya are siblings. Hear me out! The formation of this hc was off their few interactions in the books. Genya says that Ivan’s giving Alina water wrong then does it the exact same way which is the epitome,,,, of the sibling experience. And they have some good banter while riding on horses in one chapter. And it would be funny considering how scared David is of Ivan. But then we gave them a backstory.

That means Nina is Genya’s niece. And also by a really weird series of events, in line for the Ravkan throne lol

If both Nikolai and Zoya die wo having kids, Genya and David would take over as the remaining members of the Triumvirate. If they both die wo having kids, it would go to Ivan and Fedyor as Genya’s family. And if they both die, it would go to Nina as their daughter. Which, considering she’s dating the prince of Fjerda in canon now, gives her a claim to both the Ravkan and Fjerdan thrones lol