#alivan

[kellelkallel]

I am fr heartbroken it is FOUL to drop Wiege on Ivan's birthday like sure remind us of what we've lost ig 💔💔💔

[robinaa]

the poor guy came back from being stationed in buttfucknowhere northrend for like a decade because the sky exploded and he's having a hard time adjusting

(its @iotaa's pinecrest! ft my void elf alivan)

[ignitesthestxrs]

grisha prompt: alivan & flowers?

She isn’t the sort of woman you get flowers for.

Ivan refuses to be in awe of her. He remembers her torn up and grubby, convinced she could never be Grisha. But for the Darkling’s assurance, he probably would have agreed. She had been a mousy thing, sickly and awkward-angled. Not fit for even a borrowed kefta.

She wears blue and gold now, and slices the tops off mountains. He followed her for the promise of that power, but Saints, he looks at her sometimes and wants--

And wants. There’s nothing mousy about her now, although her beauty drives terror more than longing. It draws a man in so far, and then demands he look away. She is not made for mortal consumption.

Ivan snorts at the drama of his own thoughts. Alina Starkov turns at the sound, raising an eyebrow at him.

“You didn’t think I could do it, did you?”

He folds his arms over his chest. “I wouldn’t be here if I thought you couldn’t.”

That sends the eyebrow crashing back down again. Some days, she wears the expectation that people will bow before her power like another kefta. And then there are moments when she’s almost human again.

Like he could reach out and touch her.

“So if it turns out the Darkling mastered mountain slicing three centuries ago, and I’m not the saint you were all waiting for?”

“I’ll be dead,” Ivan says. He’s seen Genya’s face; it seems like the better option. “And I wasn’t waiting for a saint, Starkov.”

“Then what were you waiting for?”

You. His thoughts are traitorous things; he strangles them before they reach his face. Your power. You penchant for hooking it under the skin of men and dragging them in your wake. She has one promising her the world, another promising her the throne, a third promising her his soul, and all of them making demands in kind.

So he shrugs, lopsided, and turns away from her. Starts to walk. “An end. One way or another.”

Ivan is not the sort of man who gives flowers, either.  

[tirkdi]

Oohh, 76 for Alina and Ivan? They are my grumpy crack ship.

76. “I need you to pretend we’re dating…”

During a break in the music Alina made her way over to the side of the ballroom where Genya and Ivan were talking. She’d been in Ravka a couple months by now – long enough to get comfortable with the dancing – and her face was flush from exertion. 

Genya smiled as Alina approached. “You seem to have been having fun,” she observed. 

Before Alina could answer, the general and a guard came up beside them. “Genya, a moment.” He walked off without waiting for a response, confident that she would follow. 

Genya handed her drink to Alina and winked. “Back in a bit.”

Alina hadn’t had many conversations with Ivan and the moment Genya left he adjusted his stance to make it clear that he wasn’t interested in changing that now. But no sooner had he lifted his gaze to the copious empty space he had access to above Alina’s head than he let out a groan that turned into one of the few Ravkan words Alina recognized – she’d picked up rather quickly on the Ravkan for shit. 

“What is it?” She began to turn but Ivan shook his head quickly and grabbed her shoulder.

“Don’t look.” He examined his shoes for a few seconds before darting a look back up at whatever it was he’d seen. It was apparently as bad as he had feared; he closed his eyes, sighed, and mumbled something that Alina couldn’t quite catch.

“Excuse me?”

He opened his eyes and glared at her, as if her lack of comprehension was due to some fault of hers rather than because he hadn’t moved his lips when he spoke. “I need you to pretend we are dating.”

She had to have misheard. “What? What on earth –”

“Ivan!” A woman appeared next to them, a wide smile on her face. She was wearing a dress uniform with the same style of khaki and red trim as Ivan, her blond hair pulled back into a bun. Alina tilted her own head upwards, amazed to find that Ivan only had a few inches advantage on whoever this was. “It’s so good to see you again.” 

Ivan turned towards the woman and jerked his head back in an approximation of surprise. “Sardzhent Volka,” he replied, in a voice that was likely attempting pleasant-yet-detatched but sounded more like malfunctioning robot. “You are here.”

“Please, Ivan, call me Oksana.” She batted her eyelashes at him once, twice. “We certainly know each other well enough by now.” 

The terror on Ivan’s face was a tangible thing. Part of Alina wanted to just sit back and watch the scene unfold, but the better part of her decided to step in. “Ivan,” she said, pitching her voice louder than usual in her attempt to interject herself into the conversation that was taking place a foot above her head, “aren’t you going to introduce me?” 

They both turned to look at her, the sergeant’s grin now frozen in place. Alina smiled back sweetly and took a deep breath, nudging Ivan’s arm behind her so she could get close enough to tilt her head against the side of his ribs. He stood there, frozen, and she inconspicuously elbowed his waist. 

“Yes, Oksana,” robot Ivan recovered, “this is Sardzhent Starkov.” She elbowed him again. “Alina,” he corrected.

He was terrible at this. It was clear that Alina was going to have to do the heavy lifting if this was going so work, so she decided to turn it up to eleven. She broadened her smile and gave a quick wave of her fingers in greeting; Oksana’s brow furrowed in response. 

Ravkan nicknames were tricky, but she might as well take a stab at it. “So, Oksana, how do you know Ivankush?” she asked, eyes large and adoring as she looked up at her pretend boyfriend. Ivan stared wide-eyed back at her, clearly trying to send some sort of message along the lines of whatever you’re doing makes me want to die – to which Alina just grinned and scrunched her nose.

“We worked together a while back,” Oksana answered, frown deepening. “How do you know each other?”

“Oh, I just got here,” Alina answered, pausing to take a sip of Genya’s drink. “To Ravka, that is. Ivan’s been so helpful getting me settled. Showing me the country.” She looked meaningfully at the sergeant to make sure she understood that Ravka was just one of the many things Ivan had been showing her.

Oksana gave a confused laugh as she looked back and forth between the two of them, first at Ivan’s thinly covered terror and then Alina’s saccharine charm. She opened her mouth, closed it again. “Excuse me,” she said finally, and turned to head back the way she came. 

“I said pretend to date me,” Ivan grumbled under his breath as they watched the sergeant make her way through the crowd, “not … whatever that was.”

Alina shrugged her shoulder against him, finished Genya’s drink. “Go big or go home. And I think what you meant to say is ‘thank you.’” Ivan grunted an unenthusiastic agreement as Oksana’s easily visible head moved closer towards the door. “Someday,” she added, “you’re going to have to tell me what that was all about.” 

They watched, Alina’s head still nestled somewhere below Ivan’s armpit, as the woman made her way to the exit and left. Ivan didn’t speak until the doors had closed behind her, and he let out a deep exhale before he replied. “Never.”

[robinaa]

alivan is hella uptight and liandelle is an incurable himbo and they work together! just not very well.

 Alivan’s always talks about firing Liandelle but it’s been over a year of him saying that so

[queeringthethumbring]

me, going into the grisha trilogy: i will only ship popular ships for the sake of my sanity

me: *comes across ivan/alina fic*

me: *reads the scene with tolya and alina in the library*

me: *thinks about how zoya and nadia grew up together and how nadia probably had a crush on zoya*

me: i lied

[robinaa]

Alivan is the real disrespectful one here- Liandelle's just exhausted!

[tirkdi]

I'm a sucker for anything Alina and Ivan. Platonic, romantic, doesn't matter I just love that grumpy duo.

Remember that time Ivan proctored Alina’s final exam?? Here’s the rest of that scene.

Alina looked up from her blue notebook forty-five minutes later. She’d had the opportunity to read over all the questions and had given all but a couple of them a first pass. Her calculator had gotten some good use and her hand was starting to cramp, but despite having missed nearly two-thirds of the semester the exam wasn’t too much of a challenge so she allowed herself a few minutes of break. She laced her fingers and stretched her arms out in front of her, rolled her neck.

Ivan was sitting behind the desk at the front of the room, his large body perched in a chair that was clearly built for someone smaller. His thick hands were spread across the desk, fingers slightly parted as if holding it in place. His attention was focused on the small pile of extra blue booklets at one corner of the desk, there in case Alina felt she needed another. He appeared to be eyeing them skeptically.

“How’s it going, Ivan?” He looked up, startled, then narrowed his eyes.

“No talking.” He spoke in English, clearly hoping to sound official though the lack of certainty in his voice didn’t help much on that score.

“You can talk to the proctor during an exam,” she explained. “Just not the other students.” She glanced meaningfully around the room, completely empty aside from the two of them.

His eyes narrowed, wondering how much he could trust this information. “No talking, I think,” he said finally. “To be safe.”

She shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She looked at him for another minute as he tentatively leaned back in the chair, testing whether or not it would support his weight. “Did you bring something to do while I’m working?”

He looked back at her. “I watch you.”

“You don’t actually need to watch me. I’m not going to cheat.”

He frowned. “This is what cheaters say.”

“And also people who don’t cheat. It would be fine if you wanted to read a book or something.”

His eyes narrowed again. “A book.”

The way he looked at her made her wonder if Ivan ever read, and if so, what. She had a moment picturing his large fingers wrapped around the cover of a Danielle Steel novel and just barely covered a snort.

“No laughing.”

“Sorry.” She looked back down at her paper, ready to start the next problem, but just then she heard a noise. Low, almost a groan. She looked up, eyes wide. “Was that your stomach?”

He frowned, defensive. “It’s almost lunch.”

“I have over two hours left in this exam.”

“Less if you stop talking,” Ivan grumbled.

“I brought a sandwich,” she offered, “if you want it.”

“Focus on exam,” he directed.

She reached into her backpack and Ivan leaned forward quickly: “No cheating!”

She sighed, pulling out the foil-wrapped sandwich and holding it out to him. “Just offering you my food, if you want it.”

She eyed her and the sandwich she was holding suspiciously. Then his stomach grumbled again and he stood, approaching her as a wild animal might, snatching the food from her hand just as he came within arm’s reach. He sat back down at the desk and opened the foil carefully, lifting the top slice of bread and examining the contents of the sandwich, before picking it up and taking a large bite.

Some of the tension went out of his shoulders almost immediately, and a corner of Alina’s lips twitched up. He finished the sandwich in four bites, swallowed loudly. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied.

“No talking,” he reprimanded, returning to the chair and bringing his attention straight back to her. “Focus on exam, please.”

“Yes, professor,” she mumbled, looking back down at her paper.

“What?”

Alina looked up and put a finger to her lips, mouthed no talking, and turned back to the problem in front of her. Ivan watched her closely for the remainder of the exam.