in honor of my classes being moved online, let me send you some inbox prompts / memes that we can turn into threads :’)
in honor of my classes being moved online, let me send you some inbox prompts / memes that we can turn into threads :’)
i simply think you should let your muse be the d.arkling’s friend 🤪
historical verse aleksander being one of those illusive aristocratic men who is a patron of the arts, refuses to marry, and you get the distinct impressions he’s committed murder before is hot actually 😊
“i could fix him." "i could make him better." enough. make him worse. indulge his plans for murder. hold his hand as he plans a coup 😳
the steely gaze, the polite threat, and the press of cold flesh against his blade is the perfect substitute for what cannot be and at once, is met. an impassive face betrays amusement and kenneth smiles to meet the grin, eyes two mismatched embers glowing in the shroud of dark. the room is split, cast in shadows while the other have drags a crescent bar of sunlight inside, spilt over the chair where it illuminates slate grey eyes staring past him. he inches the blade, tips it to the man’s chin until their gaze is level. ❛ snap it, ❜ his voice whispers, as he were speaking to a sparrow; a smooth rasp to match a cool expression, with the faintest hint of a warm smile. ❛ a wrist can be fixed. ❜
slowly he shifts, knee against the soft leather. still they do not touch, not even a little bit and not even at all, straddle the general with a hand over the headrest and the biting dagger in the other, needle point to the under side of the darkling’s jaw. ❛ but i’ll take your voice, ❜ a furious pulse echoes somewhere far beneath, a strange intrigue marred with venom, interest and frustration, though those are riskier things to betray in face. ❛ and that will be much more complicated for you. ❜ the search in look alone beckons: how far? how much? the blade point is pressed to the darkling’s mouth, a small tap, eyes trailing the shape of it against flesh ━ before the threat is soundlessly withdrawn, dragged ever so slowly to the badge of an eclipse, wrested near the darkling’s heart. if only he’d spoken with patience, with mercy, kenneth would have stepped away in bored contempt. but he hadn’t; he’d laid bare danger and warning instead. ❛ so yes ━ a compromise, for your sake. i’ll start. listening? ❜
blade willed the darkling’s gaze upward, to catch the eye of its handler, and he had no choice but to oblige. it was nearly more contact than they may allow, almost more than had been permitted thus far, within the perimeter of their unspoken entente. kenneth’s smile scorned him with its gall, and as one would have it, he answered threat with threat. ❝ take it, and afterward i may still repay you in kind, ❞ the darkling offered coldly, holding kenneth’s golden gaze all throughout with a surety unbecoming of his predicament, despite the verity of the promise which lingered in the form of a bite against his pale flesh. while he had no doubt that his companion, given his own pleasure, would slash his throat with no care spared, he was surely amused nonetheless. amused enough to urge him. ❝ but take caution, too, for i would be inclined to better the instruction. ❞
this dance they shared between them was more telling than any waltz, polite and vicious in equal measures. sudden warmth agitated frigid figure. straddling the chair and standing above him as a sun’s eclipse, the darkling felt more than saw the shift; a knee beside him, an arm above his head, and he found himself forced to retreat, back slumping against the headrest. his hands moved to lay over both armrests. silent inquiry passed between them, and the answer was locked in the prompting tilt to his head: as far as you dare. as much as you wish. the sharp end of the dagger was at his mouth, and the general huffed a chuckle against it, cold breath against heated steel. finally, it came to preside over his badge, and he had to take pause to will the
wild thump of his pulse into submission, before it betrayed him any further. then, at his leisure, the darkling gave a bored hum, features furrowing slightly in interest, before he spoke, ❝ do go forth, though, i’ll indulge you — i’m listening. ❞
PROMPT ✦ NOT ACCEPTING.
the war room was stilled to silence at his wordless behest, and as the officials took their leave, thus shroud by shadow. in the aftermath of the conference, the darkling was at last left privy to his own considerations, grey gaze flickering over the map of ravka before him in lost thought. he had not come to expect support from the first army generals, but their disregard irked him nonetheless with its blatancy. elegant fingers cascaded through his dark hair, steeling his nerve, and preoccupied, he took no notice of vasilka’s approach until she was stood behind him, apparently having left her seat at the couch by the far-end of the room in favour of draping her work over his shoulders.
@sanktavasi said : you have my complete allegiance.
in soothe, he trusted her pledge, and it was a courtesy he did not extend to anyone but her. she would not be in this room, if he did not. a hushed huff of breath escaped him as the fabric was sprawled, lined with deep maroon and embroidered in gold thread. his disposition remained stoic, but his eyes softened for a fleeting second. ( sometimes, he thinks he only tolerates the court for her. ) ❝ i know. ❞ the darkling stated plainly, tilting his head enough to catch her eye. his gratitude went unsaid between them. it is an arrogance she has surely grown accustomed to by now, he need not waste his time assuring her. ❝ but had my patience ran thinner tonight, i think i would have lost it, for you rarely approve my methods. ❞
suddenly i want to write, so this is a starter call, but make it literary quotes ❤
once again, i am asking for someone to indulge me in writing subtle flirtations and slow burn affairs with antagonistic undertones 😳
it wasn’t hostility that sparked in his hazel eyes, but amusement — watching the shadows of the study swirl around its newest trespasser, forming & reforming, as though turning into something tangible, trying to decide whether it was worth the effort to stay loyal to such a host. and they stay loyal at last, like the cries outside the palace walls. the starless saint ! they call him, patron saint of those who seek salvation in darkness. it makes nikolai wonder if salvation would be the right word for what the darkling sought in the shadows. the king leans back in his chair with the grace of a monarch who had little time for riddles, when his entire existence had seemed to become one — I am the monster, the monster is me. the scar that ran through the centre of ravka’s map still remained unhealed, and answers were scarce. the last thing it needed was a demon king. the papers scattered over the table are long forgotten, his attention diverting to the silhouette of a man perched by the edge of his desk, a necessary evil.
are you only looking in the mirror? he asks. nikolai remembers alina’s frequent warnings back from a time when an impending war waged by a grisha who had the advantage of an eternity’s lessons was their only problem. ( sometimes you sound just like him. ) he adjusts the cuff of his sleeve, turning to the shadow summoner. ❝ what I see is an intruder, in the very least — a talkative one at that too. ❞ the hints of a mocking grin tug the corner of his lips, as he gestured towards the seat across from him. in the seclusion of his study, the king was more at ease, nostalgic in the memory of a privateer who had managed to pull the rug from under the darkling. ❝ don’t tell me you like being a saint, darkling. I cannot imagine you in a chapel. ❞
how blurred a line he trod, in the mouths of the folk, and the tales told, between saint and monster. that is to be his fate, then, condemned to either-or. i’ve done more for grisha than anyone ever has, or will. but he owed no reasoning to mortals, and so he gave none. whichever way the story were to be spun, ravka would not soon forget, not when the dark scar still split the land in half, and he reveled in it. for remembrance bred loyalty, and that he could employ. that, and desperation for answers and solutions, of which there seemed to be a ripe abundance of. the young king’s next words bound his attention closer, for the irony if nothing else. talkative. the darkling felt the urge to scoff. are you talking to the mirror? he thought once more, but bit his tongue, and settled for the elegant arch of a brow, accompanied by a halfhearted shrug. ❝ there are worse titles to be had, and duller places. ❞
that has become his philosophy, in recent days. but patience was ever the virtue, for he’s certain he could endure beyond them all. as long as there were shadows dancing on every wall, his influence would prevail, of that he was certain — whether from a castle, a cell or a chapel, it made little difference to him. they are governed by fools, all the same. sparing a glance down, he traced the king’s movements; a wordless gesture was given, though the darkling remained in the state he had before, in the space of a few seconds which passed between them, still and statuesque at the far edge of the desk, shroud in shadow, before obliging. when their eyes were level at last, he allowed the barest tread of amusement to emblazon his gaze, ❝ prior to now, i could not envision myself here either, in your company — call it a miracle, if you will. ❞
MISS ZENIK, @drusja .
her eyes shut and open again , blinking as she tries to stay cool . his demeanor and way of being is always so cool . he walks like a ghost and dresses like a phantom . in some ways , nina is in awe of the way he moves and speaks . the way he always seems to get his ways .
‘darkness . i used to be scared of it . now , not so much . maybe just - the endless one . ’
❝ that would make you a rare exception. many don’t bother making the distinction. ❞ with her divulgence, pen is laid to rest within its inkpot, and the darking indulges her with a glance, as she composes herself, stood at the foot of the desk. habitual boredom furnishes his words, seeping through his manner in the form of a lazed figure sprawled across the bounds of an armchair. he may have been entertained under his shroud of indifference, though it hardly mattered, for he would act no different in his amusement. gesturing to the seat across, hands proceed to fold neatly at his lap, ❝ darkness can be corrupted, as any other thing. that does not make it foul, as much as our neighbours to the north might disagree — speaking of, i trust your errands were completed in accordance? ❞
BOOK STARTERS VOL.21 THE PLAGUE ALBERT CAMUS
- ❛ I have no idea what’s awaiting me. ❜
- ❛ What will happen when this all ends? ❜
- ❛ I know that you are capable of great deeds. ❜
- ❛ A loveless world is a dead world, and always there comes an hour when one is weary of prisons, of one’s work, and of devotion to duty, and all one craves for is a loved face, the warmth and wonder of a loving heart. ❜
- ❛ The truth is that everyone is bored. ❜
- ❛ I feel more fellowship with the defeated than with saints. Heroism and sanctity don’t really appeal to me, I imagine. ❜
- ❛ If there is one thing one can always yearn for, and sometimes attain, it is human love. ❜
- ❛ Who would dare to assert that eternal happiness can compensate for even a single moment’s suffering? ❜
- ❛ It’s not easy. I’ve been thinking it over for years. ❜
- ❛ While we loved each other we didn’t need words to make ourselves understood. ❜
- ❛ People are more often bad than good. ❜
- ❛ I don’t believe in heroism; I know it’s easy and I’ve learned that it can be murderous. ❜
- ❛ What interests me is living and dying for what one loves. ❜
- ❛ In fact, nobody is capable of really thinking about anyone, even in the worst calamity. ❜
- ❛ Nothing in the world is worth turning one’s back on what one loves. ❜
- ❛ Again and again there comes a time in history when the man who dares to say that two and two make four is punished with death. ❜
- ❛ There are more things to admire in men then to despise. ❜
- ❛ It is in the thick of calamity that one gets hardened to the truth - in other words, to silence. ❜
- ❛ What on earth prompted you to take a hand in this? ❜
- ❛ Your code of morals? What code, if I may ask? ❜
- ❛ I’m fumbling in the dark, struggling to make something out. But I’ve long ceased finding anything. ❜
- ❛ No doubt our love is still there, but quite simply it is unusable, heavy to carry, inert inside of us, sterile as crime or condemnation. ❜
- ❛ I’m not happy to go, but one needn’t be happy to make another start. ❜
- ❛ I am incapable of suffering for a long time, or being happy for a long time. Which means that I am incapable of anything really worth while. ❜
- ❛ I should have found the words to keep her with me. ❜
- ❛ We can’t stir a finger in this world without the risk of bringing death to somebody. ❜
- ❛ The evil that is in the world comes out of ignorance, and good intentions may do as much harm as malevolence, if they lack understanding. ❜
- ❛ There are always flies and itches. That’s why life is difficult to live. ❜
- ❛ The best protection against anything is a good bottle of wine. ❜
- ❛ There is no peace without hope. ❜
happy sunday, i want to share some tidbits 😳
what if someone coerced the darkling into dancing with them at a fete … personally i think that would be fun :)
a concept : the darkling draping his cloak over your muse because they’re cold 😌
the way i’m obsessed with these ocs i’m working on…
✷ — VANILLA.
oh heart of ice and mind of gold, what am i to do with you? you are only good in small amounts, bittersweet fledgling, you are hard for most to swallow. your spirit is strong, your wit is potent, your biting essence drives even the most daring away.
but why are you hiding your sweetness?i know within you, you are soft, but humanity has made you bitter. you mask your pain and sorrow with spite and sensibility. you say you do not care about trivial things, but don’t you? sweetheart relax. you can let down your drawbridge, the waters are not poisoned. i know you have looked monsters in between the eyes and scoffed at them, but please, relax. you think your armor protects you but it is smothering you slowly. little owlet, when will you learn, words can only get you so far? feelings are what makes this world pulse. do not suppress your feelings. your heart can still thaw my dear. trust.
okay but … how tall is your muse 😳
happy monday besties 😳
cute idea : sometimes, though very rarely, the darkling’s shadows will give away his inner reactions & sentiments, but you have to know how to read them. sometimes, they know how to feel before he does 🙄
silhouettes swayed with the half-dark of the study, obscured by his flock of shadows. they were the only witnesses to their exchange, but they were keen ones. the darkling cannot see him, instead trailing the outline on the far wall as it drew nearer behind him, the blade held under his chin gleaming with some trick of the light, steel warm where it grazed his deathly-chilled skin. this proximity was a stark novelty in the space of their cold diplomacy. he could sense more so than see kenneth’s other hand, which was surely laid atop the backrest of the elaborately carved chair his own dark frame occupied, lingering near one shoulder. obscured by their position, a curious glimmer flashed across the hollow chasm of his gaze at the development.
the knife’s edge ghosts over his pulse with the tact of a caress, before it nestles at the crook of his throat. slumping into the confines of the armchair, the darkling arched a brow, elegant fingers drumming against his temple, hand bearing the pressure where he leaned his weight into it. he feigned boredom, yet his amusement betrayed him, curving into a fascinated grin. for the taunting of it all, he might as well pretend it were kenneth’s hand at his throat. irritating and intriguing, he thought, both in equal measure. it was entirely maddening, but he’s come to expect nothing less. ❝ i’m confident we can reach a compromise. ❞ habitual apathy coated his words, yet the nuance of his voice was lush with danger, replete with warning. as far as reprimands go, it was far gentler than he should allow. ❝ for your sake, i should hope we do so before i snap the bones in your wrist. ❞
they say lying is bad for the soul , the more you tell your story to the world - a fictional one , you start to believe it yourself and it soon becomes an adamant declaration. easier to lie to herself than it is to him , point proven by the words uttered from his lips : mocking the girl that her narrative failed. HOW DOES ONE TELL THE SINCERITY OF HER NEW DISCOVERY , TO LET THEM IN ON THE TREACHEROUS NIGHTMARES THAT ARE ACTUALLY SAID MEMORIES. memories of a life she has lived. a life she cannot remember living.
in fear of being called deranged whispers of self-doubt to herself , she forced herself to believe that it was all a nightmare : that the plethora of memories wasn’t a comfort of familiarity. everything about him and their surroundings was so real , reassuring. and now , now she felt exposed. a lie she couldn’t keep to herself.
“you’ll think me as crazy. ”words whispered the girl keeps her gaze downcast , locked on fingers that have woven themselves together - clenching every so often as distraction. DISTRACTION TO KEEP FROM MEETING HIS GAZE. the born healer didn’t want to see his reaction to her confession , “it’s like i’ve been living in an illusion , ”underlining fear of being judged or worse : she’s trembling. “i know who you truly are , i know that we knew each other so many moons ago , i - ”breath hitches she risks a peek at her counterpart , “. . . i can’t explain it , but i know it’s real. what’s been going on up here , ”finger taps against the side of brown curls , “i had to lie to you because i didn’t want to believe it. ”
these bitter ravkan winters are a time of wonder, of magic and mysticism, of rebirth and renewal, or so the commoners say. as he looks out the grand windows of his study, observing the dull cold mist as it brushes past the glass and leaves in its wake a trail of faint frost, he thinks it’s very fitting. the winter fete would be held soon, with alina starkova in tow, and the living ghost of a companion from a past life. a time of wonder, indeed. ❝ i know. ❞ the darkling divulges, casually leaning back in the elaborately carved chair as though it were a throne, the grey of his eyes burning into her, even as she refuses to look to him. but where his gaze is all-consuming, his words are frigid and impassive, and their lack of warmth gives the confession an accusatory edge. had he known, truly, or had it only been wishful thinking? he’s not certain himself. the suspicion had eaten away at him, yet hearing the words come tumbling from her lips does nothing to lull him either. for years, he has kept the memory of her near his heart like a locket — what does one say to a memory? ❝ i knew who you were when you walked through the gates. longer still, i’ve known since the moment i caught sight of you in os alta. ❞
the woman standing at the center of the room is a stranger, and he’s willing to bet the man staring back at her is just as foreign to her as she to him. she trembles, and glances at him from under her lashes, and the darkling can only offer her a frown for her troubles. he can’t comfort her, not in any way she would want — one corpse had been left behind that day, but he thinks two people had died, his heart’s beat in tandem with hers. now, he has no gentle words left to gift her, no fairytale promises. he can’t console her, but he rises from his chair, still, crossing the distance between them with with a languid stride. cold fingers grasp her chin, softly, and with a genuinity that feels misplaced on his tongue, voice comes hushed, ❝ did you think you could hide the truth from me forever? ❞
yeah the d.arkling on the throne of r.avka is hot, but you know what’s hotter? the d.arkling as an advisor, pulling the strings from the shadows.
SALEM sentence starters !
- what must i do to be saved?
- perhaps there is solace to be found in remembrance of times when we’ve both shouldered worse.
- not all scars can be seen, but they exist nonetheless.
- why do you do it? is it because you thinking you’re doing good?
- it cannot have all been in vain.
- was there a choice?
- it’s your choice to decide what is in vain and what is not.
- there’s nothing left in you…no feelings, no heart.
- you’re not the girl i once knew.
- you have my complete allegiance.
- is this the good i’m meant to do?
- i don’t want your life in my hands.
- if you love me, you’ll tell me.
- the next moon fast approaches.
- such raw emotion…it makes you vulnerable. don’t let it cloud your purpose.
- you will stop him, any way you must.
- a parent will do anything for the life of their child.
- does that not give you peace?
- your father would be so very proud.
- make it stop!
- does a man desire to know when he stands on the precipice of his own death?
- who among us is unburdened by shame and secrets we hide from the world?
- our deepest gratitude is often saved for what we once took for granted.
- we’ve lost control.
- give them only reason to fear you.
- will you crush the life from me, as you do your enemies? or just my spirit, as you do those you love?
- i watched you spill innocent blood.
- sleeplessness seems to be an epidemic this evening.
- what we desire and what we must do to survive are often at odds.
“No, unfortunately, this ship is not Grisha-powered,” Nick responds with a soft snort, his full attention on the knot he was tying, as opposed to the man who was speaking to him. He was used to strange questions when he brought the Volkvolny - now called the Rusalye in an attempt to seem less threatening - to port for the landlubbers to tour. “Though I usually expect that question from a child under the age of seven and not an adult.”
❝ it would come as an improvement. ❞ aleksander scoffs in return, from where frame is draped against the ship’s taffrail, plain black coat billowing with the winds. bored grey gaze drags away from the captain’s efforts to focus, instead, on the wailing waves as they roll out upon the swirling line of the shore, a maneuver accompanied by a very pronounced roll to his eyes. he’d been forced to shed his shadows for the sake of adapting a long, long time ago — and yet it still felt so very personal, the topic of grisha. uncaring, the world had trudged on, and he had followed its lead, because he is nothing if not resourceful. but far too often, those secret memories of a past life seem to find a way to taunt him, as the shadows under the mast do now, lingering just out of reach. catching a wisp of blonde in his peripheral, he bites back an exhale, and muses aloud with the brief beginnings of a smirk hiding in the corner of his mouth, ❝ then again, a grisha’s abilities would be entirely wasted on this tattered vessel. ❞