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[sbachka]

Sam Claflin as Alistair Ryle The Riot Club ( 2014 ) Dir. Lone Scherfig

[sbachka]

unpossession​

              “I understand,”           Willow nods,  breathing shallow but still breathing nonetheless. She nods to the floor, her abandoned kefta, torn right through the back, lays there limp.         “My kefta, could you–” 

She’s embarrassed to ask such a task of a prince, but she can’t bring herself to do any sort of bending now that she’s standing up. The bloody hand pressed to her neck aches, the effort it takes to keep herself from bleeding out is enormous and she could do without any distractions. 

Once Baghra is ready, she and the little boy keeping her company guide them through a dark tunnel towards an exit, she assumes, somewhere far away from the violence of the palaces. Willow shivers, but presses on. At some point she isn’t sure if it’s the darkness keeping her blind or if she’s losing consciousness, but eventually they come to a door that needs unlocking from the inside, and she leans against the cave walls with a sigh. 

She doesn’t have to say anything. Isn’t sure that she even wants to. In all of this, she had been assuming she would die anyway. Willow hits the floor with a thud and the world they were so close to stepping into turns black. 

With her kefta thrown over one shoulder and his gun gripped tightly in the other hand, Nikolai follows the twists and turns of the tunnels until they come to the door. His knuckles rap gently against it, and awaits for the answer on the other side. It doesn’t come before the thwack of Willow’s body echoes throughout the cave, and all three of her companions turn with shock to look at her. Nikolai moves to help her, but Baghra’s small companion -- Misha, he believes his name to be -- is already by the Grisha’ side and tending to her best he can.  She’ s still breathing.   This is enough to quell Nikolai’s worries for the time being as he turns back to the door, uttering a quiet passphrase in order to be let through. As the door swings open he pays no mind to the figure behind it and is already beside Misha, lifting Willow’s unconscious body from the ground. When she finally does wake again she will not be met with the dull lights of the caves anymore, but instead the comforting low light of candles. Aboard the Kingfisher, aiding on by the talents of the handful of trusted Squallers left behind. Nikolai had laid her down on his very own cot, squared away in the captain’s cabin, and instructed a fellow Heartrender to do their best work to heal her, or at the very least keep her alive long enough to get them all to The Spinning Wheel.                ❛  Finally awake. I was beginning to think you had died of sheer embarrassment from the audacious tone you had taken with me on the battlefield.  ❜  

[sbachka]

unpossession​

The moment they are in the dark the pain hits her.     Of course, there was pain before, but not like this. She collapses to the floor and writhes out of her kefta, the warm fabric sticking to the new wounds she now brandishes, and holds her breath in her chest for fear of crying in front of royalty. Her face is pale - paler than usual - and her eyes are wide with shock.

          “I–”         He’s asking if she’s alright, she doesn’t think she has it in her to respond at all. Willow only nods, the blood gushing from the wound on her back, laced with the inky black of shadows that fester where those awful monsters made impact with her. She nods. She keeps nodding. The sound of rustling puts her back on edge, but there is no undoing the pain, the woozy feeling that accompanies blood loss. 

Even she finds Baghra’s voice comforting. She worked a little with her before they all went into specialisms. After receiving her kefta, she saw very little of the woman. Only tales of her antics from the others. Willow attempts to stand a little taller when she reveals herself, as though she’ll crack the whip on her for not being strong enough to hold her own weight even in the face of all her injuries. 

         “Where are we going?” 

 ❛  Somewhere safe.  ❜       Ever the cryptic he doesn’t give a complete answer. He has found it best to only give people snippets of information, allow them only to see the parts of him he wants them to see. One day he will rule this country with the same discretion, if they ever make it out of here alive. Nikolai steals a glance toward Willow, considering the way she attempts to hold herself with pride even though she was teetering toward the edge. There is nothing that he can do for her now but remove her, remove them both, from harms way.  He advises Baghra to gather whatever possessions she wants to bring with her and watches as she hastily begins to move around the cottage, feeling the pressure of urgency on his words. It is then and only then that he turns to face Willow. The colour of her cheeks, or lack thereof, worries him. It is with a tender touch that he reaches out and places his hand against her shoulder.                  ❛  I would offer you a moment to sit down, but I am afraid we are not able to afford such a luxury right now.  ❜        A pause, he does his best to keep a brave face.       ❛  When we get somewhere safe, I promise you can do all the sitting you please.  ❜

[sbachka]

unpossession​

It’s  not  like  she  can argue  with  that.            The shock of the impact mutes her, stuns her. She’d been staring at her death until the glint of light on a blade cut open the creature, she had been whispering her brother’s name into the air, guiding her spirit to where it ought to go with the word, only to gasp in awe as her battle-weary mind mistakes Nikolai’s sword for Sankta Alina saving her, the blue and gold of Nikolai’s suit bleary in her vision, like a kefta of the one and only Sun Summoner… The illusion is shattered as he picks her up. Her body becomes her own again, she brings the palm of her hand to her throat and gropes to close the wound. 

The sounds of battle ring clearer, louder, no longer muffled by shock. She leans against Nikolai and with her free hand weaves signs in the air to stop the flow of blood, to ease the pain she can feel building there. It’s mild at first, but like a bite or a sting the pain begins from inside and pulses outward, slowly burns. Willow knows her only hope is to redirect the flow of blood from her gaping wound. She knows that there is no closing it with her own power.

However groggy she once was, the sudden silence that seems to fall over the palace grounds sends her into a high alert.  She shadows do not shriek, they never have. But the people do. To hear it all stop only makes her heart pound harder. Willow tries to support more of her own weight, tries to fight on, but the desperation far outweighs her desire to survive. Silence means death. Those behind them in the fields are dead. 

Willow recognises where they are going, and it seems nonsensical to her to run headfirst to Baghra when they are surrounded by enough shadows already, but she does her best to spur him on with the focus she can spare. She fills his blood with oxygen, empowers the strength he already displays, and screams as a fast approaching  nichevo’ya  outstretches an arm to tear a jagged claw into her back, blocking the blow intended for him just before they make it to Baghra’s cottage, falling through the door and slamming it behind them.

As they topple through the door to the little cottage Nikolai feels his heart beating wildly in his throat.      There is nothing left behind them, he thinks solemnly as he works to catch his breath. Everything he and Alina had been working toward to stop the Darkling has been destroyed in a moment of pure arrogance by his brother. His dead brother … There is no time to dwell. If there is any chance of saving Ravka from falling to the shadows, he mustn’t let his thoughts wander to such dismal places. A time for mourning will come when the Grand Palace is restored back under his watch.  ❛  Are you alright?  ❜   he begins to ask her, having felt the impact of the claws against her back as though it were his own. In all the fuss he hadn’t noticed the claws aimed for him. It is with an unspoken moment of caring that he tends to Willow, until --- Behind them comes a rustling, and Nikolai turns with sword at the ready. He comes face to face with Baghra, matching his fighting stance. Even with eyes burned by the shadows she is still ready to defend herself, and Nikolai lets out a soft sigh of relief that it is only her.  ❛  Baghra, it’s Nikolai.  ❜      I know who you are, I can smell the Grand Palace on you from here. What do you want, boy?    Nikolai finds himself experiencing an instance of something akin to joy, amused by the constancy of her sour attitude.  It withers and fades as soon as he remembers where they are, and why. Fallen bodies piled up across the lawn outside. He cringes.      ❛  I’ve come to take you with me, the palace is no longer safe.  ❜ He expects more of a fight from her. Something about this place being her home and staying to defend it to the death, but he watches as her shoulders slump. An acceptance. As though she knew this moment was going to happen before all of them, and only prayed that it wouldn’t.   

[sbachka]

unpossession​

The  shadows  appear  to  be  playing  with  her.       She wonders briefly if the others suffered the same game. Her hand goes through the creature, and as one of it’s brothers is attacked by a glimmering sword in her peripherals, it’s distracted just enough to miss her as it swings with a slow and jagged hand outstretched. 

Willow has never said a word to Prince Nikolai before; always too shy, too star-struck by all manners of authority to even dare hold his gaze for longer than a millisecond. General Starkova gets the same treatment, too, speaking to her only when spoken to, but the adrenaline rushing through her and the panic fueling each of her actions now filters out that fear, that respect, as he touches her arm and tells her to run. 

               “I did fine work on your leg, moi tsarevich, you are welcome to run!”             She stumbles backward as a nichevo’ya lunges toward her. Willow’s breath catches in her throat in terror as a flash of red in the distance passes them by. She recognises the head of hair, the flash of pale skin against near-black hair. The Grisha runs, and Willow’s hands move in practiced motions to fill the body beneath the crimson kefta with adrenaline. Enough to make it faster as the  nichevo’ya swinging at her turns it’s attention to her twin brother and begins to chase.

She ducks under the open jaw of another nichevo’ya, paying no mind to her would-be saviour as she stretches her arms out again to force a nearby squaller to duck out of harms way and evade an attack. When she believes they are safe, she turns to watch her brother’s escape into the woods… 

            There is nowhere for him to run, though. Willow looks back just in time to watch as he is taken down quickly by a nichevo’ya emerging from the trees and ripped in two with the swing of it’s arm.

Willow has no voice to scream with as she feels the jagged claw of a nichevo’ya slash into her neck and is knocked to the ground.

There is no room for emotions here.      As much as Nikolai cares for his people, and this kindness extends to the Grisha who fight on their side, he has to think ten steps ahead. If all of their fighters go down against the Darkling now, they will be left with nothing. Ravka will fall and there will be no hope of saving it. Vasily is already gone, and with his father in such poor health -- he is the only one left for the throne. Hesitation out on the battlefield will get one killed. Nikolai has seen this firsthand.  He should continue on his way to the little shack at the edge of the grounds, collect Baghra and leave as the palaces fall into chaos. A practiced swing of his sword as he fends off another nichevo’ya that comes his direction; so much running through his head as he tries to keep himself alive. So many of their armies are falling around them. He should run, but as he watches more and more people fall, he stays by her side. That is until she is one of the bodies. Willow is known for her talents as a heartrender. This much he knows, and this much he has seen from the health of his leg now. She is the one who needs help now, and despite the danger, he throws himself her way. His sword slashes through the shadow towering over her, uncomfortable in his grip as there is no tension to follow his swing. It is enough for it to disperse, giving him enough time to scramble to her side. Blood leaks from her wound as deep red as her kefta, and Nikolai feels his stomach clench. He is not losing her on this battlefield, not today.                   ❛  You are coming with me.  ❜        He speaks with the kingly sternness that is required. No time for arguments. Nikolai grabs her from the ground, pulling her onto her feet and allowing her to slump against his side. Sword is replaced with his pistol, much easier to maneuver while holding her weight, and he begins to lead them toward Baghra’s cottage, fighting nichevo’ya off as he does. 

[sbachka]

Sam Claflin as Finnick Odair in THE HUNGER GAMES: CATCHING FIRE (2013).

[sbachka]

unpossession​

It’s like a scene from her nightmares inside Little Palace.  Not unlike the one she woke up from this morning, either, shadows have overtaken the place she has called home since she was twelve, the blood of her comrades stains her hands and her crimson kefta now looks dark, marred with the same liquid it was coloured after. It happened so quickly that Willow can’t remember the exact sequence of events. Alina and a few of the others already left for dinner, but the doors opened not long after their departure… It got dark. There was screaming. And blood. And she barely avoided the dark claw of a nichevo'ya that swung at her as she watched Marie get ripped open some paces away.

Having never encountered these creatures, Willow first attempted to bend their matter to her will, grasping for something human within them. Man-shaped but not man. Sharp claws and jaws without matter. It was muscle memory. Instinct. But as one approached in spite of her efforts, her resolve began to waver. Her bravery turned to fear:  her power is useless here. Everything she was raised on, her whole worth was reduced to nothing — nothing to do but hide. Hide and heal. 

In the blind frenzy of fight or flight, Willow attempted to mend what she could. Broken bones here, torn limbs there — but the cuts served to those by nichevo'ya would not heal. For most, there was nothing that could be done except ease their passing. People she had grown up with, mentors she trusted. She went from person to person, seeking heartbeats however faint.

People were fleeing. She didn’t care for those who could walk. She aided the ones on the ground, the ones bleeding. One by one, the wounded rose thanks to her clumsy stitches, her shaking hands performing the miracles they were made to in between battles with these creatures she cannot fight. Their faces all blur into one, their wounds just imprints on the back of her mind. 

Her lips recognise this face, though, this name. While her mind works on the injuries, her lips begin speaking empty words of comfort as she fixes him, soon sending him on his way.

              “   @sbachka,  moi tsarevich,  it’s okay.   “      She says, when darkness sweeps at her from the air and knocks her so hard and far away from where she was that the lights of the Little Palace are twinkling stars that pass her until she makes impact with it’s manicured lawn.  

Surrounded by beasts now. Nothing but her blades and her fists. Willow stands, dizzy, out of breath and bloodied. She throws the first punch at the shadow. 

It feels like only seconds ago he was celebrating his birthday.    A joyous occasion surrounded by his family, his closest friends. Now everything around him is dark. Nothing but saccharine stains and dancing shadows. All that mirth replaced with an unspoken horror when Vasily revealed his master plan. How foolishly angry he had been with him until the very moment they were descended upon. How quickly that anger turned to despair as he watched his only brother torn to shreds in front of him. Everything changed in the blink of an eye. Somewhere between ushering his parents to safety and fulfilling his promise to Alina to save Baghra, he finds himself tossed about between the bodies of Grisha and human alike trying to flee from the palace. It had always stood as a place of calm, of royalty, and perhaps sometimes a place of undeniable boredom to Nikolai, more a cage than a house. Now it seems that everyone is as desperate to escape it as he once was.  Some of the people he passes cling to his sleeve, begging for help. Some already lay in ruins on the ground, unrecognisable. There are soldiers trying to help between the battles, classmates and friends thrown back to back in order to save themselves. Nikolai finds his head spinning. He always thought himself two steps ahead, but the Darkling had just changed the rules of the game completely. It is as he reaching for his gun that he finds himself thrown back from one of the shadows, feeling his skin rip against the ground. For that moment everything looks bleak.  She is suddenly there, tending to him. Doing what against all odds she should not be doing. Nikolai starts to reach for her, to tell her that she needs to run, when she is no longer there. Thrown through the air and landing with a thud nearby. Scrambling onto his feet he deigns to meet with her. He doesn’t know why but he feels as though she needs to be saved, as though when all the blood has settled they will need all the healers they can get.                    ❛  It’s no use!  ❜      He tries to call out, but his warnings are swept away with everyone else’s. Given to the winds for the Saints to hear. So he does as he always does, and prepares himself. Sword drawn, swinging around in a innately showoff manner as he closes the space between them and stands by her side. It swings toward one of the nichevo’ya approaching, only for it to disappear and manifest again at will out of his sword’s reach. Nikolai reaches for her arm.       ❛  We cannot fight them, we have no choice but to run.  ❜

[sbachka]

otkhastzya​

             ❛      You know, @sbachka​,   as much as I love elegant parties and schmoozing noblemen for their support,   I actually hate elegant parties and schmoozing noblemen for their support. So If you’ll excuse me—    ❜          Alina attempts to make a hasty exit, her people-meter is at it’s absolute limit.          

❛  Miss Starkova --  ❜        using such formalities with her in the presence of other nobility, but it doesn’t go as far as his actions. A hand reaches out to press at her shoulder, attempting to stop her from taking another step.      ❛  Trust me, I dislike this as much as you do, but we need to do this.  ❜

[sbachka]

some angst idk y’all i like crying

“  i don’t want you here.  just go.  ” 

“  you ‘didn’t mean to hurt me?’  yeah you did.  like it or not,  i know exactly who you are.  ” 

“  why won’t you even look at me?  ”

“  i’m not angry at you.  i’m angry with myself for trusting you.  ”

“  i wish you’d stop trying to destroy yourself in some misguided effort to feel worthy.  ”

“  i know it’s not fair to say this,  but i don’t have anything without you.  if i don’t have you i have nothing.  ”

“  you can’t love me.  not the way i need to be loved.  ”

“  i’m broken.  and i don’t need anyone to try to feed me white lies about it.  something inside me is broken and it isn’t just going to be put back like it was.  ” 

“  sometimes being broken isn’t about trying to put things back together like they were before.  it’s about picking up what pieces are left and building something new.  ”

“  okay,  so you’re a monster.  so am i.  lets be monsters together.  ” 

“  because of what they/you did i’m damaged.  ”  

“  what the hell is wrong with you?  ”

“  what the hell is wrong with me?  ”

“  i can’t fix you.  you can’t expect me to know how to fix you.  ” 

“  yeah,  i’ll be here.  i’ll be here when you’re ready to stop running.  ”

“  my world is just falling apart.  it’s like everything is just crumbling around me.  i don’t know what to do.  i just want it to stop ”  

“  you’re the only thing that makes sense right now.  everything else is just—  the world is so loud.  and the only time it feels quiet is when you’re here.  ”

“  i don’t know how to talk about shit okay?  it’s too hard.  but i do care.  i need you to trust me that i care.  ”

 “  stop punishing yourself.  you wanna make up for what you’ve done?  get off your ass and do something about it.  ”

“  whatever it is you think was going on between us,  you’re wrong.  ”

“  it didn’t mean anything to me.  ” 

“  you should move on.  i did.  ”  

“  i feel like i’m one bad day away from becoming everything i’ve fought against.  ” 

“  stop pushing me away.  i’m not going anywhere,  asshole.  and as soon as you get that through that thick skull of yours,  the better.  ”  

“  i don’t need you in my life.  i don’t want you in it.  ”  

“  i can’t trust myself.  if i let myself get comfortable enough,  when i try to be happy,  people get hurt.  ”  

“  people like me don’t get to have peace.  ”  

“  i’m not the person you want.  i know you think i am.  but it won’t take long for you to realize this is a mistake.  ”  

“  you want the truth?  the truth is when i love people it burns inside me like a poison.  it infects every part of me until it feels like they’re in my goddamn soul…and then i fuck it up.  and it’ll destroy us both.  ”  

“  i’ll always choose you.  that’s the worst part of it all.  i’d choose you over and over, even though i know you wouldn’t do the same.  ”  

“  you never had to be perfect.  you just had to stay.  ”

“  will you please just stay for once.  just.  don’t walk away.  ” 

“  if i loved you less,  i might be able to talk about it more.  ”   

“  just tell me something real.  tell me something i can remember no matter what happens to us.  ”

“  when you look at me,  i feel seen.  i feel like you see past everything i’ve always surrounded myself with to try and protect my heart.  no one has ever looked that deeply at me.  ”  

“  how can you uncover so much about someone,  make them let their guard down and lay themselves bare to you.  and then just throw it all away?  ”

“  if you walk out that door don’t bother coming back.  ”

“  why are you so afraid of trusting this—  trusting us.  what’s making you hold back?  ”

“  will you still be here?  will you stay even after you’ve seen all the ugly parts of my heart.  ”  

“  i don’t care how willing you are to die for me.  i want you to fucking live with me.  live for us.  ” 

HURT/COMFORT

[ DISCOVER ] for one muse to find the other crying alone. 

[ COMPANY ] for one muse to sit with the other so they don’t have to be alone while they’re upset. 

[ EMBRACE ] for one muse to suddenly hug the other one for their own comfort. 

[ OFFER ] for one muse to suddenly hug the other one to comfort them.

[ SETTLE ] for one muse to comfort the other and end up cuddling. 

[ SHOULDER ] for one muse to rest their head on the other’s shoulder while they comfort them. 

[ CARRY ]  for one muse to find the other injured and carry them to safety.

[ SECURE ] for one muse to carry the other to bed after they fell asleep. 

[ STRUGGLE ]  for one muse to resist being hugged but then break down and crumble against the other. 

[ CLEAR ] for one muse to wipe the other’s tears. 

[ BREAKDOWN ] for one muse to ask the other if they’re okay prompting them to finally stop bottling things up. 

[ BRUSH ] for one muse to run their fingers through the other’s hair while they open up or cry. 

[ NURSE ] for one muse to tend to the other while they’re recovering from injuries. 

[ TRUST ] for a scenario where sender’s muse is the only one receivers muse will let close. 

[ COAX ] for scenario where receiver’s muse knows they’re the only one sender’s muse will let close. 

[ CALM ] for one muse to subdue the other during an outburst. 

[ CLARITY ] for one muse to help ground the other back in the present  (i.e. after nightmare, breakdown, battle etc)

[ PREVENT ] for one muse to stop the other from going too far during a fight. 

[sbachka]

                       pauper  or  prince,  every  man  can  be  bought.

[sbachka]

A KISS FOR YOU ALL

[sbachka]

                       pauper  or  prince,  every  man  can  be  bought.

[sbachka]

sanktasolntse​:    alina.

@sbachka​​ asked : ✐ did i send this already icr

❛ All I want in this world is you. ❜

His  heart  skips  a  whole  beat  in  his  chest.   Surely she means only as friends. Surely she doesn’t mean the way his heart aches for.       “You  shouldn’t  tease  a  man  like  this,  Alina.”     

[sbachka]

—         ask meme      :      THIS IS HOW YOU LOSE THE TIME WAR,   MAX GLADSTONE & AMAL EL-MOHTAR.pronouns / tenses changed in some places.

twice is coincidence. three times is enemy action.

killing gets easier with practice, in mechanics and technique. having killed never does.

you know — just as i’ve known, since our eyes met — that we have unfinished business.

it’s been so long since i last started a new conversation.

we knew one another as one knows a childhood dream.

our glorious crystal future shines so bright i gotta wear shades, as the prophets say.

i’d walk a swath of rot through your verdancy, no matter how light i tried to step.

it grieves me to think you’d make a boring poker player. but then i imagine you’d cheat, and that’s a comfort.

let me tell you what you have told me, speaking plain: you could have killed me, but didn’t.

tell me something true, or tell me nothing at all.

there’s a kind of time travel in letters, isn’t there?

do i have you still? do i address empty air and the flies that will eat this carcass?

if we’re to be at war, we might as well entertain each other.

that’s what we treasure. that’s us, always: the volcano and the wave.

hunger, ___ — to sate a hunger or to stoke it, to feel hunger as a furnace, to trace its edges like teeth — is this a thing you, singly, know?

have you ever had a hunger that whetted itself on what you fed it, sharpened so keen and bright that it might split you open, break a new thing out? sometimes i think that’s what i have instead of friends.

this is a place i love, and hate myself for loving.

i was the only person on that tiny rock, and i made the world go dark.

i wanted to be seen. that need dug into the heart of me.

i was light, hollowed, hungry.

have you been lonely?

you place each stone expecting it may do many things. a confession is also a dare is also a compulsion.

i have observed friendship as one observes high holy days.

harvest is not a word for swiftness; the future harvests us, stomps us into wine, and we grow stronger and more potent together.

what i return to, the me-ness that i know as pure, inescapable self… is hunger.

i love cities. to be alone in a crowd, apart and belonging, to have distance between what i see and what i am.

shit. i’m sorry. i can’t keep up the joke. and it’s wrong to call you enemy.

i am more sensitive to your footsteps, i think, than anyone alive.

this letter is a knife at my neck, if cutting’s what you want.

i see you as a wave, as a bird, as a wolf. i try not to think of you the same way twice.

i have built a you within me, or you have. i wonder what of me there is in you.

you’ve whetted me like a stone.

i remember bright light, and then — hunger. hunger that was turning me inside out, hunger in the most primal way imaginable, hunger that obliterated every other thing.

i was only my own body, only my own senses, only a girl whose parents were running to her because she had a bad dream.

this feels like teetering on the brink of something that will unmake me. but i trust you.

there was, i am sure, a time i did not know you. or did i dream that me, as i’ve so often dreamed of you?

i want to be a body for you.

i sought loneliness when i was young. but when i think of you, i want to be alone together.

i want to be a context for you, and you for me.

i love you, and i love you, and i want to find out what that means together.

this is me, the truth of me: broken open, in the palm of your hand, dying.

you must feel it — the difference? we’re on the brink of something.

i would rather break the world than lose you.

i’ll be all the poets. i’ll kill them all and take each one’s place in turn, and every time love’s written it will be to you.

how could you die like this? how could you die at all?

sometimes you have to hold a person, though they’ll mistake embrace for strangulation.

[sbachka]

                       pauper  or  prince,  every  man  can  be  bought.

[sbachka]

                  pauper  or  prince,  every  man  can  be  bought.

                   an independent, private & selective portrayal of nikolai lantsov                                      of the grishaverse. as written by chrissie.

[sbachka]