#azrpa

[graunblida]

@azrpa: send me  🗣️ for incorrect quotes of our muses.

[azhefa-archived]

@azrpa​ || s.c. ❅

          the cold air greets him like an old friend as he stands out on the palace balcony. the sun has long sunk past the mountains and the city is quiet, save for the occasional howls from a wolf pack. the king soaks in the light from the moon as a heavy breath passes through his lips. it leaves a visible swirl of steam into the air which just as quickly disappears from sight as it came. all he wanted for three winters was to return and finally he is here. weeks have passed and he couldn’t be more relieved to be home. bust still, he often finds himself feeling more hollow than anything. he had to lose so much to gain his people back. and he finds himself still as isolated as ever. jaw clenches when he hears movement behind him, glancing over his shoulder to identify his new companion before he speaks.  “  it’s late,  ”  he comments, somewhere between observation and reproach. she has been training hard, and there is much still for her to learn. she should be saving her energy. 

[portectorisms-a]

@azrpa​ liked for a  starter!

     This was no expected, despite how his fingers had curled so easily around the cool gunmetal of the pistol. He would have never thought they'd be here, on different sides of a battlefield, about to head to war for survival. There's a knot in the base of his throat, making it hard to swallow as he walks past the gates of Arkadia. On the outside, Bellamy was pensive. There was no notion to what was happening inside of his mind. His eyebrows creased together in the blinding sunlight as he marched forward, his back straight, spine strong and he walked with a purpose, a reason, mainly so people wouldn't ask him why he was so quiet that day. It also helped that he had confidence in every action he made, even if it was nothing short of a faux bravado. He swallows hard, trying to get around that growing lump in his throat, trying to keep the burn of tears stuck behind the dams of his eyes. No, Bellamy would not show weakness, not right now. Now surrounded by men he was meant to go to battle with and keep alive at some point, but today was not that day. Instead, Bellamy held up a hand at the treeline, throwing a stern glance over his shoulder as he told them to stay, he would continue forward on his own. When asked about the danger of going alone, he simply smirked and shook his head, mentioning that there would be none. This was a meeting, and he left them alone with that notion. Bellamy, however, knew he was kidding himself. There was always a hint of danger in these woods. Always had been when he had learned they were no longer alone. A breath is drawn deep into his lungs as boots crush leaves and twigs under their worn soles. He lets the pistol sit in his thigh holster, let's the semi-automatic hang by it's strap over his broad shoulders and it's not until he spots her that the breath leaves his lungs. That he has to stop walking because if he continues, he'll be on his knees, thanking whatever power is above them, that she's okay, that she's alive. He would be in tears, the same tears he's been fighting to keep behind his dams. He would saying her name like a whispered prayer because how long had it been since he had seen his sister? How long had it been since Octavia had joined the grounders as her family instead of those who came to the ground? Instead of him?

"O."

     Bellamy doesn't know if he says her name loud enough but it's like thunder in his ears. It's powerful in it's own way, strong enough to cause his feet to move forward and it takes every ounce of control to not rush across the open forest that separates them, to wrap her up in a hug and just relish in the fact that she's safe. Instead, he stops half way, swallowing hard once more, hands at his side, shoulders slumped, his body weakening and his mind wants to make a waver with his heart on how long until his knees give out and he's on the forest floor beneath him.

"We don't have to do this, O. We can find a different way, one way that isn't war and we don't lose good people. Our people."

[klarsynt-arc]

[ caress ] octavia to emil!

          ᴀᴄᴛs ᴏғ ᴀғғᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴏɴʟʏ sʜᴀʀᴇᴅ openly among most clan warriors. azgeda was always rather reserved in public. emotions belonged behind closed doors. it took him a long time to let go of that when he went to floukru. it used to feel foreign  &  strange to accept the caresses and small gestures he received. but eventually, it became just as natural as breathing. he rarely thinks about it now. he has not held himself back with octavia; he cares about her  &  he isn’t afraid to show it. she saved his life and he owes her. he feels an immense amount of loyalty  &  gratitude and such feelings easily turn into affection for him. emil is content with being the only one to express it. he doesn’t expect much so it comes as a surprise when the girl embraces him. he remains still a moment, perhaps somewhat shocked, before he lets his own arms wind around her smaller form.  “  yu ait?  ” // @azrpa

[reivcn]

“If you’re trying to avoid loss, there’s no point in taking another breath, or letting your heart beat one more time. It all ends.”

“is that what they taught you, in your new clan?” she asks her, brown eyes snapping up at octavia’s. her voice didn’t hold any malice whatsoever, but she was shaking her head her eyes looking to luna who was standing outside, just looking out beyond. she was about to walk over to her when octavia had come to her side. “i don’t really care which side you choose.” raven mutters out, her eyes going back to the woman at her side right now. “but i’m not here to help those that would rather fight for peace, than talk through it. i’m not going to be aiding anyone.” she tells her, her eyes looking around them, and then coming back to octavia. “i’m leaving with her. you chose your clan, and i’m choosing mine.” 

@azrpa

[speispy]

@azrpa​

“if you’re going to be azgeda, then you need to fight like azgeda.”  the trigedasleng words are spoken with an air of confidence surrounding them, sword in hand.  echo was not entirely sure why she had been tasked with this: octavia seemed closer to roan, but perhaps the king was simply too busy for such a thing.  octavia was good.  but she wasn’t as strong as their warriors, not trained in the same way –– an adjustment needed to be made.  they looked at the brunette, gaze slightly narrowed although not unfriendly.  watching.  waiting.  training happened to be one of their favorite things, even if usually with a different opponent.

[a-shebore]

#b!!!

send “#b” and i’ll put spotify on shuffle, and use my favorite line from the next song as a starter ✦ @azrpa ✦ accepting.

“  i  keep  a  record  of  the  wreckage  of  my  life.  ”  —  nightmare  (  halsey  )

[despairad]

@azrpa​   asked :  how does arthur feel about nature/the world around him? does he have any favorite plants or animals (besides his horse)?

I  feel  arthur  takes  genuine  interest  in  the  way  the  world  changes  around  him  .  From  seasons  to  animals  depending  on  where  he  is  .  He  takes  the  time  out  of  his  day  to  sketch  out  anything  new  he  spots  when  he’s  out  on  an  adventure  n  I  honestly  think  it’s  cute  /  interesting  considering  the  type  of  man  he  is  .  He  might  just  care  more  abt  animals  than  he  does  about  people  .  So  far,  I  feel  his  favorite  animal  is  the  deer  /  stags  and  his  favorite  plant  is  Harrow  .

[graunblida]

smash or pass ;))))

@azrpa | smash or pass | accepting 

call this bish george washington cuz she cannot tell a lie. 

“…smash. “

[azhefa-archived]

𝙾𝙱𝙹𝙴𝙲𝚃𝙸𝚅𝙴  𝙷𝙾𝚁𝚁𝙾𝚁  𝙰𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚃𝙸𝙲𝚂  ,

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐃  :    @genetictraitor <33 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆  :    @geneticrevenant @brvgrl @softsurvivor @azrpa whoever wants to!

𝐆𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐂 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑.         gaslights.   corsets.   ballrooms.   candlelight.   mist.   starless nights.   full moons.   cobbled streets.   horse-drawn carriages.   mysterious strangers.   bogs.   moors.   forests.   mountains.   castles.   velvet.   silver.   brass.   gold.   jewels.   domino masks.   the opera.   dangerous romances.   tragic romances.   violins.   roses.   lilies.   empty graves.   crosses.   cemeteries.   snow.   the gallows.   crows.   milk-white skin.   ambiguous illness.   fangs.   pointed nails.   something howling in the night.   capes.   gloves.   top hats.   straight razors.   lightning.   pipe organs.   underground caverns.   bats.   mice.   rats.   ravens.   cats.   pearls.   attics.   talismans.   axes.   wood.   isolation in a room full of people.   vampires.   werewolves.   ghosts.   coffins.   western europe.   eastern europe.   bones.   churches.   catacombs.   mausoleums.   spiders.   books.

𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐂 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑.         black and white powder puffs.   red lipstick.   winged eyeliner.   white  kitten heels.   black lace lingerie.   icy blue eyes.   rain.   abandoned cars.   skeletons.   acid.   poison.   voyeurism.   switchblades.   strangling.   overcoats.   looking over your shoulder.   trans-atlantic accents.   private detectives.   dinner parties.   haunted mansions.   alcohol in glass decanters.   cobwebs.   perfect blonde curls.   kitchen knives.   shock.   cellars.   dust.   dark alleys.   empty streets.   driving at night.   horn-rimmed glasses.   radiation.   zombies.   serial murder.   paranoia.   the city.   witches.   the devil.   cannibalism.   conspiracies.   amulets.   abject terror.   the american south.   the american northeast.   england.   analog cameras.

𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒.         bloodbaths.   massacres.   wanton nudity.   newspapers.   leather jackets.   letterman jackets.   converse sneakers.   obscured faces.   social unrest.   bonfires.   lakes.   babysitters.   suburbia.   high school.   lockers.   dead leaves in the fall.   jack-o’-lanterns.   outdated television sets.   nightmares.   psychiatrists.   hospitals.   unstoppable forces.   gunfire.   police.   landline   telephones.   household objects turned into improvised weapons.   halloween.   secrets.   revelations.   character masks.   scrunchies.   queerness.   wild curls.   jeering children.   parties.   fire.   swearing.   revulsion.   california.   the american midwest.   ambulances.

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐋 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑.         malevolent spirits.   seances.   spells.   missing bodies.   hidden graves.   white noise.   static.   flickering lights.   rings of salt.   demons.   poltergeists.   dark histories.   old buildings.   cold air.   mausoleums.   wells.   urban exploration.   a dog barking at something you can’t see.   black ooze.   old photographs.   faces you can swear you’ve seen before but can’t for the life of you figure out where.   dark bodies of water.   crucifixes.   priests.   possession.   exorcisms.   dolls.

𝐔𝐑𝐁𝐀𝐍 𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑.         aliens.   blinding  light.   dark woods.   driving at night.   claw-marks.   bite-marks.   men in black.   memory loss.   dismembered bodies.   sewers.   flashlights.   cell phones.   video cameras.   cars with tinted windows.   abandoned houses.   unlabeled cassette tapes.   bugs.   big cities.   urban crimes.   clowns.   something rustling outside your window.   glowing light.   unsolved mysteries.   mirrors.   the american pacific   northwest.   the american midwest.   hiking / backpacking.

𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐒.         daylight.   fluorescent lighting.   morgues.   asylums.   unwavering eye contact.   tension.   lit rooms with no one inside them.   a dog digging in the newly-planted flower bed.   steely gazes.   paperwork.   anagrams.   codes.   convicted killers.   missing persons.   law enforcement.   federal agents.   small towns.   suspicion.   subdued terror.   dimly-lit parking lots.

[portectorisms-a]

@azrpa​ said: ​❝ how’s it feel to get a taste of your own medicine? ❞

THE FIVE SENSES / SENTENCE STARTERS. Status: Accepting.

--

     Blood. It was the only thing he could see. The only thing he could smell. It was everywhere. It soaked into the grass, the dirt, into clothing and soles of shoes. It was coated in hair and upon skin and it shone upon the blades of weapons meant for protection instead of death. Fear grips him violently and it feels as if he can't breath. His lungs close in on themselves. He gasps for air to fill them and he collapses to his knees. The pain shooting through his bones as he lands upon solid ground. Tears burn behind the dams of his lower lids. Bellamy swallows hard, this was never his intention. This was never something that he wanted to have happened. He wanted so desperately to keep his people safe. He wanted them to survive this dark and dangerous world any way they could, but he knew it would always come with a price. It would always end in blood shed, he just... he never wanted to admit such a thing to himself. Never wanted to say the words aloud.

"This wasn't what I wanted. It wasn't suppose to happen."

     Words are choked out in an almost sob but he regains control of himself before he shows that kind of weakness in front of her. Her. His sister. The one person that was meant to be fighting at his side was no longer there, instead, she was on the other side of the battlefield, her own war paint smeared across her features and a part of him didn't recognize her anymore, but the main part would always know who she was. Bellamy could always recognize her soul in the darkness. He draws a shaky breath, pushing himself up off the dirt, straightening his spine as he lets the gun fall to his side by it's strap. He gazes at her, hazelnut hues glassed over with unshed tears and he swallows hard again, trying to speak without breaking.

"I didn't want any of them to die, O. I didn't want to go to war, especially with my own sister! This was not my idea but it's something I'll always have to live with. I have to live with knowing that those people, your people, died because of me and I am sorry it happened."

[klarsynt-arc]

“  i don’t want to sleep alone.  ”

         ᴇxᴘʀᴇssɪᴏɴ ɢʀᴏᴡs sᴏғᴛ  &  ғᴜʟʟ ᴏғ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀsᴛᴀɴᴅɪɴɢ. he knows what it is like for night to come and bring a certain darkness with it, one which seeps into the soul. loneliness is a terrible poison. it took him a long time for its grip on him to slip away after coming to floukru. one can be surrounded by peopel  &  still feel something is missing. he doesn’t wish that sort of hollowness on anyone, least of all her. he owes octavia everything. but it isn’t just a sense of debt which makes him oblige her request. he truly cares for her  &  if he can push back the darkness in her a little, he is happy to do so. 

wordlessly, emil moves to settle beside the azgona. head tilts to slightly rest against the woman’s shoulder, a way to let her feel him there, to remind her she isn’t alone. he cannot pretend to know what burdens her. what he does know, is the sort of pain which can drive someone away from their clan  &  into the arms of another. he found his peace in floukru. perhaps she finds hers in azgeda. he hopes he can bring her a little of it tonight. // @azrpa

[speispy]

@azrpa

roan had sent her on a mission to take care of what was left of the slaves in what was left of the sky people’s farm station,  so they called it.  the azgeda men and women who were in control of it had been less than pleased with the actions that echo had taken in order to complete her mission.  while her face was covered in the typical white warpaint that came with azgeda,  the heavy winters clothes that she wore were even heavier with the bloodstains of those who had fought back against her.  she had little mercy.  perhaps roan telling her why exactly he had chosen to act against southern azgeda like this had not been a good thing.  instead,  it had edged something more personal in it.  something she hated.

“okteivia kom skaikru...”  her eyes fall upon the younger woman and do not display any of the softness that momentarily lingered upon her.  such weakness was unbecoming of her.  echo still held her head high and her back straight.  “you are safe now.”  

[graunblida]

“   i   don’t   want   us   to   be   strangers   again  .   ” for that one au 👀

@azrpa | saige lost the meme oop | perhaps accepting??

“ maybe that’s all we should be. “ the words are low and spoken softly. they converse by candle light, long after the ambassadors have left the throne room.  the subject has been on the commander’s mind for some time, but no matter how she spins their situation, there is no outcome she can foresee that ends well. whenever it has come to matters of the heart, lexa has never been completely sure of herself. 

“ those closest to me often meet…untimely ends. “ she explains to octavia. her mother and father. her sister. anya. kostia. she can’t exactly prove it’s an omen, or that she’s cursed somehow, but there’s enough of a pattern to cause concern. eyes are a cloudy green, sad, vulnerable. “ i can’t won’t risk you. “ she can’t quite discern exactly what she feels for the other warrior, only that it is strong and true. 

[portectorisms-a]

 @azrpa​ liked for a starter !

    He REMEMBERS. The first time he had ever seen snow. The way his BREATH caught in his chest, holding it so long there was PAIN in his lungs. He knelt down, fingers brushing over the COLD form of it. It was not a solid nor was it water but it felt SOFT. Freshly fallen, or so he had heard. Snow had been things he had read about in books. Heard about in OLD movies. With the radiation, he was TOLD he’d never get the chance to experience such a BEAUTIFUL occurrence. Instead, he stands, pressing ONWARD in the cold air towards the castle of AZGEDA, snow crushing softly under WORN boots. It’s his SISTER that’s he’s here to see. He does not CARE for the so called King. He does not CARE for the rising tensions between his people and THEIRS. He cares about a relationship that feels LOST. A relationship that feels BROKEN and he has hopes of mending such a wound. Of taking care and PATCHING up the hole in his heart.

     Pushing his WAY through the castle, he remembers the LAST time he was in this territory. He still REMEMBERS the sound of the explosion. The rush of ADRENALINE that hits him full force. He remembers making the CHOICE to free his people and gain an ENEMY but in truth, he knows he did the RIGHT thing. Fingers move, grazing over the hilt of his gun, mimicking on the other side to touch his blade. He’s come PREPARED for anything but he HOPES in his heart of hearts that it will NOT come to that.

“O, come on. Talk to me.”

    Voice comes as a PLEA. He’s inwardly DESPERATE to hear her say his name in a caring way. To SHOW that she wants him here. He’d do ANYTHING for her but he knows he cannot leave HIS people. He cannot abandon those that LOOK to him for guidance. He cannot ABANDON those that need him in the darkness of their own worlds. Their FRIENDS still rely on him. Still follow him but he does not want to FIGHT his own blood. He does not want to be PITTED against the only person he would BURN the world down for.

“We can fix this. We can make a pact, O.”

[klarsynt-arc]

“  they say time’s supposed to heal you,  but i haven’t done much healing.  ”

          “ sᴏᴍᴇᴛɪᴍᴇs ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏᴜɴᴅs ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ɢᴏ ᴀᴡᴀʏ.  ” 

perhaps it sounds like a pessimistic thing to say, but it’s clear she doesn’t need meaningless platitudes right now. there are some hurts which will never disappear. merely turn into scars which are too easily reopened. how is anyone expected to rely on time to stitch them back together?  time is the one thing no one can be sure how much they’ll have.  “  you just get used to the ache,  ”  voice is quiet, gaze shifting towards octavia to study her a few moments. one has to be willing to let go of what hurt them to stop feeling the pain. she seems like she has too much she is holding on to. but that’s the way of the clans isn’t it? they hold on and let so much simmer beneath the surface, use it as fuel. bitter fuel that leads to short lived souls.  // @azrpa