#livingprophecy >> 001

[chooserofslain]

𝗔𝗥𝗠𝗦, 𝗖𝗢𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗘𝗗 𝗜𝗡 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗩𝗬, 𝗗𝗔𝗠𝗣 𝗪𝗢𝗢𝗟 — came to cross over her chest as one booted foot pressed itself against the ramp of the ship. Fingers, encased in leather gloves, itched to rip through the metal hull and explore all that made the craft what it was. She MISSED the smell of motor oil and the electric snap of wires against her skin, the life like purr of a well tuned engine. But that life --- selling scrap as well as lives to maintain her own -- was gone, her own ship along with it, discarded in a heap on Sakaar, the remnants of Warsong turned to dust.

It was GRIEF, turned to a searing annoyance - that brought the toe of the Valkyrie’s boot to collide with the yellowed metal - one kick, followed by another. The dent, although regrettable was ... satisfying in a way. Her foot was reeling back for third collision when she heard footsteps --- shouting. 

“ You’ve parked on a field that is a YEARS worth of wheat, ” her tone was flat as the so called ‘ Starlord ’ appeared, the warrior bending down to pull open the bent metal to reveal a frayed, sizzling wire and the reek of gas. “ And ---- you’ve got a fuel leak. ���

: ·ﾟ✧ ⚔ s.c. / peter quill / @livingprophecy​

[beblade-a]

NIKOLAI   *  livingprophecy​:

          𝐇𝐄  𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐒  𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘  were  back  on  the  deck  of  the  volkvolny,  where  he  felt  lighter,  like  this  crushing  weight  of  ravka  and  war  wasn’t  present.  mal  had  looked  lighter  too,  despite  it  all.  he  found  it  hard  to  ignore  that.  it  was  harder  still  to  admit  that  they’d  been  closer  when  nikolai  was  pretending  to  be  someone  else,  not  royalty  but  a  man  like  him.      (as  if  he’d  ever  let  anyone  see  his  true  self  regardless;      he’s  not  sure  who  that  true  self  is).      now  he’s  not  sure  if  he  can  even  salvage  what  little  had  been  built,  especially  since  he  was  the  one  to  have  broken  it.  the  prince  lets  out  a  ragged  sigh,  running  a  hand  through  his  hair  then,  mirroring  mal  only  moments  before.      “for  saints  sake,  mal.”      it’s  so  far  from  anger:      he’s  trying  so  hard  not  to  feel  defeated,  but  it  gets  harder  with  every  moment.      “i’m  not  here  to  FIX  you.  you’re  not  some  project,  you’re  —  ”      he  hesitates,  nearly  choking  on  the  amount  he  feels.      “you’re  worth  MORE  THAN  THAT.”      and  mal  may  see  himself  as  broken,  shattered,  worthless,  but  that’s  never  what  nikolai  has  seen.  so  he  desperately  tries  to  make  the  other  realize  that  he  understands,  so  much  more  than  he  could  ever  put  to  words.      “i  know.”      i  do  too.  he  won’t  say  it,  knowing  it  would  be  far  from  helpful,  but  saints,  does  he  know.

          𝐌𝐀𝐋’𝐒  𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍  𝐈𝐒  a  thread  of  hope  —  something  he  can  cling  to,  tug  on,  and  it’s  stronger  than  anything  he’s  felt  so  far.  he  allows  himself  to  roll  his  eyes,  the  ghost  of  a  smile  across  his  lips.      “you  act  like  i  don’t  have  the  same  training  as  you.  i’d  think  i  have  more,  considering  i  had  to  learn  to  spar  against  tolya.”      nikolai  hates  the  part  of  his  brain  that’s  screaming  it’s  all  an  EXCUSE;      he  knows  it  is,  knows  this  is  A  PITIFUL  ATTEMPT  to  be  closer  to  mal,  to  go  back  to  the  fire  he’d  felt  when  he’d  fought  against  him  on  the  ship,  sparks  everywhere  they  touched.  instead,  he’ll  dig  the  hole  deeper,  knowing  the  other  could  easily  hate  him  for  pushing  too  far.      “i  don’t  believe  you.”      the  tracker  may  think  he’s  hiding  this  so  well,  but  the  prince  has  let  his  own  mask  slip  enough  times  to  know  better.      “i’m  not  going  to  beg.  but  i  can  only  hope  you  find  the  part  of  you  that  believes  i  might  actually  care  about  your  wellbeing.”      his  mind  keeps  spinning,  and  he  starts  to  feel  dizzy  as  he  continues,  unable  to  hold  his  tongue.      “i  know  what  it’s  like.  the  dark,  empty  room.  the  things  burned  on  the  back  of  your  eyelids.”      if  mal  won’t  admit  it,  he  will.      “YOU  DON’T  HAVE  TO  BE  ALONE.”

recalling a time before is difficult,   ache and indecision taint every good thought in mal’s mind.   doubt is far easier to stomach than the smallest glimmer of hope.   and he wants to hope,  he does,  but  WHAT IS THERE LEFT TO HOPE FOR?   everything he has lost feels permanently burned into his mind,  choking him even in the rare seconds of peace that this life has afforded him.     (   the peace is worse,  silence threatens to crack open his skull with the grief he has suffered.   EASIEST OF ALL TO STOMACH IS PHYSICAL PAIN,  the ache ebbing underneath his skin and bruised ribs that at least manage to quiet everything else to a dull murmur.   )     there is hardly any good left for mal to reach for,  and hope shrinks,   making it more difficult to reach for the helping hand now offered.     “ am i?   worth more than that? ”     he means for the words to leave him cold,  bitter,  though they fall out with a soft form of doubt.   he doesn’t know what rests in his own gaze when he speaks,  but fear of showing too much forces him to tear his eyes away from nikolai,   sharp breath roughly pushed out.     “ you come out of this a hero,  or   —  if you get your way —  a king.   alina is always going to be the people’s saint.  you get everything,  so why are you worried about what comes for me? ”     mal knows what happens to him shouldn’t matter.   he’s accepted it,  but knowing that nikolai still wants something else for him is difficult to swallow.   it would be easy enough to let him drown,  THE FALL WOULDN’T FEEL THIS UNSTEADY.    “ make this easy for me,  nikolai. ”     mal isn't sure what he's asking for.  clarity would be hoping for too much,  and peace has never been an option.

there is something very wrong with mal,  that the barest hint of a smile on the other’s lips can make him forget how to breathe for a fraction of a second.   his gaze softens involuntarily,  brows raising in the moment of confusion and unknowing.     “ i’m not doubting your skill.  i’ve seen it firsthand.  what i’m doubting is your motive. ”     there’s no logical reason why nikolai would offer such a thing.   nikolai has better things to do,  nobles to sway and commoners to charm with his easy demeanor.   MAL SHOULDN’T STEAL HIS PRECIOUS TIME,  but something prevents him from plainly saying no.   maybe it’s that this damned prince is the first to point out what mal needs to hear,  or perhaps it’s just that mal wants to believe that  SOMEONE THAT ISN’T ALINA CARES ABOUT WHAT COMES AFTER FOR HIM.   that doesn’t make any of this easier to bare,  and he can only swallow when nikolai refuses to take his false assurances.     “ fine.  maybe i’m not okay. ”     by some miracle,  the words come out steady,   not like the whirlwind that feels as if it’s living permanently in his chest.     “ maybe this war has already taken more from me than i was ever ready to lose,  and i can’t see a happy ending when i’ve already had to lose some of the only people i have ever— ”     he hates that the words catch in his throat,  that even now that they’re gone mal can’t bring himself to voice the truth.   MIKHAEL AND DUBROV WERE HIS BROTHERS,  they deserved better.   they deserved to live.   mal hates the day that he met them and he hates every moment after that for sealing their fate,  and he hates that nikolai’s words ring just as true to him.   NOBODY SHOULD EVER KNOW ANOTHER’S GRIEF THIS WELL.     “ then you know it isn’t easy.  or is there a better way to deal with this grief?   you say you know,  then tell me.  truly,  nikolai,  how do you survive? ”     the question comes out half a plea,  desperation clawing at mal for some sort of answer.   being alone means nothing,  because mal fears that being alone would be easier.   he cannot stand the thought of having more to lose.