“big god” by florence & the machine is an alinej song
1 note
·
View note
dsrkling:
𝐡𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐝 𝐮𝐩 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡 , 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞 hovering amidst ominous energy to weight the air between the two . still , shadows of interest would take place aback the black general’s stare as his attention was clear upon every aspect of her presence ― and no one else’s . for all clear wrath to hold her stance as if hostage of such strength , there was more of what made inej ghafa that could ever meet the eye : and the darkling was old enough to identify its presence within layers of animosity .
features were then painted in cool hues , hands crossed behind his back ― and the suggestion of a half - smile hanging to veil wariness as head was slightly cocked to one side .
❝ i’ve met a lot of people touched by rage in my lifetime … yet never someone like you . ❞ honesty danced amidst the darkling’s words , still in vain to truly change the thread of steel behind his voice . ❝ but you’re gonna need more than wrath to have power here , inej ghafa . ❞
@wraethe ⋙sc.
wraiths are an endangered species. HERE IS WHY: because they are always throwing themselves headlong into trouble. because this slip of a girl from the barrel had thought that the shadows would protect her even in the domain of their master, and now here she is. spotted. seen. it is a horrible thing being seen -- she’s barely gotten used to it with kaz and jesper, the people she chooses, and this is different: this is being stripped open and flayed raw, cut into like a squirming fish, this is perfumed agony at the menagerie, this is nothing like being known by the people she loves enough to let her guard down around.
he knows her name. another bad sign. kaz would have to have a whole deck of aces up his sleeve to get them out of this one, because if the darkling knew of her, then he surely knew what she and her team were here to do. kidnap a saint. a real saint, too, not the fake that she’d been promised. “i have more than my rage,” she answers eventually, voice low. a cornered animal, defiant in its refusal to show fear. she wants to touch the sankta lizabeta token around her neck: an emblem of all she has -- her parents, her faith, her hope for a better world. but she doesn’t. that is a weakness for inej ghafa, not the wraith.
she lifts her chin high. “what do you have, general? without the sankta. what is left but darkness?”
and a voice -- the cynical sort that she’ll blame desperately on the company she keeps -- suggests: perhaps that’s why he’s so determined to keep her walled up here.
2 notes
·
View notes
interest tracker...
0 notes
this is so funny to me
0 notes
I think I like that hand with a dagger in it.
611 notes
·
View notes
small / tall starters
requested by anon. Feel free to change pronouns or anything else !
small
“Get down here!”
“Wow…I’d want to climb that tree, if you know what I mean.” / “Do birds ever sit on you and get confused?” / “Hey, Groot.”
“I’m not short. I’m fun-size.”
“Good, adorable, wonderful things come in small packages.”
“I don’t appreciate your height.”
“I CAN REACH FOR IT MYSELF.”
“I’m not short, you just have the height of a Transformer.”
“I KNOW you can see me.”
“Fear me!!!”
“Uh…you’re blocking me.”
“Can you lift me for a second?”
“Slow down! I have short legs.”
“I have a super power. It’s called, my head never hits the ceiling.”
“Have you seen him/her/them? He’s/she’s/they’re like a mountain.”
“I always win at hide and seek.”
“I’ve always looked up to you…literally. Actually, can you sit down?”
“Heels make me feel powerful.”
“Do tall people have…big..hands..?”
“I might be short, but my ego is huge.” / “I might be short, but I will drag you down to my level.”
“I can’t reach your face, but I can kick your junk.”
“You don’t know the struggle when all shirts/dresses/pants are too long on you.”
tall
“I’m afraid of you because short people are closer to hell.”
“”How is it ironic that I’m afraid of heights?”
“Does my height offend you?”
“Let me reach that for you.”
“You can’t slap me if you can’t even reach my face.”
“I’m not tall, you’re just the size of an Oompa Loompa.”
“Huh? Who said that? I can’t see anyone.”
“It’s impossible to hide from you.”
“No, I don’t play basketball.”
“I’m not slowing down because you’re short.”
“You’re like a cute little fairy.” / “You’re like a small, terrifying gremlin.”
“My legs are long and sexy.”
“I’m not looking down on you. Except literally.”
“Aw, you look like a kid. How cute.”
“Being small makes you optimal for carrying.”
“You know what comes in small packages? Grenades.”
“All the cool presents come in big boxes. Like bouncy castles.”
“Why are you standing on the counter?”
“I may be tall, but my temper is short.” / “I may be tall, but my feelings are small. And fragile.”
“You don’t know the struggle when all pants/skirts/dresses are too short on you.”
“Let me block the sun for you.”
“Hey, short stack.” / “What’s up, shorty?”
11K notes
·
View notes
treppenwitzz
it is unnerving, to be looked at ; most people do not. their gazes barely graze his body before searching for an exit, anything else to hold their attention. sometimes it is the cane that disturbs, sometimes it is the steel cold hard eyes, sometimes it is the tight line of a smile. kaz brekker’s appearance is a well-orchestrated performance that demands efforts ; but he has found that it is easier to keep his own expressions on a tight leash rather than divulge them to the world, because the world will always use it against him — ketterdam, the barrel, hell, even the crow club. none of them are forgiving places, and every man in these streets is awaiting, sharp razor in hand, for the moment they will managed to rid the bastard of its throne.
« i don’t. » sharp statement, a clean cut through the air between them, his voice like stone against stone. his eyes lift from the papers to look at the girl he took under his wing. another crow, a bet he made hastily. he wondered, at first, if he would regret this choice. he wondered, at first, if he made a mistake — and that, in itself, was a strange feeling, since kaz brekker is not known to ponder on eventual failure. however, inej proved her worth — keeps proving it, every day, sneaking in and out of places and leaving crumbs of information for him to follow, for him to use. « but paintings are worth a lot of kruge, and that, i like. » this time the shadow of playfulness engulfs them, just the two of them. it is not easy to offer a smile so he does not. but it is easy to pretend that one could be there, just out of reach, at the corner of his lips.
« the starry night of sankta margaretha. have you heard of it ? » patron saint of thieves & lost children, depicted as a floating woman illuminated by lantherns, the shadows of believers standing on the edges of the canal as she drowns. the most interesting part of it, though, is the supposedly defeated demon, still lying underwater, his eyes glittering like two bright jewels. a painting he wishes to acquire for more than money : they need the original if they want to forge another. and another. a new scheme, a new plan, a new way to get richer. but for all of that to happen, he needs the wraith to get the painting for him.
it’s barely the hint of a smile on his unforgiving marble countenance and yet it feels like an opening -- something to sling a grappling hook into and pull herself higher. she looks dutifully at the map, thin-penciled lines marking a language of strategy, one she’s beginning to learn. but maybe she’ll never be as good as planning and deceit as the boy who stands beside her, and inej finds that thought as relieving as it is disappointing.
of course kaz doesn’t like art, she thinks. that’s a luxury for outside of the barrel. certainly not for dirtyhands. she hadn’t understood the nickname at first, or the whispers about kaz’s gloves. she certainly doesn’t believe that he has the hands of a demon under there like she’d heard the whispers saying, gnarled and taloned and able to conjure hellfire. but kaz hardly seems affected by the rumors -- seems to encourage them, even. another way to spread his reputation as the bastard of the barrel, despised and mistrusted by everyone he encounters.
except for her. because inej is foolish and naive, and she knows that, but she’ll never be able to see kaz as a demon or an enemy, just a man pretending to be both, walking so sharply and speaking so cruelly because it’s all armor to protect himself with. inej understands that well enough. to her, he’ll always be, first and foremost, the boy who rescued her from the menagerie, and if that makes her a fool, then she’ll take the label.
“i’ve heard of it,” she replies thoughtfully. “i’ve never seen it, though. people used to say it was so moving that it would make even non-believers weep.” now she glances again at kaz, a slight tilt of lips into a smirk, her thoughts evident on her face even before she speaks: “you hardly seem the weeping type, so you should be safe.”
and then, because curiosity has always been an attractive sin: “you’re just going to sell it?”
7 notes
·
View notes
she’s distracted enough that it almost surprises her. it’s become almost a tradition, that after her report she’ll sit on kaz’s windowsill while he does work, feeding the birds on good days. but he very rarely talks, or even acknowledges that she’s there. so the low rasp of his voice, sounding of the dragging of ashes of a long-dead fire, causes her to look up sharply.
she is more girl than wraith today: hair unbound from its tight coils, solid and present in the atmosphere, with no need to cover her face or slip like a shadow from building to building. the stone of the wide windowsill is solid underneath her, and the dying sun paints her face. all of this she takes in as she considers his question.
this is the tug of war between them: kaz asking WHERE WOULD YOU GO, inej replying, HOW CAN YOU STAY?
“i’ll try to find my family,” she replies first. it’s almost a script at this point, one inej has played out in her head many times. “i don’t know if they were killed the night i was taken. but i’ll start in ravka, and see what i can find. and then -- travel, perhaps. the sea.” she can see it now, little idealist that she is: embracing her parents again as if she is the same little girl that she’d been, as if she doesn’t have any blood on her hands or count her saint-knives before she goes to sleep. and then the sea-salt-wind in her hair at the prow of a ship: her ship, no longer chained in the hold, but breathing in the vicious air.
she emerges from where she’d gotten lost in thought, turns considering eyes to him. “are you really planning to live your whole life and die in ketterdam, kaz? will that satisfy you?”
@crowsking said : “you talk about leaving the barrel, but where will you go?”
0 notes
“In the eerie, muffled silence of the water, he heard his mother’s voice, vicious like a whip crack. She was always more of him, demanding it, and now she told him to fight. She spoke his true name, the one she only used when they trained, the name tattooed on his heart. A heart that had not stopped beating. A heart that still had life.”
ind. private & selective aleksander morozova / the darkling. netflix : shadow and bone based with book influence. explored by isaac.
41 notes
·
View notes
I'm still processing how fucking funny it was to watch the Crows run around during the events of Shadow and Bone. Like on the one hand they accomplished pretty much NOTHING they set out to accomplish and every single one of their plans went horribly awry, but on the other hand??? They snuck into the little palace? Inej killed TWO Inferni? They carjacked the Darkling? Jesper went up against a heartrender who had on a bullet-proof kefta with a gun and won? The Darkling tried to use the cut on Kaz and he got out of it with what was basically a magic trick? They snuck onto the skiff? Inej STABBED the Darkling? Kaz fought off a fricking Volcra with his CANE? Accomplishing nothing but with STUNNING proficiency. And at the end Alina's just like "gotta appreciate the effort, fam. Have these priceless jewels and go back to being crime lords in Ketterdam, please."
30K notes
·
View notes
𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃'𝚂 ㅤㅤ𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 ㅤㅤ𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁ㅤㅤ 𝙰𝚁𝙲ㅤㅤ? redemption arc.
your story had a pretty rough start and you did some things you're not proud of, but you made the choice to change. i won't go through how important it is to accept responsibility and keep striving to improve or whatever because you know that already. what i think you should know is that your fuel does not need to be shame. you don’t need to stand over the bathroom sink with your blood in your hands until you can no longer make out your reflection. you will look at your face and you will see the person you used to be, but that person no longer exists. today, you are looking, and that makes all the difference.
𝚃𝙰𝙶𝙶𝙴𝙳 ㅤㅤ𝙱𝚈 ㅤㅤ :ㅤㅤ @multiplices
𝚃𝙰𝙶𝙶𝙸𝙽𝙶 ㅤㅤ:ㅤㅤ @solzyvatel, @treppenwitzz (for kaz), @razrusya, @merchlings, @delinqent
5 notes
·
View notes
he’d told her they would fight their way out. knives drawn, pistols blazing. because that’s what we do. she would fight for him, but she could not heal him. she would not waste her life trying.
505 notes
·
View notes
“you speak of yourself, i presume?” careful little spider, barely a shadow in the night. but then, shadows would not be as reliable in protecting inej here as she faces a man who might as well be made of them, if any of the old folk legends about the darkling are to be believed.
“it’s funny,” and what’s almost a smile crosses the face of the wraith. is it a farce -- just buying time? or is this unencumbered musing from the jackal-eyed girl genuine? “i haven’t known alina starkov for very long, but she seems to be TROUBLE as well. the difference, i suppose, is that she has earned her title without creating monsters.”
weight shifts on light-soled feet, ready to run -- is it possible to outrun the darkness itself? inej doesn’t know -- isn’t eager to find out -- but she is proud and stubborn in the eye of any storm.
“i don’t know where she is, if that’s what you’re going to ask.” her tone is wry -- powerful men never seem to ask. they only demand, and hurt in the process. at least now inej is capable of hurting back, spider-venomed-girl with her jackal teeth.
@aleksling said : ❛ you do have a way of finding trouble. ❜
2 notes
·
View notes
treppenwitzz & @solzyvatel
he has heard whispers — of priceless items. things that can be neither sold nor bought. to those whispers, he has never given much credit : if not as a business man, then as a thief. everything you touch can be found worthy, even if you have to forge that value yourself. and still, here he is, with a girl that his wraith has deemed priceless— so valuable she is worth losing everything. [ and perhaps … perhaps the wraith simply does not care. it is his club, after all, that is on the gambling table, ready to be lost to another pair of greedy hands. ] inej found her saint & a sense of freedom all in a single night : what else could she crave ?
he is a magician with no more tricks up his sleeve, and it is making him restless. so he has been up all night, hawk eyes observing plans that lead to nowhere, searching for the opening he knows will give them what he desires — and it is only in the early morning, his leg aching more than yesterday for reasons unknown, �� that he makes his way toward inej’s quarters. [ had he slept, then maybe his body would be more forgiving — but sleep is lost time, and this counterfeit of a saint robbed him of this luxury ]
he does not bother with knocking : it is the crow of his cane that falls harshly on the door, once, twice, thrice, the precise rhythm of a clock or the beating of a heart. then, gloved fingers simply push open the pan of wood, barely sparing a look to the undignified “ sankta ” sprawled on inej’s bed, before finding the wraith’s silhouette. to her, he offers a nod. he does not bother with any other form of greeting. « should you not both be ready for work ? » he demands, and it does not take much to understand that the jab is thrown at the only one of them that is neither properly clothed nor standing. « i have not wasted one milion kruge for you to sloth around. » and then, as if she did not exist at all — girl completely ignored, he addresses inej, voice slightly less harsh but no less unforgiving. « i will require your services today. »
alina’s voice is a welcome babble in the usually silent quarters of the wraith, but before inej can answer any of her questions, there is dirtyhands himself -- dramatic as always. inej inclines her head in return. “kaz.”
there is a lightness in her tone, as if it too sprints across rooftops and leaps without stopping. she tries to contain it, but it seeps out around the edges. is it at seeing him? at the memory of his words, back in ravka (i need you)? or is it for alina, girl and doll and saint carved in gold, sprawled messily in her bed like a sleepy-eyed fawn? she’s not sure -- all she can hope is that kaz doesn’t notice the change in her tone, baring her further to his all-too-clever gaze.
inej moves to the closet in small steps; she is already dressed except for the coat she now slips into, and her slim hands reflexively and silently count the knives strapped to her chest and belt by name, beginning with kaz’s gift, sankt petyr, and ending with sankta alina. she tosses a robe onto the bed, in case alina wishes to cover herself, and she looks up to meet kaz’s eyes again -- they are flat and unreadable as painted stones. “of course.”
to alina then, softer: “will you manage without me for the day?”
there’s more that she isn’t asking; do you trust the dregs to keep you safe? do you feel safe -- well, and she amends as she thinks of what kaz would say -- as safe as any saint is in a den of thieves. she’s sure alina doesn’t want to be patronized anymore, and who can blame her after the way she’d been dressed up and paraded around the little palace as a political tool?. inej’s brow creases slightly in concern at her own words ( and it isn’t the concern of one who’s angered a saint, this time, but something softer, friendlier. more human. ) “i only meant -- i can have jesper keep you company. if you’d rather not be alone.”
5 notes
·
View notes