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@sanktmorozov
hello ! my name is salem . i am 21 + with he / they pronouns . this is an idie rp blog for ILYA MOROZOVA . this blog will contain themes of family , fatherhood , violence , body horror , experimentation , and love as a weapon . as ilya is a rare character , i will not be practicing exclusivity on this blog .
this is a sideblog . follows will come from @korolnichevoya
RULES / ABOUT / VERSES
not to this daughter.
okay i didn't say to which daughter
It's official, Baghra is still the queen of Daddy Issues. @sanktmorozov always gets to her.
idk what you mean i was a perfect father obviously
The dismissal in the older man's tone-- That weariness of disappointment that seems to coat the words spoken by his grandfather in that moment--
Aleksander can hear it, like it's being shouted, like the tone is louder than ever, echoing and screaming in his head more than anything else. There's nothing to drown in out; it stirs the anger within him more, and he hates the doubt that has only stirred because of it.
He'd already told himself (many times) that he didn't care what his mother thought anymore. Told himself such a thing until Aleksander had ultimately convinced himself it had been true, that his mother was far, far too weak to ever amount to anything, to let him be what Grisha needed. She only held him back, tried to tether and restrain him--
β I have no need of such a warning. β It is all Aleksander can do in that moment to keep the words from being too biting, to keep the anger stirring inside of him as silent as possible. He's glad his grandfather is here... mostly. Maybe.
But if he's just going to be as passive as Mother was...
HE CHOOSES not to speak to his grandson's words , his disobedience . he does not expect , entirely , to be treated as an authority figure . the boy hardly knows him after all . he watches aleksander for a few moments longer before turning his attention to the streaking landscape , letting the silence sit between them .
he does not speak again until they find themselves trundling to a stop . the door opens and ilya slides out and waits for aleksander to follow before the door shuts . the sight that meets them is a modest house , small but certainly not a hovel . ilya starts toward it , speaking as he goes .
β you are welcome to stay here as long as you like - until the fire under your name has QUELLED . if you leave now , in the state you're in , you'll only find yourself captive again . i don't know why this new lantsov king hadn't had you killed already , but i wouldn't trust on dubious mercy twice . β
Aleksander doesn't answer right away. The anger still twists, floods through him. But at the same time-- had he spoken the words that are at the forefront of his mind, at the very tip of his tongue--
I don't know.
No. The Darkling will not utter such a thing. Will not admit to this slight... moment of disruption.
Instead, Aleksander shrugs, exhales a breath, turns his dark eyes outwards into the thick blackness of the night outside.
β I'll win. I know it... β
The words, spoken quieter than he might have uttered them before, still hold the power, the absolute firm, unyielding belief in himself that Aleksander still has. He's not about to succumb to doubt and weakness now. Not after centuries--
β There is no other acceptable outcome. β
ILYA SIGHS and settles back into his seat with something t hat would almost resemble defeat if it weren't for the dense air of disappointment , or maybe DISDAIN , coming from him .
β very well . but when it gets you and , likely , more of our people killed , you will remember my words of warning . β
β And who is that supposed to be? β
The words leave before Aleksander even weighs them, considers them; they're an emotional, angered response to his grandfather's comments.
Admit defeat... Admit defeat...
Fingers curl into fists as Aleksander takes a steadying breath. He hasn't lost his temper in any way (at least, outside of dealing with his mother) in-- ages.
Must be a family trait, he thinks sourly, Aleksander's dark gaze turning back from the man. He settles into the silence for a bit, as Aleksander always did when his temper would slip free, when he'd need to weigh the next response carefully.
β It is a setback. That is all it is. β
That is all I will let it be.
THE BOY has no lack of conviction , that's for certain , though ilya would call it closer to foolish stubbornness .
ilya picks absently at a bit of lint at the knee of his coat . β and how long do you anticipate this SETBACK lasting ? β
yea yea he's a piece of shit whatever but also---- gilf
It takes more effort (perhaps) than he wishes to outwardly admit right in that moment, for Aleksander to keep that anger, those twisting, writhing frustrations suppressed. Under control. His own hard, dark gaze turns to his grandfather, remaining on the older gentleman.
β Not immediately... β Aleksander knows that much. As impatient as a great part of him might be, as tired as he is, fighting what feels like the same battles each and every day, he can't just--walk away. Give up.
He refuses to admit failure.
β But I have no intention of just fading away quietly, no. What could make you think that? β
HIS JAW tightens almost imperceptibly , even as his eyes stay cold and a little distant .
β because you have spent the better part of hundreds of years teasing out your plan and it has gotten you here . and the grisha you were so adamant to protect are no better off than they were before . certainly , at a certain point, one must admit defeat and leave the fight to one more equipped , no ? β
the words are cool , perhaps even CRUEL . but , then , ilya has never been known to be particularly kind .
it's in the queue, but - @unbeleveable your dad is being a dick to your son again ( @starlsssankt )
Dark gaze leaves the window to focus on his grandfather's form, Aleksander's fingers curling even tighter. He doesn't realize he's doing so, either. That anger bubbles, twists his insides, the same craving need to just lash it out. To unleash it against everything, with not a single care of control.
But he exhales, slowly. Steadily. Cools and steadies the growing storm inside as Aleksander focuses...
β I didn't destroy it all quick enough. Took too long, put too much belief in others. Like I said, a mistake. A miscalculation. Something that won't happen again. β
THERE IS a skeptical arch of ilya's brow . given his sharp gray gaze and his impeccable posture , it gives the distinct air of imposing .
β you say that like you intend to try again . β
Fingers curl against his palm, twitch. Anger courses through him, but Aleksander has worn so many masks in his lives, buried so much of that anger under one stoic expression after another, that it isn't (too) difficult to do so once more.
Even if the Darkling scoffs, that brief show of emotion escaping before he can reign it back, bury it.
β Pity for you, β he mutters, and while he might have never been overly fond of Kerch himself, if Aleksander felt like being perfectly honest, he also is well aware how he would have preferred the dirty streets there over being stuck and trapped where he'd been.
Not that he has any intention of admitting such a thing aloud.
Ever.
Dark gaze turns towards the window, and even if Aleksander can see little beyond it, the thick night so black and dark it's impenetrable, it gives him a moment of... not peace. Not calm. Not really, not like he's seeking.
But it does keep him from lashing out, from giving that bubbling, burning rage the outlet it so desperately seems to crave in that particular moment.
β One has to destroy the old, broken system to remake that which will work. You cannot fix what is so completely shattered, it cannot be mended. It must be utterly destroyed, built back up from nothing. β He shrugs. β The fact the otkazat'sya were just so eager to start down this path once more... They would have found whatever excuse they could have concocted. β
β OH , SASHA β he says , managing to sound tired , irritated , and disappointed all at once . β well , you have failed , β he says flatly . β and there is another lantsov where there has always been a lantsov , a war where there has always been a war , and grisha are in danger once again . are you proud of your work , VNUK ? β
like for a starter !
Aleksander merely stares right back at his grandfather--a man he could've sworn was dead and gone, even if he'd sought answers for lifetimes. He almost rolls his eyes like a petulant child at the question, but doesn't grace it with an actual answer.
There are so many things he needs to know. Wants to find out. It's almost impossible to know what to speak about first, and even if Aleksander could figure out what he wanted to say first, he doubted, somehow, his grandfather would answer directly.
But he shrugs a shoulder, his gaze turning outside the window as he says, β I've had a few miscalculations, perhaps, but... That still does not explain your presence now. β Eyes narrow, like the Darkling wants to keep pushing, keep demanding why did you wait so long, but what good would it do?
He doubts the other man would be forthcoming.
HE CAN feel aleksander's glare , but he doesn't validate it by acknowledging it .
β your miscalculations , as you call them , are causing mayhem . riots and witch hunts . it's made it particularly difficult to lie low anywhere in ravka . i've had to spend the better part of the last few months in KERCH , β he remarks with disdain .
β the ride is long . tell me , sasha , what exactly is your plan . β
ANDREAS PIETSCHMANN asΒ Eyk LarsenΒ in 1899 1.01
Actually obsessed with how these scars were done
spotify wrapped has arrived
send me a number from 1-100 for a starter based on that song, or a lyric from it
