#molnitsa

[svyatoiy-arch]

❛     is this seat taken ?     ❜         ALINA DOESN’T BOTHER WAITING FOR A RESPONSE.    she’s the commander of the second army now,   she can sit wherever she’d like.      yet that knowledge does nothing to calm the racing of her heart,   old anxieties rising to the surface.      she used to think zoya hated her,   just as she used to think she hated zoya in return.      it isn’t all so black  &  white anymore.      in another life,   they might have been friends.      perhaps this could be that other life.

𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙲𝙰𝙻𝙻:   𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯.            [  @molnitsa​  ]

[ghafaith-a]

@molnitsa:  zoya and inej.

send me 🗣️ for incorrect quotes of your muse and mine.

[agamemnidesarch]

REMIND  ME  MUSE  OF  A  HOUSE  ON  THE  WATER;  of  the  soft  song  of  the  wine-dark  ocean,  the  lullaby  of  amphitrite  calling  and  mellowing  with  each  lap  of  the  waves.  what  is  left  of  that  house  now,  much-enduring  elektra,  what  happened  to  that  soft  little  girl  playing  in  the  water,  chasing  her  brother  down  long  hallways,  falling  into  a  fathers  lap?  her  blood  was  in  that  house,  the  sea  within  her  veins,  as  much  part  of  her  as  feathers  to  a  swallow,  antlers  to  a  stag.  nothing’s  left  of  it  now,  nothing  but  the  water  still  coursing  through  her  veins.  a  coldness  settles  over  elektra  at  the  other’s  words,  memory  once  again  making  prisoner  of  her  thoughts,  grief  playing  at  the  edge  of  heart  strings.  there  is  a  juxtaposition  within  her  at  the  line,  words  both  so  familiar  and  yet  so  distant.  you  belonged  somewhere  once,  noble  elektra,  but  that  is  little  more  than  a  pain-filled  memory.  “  i’d  like  to  think  never  belonging  is  somewhat  better  than  having  belonging  stolen  from  you.  to  never  return  to  the  place  you  truly  belonged,  to  have  it  tainted  and  destroyed  beyond  belief          ---------          that  is  worse.  ”  fingers  play  with  the  edge  of  a  kefta,  a  futile  distraction  in  keeping  memories  at  bay.  as  eyes  raised  to  meet  the  others  a  different  memory  stole  its  way  into  her  mind  and  the  daughter  of  agamemnon  offered  a  half  smile  to  the  woman  before  her,   “   to  me  at  least  you  always  seemed  to  belong  to  the  little  palace,  you  were  part  of  the  very  life  blood  here.  ”  and  it  almost  helped  me  create  a  new  belonging.  words  left  unspoken,  but  there  is  a  certain  earnestness  to  her  gaze,  a  rare  level  of  vulnerability  and  the  daughter  of  agamemnon  cannot  help  but  hope  the  other  understands  the  words  unspoken.

@molnitsa​  sent  :   ❛ i never really belonged anywhere ❜  

[slvrbnd]

❛❛   zoya   nazyalenski   .   ❜❜   an   annoyance   layered   on   their   tone   ,   thinly   veiled   ,   plain   on   their   face   .   rare   enough   ,   the   entitiy’s   demeanor   normally   bordering   on   cheerful   when   collecting   someone   .   though   they   had   not   come   to   take   this   one   ,   YET   .   (   not   when   she   seemed   too   stubborn   to   decease   PERMANENTLY   .   )   ❛❛   i   am   afraid   you   &   i   must   talk   .   ❜❜          /          @molnitsa​          /          sc     -     accepting

[drklng]

his   laugh   was   husky,   hollow   when   he   made   little   effort   to   fill   it   with   it’s   usual   (   &   often   pretended   when   facing   the   king   )   joy.   on   some   days,   he   tired   of   the   game.   &   then,   the   general’s   privacy   was   respected.   (   the    darkling   so   despised   the   vulnerability   kvas   opened.   but   despite   common   image,   often   he   was  just   a   man.   )   ❛❛   not   what   you   expected,   i   am   sure.   ❜❜   he   was   not   slurring   his   words   -   YET   -   but   was   oh   so   far   from   presentable.   hair   ruffled,   kefta   replaced   by   a   simple   thin   shirt   a   servant   could   have   worn   if   it   were   not   for   the   black   color.   ❛❛   if   the   oprichniki   allowed   you   in   your   matter   must   be   important.   ❜❜     /     @molnitsa​     liked     for     drunk     !     aleksander     /     accepting     !

[korezni-a]

@molnitsa​ sent in an  ‘ 💬 ’ and gets a starter !

they are on their own      ,       two ships in an empty ocean    /  the sky and the sea      ,     and for all he would be pressured to say otherwise he likes it this way .    to be in the sacred space they carve out for them in the busy schedules of their lives      ,     in the dangers of this world they find some solace with each other .    zoya has been nothing but merciless in her help in getting him on par with his powers      ,      neglected for years and now finally able to breathe freely     ,     and even in the demanding time of these training sessions he finds himself more content than anywhere else .    happier .  it is what makes him say it     ,     after another afternoon at the lake     ,    both of them side by side    -    matching blue .     “    "could you be happy here with me ?   "

[sharpshoots]

@molnitsa​ sent 💬 for a random dialogue starter !!

          jesper isn’t used to the kind of regimented structure that surrounds everything at the little palace.     learning to use his power proper helps curb some of his tendencies  -  but he is still who he is.  even so, he doesn’t exactly love being raked over the coals for something he doesn’t feel he’s   responsible   for.   ❛   you've only heard his point of view. you never asked   mine.   ❜

[cognoscente]

❝  let me help with that.  ❞ some pre-tgt content for aleks mayhaps

CARING SENTENCE STARTERS   

@molnitsa // accepting!!

          His features were twisted; a frown lingering in his once impeccably smooth forehead, the elegant exotic lines of his eyes tightening as he endured the ache in his limbs, his head. Aleksander had never been the type of man who stood by the sidelines, commanding under the safety of his linen tent and expecting someone else to fight his battles. He was a leader who possessed a spot at the first line with fierce pride, a patriotism that was engraved in the very surface of his bones. He had fought endless wars for Ravka and for his Grisha, some won and some lost. Yet he was a firm believer of his ideals, of this world he meant to build a new ( a dream that was born into a boy’s heart and took shape and form with a man’s hands ). And he was willing to take every single step himself to achieve that goal, an admirable passion that inspired blind faith to those who were associated with him.            ALAS! No man ( not even grisha ) could possibly withstand the terror new technology created with those weapons of mass destruction. He had not been fast enough when the grenade was thrown towards him ( his wise ageless eyes had not foreseen this for once). Aleksander had raised his hands, tentacles made of shadows emitting from his gloved fingers eager to consume the explosive and remove it from his front line. There were children in his ranks, thought he, children who thought themselves men and women but they were his burden… HIS TO PROTECT. Ruthless darkness was wrapped around the grenade as it exploded, however, had it not been for a sudden gust of wind pushing the growing flames to the air, the blast could have claimed many lives. Perhaps his as well.             Aleksander tumbled several feet back to the ground, the impact of the explosive leaving his every bone trembling and his ears buzzing. Unexpected tender fingers were against his cheeks a few moments later and he needed not to open his eyes to know their owner. Her power was evergrowing, an immense insatiable HUNGER nestling insider her and laying claim to the divinity which stained his very flesh, urging his own gift to call out to her own, embrace her. The sensation of two amplifiers uniting on her grasp must have been shocking and intoxicating at the same time. Yet she was not discouraged. Her voice barely reached his ears in calming ways as she aided him back to her feet and a wince commanded his features to crumble, a glimpse of his mortality.      “     Zoya… I trained you too well.     ”   A short praise escaped his lips but the sound never rang his ears ( which were now tainted with thin lines of blood).     “    We retreat. See to the children. I do not want casualties.  ”