#sironit

[by-adelina]

It has been (nearly) a year, a year where my words, my wordings and my work has been taken — I believed without intention, initially, but the more time has passed the more I believe it is with intention.. rather than without.

To the attention of Nocturne and/or Jael..

[bezvezdnyie]

the war room was stilled to silence at the behest of night. the little palace was silent. ravka was silent. everything was silent. it was en eve of purple's deepest hue, these secret shades of black melting over the horizon of the nation. everything was asleep. it was a pleasant hush that had settled like a laden quilt over the valleys, for once full of hope and not mourning. the news had flown across the country in the span of a day, in the beaks of birds, between the teeth of wolves, and in the mouths of the people; the sun summoner had been found!

the candle wicks had long since begun succumbing to their death, falling into their golden beds, leaving half of the map splayed over the table in the shadows; seated, aleksandr looked over the inky expanse of land, fingers cascading through the thick dark of his hair, pushing stray strands out of his features, willing the satisfaction of the day to subside. talya occupied the other end, her figure leaning against the table. she always lurked around his study, and he always let her, and he did not look to her now, for he did not have to; what they shared was vehement and venereal, and it was theirs, their own wild laws. her statement, then, had him lazily canting his head. it had him scoffing.

talya: ❝ do not leave me, swear that you will never leave me. ❞ @sironit

his irritation was a vile thing,   manifesting as a flock of disillusioned shadows that dispersed like wild birds with the sudden movement; the distance across the room was made nonexistent with his stride. in the span of a few heartbeats, aleksandr was hovering behind her, one hand grasped her hip, propelling her forward against the table whilst keeping her caged against him, the other nestled around the column of her throat, elegant fingers subtly digging into her pulse point. ❝ foolish woman, ❞ he admonished softly, as gentle as the drag of a dagger, teeth against the shell of her ear. ❝ have i not given you a palace? an army to command? ❞ the whispers were stamped to the back of her neck with their proximity; his voice was a phantom ghosting over the faint protrusion of bones visible between her shoulder blades, besieging. ❝ have i scorned you, talya? ❞

it was a thread of eternity that bound them,    weaving a devotion like death across the cloth of centuries; and these centuries they shared were sewed together by strife, and they wore it like a new coat; he imagined a saint sinking within the depths of the sea, reverential in her death, condemned by foolish men and their false god for the power their minds could not comprehend. he thought of himself; for every decade he fought ravka's wars, for every lantsov king he served. they were eternal and they would endure. they would win their war and have their kingdom. (the sun summoner changed nothing.) his grasp tightened around her throat, a suffocating yet ardent touch, stealing her breath as his cold lips moved down to her shoulder, claiming her flesh. ❝ take the bastard prince as your toy, have him warm your bed to spite me, ❞ his jaw ticked with the irritation that swelled within him, a snake coiled around each rib, slithering up around his heart, but he suppressed it. it mattered not to him how she chose to entertain herself in his stead when he knew she would be back in his arms come morning. ❝ take as many lovers as you want, ❞  he pulled her closer, her clothed body flush against his. (it changed nothing.) the hand around her hip moved up, clasping the bone under her ribs, ❝ but i will have you for eternity. i will have you until death, until my bones are buried in the ground, and i will have you after. i will haunt you, i will drive you mad, but i will keep you, always, as you shall keep me. ❞ 

[cruoren]

he might have been a coffin, for the way he enveloped her like death. his shadow cascades around her upon his entrance, growing narrower as he strides forward. up the steps of the grand dais, at the centre of the chamber, he notes her lounged figure, elegantly perched at the edge of the throne, where the architecture's sweeping curves meet sharp angles and cast shadows shaped like monsters over the ground, basking her in odd lights that caught in her honeyed gaze. he notes, too, the slope of her nose as she glances coyly down at him, the dark veil of her hair, and the ripe red of her lips when they curl into a taunting pout. she might have been his grave, for she entombed him in perpetual craving,

❝ there have been reports of resistance activity on daxam-IV. ❞ ren drawled over the steady buzz of the holopad in the palm of his glove. its soft, blue light illuminates the chamber, clashing with the reds of dusk filtered through the viewports. he tore his eyes away from her, biting back an empty, cursory admonishment at her choice of seat, knowing he did not mean it, nor would she take heed. ❝ it seems they are rallying the remnant of the spurned populist movement. the resistance grows desperate, to be seeking support on our occupied regions. ❞ the amusement lacing the words sounds forced. this is not a briefing, but the mere desire to confide. lethargy swells in him like a festering wound, the weight of the past few months tacked unto his shoulders. this is not a formality, either, but the hunger for her voice, her commitment, her in her entirety. some days, he wants to devour her and keep her forever. some days, he thinks he'd let her eat his heart raw like seeds.

but he has a duty to the order and she has her duty to him, hence both to the institution.

❝ the scavenger — i expect she will be there, ❞ he says, not quite looking to her as he scans the map of the planet, with its little pinpoints of possible bases and stations, which the first order intelligence had transferred to him. it is a testament to the faith & trust forged between them when he does not pay mind to his knight pushing herself up, standing, stalking closer. he does not keep track of her movement as he speaks, ❝ i will be there, too. my ship departs come morning. ❞

@sironit: pin, for layla to push kylo against a wall.

❝ layla — ❞ he might have snarled at the insolence she presumed, the sharp edges of his canines protruding on instinct when his back clashed against the wall. his grip tightens around the holopad, cracking it, and spurring an array of flashing, holographic colors from its broken lens. this, too, is cursory. she knows as he does that he will allow it, always. a sigh is torn from the supreme leader's throat, his entire being easing against the cage she forms with her body, chin tipped down to sway her eyes with his own, one hand wrapping around the lithe rotation of her waist, the other laid atop her hip. ❝ you and maev will be stationed elsewhere. this is not a debate. ❞

[rosewulf]

ur stinkee

that's ur breath ur smellin

[fragmentmemories]

[ 𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇 ] ( for ursala !! )

🌙  *  ―     𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐒, accepting.

[ 𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇 ] ―sender brushes receiver’s hair

"--and then I said that being a slut is fun, and then they tried to kick me out of the 'house of god', which? Okay, if it's his house, then only he can kick me out, right?" Ursala recounting the events of her day, which always ends up chaotic or interesting. Or both. Never a dull moment. "Anyways, long story short, I think our family is banned from the church." Not that it matters.

[bezvezdnyie]

❝ i fear you'll put the queen to shame tonight, and then what shall we do? ❞ aleksandr admonished in light jest when she emerged from behind the sheer dressing screen, the elegant kefta he had commissioned for the purposes of the evening enveloping her figure, the finely sewn gems and elaborate embroidery gleaming with the faint light falling through the windows. the set time of the winter fete neared,    guests undoubtedly filtering through the halls already,    and with the passing minutes,    so did his patience tick away like falling sands in a flipped hourglass,    leaving him grain by grain; once more, his soldiers will perform tricks for the nobility to coo and gawk at, as if they were circus dogs instead of soldiers, another trinket adorning the palace's treasury. (the king owned all things.) another year of indulgence in pointless grandeur, when war still waged beyond the walls of the palace, funds and resources depleted by the day.   ❝ speaking of — the seating arrangements differ from usual. you will not be with the grisha, but by my side, to the right of general zlatan. ❞ he divulged casually, adjusting the fine cuffs of his sleeve as he did. his features betrayed none of his vexations, schooled into their habitual boredom. the weight of further conspiracy hung in the air between them, glinting with promised intrigue, like a faberge egg awaiting to be cracked open. (the king owned all things, yet rumours of civil unrest westward suggested otherwise.) wordlessly, he beckoned her over to the grand, gold-rimmed mirror he stood by, gloved hand grasping the edges of her uniform, ❝ the ribbons are crooked. allow me. ❞

STARTER CALL, @sironit

[sumyerki]

          [   @sironit   &   THALYA   :   "WILL YOU DEFEND YOURSELF? FROM ME, I MEAN?"   /   WAR OF FOXES   /   ACCEPTING   :   ]          the moment of silence that streatches between then grows more uncomfortable the longer it lasts.   though the question is an understandable one   :   growing up in a reality not meant to form bonds,   trust is a limited supply.   there might come a time where their goals no longer align———   &  then what do you do?    " don't give you cause to defend myself from you. "    not quite demand,   not quite plea.   aleksandr does neither,   even from thalya.   especially from thalya.   it would be unfair to demand the impossible———   &  he has never been good at pleading.   what he does instead is press a gentle kiss to the back of her hand,   as tender as he will ever be.    ( these days,   anyway.   if he has been different once,   he can't remember. )    &  still he lets go,   moves away as if it never happened.    "  i will defend myself,   even against you.   so don't give a cause,   tasha. "

[sumyerki]

          [ @sironit   :   " DO YOU BLAME ME FOR EVERY MISTAKE I MADE? FOR EVERY DUMB THING I’VE SAID? "     SOURCE.   ACCEPTING. ]         " i blame you for far less than you think. "    it's gentle when aleksandr nudges her shoulder where they walk,   snow almost up to their knees with,   cloudy gathering overhead hinting at more to come.   it only slows their already timid ascent   .  .  .   what better time than now to have conversations such as these?    ( some place warmer,   preferably,   but when are circumstances ever perfect? )    " none of us know what we are doing,   talya.   &  none of us should be held accountable for the things we do to survive. "    there is a fair share of blood aleksandr will never be able to scrub off his hands,   invisible to anyone but him.   he regrets   .  .  .   not all of it  &  that in itself should be questionable.   but he cannot,   for where does it end if he begins now?    ( &  WOULD THEY REGRET YOUR BLOOD BENEATH THEIR NAILS? )    he looks up when a flake of snow lands on his nose,   then another  &  another until they become uncountable.   this,   perhaps,   he blames her for   :   deciding to track the hunters she saw in a weather such as this.   they might get away!    &  of course that was true,   but now they might just disappear along with their trails   .  .  .   &  so would they if their luck decides to run out in this instant.    " do you blame me for every dumb thing i ever said?   is this but a plan to lure me into the woods  &  bury me where i'm never to be found? "