S P I D E R

𝚂𝙷𝙴 𝚆𝙰𝚂 𝙸𝙽𝙴𝙹 𝙶𝙷𝙰𝙵𝙰 , 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝙵𝚄𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙴 𝚆𝙰𝚂 𝚆𝙰𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙰𝙱𝙾𝚅𝙴.

[wraethe]

“big god” by florence & the machine is an alinej song

[wraethe]

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.

[wraethe]

interest tracker...

[wraethe]

this is so funny to me

[thewitchqifrey]

I think I like that hand with a dagger in it.

[splattermemes-deactivated202007]

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?” 

[wraethe]

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?”

[wraethe]

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?”

[aleksling-arch-deactivated20210]

                        “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.

[wraethe]

please! what amount of prayer could forgive murder?

                                                                              ask the saints for me.

[mirkwoodest]

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."

[mirkwoodest]

@lyannaforpresident You're right.

[wraethe]

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

[wraethe]

please! what amount of prayer could forgive murder?

                                                                              ask the saints for me.

[wraethe]

please! what amount of prayer could forgive murder?

                                                                              ask the saints for me.

[ferolinds]

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.

[wraethe]

“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. ❜

[wraethe]

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.”