#vinduri

[forlibcrty]

@vinduri asked: they were wrong. they were all wrong. i showed them. / from shay

the surge of fury that rocketed through connor's chest was dizzying in its intensity. he had not known any of the men cut down by shay's blade, but achilles had told him enough — senseless slaughter, he had said, perpetrated by a traitor gone mad. whatever righteous quest shay might have used as an excuse was meaningless. he had turned on his comrades, decimated the brotherhood, and left the colonies weakened enough for the iron grip of the templars to crush them, as it would have done without connor's interference.

he did not attack yet. he circled like a prowling wolf, fingers twitching for the hidden blade, but he made no move towards shay. he would have his answers before silencing the man for good. "you showed them nothing but the inside of a coffin. what did you teach them except the sting of your blade?"

#vinduri #( * v: canon. ) #i love how achilles just lies through his teeth at every turn ok #he does it constantly talking about haytham i KNOW he'd do the same talking about shay #'yeah ummmm he just went insane and started killing people idk. no don't worry about the earthquakes.'

[stlispenard]

bad dreams are just bits of stories. / james, from jackie :)

     james recognizes jack’s voice with ease. it infects his ears and mind and it spreads like a poison through him until the tiny hairs on his forearms stand straight. in his half-sleep state his voice is loud and shrill enough for it to cut through his dreams to leave everything vacant and dark. prematurely it calls him back to reality. “suppose if you were planning on killing me it would’ve been better not to talk, jackie,” he sneers as he is forcing his eyes open, “or are you barbarous enough that you want me conscious throughout the ordeal?”

     there are many things james despises about being docked at foreign ports: the impetuousness of his crew, his lack of control, and the increasing chance of unwanted guests. the latter usually occurs on land, of course, considering that people (not excluding pirates) generally have enough sense not to trap themselves on a ship where they are inevitably disadvantaged and easily overpowered. either it takes something of a fool, james thinks, a great deal of desperation or something to gain. with some hesitance he categorises jack as amongst the latter. 

     “you’re here to discuss my dreams then, are you? are they a great concern of yours?”

     irritation plainly marks james’ face, with its snarly expression, as he sits up on the side of his makeshift bed and stares ahead at his company. jack appears the same as always; same black hair, same beads and trinkets. incredibly, he seems unaffected by the years it must have been. the sea is not always so kind. he takes his time inspecting him and everything from the mud on his boots to the darkness under his eyes. james wants as much information as possible without him having to ask for it. he looks for indications that jack might have had an altercation with the watch before entering james’ cabin and is in fact out to draw blood. 

    “privacy means a great deal to me, sparrow. i don’t like it when men barge in - especially not when i am finally entitled to a fucking break. so whatever this is, you better be quick about it.”

sentence starters / jack @vinduri

#he cares so much about getting his beauty sleep im so sorry about him #ic answers. #ch: james flint. #vinduri

[mercysought]

"i tried to tell you once, i'm a hard person not to like." maxima, from jack hehe

black sails season 2 prompts (accepting)

   “You seem to misunderstand, Captain Sparrow." she hums, her arms come to rest on her heavy-duty desk of dark brown varnished wood. Gloved fingers meet and lace upon each other to make a comfortable bed for her chin as she leans forward.

   “I did not send you away because I don't like you. Or because I found you hard to like."

Her brows knit together and she takes him in completely. Men like are rare in Tevinter but not uncommon. What was uncommon about him was the connection with a certain Magister that Maxima would love to see off the board. Maxima would not deny that seizing his assets would bolster her own position and if she didn't have to deal with the man herself, keep her hands clean and help a man get the closure he so sought? Well, one might consider it too good to be true, but Maxima had seen such things come to pass.

That was how she ended up seated upon her father's Magisterium seat, after all.

She was nothing if a lucky woman and sometimes luck simply meant to see through the forest and see which trees would be best used for tinder.

   “I sent you away because you are but one type of interesting out of a sea of interesting people that are always out to fuck with me and my coffers." she smiles openly "And liking someone—" sighing she unfolds her arms, allowing them to rest against the arms of her chair. Her eyes fall to her lap, contemplating the reality of her words "Well, it simply isn't enough in this dog-eat-dog world, is it?"

She did love to surround herself with interesting individuals but interesting individuals didn't always make for the best people to work with. Interesting individuals had this knack to attempt to cut ties and corners when the chips were down, and while Maxima could appreciate it. Understand it, even. Maxima was no longer in a position where she could afford to be surrounded by jesters for the single goal to bathe herself in their attention and stories.

Even if her company was easy on the eyes.

   “But I am nothing if not gracious. And I can admit when I am wrong." she says finally, tilting her head, pulling a blank parchment from a pile held down by a single crystal-like rose "So I have decided to help you with your demon problem."

#vinduri #maxima aurum ( muses ) #raven received ( meme replies ) #( maxima saying: I will help you but cross me and you'll be praying to have been back to this shitty devil deal in a hot second 🥰❤ )

[lecredo]

@vinduri. / paris, 1792.

working with élise was one thing. she was a templar, sure, but she was the girl he'd grown up with, the girl who'd first taught him to hold a sword, the girl who was almost a sister — all of that trumped whatever order to which she belonged. other templars hadn't earned that same benefit of the doubt. we can trust shay, élise had insisted, and we need his help. the latter, arno grudgingly had to acknowledge; the former, he'd decide for himself. he'd agreed, at least, to meet the man. crouched on the flat rooftop, rocking rhythmically back and forth from his heels to his toes to prevent his legs from falling asleep, the frenchman didn't look up as the telltale, catlike patter of feet heralded an arrival.

"shay cormac, i presume?"

#( * v: canon. ) #vinduri #give him five minutes and he'll be acting like a bestie #as long as he doesn't find out what shay did to his dad lmao

[starlyht]

i thought you witless, gutless, and unimpressively bland. / sol'rys, from nere 💀

SENTENCE MEME BALDUR’S GATE 3 / PART FIVE

he could almost admire the other man's audacity.  except almost was certainly not good enough.  the warrior's parasite twinged with delight in response to the spiteful annoyance that rose in him.  “i save your pathetic arse,”   he responded,  voice calm and cold as a winter night.  in another life,  perhaps,  he would have had little choice but to shut up and take it and look pretty.   here,  however?  the sorcerer was not one of his betters.   “and this is how you repay me?  speak to me like i am a dog?”  he should have taken the duergar's coin!   at the end of the day,  the sorcerer before him was just a man.  one that could bleed well upon the tips of his swords.  lost in their fancy magics,  they always seemed to forget that!

“apologize.  i'll not ask again.”

#🏹 interaction. #🌠 ask. #vinduri #LKSDJF the girls are fighting . #sorcerer / warrior hostility .

[moltolavoro]

🎁 cas and sam

2. the fruits - paris paloma

if he hadn't been damned from the start, sam thinks the things he's done in the interim have probably set the angels against him. it's not surprising. it's just - upsetting, maybe. sam's believed in god, in angels, his whole life. he just never figured they'd hate him for existing.

even castiel, who sam, despite himself, trusts entirely. even though he knows castiel hates him, knows that it should have been castiel who pulled dean out of hell, and that's set everything on the wrong path pretty quick. and now this.

now sam is lucifer's vessel, always has been apparently, and he stands with his back against the motel wall, arms crossed. tries, desperately, to look like he's not hiding. god he feels like hiding. change your ways, sam winchester. be better, sam winchester. throw away the demon blood and the revenge and be better. he sets his jaw and says ❛ i have no time for confession, ❜ and his lip quirks up, gaze fixing on castiel. ❛ i'm too busy comitting sins. ❜

#vinduri #c ;; sam #CAN U BELIEVE

[crimewrought]

are you asleep, or just ignoring me? @vinduri.

ㅤthere's a stillness to these waters that maria has no liking for. it's not a stillness born of peace, or even a stillness born of fear. it's a unique quiet, maria thinks, one that brings with it a loneliness, a cold cover of isolation. they're the furthest from land they've been in months, and despite the plenty of souls on board, a grim, unusual quiet has settled into the pearl's timber. long days precede longer nights, the sea and sky both lost to a lifeless grey landscape. maria has stopped searching for blue in that unending grey; likewise, she's stopped trying to identify sea from skyline, muddled by the dense fog that engulfs the pearl and her seas.

ㅤlike the rest of the crew, maria had resisted the quiet. but, like the rest of the crew, a sort of reclusiveness had encroached upon her—she'd become one of the many uniformed by a bleak misery.

ㅤ" neither. i'm resting. "

ㅤresting like the dead. she's laid on her back, wan features pointing upwards, body unmoving. it's only her eyes that appear at all alive: half open, yet watching jack keenly. maria wonders how he bears it, immersed in the waters he loves, but them being waveless, eerily lifeless. like being with a loved one, she thinks, but their affections withheld. the thought ignites a molten guilt in her chest, and maria lifts suddenly from her gloomy half-slumber, the covers settling around her. the cold still holds her, but maria knows precisely which warmth she longs to feel.

ㅤ" i'm sorry. this quiet—i find it difficult. i don't mean to be an ungrateful passenger, darling. " moonlight slants into the bedroom, made silvery by the frozen world's dark mists. the pearly light settles across jack's features, skin, hair, and maria thinks he looks briefly more god than man—thinks that even a sea this ghostly would take him, recognising him still as one of its own.

ㅤ" please come to bed. tell me something wondrous. or show me something even better. "

#vinduri #vinduri / jack. #𝖛𝖎 . solitude should have wings. interactions. #the way she's actually... communicating with him #i am soooooo immensely soft for them #this got so long by accident AH

[ruleshang]

" what does it feel like? "

the question is blurted from her lips with little warning more than her pondering silence, and immediately, upon inquiring, she feels bashful for doing so. even as her eyes remain fixated on the piece of rope in her hands, elizabeth feels his gaze shifting to her, and that makes her uneasy. she can never tell what jack sparrow will think, or do, and that bothers her far more than she cares to admit.

" having that much freedom, i mean. going wherever your heart desires ... having no clue where the sea will take you next, " the woman shrugs, as if pretending her question is idle, as if she has not been thinking about it for months, and years, " you know, the first time i set foot on a ship, i was twelve. it was the moment i met will, " small smile will curve on her lips, an aching in her gut for easier times past, " i remember thinking, you know? how would it feel like to do this for the rest of my life."

a pause is made, finishing the practice knot on the rope, she tosses it aside and dares to glance at jack, " did you feel that way too? when you first sailed? " @vinduri

#vinduri #I JUST HAD THIS IDEA AND NEEDED TO WRITE IT DOWN #I HOPE U DONT MIND A RANDOJM STARTER FOR JACKIE SJD #c:

[fals3nd]

@vinduri

there is something world-weary about the inquisitor. her outward image is one of flawlessness, of unnerving perfection - - - there is not a golden hair out of place upon her head, not a thread dangling from her clothing. and yet there is something about her eyes. something exhausted. could any blame her?

"what brings you to skyhold?" she asks, her voice nearing imperious as she stares with fade-green eyes. "if you are seeking refuge, we can offer it. if you are here on pilgrimage there is a chantry garden within."

#vinduri #* esyllt ; answered #* esyllt ; v ; inquisition

[pritvolny]

‘ you are quite valuable, you know. ‘ from jack

the waves licked the black hull of the ship gently,   a contrast to the thousand storms that the vessel has witnessed,   or so sturmhond assumed:    the sails were a patchwork of cotton and shadows,   the mast contrasted  like night  against the sun beating down upon them,   and the cuffs around the privateer's hands were rusted beyond repair.     it was flattering to be aboard such a marvel of engineering,   the sleek vessel that could cut through air faster than light   (  nigh uncatchable!  )   but there was a difference between boarding it as a visitor and  then as a prisoner.     he harboured no worry for the latter though,   and possessed the languid grace of the former,   so he sprawled across the deck with his back against the rail and sighed.      ❛   oh captain,  my captain.   ❜     his grin was full of teeth,   audacity sharpened to a knife's edge.     ❛   fine!   I'll let you take me to dinner for the compliments you're doling out.   ❜     sturmhond pushed himself to his feet then,   a swift motion like a whip cracking in the air,   though the shackles resounded an ugly reminder of his dangling fate.    jack sparrow was not known for his mercy from what could be recalled,    but there was  ambition and greed  attached to his name,   mischief that shone in his eyes like the fleeting glimpse of thunder.   sturmhond would know.      ❛   things that are valueable yield a good price,   but they yield  better use  in the long-term.   you can tell a good deal from a stale one,  can't you,  sparrow?   ❜

SHADOW AND BONE PROMPTS.       (  ft.  jack sparrow.  )

#vinduri #i. ( vinduri. ) jack sparrow. #i. ( answered. ) vinduri. #i. ( interactions. ) sturmhond. #verse: undetermined. #HE CAN BE SOOOOO

[alulars]

❛ you weren’t careful. you didn’t see. ❜ from castiel for johnson

Death comes or death is brought. The man deserved nothing gentle.

This white tent Johnson and Castiel are standing in was pitched a month ago (a month of Johnson praying, and no one answered). It is a large, white cube in a tall grass field in rural Kentucky. From the nearest road, a mile out, the tent almost looks like a descended cloud, a prolapsed piece of heaven which no other angel felt. Inside, there are rows of cheap, plastic garden chairs (all the same as though bought in bulk) split into two sections by a long aisle (the grass there unclipped, unneeded to be because it's flat from daily foot traffic) that leads to a low, wood stage painted white.

It's easy, now, to ignore the man on the stage—he is silent, he is dead.

To describe his appearance would be a misappropriation of attention, a wrongful implication of sustained interest or import. Johnson slit his throat, it's simple and obvious. What cannot be so easily seen is what Johnson said or how as the man bled out Johnson laid his forehead against his, gripped the nape of his neck, and pressed his thumbs below the corners of his jaw—just above the gurgling gash—to feel the arteries that carry blood from the brain because, when touched, it allowed Johnson to listen to his thoughts; he held him until he heard his confession which rushed out of him as fast as his wound.

Johnson thinks of that confession now and the frictionless slide of his silver blade, the bizarre fuse of hot-cold blood spraying his face (hot because the man's blood is warmer than the winter air and cold because human bodies don't possess the ability to sense wetness and rely, faultily, on temperature); he thinks of all he did see, for weeks.

His gaze meets Castiel's and he wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing away the half-dried blood. Air pushes out of his nostrils: a laugh or a grunt or simply clearing his airway; there is no smile, the reason hidden or unknown.

"I find it..." a feeling so filling it's buoyant, it rises out of him, airy, puffing out his cheeks as he carefully misnames it: "humorous... you think you get an opinion. I distinctly recall you not being there."

Johnson regards the body next to him with a quick glance.

"He claimed he could speak the language of angels. He amassed a large crowd for it. I watched, in disgust, as he gargled his own spit and called that Enochian, waiting, each day, for Metatron's retribution. Then, when it did not come, anyone's. No one came. I am done waiting."

A child too young to have outgrown the meter-high grass peeked inside the tent moments after the man's last breath. Johnson did not chase him; the field is wide and the boy's legs are short, he must still be running. He does not regret not noticing the boy in time, he regrets Castiel does notice: their solutions will be diametrically opposed.

"Let them see. Let them be afraid."

#i thought it fun to give metatron a mention :3c but this is p bold and if this doesn't fit for him i can take his name outta this nbd #added tag: i'm not saying that the small kentucky boy is young lee but i'm not /not/ saying that either #vinduri #vinduri: castiel. #ic: johnson. #*ask.

[mercysought]

❝ come share my fire, the night is cold. ❞ maxima, from basim !!

@vinduri . game of thrones . accepting

Maxima smiles from beneath the hood. Turning around she circles around the warm light of the flame, just at the edge where the cold blue met the warm orange of the dirt before becoming fully washed out by the yellow light from the fire.

   "It's an indigo night, there's a chill." she hums, but her voice is barely audible as she steps into the light. It was an old song and while she had sung it many times for many different years, it was hard to deny the lack of the appropriate strings beneath. Even with the drowning of loud voices celebrating in the background, despite their own loud songs with words, she could hardly follow herself especially as the wine dulled them.

England was never indigo; it was ever only grey or green.

Her hands cover a small blanket, one of the many of the Raven clan. One could not deny that the warriors from the north had the warmest blankets she had ever touched. Not the nicest to the touch but nicety hardly mattered when the weather attempted to bury you beneath it. No wonder they should run south - had she any other choice she would have fled further south too. She covers his shoulders with the blanket, squeezing them briefly before sitting beside him by the fire.

It was a lively party with many empty tankards strewn about.

Maxima looks past Basim, past towards the river - it was stunning how across so many different lands and tongues so many of the same common threads in stories could be found. The same stories she had heard of women rising from sea foam and painted as goddesses had been heard wherever she travelled. In these grey and cold lands, however, they were not goddesses but monsters.

What difference the kiss of sunlight could make.

   "Out of all places, smiling one to find you standing out." and he did; in more ways than one. Or perhaps it was simply undeniable humanity within themselves to recognise familiarity even so far from their original context "I must say, amongst a murder of Danes would not be my first guess."

#vinduri #maxima aurum ( muses ) #raven received ( meme replies ) #( me banging on the walls with indigo night blaring in the bg ) #( catching me quoting both tam.ino and fl.orence on the same post shamelessly )

[saintvampe]

       ❝   ––––   𝒊 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒏𝒆𝒘 𝒄𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒂 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒚 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕  (  ...  )    ❞    like a purr against her teeth,     sharp canines glittering against her red smile.    she leans against and over her counter,    the portrait of Her crowded by hanging slabs of fresh cuts:     a quarterback’s shoulder there,    delicate fingers here in a string.      the vampire,    slow in her movements,   in the gaze she throws against @vinduri,   leans her chin against the palm of her hand;    when she shifts in position,    the smell of antiquity finds her nostrils and makes her mouth wet with anticipation,    question upon question finding her tongue in distant curiosity.      ❝    if flesh isn’t your style,   i’ve got some vials back here.    they’re a pretty penny,   though,    but fresh.      when are you from ?   ❞

#vinduri #VAMPIRESSSSSSSSS #VINDURI: GIULIO #ARC 01 * : death does not exist down here. ( 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒐𝒏𝒆 ‚ ) #PLEEEASE FEEL FREE TO MAKE THIS LONGER TOO !!

[moltolavoro]

@vinduri / sam call

❛ you know i used to pray to you? ❜ sam's tilted forwards on the end of the bed, elbows on his knees. he's wrung dry, endless days of hunts and god knows how many sleepless nights. and here he is - angel of the lord, come to...what? tell him he's doing things wrong? he knows that, of course he knows that. sam's known that for years. ❛ did anyone ever hear me? ❜

#vinduri #c ;; sam

[crimewrought]

i can't handle this sober. @vinduri.

rain pelts down in sheets, storming from the fat clouds that hang persistent in the bruising sky above. maria's seen a vast expanse of climates now, but she finds some rare novelty in this weather—not in the rainfall itself, but in the ceaselessness of it. a fortnight gone with no relenting; and subsequently, to jack's evident chagrin, no sailing. they'd made port intentionally, but the length of the stay was a result of being thwarted by the weather... and by a few members of the crew having found better beds than the pearl's to reside in for the brief stay. with no urgency to set sail, it'd been tensely agreed to stay a further two nights, and not a moment more. maria watches the deluge through the closed window, listening to the glass struggle and rattle against the onslaught. the fixture sounds close to breaking point, maria thinks—not unlike her sullen company.

" you're a fool to have stayed sober for this long. " her words carry a brusqueness, but the glint in her eye, the tug of a smile at her mouth, betrays her pantomime harshness. maria retreats from the window, sources a bottle of undoubted contents, and passes it jack's way. " we could've gone today. what made you willing to linger? " she studies him from across the table, fingers idly plaiting her sun-bleached hair. " this stay clearly isn't agreeing with you. "

#vinduri #vinduri / jack. #𝖛𝖎 . solitude should have wings. interactions. #me anytime jack and maria: hell yeah. HELL YEAH

[praive]

through the night and well into dawn i stood, gazing over the edge of the veranda, down into to the choppy black nothing of the north atlantic sea. for hours it taunted me and for hours i allowed it, watching the hallucinatory shapes of carlisle, rosalie, esme, their distorted features imprinted on the surface of the waves by the pale white reflection of the moon

at sunrise the vessel awoke with a shudder, jerking violently in each direction, fighting the crashing of the tide before succumbing to the soft earth and lying utterly still upon it. the ss balfour settled in the port of marseille just before nine, the coach awaiting him as if it had been fixed there, waiting patiently for him all his life. he thanked the driver, tipping him generously, entertaining an idle vision of killing this man as a burning fever rose through his chest, tightening his throat. he shunned the thought, forcing his mind over instead to the clicking of horse hooves, to the pen and open notebook he clutched gravely, etching senseless and distracting shapes.

as carlisle had warned him, giulio did not make himself easy to find. days went on, then weeks which turned to months, the hours searching and researching drumming by to no foreseeable end. it was just at the precipice of losing hope that giulio found me.

at a library, in some unremarkable place he could not have cared to remember the name of, in a place that edward had intended only to receive directions. there he sat ( he was sure of it ), his large smooth hands folded neatly in front of him, gazing impassively upon edward as if he had anticipated his arrival, as if like the carriage that awaited him on the shoreline of france this man had been sat at this very library, awaiting edward all his life.

he approached him, his hand coming down to rest quickly upon the surface of the table as if it might vanish if he did not feel for himself the shape of it. for a moment he only stares at this man in astonishment, before at last with a steely sureness; " my name is edward cullen. you've done a remarkable job at hiding from me. " @vinduri

#i hope this is ok! #also please ignore the length sDFJK i just wanted to set it up you do NOT have to match that length by any means #vinduri #also i wasn’t entirely sure how to describe giulio so i left it vague ! #I figure maybe the name Cullen would tip him off if he knows Carlisle already #heheheh #so excited about this thread