#we burn ourselves to ashes and use the rubble for the parts | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

imabiscuitinthousandworlds · 1 year

Text

And they shall burn

What is a god but something greater than us?

We think of natural beings, of life on Earth, in our solar system. And we think of ourselves as the highest form of life.

But gods are living beings. They are greater than us, mightier than us, nearly more than we can comprehend. But gods live. And what lives can die.

And what can die can be killed.

Our gods didn't abandon us. Many wished they had, when it began. Everyone who had ever cursed their god because it never stopped all the suffering, because it left humanity...

Let's say their words came back at them, and they brought death. For the gods are in no way guarding our world.

Did they create the world? Did they create us? Perhaps. There's no certainty about it.

What we know is that they came back. And they came to destroy us.

It began on the remote planets. The contact with our colonies was cut off before they could warn us. Ships didn't return. All we knew was that something was wrong. Something dangerous. Something stronger than everything we had.

In the beginning, we were worried. Worry turned into restlessness. Restlessness turned into fear.

And fear turned into panic or into the desperate wish to survive.

They reached Earth. Maybe they were larger than mountains. Maybe they were larger than our planet. Maybe they were both. But they were here, and they were unstoppable.

It rained fire and ashes. The sun disappeared behind blistering, black clouds. It's been dark for months. Electronics seized to work, and those that didn't blew up. Often, they took entire houses with them. And a burning house took an entire neighbourhood.

Fires were never as fast as since the gods came.

Next, the floods began. The ice broke off, the sea level rose fast. Then the water went back, far, and left nothing behind but dying sea life.

But the ocean came back, and it took many coasts along with it.

When the forests burned to ashes and entire countries were nothing but rubble, there wasn't much left of humanity at all.

A man once told me that the gods had abandoned us. A woman claimed this was God's punishment.

I think neither of them was right. I don't believe that the gods are even aware of our existence, and if they are, they don't spare us a single thought.

The oceans disappeared completely. They left gigantic holes, dry sand, cliffs and death. So much death. The corpses didn't burn like the rest of the world. They lay there, and they stank, and we knew our hope was as dead as our families.

Only a few of us were left. Nobody knows how we found each other within the debris and desperation. Nobody knows why we were still here - how we had escaped the calamities and our own thoughts. But we were still left. We were still alive, as far as one could call us alive. We were human, but what we thought defined us as humans was long withered. Our wish for one last fight, our wish to fight back, our wish for revenge - it was the only thing to keep us going. Just as burning and dark as the land. Just as stinking and rotten as the corpses of the sea. Just as hopeless and doomed as our planet, as our species.

The doomed are unpredictable. We would get our revenge or die. We wouldn't die. Not like this. Not now. Not until we had our revenge and the fire in our hearts finally burned away the last of our humanity, and we'd fade away like everything else; to be forgotten in the emptiness of the universe.

Time died. Maybe it passed, but it didn't pass for us. We rose. One last, desperate, forlorn strike against our gods.

Gods live. Gods can die. Gods can be killed.

We killed them. Perhaps we killed ourselves along with them. There was no life left in us that was worth killing.

I drifted through nothingness. Around me was dark, within me was emptiness. I was neither dead nor alive. I took the dark and void and created a light. A star. It was small in my hand. It burned with life. Small specks of matter and gas circled it.

I closed my fist, and the star died, and became part of the nothingness.

We killed our gods. We killed everything that made us human. We died along with our planet, our families, our solar system, but we didn't stop existing.

There was nothing greater left than us. In this endless nothing, we were everything. What are gods but something greater than the dominant species of a planet?

#short story #writers on tumblr #?#scifi short story #SPACE GODS #tw death #tw genocide #ask to tag #my writing #a biscuit's rambles #if you read this please tell me what you thought im dying to know what others think of this

1 note · View note

wander-wren · 2 years

Text

Wren’s WIP Masterlist

all my current wips! any projects that aren’t finished that i want to finish, someday, not necessarily what i’m working on right now. all oneshots unless stated otherwise, and longfics have an estimated length given. if i decide to fully abandon a fic (which rarely happens), i’ll take it off the list. feel free to ask me about anything here, it might motivate me to finish or give me a new idea!!

other posts have my completed fics and random concepts.

Priority WIPs

these are wips i’ve worked on in the past month and/or unfinished fics currently posted to ao3. listed in rough order of priority-within-priority.

dusk to dawn- sequel to swiftpaw’s chance, rewrite of the new prophecy focusing on whitewing and nightcloud, then squirrelflight and tawnypelt as well, with others thrown in for spice. 70 chapters, 200kish.

falling feathers (i’ll follow you home)- bnha D/s au, dabihawks, your standard hawks double agent fic but with all the angst of the au. secret relationships, miscommunication, enemies to ??? to ????? to ???????? to lovers?? very VERY long, 500k+.

running- wtnv fic inspired by this fic. after being attacked in his home, carlos flees, taking a near-suicide job in night vale. what he finds is very different from the strange, hostile town he expected, and he falls in love, makes friends, nearly dies a few times, but eventually…heals. longfic, maybe 80k?

whumptober prompts- i fizzled out around day 13, but i do want to complete them eventually, even if it takes a long time

to take up swords and strike the sea- pirate!inej fic post-ck. not kanej, not kaz friendly but not kaz unfriendly. inej gets a gf. both of them are trans but that’s just a bg element. 3 parts, 35kish.

Other WIPS

sorted alphabetically by fandom, then again by rough priority within fandom. priority is completely determined by vibes and i’m hardly going to shuffle the order around regularly, so even if something is on the bottom of a long list, don’t be afraid to ask about it!

Arcane

turning out of time- t4t jinxekko, post-canon in a magical world where everything is peace and happiness on both sides. they throw an anniversary party and discover fireworks are not a great idea for not-quite-girls who used to make bombs and now have ptsd.

BNHA

sleepless- just before the hero license exams, izuku throws himself into training, determined to catch up to his classmates and never fail anyone ever again. he also stops sleeping. bakugo, clumsily, helps, and cue romance.

burn ourselves to ashes (use the rubble for the parts)- todoroki, bakugo, and deku are supposed to just be making a grocery store run. then there’s a villain attack, a collapsed building, a bleeding-out deku, and…a need for someone to cauterize a wound. todoroki has Feelings about this.

pull my feathers one by one (put ‘em in your pocket when i’m gone)- dabihawks miscommunication/getting together fic ft all of hawks’s bird traits & HPSC bashing

The Old Guard

believe you hold the answers (but your feathers are all frayed)- nile convinces booker to break his exile, sure that once the others see him they’ll realize their mistake and let him come home. joe goes ballistic.

don’t care to beg your pardon (let’s live until we die)- mortal joenicky college au where joe volunteers to be a car crash victim in nicky’s paramedic training and promptly falls in love with his competence and beauty and nicky-ness. cue romance. might kick off a oneshot series in this vein?

it’s your wound, my sutures- fairly on-the-nose title, healing works a little too well and joe ends up with a bullet buried in his shoulder. nicky and andy perform impromptu diy surgery.

The Raven Cycle

lost in what you think of me (let me be the void you fill)- i take freaky friday, give it to pynch, and rub my trans feelings all over it bc they’re both trans in different ways in this one.

one forward, one back (lost in labyrinthine spirals)- sequel to “this black thing inside of me,” in the emetophobic!adam universe. a story about recovery’s ups and downs and weird triggers. i’m still projecting/venting.

call the ravens, call the swifts- wing au getting together, where adam’s wing gets injured, ronan helps, and they have a lot of good and bad feelings.

Six of Crows

taxidermy fingerprints, taxonomize our differences- wylan comes out to the crows as nonbinary. kaz is Very interested by this. everyone talks. kaz comes out to the crows as nonbinary.

Warrior Cats

the world ends eventually (so come with me)- blossomivy fic where the two decide to abandon the clans before the great battle. they don’t quite get away in time an have to fight their way out, but it’s worth it, to be together and happy.

Welcome to Night Vale

punishment by proxy- instead of taking cecil for reeducation, the secret police decide carlos will be a much more effective deterrent. cecil picks up the pieces.

intersecting realities- takes place during that arc where the universe almost collapsed, i’m not entirely sure where past me was going with it but it seems like cecilos are wrestling with reality and which universe to live in??

#fanfiction #wips #arcane #warrior cats #bnha #the raven cycle #six of crows #welcome to night vale #the old guard #while i was searching notes and old discord convos ans google docs #i actually found at least two finished fics that i never posted lol #so i can. do that sometime

0 notes

puckrph · 3 years

Text

STARTERS TAKEN FROM POEMS I’VE WRITTEN - PART TWO

feel free to change pronouns!

' i think the whole world is within you. ' ' trauma is insidious. it sticks like a shadow, like mortar; the only thing holding our disparate shards together in the shape of a person. ' ' what are we, if not the echoes of insults and disappointments, the ghosts of the people our parents used to be? ' ' what are we if not the space in the skyline where something used to stand? the afterimage of a flashbulb lit in the quiet moment before roaring tragedy? ' ' i watch you standing in the sunlight laughing, harsh and beautiful, something more than our parents or this nation could ever hope or deserve to behold. ' ' you're the one lucky creature in this world of ashes. ' ' i feel myself decaying with every wasted minute. ' ' i think if you took my chest and split me open, you'd find soft black rot where my ambition used to be. ' ' if i cannot be happy, let me be free. if i cannot be free, let me be mad. ' ' i think of nothing but poems, and all the poems come from you. ' ' i'd ask to run away with you, but i never learned how to drive. ' ' i'd apologize for staring at you, but you captivate me as the night sky. ' ' when i was a child, i'd tilt my head back far enough that the only thing i could see was that stretching firmament, thinking: i might fall into those galaxies. ' ' you are allowed to be angry at those who hurt you—you are allowed to feel rage over what was done to you—you are allowed— ' ‘ we burn, and our blaze tears away the veil of ignorance. ’ ‘ faith lies as charred or as changed as the city skyline. ’ ‘ we break out of rubble, claw our way to sunlight, wipe the dust from each other’s faces with hands sick of fighting and digging. ’ ‘ we will tear down their walls and build our homes atop the wreckage. ’ ' i marvel at how you might lament a life like this. ' ' you may whisper to yourself: do i dare disturb the universe? and i will twine my hand in yours and say: you have—you do— ' ' you are a fool, perhaps. but so are all—men, women, everyone. ' ‘ we measure our pride with watch-chains; measure our hearts with half-torn dancing-slippers worn on walks over rough streets, places they were never made to tread; measure ourselves with love-poems. ’ ‘ you are the might-have-been story of a boy grown into a man grown into the best mind of his generation. ’ ‘ you are the best mind of your generation which, coming upon the overwhelming question, turns it over like a diamond and, finding it unanswerable, sets it in a ring upon my finger. ’ ‘ perhaps it was not worth it, after all. or perhaps it is no great matter. ’ ‘ if i put my foot to the floor or take the turn just right, the horizon will swallow this ought-to-be-ghost town. ’ ‘ he prayed at the altar of machinery until the factory god gasped its dying breath. ’ ‘ i stand in the light of uncountable divinities and by them chart my westward course. ’ ‘ i was always more than the sacrificial lamb of the american dream. ’ ‘ in my memories you are gold-filigreed. ’ ‘ you became god when you breathed your first tale. ’ ‘ some things are best learned from the passenger’s seat. ’ ‘ amid the ache of beauty, and amid my wonder-love, i forgot i am a sinner. ’ ‘ i forgot that we ought to be bound for ruin, i forgot every cruel thing the world has ever flung our way, because the dawn made you holy in your sleep. ’ ‘ when i am bound for eternity, will you mourn for me? ’ ‘ i was only worth loving in your darkest hour, is that it? ’ ‘ i am a siren call, not sustenance: there is no meat left in me to feast on. ’ ‘ somewhere in me there is a living girl/boy/person, locked in the casket of my heart for safekeeping, buried beneath the silt of our solitude. it has been piled on for so long that i cannot find her/him/them when i try. i cannot even remember laying her/him/them to rest. ’ ‘ you told me you loved me and looked at me like i was holy. ’ ‘ you should have known i loved you when i asked you to take a road trip with me. ’ ‘ i love you, and because i love you i will put aside my relentless terror. ’ ‘ if i am your moon, do not take the sky from me. if i am your heart, do not take the cavity in which i beat ceaselessly, deaf and blind to all but you. ’ ‘ do not tear me from your chest while you still live in mine, so close that your breath is my breath and your words are my words. ’ ‘ who am i that you should love me? ’ ‘ i did not know with what words i spoke, what language, what voice; i knew only that i loved you, as soft and ever-present as breathing. ’ ‘ if you opened your mouth, the true name of god would spill from your lips. ’

#poetry sentence starters #poetry starters #memes.#rp meme #askbox meme #sentence starters

56 notes · View notes

quinn-of-aebradore · 2 years

Note

I’ve been listening to mile magnificent on repeat since you mentioned it in that ask game and you’re right it’s SUCH a Molly song omg. It’s giving me that animatic making itch but alas I can’t animate. Tbh specifically the line “we burn ourselves to ashes, use the rubble for the parts” kinda works for most of Taliesin’s characters? I haven’t watched enough of c2 to know what Cad’s deal is but his general character type across campaigns seems to be “self destructive asshole with a heart of gold who will make their life better by force if need be” and I love that so much

Right?? I love it so much. I understand the struggle of the animatic itch and not being able to animate so much.

You’re right, that line does fit really well for them. Cad definitely has some self destructive tendencies as well, even if they get less attention. Someone needs to give that firbolg a hug. Many hugs. It’s 100% a throughline for Tal’s characters.

#mollymauk tealeaf #caduceus clay #quinn answers

15 notes · View notes

gunpowderdtim · 3 years

Note

for the mechs song asks: Mile Magnificent by molly ofgeography and It Tore Your Heart Out by Dirt Poor Robins

*adds mile magnificent to my ashes playlist* thank you for a new ashes song my beloved

Plants with singing petals, women with long, long legs Demons drinking water and angels drinking kegs The light behind the buildings as we sip sunlight to the dregs We are animals of love, the city never makes us beg

Its just... Ashescore. the lighter parts of malone maybe.

We bloom beneath the blessings of a goddess with no face And toast to Prohibition inside a bottle of champagne All my better demons have gone the way they came Only angels left now, hungover on the train

ashes 1900s ashes hungover you know. you get it

This is my favorite part, the start Not the fire, not the sparks Hold your breath, let loose your heart We burn ourselves to ashes Lighting fires in the dark, river jagged like a scar We burn ourselves to ashes Use the rubble for the parts We are animals of love, we are animals of art

ARSON

Lift your glasses full of sunshine, sing a toast to gasoline

this is just ashescore ok

now for it tore your heart out

oh this is jonnycore. narratomancy vibes. heart imagery. plague that can allude to secret new texas lore.

also kinds city vibes?

mostly just jonny vibes. very jonny vibes. if i didnt think my laptop would explode id do another lyric list

#asks #emma tag

5 notes · View notes

sazzafraz · 3 years

Link

1 BEACH FRONT PROPRETY

Said it's the end of days And we're just hoping for the beachfront property. Numb with indecision.

2 THE REVOLUTION COMES AROUND

3 JUST EXIST

You were in my head last night Was I on your mind?

4 CHINESE SATTELITE

Drowning out the morning birds With the same three songs over and over

5 WAIT FOR ME

They'll suck your brain, they'll suck your breath They'll pluck the heart right out your chest They'll truss you up in your Sunday best

6 THUS ALWAYS TO TYRANTS

Will you greet the daylight looming, Learn to love without consuming?

7 A COMPLETE LIST OF FEARS

But if night should fall, I know, I know we'll just keep reaching after all Keep on stretching towards the light and keep on staying up all night

8 NEVER LOVE AN ANCHOR

On some level I think I always understood That these hands of mine were clumsy not clever

9 ODE TO A CONVERSATION STUCK IN YOUR THROAT

And you wrote my favourite song

10 J$ST

I done had to have a talk with myself many times (for real) Am I a hypocrite 'cause I know I did plenty crimes? (yes, I'm ill)

11 WHY WE BUILD THE WALL

How does the wall keep us free? The wall keeps out the enemy And we build the wall to keep us free That's why we build the wall We build the wall to keep us free

12 A FEW WORDS FOR THE FIRING SQUAD

When your surrounded by the fog, treadin' water in the ice cold dark When they got you you feelin' like a Fox runnin' from another pack of dogs Put the pistol and the fist up in the air, we are there, swear to God

13 I KNOW THE END

Driving out into the sun Let the ultraviolet cover me up Went looking for a creation myth Ended up with a pair of cracked lips

14 CHANT (REPRISE)

[EURYDICE] If I still have time-

[THE FATES] If I still have time If I still have time

15 I WILL NEVER DIE

But I'll never die I will never die You can bury my body, but I'll never die

16 EUPHOR

Hold your charm Hold your charm

17 WAIT FOR ME (REPRISE)

[EURYDICE & COMPANY ] I'm coming wait for me (Show the way) I hear the walls repeating (Show the way) The falling of our feet and It sounds like drumming (Show the way)

18 SACRILEGE

And I plead and I pray And I plead and I pray

19 LIFE ITSELF

Come back down to my knees Gotta get back, gotta get free Come back down to my knees Be like them, lean back and breathe

20 MILE MAGNIFICENT

We burn ourselves to ashes And use the rubble for the parts We are animals of love

21 IN THE END

We are lost 'til we learn how to ask So please, please just ask

22 BATTLE CRIES

All it took to unearth in the dust and the dirt Some release or respite from the heat and the hurt Was taking the time now and then to ask how I am And now at the end (At the end of all things) I'm not gonna scream, beat my chest at the wind I'm doing fine

#ects #playlist for fic

1 note · View note

arsnovacadenza · 4 years

Text

Day 6- Home

Characters: Napoleon, Isaac, Sebastian, Isaac, Jean (with others’ cameo)

Pairings : none, Gen

Ao3 Link : Here

Warning : mentions of suicide

home

Thick black clouds rose high into the night sky as the mansion was burning.

Among the rubble stood Napoleon, holding his rapier limply. His chest heaved laborious breaths, a human weakness his demi-vampire status couldn't remove.

He tried making sense of his surroundings. It was a futile act, with fire and smoke obscuring his vision. Vapor invaded his lungs as Napoleon forced himself to walk.

Why did everything turn out this way?

Napoleon didn't even question "how" as the former emperor himself had been unaware that a fire had broken out. Even the quick and capable Sebastian was reduced to a panicked mess as the inferno began to spread over various parts of the mansion.

"Monsieur Napoleon," the butler stammered apologetically, tears forming in the corner of his eyes. "I'm sorry. I tried, but there —there's nothing else I could do."

Meanwhile, Leonardo and the Count were rushing in all directions to find the other residents one-by-one and drag them out. Napoleon saw Theo carrying his brother out, shouting something along the lines of "Broer, forget about the paintings. We can't save them!"

Napoleon had barged through the fire with Arthur to look for Dazai, whom they found gazing at the embers around him with dissonant tranquility.

(Both men argued for a good long while until Napoleon forced the sullen novelist on Arthur and commanded him to make a run for it).

But now, Napoleon found himself trapped in the fire.

It was ridiculous, knowing that some of the men —himself included —had a sliver of death wish despite all the benefits their second life offered. Yet in the face of a deadly situation such as this, their first instinct was to flee. Napoleon thought back to Vincent and how the painter must have suffered, knowing he failed to protect the very things he'd been living for.

And then, there's that one person who'd been claiming he had no desire to live at all.

Where is he now?

Napoleon banished the mental image of the man's possible reaction to finding himself encircled by the blaze.

In desperation, he scrambled to every direction, getting more and more lost by the critical seconds. He had crossed the (now crumbling) stairs and reached the ground floor, that he was positive. But the growing panic debilitated his chances of finding any possible exit.

His emerald eyes fell on one of the paintings on the wall. Comte told him that his old friend produced it ages ago, during one of his brighter moods.

That's right, this mansion had long seen Leonardo's worst and best days. It had been home to all of them, bearing witness to times when they were at their most vulnerable as well as their most joyous.

Napoleon wanted to shut his eyes and let his memories away from this moment. Just yesterday, Isaac had been babbling to him about his pet hedgehog's recovery after not eating for two days. Meanwhile, this afternoon, Mozart handed him an invitation to some socialite's banquet, saying that he'd be presenting a new piece inspired by tales of his imperial army.

After this, he will no longer hear the composer play his most celebrated tunes nor watch as new pieces were brought to life. The music room must be ablaze right this very moment; the sterling piano reduced to ashes and the precious sheets consumed by the bonfire.

Napoleon supposed he was lucky that he'd been in the bedroom when the whole commotion started and not in the attic. It'd be more difficult to escape, then. Still, he lamented the loss of those nights when he gazed down at Paris from the window. The warm city lights, a grand sign of civilization and progress, assured him that his arduous efforts for the nation weren't for naught.

Napoleon's thoughts immediately flew to his bedroom upstairs. Regret welled as he realized that the warm bed was no more. There went his sanctuary, his cocoon where he spent lazy afternoons banishing away murky thoughts and lingering dreams of the past. That room was his temporary shelter in this life that felt even more fleeting than his mortal one.

His chest constricted as he thought of the sparring arena and the man he spent his time with dueling and examining each other's weapons. They talked about horses as well —and what of them? What about Ange? In his befuddled state of mind, Napoleon pictured Jean barreling towards the stages, freeing the alarmed horses and setting them free, including his beloved Ange.

It didn't take long for Napoleon's mind to dart towards the kitchen. Did the fire start there? Did anyone see it happen? Nonsense, Sebastian must have been around the dining room and kitchen. After all, it was close to dinnertime when Leonardo alerted them about the fire—

Ah, he just remembered that he'd promised Sebastian to help him prepare dinner this afternoon. But instead, he forgot and went to the thermae instead with Isaac and Jean. The enigmatic Japanese would never confront him about it, but Napoleon still felt guilty nonetheless.

Well, none of that matters now, does it?

So Napoleon let his weapon fall to the ground unceremoniously. Idly, he wondered why his cape still hadn't caught fire by now. The old (yes, he was old and weary alright) Frenchman toyed with the thought of perishing together with this godforsaken building.

His first life had been long and tumultuous. This one was so short and surreal, it felt like a dream.

It is sweet and proper to die for one's country. To die like this, confused and grieving, was a farce. Then again, this was a hundred times better than succumbing to his end on that faraway island, lonely and in pain.

The former— nay, an emperor he shall forever remain —The emperor stared ahead past the screen of fumes. He took in the scenery before him one last time and sighed deeply.

Napoleon closed his eyes.

It was a great run, but even the best of times all come to an end.

Isaac struggled to break free from Sebastian's iron hold as he watched the mansion collapse.

"Let me go, you bastard! Napoleon's still in there!" Isaac thrashed about. "What are you all standing around for? If you don't go after him, I will—"

But Sebastian only embraced him tighter, his eyes red and his face stripped of its usual composure. "There is no use, sir. We can't risk going in there and getting ourselves trapped. Besides, this is Monsieur Napoleon. Of course, he'll return—"

"He doted on you like a son, you idiot!" Isaac screamed at the butler. "Are you REALLY that much of a coward to save the man you said you admired? Piss off—"

"I'll go." A deep voice rang amidst the chaos.

Isaac and Sebastian directed their attention towards the man walking in the direction of the mansion, his cape billowing in the wind.

"Jean!" Isaac called out to the soldier. "Can you go and save him?"

Sebastian winced at the thought of Jean d'Arc, braving through the fire to save another man. He can't even light a matchstick on his own, how is this even possible?

But Jean wordlessly unclipped his cape and let it fall to the ground. He adjusted the sword belt on his hip as Sebastian and Isaac watched.

Done with his preparations, he turned towards the men.

"I'm going inside." He declared. "No need to worry about us, for we are soldiers."

"We know! But—" the butler cried. He wasn't about to lose another great man to this catastrophe. "Are you certain about this?!"

Jean stared back at him through unreadable, iolite-colored eyes. Sebastian wanted to imagine that he was seeing something other than sorrow.

"I am certain," Jean replied. "Please wait for us here."

With one final nod, he made his way towards the ravaged building, the fire raging more violently than even the pyre.

Jean tightened his grip on the basket hilt of his sword.

There were not many things I could save from back then, he braced himself against the heat. There's probably not much I can save now.

But if it's for a friend, then maybe...

Jean broke into a run.

Then maybe I can reach out for it, just this once.

Made for @kissmetwicekissmedeadly‘s Napoleon Birthday Prompt 2020. The prompt was “home”.

“But Riri! Why are you hurting your readers like this? This is supposed to be Napoleon’s birthday! You should be celebrating!” Naw, I haven’t been doing angst in a while and I gotta practice.

Tagging @kisara-16 @thedollarstoresatan @delicateikemenmemes @ikesensrandomninjagirl24 @ashavazesa @hokkaido-fox @nuclearwinterexe @lulu-the-hedgehog @longingkisses @weird-profiterole @napoleonstan @scummy-writes @an-otome-cally-correct @nafeary

#ikevam fanfic #ikemen vampire #ikevam napoleon bonaparte #ikevam jean d'arc #ikevam sebastian #riri tries ikevam

19 notes · View notes

ethtyn · 1 year

Text

taglist for mobile

PERSONAL POSTS (#vonswayenthusiast.txt)

ANSWERED ASKS (#vonswayenthusiast.answers)

IMAGE POSTS (#vonswayenthusiast.png)

ACCESSIBLE POSTS (#transcribed / #captioned / #image description in caption / #image description in alt)

100+ NOTE POSTS (#popular? i know about popular.)

QUEUE TAG (#abandon hope⸒ ye queue enter here)

TEXT POSTS (#.txt)

VIDEO POSTS (#.mp4)

GENERAL MCYTBLR (#mcytblr)

NOT MCYT (#not mcyt)

I'M GOING FERAL ABOUT THIS (#this gave me rabies.)

HERMITCRAFT (#hoimycraft)

bdubs (#no. 1 ethogirl ♡) / shove him saturday (#happy shove him saturday!! 💖✨‼️) / building with bdoubleo (#building with boo)

cleo (#a love this deep won't stay buried; the zombie song - stephanie mabey)

cub (#here in my kingdom‚ i am your Lord; i order you to cower and pray - the mind electric - miracle musical)

doc (#the goatfather)

etho (#please. my father’s name is mr. slab. call me etho.)

false (#queen of hearts‚ heads‚ and body parts ✨)

gem (#i live to let you shine; boats and birds - gregory and the hawk)

grian (#look inside my heart & find a perilous ravine; creature - half•alive)

grumbot (#🧨 LET'S GO OUT WITH A BANG; bang! - ajr)

impulse (#caffeinated animated redstone innovator)

joe (#joe hills of the nashville tennessee variety)

mumbo (#touch me‚ midas; make me part of your design; my ordinary life - the living tombstone)

pearl (#we burn ourselves to ashes and use the rubble for the parts; mile magnificent - molly ofgeography)

ren (#renthewhore (affectionate))

scar (#i am not immune to the good times.) / jellie (#jelliecat) / sea shell scar saturday (#happy sea shell scar saturday 💖✨‼️)

tango (#[tango noises])

xisuma (#sheshwammyvoid)

zedaph (#waiting for my chance to see stranger things; stranger things - survival kit)

bdubs, keralis, & tango (#team big eyes)

bdubs, etho, & ren (#monolith roomies)

pearl, gem, & impulse (#soup group soup group soup group‼️)

ren/bdubs (#rendubs - to be changed eventually)

grian/mumbo (#grumbo ♡)

hermitcraft charity stream 2022 (#hccs22)

EMPIRES (#esmp)

fwhip (#everybody wants a rock to wind a piece of string around; we want a rock - they might be giants)

gem (#i live to let you shine)

jimmy (#sometimes i wish i could take a new form‚ switch out some parts and become like the norm; blow my brains out - tikkle me)

joel (#joel beans 🫘)

lizzie (#i just wanna cause a little entropy ♡; entropy - awkward marina)

oli (#oli what if i put YOU in the babygirlification machine. what then.)

pix (#but maybe it's time to let time pass through; passing through (can't the future just wait) - kaden mckay)

sausage (#tell me what you know about dreaming; pursuit of happiness - kid cudi)

scott (#i'm the gap between a tragedy and comedy; the main character - will wood)

shubble (#and i'm not your protagonist, i'm not even my own; sweet hibiscus tea - penelope scott)

jimmy/joel (#smallidarity - to be changed eventually)

fwhip/jimmy (#fwhimmy - to be changed eventually)

HERMITCRAFT X EMPIRES (#hermitpires crossover)

The Polycule™ (#hermitpires polycule)

TRAFFIC SMP (#🚦smp)

etho/bdubs (#it's not love, i swear; it might be closer to despair; despair - leo.)

cleo/etho/bdubs (#clethubs)

impulse/bdubs (#team homewreckers ♡)

scar/grian (#make me love myself so that i might love you; saint bernard - lincoln)

joel/etho (#smalletho - to be changed eventually)

ren/martyn (#treebark - to be changed eventually)

jimmy/tango (#team ranchers / #solidaritek - to be changed eventually)

bdubs, etho, skizz, & tango (#team best ✩)

martyn (#get back, put your hands up; kinda messed up, but it's tough luck; killer in the mirror - set it off)

RATS SMP (#ratsmp)

owen (#flowers in my hair makes me wish that you were here; flowers in my hair - wes reeve)

MCC (#mcc)

mcc 28 (#mcc 28)

mcc 27 (#mcc underdogs)

DSMP-RELATED (#dsmp /)

tubbo & scar (#slushie duo)

AMONG US (#friday night stabby)

CREATE SMP (#create s2)

MINDCRACK (#potato on a stick)

team canada (#the maple leaf boys 🍁)

bdubs, guude, & etho (#ooge)

MISC MCYTERS

ivorycello (#ivorycello)

kolanii (#kolanii)

waxfraud (#waxfraud)

MINECRAFT (#block game)

taglist in progress as i reblog things that need tags. thank you for your patience.

#taglist #pinned #vonswayenthusiast.txt #i'm annoyed that i can't update the thing from mobile so this is my solution lmfao #just discovered half of these don't work. bear with me i'll fix em eventually probably #but at least now you have context for wtf my inanity means

1 note · View note

queenbirbs · 4 years

Text

find you in the night | Mal x MC

Pairing: Mal Volari x h!MC (Elwyn)

Word count: 2600+

Summary: A little conversation at sixty-three feet in the air. Or: Mal invites Elwyn to see the abandoned wonder of Westavia Woods. Title taken from Andrew Belle’s “In My Veins.”

“This is a lot less fun than you said it would be.”

“I dunno. I’ve got a pretty spectacular view from where I’m standing,” Mal counters from where he leans over the edge, no doubt getting an eyeful.

Though she can’t see the smirk on his face, given that she’s too busy climbing up the side of a castle, Elwyn knows it’s there. The handhold she chose gives way under her palm, tearing her attention away from the man above. She digs through the vines and finds another, her nails scratching at the stone in a way that sends a shiver up her spine – and not in a good way, either.

“A little help down here?” she calls up.

In the span of a second, Mal straddles the turret’s wall and waggles his fingers for her to take. Elwyn frowns up at him, even as her boots slip across the protruding stone blocks. “There’s no way that’s safe. Throw me a rope or something.”

“It’s perfectly safe!” he defends. His confidence dims when he eyes the distance between them again. “Safe-ish. C’mon, kit, we haven’t got all day. Sun’s gonna set before you manage to inch your way up here–”

“Fine. Give me your damn hand, then.” She huffs, grinning all the while – he answers in kind with his own as he leans down and grips her hand. His skin is warm from the sun-baked stones, his palm rough from spending a lifetime scaling such structures for treasure.

“That’s it,” he coaxes. “Up and over.”

She climbs the rest of the way up and throws a leg over the wall, drawing in a breath to calm her nerves. She sucks in another when she takes in their view.

“Oh, wow.”

“I know.”

The castle they sit atop, formerly owned by some pompous asshole (Mal’s words, not hers, though she tends to agree with his sentiments regarding the upper class), sprawls across several acres.

Or, at least, it once had. Now, some hundred or so years since its abandonment, much of it has fallen into disrepair. The gatehouse and several of the towers are nothing more than moss-coated rubble. Dense sheets of vines crawl their way up and over the remaining towers and keep. The courtyard is now an extension of the forest, trees and shrubs filling the neat square where people once bustled about.

What’s left of the castle towers high above Westavia Woods. The name is a bit of a misnomer, considering the massive spread of forest between Undermount and Whitetower. After leaving the elven city and winding down through the Salus Mountains (while battling a few trolls along the way), they’d stopped here to rest. Tyril had called the area Tel’ eath, which roughly translated to ‘the endless.’ Elwyn didn’t need him to expand on that one.

The view before them is an ocean of green, the forest stretching as far as the eye can see. Already low in the sky, the sun traces the line of the horizon a brilliant gold. Birds soar across the landscape, their forms thrown into sharp relief.

“I thought it’d be nice to get away.” Mal glances her way and lets out a sigh of content. “Glad to see I was right.”

“Like an adventure from our adventure?”

“Exactly.” He reaches down into his bag and produces a small bottle. The golden liquid inside almost shimmers in the waning sunlight. “Swiped this from the winery while you were grabbing the mangy cat-bat his own bottle.”

Popping out the cork with the tip of his dagger, Mal hands it off to her for the first sip. The taste is sweet, almost to the degree of too much, before the mellow hint of herbs emerges to soothe the dulcified liquid. If the Celestial icewine was sunshine-and-snow, the honey-wine is a gentle wind through a willow tree, or the first bite of autumn. Elwyn thinks of the field of meadowsweet on the eastern edge of Riverbend. How she would spend afternoons hidden in the dense thicket, her nose in a book of fantastical places like Cordonia, or La Huerta, or Lykos, or Brooklyn.

“I can see why Threep likes it,” she says, taking another sip before passing it back to Mal.

Rolling her shoulders to ease the muscles now sore from her ascent, she indulges in the scenery. From this height, she can easily spot camp, where the steady stream of smoke from their fire snakes up through the tree cover. Their friends’ voices are nothing more than a distant thrum, indecipherable on the wind.

“I’ve never climbed something so tall. There was an old fortress south of Riverbend that I went to the top of, but it was only three stories high. And the view was nothing like this.”

“All by yourself?” he teases, making a show of licking his lips clean of the wine. “And here I thought you hadn’t taken part in a single adventure until I came along.”

“It wasn’t much of an adventure. And I went with the town blacksmith.”

“Ah. What’s his name, then?”

“Her name is Simona.”

Mal hums a tone of interest, one eyebrow peaked. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t ya?”

She levels a look of her own at him. “You did see me make out with that mermaid, didn’t you?”

“It’s not like I was ogling you two,” he points out with a scoff. “Not that you’ll ever hear me admit it again, but I was jealous.”

“Oh, I know. You’re not exactly subtle about it.”

“I’d try to hide it, but you seem to see right through me.” He’s grinning as he says it, but there’s a softness in his gaze that wasn’t there weeks ago.

It’s his only tell that she’s been able to spot. Maybe because he lets her, she considers, and the thought warms her, oddly enough.

Turning from her companion, Elwyn scans the farthest edge of the forest as best she can, looking for the age-old sign of civilization: right angles. Even far beyond her sight, she knows that the great city of Whitetower is still many, many miles away. The thought of visiting the capital city has her torn in two.

On one hand, it’s somewhere she’s always wanted to go, after seeing a painting of the sparkling, white castles rising high into the sky, the cobblestone streets below filled with the smudged outlines of its citizens. After living most of her life in a tiny, backwater town, she longed to experience a real, bustling city filled to the brim with people.

On the other hand, she knows that it’s the last stop on their adventure through Morella. Elwyn has no doubt that they’ll find the last shard; has no qualms about fighting the Shadow Court; has no objection to doing whatever it takes to get her brother back.

She can only hope that her friends make it out alive.

A quick tug on her braid brings her out of her woolgathering.

“Penny for your thoughts.”

“Wondering what awaits us in the city,” she answers, trying her best to hide the anxiety she feels.

Mal rolls his shoulders in a lazy shrug, exuding a carefree appearance. It’s a good act, she’ll give him that.

“Destruction, devastation… death. But that’s the usual for Whitetower.”

“I know you don’t want to return, but I’m glad you’re coming.”

“It’s not that,” he says with a shake of his head. “I’d always planned to go back, of course, what with my sister still living there. But that sort of visit would be a quick in-and-out, do a bit of business, and be off before anyone who cared to know even suspected.”

Squinting out at the horizon, he sighs before flashing her a wry grin. “I have a feeling we’ll be making quite the entrance for ourselves this time.”

She watches the grin fade away as his brown eyes search hers.

“I have few memories of my village,” she tells him, “but not all of them are good. And I’m not only talking about the night it was destroyed. So, I understand about wanting to leave the past where it lies.”

“I’d be lying if I hadn’t thought about it burning down to ash. Parts of it, at least,” he amends. “I don’t wish any harm on the citizens.”

“I’m guessing those parts would be the castle.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, something dark flashing in his eyes. “Just those.”

Before them, the sun has disappeared. It throws its last light out across the treetops, a vain attempt to keep its hold on the day. The night arrives like a deep, blue blanket thrown over the sky. High above them, stars twinkle into existence, materializing in droves. It’s as if someone has flicked a white paintbrush across the heavens. A cool wind rushes past; Elwyn shudders along with the vines.

She thinks of Kade and the realm he’s trapped in. Can he see the night sky from wherever he is? Can he keep himself sane by listing off the constellations, something that used to annoy the piss out of her growing up? Can he even still be alive?

She thinks of Kaya, frozen in death, her fear sculpted across her glass form, all alone at what seemed like the bottom of the world. Of all the terrible thoughts that bubble up, Elwyn thinks the worst might be her hands. How they were raised to shield herself from the attack, how that same instinct of survival runs deep in everything, no matter the species. Had she known what was coming? Or was there surprise hidden somewhere behind all that fear?

“Should we have… done something for Kaya?” she asks, hating how small her voice sounds.

“She was beyond our help.”

“I know that. But it still feels like we abandoned her. We left her down there.” Elwyn scrubs at her eyes, wishing she could banish away the immediate well of tears. “I keep thinking about the last time I saw Kade. He had that same expression. What if he thinks there’s no rescue coming? What if he does, though, and we can’t? What if–”

“Hey, hey,” Mal cuts off her worried rambling. He cups her face and drops a kiss to her forehead, and then another just under her eye. Something squeezes tight in her chest at the gesture. “You’ll worry yourself in circles like that.”

“I know,” she whispers, her hand covering his. “But I can’t–”

“Help it. I understand. And I wouldn’t lie to you, not about this. Kade… he–”

“May be lost forever,” Elwyn finishes for him.

He winces, but gives her a quick nod.

“I know that,” she tells him. “After all we’ve seen of what the Shadow Court can do, I can only run on blind faith at this point that I’ll get him back.”

“Hey, now. It’s not only faith. You’ve got the four of us.” He pauses and frowns. “Well, five if you count the cat, but he’s at most a glorified stomach with wings. But that doesn’t mean that we won’t fight like hell for your brother.”

His thumb sweeps across her cheek, steadying her. She turns her head and presses her lips to his palm, wishing she could express the gratitude she feels that they’ve all stuck beside her this long. Instead, she shifts to take another long look at the world as the night closes in on them.

“I feel like I could see Riverbend from here.”

“If it weren’t for the curve of the world, and if your eyes were as good as mine, you probably could.”

She gives his thigh a light smack.

“My eyes are just fine, thank you.”

“Very fine indeed,” he agrees, that familiar smirk of his firmly in place.

She realizes that she would like to wipe it right off. Sliding her hand down along his arm, she wraps it around his bicep and hauls him down for a kiss.

He’s quick on the uptake, his arms coming around to circle her waist and drag her closer. His tongue runs across her bottom lip, asking for entry; she acquiesces with a tilt of her head and deepens the kiss. The taste of him is a concoction of aged leather, a rain-soaked forest, and a spice she can’t seem to put a name to, something that seems to be uniquely Mal.

His touch dances across her back and up along her ribs, one hand around her waist to keep her steady while the other sinks into her hair. She hooks a leg up and around his hip, drawing him flush against her. Her move is met with a satisfied hum. Pleasure travels through her veins, slow and steady like treacle. It’s dizzying, the effect of him. If he asks, she’ll blame it on the dangerous, sixty-foot drop mere inches away, but they both know a lie when they hear one.

He breaks their kiss to trail his mouth down her neck and across her chest.

“If you wanted to get me all alone so you could have your way with me,” he pauses, his tongue tracing the lines of her collarbone in a way that makes her breath hitch, “you could’ve just said so.”

“I thought our resident rogue and self-proclaimed ‘king of stealth’ would enjoy my attempt at subtlety.”

He laughs, his beard tickling at the sensitive skin of her throat. Some deep, tucked-away part of her would like to hear the sound every day of her life.

“Elwyn, I’ve seen you flirt with every living thing we’ve come across. You wouldn’t know subtle if it was branded across your forehead.”

Dragging her hand down his front, she treats him to a hint of her nails, pleased when he sucks in a breath as she continues lower.

“The way I see it,” she murmurs, “why waste all that precious time and energy when I can be as brazen as I’d like and get there even faster?”

Sliding her touch back up his body, she fits two fingers under his chin and urges him to meet her for another kiss. Her toes curl inside her boots at the heady slide of his lips against hers.

“Would you like to know my next idea?” he asks, nipping a path along her jaw to below her ear.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Once we can get away from our merry band of misfits for more than two minutes, I plan on taking you to bed.” He bites down at the soft skin below her ear, a breathy chuckle escaping him when she bites her lip on the end of a groan. “Once there, I plan on coaxing out all these lovely noises you’re keeping bottled up.”

Shivers dance up her spine, but in a good way this time.

“What a coincidence.” She grins up at him when he pulls back to return to her mouth. “Because that’s exactly what I plan on doing with you.”

He gazes down at her with something akin to wonder. “Great minds think alike, then.”

At the horizon, the sunlight empties out the last of its parting glass. The dark blue of twilight seeps across the canvas before them. “We should probably get going,” he sighs, the disappointment ringing through his words. “Especially if we want to eat something before Threep hoards it all for himself.”

Elwyn concedes his point and casts a wary glance down the side of the castle.

“Um, how are we going to get back down?”

“Like any normal person would. By the stairs.”

She would wipe the shit-eating grin off his face if she wasn’t worried she’d knock him straight off the turret.

“There are stairs? You told me the only way up was to climb!”

“The only interesting way up. C’mon, El, what’s life without a little adventure, hmm?”

“Don’t call me El.”

“I think it suits you, but all right, fine. How about Wynnie?”

“I will throw you from this castle, I swear.”

“Ah, but you’re laughing. Admit it, you like it.”

“You’re absurd.”

“You know what, you’re right. But it’s a shame you can’t come up with a nickname for me, what with my name being so short.”

“I’m sure I can find something that suits you.”

“Oh, surely you must know by now, Elwyn. It’s you – you suit me right down to the ground.”

AN: Me, ending a story with lines of dialogue instead of giving it a proper send-off? Truly unprecedented.

References: a line from Syfy’s Alice and the Roman goddess Salus that I named the mountains after.

Was I inspired to write this by the fact that Mal Volari is essentially the whatever-century-this-book-exists-in version of Nathan Drake? Yes, thanks. Was there ever any doubt I would love him the moment he opened his smart mouth? Nope!

Honey-wine is actually another name for mead, though there is a chance they could be different drinks depending on the region (thanks wikipedia). No matter what, though, I imagine the drink tastes a lot better in the Blades universe than my only taste of it at a pub in Pitlochry.

#mal x mc #mal volari #choices blades #blades of light and shadow #Kaila writes things #f: find you in the night

28 notes · View notes

choupetit · 5 years

Text

GOT Recap: Iron Throne

Airdate: 5/19/19 Season 8, Episode 6 (Finale)

Well, here we are, everybody! The Game of Thrones Finale has dropped and I for one was completely loving it. It was so riveting and they were totally able to justify Dany’s mad queen arc, plus, the way they tied up all the loose ends was truly spectacu ---oh for the love of god, I can’t do this anymore! Here’s the truth: The finale was GARBAGE! It was disappointing and boring and, honestly, we all deserved better. I know people say “You can’t please everybody.” I get that. But, dude, when the majority of people ain’t happy, you’ve done messed up.

That said, it’s dunzo and now we all can walk around dazed, like the survivors of King’s Landing, trying to make sense out of the madness. I suppose, in a way, I’m grateful that the previous episode was so god awful, because it really helped me prepare for a let down. So in that sense, expecations were met. Let’s remind ourselves how this series, as a whole, was truly a special thing…most of the time. It’s just too bad it had to end this way. This is by far my least fave episode to recap, but I can’t just let the final notes of the Song of Ice and Fire go unplayed, so here ya have it: My final GOT recap of “Iron Throne”:

Yo. The massacre of King’s Landing is over – or is it? Tyrion Lannister -clearly not considering his own life or survival- has decided to stick around and take a long walk through the charred human remains and toppled buildings. Jon Snow and Ser Davos follow him, equally stunned by the devastation. White ash covers everything. We see a handful of shell shocked survivors as Tyrion passes through the streets to make his way to the Red Keep. Jon tells him not to go in without backup, but Tyrion insits on going it alone. He gets into the castle and makes his way through the ruined map room and down the stairs to check on the secret passageway that he told his bro about. It’s all moody and sad…but also confusing, because we saw the ceiling collapse last episode and it didn’t seem like there would even be a basement left to go to. But maybe I’m just being a stickler for things that make actual sense. Tyrion finds a giant pile of rubble blocking a passageway. A hint of light peeks from the top and he manages to climb and pick his way past the blockage. Seems totally safe to me to disturb the unstable structure and debris.

On the other side, there is another huge pile of rubble and Tyrion spies Jaime Lannister’s golden hand peeking out of the rocks. Yeah, that’s right, the ceiling - and presumably entire structure - came crashing down on Jaime and Cersei Lannister last episode and yet here we are with body pieces barely covered. Tyrion clears away a few bricks and voila! He has excavated Jaime and Cersei – nestled close together. That whole thing is so…whatever. I mean, Tyrion seems pretty upset, but when you look at the surrounding scene you’re just like “So…if Jaime and Cersei had simply stepped a few feet to the right, they would’ve been fine?” It’s all kinda dumb, if I’m being honest. But Tyrion’s feelings are real, and he’s devastated to see his siblings dead in each other’s arms.

As Jon and Davos make their way through the city to the Red Keep, they come across Grey Worm with a handful of Lannister soldiers on their knees, about to be executed. Jon’s all “Whoa, man. The fight’s over, these dudes should be prisoners!” And Grey Worm is all “I’m following my queen’s orders to kill her enemies.” Jon wants to talk to his superior – aka Daenerys – and Grey Worm’s all “Cool, let me know how that works out.” He proceeds to cut the throats of each of the kneeling men. Yowzers, that is cold!

Meanwhile, Arya Stark walks up to the crowd of Dothraki who are hooting and celebrating outside the Red Keep. It’s nice to know that the symbolic white horse at the end of last episode was able to carry her a full two blocks and then disappear for his next Lyft fare in King’s Landing – it’s surge pricing right now, people.

The Unsullied stand at attention, lining the long stairway up to the Red Keep and Jon slowly walks up. Grey Worm is already there – dude, the Unsullied are FAST! Tyrion stands to the side. Drogon swoops overhead and lands in the courtyard and a few seconds later, Queen Daenerys Targaryen walks out to the top of the stairs to address her loyal Dothraki and Unsullied troops.

She speaks to the crowd in Dothraki and then High Valyrian and gives a super creepy Hitler-esque speech “Thanks for helping me liberate the city, y’all! You guys have been so supportive and we are not going to rest until we have liberated the entire WORLD from the shackles of life!!!” All of Dany’s supporters cheer. “Also, we are going to have a big potluck tomorrow to get to know our 27 surviving King’s Landing citizens! This is a reminder that I’m making my famous ambrosia salad flambée and I really don’t want anybody one-upping me, so please steer clear from any and all other pineapple dishes with cool whip, m’kay? It might just push me over the edge. You guys are the best! See you tomorrow at 3pm near the charred moms and toddlers where the garden used to be!” Jon and Tyrion don’t understand a word she said, but they’re pretty sure it ain’t good. Of course it’s not – ambrosia salad is not meant to be flambéed, it’s gonna be a disaster. But at this point, nothing Dany does would surprise me anymore.

Tyrion steps forward and stands next to Dany, who goes “You freed your brother, traitor.” And Tyrion goes “Yeah, but you just massacred a city, psycho, so there! Oh and btw, I don’t want to be your hand anymore.” He removes his pin and tosses it down the stairs – y’all that is a bigger burn than what Dany just did to all of King’s Landing! Daenerys’s guards escort him away. Frankly, I thought she would just barbecue him right then and there, so things are going better than expected.

Jon stares warily at Dany who coolly gazes back at him and marches into the interior of the Red Keep. I don’t get how anybody can believe this is a sound structure, but then again all the building code enforcers are likely buried under a pile of rubble.

Suddenly, Arya pops up next to Jon who is surprised to see her in King’s Landing. She tells him of her plan to kill Cersei, “but your queen got there first.” Jon is quick to remind her that Daenerys is everybody’s queen. Arya retorts “Tell that to Sansa.” She also warns Jon that now that Daenerys knows his secret lineage, she’ll probably kill him one of these days.

Shortly after, Jon pays a visit to Tyrion, whose makeshift prison cell is a room filled with off-season Pier 1 decorative vases. Talk about cruel and unusual punishment. Tyrion attempts to turn Jon against Dany and gives him a whole spiel about how people with access to weapons of mass destruction and a penchant for mental instability somehow shouldn’t be allowed to be in power. Jon’s all “Meh, it’s not really my decision to make. I’m gonna focus on the things I can control – like the tightness of my man bun and the number of steps I’m clocking on my fitbit. Dude, this whole King’s Landing trip has got me up to 50K steps and it’s not even lunchtime!” “O-kay…but Dany really needs to be stopped.” There’s a bunch of bumbling convo about how Tyrion really did love and believe in Dany and how love clouds reason. Jon tells Tyrion “Love is the Death of Duty” and Tyrion is blown away by the poetic insight, then realizes it’s Jon saying it and goes “Did you just come up with that on your own?” “Nah, man. Maester Aemon said it to me once.” “Yeah, that makes more sense. Well, let me just take that gem, flip it and reverse it: Maybe sometimes Duty can be the Death of Love…just sayin’.” This wordplay is way too much for Jon to handle and he has to take a seat. Probably as a defense for the writers to take Dany down the path of crazyville, Tyrion points out all the cruel things Daenerys has done in her pursuit of the crown and he says she was cheered on and thus validated in feeling that she is right and good. When Jon tells him none of it matters now that the war is over, Tyrion goes “Is it though? She won’t stop till she’s the queen to everybody in this world – how is your family going to react to that? And do you really think that she won’t kill you, too, one day – the person with a better claim to the throne?” Finally, Tyrion tells Jon that he has to make a choice – and has to make it now. Visiting hours are over and Jon leaves, making no commitments either way. Just Jon being Jon, folks.

Jon approaches the entrance to the throne room – Drogon is guarding it. The dragon stirs from a pile of ashes, gives Jon a once-over and deems him worthy to pass. Damn straight, ‘cause he’s a true Targaryen!

Meanwhile, Daenerys enters the throne room – or rather, what’s left of it. The roof has been blown off with several of the exterior walls missing and the floor is covered with so much ash, it looks like a blanket of snow. She stares at the Iron Throne - solitary in the open space -and walks toward it. At last, she reaches it and touches one of the swords. This throne has always been so far from her grasp – even in her vision from the House of the Undying she never did manage to touch it - this moment has been a long time coming.

She turns to see Jon Snow at the doorway and she tells him a boring story about her childhood and how she assumed the Iron Throne was this gigantic behemoth of a throne. Jon is just all “Hey, gurl…so…your soldiers are still slaughtering peeps in the street. That’s pretty effed.” Dany is all calm with crazy eyes saying things like “We can’t hide behind small mercies – sometimes you have to kill a whole bunch of innocent people to save an even bigger bunch of innocent people.” When Jon asks her if she’s actually seen all the children that she’s killed in the streets – children, women, men who had nothing to do with any of this, he insists that mercy has to be a part of the vision for a better world.

Dany’s just all “I’m a visionary – I get that it’s really hard for you to see the grand scheme here, since you know nothing, but just trust that I know what is good and right.” It’s a callback to the convo Jon had with Tyrion just five minutes ago. Jon asks “Well, what about everybody else who thinks they know what’s good and right?” Dany replies, slightly flippantly “They don’t get to choose.” She asks Jon to be a part of her awesome dream and of course he tells her “You’re my queen. You always will be.” They kiss and embrace.

Then, mid-hug, THWUMP! Jon plants a dagger into Daenerys’ chest. Dany didn’t see this coming and is flummoxed. She collapses and dies in Jon’s arms, a trickle of blood spills from her mouth as he lays her on the ground.

Sensing a disturbance in the Force of the Mother of Dragons, Drogon flies up to investigate. He sees him momma lifeless on the ground and gives her a few nudges with his nose “Wake up, mama!!!” It’s all kinda heartbreaking if you can forget the entire last half of the previous episode where Drogon and his mommy were burning up all of King’s Landing.

Drogon looks at the dagger in Dany’s chest and then at the Iron Throne and Jon. He breathes in deeply and you can see the fire near the back of his throat. Holy Moles, is he going to toast Jon and then we see Jon arise from the flames? Nope. He lets out a huge stream of fire…not on Jon, but on the throne. What?! Is Drogon a big dumdum for thinking the pointy throne killed his mom or is he such a genius that he understands the Iron Throne is a symbolism for power, the pursuit of which ultimately led to his mother’s demise? We’ll never know, but either way, I think we can all agree it’s a weird reaction coming from the dragon. But it looks cool, so I guess there’s that. Drogon melts the entire throne to the ground. Then he picks Daenerys up gently in his talon and takes off. Jon is completely unharmed and would ya look at that – no dead body! Thanks Drogon! Now Jon can be all “I dunno where Daenerys went…she said she was going out for some milk”, and nobody will be the wiser. #PerfectCrime

We get a close up of Tyrion’s face – he wakes up from his prison cell floor and guards take him to the old dragon arena. Judging by the length of his beard, several weeks have gone by. Grey Worm leads him to a semi-circle of seated noblemen and women. It’s pretty much all the noble families left in Westeros - about a dozen or so peeps: Yara Greyjoy, the new Dornish prince, Robin Arryn and his adviser, Ser Davos Seaworth, Ser Brienne of Tarth, Lord Gendry, Samwell Tarly, Edmure Tulley and a few faces we don’t recognize, plus the three Stark siblings: Bran, Arya and Sansa.

When Sansa asks where Jon is – he was supposed to be at this meeting - Grey Worm replies that he’s their prisoner and the Unsullied get to decide who earns a get out of jail pass to attend the Westerosi Nobles Summit. Hold the door, people!! Wait a second. First of all: Jon’s milk cover story didn’t work??? Also, are we supposed to assume that Grey Worm has just been hanging out twiddling his thumbs waiting for somebody to tell him what to do? Isn’t he second in command to Daenerys and thus the new person in charge? Wouldn’t Tyrion and Jon be dead already for their crimes? And who called everybody for this summit anyway? Ok, none of these questions will be answered, so let’s get back to the action:

The gist of the gathering is that all the nobles have to decide what to do next, since there isn’t a monarch to make any decisions for the realm. Tyrion, the prisoner, is the dude who gets to do all the talking and comes up with a plan where all the nobles should just get to vote on who should be king. Sam suggests they try a democracy and everybody yucks it up. Lame. Edmure Tulley tries to nominate himself and Sansa tells him to sit the eff down.

Then Tyrion goes on to suggest that the person with the best stories should get to be the ruler – because, ya know, it’s stories that unite people. And who has a better story than Bran Stark? Um…pretty much all the other perfectly qualified women in the half-circle. Sansa objects that Bran doesn’t want to be king and besides, he can’t have kids. But for Tyrion, this is a minor detail: Who better to rule than somebody who doesn’t want the power? And let’s just elect rulers rather than passing down the throne via birthright! From now on, all the nobles will get to vote for their next king or queen. When Tyrion asks Bran if he’s ok being the Big Kahuna, Bran with his super dead-in-the-eyes mug goes “Why do you think I came all this way.” HOLD THE DOOOOOOOR, people!!!! Are you saying Bran knew this WHOLE time that he was going to be king? Are you kidding me? Is this the dumbest thing ever? Do I now have to pick apart a gazillion instances that make this so messed up if Bran always knew where things were going? No. We’ll stop here.

Everybody votes for Bran except for Sansa who goes “I love you little bro, you’re gonna be awesome as king but I can’t support you because the North is going independent baby. We’re ruling ourselves!!!” And Bran just nods. Now everybody else feels like a total moron for not putting in any special requests for their regions when they voted “Aye” for Bran. Ha, suckers!

Finally, to conlude this extremely boring scene, Tyrion names Bran king and puts in a super offensive name in his official title: Bran the Broken, first of his name…yadda, yadda. Bran looks around at everybody super hurt and goes “You guys have been calling me that behind my back this whole time?!” To get back at him, Bran tells Tyrion he has to be hand of the king. Grey Worm is all “You can’t do that! He’s our prisoner!” And Bran’s all “I can do what I want cause I’m king! Nanny, nanny, boo, boo! Also, Tyrion messed up big time and now he has to dedicate the rest of his existence to fixing his mistakes.” Um, seems like a pretty cush job to me, frankly.

They also throw in that the Unsullied can take The Reach as their own land, since pretty much nobody in Westeros lives there anymore. It’s the equivalent of telling them they can have Nebraska, and guess what? Nobody wants it.

Next, Tyrion visits Jon, whose beard is also looking cray from all the weeks of growing it out. He gives him the news: The Unsullied wanted Jon dead and the Stark sisters wanted him released, so Bran hit a compromise wherein Jon has to go back to the Wall and live out the rest of his days there, just like a regular Night’s Watchman: No wifey, no kids, no lands. Jon’s all “Why the hell is there even still a wall?” –“Duh, because.”

We see a freshly groomed Jon walk through the docks of King’s Landing, accompanied by two dudes from the Night’s Watch. Grey Worm gives him the stinkeye from his ship – the Unsullied are heading to Naath. Hey, maybe Grey Worm can find himself another nice girl from there!

Jon says goodbye to his siblings/cousins. Sansa is now queen of the North, which is pretty much what she always wanted. She laments that they lost their king, though. When Jon tells Arya she can still visit him she’s all, “Nah.” She wants to explore the seas west of Westeros where the maps end – so basically, our girl is gonna hang out in Hawaii for the rest of her life, hopefully doing more Eat Pray Loving than colonizing.

Brienne of Tarth is seated with the big Knight-o-pedia book in front of her. She finds the entry for Jaime Lannister and adds on to it. She is sure to mention that he had the best sex of his life with her, in spite of his tiny cock. Or, ya know, she takes the high road and puts in something really nice about him dying while protecting his queen. Ugh, Brienne, why you always gotta be so good?

In the Red Keep, it’s time for the very first small council to convene. Tryion gets all the chairs ready just so, and then in walk Ser Davos, Samwell Tarly, and Lord Bronn of the Blackwater – he finally got Highgarden, btw. They exchange some banter which falls short.

Soon thereafter Ser Brienne of Tarth and Ser Podrick Payne (awww he got knighted, too) enter with King Bran. Bran notes they are still missing a few positions: boring, boring, and dullsville. Then he goes “Does anybody know what Drogon is up to?” He was last seen flying east and Bran excuses himself to do some Professor X-ing to see if he can find him. But of course, we don’t actually get to see Bran warg. The small council continues with the boring business of figuring out how to spend money on rebuilding King’s Landing and it all ends with Bronn gunning hard for new brothels. Ugh. Seriously.

At the Wall, Jon arrives to be reuinited with his good pal Tormund Giantsbane and also: the bestest direwolf of them all, Ghost! This time, Jon gives Ghost an affectionate cuddle.

We get a cross-cut of a bunch of dull scenes of Jon, Arya, and Sansa getting dressed and walking. Sansa is crowned Queen in the North, Arya sets sail on a ship with the Stark sigil and Jon walks out to the Castle Black courtyard.

In the final scene, Jon heads out on horseback with Ghost and Tormund and a slew of Wildlings returning to their home. Has he abandoned the Night’s Watch? Is he Lord Commander again and can do whatever the heck he wants? Is he finally a ranger and is just going out on a temporary jaunt with his pal Tormund? Who knows. But it’s worth noting that the series finishes in the exact same way as it started: Men leaving the wall to head North into Wildling territory. The end.

And there we have it: 8 years of Game of Thrones came to a lackluster end with the Starks all on top. I’m still processing the weirdness I feel about the show ending this way. Truly, watching the episode was so dull at times that I just wanted it to be over already. While this could have been a much worse end to the series, it certainly wasn’t satisfying. But after the bombshell they dropped in the penultimate episode with Daenerys going nuts, I guess this final episode of the series didn’t have anywhere else to go that would have made it much better.

There are gazillions of cool things that were introduced throughout the previous seasons which were rendered somewhat pointless in the end. I would have loved more exploration and explanation of the mythology and its origins: The Children of the Forest, the Three Eyed Raven, the Night King, the previous defeat of white walkers and how they came back, the Lord of Light, all the fire priestesses in Essos, where the dragon eggs came from, the faceless men, etc. Also, I guess Varys’ letters about Jon being Aegon Targaryen were never delivered – or peeps just didn’t care? [shrugs] Oh well?

I thought this past season would be bittersweet to watch, but it took such an unfortunate turn in storytelling that I just wanted the bad plotlines to end. Season 8 never did live up to the hype of fan theories that were swirling about for two years. Can we blame it for coming up short? Kinda and kinda not. All I know is that I feel oddly cheated by the final season. Taken as a whole, though, I still love the show. I was always blown away by the sweeping visuals, the epic battle scenes, the engaging complexity of the characters. The acting, sets, costumes and music were all amazing. And of course, there was the joy of ruminating over all the possibilities of what might come in the next episode, and discussing the show with my fellow fans. Very few series are as special and engaging as Game of Thrones and I’ll miss it for sure. It’s nice to know there may be some amount of redemption for the story, when George R. R. Martin finally releases the last two books. So I’m holding onto hope for a slightly more satisfying end to this saga. Thanks for joining me on my recap adventures each week! It’s been a fun ride. And now my ‘caps have ended. Sorry, but I had to.

#GOTrecaps #gameofthrones #GOT #Game of Thrones #GOTS8e6 #GOTFinale

2 notes · View notes

lordrethandus · 6 years

Text

Mourn Not the Penitent Finale

From the moment Rethandus dropped from his deathcharger and began the rest of the way to the Burning Legion stronghold on foot, he never felt more alone.

Wrestling with his inner demons was a daily routine. When he managed to subdue them by rationalizing his actions, he would spend the rest of the day a somber yet stable man. He knew all of the people he killed to sate his curse was wrong, yet justified; the many others that got in his way felt justified too. Thinking about all of the people he slaughtered seemed fair when stacked against all the people he saved. On the days he proved victorious the burdens on his shoulders were light and easy to carry, his sins almost negligible. Other days when he lost the battle, the world around him would slow to a crawl. He would think of all the innocent people who died aboard Zaldrannar, and for what? His skewed sense of honor? Of justice?

His desire to do what he felt was just and righteous cost Tyrasam her husband, Jaeras her surrogate father, and Alucieus a close friend. His eagerness to prove he could defeat Whitstan in a duel cost hundreds of good men and women their lives; furthermore all of Quel’Thalas was put at risk of a second undead rampage, with all the blame shifted on Istrys’ shoulders. He was a blind fool, staggering in the dark and trampling on the lives of the innocent for his misguided quest for redemption. Today he was not worth saving. Today he was not worthy of even standing beside good people. Today he lost the battle.

An entire contingent of demon reserves were dying in the dirt and dust before him. A cloud of poisonous vapors clung at their eyes and burned at their lungs, turning their insides into paste; the handiwork of Zolaar proved invaluable to reaching the stronghold unharmed. Rethandus watched them fade away with mild interest, keeping his blades sheathed and both arms crossed over his chest while he waited for the others to finish their tasks. Grandmaster Sho ran his paw against the felsteel wall of the massive complex, occasionally slamming his open palm against it to listen to the reverberating echo. The Harbinger questioned why this monk wasted time trying to find a weakness in the building when the front door would have worked just fine, but he insisted a sneak attack would help slip them past any traps near the entrance. The Grandmaster struck one, two, three, four times, until at last he found what he was looking for. A troll warrior named Moyasi knelt beside one of the demon corpses he dragged to the wall, and busied himself by carving out yet another trophy to add to his grim collection. “Here.” Sho called out to Rethandus before spreading his paw against the wall. “Are you ready, Commander?”

“Do it.” Grandmaster Sho’s other paw struck the felsteel wall so hard it rippled like it was made of water before imploding, sending fire and debris into the blackness of the stronghold. Rethandus and Moyasi rushed in while Sho was recovering from what had to be brutal recoil, but once inside, all they found were bodies. They couldn’t take a single step without sinking their boots in entrails; so much blood covered the floor, walls and even the ceiling, that it looked like the entire building had been repainted by some depraved artist. The Harbinger scowled through his helmet but pressed on, staying alert for any surprises or worse - finding the creature responsible for this massacre.

“What happened…?” Moyasi whispered under his breath, trying not to ensnare his bare feet in fel-rotten slime. “Did da Alliance get here first…?”

Grandmaster Sho reached them quickly enough, gagging on the hideous stench that filled his nose. “The Alliance would never do something like this… maybe several death knights with scores to settle and hatred in their hearts…?”

“Stay sharp.” Rethandus commanded, finally finding the end to the corpses and blood; they didn’t volunteer for this potential suicide mission to talk the Harbinger into a second grave.

Eventually the hallway opened up into a room drowned in darkness. The ghoulish display of demon entrails had ended, but there were streaks of fel blood that lead further into the stronghold, suggesting some of these corpses were dragged off by someone or something. Rethandus kept his eyes ahead while Moyasi and Sho remained at his flank; the Pandaren Monk fired several chi waves that fluttered about like wisps to pierce the silent black and illuminate the room with soft green and yellow light. The Harbinger’s scowl hardened when he found himself surrounded by destroyed portal struts, each seemingly torn out from their bases and thrown about the room. The other two gaped in awe at their work already done for them, but Rethandus was no fool - something was off, and whatever did that to the Felguards back near the entrance could still be around. “Spread out.” He commanded, turning to glance at the troll from over his shoulder. “I want this perimeter swept clean. We’re not leaving until we find what did-”

Rethandus paused. He could hear faint coughing in the very back of the chamber. While Moyasi cautiously began rummaging through the wreckage and Grandmaster Sho kept firing chi waves to illuminate the rest of the room, Rethandus walked forward, finding the source of those wet and dying noises.

A Fel Lord sat upright against the wall with one hand still gripping his axe that was buried deep into the skull of a giant vile fiend. His other hand cradled his own intestines in an attempt to keep them from spilling out any further, but his grievous injuries and the pool of his own blood he waded in sealed his doom. Slowly the demon opened his beady eyes to regard the Harbinger with an unfeeling gaze. “Mortal… filth…” he barely leaned over to spit a glob of blood into his puddle; the immense strain in his voice let the Harbinger know he was in an incredible amount of agony.

“What did this to you?” Rethandus asked, glancing around to ensure he wasn't about to be ambushed.

“Does it… matter…?” Another coughing fit shook the demon’s eviscerated body, causing him to groan through stained clenched teeth. “You… cannot stop her… cannot… win…”

Rethandus reached down and pulled the axe out of the demon’s grasp. With a flick of his wrist he then removed it from the fallen creature’s skull and tossed it away; any threat this Fel Lord posed was gone. “The Burning Legion is suffering its death throes… just like you. All of the Dark Titan’s champions have been killed. Archimonde… Kil’jaeden… Kruul… Tichondrius… only Miraan remains, and she cannot defeat Azeroth and the Army of the Light alone. You've lost every major battle after the Broken Shore. You and your mistress are finished.” The Harbinger knelt down to look the Fel Lord face to face. “That looks like it really hurts. If you tell me what happened here, I'll ease your passing.”

“She will… rain chaos and death… across the cosmos…!” The demon’s rambling forced a pitying grimace on the Harbinger’s face. “The Burning Legion… will rise… again!”

Rethandus stood back up to his full height as Grandmaster Sho and Moyasi returned from searching the surrounding area. “Report in.”

“Dere be no other survivas. Da lower levels be empty too.” The troll casually cradled several freshly-skinned skulls in his arms.

Grandmaster Sho didn't sound as satisfied. “Nothing on my end either. Just bodies and silence.” He glanced over his shoulder before saying, “Why was there a detachment of felguards out in front if everyone inside had been slaughtered? Something is out of place.”

“We'll figure that out back at base.” Rethandus waited until the Fel Lord slumped against the wall with his life sputtering out before he turned his back to face his companions. “If there's nothing left for us to kill or destroy, then this mission is accomplished… but stay on high alert you two… vile fiends usually hunt in packs. Let's get out of here before they come back.”

“Imagine getting hurt on da easiest mission of our lives.” Moyasi nudged Sho with his elbow as they both grinned. “We be needing a good story on how we took down da stronghold by ourselves, no? Otherwise ain't nobody gonna believe-”

A deep rumble above their heads caused all three of them to exchange glances as if one of them knew what that was. A violent explosion from above obliterated the ceiling before any of them could blink, igniting the air around them as concentrated felfire disintegrated everything it touched. “FALL BACK! RETR-!” Rethandus could no longer hear his own voice above the deafening roar of destruction. He covered his head with his hands and tried to move for cover, but the superheated floor beneath his boots melted and buckled like molten salt; he lost sight of Moyasi and Sho as they disappeared behind the veil of smoke and ashes.

Another barrage from above struck the Harbinger on his descent to the lower levels, his anti-magic shell shattering under the overwhelming force of raw fel magic. The impact from landing hard on the next floor snapped both of his legs, forcing Rethandus to topple forward onto his stomach. He rolled over and overloaded all of his frost runes in a desperate gamble to protect himself, but the intensity of the searing flames are through the ice as quickly as it formed. The stronghold groaned loudly before collapsing on its own weight, causing the Harbinger to fall through another melted floor, this time landing hard on his back. He barely had enough strength to raise his hands and cover his face as the building fell down on top of him.

Then there was only darkness. He could still hear parts of the building collapsing, but he couldn't see a thing from all the dust and debris. Slowly he mustered enough strength to work his arm free, allowing him to brush melted iron and chunks of stone away from his burnt face. Rethandus opened his eyes to find himself laying in a crater where the Burning Legion stronghold used to stand, now reduced to a mess of twisted felsteel and rubble. There were still no signs of Moyasi and Sho - if he barely survived, they were likely already dead. A light as bright as the sun hovered in the sky, blinding the Harbinger with a sickly green heat; he braced himself for his true death, knowing a third bombardment would surely end him for good, but the instantaneous blast of felfire never came.

Something heavy landed on the rubble that pinned Rethandus down. He weakly gasped out in pain and reached for his runeblade nearby, but a meaty hoof slammed down onto his wrist. "Your Benevolence, this one still lives.” The voice was deep and throaty, but the words the demon spoke filled Rethandus with an anxious dread. “Shall I kill it?”

“Not yet.” A familiar voice cooed, yet all he could see where flickering shadows hidden behind the glaring light. Heat seeped into the Harbinger’s body as the collapsed wall was effortlessly lifted from his broken body. The familiar nausea settled in before he was lifted off the ground by her magic, rendering him helpless in the air before Eredar Commander. “Do I know you…?” Miraan asked, turning his face over with the gentle twist of her wrist; Rethandus did everything he could to break free, knowing this could be the best chance to kill her, but his body was useless. “Yes… I spoke with you in Highmountain. I remember you.”

Rethandus looked down to see what was left of her mangled arm. It was barely held together by metal pipes and plate armor, with most of her hand gone and replaced with crude prosthetics; a parting gift from Alucieus back at the last battle of Highmountain. “Did that hurt, you gullible bitch…?” He hissed through clenched teeth. “How did you managed to fall for the oldest trick in-NNNNGH!” Her Fel grip on his body tightened, threatening to implode his chest and finish him once and for all.

“Patience, Your Benevolence… he wants you to kill him.” The Dread Lord calmly stated, seemingly dispelling her ire. “Let him taunt you all he likes. It will only make his punishment all the more satisfying.” She released him after a few more moments in agony, letting the Harbinger crumble at her cloven hooves.

“Take him aboard, Kolvarr.” Miraan commanded, turning to leave. Rethandus reached for the runeblade in the rubble again, but was scooped up by the nape of his neck by the Dread Lord. “He will answer for what his commander has done to me. They all will.”

Mentions: @alucieussunrael

#The War on Argus

2 notes · View notes

obstructedantiquity · 7 years

Text

RICCIN KAYATA | 8.7 sweeps / 19 years old

temasek, hanhai region (2353 words)

Here's what you always known about Ico, since the very first time you laid eyes on him: the motherfucker is about as bright as a blown-out lightbulb, and he's never, ever placed a mind towards fixing that. His plans are poor. His thoughts are weak. If there's a way to make things worse, then he'll seek it out and find it, no matter the costs, no matter the goddamn trial of it.

So it's a little strange to realise, for once, he's actually done something right.

-- iconicDisquiet [ID] is now messaging antiquityObstructed [AO]! --

ID: Oh, darling, darling, darling.

ID: Are you fucking serious?

After his death, you’d looked up his file in the system, once or twice. The first time had been to calm Sipara down, convince the both of you that Raphae was right. His status had been the crisp lime of the deceased.

She’d cried, for all that the two of you weren’t together, for all that the two of you were scarcely talking, and she’d spent the day curled up in your recuperacoon, with the both of your lusii hiding in her hair, and you reading hymns.

And you’d looked it up once after, when Gliese had brought him up, but his file had been shut. You’d figure it’d been deleted. Why keep it? They didn't need a body to say he was gone, when the entire fucking hivestem was in shards around him. Blow-outs like that mean burn-outs, and he's not like you. Brother never was high on any scale but finesse.

Taking down an apartment would've left his brains leaking from his ears, and yellow mottling his face like all the points of a galaxy.

So it’s on a lark that you look again. It’s a fool’s errand, you know, and it’s a waste of your goddamn time, but.. the font’s like looking at a goddamn ghost, that’s the thing about it, and there’s only one thing to do about that.

The file’s supposed to be locked. But when flip open the database, plug in the right numbers, it slides right open, just like it did two sweeps ago. And it’s a strange thing to be looking at it again, with the moonlight just now filtering through your panes, with a lump in your throat. If you stopped, peered into your coon, you’d half expect to find Nzinga there, curls sticky with green.

If you stopped reading right here, maybe you’d get rid of this awful goddamn feeling, like you oughtn’t be looking at all.

You’ve always hated ghosts.

But you keep reading.

"Iconic Conetl of the fire drill," it reads, every line like the caress of a lie: "Age: ten sweeps. Chrome: #FADA5E, imperial yellow. Culture: yes, processing, estimated arrival cohort cycle 4.52A-Y-5."

“Status: alive.”

Well.

ID: I just - oh my goodness gracious, I just don’t know what to do with your little pupas.

ID: Always scampering around, thinking you’re clever just because you threw a sheet over your head and now you think you’re invisible.

ID: antiquityObstructed?

ID: What sort of a name is that? (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞

When you’d first met Ico, you’d been in the lab, feet dangling off the edge of the table and an icepack pressed to your flap. Shepherd had taken a fang, just to see how fast it’d grow back. Standard procedure, the assistant had told you, his mouth a little wavery, and you had figured it alright. It wasn’t like it hurt awful, and the only thing bothering you was the way the shots made your cheek swell.

You’d been waiting for.. something, for someone to come back in, but when the door cracks open, you’d never expected some half-grown ganglebeast with more spots than skin to saunter in like he owned it.

Maybe he hadn’t expected you to be there, neither, because he’d stopped, blinked at you with those half-closed eyes like he was having double-vision, and then the first words he’d ever said to you had been:

“ - are they fucking serious? Why, sugarplum, did she just pluck you straight out of the caverns?”

"Highblood, you can’t smoke in here,” you’d said, and he’d flicked ashes right at your face.

“Oh, don’t even start, pupa-dear, you’re not old enough to tell yourself what to do.” You’d thought him actually tall back then, is the strange thing about it. Tall and lean and just this side of alarming as he’d stalked forward, smoke billowing out of his nose and mouth, the indigo of his blazer trailing him like the tail of some vast drake. It’d have matched the venom dripping from his mouth. “Where’d she get you? And here I thought Iphie was ba-- wait.”

“Highblood?” he says, marveling, and then bursts into laughter.

ID: Honestly, couldn’t you have at least changed the initials?

You’ve never been much of a reader, but here’s the thing: what’s a computer but a book you can crack open? Some folks struggle. Dysseu whines, every time he’s hauled his husktop over to your place: taken over the entire table with notes and cross-references and a hundred different measures to try and make him remember what he’d just read, a thousand different bookmarks that he gets caught up in some sick sort of tangle.

It’s not like that for you. Information’s there to be read, and for all that the most of it’s worthless - that it’s a poison in your pan, that every false syllable’s just a sour note worming its way in - it’s not fucking hard. Raphae’s access codes peel the pages, easy as a knife, and all you have to do is skim, let your eyes drag through until something catches.

Ico’s file is full of this shit.

Thought dead, then found alive. Reporting to General Farwinde, and following up on her chrome just gives you a page too high for even Raphae to see. The picture on Ico’s file is your age, just about, and you’d always thought he was old as sin itself, but there’s meat to his cheeks, gray still streaking his eyes.

Paint along the curve of his cheek.

There’s an itch on your husk. When you swipe at it, your hand comes back damp, but nah, that’s not right. The feeling in your gut isn’t sadness, you don’t think. You know what that feels like. How could you not? The sickness of remorse, of regret, of a thousand things you could’ve done and didn’t - why, you’d lived that for perigees, over Sipara, and Ico’d never spawned that, not even when the wound was fresh.

You hadn’t felt much of anything at all. No, this isn’t sadness. What the fuck is there to be sad over? He’s alive. He’s fine enough, if he’s rattling at you, if he’s been playing moderator for perigees and perigees. And you’d had an inkling, before, when Gliese had mentioned his name.

His file had been shut, then, and you’d quashed the strangeness of it all like an egg underfoot. There’d been no need to think about it much, then. It’d passed, just as quick as it’d come, and you’d forgotten all about it soon as the next barb had hit your inbox.

The only thing you want to quash right now, you think, is him.

ID: But the handle’s been deleted, and we’ll just consider this your first warning, on account of the fact that was just insufferably fucking foolish.

ID: I mean, my stars and garters, sweethorns, at least try to seem like you aren’t snooping, hmmm? (〒^〒) Less embarrassment for all of us.

OA: my, my, my, brother.

ID: Oh.

ID: You’re not offline! Well, good, my little daylily, you can pull out your pen and paper, and take some notes. (´｡• ᵕ •｡`)

OA: such foul language.

OA: you been fucking with your nanny? don’t you know that’s a imperial goddamn crime?

ID:

OA: couldn’t even change your initials, huh? :o)

OA: well, don’t you worry none. brains was never the reason they fucking kept you, was it? it was all about that pretty face of yours. shame you went and blew it off.

OA: or was that a lie, too?

ID: Oh, for fuck’s sake.

OA: language.

ID: Go stick it up your ass, Riccin, you’re not old enough to watch your own language.

ID: So you found me out! (´-ω-`) What a surprise, sweetash, but I suppose we can’t all drown ourselves in sopor all the time.

ID: I knew I should have made Proper send this.

ID: Make them pull their weight for once!

ID: But this is just what happens when you’re too kind for your own good. Things come back, little pupas get some sense, and we all suffer for it. (´Ｏ`)

ID: Oh, well!

ID: I’d love to stay and catch up, see how you’ve been doing, but - well, you broadcast your life all over the chat anyway, so frankly, I think I’m all caught up on that. A little more caught up then I’d like, really, but that’s alright. I’ll live! Somehow. ( ~ ω ~; )

ID: So absolutely lovely talking to you, sweetheart, but I’m afraid I’ve got other warnings to give, so good light, au revoir, have a positively great romp of a night~

-- iconicDisquiet [ID] is no longer messaging obstructedAntiquity [OA]! --

-- obstructedAntiquity [OA] is now messaging iconicDisquiet [ID]! --

OA: why, don’t i get to say goodbye? share some wicked grievances? rend my fucking heart over our brief adieu? brother, have some fucking manners. let a motherfucker at least kiss both cheeks afore you go fleeing out the window.

OA: but that’s fine. i see how it is, brother, what sort of tale you’re spinning here. i’ll just give raphae your regards for you, then.

OA: and a good light to you.

-- obstructedAntiquity [OA] is no longer messaging iconicDisquiet [ID]! --

-- iconicDisquiet [ID] is now messaging obstructedAntiquity [OA]! --

ID: Oh no you don’t.

OA: :o)

OA: not so busy now?

ID: What do you want, ashling? A formal apology? Me grovelling on the ground, begging for your forgiveness? A return of all your 12th Perigee’s gifts?

ID: Because if that’s the case, I’m sorry to say, they’re currently buried under three tons of rubble. You could probably go digging and pull them up, but, why, I just don’t know if it’s worth it. Mister Kibbles is probably filled with mold, poor dear.

OA: can’t i just be bonding with my ex, brother? marveling over this most beauteous miracle that’s been brought down upon us? look at this shit. the clouds have parted and a sinner has been returned from the dead. back in the night, that’d be a cause for fucking celebration.

ID: Oh, gods, are you still into that clown nonsense?

OA: and don’t call me ashling, brother, i am fucking quadranted.

ID: Oh, yes, I saw that. To the pupa who reaches your navel. Is scrawny cullbait your new thing, or are the pickings so slim? Because, let me tell you, darling, I know you’re just a bit of a hard sell, but you shouldn’t be so down on yourself. Why, there’s plenty of trolls out there who’re perfectly keen on some strapping young thing like you, even if you are rolling around in FayGo like a clown at carnival.

OA: one: shut the fuck up.

OA: two: shut the fuck up, because brother, let me tell you now: you are lucky that i still have fondness in my heart for your useless ass, because the right and proper thing to do here would be to drag your carcass in front of our proctor. fuck the clade. fuck raphae. what is he but a mite in the eye of the messiahs? brother has no faith. brother has no USE.

OA: you don’t give a shit about him? who the fuck does.

OA: but what’re you but property gone astray?

OA: you know how much she COMPLAINED? how many fucking WORDS she had for us? the LOSS OF IT. the SHAME OF IT. she should have skipped the nanny. just slit your pan open and strung you up like a battery, threaded blue through every inch of your worthless skull just to keep you in LINE. she chose grace, instead. she chose fucking MERCY.

OA: and what did you give her but ingratitude, you goddamn wretch? you took her gifts and spat in her face. took her fucking tech, took her TOOLS straight out from her fronds, and then you LEFT us to deal with the goddamn CONSEQUENCES.

ID:

ID: So, I take it you do want an apology.

OA: if i had any sense in my fucking pan, i would turn you over to shepherd and watch you fucking bleed, brother. raphae’s still sweet on you, but what’s that matter? she’s been threatening me with a handler, and i ain’t done shit wrong.

OA: wonder what sort of things she’d threaten YOU with.

ID: You clearly have so many feelings.

ID: My goodness gracious, somehow I just wasn’t expecting this! Give me a moment, why don’t you, dear?

OA: or would she bother with threats, brother? you did her a mighty fine snub. why, shep could just strip you down, take the tech right the fuck out of you. got another conetl popping out in two sweeps. girl could just start the fuck OVER.

ID: Let me get my thoughts together, string a sen

ID:

ID: She has what?

OA: my. someone ain’t been looking at their file.

OA: or did farwinde not tell you that?

ID: You know what, Riccin, my lovely little saffron, my former ashling? I don’t think this is a conversation we need to have online. Why, there’s no nuance to it on here! There’s no understanding.

OA: Tell you what. Why don’t we meet in person, and we’ll talk this out? Get our issues all nice and sorted! Have a proper conversation. What do you say?

OA: ha.

OA: sure. why the fuck not.

#disasterclade #riccin kayata #iconic disquiet #narrator: this was a terrible idea.#you'll get a part two at some point #[drabbles]#[prose]

5 notes · View notes

nehasy · 7 years

Text

The Best Laid Plans

Ever have one of those days where nothing goes right? Well Dilandau’s having one of those days too. This is in response to prompt challenge #94 from @drkstars with the line “Ow, my ass!” I even made it not porn! Yay me!!

*****

“Sir… just so you know… the walls are on fire…” Gatti’s voice was raised to be heard over the roar of the flames as he backed up against the growing heat, bumping into Shesta.

“Yes, I noticed that Gatti, thank you!” Dilandau snarled in disgust as he spun around, trying to locate anything they could use as an exit. This was easier said than done with the ever thickening smoke. Dallet was already coughing badly and crouching down to try to get below the smoke.

“And the ceiling…” The second in command added helpfully as he guided his friend backwards, noting that the beams over their heads weren’t looking overly load bearing any longer.

“How about you help me find a door that isn’t blocked rather than give me updates on the obvious lieutenant?” The pale captain kicked hard at one of the walls, hoping that maybe their luck had turned and it wouldn’t be as sturdy as the others. “Dallet, soak the damn kerchief that slut in housekeeping gave you and breathe through that. I know you’re hiding it in your jacket pocket so stop being an idiot.” Crimson eyes glared at the sturdy wall accusingly, convinced that it was part of the conspiracy currently working against the unit. Who the hell build walls that solid? It was like they were paranoid of an escape or something.

“I’m going to die in here!” Corporal Liens howled in terror, his eyes were wide and bright with panic. His large frame was braced up by Miguel and Ryuun, being the two largest members of the team, though both seemed to bow beneath his weight. Even without his armour on, the Corporal was heavily built and in possession of a rather impressive collection of muscles that only a life in the Infantry could bestow. For the slender pilots, he easily outweighed them both… twice over.

“If you’re going to die, do it quietly.” Dilandau grumbled, giving the wall another kick yet doing little more than scuffing the thick wood. Still, he was sure that it had sounded much more solid than the other ones, almost as if this was one of the fortresses outer walls. A smile tugged at his lips as a plan began to form. Well, it wasn’t like they had to be quiet any longer...

It really was time to go, and as much as he loved fire and would have thoroughly enjoyed watching this damn building going up in flames, he’d much prefer to not have his men inside the inferno when it happened. Granted, leaving the corporal here to roast was becoming a more welcome possibility with every passing moment.

It was bad enough that this moron had gotten himself captured in the first place on some stupid half assed escapade to sneak in behind enemy lines during a skirmish and kidnap their General. Sure it would have looked amazing if it had worked, the problem was that it hadn’t. Worse, he’d cost the lives of several good men and women with is stupid stunt.

Normally, he’d have been left to rot like the useless garbage that he was. Let the enemy deal with him, the Empire wasn’t going to waste the time and resources… usually. In this case, Corporal Liens happened to be the son of a rather influential general. Said general wanted her useless spawn back, hopefully to beat him to death personally while explaining to him that she should have swallowed all those many years ago.

The air was getting harder to breathe though he noticed that several of his men had pulled out various cloths and pressed them against their mouths, hoping to filter out some of the smoke. Someone, likely Ryuun had affixed a similar cloth to the corporal’s face. Dilandau wasn’t going to ask him where he got the extra cloth, though if asked, he’d have happily suggested using it as a gag. The moron just wasn’t shutting up.

Seeing as how stealth was no longer an issue, the guards all knew where they were thanks to the idiot screaming and knocking over an oil lamp during a panic attack and coating half the room in flammable liquid. In fact, right now they were currently battering at the door, trying to knock it down. It was the only door to the room they were currently in, proving that somewhere out there, there were gods on Gaea… and they were assholes.

“Alright, I’m sick of this place.” He announced loudly, getting the attention of his men. “It’s boring and I don’t like the locals. We’ve already set the place on fire, so there’s not much else to entertain ourselves with.”

“Yeah.” Viole agreed loudly, glancing somewhat nervously at the door before grinning back at his captain. “I don’t like Daedalus, we should just burn the whole damn place down.”

“Viole!” Gatti hissed, slipping over to the eager Dragonslayer, keeping his voice low enough for the captain to not hear. “How about you don’t encourage him?”

“Lighten up!” The long haired slayer grinned back at the second in command, his eyes perhaps a tad too bright to be considered sane in this situation. “The Captain has never let us down before. I don’t see him starting now.”

Dilandau and Gatti exchanged surreptitious looks with each other behind Viole’s back as the ash blonde shot his captain a look which clearly said “This is all your fault you know”. He likely meant the utterly uncompromising faith his men had in him to miracles out of his ass no matter how dire the situation. Granted, he could easily mean the fire. They just sort of happened around him, and it wasn’t as if he’d been the one to knock over the lamp.

“Dallet, are the second tier still keeping the perimeter secure?” Dilandau glanced over at his communication officer, pretending not to notice how he was still choking a lung out on the smoke. Realizing that he likely hadn’t been heard over the general chaos going on around them, he gave the man a sharp cuff across the back of the head. “Dallet, report!” If he had to repeat his question again, the slayer was walking home.

“Sorry sir!” The brunette tilted his head to the side and spoke quickly into the portable comm hooked onto his shoulder guard. Technically Dilandau was supposed to have his equipped as well, but it always annoyed him and ruined the sleek lines of his armour so he didn’t bother. Of course, usually the missions went much more smoothly than this cock up.

While Dallet spoke with Leorio, second tier’s comm operator, Dilandau spared their prize a dark look of pure and utter annoyance as his screams began to take on an even more annoying pitch.

“Miguel, the man’s leg is on fire. Put him out.”

“With what sir? There’s nothing left in the room to use!”

“Piss on him, I don’t care, just don’t let him die. I doubt General Lenitas won’t be thrilled with us if we return her spawn as a lump of charcoal”

“Honestly sir, it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve done that.” The handsome slayer shot his leader a bit of a grin while Ryuun simply rolled his eyes, long accustomed to inappropriate banter between his two superiors.

“The Tean incident wasn’t my fault.”

“And corporal Mendes?”

“Totally was. But Folken is in a particularly pissy mood this week and I’d rather wait for something truly fun to truly infuriate him with rather than a fuck up with this waste of oxygen.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t have painted a giant teardrop on his guymelef?”

“He wouldn’t have noticed if the techs hadn’t ratted me out.”

“Could you stop flirting with the captain long enough to help me put this idiots leg out? It stinks like old pork in here now.” The bespectacled slayer grumbled at his teammate as he struggled to continue holding the struggling man. Taking pity on the two of them, Guimel darted over and quickly slapped the flames out... perhaps a tad harder than he needed to judging by the somewhat malicious grin on his face. Dilandau chose not to reprimand him seeing as how the pain caused the moron to pass out for a few moments, giving them some blessed peace.

“Sorry to interrupt sir.” Dallet butted in, actually looking honestly apologetic. “Second tier is holding off reinforcements while third tier is keeping the outer perimeter secure. Both report that everything is under control.” Nodding his head, Dilandau smiled and reached into his belt, pulling out his E-kit and rooting through it, much to the confusion of his men.

“Get everyone away from the outer wall.” He ordered as he pulled out his personal emergency beacon and activated it. Gatti’s eyes widened as the small cylinder began to beep and flash merrily at regular intervals. “Tell Leorio to send Mikka in to attack my beacon signal. I want pinpoint accuracy. If he misses by even an inch I’ll have him skinned alive and hung from our war banner.”

“No pressure sir?” Gatti had perhaps the faintest of smiles on his lips in response to the savage grin Dilandau shot him.

“None at all. Of course, if he misses, we all die.”

“Not one of your better plans sir.”

“Fuck off, it’s brilliant. Shesta, pick a side and stand on it or you’ll be hit by by rubble.” The albino snapped sharply at the small blonde who darted off to the left moments before the far wall exploded inwards, a huge crima claw piercing the small beacon cylinder neatly in half. It was a perfect shot, though everyone in the room was peppered with smouldering hot dust and ash.

Unfortunately, losing a load bearing wall seemed to be somewhat detrimental to the structural integrity of the burning room and everyone heard the ominous groaning as the fire sheathed ceiling began to sag lower with every passing second.

“Mikka, flatten out the claw to give us a platform then fold it around us!” The captain barked, already shoving dragonslayers towards the gaping hole and crumbling floor.

“Does he even know how to do that sir?” Gatti asked as he reached out to help Miguel and Ryuun deal with their dead weight. It was a valid question seeing as how it wasn’t one of the standard configurations they trained with, but at this moment, Dilandau really didn’t care. He needed a platform and he damn well expected to get one!

“He’d better figure it out fast. That ceiling is about to come down on us.” Viole warned, moving closer to the broken wall and risking a glance downwards. They were ten stories above ground, a fall from here would be fatal. “Yeah... I’m way too cute to die as a pancake... figure it out Mikka or I’ll haunt you forever.”

They all watched as the crima claw twisted and writhed, causing even more damage to the floor as the slayer inside the alseides struggled with the advanced technique and likely was beginning to panic.

“He’s not going to figure it out.” Gatti warned even as Dallet did his best to give instructions in a calm manner.

A section of the floor gave away beneath them and the smoke was almost too thick to breathe by now. Everyone was forced to crouch even lower to the ground and their face cloths were beginning to fail, causing more than one dragonslayer to begin to choke badly.

“Dammit, we can’t wait.” Dilandau growled and reached over to Dallet’s comm, grabbing it from the slayer’s hand. “Mikka, Crima form 13. Wrap us in the damn tentacle, but don’t crush us. We need everyone out at once, this place won’t last long enough for individual extraction.” He shoved the comm back to Dallet, shooting the alseides a look of disgust for failing to reach his impossible standards. “Everyone, you’re going to need to tie yourselves on quickly, if you slip, you’re screwed. Miguel, Ryuun, can you each wrap up Corporal Asshat? It would be a shame to drop him before I could kick his ass.” The two slayers nodded as each soldier pulled the emergency lines out of their belt. The ropes were thin but sturdy, built to secure people to the catwalks of the Vione during sudden manoeuvres. They would work perfectly for just this sort of situation.

As the giant crima claw dissolved into its malleable liquid state, the dragonslayers all quickly moved together, wrapping one arm around the person on their left while readying their ropes. Once the liquid metal reformed and lashed around them, pulling them tightly against each other, the ropes were knotted into place with professional efficiency.

Sure, it was a little tight and hard to breathe what with being pressed together, but that helped stabilize them and would offer them some support during flight. Speaking of...

“Mikka, fly slowly and carefully. Any sudden movements will snap our spines.” Dilandau called out, aware that the systems on the alseides would allow the pilot within to hear his voice.

No sooner had the words left his lips when the door to the room finally gave way, allowing the daedalusian guards to pour in like a human flood, only to draw themselves up short at the sheer destruction of the room. Several were left gaping at the sight of the massive war machine framed with flames and Dilandau couldn’t help but give a little grin.

“When you take off, spray the area. I want to see it all burn to ash.” He ordered, giggling softly and ignoring Gatti’s softly murmured “Of course... because it’s not already on friggin fire...”

“A...affirmative sir!” The pilot’s voice squeaked out nervously and as the alseides pulled away from the burning room with its precious cargo in hand. It shifted just enough to bring the other arm up to bear, spraying the area with liquid fire. The guards never even had a chance to scream. It didn’t matter, they wouldn’t have been heard over Dilandau’s shrieks of laughter.

“Take us to the rendezvous site.” Gatti instructed, having to yell to be heard over the maniacal cackling. It didn’t help that several of the other dragonslayers were joining in, making their escape sound as if it was being perpetrated by a pack of insane hyena men.

The flight to their stashed units was uneventful but the landing clearly needed work. Unused to carrying so many people, Mikka overbalanced and ended up falling to his knees, releasing his claw in a panic at the last moment before the arms of the guymelef slammed down into the ground only two feet away from Dallet’s head.

The spent crima metal burst into searing hot blue flames, causing everyone to roll frantically out of the way, several of the men yelling out a rather wide range of insults as they rolled around in an attempt to put out the flames which licked at their uniforms.

The corporal was momentarily forgotten in the chaos and woke up to find his legs on fire. Screaming at the top of his lungs, the man actually got to his feet and began racing around the small clearing like a madman until Guimel and Ryuun tackled him to the ground and smothered the flames with dirt. Neither of them really minded being able to throw mud and wet leaves on a superior officer and they didn’t struggle overly hard to hide their nearly identical grins.

Off to the side, Dilandau was busy dusting himself off and giving the alseides a withering glare which promised weeks of bathroom detail the instant they were back on the Vione.

“Ow... my ass.” Miguel groaned from where he lay on the ground, deciding that he wasn’t about to move for the next few hours... or at least until his tailbone stopped screaming at him. “I think it’s broken.”

“Poor baby, want me to kiss it better?” Shesta snickered, brushing a few stray leaves out of his hair and checking to make sure he was in one piece. His hair was slightly singed on the left side, but other than a few bruises, the worst damage seemed to be to his ego.

“Fuck you Shes, I know where your lips have been.” The lieutenant snapped back, flipping the blonde a rather rude hand sign before being nudged by the toe of Gatti’s boot.

“Are you seriously injured, or just bitching?” The second in command asked, sounding almost bored with the entire ordeal.

“Yeah, if you can’t move your hips let me know.” Shesta grinned in challenge at the brunette. “I’ll be sure to convey your apologies to the captain. This is one of the nights your schedules sync up isn’t it? Too bad, hey, so does mine! Imagine that...”

“Oh I’m going to kill you! You little trollop!”

“Stow it Shes. Miguel, stop trying to choke him, we’re still on mission.”

Ignoring the drama taking place behind him, Dilandau approached the corporal and gave him a quick visual inspection. Aside from a few burns, some bruises and the mostly superficial damage from his initial interrogation, the man had escaped relatively unscathed. He’d been damn lucky, most would have been crippled at the very least by their captors. It seemed that these particular Daedalusians had rather weak stomachs for proper torture. You just couldn’t get competent work out of people these days.

“Are you injured?” He had to ask as a formality, even though he honestly didn’t care. Honestly, the man really did deserve a few broken bones for the trouble he’d caused Zaibach. Sweet Fate, the Dragonslayers had been pulled off assignment to get this useless idiot.

“You incompetent morons!” Corporal Liens snarled in rage, his fists raised up as if ready to strike at the captain. “You call that a rescue!? Of all the half-assed, useless cockups I’ve ever borne witness to, you should be court martialled for your incompetence you albino freak! When we get back I’m going to-”

He never did get to finish his threat before his head was rolling across the clearing. The dragonslayers all stood there silently, watching it tumble for a few feet before bumping against the leg of Mikka’s alseides.

“It’s a shame the man was dead when we found him.” Gatti murmured in a deadpan voice.

“There was nothing we could have done.” Miguel agreed, taking a moment to stretch out his back, not overly bothered by the sudden reckless violence of their captain.

One by one, the other dragonslayers nodded their heads, accepting the lie as fact, aware that as the only witnesses, no one else would know the truth. Besides, he’d insulted their captain. For that, any one of them would have gladly run him through.

Without a word, Dilandau wiped his blade clean on the corporal’s uniform then motioned towards the guymelef.

“Carry his corpse back to camp. We’ll relay our condolences to General Lenitas upon our return. Everyone else, get into your units. We’re pulling out. Oh and Mikka, You and the rest of tier 2 are going to be practising your advanced crima forms until you can do all of them flawlessly, not to mention your encumbered landings. That was pathetic, you almost got us killed!” If it was possible for an alseides to cringe, this one managed it. It was actually rather impressive, and deeply satisfying.

“Still, it’s too bad that the corporal died.” Gatti muttered as he walked past Dilandau to reach his own waiting guymelef. Crimson eyes glanced in his direction and the captain gave a slight derisive chuckle.

“I consider it a victory for Zaibach. That man should never have commanded troops. We’ve likely saved hundreds of lives today.”

“Do you think that the Strategos will see it that way?”

“Why do you think he allowed us to go? I’m pretty sure he expected this outcome.” An amused smile danced across Dilandau’s lips. “I imagine there’s already a bottle of vino waiting in my office.”

“Of course sir.”

It was a well aged Egzardian red.

Folken must have really hated the guy.

Want to read more stories? Go to https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nehasy/works

#Vision of Escaflowne #tenkuu no escaflowne #escaflowne fanfiction #fanfiction #anime fanfiction #Dilandau Albatou #Dragonslayers #ryuugekitai

4 notes · View notes