#will go “wait no thats wrong” | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

silverechosandblankmasks · 5 months

Text

Privately, Etoiles thinks training with Team Bolas is a little horrifying.

Its- it's hard to explain why, other than the obvious. It's not like they scared him, he didn't scare easy after all, but they were... unsettling, that was the word.

It was on the 4th day of purgatory, most people were busy with tasks or upkeep of supplies, and since they only had 4 hours to actually pursue tasks a day, today it just lined up to be a day of mostly chill attitudes while most grindy people were off and away from base.

It's why Green even had the chance to come visit Team Red, prompted by the fact Bad was spawn killing the poor team again. They didn't even have color on the board!

Granted, that really didn't mean anything in Purgatory, alliances and well-wishes for other teams changed on a dime, but that day Green had nothing else to do then try and keep Soulfire at bay so there they were to help scare him off and chat to see if Bolas had anything to say.

It mostly turned into a training session, Etoiles could see Charlie and Jaden had potential just lacked knowledge so he offered advice, and in fighting them and watching them fight each other, that's when the unsettled feeling crept in.

Part of it was obvious, the Gas masks, but it's not like they were the only ones. Everyone had them at this point, but it was how they wore them, obviously cared enough about to personalize, and the noises they made as they yelled, grunted, and howled behind them.

It was also in the way they moved, lumbering, stalking gates, lunging and almost dancing as they moved jerkily. In the way they would, in unison, suddenly break out into more deranged noises or chanting without any noticeable cue.

But it was in the way they fought, that gave him the willies the most.

Etoiles fought because he enjoyed it, he enjoyed ridding the high of adrenalin and indulging in his bloodlust, of trying to win and the work put in.

Bolas, however, fought like they were Hungry.

Not like a flesh eater or vampire would, though the jokes he overheard about them eating their corpses didn't help (and gods did he hope they were jokes), but Red fought like they were hungry for the kill, hungry to see blood spilled and willing to do anything to have their enemies corpses lay at their feet, like they had nothing to loose.

The way they scraped at each other with their nails and bit with their teeth, unafraid to fight like an animal, or bring down their opponent with them if they knew they weren't going to win.

It wasn't like Etoiles hadn't fought Bolas before, but here, free from the rush and face pace of trying to survive a real battle and instead doing 1v1's and watching as they fought each other, that's when it was really obvious. It was inhuman and feral, and Etoiles wondered for just a second, how much of this was his fault from that first day, how much him and his team and blue's actions had pushed red over the edge.

They made him worried a bit, but Etoiles pushed it aside. Nobody was their best selves in purgatory after all, and he'd crossed several lines he normally wouldn't, specially at his friend's expense.

All he could really do was ignore the feeling and try to not let it get to him, so he pushed it down and got ready for the Egg War the next day.

It was less than a week later when Etoiles thinks about this again, ponders on their unsettling nature for just a second as he's absorbed into their team. He's unsure how or where he can fit into such a team like this, how to cope with their feral and chaotic nature.

The thought goes away as Etoiles gets pulled, almost too easily, into their dynamics. Bolas eat together, sleep tucked against each other for safety, spar and fight with each other to get better, and kill for each other too. Bolas was a family.

It's only on the day before what is possibly the last match that he realizes the unsettling, feeling has long since gone and it, and Bolas' once strange, horrifying habits now feel like second nature and normality.

Etoiles may not have started as Bolas, but he was Bolas now, and forever. And nothing could take that away from him or any of the Bolas.

Please, if you did enjoy, reblog and just not like. Likes do nothing and it's kinda disheartening to see like 50 likes and 4 reblogs only for it to die because nobody else sees it after the first 3 days. I'd appreciate it greatly! <3

#qsmp #qsmp purgatory #team bolas #qsmp bolas #qsmp etoiles #etoiles #q!etoiles #suprise suprise more team studies #this time through Etoiles going #hi wtf is that #oh wait thats my new family lol all is cool #while blue's inner monologues are just #bro wtf wtf wtf is wrong with them #and red is like :D #mine

337 notes · View notes

whollyjoly · 8 days

Text

for some reason i can't explain i know saint peter won't call my name

nothing that lives, lives forever - an immortal soldier!alton more au

(1.1k of snippets from my old guard(ish) au where alton more is old, too old, and has been living and fighting far longer than anyone should. full description/other thoughts at the bottom. tw: blood, violence, mentions of death)

Alton clicked the lighter closed, running a thumb over the silver case. The night was warm, sticky in a way that he never could get used to. He sucked in a breath from the cheap cigarette, letting his head fall back against the rough side of the barracks.

It was quiet. Typically, there would be no end to the commotion coming from the small building, one of many that littered Camp Toccoa. The wall of sound was ever-present, no matter if it was shouting or laughing or snoring. But whatever the cause, there was always noise.

No matter if it was a blanket of noise he knew well, unchanging except for the language and the scenery. Soldiers are soldiers, and some things are a constant. It could almost be comforting, if it didn’t also mean that the need for soldiers was a constant as well.

However, tonight was a Saturday, and it was one of the few weekends that Sobel had allowed Easy the use of their weekend passes. Almost every man in the company had jumped at the chance to get off base, to travel home if they could and spend time with loved ones. The ones with farther-flung hometowns had spirited off to Atlanta, happy to spend their time drinking and dancing and fucking instead of slogging through another run, three miles up, three miles down.

Normally, Alton would have joined them in their carousing - it was easier to pass the time with the effortless camaraderie built during a training camp than bored and alone.

But today had been a bad day. The sound of swords and the shift of sand beneath his feet followed him out of his nightmares, the humid summer of Georgia morphing itself into the baking, dry heat of the desert.

His shouts must have been real, because when a hand came to shake him out of his dream, the first face he saw was not that of a grouchy NCO, but of a blood-caked Saracen, eyes alight with righteous fury.

Alton didn’t think. He had grabbed the knife from under his pillow, an old thing that had been sharpened more times than he could begin to count, and was on the man in less than a breath, pressing the blade into the side of his neck. The familiar thrum of blood beat against his fingertips, the grit of sand scratched his gums. He knew what he had to do, had done it a thousand times, a thousand thousand times, what was a little more bloodshed spilled across his feet-

Alton had blinked, and came to himself in a rush.

Instead of an unnamed Saracen, the ashen face of Johnny Martin stared up at him, eyes wide behind the knife.

Alton drew back his hand, retreating almost as quick as he had lunged earlier. He mumbled a quick curse and apology as he stepped out of arm’s reach from the man. It wasn’t until Martin’s eyes widened even farther that Alton realized his tongue was slipping out Arabic of all things.

Usually, Alton was better about remembering himself, who he was almost as important as where he was. But for whatever reason, his demons had decided to catch up with him that night.

After a quick smile and some quip about the Krauts in his dreams, he managed to wave an only-slightly-mollified Martin off. The shorter man apparently hadn’t forgotten it though, if his watchful eyes during chow that morning were anything to go by.

Alton was just glad that no one else was awake to see it, at least. That was the last thing he needed.

And so, instead of joining in on a weekend of broads and booze, Alton found himself waving away the invitation by an eager Smokey and bemused Alley. When the horde made their way out of the barracks, fantasizing in bawdy terms about their planned misadventures, he felt like he could breathe easy.

Fucking finally.

Alton took another drag from the cigarette. He watched the smoke curl, up and up until it faded into nothing amongst the darkening sky.

The lighter was a welcome weight in his hand, grounding him to this time, this life.

The design was worn by now, details barely visible after a half century of worrying. It still managed to amaze him, sometimes, what people could do with the smallest of canvases. Alton didn’t feel the same wonder however, wasn’t as mesmerized by the beauty man could create as he once was.

But in the quiet moments, he could still appreciate the time some French craftsman took to transform a hunk of metal into a small token carried around by a dead man.

Luz had spied the lighter one weekend, and laughed at him for using something so old-fashioned. Alton just shrugged, not caring to admit that he was still getting used to having a light at his fingertips. It wasn’t all that long ago when he was still lighting a pipe with a flintlock pistol, and not so long before that when he would carry around a flint and steel.

Time was passing all the more quickly these days, technologies changing and advancing, and everyone was obsessed with needing things to be quicker, cheaper, simpler. Alton scoffed. He could hardly find it in him to care.

He glanced down at the lighter in his hand, shifting it back and forth in a practiced motion and watched as the light skittered across the sides.

It had shown flowers, once. A veritable garden of carnations, daffodils, and lilies of the valley, with leaves spilling across the front panel onto the back. They represent good fortune, he was told. Good fortune, luck, and hope.

When the merchant described it to him, eyes ablaze with a passion known only to those with wares to sell, Alton didn’t try to hide the snort that escaped his throat.

Fortune and Luck had abandoned him long ago, and hadn’t returned since waking up in a battlefield abandoned by all but the dead, sword in his chest and blood in his mouth.

And what the fuck was Alton supposed to do with hope?

It was the quote on the back that had caught his eye, all those years ago in a street market in Reims. The beveled edges had faded with time, the familiar letters Alton traced were more memory by now than any physical mark. Une vie honorable est une vie éternelle.

An honorable life is an eternal life.

Alton couldn’t help but stare at the message, both then and now. He hated that goddamn word. Immortal. Unending. Eternal.

They were such flowery words, used by people who craved what they couldn’t have, what they shouldn’t. The romanticized idea of the everlasting, the fountain of youth, the gift of life! Alton was sick of it.

This wasn’t life. He was a fucking dead man walking. And he sure as hell didn’t do anything honorable to deserve it.

months ago, while thinking about the absolute insanity of the almost...cavalier? attitude we see alton more have over the course of the series, an idea hit my brain: what if there was a reason nothing seemed to phase him - not panzers, not being a breath away from a car wreck, not bastogne, not speirs? what if this wasn't his first war? that thought spiraled me into a minor insanity that is this: my immortal soldier!alton more au, loosely inspired by the movie the old guard (2020). the idea is that, once upon a time, there was a soldier in a land many centuries ago. one day, he died in battle. and then, he woke up. and then he died. and then he woke up. over, and over. drawn to countless battles, conflicts, and wars, each one etching itself into the core of his soul. a never-ending cycle...until one sweltering summer, where he found himself at a training camp at the foot of a mountain. anyways. at some point, i plan on writing this as a full story, but that is admittedly a long ways away. however, in celebration of alton more's birthday today, i wanted to post my favorite scene that i've written for this au! it's set sometime at the beginning of the story, in the early days of camp toccoa. mostly, it's just a character study of this version of alton more. hope you enjoyed! and of course - happy birthday alton more!

(song insp.)

taglist: @sweetxvanixlla @coco-bean-1218 @bucky32557038ww2 @georgieluz @samwinchesterslostshoe @xxluckystrike @next-autopsy @ronald-speirs @land-sh @ronsparky @panzershrike-pretz @theredrenard @kyellin

#happy alton more day!#holy shit im actually posting this...i've been sitting on it for MONTHS #but YEAH its just...the gothic romanticism about the physical embodiment of war and soldiers and the concept of death you know??#what it means to feel and to live and to connect to those around you when it all feels so fleeting #fleeting not just due to the nature of war but also the nature of immortality #or something #...look i have a lot of thoughts about this story okay #it kills me #its also known in my brain as the “how immortal soldier!alton more made friends” story #because literally thats it thats the plot #OH WAIT did i forget to mention that speirs is also an immortal soldier in this story??#oh yeah thats the best fucking bit - they met like centuries and centuries ago on the wrong ends of one of the various punic wars #(where speirs was known back then as...wait for it...TERTIUS)#its good goddamn shit okay #also explains why alton is so fucking unflinching towards speirs at any given point and why they were so petty about the photo albums #ANYWAYS if anyone wants to hear more about this!! come stop on by!!!#also yes the title is a reference to the old guard #as is the reference to the siege of jerusalem which is where joe and nicky met #immortal soldier!alton more #alton more #easy company #band of brothers fic #mine #band of brothers #bofb #hbowar #em's moodboards #em writes #jesus christ i guess that's a tag now #alright here we go out into the void

22 notes · View notes