The absolute confusion upon seeing I had been mentioned in posts by people I had no memory of--
To clarify, I am different from THE light of creation! I am only an unspecific light of creation. To anyone wondering why their partner did not see their replies--that is why. Your mail has gone to the wrong address XD
over-worrying and overthinking everything, your mind is always a whirling storm. no matter how you try, the fears overwhelm all else. you need someone trusted to press a kiss to your forehead, helping to quiet the thoughts that just refuse to settle.
Tagged By: @generalzelgius (sort of)
Tagging: All three people who will see this post, given my disappearing acts.
loyalty is the saint you pray to. if you ever were stabbed in the back by your beloved, you'd probably apologize. to your enemies, you're fierce. to your allies, even fiercer. you cultivate a thick inner circle built on promises and devotion, fit only for the best of the best. it's impossible for most to even begin to dissect the type of person you are, owing to your unbreakable emotional walls and confusing philosophies. dream careers? body guard, movie star, unwitting pawn. don't let people get the best of that loyalty.
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āāUnbreakable emotional walls?ā What nonsense. And a pitiful bodyguard I would make. An unwitting pawn? No, I was the grandmaster. ...wasnāt I?ā
Tagged by: @generalzelgius
Tagging: Iām tempted to tag Naesala, because there were answers that he knew well.
Send me a ā to find my character in a dark alley in the middle of a storm, beaten and bloody
This ask is over seven years old. Iām answering it anyways.Readmore for lengthāIā¦.thinkā¦ā¦ā¦..do readmores still exist? ā¦ā¦.they donāt. Oh. Dear. It has truly been A While.
andā¦my line spacing seems to be broken? Iām going to need to redownload xkit, arenāt I XD
Damnation.
Pain was not something Lehran was unfamiliar withāalthough, generally, he was more accustomed to the emotional sort than the physical. Physical pain was usually fleetingāas soon as Lorazieh saw the blood, the bruises, the knife, he would step in. He was never forceful about it. Occasionally Lehran wished he would be. That he would at least make it seem like a struggle, rather than a simple matter of calmly placing his own hand over Lehranās, cradling his head to his chest, and waiting for him to uncurl his fingers of his own accord. Once Lorazieh had control of the knife, he would place it safely out of reach, and begin mending whatever damage Lehran had done to himself. The pain never lasted beyond a dull ache of new healing the next morning.
This. This was quite different.
For one thing, this pain was not confined to his arms, the way most of the wounds Lorazieh tended had been. For another, it had not been self-inflicted. If it had been, he would not have been in an alley in East-Ashera-Nowhere in Daein, in the freezing rain. He coughed, flecks of red mingling with the slush and the mud.
The pain was everywhere.
His chest ached most insistantly, and the tang of iron on his tongue was a testament to the damage. That was the worst of the blows he had receivedāstraight to the solar plexus, likely enough to crack bone. His head ached as wellābleeding, surely, where the stone had hit him? But he couldnāt find the strength to lift his hand to check. He could, with great concentration, flutter his wings under his cloak just enough to be confident that they had not been broken. That was all he dared do with them, in Daein. If anyone found out that he was a laguz hereā¦he closed his eyes.
Youāve been chasing death for centuries, Lehran, would it really be so bad?
It was not exactly the death he had hoped for. Something quicker and more painless would have been ideal, but he supposed that beggars could not be choosers and he ought to be grateful that it was finally his turn. Finallyā¦he coughed again, trying not to imagine the worried look on Loraziehās face as the weeks passed and he still simply did not return. Lorazieh was a worrier. Loraziehā¦deserved better than that. Deserved to at least knowā¦what became of him. Closure, if nothing else.
Perhaps death was not to be found here after all.
One muscle at a time, he tried to move. A twitch of the fingertips, a halfhearted attempt to curl his fingers. Even that hurt. His arm couldnāt support his weight, and he slumped back into the bloodied snow with a groan. What are herons made of? Spun glass? He could hear Altinaās voice as if she were standing beside him. Shattered glass would at least leave an attackerās fingers bleeding. He wasnāt sure that heād even managed thatāthe Reaper card he carried was not exactly a fast weapon.
Footsteps.
He was surprised he could hear themāsurprised that his consciousness wasnāt taken up completely by the pain, and the sound of the sleet. Did he call out for help? He wasnāt sure he could. Would it even be wise? He forced his eyes open once more, trying to see who the footsteps belonged to. Perhapsā¦perhaps he could guess by appearances if the stranger meant harm. Pitiful, a heron who couldnāt tell by soul.
The decision was made for him.Ā
The footsteps approached. They were heavyāa soldier, perhaps. A little late to drive off the bandits, he thought dryly. Or, as dryly as one who had been laying in a puddle for Goddess-knows-how-long could. His eyes slipped closed once more. Heavyā¦everything was heavy. Footsteps, his limbs, his eyelidsā¦
āWhat in theāā
He recognized the sound of armor, and guessed perhaps that the man had knelt.
āCan you hear me?ā
Lehran tried to speak, but all he managed was another pitiful, bloody cough. Was that an answer? He wasnāt sure. He tried again, and rasped a āYesā that sounded as if it had been drowned in a bucket and dragged over cobblestones.
āWhat happened?ā
Bold of the stranger to assume that Lehran had the capacity to explain much, when it had taken a great deal of effort to even confirm that he was anything approaching conscious. He breathed as deeply as he dared, and wheezed on the exhale, āThievesā¦ā
More armor sounds. Suddenly there was a hand on his throat, and his eyes snapped open. He felt the pressure of his cloak wrapped around his wings, the instinct to flare them out foiled only by the way heād fallen and pinned them in place.
āCalm down,ā the knight said, one armored hand holding the gauntlet and glove that belonged on the other. āIām not going to hurt you.ā
āWhoā¦ā Lehran coughed.
āZelgius,ā the knight answered, withdrawing his hand from Lehranās throat. āOf the Daein army.ā
Hello world, itās been a while. Evidently the last thing I posted about was the Christmas alts--might as well post about it again, because iāve rolled three Sephirans in the last week when there were no reds to try for Sanaki and Altina XD
Iāve sort of faceplanted back into Fire Emblem feelings, I donāt know how long it will last or if Iāll be terribly active on tumblr about it (chances are, no). But apparently the time has come for my yearly blog re-read, and goodness, thereās a lot of water under some of these bridges. Ah, so many things I remember going on in the background when I wrote.
If you get the chance, can I have Zelgius with glowy eyes screaming "INTYS SEPHRIAN WHEN?" and/or Sanaki saying, "Where's my dad?" because I need to see the depressed bird. Thank you!
A marvelous question. The answer is usually "chained to my desk in Begnion." I can tell you that Tei is neck-deep on Elibe, waist-deep in work, and about to be over her head in NaNoWriMo. But both of us still very much checking messages!
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā ā Ā Iā¦ I killed him. Ā āĀ Ā At this point, Zelgius had exhausted himself of all energy & nearly all of hisĀ emotionsĀ Ā ;Ā Ā what remained was an eerie sort of calm mingled with melancholy. The knight lets out a deep sigh, emeralds hiding behind closed lids.Ā Ā āĀ Ā It was a mistake. It was not my intention to kill him.Ā Ā āĀ Ā To rob children of their father. The knight takes a seat in his masterās private quarters, eyelids opening so emeralds could stare at the destruction he wreaked upon his own body in punishment. Bruised & battered hands, wounds decorating his face, and others left unseen.Ā Ā ā Ā Ā Greil was a good man. I respected him. He did not deserve such a pitiful death.Ā Ā ā
It was a poor excuse for a heron that could take that kind of confession with a straight face--and a poorer excuse yet for one that could do nothing to ease the pain of it. The years might have been worse for him than heād realized--he ought to have least been short of breath, faintly queasy, plagued with headaches or dizziness or some physical manifestation of the emotional upset.
Nothing.
He rose from his seat without stumbling. He went to the drawer where he kept a first aid kit--the old-fashioned kind, with tinctures and dressings and salves. He filled a shallow bowl with water from the pitcher by the window, and sat back down in front of the knight. There was precious little else he could do.
Pathetic, Lehran.
āWhatās done is done,ā he said quietly, dipping a handkerchief in the water and taking the knightās hand. He worked methodically. First the wounds on the right hand, then the left. Wash, disinfect, wrap, repeat.
āIt was never supposed to go like this,ā he murmured, clenching his hand around the cloth. āNo matter how many times I say it, nothing will change. The only thing that we can do is carry on and try to find the right path.ā
prguitarman
stormborns
snowghoul
vaporwave
areudirty
tangentwithtanner
amandla
