▌❛ ᴱᴳᴼ ᴴᴼᴹᴵᴺᴵ ᴸᵁᴾᵁˢ.

[onefinal-blog]

???? daud, stop beating people up, you grinch. it's the season of giving 333 and i dont think broken bones and bruises count.

sleigh bells? more like SLAY BELLS, amirite

[britttaperryhasmoved-deactivate]

[cramp]

ITS DECEMBER 10TH

[finelendal-archive-deactivated2]

       His words, he was right, the LONGER they both waited, the MORE they dragged this on just so that she could INSULT him further on his stupidity, the MORE damage there would be done, to both her men AND his. While Sylvanas was FURIOUS, she could not comprehend his idiocy, though she knew that this was NO time for her to spit on his name. Her eyes snapped to her RIGHT, reacting to the sounds of CHAOS that had gotten within her WALLS, the grip on her BOW grew tighter as a frustrated sign ESCAPED her lips. 

Her attention soon was back on the other, THE FOOL, his new nickname he’d now forever have from her; there was an ANXIOUS hold she had in her stance, she did not doubt that they could not RID the abomination of its EXISTENCE, however— it was the mess that would be left afterwards. 

                  ‘     I am GLAD you can see that I hold no KINDNESS for you,                         do NOT think that when ALL of this is over, that you’ll be let go                         so easily, I’ve plans FOR you.    ‘ 

Her tone was harsh, she nearly HISSED as she spoke to him, should he be afraid of what’s to come after they’ve cleaned this all up ? Perhaps. Sylvanas did not plan to KILL him, no—- but perhaps what she had in mind was nothing he’d be all too PLEASED about.

[onefinal-blog]

           ‘ wouldn’t miss it for the WORLD. ‘

                 flat as the blade now barring forearm from  threat,  tone                      makes no effort to draw blood –––– –– rather, echoes                      hollow &   deadpan  as nails hammered  down  one  by                      one ; metal bent into the unprotesting wood of a coffin                     ‘till casket tastes clean air again, their use expended.                      yet her  words  drove  deep  the point that he wouldn’t                     be   LUCKY   enough   to   merely   be   cast   aside. 

                                             ‘ ––– –––––––––– . . . ‘ 

   unearthly snarl resounds on the heels of a CRASH, bedlam    drawing closer with each breath, each idle moment. hand    itches, mark recalescent in alerting him to the danger    of  which  he  is  already  well  aware. 

                               he pulls it close, the void ––  & the world   bends  ,  blurry & streaked                          with rivulets of time STOPPED. weight of holding the clock motionless                 allows just enough leeway for long strides to carry him to the door, & glance is   risked lengthwise towards the source of the chaos ; the fleshy beast caught mid-charge, moments from reducing the main entrance to RUBBLE. release, & seconds flow again.

       an unapologetic shrug, & the first door splinters. 

      ‘ –––  the problem may be a bit more  a g g r e s s i v e  than i thought. ‘ 

[voidseyes-blog]

Oh, now, that language doesn’t suit you. “I am older than the world you know, have seen the rise and fall of rulers your history can’t recall, watched as men lost the last remnants of things they didn’t think they still had - true desperation.” Pitiful, pathetic, and sad, they were the very husks of men, wasting corpses stripped of power and hope. And was that him? “And you aren’t desperate.” No. Not this Daud, their wolf dressed in rich reds; not his Daud, the one man who could never be helpless.

The Outsider noted the thick swallow in his throat, heard the beat of his heart. “I know of all your futures, your paths, and what I see at every end is blood and terror. You say you want to change things, but I don’t think you realize how that can have two very different meanings,” the deity droned, words dripping like tar. “You may not be the hero, Daud. You may not even like what you become. But you don’t care either way, do you? It’s all very well. If you ask me, I think it suits you better.” It was then that the itch slowly crept in, ebbing into a gnawing burn in his hand. Branded, his body would symbolize heresy. “So why not do better?”

[onefinal-blog]

        BLOOD & TERROR   at   every   end ––––– to say his tale            being a morbid one was unfathomable to him would be           entirely slander. from his first days, he had been trained for           the kill, life a crucible of VIOLENCE unbridled ; the heat           & bright pain of conflict catching on his skin like sparks.  

                                   ‘ can’t say i expected anything else. ‘ 

                             he would not be a hero. good.                                           –––––––– what then?                                         the villain?

    it runs him through like STEEL, but not for any moral issue ––– rather,      memory  calls   forth   flickering  images  of  stories long lost to sea or      flame, teaching himself the sounds of the ink marks on the page. each      writ of one man’s triumphs was offset by another ; every lawless soul      immolated,   DEFEATED,   at   the   hands   of   unyielding   justice.               (  another   stone-written   fact   he’d   aim   to   alter.  ) 

                     fist  clenches,  releases,  vision  fraying.  he’s                          MARKED now, void staining his hand black                           as the eyes he met thereafter –– &  he  grins.

         ‘ the   a b b e y  won’t  like  this. ‘ 

[finelendal-archive-deactivated2]

@onefinal​ tfw you piss off Sylvanas so bad—-

[onefinal-blog]

     plot twist: his original purpose was to piss her off

[bostonpoetryslam]

Look how young I was with my silence. Look at the cruel coat it wore.

Anna Meister, “As Ill As I Am I Am,” published in The Mackinac (via shrinemaidens)

[finelendal-archive-deactivated2]

       IMBECILE ! The DEAD, beings that were BEYOND living FLESH —– It was something to NOT be toyed with, she could almost come off as FURIOUS, but surprisingly she held composure FAR better than one would have thought. There was LITTLE excuse that could be made, && little time before the progression of his SLIP UP grew worse, soon it’ll be out of her HANDS; but did that mean she would not AID him in his stupidity ?

                      ‘  You’re a FOOL. ‘ 

&& here he stood, BEFORE the DARK LADY, shall she make him BEG for her help ? The seriousness of the situation gave her little chance to PARTAKE in such fun, for her FORSAKEN were now at risk, she should have expected nothing less, a JOKE. She saw him as nothing more. 

                        ‘    HEAR the DARK LADY, I would have let you PERISH by                              the hand of your FOOLISH mistake if it were not for the                              FACT that my CITY is at risk.    ‘

[onefinal-blog]

        ‘ NO ONE saw this coming ––                              not  you,  not  me ! ‘ 

                       fragile placidity gives way to a messy severing of                            composure, jaw clamped around the thrashing                             beast of his ever slipping HOLD on the situation.                             would that he had asked her prior, had sought an                            answer or two ––– yet NO, he hadn’t, & what his                            utterly untrained & green mastery of the art had                            wrought didn’t seem open to civilized negotiations,                            nor should-haves ; & whining remained useless.

                                    ‘ & i would not BE HERE if it did not                                       affect my men ! you’ve no kind will towards                                     me, that’s clear – – but this is bigger than us. ‘  

       he dared not  venture  a guess  at  her  ability  to  contain  the          rampant failings of his power.  here stood a  beacon of  death          itself, a BANSHEE QUEEN, breath of terror in her footsteps          begetting myth after myth therein ; &  he  had  mired them both          in a FAULT of his own making –– missteps were best avoided.   

                                                   ‘ do you want an apology?                                                because the longer we wait, the                                         more i’ll be apologizing for. ‘ 

[expsychic]

Visit Original Link

Spanish Ladies - Sarah Blasko

we’ll rant and we’ll roar, like true british sailors we’ll rant and we’ll roar all on the salt seas until we strike soundings in the channel of old england

[voidseyes-blog]

He lived and lurked in the shadows where whispers dared not tread. Sword in hand and silent as the night, he was the Reaper dressed in flesh, but where was he now? In his world, this infinite sea of nothing, Dunwall’s sharpest blade was now his greatest intrigue, a player in a terrifying game doomed to come. “You as well as so many others,” the god patiently replied to that noble answer so full of conviction. “But they seldom ever do. They dream, but they don’t have what to takes to achieve. Most change nothing. Others die.”

“But you’re special, Daud, for you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.” He drifted closer, and leaning in, peered at the assassin, those black eyes searching. “Tell me: What do you intend to do when so many before you have failed? What is special about you?“

[onefinal-blog]

               ‘ i’m not them. ‘ 

     rough timbre is not yet worn through with smoke & salt,        throat torn bloody & coarse as the harpooned whales on        which  his  manifest  destiny  was  built. at  times  he nigh       thought  them KINDRED,  terrible in their  strength  yet        governed body & mind by weapons of iron & steel, of flesh.        

                           ‘ i’ve got nothing left to lose, ‘ 

                                   ( young  &  foolish,  a  wolf  so                                            eager  to  denounce  his  pack                                            not for PRIDE, but anathema. ) 

                                ‘  & i’ve already come this far. ‘ 

       gaze   is   met   like   he’s  meeting  his  LAST,  squared  &          unsmiling,  too  serious  for  the  years he  hadn’t  yet  lived.          he swallows hard, overly aware of his own lacking divinity,          mortal veins easily opened to the endlessness that was the         void  ;  to join the dark stars & towering cathedrals of rubble. 

                                 ‘ but who knows ––––––– ––––                            maybe that’s not what you see in me.                                i’d wager i’m not the only man you’ve                                  met willing to get his HANDS DIRTY. ‘                               

[onefinal-blog]

&   all   you   fair  weather   watchers,  watch out   &   beware, when your TROUBLE  comes  knocking, i hope you ain't there

[sexanax]

doing risky shit because you lowkey wanna die

[turibulum]

Visit Original Link

[nostrromo]

whalers + the heart

for stillupsetoverlegacy

[onefinal-blog]

comevoided:

“Is this what you’ve dreamt of, coming here the thought that’s plagued you for years and years, restless night after restless night?” The Void was a strange world, weighed with both emptiness and nothing. It was a juxtaposition, a realm of calm so heavy it brought unease, a kingdom where life breathed and death haunted. This was his home, and now, Daud was suddenly his guest. “You have made a name for yourself, tearing free from the shackles of the group that’d stolen you, weaving through the streets as the bodies followed, and I’ve watched you with growing interest.” Why? “But what interests you, Daud? Something compelled you to chase me across all those oceans and into the dark corners of the world. Was it power? Control? Or was it unyielding curiosity? Either way, I’m listening.”

           it’s BRITTLE, cracking like ice in the early spring –––– the void               is a living thing, breathing, the ebb & flow of  time around him               an  intravenous nostalgia for memories he  didn’t  know  he  had.               colors  ran   &  smudged,  a canvas hued in melancholy shades              of wet paint. strange objects hung haphazardly ( some still, some               spinning in the wake of a nonexistent gale  ) –––––––– but all was              ignorable, inconsequential, when held  alongside  the  g o d .               voice the tones of a drowned man’s respite, he was the sum of all              daud’s & violent nights, the SPILLED BLOOD & broken necks.  

                                       &  he  wants  to  know  the  reasons  why,                                         story recounted as if it’d been read cover                                         to cover. ( & why would it be otherwise? )                                         countless answers run through his mind,                                         dismissed & impermanent –– lies bore no                                         weight  here, silver  tongue   tarnished. 

                                ‘ isn’t it obvious? ‘                                               ‘ i want to change things. ‘ 

[shiryuu]

        ❛ I wish I’d dreamed of the void last night, but no ––– I’m right as rain. ❜

[onefinal-blog]

           ‘ sarcasm doesn’t suit you, thomas. ‘ 

[onefinal-blog]

@finelendal.

                                       ‘   it  was  a  mistake.  ‘ 

          apprehension coats hoarse timbre like the crimson still dripping           from split hand, raw knuckles ––––– heady & pulsing, the hue of           sacrilegious  paint  had been worn by something  old,  something           DEAD,  not  an  hour  prior –– although  that  state  hadn’t  lasted. 

       & o’, how he wished it otherwise ; wished the mark enthroned on          the  highest  ridge  of  his  hand  hadn’t  glowed   so  fiercely,   the          unholy  blood  streaking  bone  &   flesh   hadn’t   SUCCEEDED        in    raising    that    which    was    never    meant    to    rise    again. 

     (  had he FAILED, he wouldn’t be standing  before  her,  all terse muscle &          jagged disquiet.  this  was   beyond  him,   for once  ;  out  of  his  hands       & ravenous, promising a hard day at work just ahead for the gravediggers. ) 

            a weighing of his options, burgeoning glare frosted over with faux calm.

                        ‘ i can’t FIX THIS alone. ‘ 

[herbert-west-moved-deactivated2]

[noxpraelia]

herbertwestofficial:

never underestimate me