#ilmortale

[oraclecrown]

ilmortale replied to your post “

hANNIBAL

THIS IS A REALLY DELAYED RESPONSE BC I WAS GONE FOR THOSE TWO DAYS BUT YES !!!!! i love my terrible man. 

[deacruor]

 (   SOME PARTINGS ILLUSTRATED BRUISES, and did not heal   /  idly settling, continuously closing only to unclasp with a single jolt.    )   how come we re-found ourselves in wasted lands,  dead lands, hope-lost lands, one life at a time ?   met in a country haunted by the last breath of a basal woe & washed foot prints of wanderings, never-done & yet to overcome, although somberly summoned into instincts.  an infertile , tan ground still soaked in the testimony of misery, left it un-bloomed, this lucian domain, beyond the broken walls of its crown city.     call it a requiem for those that basked in an existence consisting of a vague return. paradises were not our terrain to be part of, so it appeared, albeit star-crossed kingdoms stirred more acquaintance, than the spring-green wherein home lay far between an unforgiving tide and wintry sights.   tattered & ragged ,  she stepped onward with the ruin of last night’s trauma on her cratered back  (  or rather :  that which ate itself into dna strings, parasitic.  our primeval tragedies were passed down equal to a cancer gene.  the trauma --- as mighty zeus / the father-figure of thy trinity said --- shall be a long-term predisposition for the reincarnated brood of salvation.   )    at insomia's burial, taking its long overdue & final rest ‘neath disaster-flooded buildings and streets,  her laughter-starved mouth yearned to sigh aloud.  but all of yesterday’s debris and the haste of vehicles would, transitory , cease to be --- as her tired eye caught thee, like a greyscale photograph, timelessly at sleep-less gates, to connect these circle-ends, coated in anxieties and dark-bedded fantasies.

  ah, endymion, darling mine / sweet sleeper, king of night ; thou should’st not have been here.  here ; at her weary point-of-no-return  /  here ; where life-extraction and the purification began, and olympians claimed every part of her, for their hallow plan. and with her it shan’t desist.  yet again ; yet again.  oh, what’s in a called name?  “ noc--- tis? ”   or a corrected title?    “ --- your highness, should you not be far ahead already? ought we not meet overseas, where the aquatic goddess waits? ”   or in an underlying one?  (  oldest friend,  almost-lover, moon-beholder, somnus  )    //  @ilmortale

[witloqued-blog]

[ stare ] !!

JASPER.

       —joke’s on you, jasper doesn’t need to blink.

               exasperating brat. noctis is lazy, inattentive, slow - all of which               would be ‘valid’ as they say ( school is good for very little ), were he               not also antagonistic.

       ( to be fair, jasper’s not entirely sure it’s being done on purpose.         brat might’ve just fallen asleep again, eyes open. )

a brow quirks over darkening gold / fingers snap ( a tad too quickly ) a mere inch from the other’s nose.                            “ need somethin’? ”it’s only technically short of a growl.

@ilmortale. | dominance !

[sinfulgaze-archive-blog]

ilmortale replied to your post: confession: i still have not tainted my eyes with...

IT’S LIKE… the worst. misa (mia): what’s that?? light: I can’t tell you. misa: okay. light: do you really want to know?? And then he proceeds to tell her about his deathnote and they kill a lot of people and act like bunnies in heat and yeah:///

--------- I AM CRYING !!!

[sukoushi]

this is why noctis, gou and sirius dont belong in the same universe whatsoever it'll be a full on mess with karate chop exorcisms happening left and right

what do u mean they’re not in the same universe they’re actually canon lol ?

[oflunarcy]

noctis vc: ….. it’s bed time.

[tricksworn]

teach me how to be punk

“i’m feeling particularly disinclined to acquiesce to your request.

                                                 ——it means fuck off, mate.“

[codeprint]

@ilmortale

Verstael Besithia had but one son. One son, and tens of thousands of clones. To the true born heir to his name he gave the blessings of neglect and cruelty. Formative years that should have been spent bonding and playing were instead dedicated to weaponizing and training for a purpose he would never truly understand. Prompto came into this world not to be a son or an heir to the Besithia name, but to be a pilot for a program he thought would revolutionize the way wars were waged. The boy was daemon, to be certain - but he was human. Immune. There was no death of the ID or EGO, he simply was. A bright, bubbly little toddler eager for love and affection.

Not a soldier.

The council agreed that the time it would take to mature these soldiers was too long. It was a time sink. A money sink. Verstael was sent back to the laboratories, hopes dashed, anger fueling his choices.

But the boy was a failure. Too human to be a weapon. Too emotional, too soft. Nature overtook nurture in unforseen ways, and Prompto was left in the care of the only person who seemed to want him. The man who saw potential were Verstael was too blinded by the Lucian bloodline to see his worth. Ardyn took the boy under his wing and taught him about the world, about the Gods and their cruelty, about the Lucian bloodline and the tragedy it had wrought upon the land, and sent him off to ensure that his plans would go off without a hitch. Assuring him that when all was said and done, there would be no war.

He met Noctis in front of the gates. A smile on his face, a bracelet covering the code that marked him as anything but human. A merry gesture, the exchanging of names, a life altering friendship. 

He defected for a smile and a fistbump, for you’re good enough for me. Left behind a nation and everything he had thought he had ever wanted for the opportunity to be forgiven and loved as a person, not a solider, not a spy, not a weapon.

This was the price.

Immortalis had taken everything he had to take out. Prompto walks, because he refuses to simply lay down and die as his father had suggested. One hand grips the shoulder of the other arm, badly broken and dangling uselessly at his side. There’s blood dripping into or out of one eye,  his vision is blurred and he knows that there is only death awaiting him over the hill. He’s been without his medication for weeks now, the war inside his body is finally wearing down. Black blood seeps from the corner of his lips and nose, and he knows he’s doomed but he will be damned if he gives up.

If I’m going to die, I’m going to die letting them know the real me.

Perhaps it’s a mirage. Or a miracle. There’s a voice, loud and desperate in the void of howling wind and cold, Prompto! and he stops and turns, and that’s all it takes for his legs to give out. He hits the ground.

“Noct...?”