#uncrucify

[unincinerate]

❛ Men would sooner put the realm to the torch than see a woman ascend the Iron Throne. ❜   (jaera to cregan)

his place as warden of the north had not been born from his own skill or birthright but the undermining of his sister.   not by his own hand but he had struck a returning blow for her,  the blood of his uncle staining his blade.   and despite it all:   he couldn’t raise his sister up,  she was still to be trapped in the gilded cage known as the red keep.   but he could support rhaenyra.   the rightful heir to the throne,  the first child to viserys targaryen,  the realm’s delight.   the true queen of the seven kingdoms.   his father had bowed to support her all those years ago and he was a man of his fathers oath’s.   the seven may have acknowledged ageon the second as the rightful heir to the realm but the new gods did not step foot in the north and the old gods only saw rhaenyra targaryen.   “ the north will support your mothers claim to the throne.   my father vowed under the old & the new gods to support her ascendance the iron throne and i will honor that oath.   we will do our best to see that is does not come to flame.   our armies are yours,  your highness. ”

“ i only ask that should the southern armies that support the false king turn their sights to the north,  you will fight for us too.   the north is vast and wild but if i am to leave it near undefended,  i need to know it is in safe hands. ”   she was beautiful— what was it they had said about visenya targaryen?   equally as comfortable in chainmail and silk.   she might not have mirrored the classical targaryen visage but she held herself as one.   he extended a hand,  a careful distance between them,   “ in the mean time,  may i show you around winterfell?  i’m sure your ride here was long and arduous. ”

[unincinerate]

“ so,  your father is really going for the ‘kim jong-un buy up all the media so no one can say anything bad about me’ approach isn’t he?   but carrington united isn’t for sale.   not to him,  not to anyone.   & i know he’s getting a little  deaf  in his old age—  plus the stroke...   but does he just not understand the words not for sale? ”

[unincinerate]

“ it just makes me wonder— did he ever believe in me?   or was it all bullshit? ”    statistically speaking,  a lung lobectomy done with vats through a minor incision is safer.   it has a higher success rate.   she has a better chance then victor bravenec at saving his life— he might be an oncologist but she’s a microsurgeon.   (so that’s how she ended up here,  sitting on the floor & complaining to jesse.)   “ it was all,  what?   to prop up his ego?   he trusts everyone elses life in my hands but his own.   i’m good enough for them but never him.   the first time i reattached a limb,  he took me out for pancakes.   he was so proud of me, jesse.   he was so fucking proud.   do you know how hard it is to reattach a limb?   i’ve threaded back cervical vertebrae into place but he wouldn’t trust me to remove some lung.   i mean,  what the fuck? ”

[unincinerate]

“ i’m so sorry i have to cancel on you—  we have an emergency surgery coming through and sadly,  a pyometra is always going to take priority over date night. ”    mystic falls,  home of complete & constant bullshit— supernatural or not.   a shrine to death & failure,  an inability for anyone to actually be happy.   her included.   their reservation is long gone by now and the sun deeply set,  not even the last of its rays colouring the sky.   (no wonder everyone else has gone home,  far more interesting things to do then finish off their notes for the day.)   a dead-eyed hunch over her computer,  rhythmic clacking of her keyboard in the silent room.   she’d called a few hours ago [or rather,  one of the technician’s held her phone near her face so she could scrub in and leave a voicemail at the same time] giving her apology for cancelling again but there was a closed pyometra calling her name and wondering that,  in a town of supernatural hazards,  was constantly cancelling for work going to be the deal breaker on a budding relationship?   out of everything that’s going to end her relationship before it actually beings,  it’s people not speying their damn dogs.   not whatever supernatural bullshit is lying just below the surface of the town (but that’s okay:  you’ll wallow and rise again,  no one ever died of being dumped.)   she’s snapped out of the pile of notes by a knock,  giving up on if that letter is a g or a y.   (because please please please be someone trying to rob the damn clinic rather then someone bringing in a half dead cat,  i want to be able to go home tonight.)

“ —elijah?   i didn’t—  i mean you clearly got my voicemail but why are you here?   i thought...   i don’t really know what i thought.   i just assumed that you got my message and never wanted to talk to me again because i keep cancelling on you for work.   unless you’re here to yell at me about that;  in which case,  i still have a report to finish so can you save it for tomorrow? ”

[evilhorse]

Uncrucify that angel!

[unincinerate]

❛ You may do as you wish, when I am cold in my grave. ❜   (criston to vidya)

it isn’t a threat.   it’s a promise.   neither of them make idle threats,  she knows what kind of man he is.   she’s heard all the stories,  his sullied white cloak and the blood that soaks his hands.   the ratcatchers are happy to share what they’ve seen when paid right.   harlem was generous with his guidance to the back tunnels and cheese provided her with every vile thing he’d heard.   the only one who had their eyes open to the world around them was made mute by their family,  her tongue all but cut from her mouth.   they called her a fool and a simpleton,  but she took the word of the soothsayer and found a harsh future from it.   folk in asshai would gather for miles to hear a soothsayer speak,  walk until their feet bled to hear even a word from their mouth.   but they lock the princess away and ignore her words.   ruin will befall the house of dragons. 

sullen and dark eyes,  staring up at him.   the soothsayer talks about three strikes,  the shadows turn three times.   the castle that eats targaryen’s will be his downfall.   his hands will be even bloodier by the time this is over.   hers will have turned to ash before she returns to stygai.   there is no end to this war,  it continues even when it has been forgotten.   it continues after it’s gone,  it continues long after they’re all dead.   her befalling will not come by his hands but it will come.   her grave will be in foreign soil. 

the shadows of westeros cling closer then her homeland,  even under the longest nights.   she is walking too close for even balerion to save her.   her voice is a rasp,  a gutted out laugh.   he only sees tomorrow,  she sees the end of men.   one of the priestess once said:  you will spend your life trying to save them from the dark and they will hate you for it.   this will not be their long night.   it is far too early.   she steps a little closer,  the ghost of her whisper dancing over his cheek,   “ beware ser criston,  it may come far sooner then you expect. ”   

[unincinerate]

some garbage local paper once called him the next wayne gretzky with a terrible photo that odelia took of him:  blood gushing from a cut on his face,  a crooked nose,   & one of his eyes completely swollen shut.   the photo gained  1)  press across the country that complained about the dangers of encouraging youth into dangerous sports and how violent ice hockey was,   and 2)  a weird amount of people following the (supbar) twitch account that streamed the local hockey matches and ‘stanakins’. 

unfortunately,  or possibly,  very fortunately,  the only person he wanted to wear the crappy stanakin sweaters that got printed—  it’s probably a good thing,  is the girl in the beer stand (tasha,  who once offered him a tooth). 

said tooth,  or rather— the replacement pre-molar,  has most definitely become loose and the crack that was only filled in a month ago on his canine chipped sometime in the second period.   and he should absolutely be doing more then just holding a bag of frozen peas on it.   his dentist is going to eat him alive for it.   but he’s increasingly determined to actually talk to tasha today (rather then simply stare at her like a raccoon caught in the headlights) and she’ll be out of here if he stops to talk to the team medic about the chunks of blood in his mouth.

and those chunks of blood,  the partially frozen tongue,  & general head-rush of adrenaline,  it’s not going to be eloquent.   just ask her to timmies.  wait,  who wants coffee this late at night?  pizza?  is there even a pizza near here?  think anakin,  think!   “ hey..  tasha,  right?   is...   is that tooth still on offer? ”

[unincinerate]

in the aftermath of the bomb, pyrocumulus clouds had devoured the land.   those who couldn’t run far enough felt the heat devour & eat them from the outside,  stripped away flesh from the bone & slathered them in radiation that would rot them if the fire didn’t kill them first.   detroit was ruined,  they’d say.   but a ruination is better then nothing at all. 

“ north, ”   what is nines without north?   an incomplete sum,  a missing part of a whole.   [and you deceived yourself,  called anja the other half of your greek form.   but now her molars & three erupted wisdom teeth rattle in your pocket.   you’d considered connor your other half once.   but he tried to deny their right to detroit & betrayed you.   anja is dead & connor will join him soon.   there is no other half to you.]   their city thrives while the world succumbs to the decay of time.   night city,  the perfect inspiration for the fate of detroit.   but unlike silverhand,  they succeeded in destroying their oppressors,   “ what do you think should be done with him?   quiet & out of the way?   — or poetic?   in front of a crowd to remind them that justice built this city? ”