#I’m getting used to drawing him after murder of sth | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

the-house-of-the-nine · 6 years ago

Text

In Depths Below: Midnight Hour, Part 3

(To give an accurate description of what the dialogue in this story would sound like in your head. Imagine a conversation happening between Quint [From “Jaws”] and Sylvester the Cats son Junior [Looney Tunes, and he is just a higher pitched version of Sylvester for anyone curious.] As that is in fact both of their voice claims, enjoy!)

In the third week leading up to Lazarius being taken by the mercenaries and House Kash’ebahl falling into ruin, it would be the coordinated efforts of the members of the Nine leading the charge to extract a carefully planned revenge on the parties responsible. Magister Dawnseeker had begun this assault by taking from them their precious Inquisitor, whether he realized it or not he was declaring open war on not only the house in question, but the Nine. Each of the members of the order had their mission. They were to deal with a particular member of the eleven magisters in question, leaving together but toward different places they would carry out their plan to eliminate the threat. This was their Midnight Hour, on the hypothetical doomsayer clock, they were four minutes til…

“If ah have tah listen tha’ gods be damned ‘flesh is burning’ song one more time. Ah’m gonnae have tah toss yah off this cart into the next vent shaft.”

Brox was a rather crass and miserable dwarf. When it came to measuring dwarves it was common place to use a yard stick, or some other device that capped out at about a meter and a half.

“Even burnin’ ya alive, ah would doubt ah’d be rid o’ yah.”

The gritty and somewhat outspoken Dark Iron dwarf was leading an old and somewhat mangy looking mule through the barely visible roads of Searing Gorge. It was pulling a floppy, beaten and run down wagon with a pair of mismatched wheels and a grinding squeak that was only barely better than listening to the gnome. On the side of the cart in a crude penmanship were the handwritten words,

“W.W M.D Miracles, Cures, Tonics & Hot Lunches.”

The pair of them were parading around somewhere in the middle of the Searing Gorge as an organized traveling medical practitioner, who for some reason also offered a meal with their service. That thought slowly wormed its way back into the brain of the dark iron and he let out a furiously painful groan.

That was a conversation that took them nearly an hour to resolve. He could still hear the little gnome insisting that every patient deserves a balanced lunch. He groaned again while his other hand pressed a thumb and finger into his burning orange red eyes.

When it came to measuring attitudes though, by far, Dark Irons were renowned for being the grumpiest and the most miserable of the lot. Brox was just that.

He was shifty, he was angry and most importantly he was severely challenged when it came to having any type of pleasant conversation that may result in a joyous affair. It was remarkable how even the slightest of comments could send him into a swear spilling, whirlwind of obscenities and saliva. There was very little that actually brought a smile to his face.

Of course there were some things. Gambling for starters, women were another. These Ren’dorei were the stuff dreams were made of. He had several pin-up calendars that were posted all over his dorm. Thinking about them would always bring a tug at his grizzled cheeks.

Drinking was a given here, dwarves were notorious drinkers. Able to put down even the strongest liver in a matter of hours. Though not as much these days, Brox had taken a bit of a break from his ale consumption when a curious Lightforged Draenei mistook him for a large pudgy gnome by mistake. After the tussle and day and half in the stockades, he was determined to make a new years resolution regarding a bit of weight loss.

“All tha way since Dun Morogh. . . ah’m startin’ tah lose meh patience Doc. Startin’ tah. . . what the ‘ell am ah sayin’?”

He would laugh to himself and tug the reins a bit. He was of course speaking out loud.

“Ah’ve long since lost meh patience... and ‘ave slowly started driftin’ toward murder. . .they would never find yah ‘ere. . . ”

Brox was of course referring to the pint sized companion sitting beside him in the cart. That little nightmare was of course none other than the illustrious, the magnificent, the astounding; these were of course the only monikers he went by, Westley P. Whistletorque. Brox and Whistletorque had been on the road for several days already. Choosing to hop the tram leading from Stormwind Keep to Ironforge just a mere few hours after receiving their mission from Pyravari Kash’ebahl.

This was more so on the urging of the little doctor more than anything. He was eager to impress the Harbinger. Something about the way she smacked people around. Her gruff and wicked ways, her strong powerful choke holds. The little gnome never fancied elven women but for some reason the undead liche queen was something he could never get out of his mind.

Of course he knew all about her affair with Koltun, it didn't seem to bother him. She was of course allowed to have other gentlemen suitors in her life; but delusional as he was, he’d always see himself as her number one fellow.

“Would you sth-top your complaining!” squeaked the little gnome.

“Wah-wah wah, this-th cart hurt-sth my ass-th, this-th snow is-th much too cold, this-th mule wont pull hard enough. . .”

“This gnome won’t shut the fu-” Brox began.

“Would you look at that!” Whistletorque brazenly interrupted as he peered up over the horizon at the massive peek of Blackrock Mountain. “Ain’t it jus-th marvelous-th, ain’t it jus-th a bute!”

“Aye, it’s ah large angry mountain tha’ spits fire an’ lava an’ big ol’ hot rocks that crush wee little gnomes. Perhaps you’d like tah get ah closer look, Doc?”

Brox veered the mule a bit off to the left of the trail they were following to avoid a sloppily paved road hole. The dark irons that lived out here were not exactly keepers of the kings road. The could care less if the ground ate itself. Brox was used to it though.

Before leaving this miserable place, he’d been a commanding general in the Twilight Hammer Cult. Those days were long since past him, and he was fiercely loyal to Lazarius and The Nine now, but prior to Deathwings fall and the loss of the Bastion of Twilight, he was a devout Hammer follower.

“I’m fairly c-thertain that s-thitting here and obs-therving from a dis-th-tance will s-thuffice, thank you Mis-thter Sulfin.”

“Urgh. . .” Brox let out a painful sigh as he listened to the gnome. “...gods below yah voice is like listenin’ tah two corehounds gnawin’ on ah pipe organ. . . how da yah do it? How do yah survive? Ah’m shocked yah even still alive. . .”

“I get by. . .Not by mis-thtake either!” the gnome guffawed as his shrill and irritating laugh pierced the silence of the cart. It was only surmounted by the rumbling of thunder at the summit of the mountain and of course the sounds from deep below the surface.

The pair of them would sit quietly for once in their trip as the fumbling, moronic actions of the gnome began to dig through his little doctors bag for a certain item. What was he looking for?

Brox would peer over just in time to nearly miss another road hole, as it shook the cart and nearly sent the two of them flying from just that small nudge, he would growl and snarl a gruff tone.

“What are ya doin, we just ate about an hour ago!”

Whistletorque chortled softly into his medical bag, remarking about not wanting food or anything of the sort, but removing the picture from the meeting just days prior when they’d left The Bastille.

Pyravari did the same thing with the next image, her magics levitating it upward in a shadowy tendril to reveal a red-headed elf with the same, intense gaze as the previous.

“Magister Sinafel. A wizard of fire – destructive and immune to most magics that are not elemental or otherwise ‘natural.’ He is in Searing Gorge in a hideout along the caves in The Cauldron on the eastern side. Whistletorque and Brox, you will both dispatch this one. I am certain Brox will be able to traverse that region with ease thanks to his knowledge of that area.”

“S-thinafel.” the little gnome said softly as he gazed at the photograph. “He sure is a S-thpindly looking fellow is-thint he?”

Brox would only turn and glance at the photograph for a brief moment. He knew what the elf looked like and it was not of much concern to him how thin or fat he was. He was dead, that was the one thing that the dark iron knew would be a fact in the next few days. Depending of course; when they found him and got out of this horrible place.

“Ah’ve seen him. Don’t care. Ugly dead or alive. Just need to get there and do our job.”

“You know, I’ve s-theen some ugly looking elfs-th in my day but this-th one takes-th the cake for sure.” Whistletorque said as his voice trailed only for a moment as he began to think further on his own sentence.

“S-thpeaking of cake, you know what I abs-tholutely love?”

“Cake. . . “ Brox said in the most begrudgingly awful draws he could possibly make. He knew answering the gnome was a mistake, but not answering him was an even worse one.

“How’d you guess-th?” replied the gnome as his shrill cackle whirled around the cart like a siren squealing from an alarm-o-bot.

“Pound cake, Round Cake. . . fat, fluffy cake. Cake with those fun little s-thprinkles on top. . .Cake on top of cake. . . s-thmelly cake. . .”

Brox was silent for only a moment as the sound of his counterpart rattling on about pastries caused him to growl after each new sentence. This was of course culminating into one loud and frustratingly spent groan which trailed off into the distance as the two continued to cart along.

Several Hours Later. . .

Brox, Whistletorque and the Donkey were perched on a cliff face just on the boarder of where Searing Gorge met the surrounding lands. It was a quaint little hovel nestled into the rock formations with just the right amount of cover, but also; the right amount of natural trapping, The Cauldron.

Brox; if anything, was a master of these lands. Having lived here for his entire adolescent life leading up to his departure and abandonment of The Alliance. The one thing he knew was that the elf and his posse were now in the perfect place for an ambush.

There were no hopes of finding salvation in such a harsh and forgiving landscape. The closest Horde settlement was the remains of Kargath out in the Badlands but getting there would prove a greater challenge now more than ever due to the fact that the Dark Irons had allied with the Alliance formally. This meant the neutral or hostile checkpoints which were only once half manned were now heavily reinforced as checkpoints for the King.

Sinefel would not be waltzing through them without losing something, a limb perhaps. If that were to be the case, then it would have just made their job even easier.

“Alrigh’, we go in slow an’ steady, you lead and ah’ll follow, flash ‘em tha smile, do the song and dance, go into your routine, and before yah know it. . .we’ll be back in Ironforge ‘avin a pint before supper.” whispered the dwarf as he peered over toward his companions.

“That is eas-thy for you to s-thay, I’m the one that has-th to be the showman. You get to jus-tht s-thit there and watch. . .” replied the gnome.

The donkey would bray once.

“Oh so yah think ah’m incapable of bein’ the star?” Brox snapped looking toward the gnome.

“Think? Incapable? HA!” the little pink fluff ball grumbled. “I think, you can barely pass-th as a dwarf as it is, thank goodness-th for the s-thmell!”

The donkey would slowly begin to munch on the pack of the little gnome nearby as it brayed again.

“Wha- why you ungrateful little shit smear!” Brox flopped off of his tummy; as difficult at it would sound, in order to get onto his knees and kickstand himself onto his feet. “Ah’m. . . ah’m the one. . . Ah’m the. . .”

“Careful pudgy, don’t s-thrain a musthcle.” the gnome wittingly retorted as he watched him struggle. On the other hand, he had no difficultly getting to his feet.

“Shut-the-fu--” Brox would be promptly interrupted by another donkey bray.

“S-thee, he agrees with me too.” Whistletorque said as his stubby coated arms cross over his own portly gut.

“He is a donkey, he doesn’t ‘ave an opinion!” Brox snarled finally getting to his feet and adjusting his leathers and boots. “Listen ‘ere!”

The gnome remained standing there silent, his crossed arms still resting against his pudginess. A slow moving hand would offer its way toward the dwarf as if to say ‘go on’.

“Ah’m the one who drives tha cart. Ah supplied the goods, and ah’m the navigator.” he sympathetically stood there waiting for some sort of gratitude. The gnome was silent as he explained his stance on the topic.

The only sound heard would be another bray from the donkey.

“Cram it!” Brox shouted. “Nobody asked you!”

Whistletorque started to laugh again as he turned and made his way back toward the cart which was parked just behind them on the trail head leading down to where the elf had made camp.

“You know, its a good thing he’s here, for what its worth. Every good doctor needs-th a half witted, disheveled, even incompetent companion to help make himself look more intelligent by comparison.”

Brox would do the same thing, grabbing the reigns of the donkey in order to lead him back toward the wagon. As he was saddling him back up, he would have to pry the doctor bag from his mouth.

“You shouldn’t talk about ol’ Hammy like tha’, he’s ah good mule.” he said tightening the straps to his bridle.

“I was-th talking to him. . . “ replied the gnome.

Brox didn’t miss a beat. Simply made his way toward the drivers side of the cart, hoisted himself up into the seat and promptly hurled the bag of the little gnome as hard as he could off the edge of the cliff face. The sound of it spilling and dropping its contents down into the ravine were amplified ten fold due to the silence between the two of them.

“You’re abos-tholuely des-thpicable. . . “.

A few moments later. . .

After some careful planning, a bit of tidying up and of course; the grand flare of everything, installing the mechanical whirling gizmo that sat atop the magnificent wobbling cart. Whistletorque and Brox descended upon the camp of the Magister known as Sinafel with the intention of murdering him in cold, unprovoked fury. But first they’d have to make their grand introduction.

As they waltzed through the pass leading to the small outcrop, the two riders and their majestic donkey would all grow silent. The one thing they needed to remember was that these people were elves. This was not a force of Stormwind soldiers, it was not a group of rogue dwarves out having an evening drink. These were magisters, and even more specifically, these were an intelligent excavating and archeological group of magisters.

They were here studying the effects of magma, lava, fire and tectonic shifting. They were here to learn about the massive mountain. They were here to gain knowledge and power. They were not here to be bothered by a gnome and dwarf riding a donkey cart, trying to appeal to their sense of flare and flamboyancy would be imperative.

The swirling gizmo continued to turn on top of the wagon like a spinning windmill as the pair grew closer to the two guarding elves at the entrance of the camp. Brox was wearing a beautiful violet silken top hat, his goggles; just the riding type, were covering his glowing red eyes. And his beard combed neatly and respectively, it fell against the crushed velvet of his leisure suit.

Westley was wearing a white lab coat and his usual magnification goggles. His pink tufts of hair on either side of his head were combed outward in the most glorious way and the smile he brandished was beaming as bright as the sun.

The two guarding elves were poised at the entrance of the camp in Silvermoon Cities finest garments. The golden and crimson colors vibrant against the stale cinder ash that caused the visibility of the area to always have an odd orange hue.

As they watched this ridiculous pairing grow closer, one of the elves would put their hand outward and pointed toward the cart. Both the drivers would realize the flame that ignited in the palm. While the other elf would raise a glaive of some sort, looking much like that of the royal guard.

“That is as far as you both shall go. Report your name or we will open fire. This is protected land claimed by the Horde and Silvermoon City and you are trespassing.” exclaimed the elf holding the handful of fire.

Suddenly the sound of something marvelous would echo against the heavy stone walls of the entire cavernous pass. It was trumpets blaring, it was the sound of a snare drum rolling into a military style rhythmic beat, a bass drum keeping tempo and what sounded like banjo or some string instrument being played along side a small high pitched fife.

The rear of the cart exploded with a vibrant thud as the large door fell downward and suspended itself horizontally out the back. It was a mechanical band, like that of an entertainment restaurant fully equipped with animatronics a plenty, using the door as their makeshift stage. They were only about the size of the gnome riding in the cart but they were playing the music beautifully.

A small robotic pair of orcs were sitting side by side, one with the snare drum and the other hitting the large bass drum with a rubber mallet. The dwarf playing the banjo was missing a hand, but it was clear it didn't matter because he could some how strum without it.

Beside them was a beautiful; save for the fact that she was missing her lower jaw and part of her ear, elven female playing the fife. And right in the back behind her was a troll blowing what appeared to be a long object looking like a plunger, this would have been where the missing trumpet probably went.

Fireworks then burst from the whirling gizmo as the music continued to blare. Streams of blue and red, and yellow and pink came whizzing out of the top of each of the spindles that spun about. This only caused the device to spin out of control even faster and create a rainbow effect on the cart.

“Gentlemen! I bid you good morning!” squealed the little gnome as he suddenly leapt up from his seat and stood posing on the cart for the elves.

“Allow me to introduce mys-thelf! I am doctor Wes-thley P. Whis-thletorque and thisth isth my traveling cart of miraclesth, medicinesth and much, much more!”

At the completion of his sentence; Brox who had already come to a complete stop, released the reigns leading to the donkey and would slowly give an unenthusiastic pound on the wood behind him so that two flags would drop on either side of the cart. Each of them were showing stick figured people smiling, happy and surrounding a list of all the wonderful items he carried in his cart.

In another sudden action of nearly unexpected and miraculous agility. Westley would spring into the most charming of movements. His pop & lock dancing moves were nearly unmatched; this in part largely due to his overwhelming obsession with Dalaran during the auction house dance parties, but they were incredible for such a stubby and overweight fellow.

“Thisth isth my marvelousth as-thsistant Brahm Hands-thomefoot, and our beautiful four hoof companion Margret. S-thay hello Margret!” exclaimed the gnome as he continued to showboat.

The donkey then gave out a sudden bray of “Hee-Haw” before bowing his head and giving a stomp from his left front hoof. And yes, they were aware that the name of their male donkey was Margret. He just looked like a Margret, another hour long battle that Brox conceded on during their trip here.

This entire display to the amazement of everyone; including the whimsical Whistletorque who was panting heavily with his arms outstretched as if he’d just finished doing his dance on stage, received a full ovation from both of the guards who seemed to find it amusing.

They were clapping and cheering and it seemed genuine. But one could never be too careful.

“That was stupendous!” cried the one elf who’d extinguished his hand fire.

“Amazing, simply amazing. You had to practice that. Wow. . .just wow.” said the other as he too had placed his weapon in a safe, and sturdy location in order to clap.

Whistletorque quickly offered them both a happy chuckle which followed by a bow on his cart, even Margret knew what it meant and he went into a bow. But before stopping, the gnome happened to look over and see that Brox was just sitting there. A swift slap to the side of his head; which knocked his top hat off into his lap, would be the indication that he should also bow. He did, biting his tongue and his fist to prevent it from being sent into the chompers of the little runt.

“You gentlemen are far too kind, you have my utmosth thanks-th.” exclaimed the gnome as he dismounted the cart in the most graceful of ways and landing with a silent step.

“Might I inquire, who isth in charge of this-th fine es-thtabilshment?”

The elf previously offering the hand of fire toward the cart walked over and offered the same hand to the portly gnome. “Of course, of course. That would be High Magister Arcadius Sinafel. Why don't you bring the cart inside, we’ll get you set up. You seem to be heading in the direction of Stormwind, coming from Ironforge I guess?”

“You are abs-tholutely correct my fine s-thir. Ironforge to S-thormwind, s-thuch a long and arduous-th trek, wouldn’t you s-thay?” who was he to disagree with the elf who’d offered the perfect cover story so willingly, he’d just go along with it.

The elf would nod and continue to look over the gnome. Gnomes were not like goblins. The guard knew as much. Gnomes were a rather trusting people, and even more convincingly they were often times very forthcoming and honest. Goblins on the other hand. They’d just as soon cut your throat if it meant a profit.

“You sell hot lunches too, odd isn't it?” said the other guard as they made their way over to them, his eyes curiously going over the cart as he reached out to touch it.

“W-what?” Whistletorque said as he shook the hand of the one elf while half trying to listen to both. But upon noticing him getting closer to the cart he would squeal out. “W-why no, of course we don’t s-thell hot lunches-th!, that would jus-th be weird!”

Brox would slam his fist into the side of the cart again, and the doors that were previously open and displaying the band; which was still playing, and the signs would soon close back up tight like a snare drum.

“We offer free hot lunches-th for every diagnos-this and purchas-the of our tonics-th!” he exclaimed as he clapped his hands and opened them both up to display himself to the crowd like a ‘ta-da’ stance. “I believe every person deserves-th a hot lunch after an exam, more doctors-th should agree!”

Both elves laughed at this, and waved the cart and the gnome inside.

“Come on, get set up, we’ll pull the other hands from their research, get you situated in here, maybe help us out by grabbing a few of your wares and we’ll find the Magister for you to meet.”

“S-thtupendous!” Whistletorque said as he waved at Brox, and followed the elves toward the main camp.

It wouldn’t be a very long time for the little gnome and his dwarven companion to get set up in the camp. After being led into the area that was hardly secure to fend off a full Alliance assault; it was though reinforced enough to defend against a simply reconnaissance group.

Brox and Whistletorque would be given a bit of time to prepare while the rest of the camp would be gathered from their duties. The duo and their cart would be led into the middle of everything; Brox made sure that the cart would be turned in a complete one hundred and eighty degree turn though, just in case they needed a speedy exit. Or for this matter, and exit that was about as fast as a lazy old donkey could go.

In the meantime while the magisters were being gathered, Brox and Westley huddled in the back of the cramped cart. In the little area that was housing the six mechanical musicians. It looked like a group meeting as the two living assassins were squished between the other deteriorating friends who’d come along for the ride.

“Now, when they come out here everyone will line up on the passenger side of the cart. You go out, give another lil shimmy dance and flash ‘em tha’ ol’ smile o’ yours.” Brox said quietly as he peered around the half missing jawed elven woman who was sitting between them. “While your doing your thing, ah’ll sneak off and get into the tent, find this magister fella and stick ah knife right in his back.”

“Your plans-th are always s-tho pedestrian. . . you know that right?” Whistletorque exclaimed as he tried to peer around the other side. It was like trying to talk to a friend while someone else stands between you. Bobbing their heads back and forth but never really making eye contact.

“Wha- in the name o’ tha ol gods does that mean?” shouted the dwarf in his quietest of tones and trying to gaze around the marionette.

“It means’th every time we do anything, your answer is-th to just shove knives in peoples-th backs-th! Wheres-th the flare? Wheres-th the pizazz?” prompted the little gnome as he would move parts of the musical attachment out of his way while arguing with the dwarf.

“Flare? Flare? Why don’ ah shove a flare up ya sodden arse and see ‘ow long it takes for them fancy knife ears tah put ya out!” Brox was obviously getting irritated at this point.

“Well that. . .” Whistletorque gave a slight pause, blinking and giving it some thought. “That isn’t exactly a bad idea, I mean given the physics-th of the entire ordeal and how hard it would be to actually ignite a flare inside of someones-th ass-th. . . I am c-thertain that if w. . .”

“Would you shut up already! Just go do what ah’ tol’ yah and we’ll be out of ‘ere no time flat.” Brox snarled as he continued to fight with the perspective of the elven woman in his line of sight, while of course the gnome prattled on.

“And then of course you have the combustion rating, burn time, not to mention heat ratios. . .”

Brox suddenly grabbed the elf by the shoulders and ripped the mechanical piece from the wooden armature that it was attached to. He flung it only several inches across the cart but at least now he could see the little gnome.

“Shut yah flappin yap hole!”

“Betty! Oh no, look what you’ve done to her!” Whistletorque sobbed as he reached his fat little hand over to squeeze the stump where her little mechanical elf hand would have been. “You’ll never play the flute again. . .”

“It was a fife. . .” replied the dwarf.

“You do care!” the gnome shouted suddenly.

Brox snorted gruffly and it would have been a much louder ruckus if it had not been for the sound of the elves outside gathering and a pounding on the side of the cart which came from the same guard that let them in.

“Doctor Whistletorque, we’ve assembled our eager patrons, please feel free to open your cart so we may peruse.”

Brox then looked over at the doctor. The doctor would look back at him. This was the moment they had been waiting for. There was no turning back, there was no chance to second guess. They had to act and they would have to act fast if they were going to get away with this and live.

Brox slowly moved away and the good doctor grabbed his wrist.

“Wait you’re not going to give a pep talk or anything?” he squeaked as if expecting some sort of response.

All he got was a groan.

Moments later the entire group of elves had set up outside the cart. They were all seated on whatever they could find that was lying around the camp. Buckets, stumps, even pieces of armor and machinery. Chairs were a luxury and only few were used by those lucky enough to have found them.

But as usual, the doctor and his performing party would assume their position. Go through the same entire ordeal they had at the front gate; minus Betty of course who had been viciously ripped away and be-handed, though oddly enough her musical magical fife still played strong in spirit. And together they put on the show of a lifetime for these eagerly anticipating elves.

When the panting little gnome had finished his pop-and-lock dance, and the music had subsided, he leapt from the stage onto his pedestal and proudly bowed to a rousing applause and laughter.

“Thank you very much all of you!” he began after giving a short, chubby little bow. “Without further a due! Let me begin!”

Whistletorque flipped; or at the very best, rolled slightly forward enough to fall onto the ground and land on his feet, and planted himself firmly down on the ground before them.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, Boys and Girls, Children of all ages. Allow me to proudly introduce you to Doctor Westley P. Whistletorque and his traveling medical marvels!” the good doctor jumped into an X formation with his legs out to each side, his arms up above and his head tilted back.

“Ta-da. ta-da. taaaa-taaaaa!” like a piano ramping up to start an old saloon performance, the gnome would sing out that phrase, turn and openly display his arms to point toward the cart, and in the same motion Brox would slam his fist against the side opening all the doors and all of their wares.

Unbeknownst to all of them, at the very same second the cart was opened, several loud explosions could be heard all over the camp. Pieces and parts went flying into the air as the sounds of screaming and painful agony could be heard.

It appeared that charges had been planted all around the camp. As the elves started to panic and the little gnome and dwarf leapt under their cart for cover, they came face to face with one another.

“Did you--”

“I didn’t did---”

“Well then who tha fuck set charges tah blow this place!”

The two peddling swindlers were huddled together, the sounds outside that could be heard were of voices around their cart..

“Alliance! They’re ambushing!”

“They’re operatives from SI:7, get the magister back to his tent, to safety quick!”

Both gnome and dwarf then looked at one another and suddenly started laughing hysterically at the situation they had found themselves in. It was easier to just hide here and let the Alliance be the ones to kill these guys than to have either one of them get their own hands dirty. Brox would smile, but it would be short lived. His feet were grabbed and he was slowly dragged out from under the cart.

“Wha-!”

One of the elven guards slammed him up against the cart with a blade to his neck. He would snarl and spit at the dwarf.

“This was all a plan to get our guard down. You alliance scum, you’re all the same.” he leaned in close and gave another snarl at the dwarf. “I’m going to enjoy cutting you into little pieces you dirty rock dwelling filth!”

Brox most certainly took offense to that, and as the face of the beautiful elven man got too close with his insults, he suddenly lurched forward as far as he could and took a bite of the perfectly chiseled nose.

This would cause the elf to fall back in pain immediately, screaming and writhing. And ultimately humiliated when the nose was spat back onto him.

“Don’t worry! Don’t panic! Im a doctor I can fix that!” Whistletorque said slowly squirming out from under the cart. “Oh and you get a free lunch too with all medical purchases, you’ll need firs-tht aid oitment so that counts-th, Isn’t that cool?”

“Gnome, listen. Ah’m gonna deal wit’ some o’ these elfy pricks. You get in that tent and make sure that Magister dies.” Brox said as he grabbed the gnome by the shoulders and gave him a little shake.

“You’re not planning on trying to kiss-th me are you, cause-th it kinda looks-th like youre gonna t--”

“Gnome!” Brox shouted and gave him another shake. “Get your arse in gear!”

“B-b-but we’re safe here.” The sound of screaming, explosions and armor against weapons were heard everywhere. They were far from safe. “Why not let this-th die down just a bit, just a tad or so. . . then we can make our move!”

“Listen to me, sure we could stay here and hide. We could stay here safe and sound and just wait this out. We could j. . .” Brox was cut short because at that very moment, Hammy had finally decided that the food he had been eating out of the bucket was no longer the food he wanted. And thusly the cart slowly wobbled its way about ten feet forward to where another food bucket was waiting. Now exposed, the two pint sized heroes were able to see the entire fight of Alliance versus Horde.

Both of them looked at one another for a moment before finally realizing the truth of the matter.

“Right, yeah. . .I should probably s-thtart moving. . .”

“Yah. . .right. good idea. . . ”

And with that, Brox grabbed the glave of the noseless guard and started into battle killing any of the Sin’dorei that were near them. The benefit of these two infiltrating a Horde camp that was under attack, well, just attack the enemy. They’d blend right in.

Whistletorque on the other hand, would need to take his time. Carefully trying to get into the tent which seemed to be a mile and a half across the entire battlefield. For the love of all things gnomish why did it have to be so far away.

Under legs and bodies that were being smashed and bashed. Around tables and chairs and gods only knew whatever the hell that was. He would maneuver his way through the battlefield in order to try and get to that tent. The tent that undoubtedly housed the Magister that was in charge.

He would sneak right up to the side of it eventually, after just a bit of time. His winded little chest heaving up and down; it was hard for such a fragile little fat creature to hustle like that without have the time to snack, rest and take a short nap. But try as he might, he would flop down on his belly and roll right under the gnome sized crack in the tent in order to get inside.

Careful as a fox, he would get to his feet. His stealth like reflexes and cat like abilities would be his saving grace now. Here, in that tent he was like a ninja assassin. Nobody could know what was about to happen. He would turn and run toward a table. Not a single person saw.

“So badass-th.” he thought to himself.

Another turn, a roll and a quick hop up onto his feet as he slammed against a dresser. His portly body pressed against it like a wet bag of laundry, he looked around.

“The deadly gnomish assassin, Wes-thtley P Whisthletorque.” he hummed allowed in his head. Even going as far as to come up with a theme song.

Another flip, another jump. Scaling a wall backwards with his hands. In reality he stumbled to get close to another large object to hide behind.

♪♫♪ “Dun dun dun dun, Whisthletorque. Dun dun dun dun, he is-th the gnome with the most. Dun dun dun dun, s-thuch a hero gnome. Dun dun dun dun, gettin cake after this-th. . .”♪♫♪

Back to another corner, then over to a table. And just as he was about to leap out and stab the enemy with his deadly poisoned blades, wait. . .He didnt have blades.

“Wait where are my blades-th?”

He crashed right into a table that was holding a beachball sized glass orb. He never did get a good look at whatever was going on inside the orb but when it rolled back and forth, he would try to stabilize it but ultimately knocking it further over.

He couldn't get onto the table fast enough to catch it and even if he could, it probably would have crushed him. All he could do was stand there on the table and watch it crash onto the ground.

As it smashed into a million little shards of glass, the sound of something coming hissing out of the blue and blackish vapor swirled around the tent.

“. . .what have... you done. . . my . . . .power. . . . . “

The gnome stood there, completely dumbfounded as the vapor and hissing sound continued up into the air and the tops of the tent. It cursed and hissed the entire time until there was nothing but silence, and the waging battle happening outside.

“That was probably bad. . .Oops...”

“You fat, miserable little twerp.” cause the voice of an elven man as he came into view. His fiery red hair was blazing as he ignited his hands and body in flame. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done!”

The gnome institutionally turned and began to crack a joke. “Well if I had to guess that was your observation ball for telling fortunes-th and now you’re screwwwwwwed.”

The Magister snarled and came ever closer. “I am High Magister Arcadius Sinefel of the Court of Quel’Thalas. You will pay dearly for that insult gnome. Mark my words, I will not leave this tent witho--”

There was nothing more to be said. In an instant, Whistletorque had flung a grabbing device that looked like a cylindrical defibrillator right toward the Magister. It miraculously latched onto his chest and immediately began to electrify the man. It tazed and shocked him into submission as the victim fell to the floor and began to salivate and drool.

“Oh geez, Oh gods-th! S-thir. . . .S-thir I am s-tho s-thorry!” Whistletorque leapt off the table and started toward the man on the ground who was writhing in a convulsive seizing. “Oh. . .wow that thing looks-th like it hurts-th.”

The tazed magister continued to sizzle and growl but hardly able to make words form into sentences because of the amount of amperage that was pulsing through him. He would reach toward the doctor with a sizzling, flesh burning hand but the little gnome would side step that inconspicuously.

“Ooooh geez. . . thats only going to get worse too. . .I must have miscalculated that one. . .”

Brox suddenly burst into the tent. He had heard the yelling outside. He was covered in blood and still holding the glave he had stolen from the guard.

“Wha-...”

“It isn’t what it looks-th like!” the gnome shouted as he tried to leap in front of Brox so he couldn’t see it.

“Well. . .it sorta looks like you’re tryin’ tah fry a man tah deat’ wit’ a remote control sausage.”

The gnome would slowly glance over his shoulder, his magnified eyes were honed in on the scene for quite some time before turning back to face his counter part.

“While it does-th certainly look as-th though that is the case, I can completely assure you th. . “ Whistletorque groaned and shook his head. “Yeah, no that’s pretty much dead on the nose-th accurate there.”

Brox burst into laughter and leaned in to slap the gnome on the shoulder.

“Well done lad!”

“Well d-- Well don.. . what do you mean Well done? This-th isnt how this-th is supposed to work. It was supposed to give you an accurate read out on your vitals-th! I just threw it at him to distract him ,so I could run away!” the gnome confessed as he tried to push the meaty arm stump off his shoulder.

“What a s-thtupendous disaster!”

Brox continued to laugh and pointed at the now drooling and frying man who was behind him.

“A fire wizard. . .immune to most magics that are elemental. . .” the dwarf said mocking Pyravari. “Good thing you just wanted to check his vitals, Doctor.”

Between the laughing and gurgling of the now boiling man behind them, Whistletorque did start to crack a smile. His smile cracked a grin. And that grin then birthed a little chuckle of his own.

“At least he’ll get a free lunch too?” chimed the little gnome.

They both shared a good laugh. In the meantime, several of the SI:7 members would rush into the tent and see what was going on. Some of them would be force to instantly leave. Others would gasp at the site of a man having his eyes bubble and pop while tens of thousands of volts of electricity were pumped into his body. The new guy was over in the corner just yacking when the leader of the little faction came in and said. “Oh---my---god...”

From that point on, little was seen of the dark iron dwarf and his mischievious gnomish companion. They waltzed through the clean up of dwarves, humans and elves who were there to kill the magisters and probably would have had far more casualities if it had not been for the pairing of W.W.M.D and co. But they would not be seen again. They simply mounted their cart, gave ol’ Hammy a little yank on the reigns and slowly trotted their way out of the Searing Gorge on their rickety, wobbly old cart.

Another Magister Down.

Continued in “In Depths Below: Midnight Hour, Part 4″

@zalraazurestar

@whatadarkbitch

@pyravari-kashebahl

@siidaraykashebahl

@suncrest-legacy

@daltalah

@thebladeitself

3 notes · View notes

serenagaywaterford · 6 years ago

Note

5) Honestly, imo it would made a lot more sense if Serena got involved with the Resistance after 2x08. She's a writer and a good propagandist, June's an editor, they could carefully go behind Fred's back. Also, Commander Lawrence is there. They could have brought down Gilead from within. Maybe I'm being simplistic, but I think it would have given a nice msg. An instigator (and impassioned supporter) of a misogynistic (and homophobic) totalitarian regime becomes a victim herself, but decides to

6) to do sth about that monstrous situation she created, even if that means that she will go down with Gilead. Then again, I do understand why the creators didn't go there. This is the handmaid's tale, not the redeemed fascist's tale. Regarding 2x10, oof. I pride myself in having a hard stomach, but that scene made me REALLY, REALLY uncomfortable (and ENRAGED). (A lot more uncomfortable than the previous ceremonies, which were terrible enough on their own, AND Eden's death* .) And given that

7) Serena has the gall to tell Fred that June hates him, because he raped her. Like bitch, stfu, it was YOUR idea! You raped her and used Fred for the penetration. And not only that, but she manipulated Fred/played him like an instrument. She knows at this point that he's a serial rapist/abuser AND in love with June, so ofc he wouldn't decline the opportunity to abuse her once again. It really is telling that June was screaming Serena's name, not Fred's. I wonder wtf was going on Serena's mind

8) to put the baby's life in danger. She could have punished June after the birth if she really wanted to. That being said, I personally think that Serena was kind of OOC in that episode. Not because she's an angel that is not capable of such hideous things. But, after taking under consideration 2x08 and 2x09, I felt that her 180° change came out of nowhere. Especially, since she took a small taste of her own medicine. She knows what abuse/domestic violence feels like. As for the marital rape,

9) it may have been clichéd, but it would also have made sense. A person that repeatedly rapes a woman, beats his wife and is okay with mutilations draws the line at forcing himself on her? Since when do creepers have standards? One last thing, because I've spammed you enough. *I mentioned Eden's death (which made me cry like a baby). How do you feel about her? Bc was disappointed that the fandom blamed a 15 year old child that was forced to marry a man twice her age. Not only that, but she

10) forgave him and kept Nick and June's secret? // END OF RANT // My apologies.

---------

I think I have to put a read more here! Eep!

“Then again, I do understand why the creators didn't go there. This is the handmaid's tale, not the redeemed fascist's tale.”

I had to laugh IRL there. Cos, it’s true. It’s June’s story, technically speaking, not Serena’s. And I dunno but I feel like I suspect that’s where they eventually want to take the show. But S2 is too early for that? I personally don’t know why. There’s no law an American programme must go one for 14 seasons. It could easily be a 4 season series. Or 3! But I’ve read things that Hulu wants to keep it going as long as possible. Huge mistake, imo. Organically speaking, Serena changing course after 2x08, or even, at a push, 2x09 would have made much more sense than this “will she? won’t she?” BS they keep doing with her. I think she’s come around in a way she hadn’t before by the finale (or Eden’s murder). But it still doesn’t seem like it’s something she’ll carry through with--especially without June. It’s interesting how much Serena relies on June for incentive/encouragement. Basically everything Serena’s done in resistance since mid-S2 has been because June has done or challenged her or said something to prompt her. I feel on her own, she would be ~meeker. Even things like, “Hey, so I know this way to possible save the baby... what do you think?” is clearly her going “Please say what I want to hear!” It’s like she can’t just do it herself. She needs June’s input. June was calling almost every shot in 2x08. In 2x09, when left to her own devices, Serena folded. It took June screaming at her in 2x13 for her to do anything about reading. So, without June around I feel like Serena will just go back to old ways. Which is ridic cos she is an intelligent, powerful woman when she actually has the balls. The only thing Serena manages to do on her own is assault, hate speech, and war crimes lol. The easy shit.

That said, I kinda like how they ended 2x08. I loved Fred seeing the rose on June’s bedside and putting all the pieces together and seeing that as the true threat: Serena and June as friends/partners in rebellion. The beating scene was horrific too, mostly cos I’m not one of those weird fans that was sitting there cheering, “YAY I’M SO GLAD SERENA GOT BEAT! SERVES HER RIGHT!” (I just... want to throttle every single person who’s said that. Not necessarily cos I wuv woobie Serena sfm but because way to miss the point of the entire series.) but the aftermath was even worse, imo. June reaching out and attempting to maintain the bond, but Fred managed to break Serena really easily. Like it’s just so awful how easy it was for him to snap that bond, cos he knows his wife and her pride, etc. It was ... so manipulative and evil genius. (Although it doesn’t take a genius to figure that out, Freddie boy.) It was just such a prime example of exactly how they maintain power in Gilead and how they managed to get it working: estranging women from each other. And it was just such an apt way of visualising the concepts June talked about in S1 about keeping women at arm’s length of each other, suspicious, etc. in order for men to keep power. So, in that sense, I thought it was well done. But then... I was like, “OH FUCK THIS. NOT AGAIN. FUCKING SERENA. WHAT A DISAPPOINTMENT. WHY CAN’T SHE BE STRONG LIKE JUNE. UGH.”

I dunno.

Yeah. 2x10. I was “lucky” to have seen that scene ahead of time... so I was prepared when it happened during the episode. But it was still repulsive. Aside from the nonsensical writing of the whole thing, it was just gross. And I think maybe you’re the first person that when talking about this has mentioned how grossed out you are by the other Ceremony scenes. So many people just... don’t really mention them. I remember the article about 2x10 and how the showrunners were saying something along the lines of “Is it really that big of a deal when the same thing has been happening the entire time?” Nobody reacted the same way those times, because the Handmaids are quiet and well-behaved during their rapes, even though, on some level I think Serena and some other wives (IIRC) are completely aware of how terrible it is (Serena even admits as much...but does it anyway uuuggghhhhh.) This is the only time June ever fights back and suddenly not only are Fred and Serena faced with the brutal reality of the act but as the audience we are as well. It’s easy to look the other way when nobody is crying or struggling but WHAM. Fuck that. This is gross and horrible and here is what it REALLY is. And it’s hard to swallow.

June crying Serena’s name was probably the absolute worst part, cos it just makes it crystal clear that everyone knows exactly who is responsible for that rape. June knows who has the power, whose idea it was, and she knows the only one to stop it is not Fred. (God, I fucking hate Fred but like you said, he was totally played by Serena. I don’t let him off the hook for it but really it was her idea, 100% and he just thought “Hell yeah! Sounds good!”)

I feel like as much as Serena understood the Ceremony is pretty bad generally, I don’t think she recognised it as “real” rape until that moment. I feel like a lot of those Gilead people are just so willfully blind and selfish and horrible that they actively refuse to see things. Like Serena’s weird ass enthrall about child brides. I know some of that was to get back at June but she seemed genuinely awed by how beautiful it all was. NO BITCH IT’S NOT. IT’S CHILD ABUSE AND SEX TRAFFICKING.

I just have given up trying to understand why Serena would do such a monumentally STUPID and DANGEROUS thing if she honestly cared about the baby--which, incidentally, I do believe she truly loves Nicole and babies. As crazy as that is. Even if her love of Nicole specifically is totally a self-centeredness. But she loves babies. Babies above all else apparently, including other women. And she’s not an idiot. Baby health aside, that is a HUGE crime in Gilead to rape a pregnant Handmaid for any reason. I’m supposed to believe Serena is just so massively upset about June’s false labour that she goes mentally insane, even after being subjected to the similar treatment like a week earlier? It’s a huge, nonsensical risk on basically every single level.

I’ve come to the conclusion, considering all those things you did, it was just bad writing. Her 180 just... is bonkers. I give up. I don’t think there’s any way to logically get from 2x08/09 to 2x10 without taking some leaps. Do I think Serena would punish and abuse June for humiliating her? Absolutely. That’s her MO. She lives for that shit. But rape? It... I dunno again. Fucking weird. I don’t know if it’s on purpose or what, but I do find it interesting that after that Serena never raises a hand to June again, when she had some opportunity. She still punished her by separating her from Nicole but she never physically assaults her again. (Not that I’m saying she’s a changed person or anything. I just thought it was curious but I don’t know if it was deliberate on the show’s part or just a symptom of lack of real opportunity.)

ITA re: the marital rape too. I see no reason Fred wouldn’t escalate to that. It’s all Joseph Fiennes fault. Which is probably what pisses me off the very most. He decided that was just too much for his character? C’mon. That’s too much but what Fred does in the next ep is peachy keen? Oh, right, because in 2x10 we can blame Fred’s behaviour on his evil wife. It’s not really his fault. I see. But you can’t blame Serena for him raping her. Ugh. So, cos, Fiennes doesn’t like it, we lose way more context for Serena--who, lbr, is the more important character in this whole series out of the two of them.

EDEN. OMG BB EDEN.

I’m with you. I was actually pretty disgusted at fandom’s response to her. SHE IS A CHILD. But all these Nick/June shippers were going hogwild attacking her for getting inbetween their precious self-insert fantasy relationship. (I have a particularly low opinion of Nick/June shippers primarily because of their reactions to Eden, tbh. Before that, I was like whatever, each to their own.) This is a story about women and girls in a horrible society, and the focus seemed to be on tearing apart this female child for something she had zero control over. I never got the “Eden is evil and gonna fuck shit up for Nick (and June)!” vibe. She seemed to be a regular girl caught and raised in a misogynistic awful place and just lost. I absolutely ABHORRED the way Nick treated her the entire fucking time. (I honestly hate him so much, and most of that again is due to him since the forced marriage, both in the way he was with Eden and with June. And the number of fangirls fanwanking away all his shitty fucking behaviour and throwing Eden under the bus didn’t help my attitude.)

She’s a KID. FORCED TO MARRY A GROWN MAN. A man who it wouldn’t kill to just be straight up with her and a little bit kind. Fuck. (Serena’s grooming certainly wasn’t good either. Like, seriously lady, shut up. Stop pressuring the kid to fuck an adult man who hates her by telling her “Well maybe you can like it too!” AHHHHH.)

To me, aside from the babies/children, Eden was the most truly good character on the entire show. She was patient, kind, caring, FORGIVING, loving. Completely innocent bb girl. And then she gets fucking murdered for kissing a boy she actually likes and wants to be with. Which, was ........... wow. Gilead’s hypocrisy killing a pious young girl, presumably fertile... Yikes.

And that little girl was more brave than ANY other character. And maybe some of that is teenage thinking but still she was staring down death and refused to back down. Sure, it’s unreasonable, and an adult likely wouldn’t have made that decision... but also what was her option? Repent... and become a Handmaid? That would have been her fate since she’s an adulteress and fallen woman. And since she truly believes in goodness, and God, and Heaven (presumably), she sees it as a way for her and Isaac to be together. Meanwhile, it took a literal death sentence for Nice Guy Nick to actually recognise he could have maybe been a bit kinder to her. Then she’s asking for HIS forgiveness. AH. Eden bb.

I have a lot of feelings about Eden, and the way fandom treated her. Even when she was killed, fans were still calling her stupid and annoying for her choice--likely the ONLY real choice she has EVER had for herself. (I think that concept gets forgotten.) Like WTF sort of world do you live in that you watch a show about fascism and female oppression and turn around and bitch out the YOUNG GIRL strictly for being a young girl in a fascist society?

But hey, this is the same fandom that calls Janine annoying and crazy, and says Serena deserves to be beaten and mutilated by her husband/Gilead. Way to miss the point of the entire show. But that’s a totally other rant for another time, heh.

Also, anon, NEVER APOLOGISE FOR YOUR RANTS. They are so wonderful to read cos I completely agree! And it’s just such a relief to see reasonable people around these parts.

#rants and raves #Anonymous

1 note · View note

lets-have-a-mediocre-time · 8 years ago

Note

Undertale asks: all of them. 1-75. Each singular query.

You have brought this upon yourself

And yes it’s going under a cut. And I am doing all of them. No one can stop me

1. Who’s your favourite character from UT?: I’m going to jump off the cliff with everyone else and say Sans.2. Who’s your least favourite character from UT?: Muffet. I just don’t understand the appeal. Plus spiders. Nope.3. Your opinion about UT fandom: Creative, and overall friendly and positive. Just my experience though, and I don’t doubt there are parts of this fandom that would make me run screaming.4. What’s your favourite quote?: “But nobody came…” It gives me chills5. What’s your favourite soundtrack?: Spear of Justice!6. Pacifist, neutral or genocide?: Pacifist or Genocide. Never neutral. 7. Why did you decide to play UT?: A friend loved it and pretty much bribed me to play it.8. Favourite battle?: Undyne the Undying. As much as I died to her, I just loved that battle so much9. Favourite scene?: When I read Papyrus’ note at the spaghetti. Was that a scene? It warmed my frozen heart.10. Your first letter to Mettaton was: Leggys11. Your reaction when you saw Omega Flowey for the first time: I will quote myself directly. “Hooooooly SHIT THAT THINGS UGLY DO I GET TO HIT IT?”12. Your headcanon about Frisk’s gender: Non-binary13. Which UT character reminds you of yourself?: Undyne. A whole lot actually.14. Which UT character reminds you of your best friend?: Flowey and/or Chara. Not in a bad way! Just… mildly insane and possibly murderous.15. Would you smooch a ghost?: HECK YEAH16. Which UT character would be your best friend? Why?: Flowey. Because I’ve seen her writing. I’ve roleplayed with her. She is the origin of the indifferent creator, destroying for their own amusement. 17. Do you remember your first killed character? Who was that?: Whimsum. I feel bad still18. Did you do sth in game you regret?: I should have told Papyrus about my pasta skills. Although I do lack any redeeming qualities.19. Which ending was your first?: Neutral Pacifist. 20. Your favourite land in UT and why: Gotta be Waterfall man, it’s so peaceful and just slightly eerie.21. Your favourite place in UT and why: Papyrus’ room22. Your headcanon about River person’s gender: Hm. Does evil have a gender?23. Your headcanon about one of the UT characters: Papyrus secretly love ramen but refuses to admit it.24. Butterscouch or cinnamon pie?: Bscotch25. Your opinion/headcanon about six human souls: I don’t have many that I can go into without taking forever. But I do wonder what happened to them after Omega Flowey.26. With who would you go on a date?: I’d like to have had a date with Asgore. Honestly, because it would have been cute.27. Marry, fuck, kiss and kill: (Cutting out fuck just because) Marry Grillby, kiss Alphys, kill Sans (Still haven’t beaten genocide hnnn)28. Do you wanna have a bad time?: Nawh. I’d rather have a mediocre one. But if you insist? B r i n g i t o n29. Your favourite UT au: Swapfell. I live and breathe for Swapfell30. Your least favourite UT au: Underswap, but only because writing for it is kinda hard for me.31. Would you want to fall into underground?: Possibly? I mean, meeting everybody would be cool. But when you dig into the game and look at all the sadness and death and murder it’s kinda…. dangerous. And scary.32. Describe or draw your undersona: Grumpy bunny man33. One reason why you love UT: The battles34. One reasom why you hate UT: The battles35. If you could choose one type of food from UT, what would it be?: Cinnamon Bunny36. Your favourite amalgamate: Lemon Bread (I think that was the one that didn’t attack at all)37. Your headcanon about Gaster: who do you think Gaster is to Sans and Papyrus? (Father, brother, uncle etc): Father of sorts. Not biologically. But “mad-scientist-creator” father.38. Your opinion about bad puns: Give me my due pun-ishment39. Do you draw fanarts from UT? If yes, then what do you like the most to draw?: I just kinda like drawing the SOULS. Not the humans. Just the SOULS. I dunno why either.40. Which of human souls fits you the most?: Perseverance. Or Justice.41. What would be the first thing you would to show to Sans, Papyrus or the rest of characters in human world? Why?: A Ferris wheel. Because. Everyone needs to ride a Ferris Wheel once in their life.42. Which song reminds you of UT or one of the UT characters? Why?: “What’s The Use Of Feeling Blue” From Steven Universe. I dunno. It just fits43. Your opinion on underloid: What now? No seriously what is it I wish to know44. Do you forgive Asgore for what he’s done?: Yes and no. He did horrible things, but because he thought he had to. Still doesn’t mean murdering children was a good thing, even if he owns up to it and tries to take responsibility 45. Did you pay for Tem’s college?: Yep. And I didn’t even get temmie armor46. Have you seen any youtube letsplay of UT?: Jacksepticeye’s47. Do you listen to any fanmade songs? If so, then which are your favourite?: Definately Lollia’s Stronger Than You48. What are your favourite theories?: Anything about SOULS49. Who is your favourite enemy? (Not including boss monsters): Whimsalot50. Do you have any headcanons about Chara’s past? (Why they hate humanity, why did they fell to the underground etc): Not really. A few, but nothing coherent yet.51. Who is your favourite dog?: Lesser Dog52. What was your reaction to true lab?: My reaction was “Goddamn not a creepy lab scene wHY A CREEPY LAB SCENE?!?!”53. Your favourite voice acting:Anything by crashboombanger55. Who is older - Sans or Papyrus?: Sans.56. Your OTP(s): Salphyne. AND PAPSBY57. Your NOTP(s): Asgoriel58. Your BROTP(s): Undyrus59. Your favourite puzzle: The steam platform one, oddly enough60. Which battle was the hardest for you?: Undyne the Undying61. Did you still hate Flowey after you discovered his true identity?: I never hated him. Actually kinda liked him.62. The saddest moment: The Neutral Pacifist ending. The phone call killed me63. Which ending is your favourite?: King Papyrus64. How old do you think Frisk is?: I probably headcanon Frisk older than most people. I’d say 12-1465. Any post pacifist run headcanons?: Lots66. Your favourite NPC: The River Person67. Humans or monsters?: Monsters68. The funniest situation: When Papyrus jumped out the window at Undyne’s house69. Skeletonfucker, robotfucker, goatfucker or kinkshaming?: Kinkshaming, possibly a skeletonfucker in denial. (Well that’s a sentence)70. When playing for the first time how many candies did you take?: One.71. Did you kill or spare Flowey at the end of the game?: Spare72. If you had to be one of the main characters, which would you choose?: Flowey.73. If you had to kill one of the main characters which would you choose?: Sans. Because he is giving me a Bad Time currently74. Which character(s) would you like to cosplay?: I think I’d make an amazing Asgore75. Your favourite Burgerpants’ quote?: “Why do I always get the weird ones?” (Because I relate to this on a spiritual level)

#long post #undertale #ask meme

6 notes · View notes

beartes22 · 6 years ago

Text

A little Zoyalai for your lonely souls

You know the four cats (@stormwitchprivateer @mimiofthemalfoys @thekiingofscars @bucumber @gizkasparadise Idk who else they are like five and I have searched for each one of you for content like a stalker) that are thirsty like me for the King of Scars Release and who I will avoid till my book arrived the sixth bc I have a hate/love relationship with spoilers and you will probably post your impressions.

Anyway, I wrote sth. If you’re interested. Under the cut. Feel free to ignore me

There are things he can never tell anybody. Nikolai suppresses the urge to snort, there were always things he can never tell anyone. He dons many maks and all of them are incomplete. To Ravka, he can’t be a bastard; to his old crew, he can’t be a prince; to his people, those who depend on him, he can’t have doubts. He is a beacon of hope, always. The keeper of secrets, the best actor there is.

There are things he can never tell anybody alright. And then there’s Zoya Nazyalensky.

She’s not a dream wrapped in mystery and clothed in beauty. There’s no hidden corners or sweetness or all that fragile, ethereal things written and imagined time and time again in women. Zoya is not like a sea breeze or a cold air current or the exhilaration of the wind against your face the first time you dare to fly. She isn’t even like the storm in the middle of the sea, when the sea stripes everything out of men except their need to survive.

She’s harsh and truthful and ruthless. She’s loyal and fierce and stubborn. She knows herself much better than a man can dare to describe her. No. Zoya is not like that.

(But Zoya is the first breath after drowning. She’s the gasp after waking from a nightmare. She’s-)

Nikolai doesn’t remember much of his time as a...well, back then. He doesn’t wish to. He remembers trying to hold to his purpose and his identity. Flashes of the Sun Summoner, that girl who despite the hold corruption had of her, firmly dragging her down, stood time and time again as herself. He knows he traveled the Unsea, he knows when the screeches of the monsters that suddenly sounded so human started to make sense to him, almost like words. He knows that he fought against his orders- because Nikolai was not born to rule, not really, but he made himself a ruler and no Darkling could take that away from him, not even then.

But the part he remembers most clearly is falling. Thinking, barely conscious, of the cost of freedom. Welcoming death. Then, he was flying. Not as a volcra or a demon, not even like one of his boats. The wind simply carried him like a friend to the arms of an ally. She smirked then, burns on half her face and filth coating the other half. She was a mess and her eyes shined with power and victory.

(Sometimes, Zoya’s beauty was like a punch on the face)

“Looks like I caught myself a king” She was playful with barred fangs and Nikolai was left speechless, breathless, thoughtless. His charm was an alien mask to don, like all the others, all incomplete and lacking. He was stripped naked before her and she smiled, daring him to- well, he still doesn’t what she was about but he has never met a challenge in his life he couldn’t met. There was light blinding him and his eyes subconsciously searched for the Sun Summoner. Instead, he found Ravka. His shining, broken, desperate Ravka. Nikolai never was one for Saints of legends outside of their use in his pursuits but he believed then.

For all but an instant, there was a miracle.

Then Zoya dropped him to the ground without a care and the magic was broken. “Do try to keep up, your highness.” She said over her shoulder, voice honey sweet and mocking, already walking away. He followed her. In that moment, he would have followed her anywhere. It was a feeling he didn’t as much dislike as fear. Nikolai was a king, he took the lead, even with weak knees and-

It could have ended up like that, just a moment too fast to catch but things with Zoya are never that easy.

His first years as a King weren’t easy but- they were a difficult he could deal with. He knows how to rule without sleep or food or hope. He could lead men with his eyes averted, always looking at a better future. He could make the best of the chaos, after all, Sturmhold has grown up in chaos and mist.

But his nightmare turned real and he was a monster again. That first time after, when he woke alone and covered in blood, he didn’t know where he found the strength to come back. Probably his ambition turned selfishness because as much as Ravka didn’t need another monster to rule her, Nikolai has taken it. Monster or not, a pirate is not in the business to give back his stolen goods. He did not choose to be a bastard and being king was the ambition of his life, but a pirate? That he chose.

That, he is.

He was a monster again and the hope he has for Ravka was escaping time and time again between his corrupted claws. He woke, time and time again, with broken clothing and old blood and-

After that first time, Zoya was always there. He didn’t understand why, then, he barely does now. But she is. He gasps that second or third time, fighting against the darkness that slowly consumes him and here she is, bright-eyed and tense with caution.

(Slowly, so slow he didn’t notice till it was too late, Zoya was the only sight he associated with safety.

Painstakingly, so humbling he barely took note, Zoya was the only one who saw him that weak, a trembling pathetic mess of a man and he didn’t care.

Carefully, like the first draw of a new project, an idea so brilliant he’s blind to anything but it, Nikolai-)

“You have to marry. Ravka is at risk without its heir” Her voice is not as harsh as her words, never has been, but it carries so well it’s easy to see why she leads the Second Army with such efficiency.

“You are still too interested in my love life, Nazyalensky” The response is immediate, barely thought before it escapes his lips. The smile that accompanies it is equally charming as daring “I wonder why”

Zoya rolls her eyes. His smile widens

“Someone has to.”

“Ah, how lucky I am to have your meddlesome self on the case then. Your practicality knows no bounds”

He doesn’t care to see the exasperated looks traded between Genya and- well David most probably is just baffled but it’s the thought that counts, he supposes.

“King or not, I will maim you”

“Eager, are we?”

He doesn’t have a clue why he’s baiting a tiger but he can’t help himself.

“Don’t flatter yourself”

“It’s not flattery if it’s true”

“If you have finished your courting rituals, we have actual issues to discuss” Genya drawls form her side of the table. His face is warm and he doesn’t understand why. He declared himself shameless long ago. He acts as if it’s nothing and smiles his most charming grin at his Grisha generals.

“Let’s get going, then”

He is careful and does not look at Zoya’s eyes for the rest of the meeting. He stares at her nose instead, it has tiny freckles on it and is round as a button. Sometimes she scrunches it when she’s viciously murdering someone’s else point. It’s absurdly cute.

“So” Starts Genya with her hands still healing the scratches of his face some weeks after. Nikolai is tired, already weary of his busy schedule and wondering if Ravka will survive one day if he books it and sleeps it away. Probably not. Last night was a hard one, but a country waits for no man. “When are you going to realize you’re in love with Zoya?”

Nikolai chokes on air.

“I’m what?” He gasps. He tries to regain some composure. He throws back his head and laughs. It sounds genuine- Nikolai is a great actor- but it feels fake “That was a nice one”

“Never it is” Genya finishes his face. Nikolai tries his best not to scowl. He succeeds, of course. “She’s going to find someone one day and it won’t be you” The oblivious face of his friend Kirigin comes to mind. He smiles but his eyes may be more Sturmhold than Lanstov. He could say many things. That, as a King, any wife he may have must be advantageous for Ravka and Zoya doesn’t need the title for that. The same thing he said to Zoya- he couldn’t condemn a girl to live with a monster. Maybe even that Zoya was too busy, as was he, for romance.

“She’ll probably eat him alive” He says instead. Genya isn’t impressed, he can feel it without turning.

“Someone she loves? You don’t know her at all”

But he does.

And he knows.

(Nikolai is an expert liar and can make a blind man believe he can see. But it’s only with Zoya he lies to himself and he can’t believe it at all.)

He doesn’t say anything more, changing the topic smoothly to some issue Ravka is struggling with and Genya indulges him with a knowing light in her eye. He resists the urge to rip it off. The days, weeks, months pass as normally as ever, as if Genya never opened her mouth and Nikolai relaxes. He has too much to do to concern himself with romance anyway. Then he finds her crying in an abandoned, dark, dirty room and all his plan go to shit.

“What happened?” He is on her in an instant, hovering but not daring to touch because this Zoya is vulnerable. The image is so jarring his usually brilliant mind blanks out “Zoya.”

“Nothing” She’s herself again in an instant, using the sleeves of her kafta to dry her tears.

“I don’t believe you”

“Then don’t” She cuts him off, a warning clear in her eyes but Nikolai has never been one to listen to others or reason or warnings. Anything he didn’t want to hear, really. As a king, it’s very handy.

“Talk to me” He’s not begging but that was not an order. A request, maybe.

“This is my burden to bear. Don’t poke your royal crocket nose in my business”

“I will poke my royal perfect nose wherever I please. You’re not getting out of this with an explanation”

“We don’t have time for-”

“Zoya”

“It’s stupid”

“Somehow, I doubt that”

“...It’s girly”

“Believe or not, my masculinity does not tremble at girly girls”

“...Very very girly”

Nikolai gasps with the same melodrama of a fourteen-year-old girl messing around with her friends. “You broke a nail.” The act is completed by his hand in front of his mouth. Mainly because his lips are twitching and he’s not suicidal.

“I’ll break your face” She warns and Nikolai pouts

“We can’t afford that. My face is the last royal heirloom in all Ravka”

“We’ll starve this winter then, with such worthless treasure”

“Ruthless”

“Practical” She corrects, a smile dancing at the corner of her lips. It’s reluctant but there all the same. Nikolai is absurdly proud of it.

“Tell me, please”

“I” Zoya is already looking as if she regrets everything. Nikolai will enjoy this immensely, he can already tell “was having love troubles”

Nikolai has never been more wrong in his life. This is not enjoyable, it’s the opposite. In fact,-

“Bullshit” Thank the Saints for his brain. Saved again by logic.

“Yes, it’s true, laugh it up. The boy I like doesn’t like me back.”

“Bull-shit.” He repeats, the last council meeting clear in his mind. Zoya hadn’t had breakfast and had eaten an orange during it. “No man has ever rejected you”

It was a drooling disaster. She was just eating a fucking orange, for Saint’s sake. Didn’t even try to make it sexual. He’s surrounded by idiots who only listen to their libidos and he doesn’t know how many hits his pride can take before he loses it completely and makes a royal decree that forbids looking at Zola during meetings.

“You’ll be surprised” She snorts and it’s bitter. Nikolai curiosity perks like a bad weed. It’s unkillable and most likely to kill him one day.

“...Who?” He asks, torn between the need to know and the wish to never know “As your King, you have to tell me”

Zoya rolls her eyes so hard it’s a wonder they don’t fall off. But she will talk all the same and Nikolai feels giddy at it, for some reason.

“Well, firstly it was the Darkling who was the worst puppy love ever but it did happen.” Zoya says like it’s the weather and Nikolai has to repress a shudder.

“Gross.” He adds because he really is a child at heart, great ruler (and many other things) or not. What’s life without a little childishness anyway.

“Yes.” She confirms “Then it was Orestev”

“...Malyen Orestev? Hunting genius, mysterious third amplifier, and cousin a hundred times removed of the Darkling?” He has to check. He just has to. The man he met was so devoted to Alina that-

Nope. They kissed. He remembers now- he dearly regrets now ever looking from that window that day. Now he can’t unsee that forbidden image. Blast his curiosity. He’s no cat but it will kill him one day. He just knows it.

“Yup” She shrugs, as casual as ever. Nikolai, who is ever prepared for the unexpected, is not equipped to deal with this at all “At least I fucked that one”

At.

All.

“You have an awful taste in men. Just awful” He’s whining, fully aware of that fact and unable to stop. What a disaster “Wow. I did not expect you of all people to have this level of-”

“Shut it or die”

Wisely, Nikolai listens to the embarrassed Grisha.

“So, who is he now?”

...Nobody who actually knew Nikolai has ever called him wise and it’s for a very real reason. He fakes it, but wisdom does not come easily to him. Or ever.

“Someone I can’t have” Zoya shrugs casually. Nikolai frowns, utterly perplexed.

“You are aware of the many, many, many marriage proposals I have had to refuse in your name this past year, yes?”

“What?” Zoya blinks at him. No, she had no idea at all. Nikolai wouldn’t believe it if he was not seeing it. “I have not received any proposals”

Oh, Nikolai remembers now. He kind of started burning them a little while ago. And ordered the servants to bring all proposals to him. And forbid anyone to tell her- Okay. Maybe he has a problem here. Possibly. Genya may have a point too, but he will never tell her.

“...Well, now you know”

“Why did you reject them all?” She wonders aloud. Nikolai’s panic is a quiet thing, he merely smiles blandly while looking for exists or a distraction that is utterly out of hand at the moment and slowly loses the hope of escape this conversation “We need all the allies we can get” And the will to live, while he’s on it.

Now, how to explain this withou- He’ll just use a Tamar Rant instead. He has suffered through a lot of them as Sturmhold and he has always used whatever to defend his goals. He’s a thief at heart, after all

“You are no cattle to exchange favors from”

“...What?”

Oh, Nikolai apparently forgot that Tamar was not born at Ravka and the patriarchy in Shu Ham is so much worse. He also conveniently overlooked that he is not aamisogynistic ass and as the King what he says goes. And he will never be stupid enough to let someone as Zoya settle as a noble wife, of all things. What a waste of resources.

Nikolai hates waste of good resources even more than he hates the Darkling.

“I will not sell you like that” He tries again because Nikolai is nothing but committed.

“Excuse me?” Meanwhile, Zoya looks a remark away to commit murder. Considering that Zoya is just as stubborn as he is but with aggression instead of disarming overwhelming charm, Nikolai will proceed with Plan B.

“I need you as a Grisha more than I need any alliance”

“Why would I not keep my post as a married woman?” Zoya asks as if the question never occurred to her. It’s clear, in moments like these, that as much she can act like a noble (or even more superior, somehow) she was, in fact, not born as one.

Truly, an innovative notion.

“...No reason” He laughs nervously “Anyway, so who’s he? He must be very high on the social pyramid or very low, to make you think that” Zoya raises an eyebrow, unimpressed “Very high, definitively. You are also not the kind to have the whole starcrossed lover things with an enemy”

“One day I’m going to strangle Nina Zenik with my own hands because her stupidity will drive me to it”

“Drastic. Us Fjerdians are not so bad, I’ll let you know. Very handsome, very handy”

“You are Ravkian” She raises one single brow and it’s devastating

“...So I am” Why does he has to tell Zoya all his secrets without noticing, anyway? It seems like a huge oversight on his part. “So a high noble then. But I had dukes and counts ask for your hand and you’re not blind to their interest-”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore” She interrupts and triumph is so close Nikolai can already taste it. Then his brilliant stupid brain connects the final pieces and it promptly shuts down after its conclusion.

Because there’s only a man high enough and close enough to Zoya to awake actual feelings from her, not just lust. Because there’s only one person someone as ambitious and driven as Zoya will admit she can’t have and-

“It’s me, isn’t it?” He asks softly. Zoya stares right into his eyes.

“No” She doesn’t blink, doesn’t look away, doesn’t give away anything and Nikolai knows either way

She’s lying.

“It is me” He repeats and he can see the exact moment vulnerability rises and dies in Zoya’s face. He takes a step closer to her. She steps back, then forward to meet him, chin raised in defiance. ‘You won’t break me’ it says ‘I dare you to try’

Nikolai is kissing her before he knows it, damn the consequences. She kisses him back as if she will devour him if he’s not careful. Nikolai vaguely remembers Kirgin’s words, his dreamy uninformed ‘but what a way to go’ and maybe he agrees.

Then he bites her lip because fuck going anywhere he is exactly where he wants to be. She makes a mewling nose and Nikolai stops thinking to start feeling.

Her hair in his fingers, soft and dense and a lot more tangled that he imagined it-

Her hands in his neck, in his back, in his ass, massaging and scratching and grabbing as if she couldn’t have enough of him-

The whisper of teeth against him, unexpectedly gentle, her unusually sharp canines scraping his tongue, the soft coffee flavored lips moving and sucking-

Her legs around his lips, bucking and trashing and rubbing in all the right places-

Her kafta, a mess on his feet, almost tripping him-

Skin, the taste of her neck, perfume and sweat and something Zoya-

The sounds she makes, unintentional and genuine, the shiver on his back and the air leaving him in a gasp-

Her lips, red and sinful, slowly surrounding his cursed finger, one by one with eyes full of promises and wicked things-

Her, from all sides, surrounding him, suffocating him. His lungs full for the first time in forever, his mouth trying to breathe her in-

They end a mess on the floor, his limbs mixed with her, their clothes rumpled and hastily thrown away on the floor, chests heaving, cheeks rosy, satisfaction relaxing their limbs in puddles. Nikolai kind of wishes to roll over her and start all over again. He tries to but falls back. Maybe he’ll try again when he regains control of his legs

“This did not happen” Zoya is the one who breaks the silence, breathes still irregular but voice firm. It’s an order, so sure it makes him almost pay attention, fit for a queen and Nikolai is not usually this foolish

“Okay” He agrees carelessly, turning his head so he can look at her. She looks torn between hurt, satisfaction, and rage. It’s cute “I was thinking about May, with the flowers in bloom. Here at the Little Palace”

“Wha-?” He has never seen her this confused and he can’t help but laugh, the sound free and easy. It’s been too long since he has felt like this.

“Our wedding of course!” He declares with as much pomp as he can manage

“Our-” Oops, it looks like rage is winning on Zoya’s emotional scuffle. this will probably be painful. Nikolai can’t wait “What are you talking about? I’m not marrying you!”

“Well, not now. I still have to propose and all but you will” He says as if it’s easy or simple or an universal truth. Like the grass is green and the sky blue and Zoya Nazyalensky will marry Nikolai Lanstov this spring. “Do you prefer July, then?”

Zoya throws a paperweight at him and it hurts. His exuberant grin does not falter for a single second. She throws the other paperweight and this one he narrowly avoids. It was straight to his face

“What game do you think you’re playing?” Her whisper is the last thing a lot of fools have heard and Nikolai Lanstov is no fool.

“Don’t be daft, we’re not playing anything” Nikolai Lanstov is also too involved making chaotic plans at the moment to listen to reason. Or Zoya. Or his self-preservation instincts. “Anyway, I think Genya and David should be the first to know- after Tamar and Tolya, of course, but they don’t count. We’ll twist this in Court to our advantage, shouldn’t be that difficult and-”

“You can’t marry me!” Zoya raises her voice. It’s shrill and a little scary but nothing new to Nikolai

“Watch me, dear” He says without paying attention “I think a little Ceremony will be best, nothing too opulent. We probably should let Kilgrin organize him, very supervised, he’s got a lot of practice in this kind of thing over the years-”

And Nikolai can’t continue because a very naked, very distracting Zoya has just straddled him, his hand caught in a vice-like grip upside his head.

“What.” She snarls right next to his face, eyes screaming murder “Do you think you are doing?”

“Weell...” He drawls, trying and failing not to smile at her cute, scrunched nose “when two people love each other very much-”

Her scream of rage it’s a thing of beauty. He can see the entire country of Fjerda trembling under the sheer force of her anger.

“We can’t marry each other” She snarls again, face falling from ‘Furious but not really trying to Maim’ to ‘Even your ashes will be destroyed.’ Normally, he would run now, aware of the danger of her temper. But he’s quite comfortable where he is, having all of her focused on him.

He’s probably a masochist.

“Why not? You’ll be a great queen”

“That’s obvious” Zoya rolls her eyes, more relaxed for some reason. It’s probably the bragging that does it “You know why we can’t”

“I can and will do a lot of things for Ravka” Nikolai concedes “Just not this time”

“We desperately need allies”

“I can charm them without a ring or a bed” He grins his best king smile to ilustrate his point. Zoya doesn’t blink at it. She’s hard to impress.

“We are at the brink of another war”

“All the better for marrying a general”

“You don’t love me” Zoya passes a hand through her hair. It gets tangled in the mess of it. Saints, she’s gorgeous “This- this thing is just pent up lust, sexual tension, I don’t know but not-” She’s nervous, moving this way or the other. Almost uncomfortable. It’s unseetling in someone like her “You don’t love me” She repeats, more like herself.

“But I do” He says softly. Zoya averts her eyes.

“What for? My personality?” She snarks at him and Nikolai laughs because she’s blushing like a school girl

“I was surprised too.” He kisses her, a soft caress. He can feel the moment she smiles “Marry me?” He repeats

“Okay” She agrees, just as softly.

“Yeah?” He asks again because apparently, this is what three rejected marriage proposals do to him. Ugh, insecurity.

“Don’t beg, it’s unbecoming” She’s back at her mean self and Nikolai couldn’t be happier. He lifts his eyebrows playfully

“Round two?”

“You wish” Zoya gets up, completely unashamed of her nakedness. Nikolai watches her “Get up, royal bum, we have a busy day ahead of us”

“Don’t call me royal bum, call me something sweet and loving”

“My sun and my stars, arrow of my heart, move your fucking ass”

Saints, does Nikolai love that woman.

#nikoloya #zoyalai #grishaverse #kos #i wrote something!#hope you like it #it's a little mess but i had like no beta #just grammarly so #haha tell me what you think #I'm needy that way

168 notes · View notes