♚ LAST RITE. (ᵃᵘᵗᵒᵖˡᵃʸ)

     It  ignites.  Corrupts  an  impossible  radiance  by  a  simple  touch.  Sweeps  the  ground  completely  out  from  under  until  there’s  nothing  up  or  die.  This  is  the  steady  rebuilding  he’s  oft  dreamed  of.  A  reconciliation  that  lingered  in  the  corners  of  every  impossible  dream.  A  kiss                              rough,  impolite.  It’s  far  from  the  grounding  touch  he  thought  it  would  be.  Demanding,  quick,  and  quicker  than  the  stolen  piece  of  his  heart     ;     an  angle  of  it  right  beneath  his  clavicle.  A  single  emotion  is  free  from  pain.  But  it  still  remains  a  repetitive  thought,  something  that  shouldn’t  belong,  because  there  is  duty  and  decorum  and  responsibilities  to  remember.  All  those  are  carefully  swept  away  by  troubled  waters.  He  is  aching.      He  can  hardly  determine  if  he  likes  it  or  not.  The  sweep  of  a  tongue  to  find  corners,  and  hands  flourishing  in  a  frenzied  state  to  find  something  to  cling  to.  There  are  no  gods     (     unrepetent,  unresponse     )     and  there  is  nothing  reserved  at  the  surprised  sound  that  lingers.  Noctis  finds  solace  in  these  remnant  places.  The  ghosts  in  every  corner  are  welcomed.  The  tolerable  heat  that  presses  against  his  skin,  the  weight  at  his  front,  and  the  scramble  to  be  closer  are  things  he  learns  would  be  impossible  to  live  without.  The  words  come  soft  the  edge  of  a  jaw,  coquettish  kisses  following  the  learning  curve  of  it.  The  only  lull  in  the  way.  Gaze  followed  by  the  moon,  lit  by  it.             “  Ravus,  ”     steady  me,  steady  me.     “  If  I  give  you  this,  be  careful  with  it.  ”

HIS TOUCH IS A TEMPEST NOT unlike the one they had experienced, all those years ago, horror adrift at sea. The tidemother’s rage had pealed high above them, around them, and oh the blood that soaked the ground that day had shattered a cornerstone of his foundation. He has not learned to slow himself properly, in every aspect of himself, and it is only upon soft insistence does he allow his head to incline and a heavy, shaky breath to slip past lips that had been busy taking their fill moments earlier. Catharsis crawls before him and he chases it as it manifests in form of the one before him. He hopes Noctis cannot see the haunted images in his eyes, strands of silver curtaining, hiding them from view for a moment as he collects himself.

❛ If you would show me how, ❜ He admits, and it is an admittance hard won. ❛ Taking things slow has, unfortunately, never been my forte -- regardless of the context. ❜ Still, he will attempt. Unlearning the old, and learning the new, adaptation is survival and survival is what he knows best ( and slow touch to the body can be war, still, strategically placed to elicit choice cries. ) Oh, yes, he’ll take his time, and it is when the claws of his prosthetic interlace with human fingers, tugging away to bedchamber, come on let us forget, let us stop the world, that their thoughts are made one. 

through teeth gritted tightly together does he bear the oozing discomfort that comes when sullied bandages that meld with broken flesh are stripped away, leaving nothing but the remnants of his recklessness in their wake. there’s no excuse for the lack of attention he’d shown  ( the lack of  propriety for the situation unfolded )  in the midst of battle―  he’s paid dearly for it in the way that that he must amble toward a momentary reprieve so that he may patch his wounds. it comes as little surprise that when he should return to the ship, the very first thing his general’s eyes narrow down are the litany of stained cloths that cover his latest mishap. the sigh he exhales is not meant to disparage the concern written so clearly upon features etched in marble, but instead serves as a reprimand for his own actions;  there is no need to cause him any concern.  

❝ tsk― ❞  the chide of his tongue, nearly a wince had he not restrained himself.  ❝ as i said, ❞  he begins anew, hopefully better able to convince his companion better than he thinks,  ❝ you needn’t concern yourself. ❞  hands rise from his sides to cease the toil ravus’ prepare for  ( truly, he’s touched by the care he yields ),  unwilling to admit to the abandon he’d shown upon gaining these wounds to begin with.  ❝ it is not extensive. surely making strides toward expanding the empire can afford a few minor― tsk―  hey !! ❞

UNIVERSAL CONQUEST DOES not occur in a day, and any empire requires its leader at full strength -- a proper foundation must be laid, for there to be any progress made. He does not chide his prince, he says absolutely nothing as the weight of his grip increases, serious intent made clear. Lotor was not to move until his wounds were properly taken care of, and that was that. Gingerly, the remains of the Galran’s shredded armor pieces are removed, placed aside -- they would be replaced in due course. The bleeding was not too terrible and would not require any advanced healing; bandages, clean ones, would be enough. They are wrapped about the familiar torso with care and tied properly ( this is not new to him, and such is apparent in the ease of the action taken. )   

@impatiore​ 

❝ this? ❞  absently had he been toying with the tears in his armor, fingertips idly brushing against makeshift bandages that cover wounds gained because he hadn’t yet gained the respect he deserved. ten - thousand  years of nothing but war, mistrust, and tyranny;  it’s something he must learn to make due with if he ever expects to rule the entirety of a broken nation. 

❝ nothing you need concern yourself with. ❞

A SON PAYING FOR THE SINS of the father, it’s sad; he has little to offer as compensation, however, for the noble-born military advisor and general to the prince can do naught when it comes to this greater cause unless his liege exerts his efforts in the right direction, with the right tactics. The art of war and the art of politics are two different matters entirely; a silver-tongue will aid where a beating cannot, and he hopes to instill that sense into the young prince.  

          “  Ah,  a  tragedy  indeed.  ”     scathing,  nonetheless  dry.      If  only  the  world  were  run  on  the  whims  of  one  man  alone.  It  wouldn’t  mean  much                             flippant  disregard  already  given  once  the   incredulity  fades  away.  A  wary  carefulness  sets  into  regal  posture  as  interest  is  vaguely  given,  no  longer  is  a  heart  threatening  the  overwhelming  suddenness  of  unfortunate  anxiety.  It  is  hot  this  afternoon,  and  no  more  has  it  cooled  since  the  arrival  of  the  son  of  Tenebrae.  It  doesn’t  say  much  of  his  decorum  to  ignore  the  situation  at  hand.  The  intense,  should - be  rivalry  spawned  from  toxic  emotions.  He  simply  confesses.           “  Braver  men  such  as  yourself  have  stayed  away  for  longer,  ”     is  a  casual  reminder  of  what  this  could  entail ,  an  undertone  of  muted  danger.     “  Is  it  truly  wise  for  you  to  be  this  close?  ”      Away,  he  does  not  say,  from  the  man  who  holds  the  chain  taut  around  the  fair  commander’s  neck.  It  could  be  turned  around  if  given  the  chance,  and  he  is  no  more  interested  in  pissing  matches  now  than  he  had  been  when  younger.  Ignis  finishes  his  duty  with  a  reverie  that  will  never  be  broken  and  turns  to  give  Ravus  his  full  attention.  It’s  rude  to  not  make  eye  contact  after  all,  though  tender  dismissal  is  apparent  in  a  verdant  gaze.

PERHAPS IT ISN’T WISE TO fraternize with the ‘enemy’, however, the prince and his party are no more his enemy than all creatures to a king behemoth, those that walk about on the tier below that of the apex predator. He appreciates the sharp wit more than he lets on, the narrowing of gelid gaze playing toward his typical demeanour, portraying his mask every bit as carefully as he allows. He’s practiced, precised in the art of deception, after all, his ascension to his position in the army was not for show. Blood has been shed for it, much blood -- and Ignis Scientia is well aware of his threat, the first to advance in protection of his charge while others cowered. 

❛ The commodore is not the only figure to keep an eye on your group. There is little you truly know of the inner workings of the empire. ❜ He says, and it’s simple fact. She would not approach them in aid, if he had not authorized it ( doing so for his sister’s sake, as much as the safety of their collective peoples; it was never about a selfish agenda. ) But he is not one to stand in the spotlight, preferring the shadows of anonymity. He does not seek heroism, like so many others; it is not in his aloof nature to pose platitudes, and the tactician can deal with his real self, or not at all. 

❛ Contrary to what you may believe, I’m not here to fool about. There is a large blockade up the path you were planning to take -- more than you can currently handle, I assure you. I would detour. ❜ A test of the newest magitek techology, a number of large armors outfitted with far too many turrets to count. 

AS ARANEA IS PERMITTED her rogue excursions with the prince and his retinue, it would certainly be a great surprise for the rag-tag bunch to spot the high commander, particularly thereafter their last encounter. The absence of the shield, Amicitia, causes him to arch an eyebrow, however -- can it be that he has taken a beating to his pride, as well ( and rightfully so? ) Not that Ravus cares in the slightest, at least not much. They all have their priorities, in the end.

8 people i’d like to get to know better; ( repost, don’t reblog. )

one ( name / alias ): shivaay. two ( birthday ): 7th february -- shared with ignis scientia. three ( zodiac sign ): aquarius. four ( height ): 5′6″ five ( hobbies ): writing, reading, painting/sketching, playing the piano, singing. six ( favourite colour(s) ): scarlet, gold, purple, black.  seven ( favourite books ): war and peace; leo tolstoy, the prince; niccolò machiavelli, nineteen eighty-four; george orwell, inferno; dan brown. lotr series; j.r.r. tolkien. eight ( last song listened to: ): my own summer; deftones. nine ( last film watched ): john wick 2. ten ( inspiration for muse ): i presume, in regard to the writing style -- aside from the canon material; various mythologies, obscure literary allusions, and conceptual descriptions interspersed with concrete dialogue, creating an odd dichotomy. as a whole, however, i’m quite taken by characters of nobility/royalty, typically with an edge to them. heroes, anti-heroes, or villains, as long as they have influences i can tweak to suit my style, i’m content.  eleven ( dream job ): full-time author. i’m working towards it.  twelve ( meaning behind your url ): imperator -- commander, in latin. patior -- i suffer, i endure/acquiesce, in latin also. combined together forms impatior, but an ‘e’ was added to the end for style purposes. the combined meaning is ‘suffering commander’ due to ravus’ canon condition, however, the dual meaning of enduring in spite of his fate and forging onward is important. he acquiesces as well, when he accepts lunafreya’s favour towards noctis, going on to take her purpose as his own once she’s passed on. 

—  REPOST, DO NOT REBLOG.

likes artificial watermelon | sleeps in what they’re already wearing | eats their cereal with milk | listens to music with earbuds | hates the summer | can recite past the first four digits of pi | eats frosting out the jar | doodles on their notebooks | can bake cookies | has a garden | has had a snowball fight | eats pancakes without syrup | prefers shorts to pants | can name more than ten superheroes | has a plan for the zombie apocalypse | uses the same password for everything | can’t hold their breath for more than fifteen seconds | watches anime | hasn’t read harry potter | can say ‘i love you’ in more than one language | prefers mechanical pencils | thinks space is cool | takes personality tests more than once to make sure | can’t tie their shoelaces | has a purse | likes salad | likes cool colors better than warm colors | knows how to braid hair | reads biographies | can ice skate | knows their mbti | reads astrology charts | prefers the star wars prequels to the original trilogy | plays video games | reads the newspaper | likes chocolate ice cream better | doesn’t cuss | memorizes song lyrics | collects coupons | has a preferred order at starbucks | likes movie theater popcorn | has seen a play | listens to music with headphones | owns a hoodie | would rather own cds than online copies | has written a poem | can shuffle cards | subscribes to a magazine | double dips when eating | drinks directly out of the milk container | keeps a journal