oracleofthegods-archive-blog

[oracleofthegods-archive-blog]

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A ship aesthetic for all verses + @r1trigger​

For the very first time, there's no words to be found Opened up our eyes, there was love all around When all the work is done, by the light of a setting sun We see what we've become: two of the lucky ones.

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/anon *smooches Luna and Jecht*

@siravron

Kisses are always welcomed and appreciated in this house, and Luna and Jecht return them in kind, pressing a kiss to either of Auron’s cheeks. 

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explain to me why Liz is such quality much fab such wow

@soluus

You have the wrong blog, Anon, this trash heap is cozy but garbage <3

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Reblog if you’re bored and you want anons.

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The venom drips from the other woman’s tone, and though Luna might be a bit surprised at the tone and the lack of wanting her help, she does not take offense. So often, people seek her out to request her blessing, her healing, though it is far from uncommon for some to not want it, either. She has been looked at with scorn before. Yet it will never keep her from offering her magic where it might be necessary.

The gash in her arm is deep, looks painful, and Luna instinctively draws magic to help her - until the woman declares her preference for a potion. It makes little sense to Luna, having more potent magic available and preferring the concoction, but she does not question it. It isn’t her place to question another’s preference, even if she does not understand it. “Of course,” she says with a soft, slightly guarded smile. “I think you would find my magic will work better for you, though, should you change your mind.”

@oracleofthegods

   “ a healer– ? ” she sees the magic stream from slender hands, and finds herself– instinctively– a bit wary. the Al Bhed do not rely on magic for their medicinal needs; they had more earthly and chemical methods. despite the deep gash in her forearm, throbbing with pain, Marphie was determined to proudly uphold this tradition. this was their way for centuries; why change now? “ a budeuh will do. potion, to your kind… ” such a high-ranking Yevonite surely wouldn’t approve of such a thing, would she? she downs one, looking defiant, mentally steeling herself for an argument. 

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1/2 He woke with a start. On his feet, Squall barreled wordlessly and thoughtlessly for the door, his destination requiring no such ounce of forethought. Restless nights were not an uncommon occurrence for him, yet the panic that raced through his veins and hammered within his chest was of a different sort. It wasn't his own. With only a door to separate their rooms, he was by her side almost instantly. Instinct propelled his actions as he reached first for her hand, and then for her shoulder.

2/2 She was cold. Theroom was cold. He saw his breath as his lungs grew greedy for oxygen.“Wake up,” he urged, fingers squeezing gently, “Luna. It’s me,it’s Squall. You’re okay, everything’s fine, but you need to wake up.” Still,the images that haunted her haunted him, “I need you to wake up.”

@r1trigger

Everything was coveredin ice, and if anyone had looked at her in the first moments after waking up,it might seem that she was as well. She could see her breath in front of her,and the blankets were stiff as she sat up beneath them, an audible cracklingsound accompanying the movement. The air was cold, so very cold, but shecouldn’t feel it against her skin. It felt normal. Natural. And yet, there wasnothing natural about any of this. Fingertips tinged in blue pulled aside thecurtains around her four-post bed, and a dusting of frost fell past her fingersand onto the bed. 

Beyond, everything wascoated in a sheen of ice, reflecting off the light coming through her window,almost blindingly bright. Blinking, she carefully set her foot on the floor.The plush carpeting was solid beneath her toes. The air shifted with the firstslow step into the middle of her room, cold against her skin, what normallywould have chilled her to tears, and yet now she felt nothing. 

Yet this wasn’t normal.Fingers glided along the edge of her bookshelf, the books on it so frozen thatthere was no chance to warp from the moisture. The drawers in her vanity nearlybroke when she tried to pry them open. The mirror distorted her image in itsfacets and hairline fractures. It might have been beautiful, in some way, if thepanic of it didn’t grip her fiercely. She was unaffected by the cold, butothers would not be so lucky. Her bare feet and arms, legs beneath hernightgown, felt nothing, but others would. 

“Mother?” she calledwith an attempt to remain calm, but her voice was louder than she had intended.He doorknock slipped beneath her grasp and she struggled with it, refusing touse her magic to destroy it. Whatever was happening in their house, it was herfault, she couldn’t use magic any longer, no more. A sharp edge sliced herfinger, but the door pulled open. “Mother!” 

It continued into thehallway, all the walls and portraits and vases of flowers as still as if timeitself had frozen it all in place. Tears stung her eyes, burned despite thecold. She did this, there could be no doubt; in her dreams, she didthis. Glancing down, she saw the bangle still around her wrist: silver, withdelicate chains linking the bracelet to a ring around her finger, inscribedwith Esthari designs. And doing nothing to stop her magic. Her attentionturned away from the piece of jewelry and she continued down the hall. 

“Ravus!” There was noanswer from anyone. She could not find Pryna or Umbra. No replies met her ears.Just the deafening silence of destruction left in the wake of her accursedmagic. 

She pounded at Ravus’sdoor, chafing her palms as she gripped the knobs and turned, pushed, bore herbody weight against the door. No magic, she swore as she slammed hershoulder against the door, ignoring the pain, until it gave way and she sawinside- 

To her brother, toRavus, on his knees, half hunched over, perfectly caught in ice amidst apainful death, an agonizing scream permanently etched across his face. No lifewas left in his eyes. No movement left in his body. She began to tremble at thesight. She couldn’t move closer, couldn’t bring herself to face what she haddone. She had killed her brother, probably her mother. She couldn’t look,didn’t want to see it. Instead, she left, closed his door with a soft whimper,and felt herself giving in to despair. She did this, and nothing hadbeen able to stop it. She was going to cause the destruction of the world,starting with her own family. 

Her knees felt weak andvision blurred, but she forced herself to walk, blinking away the tears. Downthe stairs, feet firm atop the ice. She did not slip, though still she grippedthe handrail. Everything dripped ice, shimmered and sparkled. Crystals hungfrom the chandelier in the main hall. The walls gleamed in the sunlight. 

‘I did this.’ 

Her chest ached and herhands trembled as she reached for the front door. She had to find a way to fixthis, to make it right again, to bring her family back. Someone had to know.The headmaster at Garden - his wife would know. Or perhaps a SeeD (Squall,she thought, but she didn’t linger on the familiarity of the name). A staggeredbreath escaped her as she opened the front door, and found the entire cityfrozen. 

Everything was gone. Thestreets glistened, houses reflecting harshly, glaring light into her eyes. Theplants didn’t move in the chill breeze. No people moved, each encased in an icytomb crafted at the hands of their Duchess. Unknowingly, unwillingly, and yetstill so. The ocean didn’t move, no waves lapped at the shores. Somehow, evenit had been frozen. Only she moved. Only she was alive. 

“You did this,” avoice spoke softly, a voice she didn’t know but that spoke so close, as if tobreathe in her ear. Slowly, a shadow raised from the ice before her, a dark,shifting veil covering who it was that spoke. There was a wickedness to thefigure as it reached for her. “You didthis.” 

Luna wanted to deny it,but the words wouldn’t form. Her lips only trembled. “I know,” she replied soquietly, it would not have been heard if the world had not been so still. 

“This is your destiny,”they said, moving closer. “To destroy…everything.” 

The darkness filled hervision with each step the figure took, growing bigger, tainting the world withshadows. The ice glistened through a haze of dusk. Her left hand frosted overas fear overtook her. To one side, the shopkeeper walking the street shattered,shards of ice splintering Luna’s skin and falling around her feet. 

“Destroy.” 

A tree fell into piecesagainst the ground. Luna flinched, cried, tears burning her cheeks as personand animal, plant and house, all crumbled around her, sharp edges fracturingher skin, beads of blood dripping down her arms, legs, face, neck. 

“You will destroy itall.” 

“I know,” she said againthrough blood on her lips. 

“Destroy it Luna-” 

Her name was distorted,not quite belonging to the shadow, coming from somewhere else. 

“It’s me-” Thewords shifted, as if coming in through static, and for longer than she knew,she couldn’t focus on it. The shadow was too big to turn from, reached for her,fear tightening around her heart. “-it’s Squall.” 

Squall. She blinked andturned her gaze to the side, looking for him. 

“You’re okay-” He’scoming in clearer, his voice reaching her, and she realizes, “-need you to wakeup.” 

She’s sleeping. 

“No,” she says in thedream, to the shadow, to the pain in her skin and the fear in her chest. Shesays it aloud as she grips his hand tightly, struggles against the nightmareuntil she’s free of it, until she awakes with a sharp breath, and the onlydarkness in her eyes is of her room. It’s cold, but he’s warm, and she feels both. 

“No,” she says again, again,sitting and bringing her knees up and crying into her other hand. She knows itisn’t real, that it’s just a dream, yet still she holds his hand tightly, letsthe warmth she feels from him slowly slip through her fingers and into theroom, dissipating the chill. Slowly. Slowly, as the hold fear has over herslowly loosens its grip. She wants to apologize to him for waking him, forbeing so afraid, but she can’t form any words. She wants to tell him she’ssorry. 

Maybe he can feel itanyway, through the rest of her distress.

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                         ❝ If you want everything, you’ll end up with nothing. ❞

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1/4 | Four months, he thinks. A hundred and twenty one days since they were unceremoniously stapled at the hip. It's felt a lot less like obligation in the last month than the three before it. His feet are bare, and his hands free of the leather that's usually snug around his skin. His coat is hung behind the door, and he's sitting on a small two-seater sofa with a pen in hand and several papers sprawled out on the table in front of him.

2/4 | Her weight isn’t unwelcome beside him, he’d invited her in after all, but it’s unsettling. Unsettling at how natural nights like this are starting to become. Unsettling how easy it is for him to exist quietly in this shared space. Unsettling at how unsettling it actually wasn’t. Squall doesn’t ponder these recent turn of events, and how they casually speak of the things that keep them awake at night.

3/4 | He doesn’t contemplate the meaning behind the odd feeling of comfort her magic has become, that the chill beneath his skin, especially when she’s near, is what helps him sleep at night. He doesn’t pretend that he isn’t aware that she finds an ounce of peace similarly, but he doesn’t blatantly mention it, either. Instead, as he drops the pen and forgets the papers that Garden has sent, Squall reaches a hand to work at the stiff tendons in his neck, —

4/4 and addresses her nonchalantly, “Do you want to sleep here?” He views it as a fair question to pose given the hour. She hasn’t lingered as late before, but it’s the first time her emotions are quiet enough that he can’t hear them, nor tell what she’s thinking. (But I feel calm, so I’m guessing you do, too.)

@r1trigger

It is a rare moment anymore when her thoughts are relatively untroubled. There are, of course, the continuous nuances that plague her mind, yet they have become so consistent that she has learned how to sequester them away when these brief hints of peacefulness manage to find her and quell her into a gentle presence. She is not the fiery rage that consumes some people, at least, not on the outside. Her thoughts and fears, anger and growing anxieties, though, are shared between Squall and her, and she imagines that when her own mind is calm, it can allow for his to be, as well.

Or, perhaps, it can be an influence on the storm raging within him. She knows he is far from the stoic face he wears so naturally; life as a soldier has refined him into steel in as many facets as could be managed throughout the malleable nature of youth. It has taken a while to become accustomed to it, to know that it is simply how he is, and not that he dislikes her presence.

And he needn’t speak a word for her to know that he doesn’t dislike her presence. A slow lowering of all walls they had put up tells her as much. He is far more unguarded now with her than he was before, and she with him. So strange from less than half a year ago, when he had been not more than her Knight, with all the formalities and business clauses to follow suit; pay schedules and duties and what might be expected of both Luna and Squall, all details worked out between her parents and Garden. They had once been unwilling players in all of this. His agreement, regardless of how reluctant it might have been, had been permission enough needed to draw up contracts and spend days in discussion. Luna had been unwilling all around, but with no choice in the matter.

So different now, and in the span of just a few months. Four months, three, perhaps even two months prior, she would not have stayed so casually beside him, and for quite this long. Knees pulled up, feet peeking from beneath the hem of her nightdress; hair down and cheek resting on her hand against the back of the small couch in his room. The silence is soft as she watches him flip through various papers, the remnants of a contract she no longer feels a business attachment to, save the continued payments transferred to him. It is only fair, after all, since his life, his entire life, must now be devoted to keeping her safe.

He does not put up his defenses around her quite so much anymore, and she finds a certain comfort in it. In him. In how he tempers the chill in her bones and the fire in her heart. He keeps her from succumbing to her fears as hopelessly as she had before. Beside him, she feels stronger than she had when it had been only her and her nightmares and a house of people frightened by her power. And she - she has tethered him to a life that had left him so hurt before.

She doesn’t allow herself to dwell on the guilt of that. Not this night. Not when his eyes are focused and his hands are relaxed. That is just another of those feelings that she has learned to live with, that she pushes to the side in favor of a simple moment spent in relative calm.

The silence is broken when he speaks, and his question has an easy answer. She is comfortable and warm, has found solace in his company, even in the quiet; and far less simply, she does not wish to be alone tonight. “I do,” she says quietly after a moment of thought. Before, she might have added, ‘If it is alright,’ but she refrains. She knows now that it is alright. He would not offer if it was something that would bother him. Not anymore.

So very far have they come.

A soft smile crosses her lips as she stretches her feet to the floor and turns her eyes to look at him. Her eyes are tired and her body exhausted, and yet she knows that she is strong with him. Catching his gaze, she feels at ease. “Thank you.”

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I had a dumb as fuck weekend, but it’s over and work has a pretty good chance of being slow this week, so I’m gonna start trying to finally work on replies and get back into the swing of writing consistently again. Thank you to everyone for being patient with me during my hiatus and semi-return from said hiatus. I’ll be working through things on here and on Jecht, probably queuing things up to release through the week.

And, as always, you can hit me up via askbox at any time. I always love the messages/questions/headcanons/etc. 

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Fred Meyer has a bunch of their boots on sale, and I got this knee high pair that’s SO FINAL FANTASY, the zippers are the belt.

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Luna & Stella - Sibling Aesthetic

Let it all burn up to the sky There is a freedom that won't be denied I can rebuild bigger and higher I can replace what we lost in the fire Oh, what we lost in the fire

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Nightmares

“Did you have a nightmare?” “Would you sleep here, with me?” “It was just a dream” “I had a nightmare” “I’ll be here until you fall asleep” “Wake up” “Adults aren’t supposed to get nightmares” “I can’t sleep” “You’re dreaming” “I have nightmares” “Will you stay, until I fall asleep?” “It wasn’t real” “It’s not surprising that you have nightmares” “I had a bad dream” “It’s the same every time I close my eyes” “I’ll have nightmares for months” “I have these dreams” “This is a nightmare” “I woke up terrified” “This is going to be a nightmare” “I’m scared to go to sleep” “You’re a nightmare” “Do you want to sleep here?” “What are your nightmares about?”

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Muse Superlatives!

For muns with multiple muses, past and present, on any blog. Fill out the form according to which muse suits each title best. (The same muse can have multiple titles.) Repost and tag. Feel free to add more!

Tagged by: Stolen from  @siravron Tagging: Literally everyone who reads this. If you want to, do it. 

Favorite Muse: Luna (FFXV), closely followed by Cal (Assassin’s Creed).

Most Character Development: Luna, by far. I’ve done a LOT of work on Cal, like don’t even get me started on how much has gone into that guy, but I get to really develop Luna through how many verses I have with her.

Trash Muse: Uhhh…for a hot second, I RPed as my Dadsona from Dream Daddy. I guess him?

The Memelord: Fiona (Tales From the Borderlands). Hands down, Fi. Need I say more? (That is an actual moment from the game. That wasn’t photoshopped. That actually happened.)

Most Likely to Start a War: Callum Lynch (Assassin’s Creed). Guy needs a fucking chill pill tbh.

Worst Personality: idk about worst, but Cal and Jecht are very abrasive, and Jane (FF: The Spirits Within) is hard to get along with at first. But all three of them, once you get to know them, are really good-hearted, kind people.

Best Singer: I headcanon Luna’s got a really nice singing voice.

Most Attractive Muse: Jecht lmao. Though I mean, Chloe (Uncharted), Luna, and Claire (Resident Evil), too.

Biggest Heart: Luna and Claire Redfield, easily.

Falls in Love Quickest: I dunno man, all my muses end up being really guarded and hesitant to fall in love. Maybe, if I have to pick one, Sofia Sartor (Assassin’s Creed: Revelations)? Probably her, though her true love is learning.

Most Likely to Drop Their Phone in the Toilet: Fiona (TFtBL).

Ice Ruler: Luna in her FFVIII verse

The Edgelord: lmao Cal probably. Possibly Vitus (FFXV OC), too?

Most Tragic Backstory: Hmm…Luna probably wins this one. I can probably say Rey (Star Wars), too, but we don’t really know the full extent of it yet.

Best Case of Puberty: Luna, Jecht, Vitus, Chloe, Alice (Alan Wake)...all of my muses, probably.

Most Awkward: Fiona. Like, hands down, Fiona.

Busy Bee: Luna and Vitus, most likely

Most Clueless: This is difficult to answer tbh. I don’t even know.

Most Likely to Forget Their Wallet at Home: Probably none of them?

Best Dressed: Vitus. Hot damn, Vitus.

Biggest Flirt: Jecht.

Most Dramatic: Fiona, I think.

Least Likely to Show Up Late: Luna and Vitus. (Man, they get grouped into a lot of the same categories).

One with Weirdest Habit: Not even sure what constitutes a weird habit, but I don’t think my muses tend to have any. Whoops.

Most Likely to Be Caught at the Gym: Cal (AC). I would put Jecht, but he trains on the downlow. It’s a point of his to not be seen training so that he can appear to be “a natural” (This is true canonically, actually)

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The mercenary grasped the Oracle tightly in his arms, his face buried into her back. He breathed deeply, reveling in her cathartic scent. There were sheets over their bodies, but he personally believed the fabric paled in comparison to the warmth of her body beside him, and thus his embrace was unyielding. "We can't be anywhere except together," he whispered against her skin. "I'm in this with you."

@soluus

It is alwaysin the silence that settles between them where they find the deepest ofintrospection. His arms are a comfort to her, his breath against her neck,fingers pressing softly against her belly, and it counteracts the turmoilraging constantly in her mind. Her life has been one barrage of new pains andresponsibilities to take in stride, to twist them into her arsenal against herenemies, to keep her back straight and her chin high and to keep on fighting.Her body aches and her mind never rests, and she is exhausted. What she wouldn’t give for the nightmares of the world andin her head to fade.

Even now,lying so quietly in her bed, Cloud curled close around her, trying so very hardto protect her from everything he can (and even harder against the things hecan’t), she feels a tenseness that has seemed not to leave her muscles sincethe fall of Tenebrae and the gaining her newfound position in politics. Perhapswhen the war is over, she will find that strain will leave her and there willbe no worry in her fingertips when she pulls Cloud close and buries fingers inhis skin. Perhaps her breath will be sighs of content against his neck, and shewill feel no guilt for finding pleasure in every aspect of his company while theworld is whittled away in the throes of war.

It is notexactly a comfort that his thoughtsrun as deep as hers do in these moments, yet she finds something akin to solaceknowing they are of a similar mind.

The blanketsbarely move as she shifts her arm, her hand finding his and curling her fingersslowly between his. Together, hesays, and the thought is almost a strange one. She hasn’t even considered thatthey would be anything but together, at least until the end when she must fulfillher end of the prophecy, and yet there had been a time when he had been nothingmore than her reluctant bodyguard, and she his charge, acting against any andevery command he had been told to give her. Resistant, always fighting, anatural force of habit after so many years of being guarded against everythingthat came her way.

She doesn’tfight him now, nor does she want to. He is one of few she does not want to fight, but has allowed herselfto hold close. An act of selfishness she had once promised herself she wouldnot allow, not when it is her fate to die as sacrifice to end the eternalnight. And yet, she has allowed it.

Fingerstighten around his, and for long moments in the wake of his confession, shesimply breathes. She cannot promise him forever,but she can promise him now. “Together we shall be,” she says softly. “For aslong as the gods will allow it.”

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I want to write but have minimal energy for drafts. Maybe send random stuff to my inbox and I’ll write some stuff over the next few days? Here or over on Jecht. I’m heading to bed now, so it’ll be starting tomorrow, but hmu maybe. Questions, prompts, headcanons, random whatevers, etc. I would love it :]