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jcverne · 3 months ago

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The Hunters of the Hidden Library

Chapter One

The roots of the library run deep.

In the Qin Dynasty, it was called shūkù. Though it was much more common to hear whispers refer to it as “the bane of the emperor.” Emperor Qin Shi Huang ordered the books he proclaimed “wrong and immoral,” to be burned. But that wasn’t enough. He demanded the scholars be buried as well. Those scholars hid their books in the trees, making note of a secret library before the soldiers took them away. Before they were silenced. And despite his efforts, the emperor was never able to locate every copy and volume of the tomes he so despised.

In Rome, they called it the bibliothecam secretum. Another emperor. Another fool. Caligula preached the dangers of epics, and forbade them from being read or spoken. Then emperor after emperor, who feared the warnings of the oracles and the wise, sent soldiers to destroy them – and their records. The oracles slipped their predictions to the sparrows and the doves, who left the flames and the screams behind.

In India, it was vidyākośasamāśraya. The treasury of knowledge. But it was more than a treasury when white men arrived with greed in their eyes and blood on their hands. It held home as much as it held history. It was a sanctuary. The white men who called themselves governors prohibited the people from reading ancient texts – or texts in any language they couldn’t understand themselves. Some copies were destroyed in raids, but the people collectively passed books from hand to hand, until they were able to slip them into the forests for safekeeping. The white men decimated acres of forests in search of this treasury. But they found nothing.

In England, in the Middle Ages, it was called the bochard. The king published a long list of texts deemed to be dangerous and perverse to “the true faith.” He had scholars beheaded and books locked away. He thought they would be forgotten there, collecting nothing but dust. But the people could not forget. They squirreled away as many volumes as they could, hiding them deep within the great oaks of the kingswood, right under his nose. He hunted them more than the game he kept in those woods in the last years of his life. But it was all for naught.

The bochard.

Or, the book hoard, as it is commonly known today.

Wherever the foolish feared books, and bastards tried to burn them all, the book hoard appeared, hidden deep within the earth.

Chapter Two

Daphne had just turned eight years old when she found her grandfather in her room after school, pulling books from her shelves and piling them into black boxes.

�� “What are you doing?”

“We’re just moving them,” her grandfather answered, barely sparing her a glance.

“Why?”

“Because you have so many.”

“But why are you taking them?”

Her grandfather stood, sucking in a deep, slow breath. “Because, Daphne. Now, don’t ask me again.”

She watched him and his butler carry the boxes down the stairs, her feet rooted to the spot in the doorway. The butler grumbled for her to get out of the way more than once, but she stayed put, watching their every move.

Once she heard the front door slam, she broke free from the roots her feet seemed to have grown into the floor. Her grandfather’s car rumbled to a start, and she was running, running, barely breathing, following each turn the car took. After the fifth one, she knew exactly where it was headed.

Swerving off the main street, she cut through alleys and yards, leaving shocked gasps and barking dogs behind.

The car was already parked in front of the warehouse behind her grandfather’s factory when she arrived, doubled over and trying to catch her breath. Before her, a stream of workers carried waves of the same kind of black boxes through the doors. Daphne didn’t see her grandfather anywhere. He’d just left his car, the trunk propped open for the workers to grab the boxes.

The boxes with her books.

She waited, her palms hot against the cold, rough brick. The moment there was a lull, the moment it was clear, Daphne sprinted to the open trunk, hefting up the first box she got her hands on. She stumbled under the weight of it, her already tired legs trembling. She just made it back around the corner when she heard footsteps echoing on the concrete steps.

Sinking to the ground, she leaned heavily on the box, covering her mouth to muffle her heavy, panicked breath.

“What are we doing with all of these?” A young, uncertain voice asked.

“Don’t know. Didn’t ask. Boss told us just to bring them inside,” A gruff voice answered, then grunted as the owner of that voice lifted yet another box.

Daphne looked down at the box in front of her. All those piles of boxes could not have come from her house. That would be impossible. But were they all filled with books? What’s happening?

She shivered under a layer of sweat that had run cold in the autumn air. Then with a shallow breath that wasn’t nearly enough to steel her nerves, she hefted the salvaged box up, shuffling her way back home.

Daphne’s arms trembled as she climbed up the ladder to the treehouse, the last book from the box held under her chin. After tucking it safely behind one of the wall panels with all the others, she collapsed flat on her back, breathing heavily.

The pitter-pattering of rain began on the roof. She wanted to cry along with the sky, from the exhaustion, and from all those boxes she hadn’t retrieved. But no tears came.

She laid there on the worn-out rug for hours, lost in her thoughts, the ache in her muscles sinking deep. Only the growl of her grandfather’s car drawing near was able to rip her back to the present and Daphne scrambled, stumbled down the makeshift ladder. But she froze at the bottom, the base of the oak, the rain soaking through her school uniform.

At the edge of the yard, there between two maples, yellow eyes watched her. Steady. Unblinking.

For a moment, she couldn’t break the fox’s stare, even as she heard the car door slam. Her grandfather’s footsteps seemed to boom like a giant’s, as if he’d stepped out of one of the fairytale books he’d taken away from her. She held a finger to her lips, silently begging the fox to keep her secret.

Daphne could have sworn the fox nodded before she ran inside.

The house was silent for three days.

Nothing but the scraping of forks against plates and echoing of footsteps in hallways. If Grandfather thinks I’m upset with him – all the better. Daphne thought, stomping down the stairs.

The smell of burned toast singed the insides of her nostrils, and she scrunched her nose as she entered the dining room. Her grandfather sat at the head of the cedar table, his breakfast laid out in front of him.

And ‘The Girl Made of Clay’ in his hand.

Daphne stopped in her tracks, a shock of ice running up her spine. One of the books she’d saved? But how…he went in the tree house?

“Interesting,” her grandfather turned the page with bacon-greased fingers. Daphne had to fight back a wince. “It’s an odd little story.”

An angry heat flushed through her chest, splotching her cheeks. How many did he find? She wanted to run out to the tree house now, check behind every panel, make sure the other books were all safe and accounted for. But she couldn’t move.

Letting the book fall closed, her grandfather leveled her with a sharp glare. His silence demanded answers.

But if Daphne had inherited just one thing from her grandfather, it was stubbornness. Gritting her teeth, she stood under his gaze with a glare of her own. The air was heavy in the room, suffocating.

In the hallway behind her, the old clock chimed, announcing the hour. Daphne tore her eyes away first, her gut twisting. “I’m going to be late for school.”

Her grandfather didn’t stop her, which only made the pit that had formed in her stomach three days ago ache even more.

She was nearly half way to school when her feet stopped, her book bag sliding from her shoulder with a heavy thud. All of her thoughts stopped too, running into a wall over and over again. A wall she couldn’t get past. How many did he find? How many did he find? There was no way she’d be able to sit still behind her desk all day, copying what the teachers recited. Not until she knew.

Spinning around, Daphne ran back home, passing the confused faces of her fellow classmates.

Her grandfather’s car was gone.

She rounded the house, but skidded to a stop, her breath closing like a fist around her heart.

The tree house was nothing but stray timber and smoking ash. The remnants of a fire marred the once perfectly manicured lawn. The curtains she’d made out of her old bed sheets were nothing but dust. Her lucky agates, her pressed flowers, the old watch she’d found in the woods, all the charms and trinkets she’d stored there over the years, were gone. And the books she’d rescued…

She stared at the tendrils of smoke, rising and dissipating into the air. Mocking her.

It had all been for nothing. Her sore, aching arms and legs. Her skinned knees. The blisters on the back of her ankles from her tight school shoes. And the books were gone.

How could he…how could he do this?

The softest nudge against her hand pulled her teary gaze away from the ruined tree house.

The fox sat by her side. And at Daphne’s feet, she laid one book. ‘The Castle in the Clouds.’ The cover was torn, corners bent. But it was here.

The tears that had been building for the past few days, ever since she saw the taillights of her grandfather’s car pulling farther and farther away with her books inside, finally spilled onto her cheeks.

Daphne sank to her knees, pressing the book against her chest. “Thank you.”

The fox turned back to the woods. But she stopped at the edge, one ear twitching, those shrewd yellow eyes looking back at Daphne.

Waiting.

Any other day, she might have thought it was just her imagination. “Your mind is too wild for your own good,” her grandfather had always berated. But with this last surviving book held against her frantically beating heart, and the ashes smoldering behind her, Daphne blinked through her tears and followed the fox into the trees.

#my writing #writeblr #the hunters of the hidden library #jc verne #writers on tumblr

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bernardo1969 · 1 year ago

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Isaiah's texts in his book have left a profound spiritual legacy for all Bible scholars. His writings recount a time in which the true worship of God had declined and in which the errors of the Kingdom of Israel that led it to its own destruction were repeated in the kingdom of Judah. This is why the work of the prophet was not limited to announcing important prophecies about the birth of a universal savior called Immanuel, but Isaiah also deeply studied the problem of evil and the error to instruct the common and simple people in the ways of God. And repeating the teachings of Moses about the law and the covenant with God, the prophet explained that without the spiritual gift of fear of God (constancy, firmness, devotion) there is no worship pleasing to the Lord, because without this gift only hardness of heart remains. Just as God had rejected the worship of Cain, because he had chosen the path of error, in the same way, God had rejected the worship that was given to him in Judah, and this is how he described the fact: "Whoever slaughters an ox is like one who slays a man; whoever sacrifices a lamb is like one who breaks a dog's neck; whoever presents a grain offering is like one who offers pig's blood; whoever offers frankincense is like one who blesses an idol. Indeed, they have chosen their own ways and delighted in their abominations" Isaiah 66:3. And for this reason, the prophet continued his oracle and explained how God abandoned the Kingdom of Judah to its own errors, not to inflict suffering but to instruct men about the danger of following the path of sin: "So I will choose their punishment and I will bring terror upon them, because I called and no one answered, I spoke and no one listened. But they did evil in My sight and chose that in which I did not delight" Isaiah 66:4. The path of sin, which is ultimately an expression of man's foolishness, as taught by the prophet, is a winding path that leads men to an uncertain and insecure destiny.

#daily devotion #have faith #word of god

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lex1nat0r · 2 years ago

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Grimdark Magazine #37

I've been subscribed to Grimdark Magazine for years but my actual reading has been spotty at best. As someone with Opinions on "grimdark" I want to fix that, and so I'll try keeping up with the new issues by putting down my thoughts here. Let's see how it goes.

To be clear: this is mainly kvetching about genre. And also: not weighing in on whether any given story should be included in a "grimdark" magazine. I'm just fucking about, really.

Just looking at the short stories themselves unless I come across a review for a book I've actually read or an interview with an author I already know.

"The Last Wardog" by Michael R. Fletcher

GRIMDARKNESS RATING: GOOD DOG!

A dying dog-person does what they can to hold off the fanatical sorcerers and their obsidian golems from taking their city.

Starting off extremely strong. I did not plan this but we immediately have a story that exemplifies something I need in my grimdark: the wardog doesn't know if what they do will be enough to save the little girl they saw running for the safety of the castle, but it might. Excellent. My one quibble is the intercaps on "PackMaster" feels out of place. I, personally, myself, would have stylized it more as "pack-master".

"Zero Sum" by Laurell Hightower

GRIMDARKNESS RATING: New money

A woman in a hypercapitalist hellscape tries to buy electricity so her brother doesn't die.

Stories that read more as depressing worldbuilding exercises are grimdark sure enough. Not what I think of when I think grimdark, but it fits. And it's sure gory enough to count. The story is good and perfect for this format. Fantastic ending.

"Adrift" by Gemma Amor

GRIMDARKNESS RATING: Lost at sea

A woman is adrift with two crewmates and one supernatural creature.

Apparently inspired by Poe's MS in a Bottle, which I have not read. This is a good story, but a good horror story. Not grimdark. That's quibbling over genre, yes, which is what I'm doing here. It's an issue of scale, really. What's happening here is a one-off event, not part of a larger world or system. When the terrible thing that's happening is happening to you either randomly or for your sins, that's horror. When it's systemic, that's grimdark.

"The Long, Slow Courtship of Mr. Death and Famishista" by Sunyi Dean

GRIMDARKNESS RATING: The thinnest of margins

A hunger artist has a courtship with Death.

Ah you see, this one almost disqualifies for grimdark based on the scale principle. But the way Famishista is apparently inspiring others to be like her, and the accusing finger pointing at society for encouraging it (and the acknowledgement of Death from third parties), there's something there. There is a system at work here. Maybe difficult to recognize as grimdark because it's too close to magical realism, it looks too much like our real world. Ha-ha. The implications.

"My Oracles at the End of the World" by Kameron Hurley

GRIMDARKNESS RATING: Damned spot

A post-apocalyptic twist on an old story.

I wouldn't classify the original as grimdark, but by shifting the setting to be post-apocalyptic it manages to get there, in my estimation. The original feels historical, and therefore we can imagine the comforting arc of history taking hold after the story has wound down. There's no such certainty post apocalypse - we get no real sense of how well the wider world is actually doing. Well, there's hints that the old order still exists or is reasserting itself, gently implying that maybe history is on the path to repeating itself. Which, history being cyclical, I'd still classify as grimdark.

"Birth of a Demonologist" by Cameron Johnston

GRIMDARKNESS RATING: A foolish bargain

A woman makes a deal with a demon.

Apparently a prequel to The Maleficent Seven, a book I've not read but has been on my list since I saw it mentioned on Grimdark Magazine's website. I want to read it even more now. However! While this tale is firmly dark fantasy, I hesitate to call it grimdark. Sure there's a Hell with demons in it, but no implication that it's an active existential threat to the non-hell parts of the world. There's plenty about the Powerful abusing the Powerless, which hits the systemic aspect and gets it close, but overall I feel that what's presented here in the text isn't enough to push it over into full grimdark. It's a difficult call for me. Judgement on The Maleficent Seven itself will wait until I actually read that novel, and maybe that will retroactively change my rating of this story.

Update: I finally got around to reading The Maleficent Seven. The verdict here stands.

GRIMDARK MAGAZINE #37 OVERALL GRIMDARKNESS RATING:

GRIM: BORDERLINE

DARK: YES

#grimdark magazine #consumed media #grimdark

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alyjojo · 2 years ago

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Twin Flame 🔥 Journey - November 2023 - Pisces

Your Energy:

8 Pentacles - 7 Pentacles - 6 Swords

Main Energy: 10 Pentacles

I already don’t see reconciliation, and I’m fairly certain you wouldn’t have it anyway. Saturn Gemini 7th House can indicate many things. There could be a significant age difference between you and this person, communication may be difficult, especially regarding emotions on either side, I heard “they be clownin” could be immaturity, or it can indicate this all happens while young and your real person comes in later, probably after your Saturn return around the age of 30+. Your new person could be older or younger too. You having pulled Cupid’s Arrow as the oracle shows you having hope for what’s next, the new, cuz it ain’t this one 💯

10 Pentacles, The Tower, 9 Pentacles. You had a whole family, a house, a life built, kids, dogs, a payment plan on a new washing machine when this person dropped the bomb on you that it’s over. Or something similar. You never saw this coming. You’ve since put a lot of work into yourself, your career, your stability, and your own peace of mind. For something so shocking and unexpected, something that uproots your entire life and your whole perception of it, you’ve done an amazing job of handling your business, and deserve some flowers 💐

Work may have been the thing to help you process this, and probably still is, you took all of the energy you were giving to a pair, and applying to yourself instead. The longer time goes by, the more you’re trying to release yourself from the apology you’re never going to get. At some point, you stopped even wanting it, you just want to move on, Death at the bottom, you’re done with all of it. Initially, in the past, you just intended to work away your anxiety, heartbreak, stress, and planned to wait it out. Wait for this person to change their mind, wake up, get real, come back to 10 Pentacles, they had everything. They chose otherwise and you’re now at a place of having accepted this. Even if they did, would you have them?

6 Swords can’t handle the conflict, the pain, the drama of the past anymore. This woman is packing up her child, what they have, and the heavy lessons learned into this boat and moving to calmer waters. Enough is enough. It’s clarified by King of Swords, which also comes out for them, and Death again. What’s done is done, there’s no more going back.

Their Energy:

9 Wands - Strength - King of Swords

Main Energy: The Sun

This person is waking up to their own bs, and they still watch you. Quietly. They know they hurt you. The Sun has illuminated their foolishness and toxic habits, patterns, affairs because there’s a 3rd person in the mutual energy - The Devil. What they have done is known, maybe even publicly. At least where the family is concerned, there’s no hiding that. They hide from you though 💯 They’ve tried to avoid it, tried to not face it, sit in denial and refuse to see it, but Spirit has shown them The Sun, they have no choice. 9 Wands shows them feeling wounded, guarded, defenses are up and they scramble to keep guard over their fragile ego. To them you’re Queen of Swords, the ex, and someone with cutting words that probably hit them right at their core. They’re afraid of you, because they know you’re right.

You could have children, don’t have to but that’s a repeated message. If so it’s even harder for this person because they have to face you all of the time, during custody swaps or holidays, what have you. You may insist, just to dig that sword in a little deeper, because they deserve it - Justice. I see them with someone else as well, which makes this that much harder for you. I’m not sure of the relationship between you and the new person yet, you might not even deal with them. You’re pretty emotionally detached from them, this may have happened some time ago. I don’t see you giving af about this new person, they’re moot to you, you need to talk to your coparent about report cards, scoot bitch 😆

If that doesn’t apply and there’s no communication at all, they’re afraid of what you’d even say. With Strength, I doubt you’ll give this person much pity, but it’s incredibly hard for them to watch you pull away from them. Detach. Not care anymore. 2 Cups shows they still love you, still want this, and they’re heavily burdened by what they’ve done, or who they’re involved with now. They are quietly obsessed over you and have a lot of regrets, they wish they could take back. King of Swords shows this person as very intelligent, removed from their heart space when making decisions, trying to do the right thing now, and going forward. Ace of Swords at the bottom shows they’ve seen the light 💡But they’re the ones that ended this, and now they just watch you and beat themselves up. Logic rules over their decisions & they know you’re done.

Mutual Energy/What is Mirrored:

6 Pentacles - The Hierophant rev - Queen of Pentacles

Main Energy: 3 Pentacles

What is known is regarding this 3rd party, your person’s new fling or whatever they are, could be the same one they cheated with in the first place. You both know it was their actions that caused this, they feel they’ve clarified everything you didn’t know, they’ve answered every question you could have. You both know they’re not committed to this new person, though this Queen of Pentacles has no idea of that. You know they’re waiting on you. You both also know that this same Queen has high ideals and plans for a romantic future that are not gonna happen with your person. You’ve told them to kick rocks and they became even more obsessed. There’s definitely someone else, and I don’t see reconciling in the future, but there is a mutual understanding between you, your person has made sure of that - even though they know the ball is in your court. If you wanted to reconcile, they’d prove they’re sorry. I see you headed in a whole other direction though, could be regarding your career, and it makes them sad. Maybe that other person works out, though hopefully they see through this shmoe too tbh.

Karmic Cards:

SATURN - GEMINI - 7TH HOUSE

- Be realistic about what you want to be known, diplomatically.

- Be concerned about what is believed about relationships.

- You must wait before you can use the quickest way and get a fair deal.

Messages:

You:

- I can’t STAY

- Obsessed with Work

Them:

- You’re the PERFECT person for me 😍

- Mind Games 🤯

Love Oracle:

You: CUPID’S ARROW

- Have Faith

- Love is Coming

- Surprise Invitation

- Struck by Love

Them: SUNGLASSES 🕶️

- Watching/Looking

- Perception

- Stalking

Possible Signs:

Any/all signs possible. Heavy Aquarius & Virgo, Capricorn, Taurus, Leo & Scorpio

#Pisces #twin flame #twin flame reading #November 2023 #tarot #tarotblr

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natsu-kage · 2 years ago

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Damian was set on finding out more about this rumor in his school. He’d overheard several of his childish class mates about this “new: Wonder of the school, the Undead Night Guard. He had disregarded it until he heard the school secretary, Mrs Najjar, mention that while she knew the new night guard did a great job, he unnerved her.

Had it been her younger colleague Ms Palmer, he’d have dismissed her, but Mrs Najjar reminded Damian of Alfred, she was strong willed and capable. Not only was she a Gotham native but kept herself healthy in her old age with Martial Arts and had led the Self Defense Club for the school. After Damian had joined a few classes, he had a healthy respect for this woman and her capability.

So, Damian had decided to take this on as a case. If there was something more going on with this Mr Nightingale, he needed to be dealt with. This led him to staking out the school this evening. He had thought he had gotten there early enough to be there before Mr. Nightingale should have been there, and yet he could see the young man, 20 something at least, making a perimeter check outside the campus. He had his dog with him tonight. Some boxer/rottweiler mix if Damian was correct.

*Hm, the ears and tails aren’t docked, good. But dyeing them green seems a bit odd, it’s too vibrant to be natural.*

“You're thinking about taking his dog aren’t you?” Drake had finally spoken up from where he thought he’d hidden.

“Hm”

“No, use your words. I’m not having two of you not using words to communicate.” Drake moved to stand abreast of me as he spoke.

“No, as long as he's using dog safe dyes. He didn’t dock his dog’s ears or tail so he should be but I’d still be gathering information. Mrs Najjar substantiated some of the rumors I’d been hearing and I want to know more.” Damian’s face remained neutral as his eyes kept track of his target.

“Really, you’re looking into a school rumor? Ha, are you finally starting to loosen up?” Damian says Drake’s smirk from the corner of his eye.

“I said Mrs Najjar, not Ms Palmer Red Robin. The one in charge of the Self Defense Club I told the family about.” He gritted his teeth at Drake’s foolishness.

“That old battleax wouldn’t be scared of that twink. The dog’s scarier.”

“’There’s something about that boy that doesn’t sit right, like walking by an open tomb, Habeebti.’ She said that to her daughter when she came to deliver her lunch last week.” It looked like Nightingale was moving inside.

“So what? You’re going to investigate him because of one person?” Drake looked at the school curiously.

“I’d heard of others who had tried to sneak into the school after hours report how lights would flicker strangely or how he and his dog had gotten the drop on a few of them. All of them are fools and inept at the art of stealth, but with all of their stories and Mrs Najjar’s opinion I realized I needed more information about this unknown.

Drake shifted closer to the edge of our perch. “So what have you found so far? Knowing you there’s ground work before this stake out.”

“Of course, that’s the problem. I can’t find anything beyond the paperwork he submitted for his current job and housing.”

“And you didn’t reach out to Oracle or me? This is meant to be a place of safety and learning for Gotham’s elite, we can’t just let this pass.”

“No, I didn’t. Nothing I’d observed of him while researching to make me worried he was a physical threat. I know I can handle anything he could try to do to me.” “Baby Bat”-he dragged his hands down his face-“that isn’t how this works and you know that. Why are you rushing this? Did you see him plant a bomb or something!”

“Mrs. Najjar has stared down Two-Face when he tried to cause problems at the school last year and got him to leave without him having to flip a coin. If she says something is off, I’m going to take it seriously.” Damian turned away from the school to give Drake a flat look. “If you’re going to butt in on this Red Robin, then we need to get inside.”

“Why di-No, the Bat and Agent A will be hearing about that later but you’re right, we need more information.” He raised his finger to the com in his ear. “Oracle, you there?”

Both our coms answered, “Yes and I’m going to start digging deeper on this Danny Nightingale. You’re no slouch when it comes to digital investigations but let me take a crack.”

“Hn…thank you Oracle.” Damian hated that he had to rely on Oracle to get any further information.

“Well, let’s go Robin.” Drake grabbed onto the roof of the school.

***

Okay that’s all I’ve got and by god it got away from me. I might continue.

I don't think I've seen a spooky DC x DP these days.

How about: Danny as school security guard?

Danny being all Creepy, his ghost side is very much out despite not being in his Ghost form, while patrolling a closed school building? It might be a school that's located in Gotham or Star City or Metropolis- but all I can think of is in Gotham due to Creep Factor lmao

Danny the School Security Guard is definitely one of the school's Seven Wonders. Maybe one of the Batkids got intrigued with the mystery (hi Tim!) and taken to look at the school as a hobby or something. Maybe it's one of the rogues (hi Joker!) attempting to plant some bombs in the school but foiled by this Protective Creepy Guy and got Very Traumatized in the result.

Tumblr, do your thing :D

#dcxdp #dpxdc

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a-pocket-full-of-rodents · 3 years ago

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She looks at me, an oracle of saint and sin

And it's as if Orpheus never had loved her.

Hesitation pools through the gaps in my teeth.

She comes towards me now,

A bleeding haystack of revolution,

A renaissance masterpiece carved out of shit and mud,

A Galatea-esque work of a towering pedestal,

Neither future nor past, heaven nor hell,

But a blurred sort of line

Often found within greek tragedies.

A romantic spectacle of human love, or an un-intellectual mirage of impatience?

Who's to say. Who's to say I adore her, that I'd instantly grace her pointed ears with my full name?

Who's to say she could have, would have, ever loved me, if both of us had not been doomed to fall?

Who's to say Orpheus's foolish turn had been foolish at all?

Zeus, you have already made an Achilles, a Heracles, a Jason, an Olympus

Dear gods, you have already made a hero

And a martyr, and an epic, and a thousand other poems,

By god, just let me have her.

Let me have her, as you have the seas, the rivers, the lakes

Let me have her, as she has the flame, the raised fist, the people

Let me have her, as I have dead poets, temporary tattoos, Delphi's prophecy of mortality.

It kills to live as Eurydice, burns burns burns to thrive in doomed love

It aches and aches and aches to love her, and I'm grimacing at the sweet taste of all that love shall be

Tongue stinging at the edges of foretold expiry on her divine lips

Zeus, dear one, you already have a throne

Do not make me beg at it as a dog begs for Euthanasia

Perhaps you were right in killing Patroclus first.

#poetry #sapphic poetry #is anyone else getting sort of #enjoltaire #vibes from this??#idk man but I'm putting it in the tag anyway you can't stop me #💜#🦕

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whentranslatorscry · 2 years ago

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Hitagi Honeymoon

018

Shinobu’s desired nasuben is, in its full form, an abbreviation of Nasu Makunouchi Bento, which has an even more specific definition. It requires the use of ingredients from Nasu for everything from meat, vegetables, fruit, rice, and milk; even the plate itself must be made from Nasu lumber. Served on nine plates (a nod to the nine-tailed fox) are nine local dishes, with the total price limited to 1500 yen. There are actually a few more details involved, but unfortunately, I am not the guy from “Oishinbo,”¹ advocating for couples to share the same surname. So, let's leave it at that.

That said, let’s dig in.

After eating our pizza and taking a brief rest, our newlywed party— myself included, having enjoyed a short nap just in case I needed to take over the wheel— packed up the campsite and headed to the restaurant we had reserved.

Shinobu, who had been lurking in my shadow ever since we got caught in the rain at Killing Stone, eventually sluggishly crept out, looking like someone being roused in the dead of night. Now when her vampirism had intensified after drinking my blood the previous night, this comparison was quite fitting.

Since the battle with the nine-tailed fox didn't happen, her blood-sucking turned out to be completely useless in the end.

Regardless, the fact that she got up without oversleeping was commendable.

Commendable—or indicative of an indomitable appetite.

She ate Mr. Donuts, as well as nasuben, and probably would've devoured barbeque and pizza if she had been awake for it. It seems, by those measures, that Oshino Shinobu is nothing more than a healthy young girl, unlike what Kiss-Shot Acerola-Orion Heart-Under-Blade had been.

As she wobbled by, her golden hair swaying along with her, so much so that it seemed like she was rowing a boat, she devoured her nasuben by instinct alone, while Hitagi watched with a hint of tenderness in her eyes.

Setting aside to what extent she was genuinely leading a brigade in middle school, from that perspective, her dislike for children— or rather, her uneasiness around them— seems to have been overcome. But then again, I wonder about that.

How heartwarming was this heartwarming scene really?

It feels as though the air of innocence masks the ferocity of the vampire… almost like an endangered species that is protected solely because of its “cuteness.”

There's an irritating feeling that while dogs, cats, and maybe bunnies are protected, dire warnings of bees facing extinction fail to hit home… Maybe it would sting more if people were told they wouldn’t be able to eat honey anymore.

But would that tender gaze turn to one of terror— nay, disgust— when they learn what creatures used to be that little girl’s staple diet?

To chalk it up to prejudice, preconception, or some sort of container would be highly inappropriate—though it hadn't been properly confirmed, it’s likely that in one parallel world, Hitagi, and probably Kanbaru, had been killed— possibly even eaten— by a rampaging Shinobu freed from her seal.

Given that this world is connected in some way to the “other,” it's probably correct that humans harbor an inherent wariness towards Shinobu.

Now that I think about it, it was rather symbolic when Hachikuji appeared in adult form on my visit to North Shirahebi Shrine— paying my respects before we left to Nikko Toshogu Shrine for our honeymoon.

In that parallel world, we'd encountered a grown-up Hachikuji who hadn't become a god but a warrior, fighting against the vampire who had destroyed the world.

It's not just because ours is a world where only soccer players can hold hands with elementary school children anymore, but perhaps she manifested herself in that form as a reminder to foolish me— though deciphering such an oracle is nigh impossible.

A long way off.

Normally— that is to say, if I had messed up as normal— this meal would have been the perfect opportunity to execute my original plan. It’s just as well that things didn't turn out that way, but how much better would it have been if they had?

At any rate, the nasuben was great. It was nice to gather around the barbecue with everyone and get a handmade pizza straight from the oven, but I must flatter the restaurant for their meals—they were a cut above.

Even though we had no platter or cutlery.²

Under such impressions, it’s no wonder that I make the absurd misconception that bread was made of, well, bread crumbs.

“The menu seems to be very informative in terms of nutrition. I'll consider exploring this for athletes.”

The difference between Kanbaru, who viewed even food as an opportunity for learning, and me, was like night and day— nevertheless, this marked the last time on our honeymoon that the four of us dined together.

…Ah, no, it may sound like someone's going to die, but rest assured, that's not where this is headed. I know it’s a matter of taste, but it’s getting harder and harder each year to see characters from a continuing drama series die by the second or third installment.

I wish for everyone’s happiness.

Every single one of us, without exception.

And so it was decided, as we stood in a general store near the restaurant, that we would buy large vinyl umbrellas for everyone for the upcoming Nikko Toshogu Shrine—the heavy rain was just too much for our folding umbrellas to handle.

I did say “for everyone,” but actually—

“I'm good without one. I feel sleepier with a full stomach, so I shall rest a little longer.”

Shinobu made this remark which may be age-appropriate for both a child and a senior citizen, and then sunk back into my shadow. So in the end, we only needed three— though it's possible that she just didn't want to sit in the child seat.

Kanbaru also insisted that her raincoat was enough, but I wish she’d let me act like a senior once in a while and at least buy her an umbrella. Honestly, seeing Kanbaru in a raincoat was giving me a bit of a trauma, personally speaking.

The memory refuses to be sugarcoated.

Not just that one…

We made a little detour that wasn't part of our original plan by sneaking a visit to the Toshogu Shrine. Although it wasn't meant to be a substitute for our canceled visit to the two main waterfalls, we had to make our way back to the Utsunomiya area from Nasu highlands anyway, so we ventured into the bustling city streets and purchased the highly-recommended Utsunomiya ham cutlets in place of our missing plans.

Since we'd decided to camp in the glass-covered Senjougahara parking lot come rain or sleet, we needed to secure some takeout for dinner— I'd assumed that we'd find something along the way, but the heavy rain had put a damper on our plans, so I turned to my boss' advice for a backup.

Might as well dutifully entrust myself to my boss.

I’d done my duty completely.

But since we'd come this far, it seemed imprudent to pass up on the rumored Utsunomiya gyoza, which we also purchased as a set for our honeymoon dinner.

Though we couldn't enjoy the meal fresh and piping hot as we didn't have a microwave in the car, the anticipation added a touch of excitement.

Ideally, we would enjoy our meal under the starry sky, but we knew better than to get greedy; well, that is, for anything other than our appetite.

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Cooking manga

「身も蓋も、皿もないが」身も蓋もない means direct/frank, like 率直な in the first line. But the literal meaning is "no containers and no lids". On top of that, 味 can be read as み, so 「ひと味もふた味も（違う）＝totally different」can be read as ひとみもふたみも which sounds very similar to 身も蓋も.

#ikusamonogatari #translation #monogatari series #araragi koyomi

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collagequeer · 1 year ago

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VI - The Lovers, The Foolish Dog Oracle

#collage #digital collage #tarot #tarot design #collage tarot #tarot cards #oracle cards #the foolish dog oracle

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secret-engima · 5 years ago

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Lunafreya Nox Fleuret DoTF Characterization Rant

OKAY, ME RANT RAMBLING ON LUNA’S CHARACTERIZATION IN DAWN OF THE FUTURE IS A GO.

This is … likely going to get messy, but I’ll try to keep it at least moderately coherent. Lemme start by saying that- for the most part- I did actually enjoy Luna’s chap. I’ve been enjoying the book (kinda-sorta-mostly, I really liked Aranea’s chap at least) and I don’t think it’s like- a BAD book? Necessarily? But I feel like it is extremely telling in regards to how the characterization/lore is treated that my brain is automatically filing this thing under “fanfic that’s not my HC but is okay-ish” rather than “canon I will be gleefully tweaking as I please”. My brain is literally looking at this officially licensed book and equating it to fanfic. To fanfic that NEEDS EDITING.

With that out of the way, lemme attempt to summarize my (main) issues with Luna’s Characterization and then I’ll expand on them from there. Get ready for the salt.

1. Luna’s backstory is inconsistent. She herself states multiple times that Oracle training is grueling and involves both physical and mental trials as well as things like fasting for long periods of time WHILE doing said training, yet she is mostly treated like a well-meaning but overall pampered, naive princess who is only now being forced into hard circumstances and has to adapt accordingly. She is also treated like she doesn’t know “common people” that well and doesn’t know how to interact or pick up things like lies (????). A common example is how she treats Sol as trustworthy but reserved when according to Sol’s POV she is literally debating shooting Luna as a possible threat. And Luna supposedly doesn’t pick up on this danger. But we’ll get back to that.

2. Luna is characterized as being oblivious to how people outside Rich Oracle Circles live. That despite traveling all over the world she has never really seen it’s “ugly” sides because she’s always traveled in fancy guarded processions with the sick brought to her. Pretty sure the book specifically mentions at one point that she’s never “considered” what it would be like to be anything other than an Oracle. Admittedly this issue could go under number 1 or 3a but I’m putting it here because I’m salty.

3a. This and the next problem are heavily intertwined and, not going to lie, I could make an entire rant just about these two issues all by themselves, not just in Luna’s context. The first is that Luna is portrayed as not being able to make her own decisions, not even wanting to make her own decisions, until she is forced to or has her “eyes opened” by Sol, our jaded Long Night survivor character. The author treats Luna’s sense of duty as some form of social brainwashing she needs to “get over” and spoiler alert I hate it with every fiber of my being.

3b. Playing right off the whole “Luna is incapable of making her own decisions and that’s why she does her freaking job until someone ‘opens her eyes’” is the idea that Luna’s faith is a character flaw. Lemme reiterate. The story treats Luna’s faith. As a character flaw. Rather than the entire cornerstone to her character and one of the big reasons she’s as amazing as she is. Her faith is treated as foolish and shortsighted, something that has only survived for this long because it has never been challenged and, heads up, the rant I am going to go into on this one specific thing is going to be long and extremely salty.

Alright I think I’ve covered the basics. Starting from the top, BRING ON THE SALT.

…

1. Luna is pampered, well-meaning but naive and bad at reading ulterior motives of people.

….*slow, deep breath* Luna. The Oracle. Who became the youngest Oracle in history. Because her mother was murdered in front of her while her home was burned down and conquered by the people who then proceeded to rule her country, subvert her brother to their cause, and generally control and monitor every aspect of her life that they could. Luna, who was fully prepared to take a single suitcase and escape her own home and run off alone to get to Altissia and had to be stopped by her own brother (who you’ll note brought a bunch of soldiers with him, which indicates he did not expect a submissive response if he came alone).

This girl who was canonically physically abused as a child by a Niflheim officer (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iZHzBtIfpdg slow this down if you need to confirm, but she is grabbed and manhandled and hit by an adult man when she only looks to be twelve, around the age Tenebrae first fell), who has spent twelve years living under the rule of a nation that is not only aggressively atheist but has willfully attempted to kill one of the very beings she serves and openly plans to do so again. The woman who successfully survived the fall of Insomnia with only one magic-less glaive as her backup for most of the event, then evaded the search efforts of an entire empire with only her own wits, a dog, a Messenger who has only ever been shown to talk rather than fight, and the extremely grudging on-off help of her brother who works for said empire. All while waking up the Astrals and forging covenants that were slowly killing her from the strain, which is the exact thing the empire was trying to prevent her from doing. Then, when it became necessary to complete the last covenant, turned herself in to the very same empire that has imprisoned her since she was a child and has been actively hunting/trying to stop or kill her since Insomnia’s fall.

That girl. Is pampered. Is naive. Is bad at reading people and telling when they have ulterior motives or are lying.

Pull the other one. I’ll kick you.

But seriously, how are we supposed to believe this? Luna’s life post Tenebrae’s fall to Niflheim is only pampered in the sense that she was given fancy clothes and fed regularly (outside the grueling fasting periods mentioned in this same book). She had no freedom, no privacy, her guards were all either men who wore the same uniform as those who killed her mother or were monsters infected with the very scourge she is sworn to purify. The Oracle is famous, is revered by the people. To keep the people on their side, the Empire would have flaunted her, would have taken her to all the shiny events. Luna would have had to dine with, converse with, even dance with the very same people who ordered and condoned the murder of her mother, her own imprisonment, and the brainwashing of her own brother to the enemy side. She would have been the epitome of a bird in a gilded cage or a dog on a silk leash and humans are not meant to live like that.

Am I really expected to think she survived a situation that oppressive, that toxic, that actively hurtful, for years by being naive and bad at reading people? Am I really expected to believe that she cannot tell when people are out to use her or hurt her or are lying to her? Am I really expected to believe that she is pampered and doesn’t have, at the very least, PTSD from seeing her mother murdered and her brother join the very people who did it, let alone everything else that would have followed over those years?

Really?

Luna didn’t have a pampered life. She suffered abuse. Longterm emotional abuse, likely sporadic physical abuse until she learned to play along well enough to escape such punishments, and almost certainly gaslighting (again: religious leader being held captive by an aggressively atheist nation that wants to kill the pantheon this religious leader communes with).

Luna would have learned to navigate the canonically cutthroat politics of Niflheim while being at best an outsider and at worst a target because of her beliefs, her nationality, and her loyalties to the Lucians (nobody was surprised when Luna went on the run. Nobody. Her continued devotion and loyalty to the Lucians -Niflheim’s enemy- was absolutely a well known factor). She would have learned to pick truth from lie and when to pretend she hadn’t noticed in order to survive. She would have lived twelve years knowing that any mistakes or misplaced moments of trust would be paid for in either her suffering of the suffering of the people close to her like her servants, or just the citizens of Tenebrae in general.

And none of this is taking into account her Oracle training, which the book does not elaborate on but repeatedly states was hard and grueling and she completed it years earlier than any Oracle in history.

There are a lot of words I would use to describe Luna, but pampered and naive are not among them.

…

2. Luna is oblivious to how people outside her rich circles live and has never considered being anything else but an Oracle until Sol specifically points it out.

The book states that she mostly travels in procession (ie, with tons of servants to serve her every need and bodyguards to keep the masses at bay) so clearly she can’t go anywhere too dangerous, otherwise her servants wouldn’t be able to come. Right? Oh boy where do I start with this.

I know! Let’s start with the fact that Luna canonically maintains the blessings on Havens! You know those things. They’re your only safe place to camp at night and they can be found in all sorts of nifty locations like the middle of the wilderness where cars can’t go, chocobos won’t go, packs of wild animals will literally leap out of the bushes to eat you (Voretooth packs can get up to twelve or more members all trying to eat you at once, fun fact), and poor choice in clothes will lead to broken ankles at best? The ones that can be found in the depths of locations so dangerous that even the Hunters are leary of going inside and are actively forbidden from approaching unless they are a very high rank?

Off the top of my head some of the Havens that come to mind is the one in the middle of Malmalam thicket, the top of an active volcano, multiple spots in the middle of the voretooth and coeurl infested desert, two up in Vesperpool aka the home of all demon crocodiles and flocks of cockatrice that are bigger than the average car and can literally turn you into stone if you aren’t careful.

Yeah those places. She maintains those. Depending on how often Havens need to be maintained and if the weather/nature shortens that time then she might also have to periodically enter the dungeons Noctis explores in game that also have Havens hidden inside where it is always dark all the time and infested with daemons.

The book also states that the sick (who are highly infectious and not supposed to be touched by people who can’t heal the scourge and in the later stages of sickness become extremely violent and prone to biting in order to infect other people) are … brought to her…

By whom? Exactly?

Moving on from that giant and obvious plot hole to the “never seen or considered other lifestyles” bit: Luna has traveled literally all over the world. In her duties of healing the otherwise incurable she has gone all over Niflheim, Tenebrae, and Lucis. She has walked through the streets of cities filled with lights and glamor and stood on the dirt roads of towns so small they have to go to the next town an hour or more away to buy groceries or check their mailbox and who’s royal hotel suite is just a caravan with a new coat of paint and “welcome Oracle!” sign. Luna’s work is to cure the Starscourge, which is a disease that I can almost promise the rich don’t get. Because the rich and fancy do not risk their lives by going into daemon territory (Prompto, a middle class Insomnian, didn’t even know what wild animals would be like, you expect the rich and famous to be any better?).

The vast majority of Luna’s patients would be people like Dave the Hunter, or Sania the scientist who wades into the wilds. The truck drivers and the farmers and the electricians risking their lives to repair power lines in the middle of nowhere. She wouldn’t be going to cities except to talk to the refugees who fled there from the outside and thus picked up the Scourge. Her only two social circles would be Niflheim’s cutthroat nobility and the “unwashed masses” who come to her for healing. Guess which ones she’ll be more invested in getting to know on a personal/friendly basis and interacting with.

Of course Luna has interacted with and understands “common folk”. Luna is a caregiver, not just physically, but emotionally. She is beloved by the people because she is kind. That means she talks to them. More importantly, she listens. She has held the hands of the farmer as he begs her to heal him, because the harvest season is so close, and if he can’t work, if he dies, then what will become of his wife or the people his farm feeds? She has embraced the sobbing refugee mother as the other breaks down in gratitude for a child who’s skin is a healthy shade and who’s veins no longer bulge a sickly purple. She has met people who are not rich, but who are content. Who have lives that do not hinge on the razor thin dance of staying true to self and not exposing weakness to those who want to eat her alive. Who can laugh with their neighbors and kiss that nice boy down the street just for the fun of it, who can defy curfew to dance in the rain with the person they love and risk, at most, a lecture and a weekend grounding.

And no, they aren’t rich, no, they aren’t influential or powerful, but they are peaceful. They are happy.

Am I really expected to believe that Luna has not looked on these people’s lives from afar, listened to their rambles as they try to distract themselves from the sickness she is drawing from their veins, and not yearned to be the same? That she hasn’t thought over and over again about running away and being free from her gilded cage? That she doesn’t know anything about the lives of the people she heals even as she walks down their streets and steps into their houses so she can heal those who are too sick or too violent to be safely taken out of their room? That she has never thought about what life could be like if she wasn’t an Oracle as she watches the landscape roll by and walks through the wilderness to find the lonely farmsteads that the townsfolk tell her has sick children that cannot be let out of the shed for fear they will bite?

Setting all of that to one side, what human hasn’t thought of being someone else? What person on this planet, hasn’t looked at another person’s life that is so very different from their own and gone “huh, I wonder what that would be like” even if only for a moment before moving on and forgetting about it? Humans are creatures that dream by nature, that are curious by nature. To assume that Luna is not just because she gets to have the fancy dresses and servants is stupid.

…

3a: Luna is unable to make her own decisions and is only the dutiful Oracle because she doesn’t know any better and needs a “wiser” rebellious character to “open her eyes”.

Okay buckle up. I have tried to suppress the salt until now but over these last two points I don’t care. I will be salty. I will be sarcastic. I will be mean. I will reference Real World faiths (tho I’ll try to keep that to a minimum).

Both 3a and 3b are actually systemic issues in storytelling (particularly noticeable in movies/shows but maybe that’s because I’m pretty lucky with my book choices) that I despise with a passion. Specifically 3a relates to the chronic issue writers seem to have with characters not being allowed to be happy with their role in life. There’s this persistent thought, this narrative push, that if a character is following in the footsteps of their family, is entering the “traditional” profession that their parents (or grandparents, or entire generations of predecessors) have been in before them then they must be unhappy with their lot in life. That this is clearly the character being “repressed” and that if they are content then they are either a bad guy (see: every antagonist from a proud military family or every ruler who thinks they are better than everyone because of bloodline ever) or they are just blind to their own unhappiness.

Now, the basic idea of “character discovers they are unhappy in current role and seeks a new one” can actually be done really well. But those stories that do it well have a lot of internal conflict, a lot of self-reflection and searching and choosing to take a new path after really giving it some thought. Maybe they have help along the way, or encouragement, or another character to show that it’s possible by example and that’s okay.

What is not okay is infantilizing a strong, intelligent character by saying “oh it just never occurred to them until they are told that they are unhappy by this much more worldly wise character and then they went and did it”. That is not okay. It not only trivializes the efforts of every real person who has proudly followed in a parent’s footsteps to become something (a doctor, a missionary, a soldier, an actor, even an electrician, pick a life goal and I promise someone has been inspired to do that by their parent being one before them) but it also takes an otherwise strong, dedicated character and implies that they are too stupid to think for themselves or have any free will until the plot and a Shinier Character demands it.

Lunafreya Nox Fleuret is an Oracle, as her mother was before her, and her mother before her, and all the way back two thousand years to the very first Oracle we see in canon. Possibly back even farther, depending on if any of Aera’s ancestors were Oracles too. That isn’t a suffocating tradition, that is a heritage, that is a culture, that is a necessary, life-saving service that canon proves literally kept the world from falling into eternal darkness (Luna was the last Oracle, the day after she dies is literally the last time we players see sunlight until the end of the game when Noctis dies to restore it). Luna is not stupid or repressed for following in those footsteps, she is breathtakingly strong for shouldering her heritage as the Last Oracle with pride even when the forces controlling every other aspect of her life want her to be ashamed of it and give it up.

The empire that took over her home when she was twelve are actively anti-magic and anti-Astral. Luna is someone who speaks to the Astrals and is born with a magic that can heal the very sickness they want to weaponize. They couldn’t outright forbid her from training to be the next Oracle because that would cause the people to riot, but they could and absolutely would try to make her give up in any way they could. They would have insulted her, demeaned her, hurt her, and imprisoned her. They wouldn’t have wanted a “real” Oracle, they would have wanted a puppet who said pretty promises and then did nothing to stop them.

It would have been so easy for Luna to go down the same path her brother did. To give in to the empire and it’s propaganda that she would have been forced to listen to every single day of her life for twelve whole years. It would have made her life so much easier to be a puppet Oracle who didn’t have to walk miles through the wilderness to maintain Havens, or defy the empire by maintaining loyalty to Lucis, or leave her manor home to heal the sick that could not come to her themselves. As a puppet Oracle she could have stayed in the Manor and only treated cases that could reach her doors and were vetted by the empire. She could have eaten the finest foods and worn the best dresses and never had to worry about a pack of hungry Voretooths or a rogue Behemoth tearing her apart. Most of all, Niflheim wouldn’t have been nearly as oppressive or violent. They would have gladly given her the illusion of freedom and control as long as she played along rather than been fully willing and prepared to run into the jungle with a suitcase just to escape as seen in the movie.

Luna was not blindly fitting into a mold and she was not and has never been incapable of making a decision. The fact that she shows up in canon as a strong, dedicated woman who is in control of her emotions and not afraid to face down a giant sea monster with the power to summon tidal waves with just her words and a glorified pointy stick proves that. The idea that she needs a “wiser” character to come alongside her and “free her” from her own duties is not only stupid, it undermines one of the key things that makes Luna such a strong character despite her relative lack of screentime.

Furthermore, canonically, one of Luna’s main reasons for sticking with her duty as Oracle isn’t because it’s tradition, it’s because of what Niflheim did. In the Kingsglaive movie, when Nyx Ulric is getting angry at Luna for doing really reckless, life-threatening things, she tells him quote:

“I do not fear death. What I fear is doing nothing and losing everything.”

That’s not a woman who is blindly following a path laid out for her. That is a woman who is desperately, furiously fighting against the people who killed her mother in front of her the best way she can: by being the Oracle they cannot stand for her to be.

But sure. Luna is only the Oracle because she doesn’t know better and it never occurred to her to be anything else until some jaded kid with a shotgun made a snide comment about it.

3b: Luna’s faith is a character flaw that has only survived this long because it wasn’t challenged by a worldly wise character who knows better.

Not going to lie but words cannot express how much I hate this trope. This is another thing that shows up a lot in television/movies but also in books too, and that is that a character is not allowed to have a faith in something/religion unless they are 1. Foolish, 2. Brainwashed/tricked into it, 3. A crazy fanatic, or 4. It’s a character flaw they have to overcome by becoming more jaded and atheist and hateful.

Because … that’s not how it works. There are- millions (billions) of people all over the real world who are intelligent, well educated, thoughtful, kind, and religious. And no I’m not just talking about Christianity (tho I am Christian so you can see why this trope grinds my gears so hard). There’s Hinduism, there’s Islam, there’s Buddhism, there’s Judaism, there’s so many faiths and belief systems okay. And no we don’t tend to play well with each other or accept the validity of the others but that doesn’t mean we’re fanatics or brainwashed or stupid. And no we really don’t appreciate it when media introduces a character who follows a religion (even fictional ones!) only to make them an antagonist or rip it away from them in the name of “improving their character”. Just like every other cultural group ever who really doesn’t like their heritage and culture being used as a butt of jokes or is turned into a caricature or used as the basis for the antagonist being Evil™.

But no. We can’t possibly have a character who’s faith makes them strong or gives them comfort in times of hardship unless they are deluded. We can’t possibly have a character who is both intelligent and faithful. We can’t possibly show a character who is breathtakingly courageous and selfless as well as religious unless we point at their faith and go oh look a horrible character flaw to overcome by having non-believer characters open their eyes via sarcastic commentary.

And look. Look. I am well aware that the plot of Dawn of the Future has Bahamut as the Bad Guy™. I am fully aware of that. But if you want to be purely honest and technical, that doesn’t invalidate Luna’s faith because (spoilers) the other Astrals fight Bahamut to save the world. They hear her cries and the come to fight on behalf of Lucis and Noctis and all of Eos and they kill Bahamut even when that ensures their own destruction.

But we’re not actually here to talk about whether the Astrals deserve Luna’s faith in them, we’re here to talk about why insisting Luna’s faith is, by nature of being a faith, treated like a flaw and why it is treated like something so weak it only survived to this point because Luna didn’t face anything “bad” enough to “snap her out of it”.

Spoiler alert, it’s not a flaw and it’s not weak.

Going back to something I have mentioned several times already: Niflheim is an empire run by people who actively want to kill the very beings most of the planetary population worships. The very same people in charge of Luna’s life for twelve years, starting from when she was twelve and very emotionally vulnerable and traumatized, hate the Astrals. I repeat: They hate the Astrals. They have devised weapons to try (and spectacularly fail) to kill them. Half their continent is a winter nightmare-land because they tried to kill Shiva the Glacian and she went “haha, nice try, lemme leave a fake corpse here that constantly pumps out freezing temperatures and blizzards”.

Am I seriously, honestly, supposed to believe that these people didn’t try to tear down her faith at every single opportunity? That Ravus wouldn’t have tried to bully and cajole and harass her into abandoning her faith because he knew that her faith was what kept her walking her chosen path as Oracle and that said path was destined to kill her? Am I seriously supposed to believe that Luna didn’t spend those twelve years having to sit there and bite her tongue to keep from raging at these cutthroat nobles as they gloated and sneered and spat on the names of the Astrals who gave Luna the very magic she uses to heal those in need?

Luna never needed Sol to come along and say “what have the Astrals ever done for you?” because I promise that she’s heard some variation of that exact phrase from everyone in her life. From her own brother to the Emperor himself she has heard some form of this question, this taunt. In the Kingsglaive movie, General Glauca even says something to the order of, “To what god do you pray? The gods do not listen.” Right before he kidnaps her.

Luna’s faith isn’t something blind, and it is not a flaw. It is a cornerstone of her character. Luna’s faith is a bloody, stubborn, tenacious thing that she has nurtured and shored up and been steadied by through twelve years of emotional abuse and physical imprisonment. Luna’s faith is an unshakeable thing that can only come from long nights spent crying into the silent dark of the room and asking “is this real? Am I right? Should I give up? This hurts so much, what do I do?” and finding the answer to be “yes this is real. Yes I am right. No, I won’t give up even though it kills me. Yes it hurts, but what I believe in is stronger than this pain.”

Faith is not optimism and it is not fanaticism. Optimism can be broken by hardship and fanaticism has no room for selfless kindness or acceptance of other people not being as devoted as they are. Faith is personal. Faith is a bedrock, and maybe it’s a bedrock that makes no sense to people on the outside, but it is a bedrock and it can make mountains move.

Just as Luna proves when she runs rings around an Empire to win the respect and cooperation of Titan and of Ramuh, to stand amid the rain and tell an enraged TideMother that “it is in mercy that men offer praise, and in shedding grace that the gods solicit worship” and not flinch because she knows she is right.

Luna’s faith is a fierce, scarred thing that has taken every kind of suppression and propaganda and poison the empire could throw at it and kept on going.

Furthermore. Luna’s faith is treated by Sol as something empty. Because when did the Astrals ever help her or comfort her or save her?

I can answer that. They helped her when they gave her Umbra and Pryna, who kept her company through her life and gave her a way to talk to Noctis. A way to reach out to a person who was not either imperial, warped by imperial propaganda, or too afraid to speak out against the empire for fear of dying. They comforted her when Gentiana became a second mother for Luna after the death of Queen Sylva. A physical shoulder to cry on, a sounding board to bounce fears off of, a well of advice when it was asked of her, a rock to retreat to when Ravus turned away from her and the empire continued to control as much of her life as they could.

Gentiana, who is really Shiva in disguise, has been with Luna since she was a small child.

One of the Astrals themselves has been with Luna for almost her entire life. Has guided her, has comforted her, has led her to safety as she fled Insomnia’s ruins.

Shiva had no reason to do that. The Oracles have done their duty since the time of Aera without her help or company. Shiva didn’t have to stay. She didn’t have to linger and offer comfort and become Luna’s friend. She didn’t have to listen to the last words of a scared young woman who wanted only to see her fiancé one last time and promise to carry them to Noctis in the event of her death. Shiva didn’t have to cry on behalf of Luna. Shiva didn’t have to help Luna remember what it was like to be an ordinary woman (“Yet others need not hide their grief. Is she [Luna] so different from them?”), and in fact, if Shiva had played up to most of the stereotypes, she would have done the opposite and done her hardest to suppress any part of Luna’s personality that wasn’t her Oracle duties.

But she did. Shiva was there, and she remembered. Shiva loved and we as a fandom may yell at the Astrals a lot for not doing more to take care of the Starscourge, but of all of them Shiva gave the most because she came down and she lived, and walked, and loved this Oracle, this scared child, this frightened, weary woman who couldn’t even turn to her own family for comfort. Shiva’s husband Ifrit was betrayed by humankind and yet Shiva still defended them, she kills Ifrit to protect the man (the king) that Luna loved.

And at the end of the game, in those final moments outside the Citadel, when it’s just Noctis and his Retinue against all of Ardyn’s armies of daemons, when Luna calls out to these Astrals whom she has remained faithful to her entire life, even unto her death…

They answer.

Every. Last. Astral. Who is not corrupted like Ifrit, comes down at her prayer and fights. Even Leviathan who’s only voiced lines are screaming wrath against the humanity that forgot her, even Bahamut who otherwise remains aloof in his plane of magic beyond the concerns of the mortal world. Luna calls, and they answer her.

“What have the Astrals ever done for her” indeed.

Luna’s faith is a driving force of her character, it is irrevocably intertwined with her duty, with her choices, with her desire to help people and save the world even if it costs her own life, and in the end her faith is rewarded. Not in the way we want for her, because we love the ultimate happy endings where everyone lives and nobody dies. But Final Fantasy XV was never a story about happy endings. It was a story about coming of age, and tragedy, and sacrifice. Of holding onto hope against all opposition, and of having faith that someday the dawn will return, even if bringing about that dawn requires personal sacrifice.

…

Okay this is over 5k words, I’m tired, and I’m extremely salty so I can’t really figure out how to wrap this up but there we go, my salty personal rant about why I think Dawn of the Future messed up some really critical parts of Luna’s characterization and why it’s Really Bad that they messed up those specific things.

Also I kinda despise them making Bahamut the bad guy in DotF because yes he’s a jerk and yes he really could have done the whole Prophecy thing a ton better, but in the original FFXV one of the things that made the game so heartbreakingly tragic to me is that most of the characters involved weren’t pure evil. They could be greedy, and flawed, and crazy, but in the end the source of the problem was too big to pin on one character.

Do you pin the entire thing on the god of war for his mistakes in trying to bring about peace, or the god of fire for trying to destroy humanity and no longer being there to do his job and purify the plague? Do you blame the Astrals for their hubris or humanity for theirs, because Ifrit loved humanity until they betrayed him so deeply he went mad? Do you hate Ardyn for causing the Long Night or pity him for being a victim of Somnus’s greed? Can you blame Somnus for everything even though the Scourge was going on long before him and kept spreading long after he sealed Ardyn away? The whole thing is a tragedy because at this point it’s a problem too big to fix without someone paying a price too heavy and we hate that because the characters who pay that price are the ones we grow to love over the game.

But that is an entirely different rant for an entirely different day when I am not so tired and my hands no longer hurt from writing this much in one sitting. Thank you and good night.

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kassical · 5 years ago

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I have loz questions for you, if it's okay! what was your first legend of zelda game you played? which game has your favorite version of link, and which game for zelda? if they let you give input on a new zelda title, are there any specific concepts or gameplay elements you would want to see? :3c

im always up for loz questions omg :0 but to answer you, here u go!

>first zaldo game Oracle of Seasons! Techncally Oracle of Ages too - but alas, I never ended up finishing that and getting the linked ending because none of my friends had gameboys ;-;

>fave link, fave zelda Legit tough, and although I adore Botw Link and Zelda, I have to go with Wind Waker’s version. Funky little gremlin boy who forces the legend to recognise him as the hero, using his courage (and foolishness) to save his little sister? Pirate who didn’t know she was actually the princess and instead sailed the seas with her family/crew of secretly kindhearted vagabonds? Absolutely sign me the fuck up

>gameplay I want the hookshot back tbh. If the botw sequel is keeping the paraglider (and rumour has it he’s losing a hand) then the hookshot would be fun to use in conjunction with it and could offer different challanges. Maybe using it to hold onto fast enemies,, or fly with the dragons, or zip through tight spaces. Revali’s gale kinda negated the need for it but who knows what the new game will bring~~~ this is better than the answer i was gonna put about wanting to pet the dogs

#this was fun ah #there's a lot of things i love about the loz games ive played #but ww stole my heart #heywizards #ask time

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kurtty-drabbles · 5 years ago

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Ocean au (Kidnapping final part)

N/A: Something short and straight to the point if we´re lucky.

@dannybagpipesarecalling @djinmer4 @bamfoftheundead @everykurt @muninandhugin

Once the words register in her brain- the synapse took less than a minute or even less- Kitty Pryde drops her goofiness and looks at Felicia with determination in her eyes, the same kind when Columbina does face missions where is kill or die. "Magneto took my sister" is a question and at the same time is not.

Felicia can say to anyone´s face her past never involved blood, per se, she stole things or money, but, Columbina has her own story and Felicia is never one to ask for details.

"Where ...Magneto lives?" Columbina has no witty or jokes in her tone only an icy tone who could match Kokoro in her worst days. Magneto is famous for two things 1) being extremely powerful meta-human 2) never leave a prisoner alive for longer.

"I´ve no idea...no one wants to get closer to that lunatic" Columbina´s stare is not too pleased with this response. "But Logan must know where is..." and Felicia has the speed dial while Kitty already is out of her door and her cat and dog aren´t present in this location.

They do what they must ...and let´s not depend on eldritch abominations so much!

___________________________________________________________________________________________

There´re many stories and speculations concerning every single meta-human in New Gotham. Kurt knows because of most of those stories are just Ryder being a troll. "And this means Columbina and Kokoro are in love" Ryder read a response of his latest tweet and can only chuckle at this.

Kitty Pryde phased through the door without caring for an explanation and her eyes - usually warm and inviting, looks completely different now- and she speaks in a way that makes Ryder remember a few theories about Columbina, of all people, An assassin guild trained her and she rewards them by killing their enemies.

"Katzchen?" he asked rose from his sit as Kitty takes a deep breath trying to calm herself as it seems.

"Ryder, you know many secrets about the city and sure you know this one...where Magneto is?" Her tone is firm and it gives no argument in her command. Kurt can´t deny how turning on this is, but, he´s sane enough and controlled enough to not ignore such question and her implications.

His eyes are narrow and the man only speaks. "Magneto lives in one place in New Gotham and this is not information any news will ever hear for obvious reasons...he lives..."

________________________________________________________________________________________________

Dark Claw wonders when his life becomes like this. Nightcreeper is speaking with a serious Columbina-for once being a tad bit sane once knowing about the situation- Felicia looks afraid and Sparrow for once is sharing the same sentiment.

Magneto is on his list, Dark Claw ponders silently, but can Dark Claw really defeat him? Even can back up?

"Frau, we´ll save your sister. I promised!" Nightcreeper speaks in a soft tone surprising only Sparrow who never saw him in such fashion, not that he was ever malicious, but, he was never this kind either.

"You´re ..." she trails off looking at his golden eyes for a moment. "thank you, why Magneto took my sister?"

Dark Claw and Nightcreeper together a replied as if this is a presentation and Kitty will grade them. "Magneto believes your sister is his long lost daughter and wants to make her the heir of his empire" and despite the situation, Felicia and Sparrow can chuckle at this little interaction.

"What the hell?"

"Jinx" Nightcreeper replied giggling madly and Dark Claw groans at that.

__________________________________________________________________________________________

Lorna is out of her blindfold and watches the scene -completely incredulous and even speaks the name "Jupiter" and "Cosmo" in a melodious whisper to see if it is a joke. It isn´t- as Magneto is facing Loki and Enchantress. Being the Oracle meaning you have access to information and information is a type of power too.

Ok, his magic is cut 90% once out of Norway so...wait, this applies to Enchantress too?

Yep, it applies to her too. Ok, I must leave before they notice I´m here.

She slowly leaves as Magneto is spurring some nonsense that Lorna has no interest in hearing whatever this old man is saying, however, when Magneto tossed the already defeated Loki and Enchantress to the side it gives his undivided attention to Lorna.

Fuck!

"Lorna! my daughter, you´re saved now!" Magneto states and Lorna only frowns at this.

"Not your daughter"

"I´m your father! Our powers are proof of our connection" and Lorna´s eyes twitch at this and she speaks the name "Cosmo" and "Jupiter" one last time hoping this is a joke. It isn´t.

_________________________________________________________________________________________

The large commercial building was abandoned as the company moved to another building or something like that, Nightcreeper theorizes the firm was a ghost one and they change location to look less obvious, whatever the case may be...this is where Magneto is hiding.

"We must be careful, Magneto must ..." whatever "must" was in Sparrow´s tongue dies as she sees part of the building being used as a weapon and Magneto and Polaris are fighting.

"Never mind!" Columbina blinks at the scene. "Sometimes, I forget she can do that!" is her explanation and she phases through the car and goes to see the fighting of two meta-humans.

Sparrow and Felicia blink at this confession. "She forgets Polaris can weld metal?"

Nightcreeper laughs amused and Dark Claw is mentally writing this in his mind.

Magneto is not happy for having to fight his lost daughter nor to have to face another meta-human. "Lorna is my daughter!"

Columbina makes a gross-out face. "EWW, you´re talking about our mother. Watch your mouth!" Magneto lost his concentration to respond to Columbina the truth of his parentage in regards to Lorna and Lorna used this time to knock him off.

"My father is Carmen Pryde. He has green hair like mine and has the same powers ...and I meet my grandfather and grandmother" she said lifting Magneto by the collar and looking less than impressed. "and you´re no way near my genealogical tree"

_________________________________________________________________________________________

How the JLX see Lorna defeating a man who claims to be her father? Well, the man in question is Magneto and this is more concerning than if he´s her father or not, Quicksilver and Wanda managed to put him in a place where he can´t use his powers. The Amazon stares at Dark Claw as they both agree in two things.

1) It would be foolish for Dark Claw to face them man alone.

2) And Magneto won´t be locked down for long.

Polaris is not in a great mood when one of the heroes ask if she´s the lost daughter of Magneto. "OH MY GOD!" the only person who didn´t make such a question was the Green Witch. Who only know found out about Loki´s plan and sees her girlfriend hovering around as if is not a big deal.

As she hovers in the air, wanting to ignore this day, only comments one thing with Columbina. "Were you worried about me?" and Columbina only speak "duh" and Polaris continues "good, now you know how I feel when you go to those crazy adventures"

Green witch and Polaris talk in private.

Nightcreeper and Columbina leave when the area starts to get too crowded.

___________________________________________________________________________________________

"So...you phased through my door thanks to an SCP?" Kurt Ryder asked not sure if he believes her or not. There´s 50% of chances this being a lie but at the same time...her cat and dog aren´t normal...

"Yes, I did and I´m sorry if I made you believe ghosts are after you, Kurt" she replied now joking.

Kurt will ignore the ghost's parts. "why you were so concerned and wanting to know where Magneto is?"

Kitty blinks. "I thought he kidnapped my sister, but, it was a big misunderstood, she kind look like Polaris and people bewildered and thought it was my sister"

Kurt Ryder stares at her eyes for a moment. "But is your sister alright?"

Kitty nods. "Yep, as I said, it was a big misunderstood. She´s fine...she´s with her girlfriend"

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Magneto is not allowed to get any visit, per se, however, that never stops anyone from having a chat with him. Polaris enters and the man gazes at her eyes waiting for her to do or say something.

She shows him a DNA test. "I want to give you this!" and leaves. The test says Polaris and Magneto aren´t related in any sense of the word. Now, Magneto is confused.

"Where is my daughter?" Magneto asked and no one replies.

#ocean au #kidnapping final part #kurt ryder #kitty pryde #kurtty #Magneto #Emma is out #Loki and Amara? WHo knows?

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autumnstwilight · 6 years ago

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Crystalized

Rating: T Words: ~5.5k Tags: FFXV, one-shot, IgNoct, King Regis, soulmates, Omen Trailer, Verse 2 Summary: As his infant son sleeps, King Regis dreams of a future prince and a lonely, bloodstained end to it all. Desperate to avert this future, he begs the Crystal to ensure that one of his son's companions will stay with him always. But the magic has a will of its own, and his simple plea has unintended consequences.

Read on AO3

It was after Aulea passed that Regis began to have the dreams. A young man, clad in the black of royalty, stumbling through a vast desert. Though the youth was much older than his Noctis, who was only just beginning to shed the baby fat from his cheeks, he knew them to be one and the same. The young man looked around, with eyes as empty as the clear skies above him, as cold as ice. Leaning on his sword, he rose to his feet and pushed onward, following in the path of a dog who left no tracks nor trace on the silken sand. An elegant and noble creature, with a magnificent coat of pure white, but the shadow that stretched across the sands showed the beast hunched, jaws open and slavering as it trotted along with the mien of a starved wolf. And though the youth followed faithfully, Regis felt a deep sense of dread, knowing that the right path had been lost long ago, and buried under the shifting dunes.

When the time came, the wolf would devour the boy, far from the places that anyone knew. Blood and bone would be swallowed by the desert, never to be seen again.

He tried, in his waking hours, to put the dreams from his mind. He told himself that these nightmares were in some way, natural, a manifestation of his grief for his wife and his anxieties over his son’s future. It was to be expected.

And yet at night, when the yellow gaze of the wolf met his own, saliva dripping from a blackened tongue, he could take no reassurance in these thoughts.

The crystal hummed, an eternal, dim vibration like the aftershock of a struck bell. Perhaps he was the only one who could hear it. Still it teased at the periphery of his senses, a tune forever waiting for the next note. A consonance that never came. He felt that he could go mad with it, wondered if his ancestors had. The un-song spoke to him, warning him to be wary. To be vigilant. To be afraid.

The dreams were no mere anxiety. He held his sleeping child close to his chest, feeling his tiny ribcage expand and contract, the heavy and relaxed warmth of one who was not dreaming at all. The closer the wolf came, night after night, the more certain he was that this was an ill omen.

It had always been planned that Ignis Scientia, the firstborn son of House Scientia, would be the advisor for the next king, even before Noctis himself had been born. The boys would be raised together, and come to develop the trust and understanding that could only exist between brothers. Now that the boy had grown into a charmingly polite, well-behaved, and bright five-year-old, Regis saw no reason at all to change that plan. Rather, he found himself pushing for them to be introduced ahead of schedule.

“The boy hasn’t even begun his own schooling yet. What could he possibly advise your son on?”

“He will not need to advise yet. I merely hope that they can form a bond between them, one that will ever pull my son toward the light.”

It was done as the king said. The small boy peered up at him over thick-rimmed glasses, fidgeting a little with nerves. Perhaps he was not yet old enough to understand what he was being told about his role, what it meant for a king to push ever onward. What it meant to accept consequences. Yet he answered to Regis in a clear voice, and held out his hand to Noctis. The boys held on to each other tightly.

And the dreams continued. Again and again Noctis stumbled, alone on foreign battlefields, led astray by forces he didn’t comprehend. The wolf salivated over the blood spilled, waiting for him to fall. Where were the friends and allies that he should have? Would his son truly be left to face the world alone?

It was another year before he decided that something must be done. He took the boys deep into the Citadel, to the darkened room with the towering black vault. Here, the magic hummed louder than anywhere else. An electric blue danced at the corners of his vision. At the center of it all was a fearsome and unforgiving light.

The boys stood before the vault, hand in hand. Noctis seemed to shiver as they approached, and Ignis squeezed his hand, looking on with curiosity. Such a faithful and obedient child never seemed to suspect that an adult might do wrong, and therefore, he never seemed to fear as long as there was one around. He looked at the king with unblemished trust.

Regis reached out a hand to the Crystal, and made his plea.

Please give my son a guide. I know that the road will be hard, but do not let him face the trials ahead alone. Let the fate of this boy be forever entwined with my son’s, so that at the very least, they will always have each other.

Threads of magic began to form in the palm of his hand, an answer. He drew them in gently, like strands of spider silk, and carefully twisted them, so that they became one. It was done. He swayed on his feet, momentarily leaning against the Crystal’s vault. The magic was heavy, even in its delicacy.

Ignis had not let go of Noctis’ hand.

The dreams never ceased, but they changed. He still saw Noctis, blade in hand, fighting an endless onslaught of armored soldiers. His hair still clung to his face with sweat, his chest still heaved with his labored breathing, his blood still splattered in spidery patterns across the ground. But his once cold and pale eyes had taken on a deeper shade of blue, a whisper of the crystalline magic in his veins.

At the end of the dreamscape, he confronted the wolf, and took its head as a prize.

It was not long after when Regis learned the truth.

He sank to his knees in front of the vault that held the Crystal, willing the images to vanish from his mind. His own hand, his own blade, his own son.

Chosen.

The ring of the Lucii burned cold around his finger, and he had never wanted more to tear the thing off and shatter it with his blade, sink the pieces to the depths of the ocean, let the world be damned. What future, what light, what gods dared to demand his son as their price? He had borne every burden of his lineage without complaint, but this was a weight that threatened to break him.

His ancestors did not try to console him, merely reminded him of the fate they had each carried, one after another, for close to two millennia. Something so great could not be stopped once it was put into motion. It was meaningless to try. The Chosen would meet his destiny one way or another. The readiness was all.

The king wiped the tears from his eyes, swallowed down the taste of bile, and walked tall from the room.

His grief lingered, it was many months before he could so much as look at his son without the pain lancing through his heart anew. And so, it was even longer before he came to comprehend the cruelty of what he had done.

Noctis was playing with Ignis as usual, the older boy ever patient and kind, beyond anything Regis could have asked from one so young. He still held within his hand their twin strings of fate, though he had not looked at them since that day when he had first deigned to interfere. Noctis fell, and Ignis was there to help him stand, to brush the dirt from his knees and hands. Regis opened his palm to see, in his mind’s eye, what he had been avoiding. The two threads were irreversibly entwined, bound now by the will of the Crystal and not his own. Yet one thread now came to a short and clipped end, and beyond that, the other paled and frayed, miserable in contrast to how brightly it shone with its partner intact.

The guilt was sharp. He looked at the boy, a good and brave child, one he and Noctis already owed so much to. One who was already beginning to feel like a second son. He thought of Aulea, and the part of him that had been ripped away when she died. He thought of Noctis, and the all-consuming grief that would not only be felt by him, but which he had now condemned another to.

Ignis, I have done you wrong.

There was little that could be done, except to hope that he did not err further. It had been a desperate and foolish mistake, one made by a new father out of love for his son. He hoped that the gods and ancestors would forgive him. He vowed to take it as a reminder of the power and responsibility that he bore.

His guilt over this matter, however, was forgotten in the wake of the Marilith attack. His sole focus, his sole wish, his sole purpose was to make sure that Noctis recovered. The world could not survive without its chosen king, he told himself. It was right, difficult but right, to sacrifice all else to ensure that Noctis was safe. That was how he silenced the knowledge that he himself could not withstand another blow.

They left the ashes of Tenebrae behind them. The future oracle had chosen to remain. He had taken Noctis and run, while she stood tall, refusing to abandon her home and brother. Stronger than any child should be. Would Noctis ever be able to live up to her? Would he?

By the time they returned to Insomnia, he had forgotten all about Ignis.

It was late at night by the time they returned, yet the boy was waiting. He appeared somewhat thin and tired, but ran to Regis’ side and reached up to hold Noctis’ hand, as he slept in the king’s arms. He took a moment to cling, one hand on Noctis and the other clutching and the king’s cape, and Regis allowed it, before taking him by the hand as he headed to Noct’s bedroom. When the prince was tucked in, Ignis crawled onto the bed beside him. After a moment, Regis cleared his throat to suggest that Ignis return to his parents, but the boy was already asleep. He sighed, and adjusted the blankets to cover them both.

And so it went on. He could hardly voice complaint about how inseparable the boys were, not when he had willed it himself, but it was another of so many things that filled him with quiet dread toward the future. Loath be it for him to deny their present happiness, ephemeral as it must be.

Though his physical wounds healed, Noctis was never quite the same after the attack, and Regis was pleased that he had at least one friend to serve as comfort and support. He was also getting along better with the Amicitia’s boy these days, but their relationship was more push and pull. Gladiolus taunted and cheered Noctis in turns, drawing determination from his complacency. On the other hand, Ignis provided him with quiet counsel and a listening ear. He also seemed eager to take on a wide assortment of tasks for the prince, despite the fact that some of them were for Noctis to do, and others could have easily been left to the servants. He was never intended to be a maid, and yet he cleared up Noctis’ things without complaint, dipping into a bow and responding, “It’s no trouble at all, your Majesty,” when Regis attempted to discourage this habit. He practically had to give the boy a scolding, saying that it was imperative that Noctis learn to take responsibility for himself. Ignis finally relented, thought Regis suspected that he was still coddling Noctis in private and taking the fall for his son’s errors, though he could never prove it.

It was only a short time after Noctis had begun his first year of junior high. The prince attended school in a well-off and safe neighborhood, but it was a public school nonetheless, so that he might learn a little of life outside the nobility, and sympathy for the common people. Or such was the official reasoning. The true reason was so that, even for a short time, he could experience a carefree life, to the extent that it was possible.

Ignis, on the other hand, worked near from dawn to dusk with private tutors not bound to traditional school hours. Not all of the blocks in his schedule were full, but it was understood that the majority of the empty ones would be devoted to self-study, and the remainder to the prince. It was a schedule that an adult would find punishing, and yet, at fourteen, he seemed to be thriving under the pressure. The only hint to the contrary was the ever-present can of black coffee beside his stack of books.

Consequently, Regis was surprised to hear that the boy had requested special permission to begin training with the Crownsguard.

“He's absolutely determined,” said Cor. “I’ve turned him down five times already. But he made me promise to ask you. Says he won't let it interfere with his education or other duties.”

Regis raised a hand to his temple. “I am less worried that he'll neglect his duties than I am that he will neglect himself. He is barely more than a child.”

“He is,” said Cor, “older than I was when I joined. Which he has pointed out to me. Repeatedly.”

“You are…”

“An exception, your Majesty? A special case? You know I don't buy into that ‘Immortal’ bullshit, pardon my words. I am lucky, no more.”

“What would you have me do?”

“Let him give it a shot. If there’s any trouble, I’ll find a reason to turn him away. But gods know I wish all my cadets were this determined.”

It was a few months before Cor admitted, with a hint of sheepishness, that there could be no reason for turning Ignis away from the Crownsguard that would not be an obvious and utter lie.

It had been quite some time since Regis had seen Ignis close up, perhaps not surprising since even meetings with his son were becoming far rarer than he would have liked. But he knew that Noctis would be training today, working on mastering the art of warping. He had decided to make a show of support and encouragement, also wondering if his physical proximity would provide a boost to Noctis’ magic. However, it was Ignis that he saw first.

He seemed to have shot up by at least six inches overnight. His shoulders were much broader, and he had definitely put on some muscle, in contrast to the gangly and bookish look he had had before. When he bowed to Regis and greeted him, his voice was jarringly deep compared to the light, boyish tone the king had become so used to hearing when he and Noctis played together.

Regis nodded and smiled thinly through the abrupt awareness of the passage of time and how damnably old he himself had become.

He gave Ignis a nod and gestured for him to return to his training. The young man seemed to be working through a set of drills with the lance, repeating the same pattern of strikes and parries over and over, each set such a perfect imitation of the last that it could have been a recording set on loop. Regis could find nothing to fault in his form, except for the rather ostentatious twirl he gave the lance before dismissing it in a shower of crystalline sparks. Impressive looking, but impractical, the sort of thing so many young fighters would learn a hard lesson about at the hands of a mentor or, if they were unlucky, a foe.

Noctis and Gladiolus had entered the training hall just prior, and Ignis glanced over as if he had been aware all along, and the showy maneuver was for their benefit. Having finished with his practice, he retreated to the back of the hall to wipe his face with a towel and drape it over his shoulders. Gladiolus had been expecting the king, and so he gave a bow before taking his place as the instructor for this session. Noctis spent several long moments staring in his father’s direction before also getting into position, summoning a blunt-edged training sword into his hand.

“Noctis.”

His son turned to look at him, with an expression that was vulnerable for a moment before turning guarded, a feigned teenage disaffection.

“I’m here to help, if you will let me. Show me what you can do.”

Noctis gave a cocky, half-grin, “Don’t need help. But I’ll show you.”

And he was off. The warp was clumsy, heavily telegraphed, and fell short of the target, earning him a whack over the head with Gladiolus’ wooden training sword. He barely caught himself before his face hit the ground. But it was indeed a true warp strike, perhaps his first. Gladiolus was pulling Noctis to his feet with a broad grin, and Noctis too was grinning while rubbing his presumably bruised scalp.

Across the hall, beyond the shimmering trail of magic and the fading afterimage, Ignis was staring back at them, the light of the crystal reflected in his eyes as though he were transfixed. When he realized that he had been noticed, he quickly turned away. But to Regis, he had already betrayed himself.

Regis was not one to act without consideration. He had, after all, learned something from his younger days. He waited for another opportunity to drop by a place where he knew the boys would likely be, and observe their interaction for a while before greeting his son.

He watched them cross the courtyard together. Ignis was immaculately dressed as always, something that became even more apparent when it was Noctis standing next to him. He carried himself well, with better posture than half the dignitaries and nobleman Regis had seen. He was alert and protective, and that perhaps was a result of his training. But there was something else in the way he was just a shade closer to Noctis than necessary, the way he reached out to steer and guide him, though his hand rarely touched, in the way his gaze always strayed back to Noctis, though never when Noctis was looking. And in the way his overly serious expression gave way to a clumsy but brilliant smile when Noctis placed a hand on his arm and addressed him fondly.

“Thanks Iggy. I’ll see you later.... Hi, Dad.”

The suspicion that had been lurking since that day in the training room was confirmed. The boy was smitten.

He could not shake the feeling that all of this was his fault, though he tried to persuade himself otherwise. He had asked the Crystal to give Noctis a guide, not for… this. It was likely simple happenstance, a passing teenage fancy and nothing to do with magic. But his heart was heavy, as he called Ignis aside after a Citadel meeting and waited until all others had filed out of the room, filling the time with chatter about Noctis’ exam results, training and diet. When they were alone, he broached the real topic of this discussion.

“Ignis. I imagine that you are aware of this, but now that Noctis has grown older I must say it out loud. He is my only son, and likely destined for a political marriage. You understand how precarious our situation is, and how few options for negotiation are left to us, so I will not impress them upon you.”

Ignis nodded, serious and attentive as always, with an expression that said he was waiting for what would be said next.

“I understand that teenagers will do as teenagers are wont to do. However, in light of the… circumstances, I feel that Noctis becoming involved in any serious kind of, should I say, romantic entanglement would be undesirable, given that it will likely be brought to an end by events outside of his control.”

He could tell now, that though Ignis’ expression was still impassive, there were feelings brewing just under the surface and kept away from the light. His jaw had tensed, his fingertips had gone white from the pressure on the stack of paper in his hands.

“I know and trust that you have no desire to see him hurt. Do take care to guide him so.” Regis said this as gently as he could, but found himself unable to meet Ignis’ eyes for the pain he might find there.

“Of course. Your Majesty.” Ignis’ voice was level, but his tone bore the fierce protectiveness it always did toward Noctis. Regis knew he had achieved what he had set out to do, Ignis would defend Noctis from his own feelings as fiercely as he did anything else. And hopefully, that would save the both of them at least a small measure of pain.

Dismissed, Ignis bowed and left the room. When the door closed, Regis sank into the nearest chair. He hoped that some day, doing the right thing would feel right.

Time ran thin, and the day and hour of their parting drew close. He stood on the stairs before the Citadel, hoping that someday, Noctis would understand his words, along with all the things he was unable to say. And perhaps that he would be forgiven.

At least, by the time his powers finally failed and Niflheim-made weapons tore his body apart, Noctis would be far away and safe.

The crystal realm was a cold place where he sat, silent and vigilant, waiting for the destined hour. The minds of his forebears bled into his own, their hearts unmoving and unmoved, single-minded in their duty to the soul of the star. His first act here had been to beg for the life of Nyx Ulric and the future of Insomnia, and he could not help but feel that among these ancients, he was seen as a foolish and sentimental child. If so, then let him be. They had been separated from human concerns for a great time, and had forgotten. He would remind them then, of compassion. The Father King was also a role that must be played.

The next to arrive was not his son, but a stumbling figure, drenched, shivering, battered from head to toe. But his gaze was fiery, and his voice clear and ringing in the void. Regis would have known him anywhere.

“Kings of Lucis, lend me your strength!”

Along with his own horror, the merciless judgement of the Mystic rose in the back of his mind, he knew that the Founder King would strike before it happened. He allowed no intrusions by the unworthy. Ignis was screaming, clutching his eyes, yet trying desperately to utter the rest of his plea. Regis held up a hand, knowing the Mystic would sense his intentions.

“Let us hear him.”

“He has no part in this. Merely another mortal begging to alter the future for their own shortsighted ends.”

The Mystic paused for a moment.

“One who has already touched the light of the Crystal with vulgar hands. A second intrusion will not be forgiven.”

Surrounded by blue flames, Ignis’ eyes were wide with pain and terror.

“It is my fault,” spoke Regis, and the other Kings of Yore shifted. “Do not judge this boy for a wrong which I myself committed.”

The Mystic allowed Ignis a moment of respite, and the young man struggled to catch his breath. His head turned to Regis, and the Father King spoke.

“I, too, sought to save the life of my son. I took their fates and bound them. You know that it was I who made the plea. He could not have, could never… He was only a child.”

“Worldly foolishness. You have shamed us.” It was the Rogue who spoke.

“I am not asking you to forgive me.”

And then came Ignis’ voice, ragged but unbroken, “Ardyn…”

Regis tilted his head toward the Mystic. "Oh. It seems we have your brother to thank for this. Shall we not aid in this battle?”

The Mystic shifted, then drew himself up to full height.

“It is our duty to fight against the Immortal Accursed. We shall not let this opportunity pass us by. However,” he lowered his head toward Ignis, “the price will be paid. By this boy. You have nothing left to give.”

“If it must be so…” Regis sighed, accepting.

Ignis looked up at the Founder King, breathing heavily but undaunted, and Regis felt a surge of pride amidst the relentless sorrow.

“If it costs my own life to save him,” he spoke with the weight of an oath, “I will pay that price.”

A myriad of emotions rose and overlapped. The satisfaction of the Mystic, the battle-hunger of the Fierce, the rebelliousness of the Rogue, the protectiveness of the Just, the sentiment of the Oracle, the serenity of the Wise, the resolution of the Warrior, the dutifulness of the Pious, the determination of the Conqueror, the readiness of the Clever, the acceptance of the Wanderer, the loftiness of the Tall.

The love of the Father.

Regis knelt before Ignis, leaning forward so as not to tower over him. The young man looked fragile, pale, small. He saw his own blue light shimmer across Ignis’ features, shining back from his eyes and catching in his wet and mussed hair. He reached out a single fingertip to brush that hair aside. Ignis looked up at him, unflinching.

“Your fate is not to die here. The Ring will take a toll on your flesh, the power will exact its blood price, and I can do nothing to stop it. But fight well, and your life will not be taken from you.”

Ignis placed a hand over his heart and bowed in response. Regis continued, knowing that he had but one chance to make things right.

“I am afraid that I must seek your forgiveness. Long ago, I sought to change my son’s fate, by altering yours. I fear that all I have done is placed a thorn in your heart, one that will cause you much pain. I could not undo my mistake then. I can now.”

Ignis’ gaze faltered for a moment, and he appeared to be searching for words. When he spoke again, his voice was as bold as always.

“Your Majesty, with all due respect… That thorn, as you call it, is the most precious thing that I have in the world. I will not give it back.”

He smiled for the first time since he had arrived in this strange place.

“I remember that day, when I stood in a place not unlike this, and the spirits asked me if i would stay with Noctis forever. If I was willing to die for him. My answer has not changed. Nor will it ever.”

Regis spoke again, “You were merely a child. You never should have been asked. Not to change your own fate.”

“Be that as it may. But if I may speak frankly, I don’t care why I love Noctis.”

And there was the fierceness, stripped down to its core.

“Had I never touched this fire… had our paths diverged, I have no idea who I would have become. That man is a stranger to me, and one I rather pity, knowing what he has missed.”

The expression on his face, in his voice, was so tender that it seemed it might break if it were touched.

“Leave the thorn in my heart. Let the fire consume me. That’s all I ask.”

“Very well,” said Regis, and rose to his feet, stepping back to join the other Kings of Yore. “The battles ahead will be hard, and the road long. But I have faith in you.”

Ignis bowed once more, and while his face was hidden, Regis spoke.

“One last thing. Whatever form your love for my son takes, you have my blessing to pursue it.”

He looked up, surprise flickering across his expression like the firelight, and then he was gone.

When Noctis arrived, he was alone. Even the Kings of Yore did not convene for him, there was no need to pass judgement on one who possessed the birthright to use the Ring. He could not hear the voices of his ancestors, only feel the cold flame settle into his veins. Ever so slowly, the power would chip away at his bones. But the wolf was at his heels now, and so he had to struggle forward, lest he fall and be devoured.

I am here, said Regis, and hoped that he sensed it. Noctis gathered strength, and moved forward, the Sword of the Father held tightly in his hands.

Despite all of his efforts at averting it, the dream had come to pass. Fate could not be defied, or perhaps their enemy was simply too great. The only hope, the only one that there had ever been, was that Noctis would be strong enough to do this on his own.

There was both pain and pride in watching him battle. His was not the steady, unshakable determination of the others who had worn the Ring of their own free will, but the hesitance of a child bearing a mantle that was far too big for him. He faltered, he trembled, he stumbled. But he did not give up.

And when the jaws closed around him and all seemed lost, it turned out that he was not alone after all.

When Noctis was drawn into the Crystal, Regis saw all of it through his eyes. There was nothing here but the endless reverberance of the Light, and so Noctis’ memories spilled like ink to color the void. His doubts, his pain, his fear. The knowledge of his final destiny that Regis had withheld from him for so long. Lunafreya, sinking to the depths. Ignis, scarred and helpless. Ravus, twisted into something cruel, far beyond anything Noctis would have wished on him.

And beneath that, over that, woven through it all, love, love, love. Every moment spent with his friends shining in bright fragments. Every word, every touch, every smile, every laugh. He loved with the fury and intensity that only mortals know, when their love must come to an end. It put the brilliance of the Gods to shame. Perhaps this was why their Providence was to be borne in the hands of a man.

“The Light waxes full.”

The new king departed on his final journey.

Threads of fate twisted and twirled as if blown by the wind, endlessly fluctuating possibilities. Like spider silk, they were so thin and pale that they could only be seen in the brief moments when they caught the light, and like spider silk, they were far stronger than they appeared. Even the gods could not read nor predict these undulations, as one could never count the waves on the sea, and so they handled them indelicately, slicing through the web with flames and blades and claws to serve their own ends, heedless of the lives torn by their weight. But the severed ends still shimmered, and after exploring a thousand thousand possibilities, they caught and held fast.

Two threads converged and shone bright.

The power had passed from the Ring, and the souls contained within freed to their eternal rest. Their duty complete, they seemed to bear no further interest in the living world. Regis lingered, still new and human, bound to the world by the loved ones that dwelt there.

This was the future that so many had lived and died in service of. He wanted to see it, at least for a moment. The world was battle-torn and weary, but it basked under the warm light of a sun that would never again be blotted out. Flowers bloomed from the cracked roads, and still waters gathered where the earth had been torn.

He followed then, along with Noctis, through the halls and courtyards to be rediscovered, their aching familiarity and strange novelty after so much time. The throne room was bright with the sunlight that fell through the missing wall, laying bare the tattered and faded interior. Motes of dust spun their winding dance on the air.

Noctis wasn’t alone. The blue magic had died with the Crystal, and Regis could no longer see the threads of fate, whether they be bound or unbound. Yet Ignis remained, as did the old scars that marked an offering willingly given. He bowed in service, in loyalty, in affection.

The new King rose from the throne and went with him, falling in step by his side. The light fell across their shoulders in an echo of the first time that Regis had watched the prince and his advisor leave this room. As they walked, Ignis slipped his fingers between Noctis’, ungloved hands revealing the matching scars of the Ring that they bore.

In the garden, there was a confession. An vow. A kiss. The rest was not for him to see.

#ffxv #ignoct #my fanfic #final fantasy xv

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