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whentranslatorscry · 1 year

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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.

Prev Chapter | Next Chapter

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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bernardo1969 · 4 months

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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 · 8 months

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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 · 10 months

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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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secret-engima · 4 years

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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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preciousthingsareprecious · 4 years

Text

With a Heart of Scars Chapter 9

The biggest thanks to @dreamer-247re for creating incredible art for this chapter. It’s stunning and gorgeous and still takes my breath away every time I look at it!

This one’s Damian’s POV again, and I hope you guys enjoy it <3

AO3 Link

The moment Grayson dropped into the building the connection to his comm went silent, and nothing Damian tried could get it to turn back on. He suspected some kind of interference, if people had been trapped in that building for hours, something was blocking their phone signals, and that same something was probably interrupting their comm line as well. Not that either of them had thought of that before Grayson entered.

A stupid miscalculation on Damian's part. One he would not repeat again.

Damian found an external camera he could hack, and caught sight of a hooded figure whose shape was roughly the same as that of one of the people who had set up the strange twister game. The person was fiddling with something blocky that Damian couldn’t quite make out, before pressing it to the side of the building.

Could it be a bomb? A listening device of some sort? He wasn’t sure, and he couldn’t hail Grayson. But, perhaps he could send backup Batman’s way.

“Oracle, I need your assistance.”

“Hey Lil’ D, what’s up?” Gordon asked, sounding far too bright for this hour, and curious.

He ignored the outrageous nickname usage, “Are the Birds close to the downtown shopping district?”

“Batgirl and Black Bat are currently stowed away on a ship, getting ready to turn it around. Why?”

“Tt, Batman is in need of backup. There are unknown hostiles approaching him and a possible bomb threat, but I cannot contact him.”

“I’ll give it a shot on my end. Is Tim home yet? Can he head out?”

Damian ground his teeth. No his brother, and Grayson’s supposed partner, had not returned yet. If he had, he had not made it known to any of them. There was no one to back Batman up. No one but Damian himself.

He shoved aside all thoughts of possible punishment for going out without permission, and pushed his chair away from the desk.

“No. He is not.” Damian stood, “It seems it is up to me to handle the situation. Oracle, stay on this line so that when Pennyworth comes down you can inform him of the situation.”

He looked down at himself and frowned. He was wearing a brightly colored shirt Pennyworth had purchased him, featuring a cartoon dog on the front. There was no way he could rescue Batman in that.

He hurried to the lockers and grabbed the first dark thing he could find, a black hoodie. It turned out to not be solid, but had a Nightwing emblem splashed across the front. The sleeves were also too long, but Damian easily rolled those up, before tugging the hood over his hair. Then he grabbed an extra domino mask and affixed it to his face. Lastly, he grabbed one of Drake’s Robin belts. Grayson had made Damian take inventory of the belt a number of times to get familiar with its contents, and he was confident it was small enough to fit him. It also would have medical supplies and weapons to defend himself if the situation called for it. He didn’t bother changing out of his black jeans or tennis shoes, both would do fine for the rescue mission.

Through his quick change, he ignored Oracle’s requests for more information, and demands that he stay right there and send Alfred instead. Damian respected Pennyworth, but he didn’t want to waste time.

Besides, this was partially his fault, and he was the only one who really knew how to fly the Batmobile. It would be the fastest way to reach Grayson.

Damian was quite proud of his achievement. After growing bored of exploring the cave systems, and discovered some of Father’s schematics and future plans to make his car fly and had taken to making those plans a reality. He had even gotten permission to work on it. Grayson had happily supplied not only permission, but any supplies he needed when Damian had asked. He was further encouraged by the fact that the man had come downstairs to sit with him a few times. However, it was Damian's project and he was most familiar with the systems. He had not even had time to tell anyone that he’d actually managed to get it to fly.

Gordon must have called Pennyworth, because Damian spotted the man hurrying down the stairs as he climbed into the car.

“Master Damian, wait!” he called.

Damian ignored the request, closing the door, and starting the engine. He felt a little bad for ignoring Pennyworth, but time was of the essence and he needed to get to Grayson. He hoped Pennyworth would not be too upset with him as he raced past the man and out the exit, but he would have to understand just how important this was. There was no time left to dally if he were to stop something bad from happening to the man he was beginning to consider family.

A few meters out of the cave, Damian hit the button to begin the car’s flying sequence. After a brief moment of panic that it would not work, slowly but surely it lifted off, and Damian's shoulders relaxed minutely. Soon he was zooming over trees and streets, and obstacles that would have cut into the time it took to get to Grayson’s location.

He fretted as he flew, his mind coming up with every terrible thing that could happen, his stomach growing sicker at each thought. Most of all, he couldn't stop thinking about why he was betraying every house rule to rush out and save Grayson.

When had he really started to care about him? When had it become more than his just using the man to learn more about his Father? He’d come to respect Grayson quickly, that was certain. But this sick feeling of worry was one Damian had only held for his mother on the rare occasion she was late returning from a dangerous mission.

Damian tolerated Brown and Todd and Cain, but Grayson? He looked forward to seeing the man. Had come to enjoy his smiles, and even put up with his nicknames. They were warm, like a blanket wrapped around his shoulders when he was tired, or a coat on a cold day.

It was stupid. And weak. And foolish. Feelings like this were compromising, they would get him killed. Make him run headlong into danger without a thought for himself, much like he was doing now. But Damian found he didn’t care about being weak in that sense. It hurt to imagine not caring about Grayson. And so he fretted. He fretted and worried and ignored the pinging of a message from Oracle.

That sick feeling in Damian’s chest exploded into awful panic as Main Street finally came into view and he caught sight of what used to be Wonderland, now a smoking wreck, collapsed in on itself.

He held his emotions in check long enough to take the car down, right onto the street and bolt out of it.

“Batman!” he yelled, bolting for the wreckage “Where are you?”

Damian should not be panicking. Panic made one miss things, it made them sloppy. But Batman had been in the building. It had blown up. He could be--Grayson might be--

No. Grayson would be fine. Damian would find him, and get him home, and he would be fine.

He scanned the rubble of the building, and yelled for Batman again, his voice raspy in the smoke billowing around. Belatedly he remembered the domino was equipped with some basic alternate vision options, Damian poked at it until it showed heat signatures.

It didn’t look like the building had caught fire, thank goodness, but there was a large area of warmth towards where the back would have been that radiated out into other areas.

“Batman!” he called again, vision slowly creeping across rubble.

He had no idea how deep the lenses would penetrate. Some parts of the rubble were raised higher than others, like they’d all fallen in that direction, while others were spars, bits and pieces here and there still showing the floor that had once been inside.

“Here.” the word was faint, and trailing at the end, but it gave Damian hope.

He jerked his attention towards the sound, and there! A figure, the heat registering as cooler than Damian wanted it to be, but that could have been the weather or injury or just rubble blocking it. Whatever it was, he bolted in it’s direction, only turning off the filter when he was close enough to clearly see Batman.

He was on his back, partially trapped under fallen drywall. Damian had missed him on his first glance due to the drywall’s angle, tilted up and slightly against Grayson to block him from proper view.

“Batman!” He called again, and started climbing over the rubble as carefully as he could without risking dislodging something and shifting the whole pile, “I am on my way.”

His heart was racing. He was terrified, he realized. Afraid of what he’d find. Afraid of what had happened. Afraid to be too late, even now.

When he reached Batman, he dropped to his knees to examine him. The most obvious injury was the blood that seeped out from under his cowl. Everything else was hidden under the fallen drywall.

“Batman, I am going to have to lift this, brace yourself.” he said.

“Nightwing?” Grayson asked, the word slurring, “What?”

Damian looked down at his hoodie and the Nightwing emblem emblazoned on it, “Oh. No, you idiot. It is me. Now hold still while I lift this.”

He leaned forward, and gripped the drywall to lift it. It was lighter than Damian imagined it to be, but still quite heavy. When he got it up high enough, he shifted to shove his shoulder under it to help him leverage it even higher and then away, angled just far enough that his brother’s body was revealed.

“Scoot back.” Damian grunted.

Thankfully, Grayson seemed to have enough sense to listen. He dragged himself back from Damian and the drywall, moving just far enough that after a moment, Damian let the whole thing drop again with a crash.

His shoulder ached, but he had more important things to worry about than it. He quickly examined Batman, the suit on Grayson’s right thigh had been torn open by something, and his leg was slowly oozing blood. The wound did not seem to be serious enough for Damian to stop and take care of it now, so instead he focused on getting the man home for a full check up and proper medical attention.

He leaned over to take Grayson by the arm, “Come, we are leaving.”

He hauled his brother up onto unsteady legs. Grayson stood for a few seconds before slumping. He would have fallen if Damian hadn’t caught him, still the man was much taller than him, and carrying him was going to be difficult.

“This is not going to be comfortable, Batman.” Damian said, “But we will make it work.”

He tugged one of Grayson’s arms over his shoulder, and gripped the back of Batman's utility belt as tightly as he could under the cape to help hoist him up, and then started forward. He was basically dragging Grayson as they moved, and because of that he could not be as careful moving across the rubble. Thankfully, he was not worried about further crushing his brother, so the only real obstacle was tripping or dislodging something so that he fell into a hole.

Grayson seemed to come a bit back to himself, at least enough to speak, “But I’m Nightwing?”

Damian shook his head, “No, as I explained, you are Batman, I am--” he dreaded having to use the nickname, “Lil’ D.”

His brother shook his head, “No, no, I’m Nightwing. Batman is--Bruce is--”

“Grayson, Father is-- he is gone.” Damian said, “You are Batman now.”

That was the wrong thing to say because it made Grayson try to pull away from his grip. He was confused, and hurting, which added some strength to his attempts and threatened to topple them both.

“No!” Grayson cried, “I don’t want to be Batman. I never-- I don’t have to because Bruce is.”

His attempts to get away from Damian finally succeeded in making Damian slip, a stone dislodged from under his foot, and then the ground disappeared and Damian fell down, then to the side. He lost his grip on Grayson, and landed hard on his already aching shoulder.

Behind him, he heard rumbling as the structure shifted. He felt the vibrations under his palms as he pushed himself up, to spin and search for his brother.

Grayson had landed on his knees, and was staring down at the bat on his chest, one hand brushing over it.

“Father is dead, Grayson.” Damian snapped, as he stepped over to lift Grayson again.

“That is why you are Batman, now act like it and pull yourself together for a moment.”

Normally, he would not have cared about being so brusque, but even with the cowl covering most of his face the effect of Damian’s words on Grayson was obvious. He looked like a kicked puppy. It twisted Damian’s heart, but he couldn’t waste time on feelings. He needed to get Grayson home, first and foremost. Then worry about the hurt his words caused.

He managed to drag Grayson off the rubble and back to the car. It took some work to get him settled in the passenger’s seat, but Grayson had stopped fighting him, and was mostly responsive to directions.

It did not take long for Grayson to pass out once they were moving. Damian tried to wake him, but there was no autopilot function build into the flying portion of the car yet --he had that on his list of activities for next week-- so he had to focus on getting them home, and hoping that Grayson would be fine.

He did phone the Batcave to update Pennyworth on their status. The butler’s anger was quickly set aside for worry, and a flood of questions about Grayson’s condition. Damian did his best to describe it, and estimate an arrival time.

Pennyworth took over when Damian finally parked. He went from being in command of the situation to following whatever directions were aimed at him, and he did so happily. Grayson had woken again when they moved him from the car, and was now babbling about Father. He was alternating between asking where he was and crying over losing him.

The guilt Damian had been able to ignore earlier came back at those words, and he felt terrible for snapping at his brother. He felt even worse that he could not seem to muster any grief over his father. Not in the same way Grayson was feeling it now. He was too concerned about his brother. His not quite partner who he’d almost lost tonight. Who had been out because of a Father who was not there. Who was alone because of a father Drake was still searching for. Who was now crying out for that same father.

He did his best to ignore the strange twist of emotions in his chest and help Pennyworth instead. He collected blankets, lifted Grayson’s head, and handed over bandages as they were requested.

Damian finally stopped moving when Grayson was at last sleeping and settled into a medical cot. He could not leave Grayson, no matter how conflicted looking at the man made him. So Damian settled in a chair and declared he’d keep an eye on him while Pennyworth got some rest.

He tugged his legs up, onto the chair, so he could wrap his arms around them, and rested his chin on his knees. Somewhere in all the chaos, the sleeves of his borrowed hoodie had slipped down, and fallen over his hands to flop. Damian didn’t bother re-rolling them, but instead enjoyed the way they gave him a feeling of being further wrapped up, snuggled in something tight and comforting.

Sitting there, his odd feelings from earlier returned. He called them odd because he had not had time to pick at the strange ball of emotion in his chest and sort out what it all meant.

There was irritation with himself over this attachment. He could hear mother’s voice in his head, chiding him and reminding him that love was a weakness. That caring about others only held one back. She was right of course, Damian had thrown all caution to the wind, disobeyed Pennyworth, and Oracle and run headlong after Grayson over a hunch. It had been correct, but even that was neither here nor there in consideration of the danger it had posed.

The caring itself was another factor Damian turned over in his head, like he had turned the batarangs Grayson had shown him how to sharpen in his hands. Love, or at the very least, like, was dangerous. It was sharp, like the ends of the batarang, and would cut him if he was not careful, but it was also warm, like Grayson’s words had been. Gentle like his hands had felt in adjusting Damian’s grip. Something soft and happy like Damian’s heart had felt at Grayson’s praise.

Damian looked back down at his brother. Grayson’s arms were laid out on top of the light blanket covering him. One hand was already showing bruising, ugly black and blue splotches where he must have raised them in defense. The bruises flowed down his forearm, and ended in a bullseye on his elbow. It made Damian wince just imagining it.

He released his hold on his legs and brushed a hand across the back of Grayson's palm, considering taking it in his own. Then the man groaned, and shifted, his hand slipping away from Damian's feather light grasp. He swallowed, and wrapped his arm back around his legs to grab his other hand, before resting his chin on his knees to continue his vigil.

#Damian Wayne #Dick Grayson #fanfiction #with a heart of scars #chapter 9 #precious posts

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collagequeer · 4 months

Text

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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kassical · 4 years

Note

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 · 4 years

Text

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

Text

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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theydonotbindus · 6 years

Text

Madame Secretary

Headcanons for Camelia Claustra.

Her father was the First Secretary before her, and she actually joined the resistance group in rebellion. Her father, after all, gave far too much to those Imperial dogs.

Even once she learns there is power to be had with diplomacy (even when your country is under their control), a streak of defiance remains.

It’s seen in tariffs, in strengthening Lucis’ Hunters by providing bounties for the monsters in Totomostro , in refusing to fly Imperial banners unless an official is visiting.

15 year-old Cor had a crush on 18 year-old Camelia when Regis’ group first came to Accordo.

It stopped when he watched her negotiate a treaty with Regis. That woman was terrifying.

Camelia will only eat fish if Weskham prepared it, nobody else can “make it right” she says.

It started as a way to draw business to his restaurant and she’ll be damned if she lets her secret slip now.

She has iron-clad self control, but she does have a softer side few get to see.

A soft spot for the young and tragic translates to she will personally preform a wedding ceremony for any couple that rushes to her offices for an elopement. Camelia keeps champagne on hand under her desk for this very reason.

She always has a private audience with the chocobo chicks brought in for the carnival.

And...everybody has their, shall we say, unscrupulous habits.

Translated: I have long since HC’ed that Madame Secretary is a huge patron of male strip clubs. Fight me.

She gets kicked out sometimes. You’re not allowed to touch, apparently.

She does what she does for the people of Accordo, and they were not only happy to vote her in, they’d hide any scandal if asked.

The golden pin on her collar isn’t a symbol of her office, but rather of the Claustra family.

Don’t play poker or Risk with her. You will lose, and you will pay for your foolishness.

Literally, you’ll pay. She’ll place bets.

Keeps records on every Accordan during the Long Night. Keeps a list of the dead so they can have a proper, mass funeral once the dawn returns.

Regrets not letting the King and the Oracle meet while they were both in her estate.

Camelia knows that, had she done so, the covenant never could have been forged in time.

That doesn’t mean she doesn’t feel guilty.

Something you want to see? Asks are open!

#ffxv #ff15 #camelia claustra #personal headcanon #imagine #accordo #altissia #world-building #you can pry my strip club HC from my cold dead hands

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irishais · 6 years

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hello! a fic request, if you feel up for it - Lunyx, “we can’t take care of this many puppies”

“We can’t take care of this many puppies.”

Her eyes fix on him, the blue of the sky over the sea, and Nyx immediately wants to swallow the words he’s uttered in sheer, unadulterated foolishness, because of course they can, they could take the entire litter if they wanted to, not just the five climbing all over Luna’s lap like they belong there.

“I mean--”

She misses her dogs, he knows, but it’s been a long time since Insomnia fell and they ran from it, and maybe we should get a dog had just been an idle suggestion made by a man to his wife on a random Tuesday afternoon.

Gods, she’s still looking at him, and Nyx runs his hands along his stubbly-rough cheeks, coarse beard against dry palms, trying to figure out why, after eight years, she can still make his tongue go stupid in his mouth.

“--We could get two,” he tries out as a compromise, and a little brown dog licks Luna’s cheek. She laughs.

They leave with three. He has never been able to deny her anything, and Nyx Ulric is not about to start now.

“What’re you gonna name them?” he asks over the rumbling engine of the truck, jostling over Galahd’s only-casually maintained roads. Luna’s smile is delighted, a sunrise of pleasure at the tiny pups wriggling in her arms.

“I don’t know,” she replies, and there’s a freedom in saying it, the way she relishes the words-- I don’t know, says the princess turned Oracle turned normal woman, the starscourge gone from her veins and a lifetime yet to live. “I suppose we’ll have to figure that out, won’t we?”

He laughs, and catches a puppy by the scruff of its neck before it can fall in the footwell by his boots. “I guess we will.”

ko-fi | fic tag!

#lunyx #fic tag.#thanks nonny!!#enjoy!#Anonymous

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dumbledearme · 6 years

Text

chapter seven—fools rush in

read Child of Land and Sea here

Act I — Storm At Sea

Part VII — Wise men say only fools rush in. Shall I stay? Would it be a sin?

Not everything was lost. They used the infinite LotusCash card to pay for a ride from Vegas to Los Angeles. The driver left them at the beach in Santa Monica with no clue of what to do next.

Then Andy had another one of her ideas.

It blew her mind to think that her own father, the one she had never met, the one that had abandoned her, the one that was a freakin' god, controlled the seas. Two thirds of the Earth's surface was covered in water. How could someone be that powerful?

Well, time to have a taste of it.

She walked into the sea.

"Andy?" Anthony called, a note of amusement in his voice. "What are you doing?" She didn't answer and kept on walking. "You know how polluted that water is? There's all kinds of toxic—"

That's when her head went under. At first, Andy held her breath, afraid of what would happen. It wasn't easy to willingly inhale water. When she couldn't take it anymore, she gasped. Sure enough, she could breathe normally.

Now came the complicated part.

Andy focused in the lack of memories she had of her dad. It was hard; there wasn't a smile, a caress or even a familiar smell. But there was the sea around her. The waves. The salt. All the things that made him the sea god. This is who he is, she realized.

"Please," she pleaded. "Please, help me." She closed her eyes and waited. When she opened them, the ghost woman was there.

"Andy Jackson," she said.

"Who are you?" Andy had to ask.

"I'm a Nereid, a spirit of the sea. It has been many years since a child of the sea has been born. We have watched you with great interest."

"Why doesn't he speak to me? You know, personally?"

"Do not judge the Lord of the Sea too harshly," the Nereid said. "He stands at the brink of an unwanted war. He has much to occupy his time. Besides, he is forbidden to help you directly. The gods may not show such favoritism."

"Even to their own children?"

"Especially to them. The gods can work by indirect influence only. That is why I give you a warning, and a gift." She held out her hand. Three white pearls flashed in her palm. "I know you journey to Hades' realm. Few mortals have ever done this and survived: Orpheus, who had great music skill; Hercules, who had great strength; Houdini, who could escape even the depths of Tartarus. Do you have these talents?"

"With a little effort, I can burp the entire alphabet."

The Nereid narrowed her eyes. "You possess gifts you have only begun to know. The oracle has foretold a great and terrible future for you, should you survive to adulthood. Poseidon would not have you die before your time. Therefore, take these, and when you are in need, smash a pearl at your feet."

"What will happen?"

"Depends on the need. But remember: what belongs to the sea will always return to the sea."

"Alright. What about the warning?"

Her eyes flickered. "Go with what your heart tells you, or you will lose all. Hades feeds on doubt and hopelessness. He will trick you if he can. He never willingly lets people leave his realm. Keep faith. And good luck, Andromeda."

Getting there wasn't that hard. They convinced the security guard to let them pass. His name was Charon. He put them on the boat and complained all the way that he was underpaid. The boat went on, crossing a dark, oily river, swirling with bones, dead fish, and other strange things.

Anthony said it was the River Styx. He said it was polluted with dreams, hopes, wishes that never came true. Thinking of that and of all the dead people around her, Andy started to panic. She wasn't supposed to be here. She took Anthony's hand, needing reassurance that somebody else was alive.

Then, of course, there was the dog. The giant three headed dog really wanted to eat them. Andy didn't think they would pass that. But Anthony somehow managed to control Cerberus. Bossing him around, really. He was so bossy even the gigantic hellhound did as he wanted! The dog couldn't wait to do what he said, to be pet, to be given attention.

It was unbelievable.

"No," Anthony told her. "That was obedience school."

After a while, Andy came to the realization that the dead weren't scary—they were just sad. Most of them were doomed to a waiting line. A lot of them were condemned to the Fields of Punishment. Only very few went to Elysium.

Suddenly, Grover yelped. His sneakers sprouted wings and his legs shot forward dragging him away. "Maia!" he yelled, but that didn't work.

Andy and Anthony ran after him.

"Untie the shoes," Anthony shouted. But he couldn't. He was being taken to a dark tunnel that got darker and colder the further they went. Fortunately, Grover hit the wall and one of the sneakers fell; he lost speed. Anthony caught up to him and helped him take off the other shoe.

They all collapsed, exhausted.

Anthony glanced at the end of the tunnel. "This is the entrance to Tartarus," he said softly.

"We have to get out of here," cried Grover. They ran the other way a little too slowly because Andy's backpack was weighing her down. Something seemed to be trying to inhale them.

Finally, they got out of the tunnel. "What was that?"

Andy glanced at Anthony; he was obviously nursing an idea, but he chose not to share. "Let's keep going," he said. "Grover, can you walk?"

"Yeah, sure," he swallowed. "I never liked those shoes anyway."

They kept going until the found the garden. It was strange and dangerous. All around them there was poisonous mushrooms and shrubs, and weird luminous plants grew without sunlight. Right at the center, there was an orchard of pomegranate trees.

"The garden of Persephone," said Anthony, who seemed to know everything about everything. "Don't touch anything." Sure enough, the smell of the pomegranates was overwhelming. Andy really wanted to have one.

They walked up the steps of the palace. Andy's backpack weighed a ton now.

Hades was the third god she got to meet, but the first one who struck her as godlike. His skin was albino white, his hair shoulder-length and jet black. He was wearing black silk robes and a crown of braided gold. Immediately, Andy felt like he should be the one giving the orders. He knew more than she did. He was smarter, more powerful, more graceful, more—

Snap out of it!, she told herself.

"You are brave to come here, little one," he said; his voice sounded bored. "After what you have done to me, very brave indeed. Or very foolish."

Andy stepped forward. "Lord Hades, I come with two requests."

He raised an eyebrow. There were shadows moving around him. "What am I? A genie? You arrogant child. You have taken enough."

"I've taken nothing," she said, defensively. The throne room shook and Andy almost lost her balance.

Hades bellowed, "You think I want war, godling?"

"Well, you did take the master bolt."

"LIES!" More rumbling. Hades rose from his throne. "Your father may fool Zeus, but I am not stupid. I see his plan."

"Excuse me?"

"You were the thief on the winter solstice," he accused. "Your father thought to keep you his dirty little secret. You took the master bolt and my helm. Had I not sent my Fury to discover you at that school, Poseidon might have succeeded in hiding his scheme to start a war. But now you have been forced into the open."

"Lord Hades," called Anthony and Andy could almost see the gears turning inside his head. "Your helm of darkness is missing, too?"

"Do not play innocent with me, son of Athena. You and the satyr have been helping the girl—coming here to threaten me in Poseidon's name, no doubt—to bring me an ultimatum. Does Poseidon think I can be blackmailed into supporting him?"

"Sir—"

"I have said nothing of the helm's disappearance," Hades snarled, "because I had no illusions that anyone on Olympus would offer me the slightest justice, the slightest help. I searched for you myself, and when it was clear you were coming to me, I did not stop you. Return my helm now, godling, or I will stop death. I will open the earth and have the dead pour back into the world. I will make your lands a nightmare. And you—Andromeda Jackson—your skeleton will lead my army out of—"

"You're crazy," Andy snapped. "You're absolutely insane."

Hades seemed too shocked about the accusation to speak.

"You've been sending monsters after me because you think I stole something from you? Never occurred to you, I suppose, to prove that I had such item. Of course, Zeus did the same thing, didn't he? You are all out of your minds!"

"RETURN MY PROPERTY!" He demanded.

"I DON'T HAVE IT!" she yelled back at him. "I don't have your stupid helm. I don't have the master bolt. I didn't do anything wrong, so stop trying to kill me!"

Hades glanced at her, curiosity in his eyes. "I have not tried to kill you. I wanted you alive. I only ever sent the Furies to capture you. As for not having the helm and the bolt..." Hades grinned wickedly. "Open your pack."

A horrible feeling struck Andy. She let the pack fall from her shoulders and it hit the ground with a bang. Andy unzipped it and there it was it: the lightning bolt.

"Andy!" exclaimed Anthony.

"You heroes are always the same," Hades said. "Your pride makes you foolish, thinking you could bring such a weapon before me. I did not ask for Zeus' master bolt, but since it is here, you will yield it to me. Also, my helm."

Andy was feeling a kind of anger she had never experienced before. She wanted to go around punching gods in the face. They—all of them!—had played her. They were using her.

"This is wrong," she shook her head. "This is a mistake."

An army of skeletons appeared circling Andy, Anthony and Grover.

"There's no mistake," said Hades. "I know why you hesitate. I know what you want. You came for her." And then she was there, frozen in a shower of gold, just as she was when the Minotaur took her. "Yes. I knew, Andromeda Jackson, that you would come to me. Now make your choice. I know you have pearls with you. But do you realize they each only protects a single person? Take your mother and pick one of your friends to leave behind. Go on. Choose. Or give me the bolt and the helm and I'll let you all go."

"Andy," Grover said from behind her. "Leave me here. You can't give him the bolt. Take your mom and go. I'm a satyr. We don't have souls like humans. He can't torment me forever."

"No," said Anthony. "I'll stay. You'll get your searcher's license. Get out of here. I'll cover you. I'll go down fighting."

"I'm staying," argued Grover.

"No. I am."

Andy turned to face them and handed each a pearl. Her heart felt like it was being split in two. "Andy—"

"I will find your helm," she told Hades before smashing the pearl. She could only hope the others had done the same. While she was being transported, Andy made a vow to save her mother. She would come back for her. She wouldn't fail like the prophecy said. She would save what mattered most in the end.

They were back at the beach. Andy looked out at the sea, but she wasn't really seeing it. She couldn't breath. She felt her body shaking, the tears streaming down her face. She couldn't fight it. She couldn't deal with it. Was she having a panic attack?

Suddenly, he was there. Anthony wrapped his arms around her and Andy sobbed against his shoulder. She sobbed out the fear, the sadness and the anger. She let it all out. She sobbed until there was nothing left. Then she straightened up and looked over Anthony's shoulder.

Ares was standing a few feet away, seeming genuinely pleased to see her or to see her crying. "You were supposed to be dead."

Andy marched toward him. "You stole the helm and the master bolt."

He grinned. "Not personally. You're not the only hero who can run errands."

"Who?"

"Don't matter. The point is: you need to die in the Underworld. Old Seaweed will be mad at Hades for killing you. Corpse Breath will have Zeus' master bolt, so Zeus'll be mad at him. And Hades is still looking for this..." from his pocket he took out a ski cap that before their eyes transformed into a war helmet. "Pretty soon, there'll be war."

"But they're your family," said Anthony.

Ares shrugged. "Best kind of war. Always the bloodiest. Nothing like watching your relatives fight."

"Why didn't you keep the master bolt to yourself?" Andy asked. Ares got a twitch in his jaw. He seemed to be listening to a voice inside his head.

"I didn't... I... Because... A power like that..." His face cleared. "I didn't want the trouble."

"You're lying," she said. "It wasn't your idea."

"Of course it was."

"You didn't order the theft. Someone else sent a hero to steal the two items. Then, when Zeus sent you to hunt him down, you caught the thief. But you didn't turn him over to Zeus. Something convinced you to let him go. The thing... That thing in the pit is ordering you around!"

"I am the god of war! I take orders from no one! I don't have dreams!"

Andy raised an eyebrow. "I never said you did."

Ares looked agitated, but he tried to cover with a smirk. "I will kill you now, kid. Nothing personal." He snapped his fingers and a wild boar appeared.

"Fight me yourself, you coward."

He laughed, but there was an edge to it. "Your only talent is running. So don't push me."

"Andy, looked out!" Anthony shouted as the boar charged. But Andy had had enough of that. She was done. It was time to put an end to it.

She uncapped the pen and knelt on the sand. The boar was there within seconds and she impaled him with the sword. The beast disappeared in smoke.

Andy stood. "Are you going to fight me now?"

Ares' face was purple with rage. "Watch, kid. I could turn you into—"

"Do it, then. Do your absolute worst."

"You are asking for it." A sword appeared in his hand.

"Andy," Anthony called. "He's a god."

"No. He's a coward."

"I've been fighting for eternity, kid. My strength is unlimited and I cannot die. What have you got?"

"A smaller ego," she said. "If I win, the helm and the bolt are mine." Andy attacked. Ares was quick. He twisted and slashed and forced Andy into the ocean. He knocked the blade out of her hands and slapped her across the face. Andy lost balanced and fell.

She was seeing double, but she got up as the water healed her. Her senses were working overtime. She could see where he was tensing. She could tell which way he would strike. Andy picked Riptide and deflected when he attacked.

She felt the rhythm of the sea. She felt its power. She felt her dad.

She sent the tide over him and attacked at the same time. He turned in time to raise his sword but the water disoriented him. Andy changed direction, lunged to the side, and stabbed Riptide straight down into the water, sending the point through the god's heel.

The roar that followed made Hades' earthquake look like a minor event.

The expression on his face was beyond hatred. It was pain, shock, complete disbelief that he'd been wounded. He limped toward Andy, cursing, but something stopped him. He lowered his sword.

"You have made an enemy, godling," he told her. "You have sealed your fate. Every time you raise your blade in battle, every time you hope for success, you will feel my curse. Beware, Andromeda Jackson." His body began to glow.

"Andy, don't look!" Anthony shouted. Andy turned the moment the god revealed his true immortal form.

The light died. He was gone, but the Furies were there.

"We've watched the whole thing," hissed Mrs. Dodds.

"Return this to Hades," Andy said throwing the helmet at her. Mrs. Dodds hesitated, then disappeared.

Then Grover and Anthony were there beside her, watching her in amazement.

"Andy..." Grover said. "That was so incredibly..."

"Awesome."

"So awesome," Grover agreed.

But Andy didn't feel awesome. She just felt empty. Exhausted. There was nothing left.

"We have to go back to New York. Tonight."

"That's impossible," Anthony said. "Unless we—"

"Fly, yes."

Anthony stared at her. "Chiron warned you not to. Zeus will strike you out of the sky and—"

"No, he won't. Because he wants this back, doesn't he?" Andy pointed at the backpack and smiled.

#andromeda #fem percy jackson #dfcrosas #fanfic #genderbend #andromeda jackson #storm at sea #child of land and sea #andony

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