#g! burning as bright as a hundred suns || father | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lexsssu · 3 years

Text

Shall We Date: Worship Me AU - Gabriel (Avatar of Diligence)

What if the MC gets transported to the Celestial Realm instead? What if the angels were the love interests?

GENERAL HCs

Known as the “Voice of God” and as such, is Big G’s primary messenger to the human world and the devildom

Because of this, he’s pretty well-known in the 3 worlds and knows a heck lot of different people

Also has a beautiful voice, the kind you’d want to listen to in an ASMR, podcast, audiobook, etc.

Then again do you really expect God’s voice to have anything other than a beautiful voice?

Like seriously his voice sounds like warm melted dark chocolate

He’s also Uriel’s younger twin brother

While Uriel is more akin to the cool and comforting countenance of the moon, Gabriel has the blazing warmth of the sun

Perpetually smiling, but each smile holds different meanings depending on how big it is, if there was any crookedness to it, if he showed his teeth, etc.

His close friends and family can usually tell which smile is which, but it’s his twin that can ALWAYS tell whatever mood he was in even just from analyzing his smile

Most of the time however, that smile hides a rambunctious imp that particularly likes playing tricks on anyone and everyone

He enjoys freaking people out and relishes the reactions they make. The more exaggerated the reaction, the better

That time Big G talked to Moses by going into that burning bush? It was Gabriel’s bright idea

Seriously though, that memory of him freaking out is one of Gabriel’s most treasured moments

Although truth be told, his all-time favorite reactions are the ones he least expected

One of his favorite pastimes is trying to coax a surprised reaction out of Uriel, seeing as his brother was normally so stone-faced

He feels that it’s his divine mission to get as many reactions out of Uriel as he can

He enjoys tormenting Raphael as much as he enjoys mentoring their youngest brother on how to speak effectively

A master of the art of speaking, so he knows every manner of using one's voice no matter what their intended outcomes were

Whether it's to soothe, anger, or seduce someone, Gabriel knows them all

But he asks a price for his services. You have to call him "Big Brother" sweetly if you want to even remotely get his attention for whatever favor you plan on asking him

Gabriel enjoys teasing others aside from pranking them

The flustered reactions he gets is always a nice treat

Don’t get him wrong though, he enjoys messing with others but it’s all light-hearted fun on his end and is never done with any intended malice

Rather, he actually makes sure that he never touches upon sore spots for anyone

He’s just a prankster, not an asshole

Out of the seven virtues, he also the one who still gets in touch the most with Lucifer and his brothers

He is a messenger after all so it’s a given he sends and receives messages the most

With how many prophecies, signs, and dreams he has to deliver Gabriel is almost always out and about. So he’s actually the one who’s least present in the celestial realm

You’d usually catch him on the rare times where he’s on break or in-between deliveries

Sometimes when he’s in need of a little entertainment during assignments, he’d spice up his deliveries by changing the method of delivering the messages

Like perhaps he was supposed to give a human a sign from Big G through a dream, but that’s so old-school so instead he delivers it when they’re wide awake and by themselves

He can’t possibly pinpoint the fact why some humans went to loony bins after he delivered their messages

P.S. They thought they went mad because of those “divine hallucinations”

A chaotic force of nature in all his white-haired, molten chocolate goodness

Emphasis on CHAOTIC

Like the rest of his brothers, he enjoys spoiling Azrael in the way normal big brothers spoil their younger siblings

Obligatory noogies, random wrestling moves, cheek pinching, etc.

An advocate of "No one can bully my siblings except me"

Frequently gets souvenirs from wherever he'd last gone to. He doesn't just get souvenirs for him though, he also gets some for his brothers

Limited edition keychains for Michael for example, sweets for Azrael, local ingredients for Cainabel, tea leaves for Raphael, a new book for Uriel, and etc.

For some reason people like giving him random stuff. Like he could just be passing by and one of his acquaintances or even someone who he'd never really hung out with but knew of him had just harvested their mango tree and now and a surplus of them, or ordered a bit too much of this or that and would give him their extras instead

That's why his pockets are perpetually full with little snacks, candies, and all a manner of random stuff

When his pockets get too full he pops up in the other virtues' offices to lighten his load so to speak

More often than not, it's Azrael who benefits from his brother's popularity since Gabriel himself doesn't eat too many sweets

He doesn't actually notice just how good-looking he is and couple that with his beautiful voice, you can see how and why he's so popular

His generally sunny and rambunctious personality has also earned him many fans

A fan of collecting stamps and has hundreds upon hundreds of books which contain every stamp that has ever come into existence

Stationery otaku

Michael once gave him a pen, one of those cheap ones you get at dollar stores with a cute character at the top. He still uses it until today and never leaves home without it

Regardless of how tacky something is, if it's from his brothers then Gabriel is sure to use it with happiness and pride

ENG VA: Vic Mignogna

JP VA: Mamoru Miyano

ROMANTIC HCs

He’s already a normally friendly and handsy type of guy so it’s kinda hard to notice if he’s actually romantically interested in you

Heck, even Gabe doesn’t realize that he’s into you for a good while because he believes the way he thinks about and reacts to you was still included in the realm of being platonic friends

So what if his heart does those little flips whenever you laugh good-naturedly at his antics? When you gave him that little smile of yours that he liked to think was reserved solely for him?

It’s probably nothing when his skin heats up a little bit whenever his skin touches yours even for a little bit

What do you mean he’s always hanging around you? You were his best friend so of course he’d almost always be with you!

He’s kind of like a bird in the sense that his attention span is always moving from one thing or another, but the fact that you manage to hold his attention for so long even when you’re not there was something that surprised and baffled his brothers

Most notably Uriel who was used to Gabriel flitting about, kind of like a hummingbird if he was being honest

Also like a bird, Gabriel gets a lot of random trinkets. Both of his own accord and because people just like randomly giving him stuff and if he deems any of them worthy enough for you, he’s sure as heck gonna present it and gift it to you as soon as possible

He practically preens whenever you accept his gifts (it doesn’t help that his wings sometimes pop out in all his happiness and excitement). Even just a little compliment gets him so happy and excited for the rest of the day

Offers you his wing to touch if you show even the slightest interest in their angel wings

“ You wanna touch them? They’re 100% guaranteed SUPER SOFT. I always keep my wings nice and tidy since I gotta keep up appearances as a messenger, ‘ya know? ”

Gabe doesn’t realize/forgets that to offer someone to touch the symbols of his power, his wings of all things, showed that he held you in high regard

It confirmed your purity of soul, because to be judged by an archangel, a Virtue even meant that you were a special type of soul, a diamond in the rough so to speak

Although Gabe himself doesn’t notice it, his brothers definitely notice his sudden fixation on you. It’s almost worrying seeing him sitting still for once

While most people would think Gabe would be as chill as he normally he is when facing the truth of his feelings...he isn’t

Many forget that he and Uriel are twins, born of the same core split into two by the Heavenly Father. They shared much more characteristics than just their looks

Once he’s enamored by something, this angel shows his almost infallible dedication to it and only God sits above it

Like Uriel, he does his best to observe and learn everything about you, but what’s scarier is that he does it so covertly that you don’t even know he’s fishing for information all the while relishing his time with you

It doesn’t help that as the Voice of God, his charms are nigh impossible to resist or even detect so you sometimes don’t even realize that he’s playing you right into the palm of his hands

Oh but you don’t have to worry though, Gabriel loves you with all his heart and only wishes to court you properly and perfectly. That’s another of the traits that he shares with his twin

You’ll never have to worry about him coaxing you into something you won’t like or is bad for you. He merely aims to show you the true extent of his pure love

Dates with him are always at different locations or generally something new, because there’s so much that he wants to show and experience together with you

Karaoke dates are a fan favorite between you two, because who DOESN’T wanna hear the Voice of God himself sing?

Like his voice is already like pouring warm melted dark chocolate to your ears but his voice is enough to send you floating happily into the Celestial Realm

“ So where should we go to next? ...Karaoke again? Do you really love hearing me sing that much, cutie? You know I can sing for you as much as you want. I’m all yours~ ”

#lexsssu writes #obey me #obey me shall we date #shall we date obey me #obey me masters #obey me oc #obey me angels

50 notes · View notes

wayward-wayfinder · 5 years

Text

“Listen, I can’t explain, you’ll just have to trust me.”

Prompt number: 10

Fandom: All For The Game / The Foxhole Court

Rating: G

Warnings/Tags: N/A

Now on AO3!

Neil stumbled out of the alley, and took a deep breath.

The scent of magic, the burning of ozone filled his nose, and he took off running, shoes pounding on the empty sidewalk. It was too early, far too early, but maybe that was a good thing. Less witnesses, less to clean up later, less potential victims that his father’s people would hunt down and kill because of something they might have seen.

There was a howl behind him, and Neil felt his blood run cold.

It was all he could do to swipe his bloody hand along the wall as he ducked between two abandoned buildings, breath hitching as he cast. Silence, safety, protection he willed into the small symbol, and relaxed as he felt the magic settle on his shoulders and between the walls. Wolves had sharp noses, but the scent of Neil that flooded down the alley and into the city should keep them busy for a while, a hundred different ghosts of him running in a hundred different directions, laying false trails while he stood stock-still in the darkness.

Dark shapes rushed past, lean wolves with bright yellow eyes, and Neil relaxed as they didn’t even pause.

“So you’re the one leaking magic everywhere.”

Neil spun, hands flying out, only to meet the business end of something stiff and he went down hard, all the breath knocked out of his lungs. He wheezed pathetically, an involuntary choking noise slipping past his lips as the blond man holding a racquet stared down impassively.

“I suggest you don’t try and run,” the man said, spinning the racquet in his hands, face blank. “Who are you, and why are you bringing wolves into our territory?”

Neil opened his mouth, and froze as a menacing snarl echoed down the alley. He turned, fingers scrabbling against the asphalt of the alley and he was too late, teeth were coming at him and the wolf was closing her jaw around his neck—

There was a sharp crack and the wolf howled in pain, head rocking back from the swing of the stranger’s racquet, and the blond man stepped over Neil to stand between him and the werewolf. He was still impassive, shoulders relaxed but knuckles white on the stick he held.

“I suggest you go hunt elsewhere,” he said, slamming the end of the racquet against the ground to punctuate his sentence.

The wolf shot a baleful glare, snarling low in its throat, but turned to give Neil an oddly-human grin, teeth gleaming against the faint sun that pierced through the darkness of the alley.

I’ll come back later, Junior, Lola whispered into his head, and then she was gone with a sweep of her tail.

The stranger looked down at Neil, racquet spinning in his hands once again. “Well?”

“Andrew!”

The man —Andrew— turned towards the entrance of the alley, towards another man that jogged closer. “What, Kevin.”

Kevin, the newcomer, took a glance at Neil before visibly writing him off, wrinkling his nose at Neil’s bloodstained clothes and his still-bleeding palm. “The pack’s gone, did you figure out what they were looking for?”

Andrew inclined his head towards Neil, tossing the racquet back to the dumpster beside them, brushing his hands off casually. “Him. Can’t you smell the magic?”

Neil refused to meet Kevin’s inquisitive gaze, standing up and brushing his palms against the back of his jeans. “Who the hell are you?”

“I could ask the same thing,” Neil shot back, instinctively stepping back when Andrew took a step towards him.

“That’s not how this works,” Andrew said, tone just as bored as before. “You don’t get to run through our city and bring a pack of flea-infested werewolves with you while leaking magic like you don’t know anything within a five hundred mile radius won’t hunt you down, witch.” He flicked his fingers dismissively at Kevin before spinning on his heel and heading towards the mouth of the alleyway. “Kevin, knock some sense into him before I do.”

Neil looked after him before turning to Kevin, trying to keep the annoyance off of his face. “Listen, I can’t explain it, you’ll have to trust me.”

Kevin leveled an even look at him, before turning to follow after Andrew. “We don’t have to do anything. You’d better stop bleeding before you draw them back,” he called, and then he was gone.

Neil looked after him, fingers balling into a fist. What was the point of saving him, if they were just going to act cryptic and leave? He shook his head, inhaling deeply, and paused as he picked up something that had been hidden when Lola had appeared.

Neil frowned, fingering the sleeve of his ragged jean jacket, looking after the two strangers. Vampires, his brain whispered, and he pressed his lips together.

Vampires were a whole different problem than his father’s pack, but potentially a lot easier to deal with, at least for the meantime. Neil wasn’t planning to stay, not for long, but perhaps two vampires could find use with a roaming witch while he tried to figure out how to deal with his father’s pack.

Gritting his teeth, Neil followed after them.

#fictober19 #andrew minyard #kevin day #neil josten #my writing

1 note · View note

autumnstwilight · 5 years

Text

as friend and brother

Rating: G Words: ~2800 Tags: FFXV, one-shot, IgNoct (platonic/childhood), King Regis, broken bones, Hurt/Comfort, backstory Summary: Ignis Scientia may be young, but he knows that the adults around him all have important roles to play, and wonders where his own place in the world is. Then he meets Prince Noctis.

Read on AO3

As long as he could remember, Ignis had been aware that the people around him did very important things. Of course, there was the King, who he had only caught glimpses of, but had been told made the great wall that shimmered in the sky and covered all of Insomnia. It extended into the distance as far as he could see, when he sat in the back seat of his parents’ car and watched the city pass by. His father and uncle both worked for the King, his father leaving early each morning and returning late in the evenings, sometimes with a formidable stack of papers. He required peace and quiet to read them, but would often allow Ignis to sit in his lap and peruse the papers with him, occasionally asking him to “help” by reading a passage aloud. When Ignis stumbled on an unfamiliar word, his father would help him to sound it out, then ask what he thought it meant, and Ignis was getting better at guessing. And his mother was always there to make sure that he was safe and had all he needed, the evenings filled with the sound of her working in the kitchen, singing songs to herself and allowing him to sneak a spoonful to “taste-test”. By Ignis’ reckoning, she was the most important person of them all.

He regarded his surroundings with a fierce pride and protectiveness, had anyone spoken ill of Insomnia or his family in his presence, he would have chewed their leg off at knee-height. But as he grew older and began to understand more, a dissatisfaction began to gnaw at the back of his mind. He knew full well that his father needed no assistance reading the reports, and that the cooking turned out better when his mother stirred it herself rather than entrusting him with the task. He would never turn down an opportunity to help. But he wondered, with so many important things to be done, was it really okay for him to be so young, so small, so clumsy?

“You can do it better,” he said, dejectedly.

His father pushed the stack of reports aside, and fixed Ignis with his full attention.

“Of course I can. I’ve been doing this for much longer than you’ve been alive. But I can’t do it forever. Someday, you will have to take my place. It’s my job to prepare you for that. As my father did for me.”

“Oh.” Ignis thought about this for a moment, then turned back to the paper clasped in his hands. Someday he would have a place. “What’s ‘ally-ance’, then?”

“Alliance. We talked about allies before, didn’t we?”

“Oh yes. It’s… when countries are friends, right?”

“Right. Now the details of this particular alliance…”

It was not long after that when a change came. He was given a perfectly pressed set of dress trousers, shirt and waistcoat, and told to put them on carefully. Today he would meet the King, and the prince as well. His mother helped him with his necktie and straightened his collar, and told him to mind his manners. He didn’t need to be told.

The King was a kind man, one who managed not to talk down to Ignis despite the difference in physical height. He spoke calmly, wisely, with the sort of voice that men gladly follow.

“A king cannot lead by standing still. A king pushes forward always, accepting the consequences and never looking back.”

Ignis nodded solemnly. Whether it was the words themselves or the presence of the man who spoke them, he would never know, but he felt them weighing into his mind and leaving their mark. Behind the King stood a small boy, keeping his distance. He stared out into the empty space of the throne room, as if lost in a daydream.

“Should he stand still, I ask you to stand by him and lend him a hand- as his friend and as his brother.”

The boy stepped forward, encouraged by a gesture from his father. Ignis’ eyes met Prince Noctis’ for the first time. Remembering his manners, he offered his hand, and was a little surprised when Noctis immediately reached out to clasp it with both of his own, and gave a sudden, brilliant smile.

And everything made sense.

There were so many people, all around him, doing important things. The adults- they built the city, made the rules, kept it clean and bright and shiny and working. They spoke of serious things and read stacks of important papers. They made sure that everyone was safe. They were rulers, leaders, guardians, parents, teachers.

But none of them could be a brother to Noctis.

“Please,” said the King, “Take care of my son.”

He answered with a smile of his own.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Prince Noctis. My name is Ignis.”

“Now boys,” said the King warmly, “Why don’t you run along and play?”

His new charge turned out to be rather a handful.

It wasn’t Noctis’ fault, he knew that. Noctis was still so small. It wouldn’t do to get mad at him when he spilled ink across a desk and then left inky handprints clinging all over Ignis’ shirt. Nor when he tried to show Noctis how to build a castle with connectable blocks, only for the young prince to become bored and tear it to pieces halfway through. Nor when his glasses were plucked from his face and then dropped into the courtyard fountain, and he got soaked through trying to retrieve them.

Of course, he had told Noctis not to do these things, before, during and after. But what authority did a first grader really have over a prince who was barely more than a toddler? None, it turned out. All he could do was run after the younger boy and try to make sure that at least, he didn’t get hurt.

Take care of my son.

He’d made a promise. A promise to a King and a Prince, no less. There was no way that he would ever betray either of them, no matter how many times his hair was pulled or his toes were stepped on, no matter how many of the favorite books that he tried to share were scrawled on with crayons, no matter how many times he felt tears of frustration burning at the corners of his eyes. He wouldn’t cry, and he would never give up.

It was the afternoon, and Noctis had tired himself out and was napping on a sofa. Ignis sat beside him reading a book, a collection of tales and literary excerpts for the young, now rather battered at the edges and with some pages hastily repaired with cellotape. He had read one of the tales out loud, until Noctis fell asleep halfway through, and he continued through the book by himself.

The little prince went away, to look again at the roses.

"You are not at all like my rose… She is more important than all the hundreds of you other roses: because it is she that I have watered; because it is she that I have put under the glass globe; because it is she that I have sheltered behind the screen… because it is she that I have listened to, when she grumbled, or boasted, or even sometimes when she said nothing. Because she is my rose.”

The words blurred on the page as he began to nod.

He awoke with a start to find the sun low in the sky, and Noctis gone from his side. The room was quiet, and that, above all things, was cause for concern.

The wooden floor of the landing was lit amber, a fiery glow extending from window to wall. He hurried out of the room and across the open space, finding Noctis playing with some action figures at the top of the grand staircase, deeply absorbed in some conflict between the medieval knight and the robotic soldier he was mashing together. He marched himself over to the young prince and seized him by the wrist.

“Come back here, Noct. It’s not safe.”

Noctis stared at him for a moment, then shoved the knight into Ignis’ face, smushing his glasses into his eyelids.

“Hah! I am the Mystic, chosen by the Gods! I obey no man!”

“This is no time for horseplay!” He tugged at the boy, who flopped onto his backside and made himself a deadweight in protest. “You know you shouldn’t fool around near the stairs.” He snatched the knight from Noctis, hoping that it would entice him to follow, but instead the prince gave a squeal of anger and launched himself at Ignis. Ignis sidestepped, using his greater height to hold the figure out of Noctis’ reach, but his evasive maneuver had put himself between Noctis and the top of the staircase, and when Noctis leapt at him again, his heels found empty air and his stomach lurched as they both began to fall.

His reactions were all instinct. He wrapped one arm around Noctis, pulling him on top of his chest, and reached the other one out to grab the railing. But instead his arm slipped between two of the cast iron ribs that lined the staircase. They landed, Noctis heavy on top of him, and Ignis screeched as his trapped arm was wrenched by the weight and momentum of both of them. There was a horrible snap.

The ensuing silence lasted for the briefest of moments before both boys began howling simultaneously. Noctis’ eyes were wide with the terror of falling, while the pain hit Ignis all at once in a wave that dragged him under. Worse still was the panic, his arm was bent in a way that was terribly wrong, his own body had been broken, and he didn’t know how to fix this, didn’t know what to do, and it hurt, it hurt, it hurt. He was dimly aware that Noctis was sobbing as well, and part of his brain was telling him that he had to fix that too, that he had promised, but his own pain and fear were already far beyond his ability for composure.

It didn’t take long for the commotion to attract adults, and suddenly Noctis was being lifted off him, dragged away while still clinging to Ignis’ shirt, wailing, “I didn’t mean it! I didn’t mean it! I didn’t mean it!” over all attempts to calm him down. Another pair of arms scooped up Ignis, and as gentle as they were, he screamed again when the broken limb was moved.

The rest of the afternoon was a blur of doctors and x-rays and prodding and questions. He was finally allowed to rest in a bed in the infirmary, and sat there dimly, under the effect of whatever painkillers they had given him, observing the strange weight of the plaster cast on his arm. The sound of the door opening awakened him, and he was surprised to find that he had drifted off long enough for night to fall entirely, depriving him of all sense of time. Slow, deliberate footsteps approached, and he looked up to see the King standing over his bed.

“Y-Your Majesty.” He tried to figure out how to bow while reclining in a bed, and ended up putting chin to chest in an over-enthusiastic nod.

“How are you feeling, Ignis?”

“I’m fine. I mean- there’s no need for concern. I mean-” He tried desperately to have his thoughts catch up with what his mouth was saying. “I must apologize for the trouble that I’ve caused. I should have-”

The King held up a hand, and he fell silent. Dread began to curl inside his chest. Noctis had fallen too, Noctis had been crying, Ignis hadn’t been able to take care of him. If the prince had been hurt-

“I assure you, there’s no need to apologize. Unfortunately, Noctis was not able to provide me with an exact sequence of events. However, it seems more likely that he inadvertently pushed you than the opposite.”

“He didn’t- He’s not in trouble, is he?”

The King sighed, “I have told him that he is not to wander off on his own, and that he must be cautious around staircases. But I think the fright that he got today is punishment enough.”

“Oh.” Ignis looked down again at the cast resting on the bed sheets. “Will my arm get better?”

“Of course it will. I’ve been told that the expected healing time is around six weeks.” The King gave a wry smile. “I am told many things, you know. That I must focus all my power on maintaining the wall. That, if I am to use my magic to heal, I should prioritize the military.”

He took Ignis’ hand, and a jolt of electric warmth surged through Ignis’ arm, settling deep into the bones.

“But don’t believe everything that you are told. There, that should ease the pain and shorten the recovery time somewhat. Consider it my apology.”

Ignis looked back at the King in confusion, until he became uncomfortably aware that it was rude to not say anything.

“Thank you? Erm, your Majesty.”

The King laughed, and then took a step back. “Speaking of apologies, there is another one owed.” He turned to the door. “Come in, Noctis.”

The prince shuffled hesitantly through the doorway, letting it close behind him with a soft thump. He made his way to the side of the bed and inspected Ignis’ arm and the cast with a doleful expression.

“Do you have something to say?”

Noctis blurted out as though he were about to sob, “‘m sorry, Iggy.”

“It’s alright, Noct,” said Ignis, and as he looked down at his cast again, he did feel, for the first time since the incident on the stairs, that everything would be alright. No one was in trouble, Noctis wasn’t hurt, the King wasn’t angry, and his arm wasn’t going to fall off. That reduced the situation to one that seemed, if less than ideal, at least manageable. At least until…

“Noct, is that a marker pen?”

“Yup! Dad said I should sign your cast for you! Here, lemme-”

“Watch out! You’re getting ink on the sheets!”

Ignis sighed and moved his arm closer to the edge of the bed. With an expression of grim concentration, Noctis scrawled “N O C T” in large, spidery letters across the cast on his forearm, then stopped to beam up at Ignis. Ignis found himself smiling back. Then, a larger hand reached down to take the marker, and moments later, Ignis was looking proudly at the words “Regis Lucis Caelum” in an elegant script, vivid in black against the white cast.

“Come now, Noctis. Let’s let him rest.”

The door closed gently once again.

He returned the following day to find Noctis waiting for him as usual, but his eyes immediately strayed to the white pressure bandage wrapped around his wrist. Ignis gawked in surprise, Noct hadn’t seemed injured at all during his visit the previous night. Had he really been so unobservant?

“Noct, are you hurt?”

The caretaker in the corner of the room laughed. “Not at all. But he begged us until we found that and put it on him.” Then, in response to Ignis’ befuddled expression, “He wants to be just like you.”

Noctis grinned at Ignis, “Iggy, you gotta sign it for me. I signed yours!”

“Alright, Noct,” he said, kneeling in front of the prince and taking his hand. “Let me find a pen.”

He took a marker and tried his best to write smoothly with his one functioning hand as Noctis squirmed. The ink bled into the cloth and it came out a little wonky, but when he was done Noctis held his bandaged arm up with pride.

“Look,” he announced to the room, “We’re the same. Now we’re real brothers!”

Ignis decided not to question Noctis’ conceptions of how exactly one became brothers with someone else. Instead, he shifted so that the two of them were standing side-by-side, hand-in-hand, his uninjured hand clinging to Noct’s bandaged one. Noct’s fingers were warm and a little sticky as they curled around his own, the fabric of his bandage rough between their palms. Their arms and shoulders were pressed against each other, and once again Ignis was struck by the rightness of being here, of having his place in the world defined.

Because you are my friend. Because you are my brother. Because you are the one whose side I promised to stand by.

“What would you like to do today, Noct?” he asked, and waited for his prince to lead him.

#ffxv #ignoct #final fantasy xv #my fanfic

2 notes · View notes

doctorlaelia-ffxiv · 6 years

Text

.|faith

Dawn had barely broken when Laelia heard hammering at her door.

“Doctor! Please! There’s an emergency, please-- please open up--!”

What would have usually been a slow and drowsy process of waking up came instantaneously; she didn’t even pause to wonder where Lucius might be at this hour. The only pause she took was one to haphazardly throw some clothes onto her bare form, tripping over herself as she hopped into her boots and ran to the door. Outside was one of the young girls from the village - a sweet faced Highlander named Elouise - with big eyes filled with tears.

“I’m sorry, it’s so early and they told me not to come, but--”

“What’s going on?” Laelia asked, soft but urgent, touching the girl’s cheek and then her arm as she leaned down some to look at her. The girl sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

“My big brother-- he’s been sick for two days now but my mama told me not to get a doctor. A couple of priests of Nald’thal h-have been praying over him b-but it isn’t doing anything! H-He’s just getting worse!” the girl wailed, collapsing into the front of Laelia’s shirt. She embraced Elouise, squinting up at the house on the hill that she’d run down from. Yes, there’d been a lot of activity going on over there for the past couple of days, but she hadn’t thought anyone was ill...

“It’s okay. It’s okay, Elouise,” Laelia replied, trying to calm the child. “Come inside while I gather my supplies, and tell me what’s going on with your brother. Okay? The more I know before I get there, the faster I can make my assessment.”

The Highlander came toppling in quickly after Laelia’s invitation. She was almost already as tall as the fully grown Garlean woman, and only at nine years old. She blinked a few tears out of her eyes and sat in the Tonberry chair behind Laelia’s desk as the woman went about gathering a variety of medical supplies, listening closely to what the child had to say.

“W-Well... He said a couple of days ago that his belly was really hurting, and then he had a fever that has just kept going up and up. H-He’s been throwing up and he has an upset belly but he said his belly hurts so much that he can’t g-get out of bed... All sweaty and groaning in pain...”

Laelia bit the inside of her cheek, looking to the surgical instruments sitting inside of her dresser in their metal case. Yanking open a drawer, she grabbed an assortment of medications. The rest of what she needed were already packed in her bag. The chirurgeon hauled it over her shoulder and hurried back into the main living area, gesturing for Elouise to get up and follow her outside.

“I think I know what’s wrong. A couple of days, you said?” Laelia asked, glancing over to the child as they hurried up the hill to the humble house that sat atop it. The girl nodded furiously in reply and pushed the wooden door open. From the entryway of the three room house, Laelia could hear the chanting of the priests, smell the heady scent of the burning incense, and she grimaced.

“Elouise! Is that you? Where did you go--”

A towering Highlander woman emerged from one of the rooms, her hair done intricately in braids that spilled over her shoulders. Her dark skin seemed to glow in the light of the sun streaming in, and her eyes narrowed at the much more petite doctor, immediately drawing her arms in to her sides and straightening herself up as her jaw tensed.

“You aren’t needed here,” she said shortly. “Elouise, why are you bringing this woman here? We don’t need her help. The gods will help us.”

“He isn’t getting better, mama,” the child said tearfully. “Big brother isn’t getting any better with all of the prayers! I thought... I thought the doctor might know something about how to help him...”

“Ma’am, I’m sorry for the intrusion, but from what your daughter is describing to me, your son has a ruptured appendix -- or one that is very close to rupturing. There are a hundred other complications that can come with a ruptured appendix if it isn’t treated--”

“I said that you aren’t needed!” the woman said, her voice booming and angry.

Laelia’s jaw set, and she looked to the room where the smoke from the incense was streaming. The voices of the priests were so loud she was surprised that she hadn’t heard them the night before. Perhaps they were growing more earnest the worst the young man got. Laelia knew this family. The father -- an Ala Mhigan -- had left to fight for the liberation of their nation against her own people and had not yet returned, with no word of where or if he was. The boy, a young man of just eighteen, was named Nef. He was training to be a warrior just like his father, was the primary breadwinner for the family. What would happen to them if something happened to him?

“I have to insist... Please. I agree that faith has a time and a place, but I have to believe the gods want us to be self sufficient to some degree--”

“Those of weak faith are those of weak heart. You think they can’t heal my child?” the woman shouted, growing more agitated by the second.

“I think that they won’t,” Laelia replied, looking back up to the woman. “Because some issues are mortal ones, and mortal ones alone. Would you go looking for Elouise if she was missing, or would you wait for the gods to deliver her home? Come now, Rainah. I know... I know you don’t trust me, or like me. You don’t have to trust me as a person or like me as a person. But I promise to you that I can save your son’s life, and that I will. Trust me as a doctor. Please.”

“Mama,” Elouise said weakly, tugging on her mother’s arm. Suddenly, a wail of pain came from the incense-filled room, heartbreaking in its agony. Rainah’s eye’s widened, and she looked between the doorway to her daughter, lips parted. One could practically hear the gears working in her head.

“W-...What did you say he has? A ruptured appendix?”

“Yes. I believe he does-- I can’t be sure without an examination. But if he does, and it continues to go untreated, he may have an infection that turns into a worse infection. It could kill him, Rainah, very easily. To be honest with you, if it’s been forty eight hours then I’m surprised he’s alive still to begin with.”

“He’s a fighter,” she whispered. “Just like his father.”

“I am insisting that you let me attend to your son. He will die if I don’t operate, Rainah! I can assure you of that,” Laelia said, an unfamiliar edge to her voice and foreign steel in her gaze.

Even long after the priests were cleared out of the boy’s bedroom, the scent of their incense lingered, burning Laelia’s nostrils. It was difficult to perform any surgery alone, and so she had sent Elouise out to grab one of the mothers in the village who knew the most about medicine and first aid to assist her. There was no anaesthesia to give Nef, and she was out of the heavy sedation and pain medication she usually had until later that night. He had to suffer it through with whiskey alone. Not Laelia’s preferred method, of course, but it worked in a pinch. A really big pinch.

“Okay,” Laelia said, wiping her brow on her shoulder as she slowly and carefully stitched the boy’s abdomen back up. “As I was worried about, an infection developed since we waited so long to remove the appendix. The surgery should have taken about an hour, but I needed some extra time to remove the infected tissue in his abdomen. I’ll give him some medication to help prevent any further infection and have pain medication for him by this evening, at the latest.”

Rainah had sent Elouise out of the room, but she had stubbornly stayed to watch organs and tissue removed from her son’s abdomen, silent the entire time. The Mi’qote woman working across from Laelia and assisting her was a quiet helper, doing as she was told and making a valiant effort to not look repulsed by all of the blood that soaked the blue gloves Laelia had told her to put on after scrubbing up.

Now, Nef lay on his bed, still groaning in pain and covered in sweat. Blearily he opened his eyes to watch the doctor strip off her gloves and smile at the Mi’qote, thanking her for her help.

“An angel came down to help me,” he said weakly, and Rainah jumped, looking over to him as he spoke coherently for the first time in twenty four hours. Laelia glanced over and smiled, walking to his bedside.

“Just... stay still and try not to talk for now, Nef. Once the whiskey wears off, there’s going to be a period where you’re in a lot of pain. Save your strength for that, alright? I’m going to change and then come back to monitor you. A couple of your friends ran to Ul’dah for me to bring me sedatives and medication. They’ll help you out once they get here with the discomfort.”

“Thank you,” he mumbled, eyes fluttering closed again.

“...Thank you,” Rainah echoed, her voice quiet. Laelia was in the process of disinfecting her instruments -- though the bulk of it would need to be done back home -- when the woman spoke, and she looked up at her.

“For saving him. I... It’s the way we’ve been raised, all of us in this village. Don’t trust medicine. If faith can’t heal you, then... maybe you weren’t meant to be healed. Maybe you are some sort of... otherworldly being. Maybe you were the one who was sent to save him.”

“I wouldn’t overthink it,” Laelia replied, her voice gentle once again. “I’m no creature sent by a divine being. I’m just...” She looked to the boy on the bed. “This is what I have always wanted to do. Help other people.”

Rainah and her shared a silence, the doctor closing her eyes as she leaned against the rough-hewn wooden table by the window. She was grateful for the bright sunlight streaming in to make the surgery easier. Surgery by candlelight was always more uncertain. It was warm on her skin, seeping down into her bones. Since the first time she’d woken up, it felt like she could breathe again. A holy thing, the sun. Maybe she ought to thank Azeyma for the blessing.

The thought almost made her laugh. Who was she to debate faith? She, a Garlean, raised on the backbone of science and war and control. The only faith one had in Garlemald was in the Emperor, the most divine in all the nation. But... she liked the thought of higher powers -- ones made of benevolence and love. Maybe just one? She wasn’t sure what to make of faith in the sense of otherworldly beings. The idea, though, of something bigger than these people and these creatures that roamed upon a planet, was both terrifying and comforting to the medicus. She had seen even the staunchest of Garlean atheists praying when their loved ones were on the operating table.

There are no atheists in a foxhole.

“Was I irresponsible?”

The trembling question broke the silence, and Laelia opened her eyes to see Rainah staring down at her son.

“Was I irresponsible for not seeking a doctor for him?”

“...No,” Laelia replied, shaking her head. “You did what you thought was best for your child, Rainah. It is difficult to unlearn what has been taught to us since we were born. I won’t tell you that prayer doesn’t help. I don’t know that. But what I do know is medical science, and practice. And I know that you made the right decision in letting me in here. Thank you for letting me do this.”

“You have no right to thank me,” the Highlander woman snapped, wiping a tear from her cheek. “If Elouise hadn’t come to you, he would have... we would have lost him... let him go to Nald’thal.”

“Your son is alive, Rainah,” Laelia said earnestly, leaning forward some and focusing her gaze on the mother. “Alive, and a fighter, just like you said. He’ll recover quickly. I know it hurts, the idea of ‘what if’... but ‘what if’ didn’t happen,” Laelia added, watching the woman from across the room. “It’s gone. It’s over. ‘What if’ doesn’t exist anymore.”

She had heard this a thousand times; the strings of ‘what if’s’ coming from family members of her patients. What if I had done this or that differently... What if we hadn’t come right at this moment... What if he hadn’t told us something was wrong right when he did... What if, what if, what if?

“Have faith that you made the right decision,” Laelia added with a half smile. “Have faith that you’ll be able to do it again.”

“There are...” Rainah’s eyes darted to Laelia and away again, “...still good people in this world. For so long, my family has only known strife... tax collectors, loan sharks, Brass Blades who only take from us... the Garleans who took my husband’s homeland and way of life. But you... You remind us. There are still good people. How do I repay you?”

“By remembering that there are still good people,” Laelia replied, looking to Nef on the bed before looking to his mother. “And... by knowing how grateful I am that you count me among them.”

The Garleans who took my husband’s homeland and way of life.

I was not one of them, Rainah. And I am so sorry. If my people have taken your husband... then the least I can do is make sure that you keep your son.

#slowly flexing writing muscles?#ffxiv stories #ffxiv writing #writing #garlean #thanalan #ffxiv rp #mateus rp #mateus ffxiv

8 notes · View notes

upwardboundwriting · 7 years

Text

100 (Best) First Lines of Novels

1. Call me Ishmael. —Herman Melville, Moby-Dick (1851)

2. It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. —Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice (1813)

3. A screaming comes across the sky. —Thomas Pynchon, Gravity's Rainbow (1973)

4. Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendía was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice. —Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude (1967; trans. Gregory Rabassa)

5. Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. —Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita (1955)

6. Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way. —Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina (1877; trans. Constance Garnett)

7. riverrun, past Eve and Adam's, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings us by a commodius vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle and Environs. —James Joyce, Finnegans Wake (1939)

8. It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. —George Orwell, 1984 (1949)

9. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair. —Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities (1859)

10. I am an invisible man. —Ralph Ellison, Invisible Man (1952)

11. The Miss Lonelyhearts of the New York Post-Dispatch (Are you in trouble?—Do-you-need-advice?—Write-to-Miss-Lonelyhearts-and-she-will-help-you) sat at his desk and stared at a piece of white cardboard. —Nathanael West, Miss Lonelyhearts (1933)

12. You don't know about me without you have read a book by the name of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer; but that ain't no matter. —Mark Twain, Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (1885)

13. Someone must have slandered Josef K., for one morning, without having done anything truly wrong, he was arrested. —Franz Kafka, The Trial (1925; trans. Breon Mitchell)

14. You are about to begin reading Italo Calvino's new novel, If on a winter's night a traveler. —Italo Calvino, If on a winter's night a traveler (1979; trans. William Weaver)

15. The sun shone, having no alternative, on the nothing new. —Samuel Beckett, Murphy (1938)

16. If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth. —J. D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye (1951)

17. Once upon a time and a very good time it was there was a moocow coming down along the road and this moocow that was coming down along the road met a nicens little boy named baby tuckoo. —James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (1916)

18. This is the saddest story I have ever heard. —Ford Madox Ford, The Good Soldier (1915)

19. I wish either my father or my mother, or indeed both of them, as they were in duty both equally bound to it, had minded what they were about when they begot me; had they duly considered how much depended upon what they were then doing;—that not only the production of a rational Being was concerned in it, but that possibly the happy formation and temperature of his body, perhaps his genius and the very cast of his mind;—and, for aught they knew to the contrary, even the fortunes of his whole house might take their turn from the humours and dispositions which were then uppermost:—Had they duly weighed and considered all this, and proceeded accordingly,—I am verily persuaded I should have made a quite different figure in the world, from that, in which the reader is likely to see me. —Laurence Sterne, Tristram Shandy (1759–1767)

20. Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show. —Charles Dickens, David Copperfield (1850)

21. Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed. —James Joyce, Ulysses (1922)

22. It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents, except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the house-tops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness. —Edward George Bulwer-Lytton, Paul Clifford (1830)

23. One summer afternoon Mrs. Oedipa Maas came home from a Tupperware party whose hostess had put perhaps too much kirsch in the fondue to find that she, Oedipa, had been named executor, or she supposed executrix, of the estate of one Pierce Inverarity, a California real estate mogul who had once lost two million dollars in his spare time but still had assets numerous and tangled enough to make the job of sorting it all out more than honorary. —Thomas Pynchon, The Crying of Lot 49 (1966)

24. It was a wrong number that started it, the telephone ringing three times in the dead of night, and the voice on the other end asking for someone he was not. —Paul Auster, City of Glass (1985)

25. Through the fence, between the curling flower spaces, I could see them hitting. —William Faulkner, The Sound and the Fury (1929)

26. 124 was spiteful. —Toni Morrison, Beloved (1987)

27. Somewhere in la Mancha, in a place whose name I do not care to remember, a gentleman lived not long ago, one of those who has a lance and ancient shield on a shelf and keeps a skinny nag and a greyhound for racing. —Miguel de Cervantes, Don Quixote (1605; trans. Edith Grossman)

28. Mother died today. —Albert Camus, The Stranger (1942; trans. Stuart Gilbert)

29. Every summer Lin Kong returned to Goose Village to divorce his wife, Shuyu. —Ha Jin, Waiting (1999)

30. The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel. —William Gibson, Neuromancer (1984)

31. I am a sick man . . . I am a spiteful man. —Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Notes from Underground (1864; trans. Michael R. Katz)

32. Where now? Who now? When now? —Samuel Beckett, The Unnamable (1953; trans. Patrick Bowles)

33. Once an angry man dragged his father along the ground through his own orchard. "Stop!" cried the groaning old man at last, "Stop! I did not drag my father beyond this tree." —Gertrude Stein, The Making of Americans (1925)

35. It was like so, but wasn't. —Richard Powers, Galatea 2.2 (1995)

36. —Money . . . in a voice that rustled. —William Gaddis, J R (1975)

37. Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself. —Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway (1925)

38. All this happened, more or less. —Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five (1969)

39. They shoot the white girl first. —Toni Morrison, Paradise (1998)

40. For a long time, I went to bed early. —Marcel Proust, Swann's Way (1913; trans. Lydia Davis)

41. The moment one learns English, complications set in. —Felipe Alfau, Chromos (1990)

42. Dr. Weiss, at forty, knew that her life had been ruined by literature. —Anita Brookner, The Debut (1981)

43. I was the shadow of the waxwing slain / By the false azure in the windowpane; —Vladimir Nabokov, Pale Fire (1962)

44. Ships at a distance have every man's wish on board. —Zora Neale Hurston, Their Eyes Were Watching God (1937)

45. I had the story, bit by bit, from various people, and, as generally happens in such cases, each time it was a different story. —Edith Wharton, Ethan Frome (1911)

46. Ages ago, Alex, Allen and Alva arrived at Antibes, and Alva allowing all, allowing anyone, against Alex's admonition, against Allen's angry assertion: another African amusement . . . anyhow, as all argued, an awesome African army assembled and arduously advanced against an African anthill, assiduously annihilating ant after ant, and afterward, Alex astonishingly accuses Albert as also accepting Africa's antipodal ant annexation. —Walter Abish, Alphabetical Africa (1974)

48. He was an old man who fished alone in a skiff in the Gulf Stream and he had gone eighty-four days now without taking a fish. —Ernest Hemingway, The Old Man and the Sea (1952)

49. It was the day my grandmother exploded. —Iain M. Banks, The Crow Road (1992)

50. I was born twice: first, as a baby girl, on a remarkably smogless Detroit day in January of 1960; and then again, as a teenage boy, in an emergency room near Petoskey, Michigan, in August of 1974. —Jeffrey Eugenides, Middlesex (2002)

51. Elmer Gantry was drunk. —Sinclair Lewis, Elmer Gantry (1927)

52. We started dying before the snow, and like the snow, we continued to fall. —Louise Erdrich, Tracks (1988)

53. It was a pleasure to burn. —Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451 (1953)

54. A story has no beginning or end; arbitrarily one chooses that moment of experience from which to look back or from which to look ahead. —Graham Greene, The End of the Affair (1951)

55. Having placed in my mouth sufficient bread for three minutes' chewing, I withdrew my powers of sensual perception and retired into the privacy of my mind, my eyes and face assuming a vacant and preoccupied expression. —Flann O'Brien, At Swim-Two-Birds (1939)

59. It was love at first sight. —Joseph Heller, Catch-22 (1961)

61. I have never begun a novel with more misgiving. —W. Somerset Maugham, The Razor's Edge (1944)

62. Once upon a time, there was a woman who discovered she had turned into the wrong person. —Anne Tyler, Back When We Were Grownups (2001)

63. The human race, to which so many of my readers belong, has been playing at children's games from the beginning, and will probably do it till the end, which is a nuisance for the few people who grow up. —G. K. Chesterton, The Napoleon of Notting Hill (1904)

64. In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since. —F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby (1925)

65. You better not never tell nobody but God. —Alice Walker, The Color Purple (1982)

66. "To be born again," sang Gibreel Farishta tumbling from the heavens, "first you have to die." —Salman Rushdie, The Satanic Verses (1988)

67. It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer they electrocuted the Rosenbergs, and I didn't know what I was doing in New York. —Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar (1963)

68. Most really pretty girls have pretty ugly feet, and so does Mindy Metalman, Lenore notices, all of a sudden. —David Foster Wallace, The Broom of the System (1987)

69. If I am out of my mind, it's all right with me, thought Moses Herzog. —Saul Bellow, Herzog (1964)

70. Francis Marion Tarwater's uncle had been dead for only half a day when the boy got too drunk to finish digging his grave and a Negro named Buford Munson, who had come to get a jug filled, had to finish it and drag the body from the breakfast table where it was still sitting and bury it in a decent and Christian way, with the sign of its Saviour at the head of the grave and enough dirt on top to keep the dogs from digging it up. —Flannery O'Connor, The Violent Bear it Away (1960)

71. Granted: I am an inmate of a mental hospital; my keeper is watching me, he never lets me out of his sight; there's a peephole in the door, and my keeper's eye is the shade of brown that can never see through a blue-eyed type like me. —Gunter Grass, The Tin Drum (1959; trans. Ralph Manheim)

72. When Dick Gibson was a little boy he was not Dick Gibson. —Stanley Elkin, The Dick Gibson Show (1971)

74. She waited, Kate Croy, for her father to come in, but he kept her unconscionably, and there were moments at which she showed herself, in the glass over the mantel, a face positively pale with the irritation that had brought her to the point of going away without sight of him. —Henry James, The Wings of the Dove (1902)

75. In the late summer of that year we lived in a house in a village that looked across the river and the plain to the mountains. —Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms (1929)

77. He was an inch, perhaps two, under six feet, powerfully built, and he advanced straight at you with a slight stoop of the shoulders, head forward, and a fixed from-under stare which made you think of a charging bull. —Joseph Conrad, Lord Jim (1900)

78. The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there. —L. P. Hartley, The Go-Between (1953)

80. Justice?—You get justice in the next world, in this world you have the law. —William Gaddis, A Frolic of His Own (1994)

81. Vaughan died yesterday in his last car-crash. —J. G. Ballard, Crash (1973)

82. I write this sitting in the kitchen sink. —Dodie Smith, I Capture the Castle (1948)

83. "When your mama was the geek, my dreamlets," Papa would say, "she made the nipping off of noggins such a crystal mystery that the hens themselves yearned toward her, waltzing around her, hypnotized with longing." —Katherine Dunn, Geek Love (1983)

86. It was just noon that Sunday morning when the sheriff reached the jail with Lucas Beauchamp though the whole town (the whole county too for that matter) had known since the night before that Lucas had killed a white man. —William Faulkner, Intruder in the Dust (1948)

89. I am an American, Chicago born—Chicago, that somber city—and go at things as I have taught myself, free-style, and will make the record in my own way: first to knock, first admitted; sometimes an innocent knock, sometimes a not so innocent. —Saul Bellow, The Adventures of Augie March (1953)

90. The towers of Zenith aspired above the morning mist; austere towers of steel and cement and limestone, sturdy as cliffs and delicate as silver rods. —Sinclair Lewis, Babbitt (1922)

91. I will tell you in a few words who I am: lover of the hummingbird that darts to the flower beyond the rotted sill where my feet are propped; lover of bright needlepoint and the bright stitching fingers of humorless old ladies bent to their sweet and infamous designs; lover of parasols made from the same puffy stuff as a young girl's underdrawers; still lover of that small naval boat which somehow survived the distressing years of my life between her decks or in her pilothouse; and also lover of poor dear black Sonny, my mess boy, fellow victim and confidant, and of my wife and child. But most of all, lover of my harmless and sanguine self. —John Hawkes, Second Skin (1964)

92. He was born with a gift of laughter and a sense that the world was mad. —Raphael Sabatini, Scaramouche (1921)

94. In the town, there were two mutes and they were always together. —Carson McCullers, The Heart is a Lonely Hunter (1940)

96. Time is not a line but a dimension, like the dimensions of space. —Margaret Atwood, Cat's Eye (1988)

99. They say when trouble comes close ranks, and so the white people did. —Jean Rhys, Wide Sargasso Sea (1966)

100. The cold passed reluctantly from the earth, and the retiring fogs revealed an army stretched out on the hills, resting. —Stephen Crane, The Red Badge of Courage (1895)

13 notes · View notes

netherwar-rpg-blog · 7 years

Photo

Welcome to the Wardens, Dani! Your application for a PRIEST OC has been accepted with a Elliot Knight FC.

The application can be found under the cut. You have 48 hours to create a roleplay account (cannot be a sideblog) for your character and we will be updating our opening date soon!

O O C - I N F O

Name: Dani

Age: 22

Timezone: Who cares? I’m always online.

Activity Level: Always. Law school doesn’t matter. I’ll become a professional rp writer. Cat, feed me when you’re famous.

Extra: ily <3

C H A R A C T E R - I N F O

T H E - B A S I C S

Name: Tahir Ibn Sa’id

Gender: Cisgender Male

Age: 59 (looks 27)

Class: Priest

Faceclaim: Elliot Knight

C H A R A C T E R - D E T A I L S

Nationality: Narfeni

Appearance:

Dark skin and deep brown eyes are quite often found in the Narfeni islands but never carried with the grace and status Tahir carries himself. The son of two Oracles, born and raised like a prince but always with a humble and calm expression despite his younger years of fun and excess. Tahir prefers his hair long, over his shoulders in messy locks that are sometimes braided to maintain away form his face. Otherwise, he keeps his hair short and neat, comfortable under his tunic’s hoods.

Loyal to his heritage, Tahir prefers bright robes with red, blue and golden colors. He keeps plenty of rings of all colors, shapes and precious stones in his fingers and a single golden ring at the end of his nose. Tahir also carries two necklaces; one with a dark blue, almost black crystal and another transparent crystal that belonged to his twin brother Siraj.

Finally, he has the tattoo of two intertwining snakes, one in black ink and another in white on the inside of his left arm.

Personality:

[ + ] Curious - Books have always been Tahir’s first love. His parents library was his sanctuary, intelligent eyes going through every word and spell and trick in them. He watched his parents work carefully, wondering when his time to practice his magic would come and the day it did was the happiest day of his life. From that day on, Tahir has never stopped experimenting on every type of magic he can get his hands on.

[ + ] Observant - Tahir is the type of man that sits back, watches carefully and takes notes. He dislikes violence and unnecessary deaths; he believes in balance in all things, and the fact that observing nature and human behavior grants all the answers they need. He often watches and listens to people with a kind, barely there smile to commit all information to memory.

[ + ] Calm - Death is silent, calm and all-powerful. Tahir aims to be the same, unbothered by simple remarks or taunts, he always has a relaxed, almost aloof attitude that bothers most of his enemies but he prefers it that way. He knows death is unavoidable and all else is temporary, so he smokes and drinks and reads. Time is, after all, endless.

[ + ] Humble - Tahir has a very particular set of skill; a luck, some might say. He knows his ability to handle the shadow element without fear of corruption is a strange thing, born of his brother’s sacrifice and protection, so he remains humble and kind. Death is to be respected, and so is the shadow element, so claiming power over it is not something Tahir would ever do.

[ - ] Obsessive - Knowledge is power, his father always said, and even though Tahir doesn’t care about power, he really cares about knowledge. His search for knowledge took him to Eldris, searching for the unknown and all the things that are foreign to him in the islands. He extends his kindness to the Wardens, but he’s set in only one goal and will do anything to achieve it.

[ - ] Self-centered - The death of Siraj marked a before an after in Tahir’s life. His brother was his partner in crime, the other half of his soul and the light to his darkness. After their souls were bound together, Tahir forgot about love, friendship and some times, even family. He only focused on himself and his mission to free his brother and release his soul, no matter how much the thought of letting him go hurts him.

[ - ] Conceited - Like the son of every Oracle, Tahir has never known need or hunger. He isn’t a prince, but was always treated like one. Both his parents were important Oracles in their tribe and gave him and his siblings years of the best life they could wish for, including every whim and excess his heart desired. Tahir is used to the good life and even though he adapts to every environment without much complain, he prefers warm sun and silky sheets any day.

[ - ] Solitary - After the death of his twin brother and the binding of their souls, Tahir became a solitary man. He believes he needs nothing and no one, that his mission is clear and nothing could take him away from his path. He went from having lots of friends to being only focused on his studies and pilgrimage.

C H A R A C T E R - B A C K G R O U N D

History:

A blessing of the Balance, the Elders would say when they revealed that the Oracle Ibtissam Ibn Sa’id, an expert in the shadow element, was pregnant with two children. The twins were born strong and surrounded by gifts and praise; a true miracle that proved light and shadows coexisted as one in the hearts of their people. Tahir and Siraj were raised as one, a single soul split in two and their parents couldn’t be happier. Two boys to continue their legacy, it was only a matter of time until their powers manifested.

And manifest they did. Siraj was always the kinder of the two, a smart head on his shoulders that was ruled by his heart, their father would always say, while Tahir was reckless and curious, always going after every book he could get his hands on and when he wasn’t reading, he was getting his brother in trouble. There are rules that forbid hurting a spellcaster in the Narfeni islands, but those rules do not apply to Oracle’s children before their powers manifest.

It was in one of those adventures where the boys found out about their powers and respective affinities. Siraj protecting them both with a bright, glowing white shield while Tahir covered their attackers with dark, thick smoke; offense and defense, light and darkness. The perfect balance.

News of the boys abilities spread quickly and the next day they were surrounded by tutors, more books than they could imagine and their parents pleased smiles. It was also around that time that their mother announced her second pregnancy. A girl this time, that was born soon after by the name of Amira. The boys that shared everything now had something else to share, their love for their little sister.

Years passed and sharing books turned into sharing pipes, women, men and wine. Whenever Tahir went, Siraj followed and as they grew into adulthood, so did their strength and skill until one day their youth wasn’t enough to protect them and both brothers fell ill with a burning fever, a plague that killed hundreds, peasants and kings. Siraj, a healer by nature, stood stronger against the fever but his brother Tahir grew weaker with each passing day. The reckless boy with the bright smile and the challenging eyes was withering away like a flower.

That’s when Siraj summoned their father.

They were both dying, the Elders said, but if they fought it together, they would be strong enough to survive, and so Siraj begged. He begged his father to let him die, to bind his soul to his brother’s, his sacrifice giving him the last bit of strength needed to fight. His father immediately refused, tears in his eyes, but couldn’t deny the fact that his son was right. If he didn’t do it, his two boys would leave the world forever, so he called for his wife, they said their goodbyes and started the ritual.

When Tahir woke up, his brother was gone and his only reminder was the matching tattoo they had gotten together of a white and black snake on his arm.

The grief was the worst feeling Tahir had ever experienced. He respected death and cared for the shadows and the secrets they reveled to him but he can only remember darkness at the time. Tears fell from hours until they were transformed into anger, screams and the cracking sound of magic twisting up his arm in dark clouds of smoke before going back to pained cries like an endless cycle. It took the boy a week to exhaust himself and the moment he had given up on crying over his dead brother, he saw it. A white snake, a mirror of the one in his arm, twisting and turning up his arm like smoke.

Siraj.

He could not believe their parents would do that, sacrifice one of their children to save the other but he could feel his brother’s distress, the pain and love and happiness that he was alive and Tahir couldn’t blame them. Siraj had always been the kinder one, the one with light in his heart, and Tahir had to respect his last wish and keep his brother’s memory alive.

Life continued after that, the emptiness his brother had left never filling but at least he knew his soul was still with him. Tahir became obsessed with knowledge, his old reckless self completely forgotten and he closed himself off to friends and lovers, only maintaining a close relationship with his tutors, parents and sister. He needed to continue his studies, learn all he could and when he was ready, release his brother’s soul in thanks for saving his life.

Finally, the day came. The preparations were set and Tahir was ready to start his journey, his pilgrimage to obtain knowledge and experience and finally become an Oracle like his parents were and like his brother would’ve been. When the Elders sent him to Eldris, Tahir could only smile.

Siraj would’ve loved Eldris.

Reason for joining the Wardens:

Tahir joined the Wardens out of mere curiosity, he’d say. As any Oracle in training, the Elders demand a pilgrimage, which is often done through the eight Narfeni islands, meeting with other Oracles and Elders but being the son of an Oracle granted Tahir and his family enough opportunity to see their secluded paradise, and sensing the distress that’s brewing in the continent, they decided Tahir’s abilities would be put to better use in Eldris. After months of traveling the sea and a month or so riding from town to town all the way up from Varthal until Miwor Town, Tahir found himself a group of very peculiar people from all parts of the continents and every set of skills imaginable, and out of mere curiosity for them and the knowledge they could provide, he decided to stay. He doesn’t understand or care much for the rifts and the danger that’s been growing in the northern parts of the continent, but he’s a kind soul with a useful set of skills so if the price for knowledge is fighting with them, he’ll gladly pay it with his loyalty.

Desired Connections:

Tahir doesn’t know any of the Wardens since he just started his pilgrimage a month or so ago. Eldris is an unknown continent to him and so are their customs and people. As a desired connection I could only imagine his younger sister, Amira Ibn Sa’id, who can be either a priest as well (like their parents), or a mage. They both come from the Narfeni islands and suffered through Siraj’s death when they were younger. She knows of Tahir’s bond to their brother and supports him on his decision to learn Necromancy to free him. She’s a very sweet child but also fiery in her beliefs and decisions. Tahir loves her and would protect her with his own life. It’d be a surprise to see her following him to Eldris since she isn’t old enough to begin her pilgrimage yet.

2 notes · View notes

sensitivefern · 7 years

Text

MEMORIAL SERVICE

Where is the grave-yard of dead gods? What lingering mourner waters their mounds? There was a day when Jupiter was the king of the gods, and any man who doubted his puissance was ipso facto a barbarian... But where in all the world is there a man who worships Jupiter to-day? And what of Huitzilopochtli? In one year – and it is no more than five hundred years ago – 50,000 youths and maidens were slain in sacrifice to him... Huitzilopochtli, like many other gods, had no human father; his mother was a virtuous widow; he was born of an apparently innocent flirtation that she carried on with the sun. When he frowned, his father, the sun, stood still. When he roared with rage, earthquakes engulfed whole cities. When he thirsted he was watered with 10,000 gallons of human blood. But to-day Huitzilopochtli is as magnificently forgotten as Allen G. Thurman. Once the peer of Allah, Buddha and Wotan, he is now the peer of General Coxey, Richmond P. Hobson, Nan Patterson, Alton B. Parker, Adelina Patti, General Weyler and Tom Sharkey.

Speaking of Huitzilopochtli recalls his brother, Tezcatilpoca. Tezcatilpoca was almost as powerful: he consumed 25,000 virgins a year. Lead me to his tomb: I would weep, and hang a couronne des perles. But who knows where it is? Or where the grave of Quitzalcoatl is? Or Tialoc? Or Chalchihuitlicue? Or Xiehtecutli? Or Centeotl, that sweet one? Or Tlazolteotl, the goddess of love? Or Mictlan? Or Ixtlilton? Or Omacatl? Or Yacatecutli? Or Mixcoatl? Or Xipe? Or all the host of Tzitzimitles? Where are their bones? Where is the willow on which they hung their harps? In what forlorn and unheard-of hell do they await the resurrection morn? Who enjoys their residuary estates? Or that of Dis, whom Caesar found to be the chief god of the Celts? Or that of Tarves, the bull? Or that of Moccos, the pig? Or that of Epona, the mare? Or that of Mullo, the celestial jack-ass? There was a time when the Irish revered all these gods as violently as they now hate the English. But to-day even the drunkest Irishman laughs at them. [...] You may think I spoof. That I invent the names. I do not. Ask the rector to lend you any good treatise on comparative religion: you will find them all listed. They were gods of the highest standing and dignity – gods of civilized peoples – worshipped and believed in by millions. All were theoretically omnipotent, omniscient and immortal. And all are dead.

[H. L. Mencken, Prejudices, Third Series]

===

EDITOR’S NOTE

‘Do you know Bartram’s “Travels”? Treats of Florida chiefly, has a wonderful kind of floundering eloquence in it; and has grown immeasurably old. All American libraries ought to provide themselves with that kind of book; and keep them as a future biblical article’. So wrote Carlyle to Emerson of the volume which is here reprinted. It was first published in Philadelphia in 1791, and the next year appeared in London, where Coleridge read it as early... as 1794. Coleridge was indebted to it... Later in his life he called it the last book ‘written in the spirit of the old travellers’. It was also an important source for Wordsworth...

[Travels of William Bartram]

===

In 1872... Charles Abbott, a New Jersey physician... found some arrowheads, scrapers, and axheads on his farm in the Delaware Valley. Because the artifacts were crudely made, Abbott believed that they must have been fashioned not by historical Indians but by some earlier, ‘ruder’ group, modern Indians’ long-ago ancestors. He consulted a Harvard geologist, who told him that the gravel around the finds was ten thousand years old, which Abbott regarded as proof that Pleistocene Man had lived in New Jersey at least that far in the past. Indeed, he argued, Pleistocene Man had lived in New Jersey for so many millennia that he had probably evolved there. If modern Indians had migrated from Asia, Abbott said, they must have ‘driven away’ these original inhabitants. Egged on by his proselytizing, other weekend bone hunters soon found similar sites with similar crude artifacts. By 1890 amateur scientists claimed to have found traces of Pleistocene Americans in new Jersey, Indiana, Ohio, and the suburbs of Philadelphia and Washington, D.C.

Unsurprisingly, Christian leaders rejected Abbott’s claims, which... contradicted both Ussher’s chronology and the theologically convenient Lost Tribes theory. More puzzling, at least to contemporary eyes, was the equally vehement objections voiced by professional archaeologists and anthropologists, especially those at The Smithsonian Institution...

[1491]

===

Ezra Pound, as I had heard in New York, had been visiting here without publicity. They had dressed him in a gown at the Hamilton commencement, and he had received a tremendous ovation. His policy now is not to speak but to maintain a polite silence... except to say, when asked whether he would have light meat or dark meat, ‘Just as it comes’... [...] 4th of July. Hardly a firecracker, no celebration. Tamest, blankest 4th I’ve ever known. Rosalind and I tried to find some excitement by driving to Cape Vincent. No traffic to speak of, the town itself dull... Movies: Funny Girl, Love Bug – both pretty terrible, but I had the interest of watching their reactions, which are exactly what the Hollywood people count on.

[Edmund Wilson]

===

timothy | Phleum pratense Distinctive to timothy are its bulbous corms (sometimes called haplocorms) – swollen, thickened areas of the subsurface stem that store carbohydrates, enabling the plants to survive winter. [...] Timothy leaves, flat, about 1/4 inch wide and 4 to 12 inches long, taper to a fine point. Cilia... fringe the leaf margins. The topmost or flag leaf, beneath the flower spike and shorter than the others, extends upward alongside the stem. [...] Found growing by one John Herd near Portsmouth, New Hampshire, about 1711... timothy probably first arrived from England as a contaminant in hay, litter, and ship’s ballast. The grass... was early promoted as a good hay and pasture resource by farmer Timothy Hanson. (Benjamin Franklin was the first recorded user of the name timothy in a 1747 letter, recognizing a herd grass sample sent to him as ‘mere timothy’...) [...] Timothy provides a frequently used cover for land rehabilitation and erosion control after clear-cutting, burning, overgrazing, or construction of highways, railroads, and canals.

[The Book of Field and Roadside]

===

Alchemilla conjuncta ‘This neat, clump-forming perennial bears frothy clusters of tiny yellow-green flowers from early summer to early autumn’... it obligingly sows itself into paving cracks and in that area beneath your antique ‘garden seat’... produces fertile seed by asexual reproduction – ‘a useful characteristic if the \viral threat to the world’s honeybee population continues to grow apace’... sun-shade; tolerates some droughtiness... keeps long as a cut flower... zones 3-9... particularly perky after a rain shower...

[Green Flowers]

===

Groundcovers look good when their natural habit is emphasized and they are encouraged to spill down the sides of a berm and onto the flat ground below, tying the mound to its site. I have done this with ophiopogon, a grasslike perennial that likes shade, with bugleweed, and with succulents... The groundcover flows as though it is being poured over the berm – running down in rivulets or wide streams, while not completely covering the area. If they contrast well enough, mix streams of groundcovers; the bright yellow-green licorice plant (helichrysum petiolatum ‘Limelight’) and the dark green Irish moss (Sagina subulata), for instance, work well.

[Jeff Cox]

===

May 25 [1855]. Critchicrotches in prime. Heard the first regular bullfrog’s trump on the 18th; none since. [One in the evening.] [...] The golden robin keeps whistling something like *Eat it, Potter, eat it!’

[Thoreau, Journal]

===

❚Tori Amos released her debut LP 'Little Earthquakes' 25 years ago today.

Mark Rothko died in NYC on this day in 1970.

'Hillary's America,' 'Batman v Superman' Victorious at Razzie Awards Dinesh D'Souza's "documentary" wins Worst Picture, Worst Director, Worst Actor (for D'Souza's narration) and Worst Actress (for Hillary portrayer)

Cow Literally Dances For Joy And Shows Man Gratitude After Being Freed From Tiny Stable Terrified Cow Cries Thinking She’s Headed for Slaughter, But Her Story Has a Happy Ending

Mercury in fish, seafood may be linked to higher risk of ALS

You know you're in Florida when you see a guy strip off his clothes in the middle of traffic and shout, "I am God"

How Drug-Resistant Bacteria Travel from the Farm to Your Table Antibiotic-resistant bacteria from livestock pose a deadly risk to people. But the farm lobby won't let scientists track the danger

Oscar nominee, playwright August Wilson rests far from The Hill

0 notes