infideliis-a reblogged
this blog is being archived. time for a fresh blog!
infideliis-a reblogged
this blog is being archived. time for a fresh blog!
infideliis-a reblogged
this blog is being archived. time for a fresh blog!
infideliis-a reblogged
this blog is being archived. time for a fresh blog!
infideliis-a reblogged
this blog is being archived. time for a fresh blog!
this blog is being archived. time for a fresh blog!
“I find it hard to say the things I want to say the most.”
It was hardly difficult to notice that the words may have been uttered in an altered state of mind from the not-insignificant number of bottles scattered about, and Ravus guessed to himself that it must have been something of a difficult day. Without question, he set about gathering the bottles, if only to make the space the man inhabited in his apparent bout of misery just a little more tolerable, as his mind mulled over how best to respond.
He had never been the sort of man to offer comforting words. Such acts had never been something he excelled at; that had always been the specialty of his mother and his sister. No, he had been the silent sort who stood by and listened with an interest always instead mistaken for disinterest.
People were not his strong suit.
"My mother would often suggest that the heart would always know what best to say," he finally offered. "...And that one need only speak from the heart."
infideliis-a reblogged
She can sense his doubt. It seeps from his very being, more withered than it once had been. She can feel it beneath her arms: the toll these ten years have taken. Strange and terrifying as these new powers are, Luna thanks her stars for them. That now, she has the strength to hold both of them up.
❝Then it is settled.❞ Even so, her grip doesn’t loosen. As if a single, prolonged embrace can make up for all they were robbed of. With her newfound perspective, she can see how cruel it had all been. They were but children when their mother died, kept at a distance from one another and thrust into circumstances beyond their comprehension. All she’d been promised that never came to pass…all she’d sacrificed in pursuit of a better world that would never be…it is all too much. This is not the work of a righteous god, but of a tyrant, unfeeling and undeserving of her worship.
And Ravus had known it all along.
❝It must have been maddening,❞ she murmurs tearfully into his shoulder. ❝You ought to be furious with me. Had I only– If I only could’ve– Perhaps this might never have come to pass. You would not be in this state. Noctis would not be in danger. There would still be daylight. All I ever wanted was to give a better world to those I love most. You cannot know how it hurts, to have been a means to harm those very people all this time.❞
“You can never understand how truly maddening it was. All of those years, my words falling on deaf ears...The fights, the arguments, and always...” Briefly, Ravus trails off, daring to bow his head so that his cheek rests against the top of her head. “...Always, I had truly hoped that I was wrong. That I was merely being paranoid and bitter...That they were as you’d believed. Benevolent, righteous...” Never had he wanted to be wrong so terribly. Never had he wanted to be less right.
But...
“...It is not you that I am furious with. Nor is it Noctis. You and he have been used, led astray by those who should have known better...” he continues, lifting his head to press a kiss to his sister’s hair, such a rare show of affection so easily given now. “You and he have been failed by the world. By mother, by King Regis, who held fast to a prophecy even when it meant the death of their children, who did not bother to ever attempt to find another way. They knew! For how could they not know...” He cannot keep a waver from his voice, and yes, he is angry at their mother!
For as much as he loved their mother, he had always watched her set Lunafreya on the path to ruin. Her piety had damned her own child.
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Luna concurs wholeheartedly, but to say so feels like a dangerous game. For if she is to admit that her happiest times are long past, then she must conversely admit her life is worse for all that has happened since.
How could she ever give voice to such blasphemy? Admit that there is a part of her - small and suppressed as it is - that longs to be his once more? To bring her woes to Ravus and let him take up the mantle; for in those days, her greatest struggles were usually an overwhelming lesson plan and a frog in her path. If she could only be someone’s sister, someone’s daughter, someone’s friend - someone’s anything again, instead of everyone’s everything.
But of course, of course, it is an honour to serve. And though the thought occurs only briefly, Luna makes sure to admonish herself for it. Fewer and further between are her bouts of self-pity, for that had been wrung out of her in training. She does not deserve that happy, carefree life more than everyone else.
Ravus does, she thinks to herself, and Luna doesn’t dwell on what her death will mean for him finding that life. She cannot or for his sake, she might falter. This world she is working toward is for him, too. Him especially.
❝It is strange to me,❞ she utters, giving his hand a comforting squeeze, ❝When those who knew her tell me we are alike. I am the heir to her legacy as Oracle, and I have her taste for tea, but – it is you who has her heart. Her strength. Her tenacity.❞
In her final moments, their mother had abandoned duty to save her family. A decision Luna is uncertain she is capable of making; one she knows Ravus would in a heartbeat. ❝I believe she is looking down on you, proud of all you have become. It must be hard to live under the shadow of our name, but I hope you do not think it makes you lesser. Mother never did. I do not. If anything, I cannot imagine how I might have survived these twelve years without you. You were there when she could no longer be. Everything that I am capable of is because I had you.❞
If only he could read minds. Imagine the things he might say. The assurances, the gentle words, the encouraging for her to speak her mind as freely as she wished. Alas, Ravus is no mind reader, much that he wishes he could be, and sometimes, he thinks that it is one more failing on his part.
But that is neither here nor there, and he won’t dwell on it. This moment is precious to him, walking hand-in-hand with his beloved sister, the last of his family. It is such a rare moment that they’re allowed this bit of freedom to simply be at peace, and if he closes his eyes, there is nothing else but the two of them in the world.
He returns the squeeze of her hand, but her words... He knows that she means to comfort and assure him, yet... It hurts. A knife through the heart for reasons he hasn’t the mind to properly unpack. His entire life, he has heard what they say. That his sister is their mother’s daughter, that she takes after their mother, that they are so alike. And truly, does Lunafreya think their mother would be proud of him? Of all that he has had to do to save not only his own skin but the skin of his sister, of his people?
The worst of it, he supposes, is that he had gone his whole life wishing for those words to come from someone. Foolishness, when just as he was no mind reader, no one else was a mind reader. How could anyone give him what he’d never asked for?
It makes him feel like such a child.
“...Thank you,” he whispers, and regardless of how her words make him feel, he means the thanks sincerely. He is grateful for even the smallest scraps, and this is a three course meal. “Your words...mean more than the world to me. You mean more than the world to me. You are the world to me.”
infideliis-a reblogged
Noctis let out a soft laugh at that.
“I’m not exactly known for my charm either, so you’re in good company.” He told him with a smile. He’d never been the most comfortable in social situations. He always struggled with what to do and what to say because he knew that one wrong move, and it would be all everyone was talking about. So charm wasn’t exactly something his had in supply. Gladio would attest to that. He’d been known to call him Prince Charmless on more than one occasion.
“I appreciate that.” It would give him the illusion of freedom, at least because as much as Ravus might want to give him his space, the Empire was another matter. Having him here was convenient for them. It created the illusion of unity, but also sent a clear message to his father: act against them, and Noctis would be the one to suffer.
“I don’t want to leave. I want the war to end. For the bloodshed to end. This is a way for that to happen. Besides…you might be willing to let me go, but the Emperor won’t be.” Not to mention, Ravus would get into a whole world of trouble if he helped him get away. “Thank you though. For the offer, and for trying to make this whole situation as easy on me as possible. You’re an honourable man.”
Always the fear of disappointing those around him loomed, hovering over Ravus’s shoulder, a constant specter. Even now, it was there, though he tried his best to ignore it as he tried his best not to seem too awkward. A losing battle; he was an awkward man to his core. At least, as Noctis said, he was to be in good company.
Assured that Noctis didn’t want to leave, Ravus nodded briefly then continued on his way.
“I, too, want the war to end,” he confessed, for he had never had a taste for the bloodshed he’d been forced to participate in. He was not the bloodthirsty soldier they wanted him to be. They reached his door and he unlocked it, opening it for the younger man. His living areas were large and spacious, giving the promise that they would each have space enough to keep from being on top of one another. Barely furnished beyond the basics, Ravus had never really seen fit to decorate, as he preferred Tenebrae to Gralea.
“...I’m far from an honorable man, but thank you for thinking so.”
“I’ll never be a saint, no way.”
Ravus snorted, a soft huff of laughter escaping him out of surprise.
"I think...being a saint would be overrated. And boring," he offered at last when he could properly maintain a straight face. "Your life would not be your own. It would belong to everyone else."
He only barely held back a smile.
"I like you as you are."
“I could run from it all, but I’d only get lost.”
"You could leave a trail of breadcrumbs or a piece of string," Ravus suggested without looking up from his book; from his reply, however, she could be certain that he was listening. "Though I suppose that whatever you're running from would follow them to you..."
Finally, he looked up at Avery.
"I'll listen," he offered.
infideliis-a reblogged
| — . ♕ . — | It was as though Ardyn were watching those carefully guarded walls around Ravus crumble at the hands (or paws, really) of a tiny feline. He shouldn’t be surprised. He knew perhaps better than anyone what a talent she had for such a skill. Whatever the reason, Ardyn was grateful for it. The High Commander’s bristly disposition was entertaining, the vast majority of the time, but he was rather comfortable at the moment and devoid of his usual quips.
“I will be certain to send that memo,” he stated with a light chuckle of jest. Considering that Ravus’ lap was occupied, he leaned to pick up the cup of tea from the tray, offering it to him. It was never polite to disturb a cat, even for tea.
While Moogle purred loudly enough that even Ardyn could hear it from where he sat, he could not help but smile. His gaze drifted to the window, watching the snow squall that clouded the panes and obscured all visibility. It was likely they would be there for a time. At least the malfunctions had occurred close enough to his home to take shelter in peace.
“Hm, a year or so,” Ardyn answered, looking back to the cat in conversation. “Long enough for her to suitably cover most all garments in my possession with white hairs. I believe I find myself envious of your stark attire, in this case.” Ardyn had become quite the frequent user of lint rollers since Moogle’s appearance.
It was reluctant, somewhat, the allowing of the walls to come down just a little, yet Ravus could hardly help it. There was something about being here, in this warm home, surrounded by a roaring storm, a cat in his lap...And then there was Ardyn, who was being far more...charming than Ravus commonly found him to be. Where normally he found him to be positively irritating (and had found him a nuisance when this trip had begun), he was beginning to warm up to the man.
“You have my thanks.” For the memo and the offered tea that Ravus only hesitated very briefly before accepting, and whether it was because he wished not to disturb the cat in his lap or because he did not quite trust Ardyn, even he did not quite know.
The sip he took of the tea was small, enough to warm his throat, and it was pleasant. It granted not only his throat but his entire body a bit of warmth he sorely needed. The cold had never been his friend.
“Hmm..” The purring was a comfort. Somehow, it almost reminded him of home and all of the various creatures he’d once had roaming. A lifetime ago, and it nearly awakened a homesickness in him. “I suppose for once, my attire serves me well, then.” He gave a smile, then, one that surprised even himself.
after years on this blog, and years on ardyn, i’m feeling the urge to remake them and start fresh. hmmmm.
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@infideliis from here
Prompto recognized him easily. Who wouldn't? There was very few people who had hair like his, or who dressed as he did. And he wasn't exactly a welcome sight. The only times Prompto had met Ravus the man had geen aggressive. He didn't have much faith that the former prince had calmed down since then.
But he lowered the flashlight enough that it wasn't shining in his eyes any longer. Even though he was a little anxious about seeing the man, he still felt a little worried - not for himself, but for Ravus. The night wasn't safe, even for people like them.
"Where are you headed?" he asked. "Maybe I'm going the same way."
Once the light was lowered and no longer blinding, Ravus was permitted to get a proper look at the man. It was then that he recognized him, but only barely; their meeting had been only once or twice before, and it had been far from a good one.
It was the Lucian King's friend. The blond one who had, when last they'd met, nearly been shaking in his boots.
"Lestallum," Ravus answered. "A truck of refugees from Niflheim should have come through ahead of me..." He'd served as a distraction, drawing danger away from them to allow them what he hoped was a relatively safe passage.
infideliis-a reblogged
His rare smile never fails to bring one to Iris’ own scarred face, which only widens when he begins talking about the apples. Between him and Talcott’s brains bursting with plenty of cool facts, Iris still thinks the two ought to write them down and publish them as books or something. The current and future generations of this broken world would benefit from it all, surely. She’d read it all, though she prefers hearing Ravus speak anyway.
Now, despite the brief silence hanging over them, there’s no anxiety that builds within Iris to accompany the hint of sadness feels like she’d expected before asking her question. Once he leaves she’ll miss him, she’ll miss plenty about him, and she’ll especially miss the constant comfort he brings her. But that won’t be for a while yet, right?, she hopes in silence, fingers idly carding through weed-less soil.
Ravus’ eventual response does ease her sadness somewhat. Perhaps it helped, too, that she’d expected a different decision– after all, he’s not obligated to return, to remember any of them, or her. “Of course I’d worry that,” she speaks honestly, which is yet another thing she’s able to do so comfortably around him. “Even if you don’t visit, for whatever reason, I’d pester you with constant letters and make sure you mail me back some seeds or saplings from your home.”
He doesn’t have to return at all, but Iris would like some things to remember him by.
It’s a novel thing, having someone interested in what he has to say. His mother and sister and Maria had always seemed to simply tolerate his words, and though they had never said anything against it, from an early age Ravus had begun to often feel as if they were merely being polite in allowing him to speak. So he’d stopped. It may well have been his perception, but how could a child argue with his perception?
“I hope you do pester me with constant letters,” Ravus replies, a little hopeful that she will do as she threatens. It would brighten his life so much, particularly when he now has no family left. Dare he consider her and Talcott something akin to family?
“I’ll always do my best to respond to each one of your constant letters. How could I simply turn my back on those who had been instrumental in helping me through all of...” He trails off, knowing that he hardly needs to finish with this. The darkness, the daemons, what seems to be the end of the world, all of this.
“...And you would always be welcome in Tenebrae,” he adds, more hopefulness that she might cross borders for a visit herself. “Then you could see all of the seeds and saplings in their own environment, where they would flourish best.”