STANDING OVER A GRAVE. @knightsdeath - Tumblr Blog

#𝑲𝑵𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻𝑺𝑫𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑯 ——— a highly selective felix fraldarius of fire emblem : three houses writing blog. hi, my name is mimi ( she / they, 26, queer, viet—american ) and i sometimes go by meems. this blog is heavily headcanon based, 18+, and mutuals only. low activity / slow responses. felix is a little bitch and i, regrettably, love him.

established jul 31st, 2019

other blogs : kaeya alberich, naminé, multi—muse.

google doc / aes side blog.

#pinned.

@florafate.

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐥𝐞. of course, not wanting to help her out with buying a few flowers. " oh well, plenty more fish in the sea then ~! who knows .. maybe someday you’ll buy a flower from me. ” she would reiterate.

so petty, she thinks with his pulling away rather evident. he really is a funny one. how long will he be able to keep up this act, she wonders. “ well, yea .. people do buy them. sometimes lots of them to take home. my flowers are different — i guess .. they’re kinda special ? maybe because they are grown in sacred places. that always makes things a little more special, right ? ” but she knows not as to why she is able to make flowers grow and would rather not find out. why her ? it’s been a question tucked away for so long. “ yeeeep. that’s gotta be it — ”

he seems really confused, so she will drop her plans to pick up the wagon right then and once more approach him. “ really. ” she says with a soft and rather inviting grin. with his experience in being disgusted with everything, she is certain that this will only make him feel more fickle; but she will not give up. no matter how hard he tries to pull away. “ do you think the ribbons are too much ? thought it was a nice touch .. ” she is ready for the complaints, expecting it with open arms.

this must be a nightmare of some sort ——— though, honestly, his mind can’t possibly be capable of coming up with a character like her. there’s a sense of familiarity in her mannerisms and words, far off as though trying to peer at someone across a wide open field, covered in snow. so : not a nightmare, but something taken out of his immensely long list of SOCIAL CONUNDRUMS HE INHERENTLY DOES NOT ENJOY. not that felix enjoys any social conundrums to begin with.

❝ and people delude themselves into thinking that, ❞ it’s less a question and more a flat statement. people are foolish and fickle things, after all / they’ll buy into anything and everything if it gives them a fleeting sense of security. just look at the entirety of the concept of RELIGION. just look at the whole existence of humankind, absurd to the last.

his jaw sets when she smiles at him and he rolls his eyes up / and to the side / she’s too bright to look at / it’s hard to look at people, besides. ❝ everything is too much, ❞ from the flowers to the ribbons to this woman, herself, and he makes a bitten off, irritated noise as he brushes past her and towards the wagon, reluctance in every step. but he takes the wagon in hand, anyways, nose wrinkling automatically at the overly—strong smell of flowers. ❝ this better not be far. ❞

#florafate #❛ ┈ when will you stop waiting ( ... ) never / never / never ( ic )#such a charming man sdkjgnsdgj

@accrsed : it is rare to see her unkempt, hair down and ruffled, sticking up at odd angles- but she stands as such in the light of (barely) morning, head tipping forward, eyes fluttering. the birdsong is yet to begin, leaving in its wake blissful silence, punctuated by the quiet yet distinct sounds of movement- his? her own? she cannot be certain. she cannot succumb to sleep either, (couldn't, even if she wished to) standing vigil over their kitchen counter as she is, tea brewing just in front of her- two mugs, as is usual. the scent of jasmine permeates the kitchen, will soon spread further; she spares a brief glance through half-lidded eyes (drooping lower; she's yet to awaken fully at this hour) toward the doorway, though doesn't bother to linger. instead, she simply breathes- in, and out- and murmurs a quiet "good morning" to the even quieter room (and to herself, a gentle reminder- she is here.)

the world is quiet in the early hours of the morning, when the sun hasn’t quite risen and the sky is dusted in light ——— and silent. so silent he can hear the wind whispering, the quiet beating of his half—ravaged heart, can feel each and every ache of his body seeming to protest at life, itself / and too bad, because there’s still breath in his lungs and a path to walk, even if he cannot see ahead of the twists and turns. it’s simpler, here, at this time, with less chaos and noise pressing in at all sides, where he can stand among the morning dewy mist and go through his stances, his steps, his grips : easy as breathing.

he gathers the frosted fragments of himself, here, beneath the witness of the sky and the fading stars and the departing moon and the rising sun.

moments pass / or perhaps hours / or days / or years. archimedes flies high overhead, awaiting the call to return to him, and felix pauses in his stance and tilts his head back and breathes. breathes. blood in his veins and muscle pulling on bone and felix fraldarius pieces himself back together : shard by shard.

and whistles a sharp note, and returns.

( archimedes shouts and continues on / heedless of his master’s cry, and felix doesn’t bother pressing the point ——— he’s always preferred her, anyways, and if determined he’ll ignore felix all day long. )

the door is ajar and he pushes his way back inside. the smell of jasmine greets him and he unfastens his sword from his belt, hanging it by the door, movements steady and unfaltering and well—learned, all but innate to the creaking of his bones and the early morning quiet that envelops the pair of them with stark absolution. marianne looks like a fragment of morning light : ephemeral and seemingly—fading, yet persistent and present and here. he glances at her briefly, there and gone / not for reassurance that she is there but simply to look at her. no haunting ghost nor lingering spectre, simply her, standing with mugs of jasmine tea.

felix plucks three oranges from the bowl on the table, balancing two in one hand and holding one in the other, and stands at the counter across from her. silence settles between them / not uncomfortable but a constant companion for the pair of them who’ve forged whole existences out of untouched silence / and he digs his thumb into the skin of an orange. citrus permeates the air as he pulls the skin back methodically, moving in a spiral from the top down, skin and pith falling away.

everything is quiet, here. simpler. no demands or expectations, simply orange peel falling to the counter. he thinks of balmy summer days, caught in flux with an eternal winter. neither of them are summer children, he thinks, but the flux ( ... ) there they could exist.

he peels one and then another and she says good morning as he pulls at the top of the third, and he sits with those words and that soft, sleep—worn, morning tone as he peels this final orange. the peel splits and he lets it fall, pries the orange apart from the top with his thumbs, and lines up the oranges between them.

❝ morning, ❞ more than a murmur, unavoidably brusque as always, yet still sleep—rough, settled deep in his chest. sunlight begins to creep into the room, stretching its way sleepily across the floor. birdsong begins. he can hear the quiet meow of the cat and the far off shrieks of archimedes and he reaches for a mug of tea / she reaches for the peeled orange slices. everything is simpler, here : without expectation nor call nor cause. a clock ticking on, the world shifting around them, and he thinks of the violence of a blade in his hand and the heft of an orange and his palm itches ——— the sun is rising and with it comes noise, different from nighttime noise, demanding and frenetic and lingering. birdsong like war—song, vivid enough to incite bloodshed.

he looks to her / catches her eye / and takes a sip of tea.

i am here. we are here.

#accrsed #❛ ┈ when will you stop waiting ( ... ) never / never / never ( ic )#this is Utterly nonsensical and i don't think there's anything sensible in here but it's like 5 am so we're going with it?#anyways... hi go ily

gainsborro.

oh, how nice ! he isn’t even putting up a fight. 𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫, already ! “ ahh yes ! ” the flower girl, beams. she is almost bouncing with enthusiasm at the mention further of a flower wagon. “ my flower wagon is really important .. you know, i really care about flowers — and flowers make people smile. a lot of people around here seem to really appreciate it, even though they aren’t like .. a luxury item or anything. back home, my flowers are. ” she is turning to walk backwards and face him, grinning for a moment before resorting to just a simple smile. “ so, basically — i guess you can kinda call me a 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐭. i travel all around with hopes to bring smiles. it .. kinda stems from a silly little hobby to something more. ”

it is then that she realized how rude she was being. no introduction ? oh my ! a slight gasp erupts from her lips, “ i’m sorry ! sometimes i get a little distracted. aerith — by the way. i promise that by the end of the day, you’ll wanna buy all my flowers ! guaranteed ! ” a thumbs up is given before her hand clasp together. exiting the church has her to turn around again and face ahead. the light shines upon them. so bright. she is holding a hand above her eyes briefly. “ alright ~! ” she says in a boisterous tone, approaching the other and grabbing his hand without further ado to rush onward. “ this way ! ” she says, leading him to a small flower wagon full of vibrant blooms and a few ribbons on it’s exterior.

flowers? he finds himself confounded by the thought alone. do people really want something as frivolous as flowers that they’re willing to purchase them with legitimate currency? when there are flowers to be found in nature if you would just walk around? though, he supposes, it’s rather difficult to locate them and it could arguably be a COMMODITY. but there are better things to spend money on, isn’t there? supplies and food and weapons and supplies. he couldn’t imagine being so flippant with coin ——— but then, he’s been told he’s PRACTICAL TO A FAULT, and anti—dreamer, judgmental and cold and dismissive.

but ( ... ) flowers? ❝ and people... buy them? ❞ disbelief evident as ever.

he tucks the name aerith away in his mind / bound to be forgotten but not quite / settled into the fringes of his awareness, ❝ i won’t want to buy any, ❞ he says automatically, because it’s the truth, but then his hand is being grabbed and his hackles start to raise ——— TOUCH FROM SOMEONE UNKNOWN IS NEAR ALWAYS UNAPPRECIATED, but he’s being dragged after her, a thoroughly irate expression on his face. when they stop he pulls his hand sharply from her grasp, teeth gritting as he looks over her / at the damn wagon / and it’s ribbons. ❝ really? ❞ this woman couldn’t possibly be real.

#gainsborro #❛ ┈ when will you stop waiting ( ... ) never / never / never ( ic )#SDJGHBSJDHBG fe is SO confused about the flowers he rly is #yes fe sometimes ppl like pretty things

@yeshens : “is fighting all you have any interest in doing?” he doesn’t mean to sound abrasive, truly, but — isn’t it the truth? in their brief acquaintance, ferdinand has not seen felix do anything with the same sort of fervor as he possesses when sparring. he’s determined to find something, nonetheless. “come now, surely there are other things in life that have caught your interest! tea, for example, in its many variations and depths—” ferdinand doesn’t have to wait for felix to respond with his characteristic dismissal before dismissing it himself, his mind barely able to conjure up the image of felix drinking tea amidst a garden of flowers. (even if it is a humorous image that he files away for later consideration.) “— hm, no, i did not think so. something more exciting, perhaps...? i recall there being a fireworks show scheduled in town for the new years — that is, tonight — would you accompany me to view it? i promise not to bother you — for, shall we say, a month? — should you agree.”

❝ no, ❞ is his immediate answer, though ferdinand evidently thinks it’s all good and well to continue prattling on, and felix finds himself rolling his eyes, tilting his head back, gazing at the sky above. fighting isn’t all he has interest in doing ——— there are a number of other things, but they are all secondary, tertiary, et cetera to fighting. he wishes to improve himself and better himself such that he will be a scourge upon the battlefield and, thus, prevent unnecessary losses, to become strong enough to / well. it’s neither here nor there. to TRULY IMPROVE UPON YOURSELF time, dedication, and effort must be put towards it. and, if felix has taken that to an extreme, then who does that possibly impact? who can that feasibly harm? he hardly knows how to do anything without the full force of his efforts ( and how considerable that is when taken into account, how powerful the sheer force of his determination ) and training falls underneath that category / and maybe even taken beyond.

so why does ferdinand von aegir care so damn much about what he does in his free time? as if felix has free time to spare.

the proposal of TEA is enough to make felix’s eyebrow raise in disbelief, and he watches as ferdinand all but physically dismisses the idea as preposterous, which it very well is. felix can barely stand meals in the presence of other people, let alone tea time which comes with the expectation of even more conversation. and fireworks? the suggestion seems so very random that felix simply stares at a point just over ferdinand’s shoulder for a moment / before the other key part of that sentence occurs to him : NEW YEARS. he hadn’t even known, time makes fools of them all, wary and unaware and passing eternally.

( here, a faded half—ruined memory : a gloved hand clasped in another’s, warm furs cloaking him, the voice of his dear brother humming in his ear, the laughter of darling mother ringing, the merriment of dread father carrying. and for the boy? the boy with a whole heart, un—frostbitten and tender like a mother’s kiss on your forehead? he looks to the night sky, eyes wide and luminous beneath the bursting of lights and he thinks / pretty, pretty like ——— )

his jaw works and half of him, or more perhaps, compulsively wants to deny the request. winter’s chill rests on his tongue and his gaze flits over ferdinand’s face for a moment, there and gone again. the offer is genuine, borderline earnest, and it sits strangely in his chest. intrusive and unwelcome and unwieldy. ❝ fine. i’ll go, ❞ like drawing icicles from his chest, reluctant but still yet giving, a slight wrinkle to his nose, as if the proceedings are repulsive when he, himself, is saying yes. ❝ if you don’t talk when we spar. and don’t bother me, ❞ always have to make your terms crystal clear, huh, fraldarius?

one night won’t kill him. though he may attack ferdinand, depending.

#yeshens #yeshens : ferdinand.#❛ ┈ when will you stop waiting ( ... ) never / never / never ( ic )#i rambled per usual SDKGJNKJNG #they're so funny. i love them.

heartsruin.

sylvain understood plenty / a brilliant man who loved nothing more than to play the fool. there was little that managed to make it’s way past him, spending too much time simply watching the world play out. even as a child, sylvain would dissect his surroundings; the way dimitri would trail after edelgard, even as children / the way miklan would poison their food and destroy their bond and would watch sylvain with unfiltered hatred in his eyes / the way felix would reach out to latch onto his hand and never let him go, not ever even consider the idea of letting sylvain go ( except he did, once. twice. countless times in their academy days but no, that’s not fair. sylvain had let go first, hadn’t he? but even so, here they are. )

sylvain was a smart man and sylvain was an awful man / he sees the way felix’s jaw clenches at his plea and that’s all it took for him to know he’d win this round. there’s not a hint of recognition on his features though, staying as wounded as needed to until felix finally —— bent. it was low and it was dirty but felix was more stubborn than anything else ( nobody clung to life more than felix and yet, sylvain was fearful than most ) and sylvain knew this was the only strategy that allows for victory. a genuinely smile blossoms as relief floods the body and at least for tonight, felix would rest. tomorrow would be another fight to battle but today? sylvain can rest easily knowing felix would be fine. he was a man of his word, and in this sylvain had no doubt.

❛ thank you. ❜ and this was genuine too, a response from a heart that has been stripped bare and peeled back until the muscle was red and raw and bleeding ( just for felix / only for felix — ) he moves back only to make better accommodations for felix; a fluff of the pillow, a fix of the blankets, a caress of the cheek. you are human, my love. that is the unfortunate truth. ❛ are you hungry? i’ve told the nurses i’ll be the one in charge of taking care of you, so don’t feel shy about making selfish demands. ❜ and this is how sylvain settles back into their normal — with a playful string of words and a childish smile / this is how sylvain shows that everything will be okay.

felix has been manipulated and he knows it ——— sylvain is highly intelligent and aware of people, the way they function, the ways in which they work. how to make them do exactly what he wants : it’s one of sylvain’s talents, and felix knows objectively he is the easiest to manipulate among them all. he has been called predictable outside of battle often enough that he knows there is a shade of truth to it. and there is no one who knows him even half as well as sylvain does / not even a fration thereof. sylvain knows him, the core of him, the very heart of him, the jagged edges and the permafrost walls, every last piece and shard that creates the essential SELF. he has taken time to learn beyond what was innate and what laid beneath and it was baring the very heart of himself, the half—eaten heart, tender like a bruise, tender like sylvain’s mouth against his throat, teeth pressing in.

what is most frustrating? being manipulated or allowing himself to be manipulated? to know that sylvain is felix’s GREATEST WEAKNESS and they both know it well, and sylvain is willing to use this against him, ruthless and heart—full. this is out of love, he thinks / he knows / he is confident in his read of sylvain but sometimes he is as unreadable as the vast majority of the world. loving cruelty shifts and simply genuine love remains and felix thinks that were it anyone else he would feel unsettled by this / off balance by this / on edge by this change.

but this is sylvain.

he makes a quiet, irritated noise ( not unlike a tch ) at the thank you and wants to make a comment about how the genuineness of it made him nauseous, but instead he leans into the hand brushing against his face, feeling worn and half—ashamed of himself and raw. i could eat the world raw, i could eat you whole. ❝ they’re allowing you to care for patients? times truly are desperate, ❞ he aims for derisive but his voice is thin and he feels wan, still trying to shed the irritation clinging to his skin like a too tight cloak fasted around his neck, cutting in. ❝ just ——— come here, ❞ he reaches out / snags onto the hem of sylvain’s sleeve / mouth thinned and set / not quite looking at him but / always always always asking him to stay, stay, don’t leave me, stop leaving me. felix thinks of himself in the days after dear darling dead brother’s death wishing desperately for sylvain ( and ingrid and di ——— stop ) and shattering inside, steadily. how revolting.

#heartsruin #❛ ┈ when will you stop waiting ( ... ) never / never / never ( ic )#they are simply :sparkles: Destroying Me :sparkles:#it's rly just that sylvain is felix's [paramore vc ] Only Exception to many many many things because he's just... the Most comfortable w him #the most settled. syl can manipulate him and fe will scowl at him and be annoyed at himself but in the end its just abt the love babey #abt the love and also? fe always just wanting syl to stay w him

gainsborro.

“ 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥, 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐱 ! it’s nice to meet you. guess sometimes i can get a little carried away. ” her hands come to finally settle in front of her, leaning towards him rather playfully. personal space seemingly nonexistent to aerith. she will examine him, briefly before leaning away and tapping at her chin.“ hmm .. maybe you smile in secret. i’m sure there is something that makes you happy that you haven’t .. quite .. told me yet. i mean, we did after all j̲u̲s̲t̲ ̲m̲e̲e̲t̲.̲ do you mind helping me with something ? ” she is already leading the way. “ i bet you are eager to help a girl in need, since .. well .. you aren’t grumpy and all ! right ? ” now how could he possibly say no ? she’s certain she has C̲R̲A̲C̲K̲E̲D̲ ̲T̲H̲E̲ ̲C̲O̲D̲E̲.̲

the more he protests, the more she will find more reason to not give up on the made up ideals of their relationship. something about him reminds her of home. “ i’ll do all the talking, you don’t have to worry about a thing ! i do have a pretty large flower wagon outside of the church .. and just to be honest, it’s a reaallll hassle to push all by myself. not that i can’t do it and all, but .. ”

she leans towards / he leans away ——— more of an unconscious movement than anything, but people being in his personal space tends to make him ( ... ) uncomfortable is, perhaps, the best word for it. his nose wrinkles at her wondering, so brazenly and irritatingly, that surely he smiles in private. HE SMILES, just not often, because what use is there in smiling lest there’s a reason to smile? and even then ——— ❝ and you are? ❞ if he sounds rude, it’s because he intends to be. she starts to walk away and he deeply, seriously considering turning and walking in the opposite direction. considers it, and begins to turn away, but pauses for half of a second. just long enough that he sighs, feeling caught.

there’s no eagerness to help a so—called girl in need, but a finite and concrete goal is something to fill his time with, if nothing else.

❝ fine, because i have time i’ll help you, ❞ it feels like letting her win, which sours against the back of his tongue, but surely that’s an irrational feeling. surely. winning and losing combat is absolute and concrete. winning and losing CONVERSATIONS is entirely up to interpretation ( bold, coming from someone who so frequently loses them. it’s almost like the lack of charm leaves him at a disadvantage. ) ❝ ... a flower wagon? ❞ he repeats, because the idea frankly sounds preposterous.

#gainsborro #❛ ┈ when will you stop waiting ( ... ) never / never / never ( ic )

yeshens.

he stares. “i did not mean to imply there would be no observation involved,” ferdinand points out. “but see, while we may control only ourselves, i have the better view of your movement, and vice versa.” was talking to felix always so much like pulling teeth? ferdinand is aware that he himself isn’t the easiest person to talk to, either, with the way his mind snags on minor details and gets lost in the technicalities of things, but where ferdinand sought understanding first, felix had already defaulted to aggression.

unfortunately for ferdinand, felix’s aggression is a thing of beauty. he watches as the swordsman takes his place, the easy way with which he handles his sword — no, he can’t allow himself to get distracted now. ferdinand raises his lance, taking a battle stance in preparation for felix’s assault.

but he can’t resist one last quip. “it simply seems more conducive if i pointed out any flaws in your form, rather than wait for you to discover it yourself.”

aggression is simply a facet of the whole. it is not feigned nor falsified, it is simply a default for him, both learned and innate. he has made himself unassailable, and always has been, irregardless of childhood, being brought so easily to tears, a boy long dead and gone. ( ? ) though there are times when he speaks that it seems to echo in his mind, becoming warped and unraveled and deeper and different and similar to ——— ferdinand and the others who wish to speak to him and to draw him into inane conversations, as if playing a game or trying to discover what lies deeper, are simply wasting their time, as far as felix is concerned.

and still they try. or, well, ferdinand tries : most people with common sense give up after some time, and he wonders if it’s a bizarre quirk of the empire.

HE ROLLS HIS EYES, settling into his customary stance, shoulders loose and feet light. ❝ do what you want, as long as you fight back, ❞ begrudgingly he can admit, entirely to himself, that there’s some point in delivering criticism to each other, but ferdinand said it himself : felix would have discovered it eventually. he discards the thought with a small jerk of his head, lifts his blade, and within one breath and the next darts forward / aggressive as always.

#yeshens #yeshens : ferdinand.#❛ ┈ when will you stop waiting ( ... ) never / never / never ( ic )#❛ ┈ a fight / to console the heart ( academy )#fe is just such a lovely boy SDKJNGSDKJNG #he rly said 'whatever as long as i can hit you'

blaimed.

if no better explanation can be offered, the simple fact is that watching felix in his comfort place is mesmerizing. he has recreated swordsmanship in an art form of his own, perfected it right down to every angle of his blade, and trusts his own body so completely. dedication is evident in the precision of his movements, in the stability and focus of his gaze. even as the years pass felix remains as vigilant as ever, and dimitri will not soon cease to admire his efforts.

and yet, there is always something expectedly unexpected about the scathing countenance with which felix regards him.

“ no… my shoulder has been getting stiff again, and no one is better than you to work it out. ”

and the truth he does speak, with more earnestness than timidity in the full reach of his voice. despite his request to spar, dimitri carries neither sword nor lance - let alone armor. he appears before felix with the bare minimum — the closest to his truest self, his truest heart. cotton shirt hangs loosely from his broad shoulders, but still tucked neatly into black trousers. golden hair is tied back into an unruly half-ponytail, and he carries two towels in his right hand.

“ that is … if it’s amenable to you. ”

there is something unsettled, misplaced. a beast wearing a man’s skin / a man wearing a beast’s mane : is there any difference? yes and no. yes and no, and somewhere in between lies a breaking point. BOAR KING stands there, furs shed claws shed fangs shed monster lingering, ever lurking, torn down to what appears to be the most benign and fragile fragments of the self. a lie, of course : there is no part of dimitri blaiddyd which is fragile nor mild, there is only brutal strength and destruction set into his skin ——— IT’S ALL FELIX CAN SEE.

no wide—eyed boy, no easy laughter, no innocent light in that remaining eye. only ghosts and corpses and devastation resting heavy on his shoulders. sickening.

revolting, the earnestness with which he speaks with the mouth of a man and perhaps there are still fangs in that mouth, many layered and seeking to maim. ❝ you’re bothering me for that? ❞ disdain resonates in his tone, frigid, trapped in the heart of a blizzard bright as day, where no light may penetrate. the blade in his hand shifts / and he considers turning away without another word / but in the end if dimitri is a fool, requesting asinine things and watching from afar and un—layered and beast snarling in his chest and troublesome—troubling, felix is a fool as well.

❝ fine, ❞ mono—syllabic and still cutting / callous / cruel. their eyes do not meet ( he doesn’t dare look to dimitri directly ) but offers no denial, no back turned, simply irritation, baring its teeth.

#blaimed #❛ ┈ when will you stop waiting ( ... ) never / never / never ( ic )#i sighed deeply like four times writing this SDKJGNS

yeshens.

he had, in fact, been there to talk. there was conversation to be found in most anything, and was it not a form of joy to have company you could confide in? ferdinand had always optimistically held on to that belief, but — perhaps it wasn’t the case for everyone, and felix in particular, or so it seemed. ferdinand closes his mouth on command.

and then opens it again in indignance at falling into a trap felix had likely not even laid intentionally. huffing a little under his breath, ferdinand picks his weapon up and steps onto the training ground. if this was what it takes… “we could spar and talk, after. how else are we supposed to improve, if not by exchanging opinions?”

ugh ——— it would figure that things cannot be so simple or straightforward. people always wanted to complicate things with words and conversation when things get lots in translation, when it’s a waste of breath, a waste of time. it’s almost not even worth it to train with ferdinand, but felix can’t deny his skill with a lance, and to become the best you must always continuously challenge yourself. ❝ by observing, ❞ said at length, irritation dripping from every syllable.

he twists his sword easily in his hand, graceful and arcing as he turns, begins to walk to the other side of the training ground, sunlight glinting off metal and settling across the grounds. ❝ you have eyes, last i checked, ❞ learning is most efficient when you simply do it, after all. for felix, at the very least, and he’s always had little patience for the meticulous minutiae of explanations. it’s difficult, when your instructors demand you meet their eyes.

#yeshens #yeshens : ferdinand.#❛ ┈ when will you stop waiting ( ... ) never / never / never ( ic )#❛ ┈ a fight / to console the heart ( academy )#god fe is so... SDKGJNSDKGNJ

gainsborro.

𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝, but only for a moment will she maintain shock. she finds herself giggling seconds later at such a response. “ wow, sure are a tough one, huh ? do you always act like this ? hmm .. bet you don’t even know how to smile, do you ? ” she wants to help. even if he doesn’t want her to. even if he continues to make it clear that her advances are already unwanted and they have only just begun talking, it only helps her feel more desire to stick around.

“ anything can have some power to it. you just gotta believe in it. i don’t know .. maybe i am actually pretty weird like you say. not all of us can be normal after all .. besides, normal is boring. ” though, once upon a time, that was all she desired. to be normal. her hands tie behind her, she is swinging a little back and forth playfully. her smile is dazzling, warmth never leaving her features. “ so .. what’s your name then ? you .. remind me a lot of someone i know ! he’s really grumpy too. ”

❝ i’m not ——— grumpy, ❞ he sounds immensely, and appropriately, affronted, as if he hasn’t been told that he’s GRUMPY before. which, he has. many, many times, in fact. in varying ways under varying circumstances. so what if he doesn’t care to mince his words nor be anywhere near amiable? a waste of time is what it is, consistently and never—endingly so, and the fact that this woman is being so ridiculous and saying he doesn’t even know how to smile and remarking that normality is boring ( figures, from someone so far from normal ——— though felix isn’t normal, either ) all with that SMILE ON HER FACE.

his gaze tracks upwards, along the walls and to the vaulted ceilings of the cathedral, and his mouth thins, considering. what use is there in knowing his name? he should have just kept walking the moment she had spoken to him, rather than linger and waste time. ❝ felix, ❞ he says after a prolonged pause, arms crossing over his chest, feeling uncomfortably watched. this cheerful woman, these silently humming walls, and so on.

#gainsborro #❛ ┈ when will you stop waiting ( ... ) never / never / never ( ic )#they're... so funny sdkgjnskdjng

❝ ——— if you’re here to talk, don’t bother, ❞ thoroughly unfriendly and utterly cutting. how in the world can he manage it? well : through absolute bitterness and a generalized resentment at the world, of course !! also, simply not caring about the minutiae of social interaction. all of it is irritating, when instead there are simpler ways to interact with people, and far more efficient ways of learning of them. ❝ spar with me or leave me alone. ❞

@yeshens, for ferdinand !!

#yeshens #yeshens : ferdinand.#❛ ┈ when will you stop waiting ( ... ) never / never / never ( ic )#❛ ┈ a fight / to console the heart ( academy )#writing this made me laugh because Oh My God #anyways hi... you didn't ask for this but i'm doing it anyways

tomoge.

felix is kind, in his own way. [ if one may call it kindness. she’s never quite too sure. it should be called so, she reasons: kindness. something simple. something meaningful. clear to her. she’s decided to call it so. ] he’s kind in ways that very few humans she’s come across on her travels are: conscientious, and mindful, and — whether it be out of pointed intent or pure disinterest — accepting of her. she’s no more human than the demons that cross their path to be slain — made even more obvious now that she’s stopped pretending to be one to fit in — but he’s never minded, it seems. there’s a kindness in that. to her, at least.

she falls into step at his side, considering his words. she’s a professor no longer, not since her father died, but kindness is to be repaid, and the ashen demon pays her dues. whatever they may be. “ you need to be prepared to kill me, ” she begins, as easy as a ‘ how do you do? ’ spoken at a crossroads between two neighboring doorsteps. “ … during our spars, my intent is always to kill, because the alternative means my life. that’s how i learned to battle — with survival at the forefront — and it’s the only way i know. ” she’d been hired to train them as knights, so keeping silent had been the best option, for her father’s sake, but that hasn’t mattered in ⸻ years, isn’t it? her smile turns teasing.

“ of course — ultimately — the aim is to not kill, but that takes skill, too. ”

pragmatism is common—ground. how they view the world may be different but at the core of it is realism, accepting the facts as they lie, not seeking out optimism nor falling into patterns of pessimism ——— in regards to battle, if nothing else. and it’s this that fostered felix’s respect for byleth, for her methods and her skill with the blade. certainly there had been a spark, something to capture his attention with the way that she held herself and how she moved in battle, but simple SHOWMANSHIP is hardly enough to keep his attention for long. it goes beyond that, further than that, and into something as simple yet tangled yet convoluted as this : she takes him as he is, at face—value, demanding nothing more or nothing less, seeing him as himself, with no ghosts nor corpses to weigh him down.

she doesn’t judge him for his mannerisms nor brusque manner / and it feels JUVENILE to even acknowledge that as something meaningful to him / so he buries it beneath snow and frost where it will be preserved and silent.

❝ spoken like a true mercenary, ❞ and there : a faint smile on his face, a gleam of excitement in his eyes. this is the approach he likes best. what use is training if there is no threat? how is skill meant to be honed and strength increased in the absence of adrenaline pumping through his body? ❝ trust me : i give our battles my all, ❞ the absolute and unyielding truth / when doesn’t felix speak the truth, even at the expense of others? / a revealing of this truth, too : that he could not kill her in this form. one day, perhaps. one day, certainly.

it’s not as though he’ll stop until he achieves that goal. felix doesn’t know how. ❝ showing off now, are you? it takes the height of skill and control not to kill your enemy ——— and you’ve avoided killing me all this time. ❞

#tomoge #tomoge : byleth.#❛ ┈ when will you stop waiting ( ... ) never / never / never ( ic )#they're so fucking weird... why are they So fucking weird #love them so much SDKGJNSKJNG

gainsborro.

“ 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐨 ? ” the girl approaches, tilting her head a bit and pausing briefly to offer him a sweet smile. “ do you know how ? ” she would finally ask, retiring to grab her basket of floras not far away on a bench. once more, she would approach. “ it’s really easy .. and .. it might make you feel better ? even if you know .. you could also hate it or something. i mean, i know a couple people who don’t like praying. i kinda do it because .. this place has a power to it ? does .. that make sense or do i look crazy ? hehe. ”

❝ you look crazy, ❞ cold as permafrost, aren’t you? a sudden blast of wint—ry air, frigid and unpleasant. a flat tone and an impassive gaze, not even bothering to so much as look at her again. his skin settles uncomfortably against his musculature, his bones ——— NO IT IS NOT KIND / NO HE IS NOT KIND, and there’s no point in acting at politeness. ❝ how does a place have power? unless it’s magical, ❞ he doesn’t think this church is magical, gaze following a fracture, and another, and another. perhaps he’s wrong. he doesn’t care either way. ❝ and who doesn’t know how to pray? ❞ he knows / he knows / he knows. once upon a time he had prayed and how long ago was that? eons ago. ages ago. lifetimes ago. this woman is odd and too—curious and ( ... ) earnest isn’t the right word for it. annoying is.

#gainsborro #❛ ┈ when will you stop waiting ( ... ) never / never / never ( ic )#fe i'm begging you to stop being a bitch SDKGNSKJN

tomoge.

she used to find the act of waking a peaceful endeavor, once. once, when sothis would rise to greet her in her dreams — telling her stories plucked from time and listening to her own tales of a childhood she only ever seemed to recall with any permanent clarity when distanced from the living — she awoke peacefully. never painlessly / never languidly, but that hardly mattered so long as it came tranquilly. and it did. once.

she crosses past the gates of the monastery some hours after sunrise to find him already waiting. he never asks where she disappears off to before the day even breaks — none of them do, afraid perhaps, or cautious at least — and, for now, she finds she prefers it that way. “ is everyone still asleep? ” she offers before greeting, a subdued smile on her lips. “ hello, felix. give me a few minutes to clean the blood off my blade first and i’ll be at your disposal. go ahead. lead the way. ”

it’s easier, in the morning light of dawn stretching into daylight breaking over the sky. sleep still haunts him, or tries to, never quite succeeding ( if only because he’s become evermore adept with fleeing from its presence, and shouldn’t it bother him deeply that he runs away? you would assume it does, but here’s the trick of it : felix has been running away for lifetimes, and doesn’t know how to stop ) and everything seems simpler in this light, or perhaps it’s just that it’s clearer. mind clear / clearing / clarifying. seeking and seeking and never quite finding, but she finds him, or he finds her. one or the other.

❝ asleep or eating breakfast, ❞ said as a scoff, as if it’s preposterous for people to be sleeping or eating in the morning when it’s most ideal for training, when sunlight doesn’t slant directly over the training yard, when shadows still stretch cool and gentle. he glances at her blade, blood on my blade, and feels no compulsion to ask nor inquire. what byleth does on her own time is hers, and if she doesn’t feel like sharing he has no intention of asking. sometimes things are as simple as that. ❝ perhaps today will be the day i manage a win against you. that flourish of yours... i still have trouble predicting it. ❞

#tomoge #tomoge : byleth.#❛ ┈ when will you stop waiting ( ... ) never / never / never ( ic )#weird suits fe great because... i mean. just look at him SKJDNGSKNJ

gainsborro.

𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐲, realization occurring that she was not alone within the church. this church, so beautiful and very much like her own back home has her quick to find sanctuary within it. still, she did not expect another’s presence so early.

“ oh, surprised me there — are you here to pray too ? ”

@knightsdeath

❝ ——— no, ❞ a curt and sharp and too fast response. it’s the truth ( to pray is a laughable thought, now ) delivered barbed and not unlike an attack and therefore far too harsh for the situation at hand. his frown threatens to deepen for a moment as he, quite decidedly, doesn’t bother to look at her and instead looks at one particular stone, cracked down the middle.

❝ just... passing through. ❞

#gainsborro #❛ ┈ when will you stop waiting ( ... ) never / never / never ( ic )#❛ ┈ it's hard to tell the difference / between blood and water ( interlude )#'my oc... aer... from fe....' made me laugh KSJDGKJSN

@heartsruin : ❛ felix, ❜ the name was far too loud despite it whispered between tight spaces and hungry kisses, spoken more like a groan than anything else. sylvain can’t even be sure the other heard him, with the both being too engrossed in —— ah, other activities to be too aware of their surroundings. ❛ you’re getting loud, love. ❜ sylvain points out the obvious as if he wasn’t actively responsible for it / a hand on the back of felix’s head to allow for easier attacks on the skin of his neck. he leaves a trail of kisses up the lovebites left until he’s licking at felix’s mouth, grin never faltering as he whispers against his lips. ❛ we’re going to get caught if you keep making those cute little sounds. unless you — ❜ his hand moves forward / forward until he’s cupping felix’s cheek / forward until sylvain’s thumb can press against his lower lip and force open the access to his mouth. ❛ — want other people to see you like this? ❜

——— damn this wretched man. damn him and his stupid voice and idiotic hands and the absurd breadth of his shoulders and the foolish way he’s learned the expanse of felix’s body and committed it to single—minded memory to be able to pull out at any given moment. it’s aggravating, the deft way that sylvain can take over a kiss as if demanding that felix surrender / when they both know he fights until the very end, even when it appears that he’s long since lost. the way his hands feel on his hips / his shoulders shift beneath felix’s grasp / how their hips slot together.

though if we were to dole out blame, felix would have to damn himself, as well / but he’s already DAMNED besides, so what does it matter if he encourages every last moment of this? sylvain isn’t the only insatiable one.

he was just the first one to mention, oh so casually, that FOOLING AROUND IN THE CHURCH was a fun pastime of his when they were in school and. well. that wouldn’t do.

#heartsruin #:cringe:#nsfw text /#:cringe: hahaha #in My defense this isn't really p*rn but it's not... not......#well there's a bit too much introspection and i....................#don't ask how long this is. the answer is [ SHRIEKS ]#honestly i don't even know what to say about it. i don't. i.#terrible truly. regrettable. hate it here. hate them so much.#listen i'd give this an m rating instead of e SKDGNSJDNKD #❛ ┈ my love : it has been torture to have loved you so deeply / so desperately ( ... ) waiting for our heartbeats to align. ( heartsruin )#❛ ┈ when will you stop waiting ( ... ) never / never / never ( ic )

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