#fenixdown

[petrokhelidon]

she is in that room,  keeping silent vigil at his bedside,  the moment the hero and his ilk have left to save the day once more.  even in slumber arenvald looks troubled, she notes, furrow between brows pulling at the white paint adorning his forehead. he makes a small noise that has her tense like a hunting hound, fingers curling to fists in her lap to stay the urge to reach over and smooth out that wrinkle.  you fool, she thinks not for the first time.  

by all rights is should be her in that bed.  or better yet,  in the ground.  not him.  

she has seen many men fall in the course of her life,  many of them by her own hand.  the misery and viscera of death has long since stopped fazing her; in fact, she dare say she has become quite good at dealing it ( butcher, her hands ever steeped in blood that no amount of atonement will ever clean away and even now, even here, she is still so angry at the world, angry at the gods and the fates, angry at herself, for it is easier than letting in the shame and the guilt )  ━  but when she’d been struck down to the floor of that infernal, accursed tower and he’d ran to stand between her and that primal,  as she’d watched those claws tear him asunder,  ‘t hadn’t been anger or hatred guiding her movements.  for the first time in a long time, she’d felt the iron grip of fear.  

she is no stranger to loss either.  hrudolf. emelin. ansfrid. many more whose faces have blurred in her memory.  the thought of losing yet someone else she has found some modicum of trust in,  never mind the collar, never mind that her compatriots were killed by her choice actions, sits sour in the back of her throat. it spurs her to speak, green eyes moving over his face.  “ idiot. if y’ die,  i’m bringin’ y’ back to kill you myself,  y’ hear? “  / @fenixdown

[ritterblood]

“ you called for me, father? “  haurchefant stands at attention in the doorway of his father’s study, one hand on the handle as if waiting for edmont’s permission to enter.  he’d been going over the latest reports updating the efforts made in the rebuilding of the firmament, compiling a list of the resources yet needed and missives yet to be sent to those that may be willing to lend their aid.  ‘t pleases him to see they are still on schedule, that despite some setbacks and blockades, francel has received naught but support -- including from none other than count charlemend de durendaire himself. 

the missive from his father had come as a surprise. as far as he knows, they’d set no meeting and he cannot think of aught that needs discussing. with artoirel preparing to take over the count’s role, much yet needing to be done afore the passing of the title, most of his father’s time had been spent with the eldest. not that he resents the meeting, of course, no; the pleased expression ‘pon his features at seeing the all too familiar picture of his father bent over a book at his desk, quill at the ready, causes a feeling of sweet nostalgia, pushing a smile to his lips as he stepped further in. “ i hope you did not wait long. “  / @fenixdown​

[blaackbiird-archive]

took one of those sketches I made for @fenixdown and spruced it up a bit uwu

my hand hurts but its lookin pretty darn good i think

[nascentgliint]

#do you think claire's fruit have more polygons than the grapes

Even the mother crystal doesn’t have more polygons than the grapes, don’t be selfish—

[crystalmarred-a]

Alta ( @fenixdown​ ) aims to make this... harder than it ought to be...

"I - you -"

Her words caught in her throat. For once, it was not for a lack of them, but the sheer volume, stumbling over the myriad attempts at begging for him to stay.

What about their adventure? What about their promises? What about - ...

She hesitated, overwhelmed, before crossing the space between them and enveloping him in a hug like no other. If this was what he wanted to do, then so be it. But Alta wasn't going to let Ultima Thule take him without a proper goodbye this time.

"Come - ... come back," she begged, horns digging into the fabric of his top. Her fingers shook in their grasp at his back, as if holding onto him would keep him here, at her side. "Please. Come home. I - ..."

                       　⇢　oh, how hard this is...

From the start, G’raha Tia had been determined—determined to see their world saved, to see this Meteion stopped, to be allowed to suffer and struggle as humans are wont to do.

And he was still determined. This had not changed, nor would it ever. The Crystal Exarch had spent well past a century fighting to save the First from the light, to stave off the Calamity that threatened the Source. G’raha had no intention of sweeping aside that ambition; he would fight for their right to live just the same. 

He had also promised not to throw his life away. But this and that were two very different things and yet the tumultuous emotions that came with them were not dissimilar, especially not when Alta stands before him, arms wrapped around him, fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt... 

How much harder this is on her than it is on him. 

“I will,” he says in as few words as possible, for he was not so disillusioned to not be aware of the risks that exist. That he may do this and never be whole again, that he may dwindle to only Dynamis and stay that way, for however long he’ll be capable of remembering before his consciousness faded. “You need only call me back when the moment is right, Alta. Summon me and I will answer your call, just as you did my own not so long ago.” 

“We have done this before, Alta. I appealed to you, paved the way for you to set right a world beset by light. ... And you did. You did far more than you were asked, far more than anyone has the right to ask a single woman. And yet I fear I must do the same again. I must beseech you to move forward, to find Meteion and quell what suffering lies in her wayward heart. And I must pave the way.”

A pause, too long according to the pounding of his heart in his chest and not nearly long enough for the heavy words he spoke. 

“And you will call me back again, won’t you? As only you have ever been able to.”

[drachenblood]

@fenixdown​: "It's foolish," Francel speaks, hearing footsteps behind him. He assumes them to be the warrior of light's, as they oft are, and so he does not shift from where he brushes snow from the top of Haurchefant's memorial.

"But sometimes I still find myself speaking to him. I'm sure he would love to hear where you've been to, as well, my friend."

Only now does he stand, knees of his pants wet with snow, and turn. Francel is silent for several moments, taking in the sight of the azure dragoon who is very much not the warrior of light.

"Forgive me, ser," he said sheepishly. "I thought you were another. I won't linger."

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐝  across  the  icescape  of  Coerthas  that  reverberates  with  each  step  he  takes  across  the  snow.  Him,  a  lone  figure  against  an  expanse  of  white,  broken  only  by  the  jagged  stone  that  cuts  through  years  of  ice.  In  this  cold  and  in  this  silence,  ‘twould  be  an  easy  thing  to  believe  that  he  was  the  lone  soul  for  malms  around.  Though  it’d  take  but  a  single  step  back  and  to  turn  to  see  the  large  spires  of  Ishgard  and  the  millions  of  people  teeming  within.  His  own  breath  leaves  with  an  exhaled  sigh,  rising  as  a  puff  of  white  through  the  cold  as  he  eyes  the  journey  he  must  take.  

A  few  leaps  and  he  would  be  at  his  destination.  He’s  walked  such  a  path  before  and  for  a  dragoon  a  looming  cliff  face  meant  naught  to  him.  Still  he  would  walk,  fighting  through  several  fulms  of  snow  that  slows  his  steps.  A  decision  thus  extending  a  journey  that  could  be  easily  made  in  but  a  few  handful  of  moments  to  one  that  would  take  the  better  part  of  several  bells.  He  has  no  reason  for  this  waste  of  time  for  surely  it  could  be  called  naught  but  that  when  he  a  man  has  ever  despised  having  his  day  squandered  away  for  aught  less  than  his  lifelong  goal.  

Sentimentality  is  the  death  of  efficiency  and  Estinien  wants  –  needs  –  the  solitude  of  a  day’s  trek  to  brace  himself  for  what  awaits  at  the  end  of  the  journey.  He  walks  as  the  snows  begin  to  fall  and  melt  against  his  skin  and  feels  not  the  chill  even  as  he  climbs  higher.  The  flowers  he  holds  loosely  at  his  side  have  become  brittle,  their  petals  frozen  though  still  holding  a  forlorn  beauty  that  he  hopes  an  old  friend  might  still  appreciate.  Mist  Lilies  this  time  as  he  has  begun  to  favor.  Haurchefant  would  have  liked  them.  His  chest  tightens  to  imagine  the  smile  and  delight  that  would  have  been.  So  many  would  haves  and  should  haves,  all  taken  from  him  and  in  return  he’d  been  gifted  in  kind  with  the  luxury  of  time.  

He  clears  the  last  ridge  and  pauses,  mouth  becoming  a  thin  line  at  the  unwelcome  sight  of  a  familiar  figure  clad  in  green.  The  Haillenarte  boy,  known  to  him  only  through  association  and  naught  else.  It  makes  sense  that  he  would  visit  this  grave  given  the  bond  he’d  shared  with  their  fallen  knight.  Though  of  all  days  for  him  to  be  here.  He  thinks  of  leaving,  but  the  words  so  softly  spoken  yet  loud  in  the  quiet  anchors  him  in  place.  ‘Tis  the  grief  that  he  hears,  a  grief  that  tolls  as  a  bell  within  his  soul  that  at  last  forms  a  connection  between  himself  and  this  boy.  

❝ Stay,  I’ll  not  have  you  leave  your  vigil  on  my  account. ❞  He  makes  his  slow  way  to  the  grave  and  kneels,  laying  the  flowers  picked  from  the  Churning  Mists.  He  wishes  him  well  in  Halone’s  Halls,  wishes  more  that  he  could  be  here  at  his  side  instead  of  the  boy.  I  miss  you,  his  heart  whispers  as  he  brushes  fingers  against  the  biting  cold  of  the  broken  shield.  

❝ There’s  naught  that  is  foolish  to  speak  with  those  who  are  gone  for  they  still  hear  our  words. ❞  He  speaks  with  the  boy  though  his  gaze  lingers  yet  on  the  grave.  He  remembers  the  soothing  touch  upon  the  Steps  of  Faith,  two  hands  held  protectively  upon  his  soul.  Both  still  with  him  in  the  whisper  of  a  chill  wind  or  the  bright  fall  of  sunlight  against  his  shoulders.    

At  last  he  looks  to  the  boy  and  rises  to  his  feet.  Sentiment  grasping  once  more  at  his  heart.   ❝ He was  always  going  on  about  having  the  two  of  us  meet  and  talk.  ‘Tis  only  fitting  it  would  be  here  under  his  watchful  gaze. ❞          

[mutasharid]

👤 - Is there someone they fantasize about? / why not

nsfw headcanons [accepting]

Not anymore.

Vali actually used to secretly have a thing for Ilberd Feare back when he was still a member of the Crystal Braves, though it was purely one-sided crushing. He loved hearing Ilberd talk about Ala Mhigo and hoped to one day be able to travel there and help liberate their homeland together, but 'remained a blind fool', up until the bastard threw him down in bonds for 'regicide and conspiring against the sultanate'.

Like Alphinaud, he took the whole ordeal rather hard. He blames himself for being ‘easy to manipulate’ and has since found himself with a strong distaste for anyone with similar features.

[ultimateutopia-a]

@fenixdown​:

🔥 - for two muses of your choice! [ get to know us ; ACCEPTING ]

🔥…someone my muse would die for.

[ might as well to go for the two Big Main Muses in this blog aka garnet and edgar fndmsag

now, needless to say, both of them would easily give their life to help anyone in their kingdom and their party, but they also have their, like. Favorite Person. The one they truly feel closer than aynone else, and to nobody’s surprise Edgar wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice himself for Sabin’s sake.

in a sense, he kind of did already with the whole “coin flip” thing, hm? :^)

as for Garnet... I thought about it for a loooong while, because I couldn’t choose between Eiko and Zidane, but the truth is? She could immediately give her life for both of them. No questions asked. No hesitation. ]