#ohfallengrace

[thedivinehair-blog]

(( @countreglay & @ohfallengrace So I got an idea. Hope you don’t mind me dragging your muses into it alkdgdaglkdjkl.))

BONUS: 

[rigelsprince]

ohfallengrace replied to your post: Rinea-mun here, pls don't have Fernand take Berkut...

excuse did you mean “top quality zofian” he’s 200% offended ( fernand “i’m a 13/10” last name )

// Berkut is probably willing to give him like... 8/10, because his subordinates have to be high quality, but none can be better than he is and he’s a perfect 10/10.

[aimless--archer]

'' missed another shot, have you? pah! useless. you might as well parade in the front lines and distract the enemies, buffoon. perhaps then you'll prove yourself useful. ''

Rolling his eyes at the usual barrage of abuse, Python grits his teeth and keeps his tone deliberately a little too casual. “I’ll remember that next time we’re on the field together and I’ve got someone who’s attackin’ you in my line of fire. Wouldn’t wanna miss and embarrass myself.” Shaking his head, he can’t keep the bite from his voice as he snaps, “Go to hell, Sir Fernand.”

// @ohfallengrace

[valentianking]

return of the fallen —; fernand & alm

( Starter for @ohfallengrace​ ) —

     Hope streaks the evening sky, an echo to the twilight view after they had managed to straggle out of Duma’s Altar, the harsh sunrays shimmered over the snowcapped mountains, as if bestowing one final message from the gods.  Hope is reborn like seasons, not like a candlelight—they never stay alight forever, after all.  At this time of year, Alm vaguely smells the new blossoms of flowers winterfresh, the chilly breeze drifting the budding aroma over nearby various landscapes.

     Flostym in Rigel entices him, somehow.  Nothing like far Southern Zofia’s immediate muggy warm weather at the turn of spring.  “Comes Flostym symbolizes a new beginning,” was an infamous motto spoken by cheery Zofians.  New beginnings, a new hope.

   What was Rigel’s?  He curiously thought, mayhaps he shall ask Ezekiel the next time they meet.

     ...Or Fernand.

      He stops at the front of a royal inn intended to only be inhabited by the nobility of all births, whether the ex-injured moved to recover or those on an expensive tour vacation to see Rigel’s beauty.  Peering through the cold frosted windows next to the entrance door. He spots a couple of persons, at medium height, wandering about by the massive fireplace.  Letting out an icy, frosty breath, he pounds at the door with the side of his fist then waits after the third.

     (Or actually, would he have even heard from his peers?)

     The door opens to a middle-aged slim woman, surprise flashing in her eyes and with her raised thick eyebrows, as if having expected a different vistor—maybe Clive, or Clair, mayhaps even Mathilda.  They were the ones to persuade Alm into seeing their friend after enough time passes.

“I know you’re probably not expecting me, but... Is... Fernand here in one of the rooms?”

[gratuitii-blog]

wow i love nina pls marry me already

wow je t’aime beaucoup mimi

nina/mimi canon otp 

[rigelsprince]

Among Lions [Berkut & Fernand]

starter for @ohfallengrace

      Only half the names on the list had been crossed off, proclaimed officially dead after the battle at the capital. The other half, notably Zofians who had decided to save their own skins by pledging themselves to the Empire, were still unaccounted for, and very likely disappeared into the chaos when they realized that not even joining Rigel could protect them.       “Are all Zofians this fickle?” Berkut asked pointedly of his new retainer, who was among those Zofian knights who gladly renounced their loyalties to their motherland. In the end, the knight Fernand had chosen to follow a wiser, stronger leader, and Rigel would not turn away extra manpower, but it still did not abate the suspicious glances thrown toward him and all the other turncoats. After all, if they had deserted one country, what would stop them from deserting another? The half-marked list was evidence enough of that.       But Berkut gave it no more than an unconcerned glance and the question was rhetorical at best. His expectations had been set low, and he would have been a fool to think Zofians possessed any sort of integrity. Running away was simply in their nature, like the rats they were. Could he really blame them for acting on such inveterate instinct? At the very least, it didn’t surprise him.       The camp had lulled into an untroubled quiet - not one of peace and slumber, but one that signified that the rest of the soldiers were diligently at work - and for several moments, there was nothing but the crunch of gravel beneath their boots, and the distant clang of steel.       “Tell me…” Berkut stopped at the entrance of his tent and faced Fernand wholly now, dark eyes sharp and penetrating, but offset by a shade of indifference. “Have you any regrets?”

[rigelsprince]

🌿 ( 👀👀👀 if u want to ofc!! )

“What is the meaning of this, Fernand? I have followed your lead thus far, but we have walked this same circle at least a dozen times.”

The hedges were all trimmed to look perfectly identical and uniform throughout the entirety of the labyrinth, so Berkut was all the more certain that the single bundle of red berries at the bottom of one bush had been the same bundle each of the twelve times that they had passed it. He knelt to pluck two and dropped them to the ground - his own experiment, in the event that they should pass by a thirteenth time.

“I was foolish enough to trust your navigation, so I’ll be the one to get us out.”

[gratuitii-blog]

@ohfallengrace ❀

  Clammy hands hardened from the chill of the cold Rigelian winter, with a climate contrasting her small town at the southern tip of Zofia made her all the more grateful for the blessings the Mother Mila had blessed them with, made her much more conscious to the fact that the gods were dying. She wouldn’t be able to pray to the mother, with her faith crumbling and slipping between her fingers-- she struggled to give her life more meaning... and even that had started to crumble.

  And yet here she stood, in front of a man who had forfeited any love for their cause, bruised and beaten as she did the only job she had come to know how to-- of course she would do anything in her power to help, to save a life when it came to such, staying away from the front lines in order to help the ones wounded, letting go of the very person she swore to support through and through.

  The sound of the silver haired knight coming to his senses, a small smile curled on her lips-- ultimately finding some small happiness in helping others, saving lives instead of taking, being a backbone to an army so that they may fight without worry of dread and despair falling on them. Her voice was calm, asking softly--

                             “How are you feeling? Can you sit up?”