#grieving-glaive

[threepandas]

Bad End: War Bride

I tried everything. EVERYTHING. But in the end... nothing changed.

We were CRUSHED.

My people fought valiantly. Proud and noble, honorable and good to the very end. I was... I AM... so proud.... so very, very proud to be their honored princess. Their King's first born (and only) child. My small kingdom. My precious, precious people.

Forgive me.

Guhwa is falling. The chrysanthemums our small nation is so known for, red with the rivers of citzen blood spilled. I... Gods, I tried to strengthen our armies. Made allies. Agreements hand over fist. Better weapons! Stronger walls! Food and infrastructure! Anything. Everything! To forestall the end.

This end. Our End. (I had prayed. For so, so long. So very hard. That I was wrong.)

(But I wasn't, was I?)

Bloody and terrible, which... gods, I always feared would come.

Reborn into a story. Where the terrible was made insipid and light. Where all could be forgiven in the name of ~Love~! The death, the horrors, the screams that filled the streets. Children dying in their mothers arms and the blood of brothers as they tried to run. Families torn asunder. Lives cut short.

It's OKAY. It was for LOVE! For the Gods little LOVE story! Roses and romance. Intricate silks and palace drama! How FUN. How ROMANTIC! Look at all these Pretty Boys~!

Sickening. Utterly sickening. It was enough to make me vomit.

My friends, my family, my servants and THEIR families. My PEOPLE. They were not SET DRESSING! Bodies to be thrown on the pyre! Fodder for the machine! The servants who snuck me candies as a child. Who stayed up late to rock me through nightmare. The friends who laughed and joined me in lessons, just so I wouldn't have to be alone.

The people who were so proud of me, I might as well be a daughter of their very own.

MY Guhwa.

I grit my teeth as it BURNED.

The story did speak of me. Or at least, a woman with my name. My face. A selfish, bitter, hateful thing. A lesser antagonist. Little power. After all? Why would a princess from such a minor kingdom have any power in his Majesty illustrious court? The Emperor was the son of heaven after all!

Did she go, I wondered, to seek an alliance? To seduce protection for our people? Was she there by choice at all? In my soul, somehow... somehow I always knew. Suspected. My answer.

Guhwa is just a notch in their belts. Another glorious conquest for their festering empire. Bloated and heaving, like an animal spoiled to rotting. They don't need our land. Don't need our resources. It was about power. Control.

My... my people... my beloved people! DIED for their Power and Control!

I scream, wrathful and grieving, as I swing my glaive. Keeping distance as I strike down the vermin that swarm the palace. Let me die here. Please, gods! Let me DIE here! With my people. My Honored Father. With Guhwa!

There! Lazily striking down servants, who are fighting for their lives. I see golden fucking hair. You. That miserable, festering, philandering, PIECE OF SHIT! Come to claim some honors, have you? Glory in FUCKING BATTLE? What GLORY is there in this?!

My rage feels like acid. A roaring of dragons and a hushing of the world. Inside me, it is deafening. Outside? The world is far away. Only anger. Fury. RAGE. Kill him. Kill him! KILL HIM!! And on the ground, still held in the loyal hand of my Father's finest, is my means. A crossbow. One bolt.

Ignoring the battle around me, calm as tranquil waters at the heart of a hurricane, I lift... and fire.

My smile is gruesome, as I watch the fucker SCREAM.

Pity, it wasn't deep enough to kill. He turned. But I certainly took an eye. Kocked him from his pretty little horse. A grieving and bitter chokes free. I drop the bow. Turn to fight on. And... meet the eyes of Death.

I glare. Baring my teeth like an animal. Too furious to care anymore, what behavior I should present. We will not die quietly. We surrender to no one! If they want our land? It will come blood soaked and in ASHES! Guhwa will give them NOTHING!

Dragon eyes consider me, coolly assessing, even in the midst of open conflict. Storm grey hair like a war banner, snapping in the air behind him, crowns a face untouched by the brutality he's unleashes on all I love. A beautiful monster stands, fights, in our midst.

The third prince. Infamous so-called War God of that Golden Empire. Ah... I wonder... Should be honored?

That humble Guhwa, required the Third Prince himself, to destroy. I guess... ha ha, I guess my actions were not so totally, in vain. Just simply... not enough. Insufficient. Like the struggles of an ant, against the boot that sought to crush it. No. NO!

We do not BOW to the likes of YOU. Dogs!

But of course, in the end... the Gods Laugh. We are not Heaven's favored. Their spoiled little pigs. They make mockery, of humble Guhwa and our pride. It's simple people. My Father, Our Lords, the Generals... all dead. The soilders gather us, the defeated, in ropes. On our knees. Kneeling on the blood soaked ground before them. Women, children, and the wounded.

I kneel before all who remain, dragged alone to the front.

Their fear is like a terrible weight at my back. But... but I can not show it. Will not show it. I am Guhwa's crown now. So, on twisted ankle and screaming knees, I sit properly. Befitting my station. My head unbowwed, my shoulders back. Let them take my head before they take my pride.

I AM Guhwa.

The blonde pretty boy fop, stomps out to hiss and lord over me. Sedately his half brother follows, generals in tow. Blonde boy has a new eye patch. I smirk. Oh dear, bite more the you can chew? May the wound fester unto death, you wretch. I spit. Get a backhand for my troubles. (There are screams. Voices howling in outrage and begging on my behalf. Children start to cry. I do not deserve them. I do not deserve them.)

He draws back a foot to kick me. I do not cower. Bare teeth stained in defiance. Dare him.

"Finish that action, brother, and I will take the leg to match that eye."

There is only one person, here, who would dare threaten the crown prince of that wretched land. More importantly? Only one who could and get away with it. I turn, half disbelieving, only to meet a predators gaze. Dragon eyes, picking me apart. The War God stolling forward, like he's come to examine an art piece, not a prisoner.

Dispite my pride... I feel fear.

His reputation precedes him. And it is not kind.

Still, I clench my hands, grit my teeth, and tilt my head up in defiance. You are NOTHING before me, so called War God! Your Empire TRASH! My Guhwa is worth ten THOUSAND of your filthy little cess pits! I sneer. The picture of royal distain.

(I shake, as his mouth curves ever so slightly in amusement. He sees through me. He sees through me!!)

Cool eyes move from me to his brother. I watch as they turn from cool to a cold and flat I have no name for. Dragons and death. All my mind can scream at me, is those eyes are dragons and death. Run. Be afraid. There... there is nothing human there. Not anymore, if there ever was.

Distantly, I hear the "main love interest" stomp his feet like a child. Rage and demand. He wants my death. My suffering. Humiliation and desecration. How DARE I fight back. Pathetic. I can not keep my disgust from my face. Nor do I try.

The third prince looks bored. Like he's waiting for a child to be "done". Get his little tantrum out of the way. Anyone with eyes can tell a decision was already reached, will not be changing, and the Crown prince's spoiled demands will not be met. The price of battle, after all, is the risk of injury. Did he think this a game?

(Yes. He clearly did. It is winning him no favors.)

"You're in a delicate state brother. It's clear the pain has overwhelmed you." The third prince interrupts, clearly done with tolerating his half brother. "I would hate for you to take a turn for the worst. You should go lay down."

The Crown Prince startles, struggles, but is ultimately manhandled away. All but dragged, shouting and cursing, by his brothers loyal towards the medical tent. Oh dear. Politics at play. Sure hope I haven't condemned the fucker, now that he's not "perfect". That would be terrible!

"Enjoy seeing him suffer, do you? Or is it the humiliation of being dragged away?" Caught staring, my gaze snaps back to the third prince. That terrifying little quirk of the lips is back. He's amused. "It's not hard. I'll show you how to do it."

What.

"You'll have to tell me what other sort of things amuse you. So I can gather them. After all, you're not going to be leaving for a while. I imagine you'd cause trouble, wouldn't you?"

The thought of me causing "trouble" is what finally does it. Turning his smirk into a full, predatory, grin. Like he can't decide if we wants to bark out laughter or bite me. Eyes hyperfocused like he's hoping I'll run. Somehow, someway, bolting so he can chase me down.

(Ice slides down my spine. I... I refuse! T-To be AFRAID!)

Keeping my voice imperious, unafraid, I demand to know why, exactly, I would need to tell him ANYTHING. His laugh is the chuffing of a beast. The exhale of air, more then sound. How cute I am. How funny! Don't I know? Haven't I realized yet?

Guhwa's been conquered. And I have a choice, here.

Either Guhwa get a new king, by force, or it gets wiped of the map! And HOW is this to happen? Oh, little princess, you know exactly how. You're a warbride! But hey, at least you'll be his honored FIRST wife. Instead of a concubine. Like the crown prince wanted.

I jerk back. Ready to hiss exactly where he can shove his... HIS-! When I remember my people behind me. A child, trying bravely not to cry too loud. An elder, whispering prayers. Turning my head... I... I can just barely see them. Dirty, battered, bloody. Willing to follow me straight into hell. They would not blame me if I refused.

Only I would.

Gritting my teeth, I close my eyes. Breathe deep. In, hold, release. Again. For... damn it. DAMN IT! For Guhwa. Be it poison or knife. My hands around his filthy throat. I will burn their wretched nation to the ground. Dance on it's ashes and return a QUEEN.

"That's it. Right there." When I open my eyes, he's crouched in front of me, staring intently at my face. "Beautiful~"

"You'd tear my throat out with your teeth if I gave you even half a chance, wouldn't you? Rip out my entrails and choke me with them. You wear hate so well, princess. Rage. I wonder... what other emotions can I drag out of you?"

He seemed almost gleeful, as he mused.

"Ah, what a perfect little bride I've found. A lovely little monster."

"I can't wait to break you and make you mine."

[monsterlimbs]

Okay third "sympathetic big bad" from bg3 post for Ketheric because he is the one guy that I think most can sympathize with, and he's truly the easiest to sympathize with.

Some horrible day, your beautiful Melodia, your darling wife, dies, protecting your daughter. You grieve horribly, but you keep going for your children. Everything for them.

Your daughter brings home a fucking IMMORTAL Aasimar, child of a god and declares her as her lover. A child or your god, yes, who you've known so far to be good, sure, BUT STILL A CHILD OF A GOD. It almost makes it worse that the Aasimar is a child of your god, considering you raised your daughter, per your wife's wishes, to trust Selûne, and you're worried that this Aasimar may use this to her advantage. And they're so in love yes, but that's such a scary power dynamic for you- what if Aylin asks your daughter to do something she's not ready for? How OLD is that Aasimar? And how could you live with yourself if your daughter was put into an unsafe situation, simply because you didn't put your foot down? So, you do, and your daughter's angry. Of course she's angry, you're telling her that her and her girlfriend can't be together, but she has to come around eventually, she has to understand what a horrible power dynamic that is.

And worse, worse than when your wife died, you're told your daughter, precious, sweet, innocent Isobel, is dead (who I believe was killed by Halsin in self defense with the Sorrow glaive, even though that content has since been cut from the game but y'know! so essentially, his daughter, in his mind, was killed by a damn druid, the guys who were supposed to be PEACEFUL). You spiral, of course you do, your precious baby is dead, how could you not? And when your god, Selûne, damned mother of that damned Aasimar, ignores your prayers to have your baby back, you turn to her sister, Shar. And Shar, for a moment, helps relieve your loss. In return for killing Selûnites, the same wretched folk that turned against you in your grieving, she rewards you, turns you immortal by letting you imprison that Aasimar that took a liking to your daughter. You're more than pleased to do so, to lock what you believe is a predatory Selûnite up. Shar helps soften your loss.

And then she lets you die to Harpers of all people, and uses you as a way to release the Shadow Curse.

You're revived (I like to believe by Balthazar), and shown the way of Myrkul's path, and HE, is the one to bring your baby back, a century after her fall. You're happily indebted to him, to have your child alive again, anything and more for your baby.

....But she's mad at you. She won't talk to you. She looks at you like you're a monster. She's STILL upset over you forbeying her and Aylin's love, and even more now that she knows you've been using her as a means for immortality. She doesn't get how much you did for her, even while she was gone. You've practically forgotten about all else besides her, and it hurts so bad knowing your baby is not only angry at you, but thinks of you as a MONSTER. You know she'll come around, though. ...And she's now running from you and hiding in the Last Light Inn.

Eventually, you send a Fist to get her and bring her back, and either, your daughter has been killed AGAIN by some random wretched folk- oh gods it's not random is it? That's Durge. OR, she survives and is brought back to you, OR she survives and is even angrier at you now. She doesn't see how much shit you've waded through, just for her. She only sees a man who's "gone too far". She doesn't even know how far you'd go, to keep her safe. Everything and more, just to keep her safe.

Whether she's with you or not, one day you wake to a suddenly... off feeling. ....Fuck, why do you feel so odd? FUCK, your immortality's gone, you can feel it. Your wounds don't close, you're vulnerable. And it's all the problem of, either, the folk that kept your daughter from being returned to you, or the folk who killed her and sent her back.

And once, Ketheric truly was redeemable. But now, he gets SO, SO, SO close and then Aylin's like "nah he'd NEVER surrender, isn't that right, you worm?" and he gets up and is like "oh fuck you" and every chance is gone. Then you see him again, and he's already decided, he WON'T grovel again. He's gone too far, he sees it now. Sweet, precious Isobel was right. There's no coming back from this. And if you try to convince him he's worthy of redemption, he selflessly gives up and his god ixnays his retreat. And otherwise, he may go down yes.... But if he's going down, so are you.

And then he dies. He dies knowing he's given up everything for his daughter, cursed an entire land, caused Hell for everyone, and that his daughter, sweet Isobel, doesn't even think he's her father anymore. In her eyes, he's so far gone that he's not even the same man.

[rosewoodroad]

Looks like the dev scattered little bits of Kryptis lore for us around Nayos!

Especially interesting to me was Febe's memories of his first meeting with Peitha, and what looks like the aftermath of Kanaxai's assassination of Mosyn, who was previously only mentioned in Kanaxai's Axe description, also named Last Words.

They were all connected in the end, neato.

Mosyn holds a celebration or a rally at the coliseum, protesting the Nightmare King

Febe is attending, but not leading it. Was Mosyn to Febe, what Febe is to Peitha?

Little Peitha watched from the distance but was too shy to join (or scared-- perhaps she knew what was coming?) and runs off

Kanaxai was given orders from Aurkus, his house's founder/leader, to assassinate Mosyn. Cerus approves (Note 'the Glaive' and 'Heitor's envy', it was probably Cerus we heard in the Silent Surf Fractal then).

Kanaxai 'slices (Mosyn) in twine' and disappears before Febe could get back at him.

Febe lays Mosyn's remains to rest and grieves her.

Peitha finds him again one day, when she's grown a bit older, and expresses her similarly defiant ideology to Febe.

We also get one more confirmation that Peitha is directly related to Eparch-- The Midnight King's kin.

[ask-the-crimson-king]

Intrusive Thoughts

A thought came to him, as he looked over the ever-shifting cosmos.

When was the last time he had laughed?

Not in mockery over a defeated enemy, nor in triumph of a victory won, but truly laughed? When was the last time he had shared joy or a joke with any but his most devoted sycophants, who already reacted according to his whims?

And when was the last time he had cared?

He shook his head, trying to clear the thought, but it persisted. Why did it matter? He did not have the time for such things. Leave that to the humans who answered his call for salvation. He was a visionary. He was a leader.

But did he not still share joy in this same position, aeons ago?

Again, he tried to clear his mind of the thought. Surely there must be better questions to ponder than this? The restoration of Prospero was still underway, he needed to begin preparing for the next stage. New curricula were required as humans came and started families under the gaze and protection of his Legion.

But they were already designed and ready. They had been for ages now, or so it felt. Time was so fluid to a being such as he -- to a creature such as he. His Sons claimed to not feel the pull of the river of time, but of course they were drawn along its currents. He had become deathless and timeless. Not completely true, but true enough. Nothing that could kill him would ever come close.

Nothing that he would allow, anyway.

Another thought emerged; when was the last time he enjoyed another's company?

He could not count his Rehati. They shifted ranks constantly, and they never spoke to him with anything but reverence and obeisance. Is that not how he should be treated? Is that not what he deserved?

Of course it was, but he still wanted... something. He was lacking something. He did not know what.

Except that he did. And he did not want to admit it.

Of course he didn't! Why would he? He is supposed to be freed from the past. His Sons were caught in its clutches, but he was above them. He was Magnus the Red, the Sorcerer-King of Sortiarius. The past is not supposed to chain him still.

And yet, it did. It does. There is something gone and missing, something that broke the same day he did when his world and dreams burned.

Something he missed. But never would he say that he did. He could not. He would not. That would be weakness. That would be beneath one so ascended as he, one so wise, whose knowledge filled archives and libraries larger than most mortal minds would dare comprehend. He would not grieve that which had died millennia ago. He is beyond such a thing.

And yet.

He did. Internally, hidden away, deeper and more closely guarded than Perturabo's own sanctum on Medrengard, a part of him mourned and wondered about what once was and could have been. Part of him felt lonely atop his throne. He was a unifier, a leader, a scholar, a teacher. He was a king. He was terrible and mighty and magnificient.

And yet.

He was alone. His siblings he had long since all but abandoned. His Legion hailed him not as their father, but as something else. Something more, and something less. The humans saw him as their savior, practically deified.

His mind went back to the hours and days before he stormed the Palace with only a handful of his Legion. How he looked within that shattered mirror, how apt a metaphor it was for how he felt.

He shook his head, banishing the remembrance. Leave the past in the past. Focus only on the future. That was all that mattered now.

He tightened his grasp upon the glaive he had held loosely in one hand. He should be above this. He should be above regret and remorse over things most did not remember. He should be above missed memories of when times were easier, when he felt like a father to his Legion, or a brother to his siblings. He should be above grief over lost battles and times long since passed.

And yet...

[ly-art]

Can't believe I'm at chapter 20 now with my Solavellan fic!!

I updated my fanfic again, chapter 20 plays in Crestwood and while we have things out of the game, I put some more drama in the end of it, because apparently I can't without drama lol a little snippet is attached!!

Amatisha stared at her hand, red blood trickling onto her lap, the scent of iron filling her nostrils. Her lips and the skin beneath her nose felt wet, the taste of iron in her mouth as she licked it away, thinking it was rain or sweat. Time accelerated, and with it came the pain—agonizing, searing pain. Dizziness overtook her, and through it all, she heard a terrible howl, so pain-stricken it sounded like someone being butchered. Only seconds later, did she realize the howl was hers, the pain driving her mad. Unable to keep herself upright, she didn't notice a nimble templar escaping her wrath. He slashed at her as she fell, everything merging into an indescribable sensation. All she could do was wait for the killing blow, her body refusing to obey her commands. Yet... she waited and waited, but it never came. With sheer willpower, she forced her eyes open. In front of her stood Solas, holding a glaive that shimmered ethereally as if it wasn't from this world, piercing the templar. Blood pooled around their feet, seeping into Amatisha's clothes. Solas looked like a god of wrath, his sharp eyes turning to her, fury crackling within. With elegant expertise, he withdrew the glaive from the templar, who collapsed to the ground, dead, his eyes lifeless and staring at the sky. The glaive vanished in a beautiful violet light as Solas dismissed it. Even Dorian stared in disbelief, recognizing this was far beyond a knight enchanter’s weapon—far more developed, superior. No one dared move as Solas’s snarl echoed through the clearing. "Are you out of your mind?" he whispered, his voice a volcano ready to erupt. He crouched down, cupping her face, forcing her to meet his gaze. His eyes roved over her body, checking for any other injuries. "Foolish," he breathed. "What a foolish thing to do. Using the mark to amplify your magic without understanding the consequences. You risked not only your own life but the lives of everyone present. Itha fra ma." His contained rage threatened to surface. Gently, he released her face and touched her scorched hand. She whimpered, tears collecting in the corners of her eyes. The pain was excruciating, her mind going blank. "You never learn, do you? This time, you used it out of worry for *us*? Why do you always want to punish yourself like this? Must you always act so recklessly? Do you want to die?" Amatisha couldn't stop her lip from trembling and just shrugged. Words from her past echoed in her mind, Istimaethoriel's voice, sweet and venomous. *Worthless. Monster. Selfish. Misbehaving bitch. No one loves you. No one wants you. You are only a tool to be discarded. No one wants to see what's beneath that pretty shell because only darkness and filthiness await those who dare. No one would grieve your death. It would be better if you were gone. Why don't you relieve us of your existence?*

[dent-de-leon]

Okay like consider this for the Hades!Nein AU: Twinleaf situation where Molly is Persephone and Lucien/King is Zagerus. Lucien dies because of some Somnovem bullshit, and Molly leaves to grieve the loss of his twin, and Caleb lets him. Later on, Lucien comes back to life as King, but his soul is still tied to the Somnovem somehow. As King goes about trying to leave the underworld to find answers to his scattered memories, the other Nein gives him boons to help him escape.

King’s last trial is always Caleb, and though Caleb doesn’t want to fight, he must because one part of the Somnovem possesses King to fight Caleb. And each time, King has to overcome the possession or else he has to start all over again.

aww ;; I'm always weak for any au where Molly and Lucien are twins. Molly mourning Lucien is such an interesting thought--they really are two halves of a soul, and I love how they slowly grew attached to one another in the end of the novel. Love the thought of them growing up side by side--Molly being the one person in their family Lucien doesn't have to lose. And if Molly outlived him, tried to talk him out of the whole Somovem thing and couldn't save him--I can definitely see that weighing on him.

Oh and King being a second chance for Lucien ;; Being curious about the family and life he left behind, being forced to confront Lucien's past while searching for this other piece of his soul that it feels like he lost.

Caleb not wanting to fight King, but being forced to because it's the only way to save him from himself...that's so heartbreaking, and it just immediately made me think of when Caleb throws Lorenzo's bloodied glaive at Lucien and just begs him, "Snap out of it, Tealeaf. We need you." The gutting pain of it, and how it's clearly hurting Caleb too. But if it's the only way to save Tealeaf, then he'll steel himself and do whatever it takes. Oh these are all so fun, I'm definitely having widomauk thoughts about it all--

[lanaevyssmoved]

ok OK very different anon. i love the halsin beard mod but the vibe i got from halsin IMMEDIATELY upon seeing him, literally first thoughts, is like. this is a middle aged guy going through an extremely minor and routine identity crisis, impulsively shaved off the beard he'd had for the last 100 years and is sincerely regretting it but a) is too stubborn to admit it to himself yet and b) doesn't want to go through the awkward growing out phase again

god this was like a slap in the face of reality like yeah there’s normal anons who wanna discuss a fictional man’s facial hair they’re not all asking me about eating brains

to answer your quest

honestly a druid man shaving at all feels insane to me but i know the lore is that wood elf man don’t be growing no facial hair but idk man. halsin do be feeling like a man who should be doing beards and stuf. oh you were asking about shaving. man i dont know. do you think that’s what sorrow is for the glaive spear thing under the grove. he used it to shave and now it’s called sorrow and it’s hidden away because that’s his grief man. he’s grieving

[blossom-adventures]

I got this one (and one other that I’m still working on) requested by Railyard_Ghosts on Ao3, who is a fellow member of the For Hearth and Home Discord server, for my @badthingshappenbingo card, this one is “bloodied knuckles”

I’m going to just give a quick bit of context as it is a snippet that will appear in my long fic Guard and Glaive…

My OC - Violet Amicitia - spends a lot of time with Cor and Titus and when she’s 8 years old, her mother Lillian dies in childbirth. Cor and Titus have Violet living with them for a few months while Clarus deals with his duties as Lord Shield, as well as looking after a newborn and grieving for the loss of his wife (Gladio is spending time with Ignis and his Uncle)

Home From Work

Cor arrived home from a long and exhausting day at the Citadel, Titus was off that day so he’d been at home with Clarus’ daughter - Violet - he found them both watching a film, clearly one that the 8 year old had chosen, and there was a faint aroma of something cooking in the kitchen. Titus looked over at him as he kicked off his shoes and hung up his coat.

“You’re back late” Titus commented, Violet looked over and waved at Cor, “Violet wanted to try some food from my home for dinner, so there is a fish pie in the oven”

“Sounds good,” Cor nodded to their room “do I have time to change before it’s ready?”

“Sure, it’s got about 20 minutes left” Cor smiled and disappeared into their bedroom and began to pull a change of clothes from the draws, as he pulled a blue t-shirt he heard the door open, then close, he looked over his shoulder and saw Titus standing there

“I didn’t want to say anything in front of Violet” Titus said quietly as he walked over to Cor and took his right hand, they both looked down at the blood, bruising and minor swelling that covered his knuckles. “Who or what did you punch this time?” Titus asked, Cor remained silent for a while, avoiding his partners gaze, after nearly a minute of complete silence, he answered.

“A wall in my office”

“Why?”

“It was either the wall, or one of the council” Cor admitted as Titus led him to their en-suite to clean the blood away

“What happened then?” Titus started to gently clean Cor’s hand while he waited for him to respond, after a while of silence Titus spoke again, “Cor, you’ve not had an outburst like this for nearly a year, so talk to me, what happened?” It took a moment before Cor answered

“The council were talking about everything that happened when Lillian passed, asked Clarus how Gladio and Violet were, then one of them… showed concern,” Cor hissed that phrase, anger dripping from his voice “about the fact that Violet wasn’t in the care of a noble,”

“What?”

“Turned the council onto his side too, left Regis with no choice…”

“They’re not taking Violet from us!” Cor held up his left hand

“No… but to satisfy the council’s demands, Regis has arranged a social worker to visit tomorrow to talk to Violet and present a report to council, he’s given us both the day off so we can both be here” Titus let out a angry sigh and ran a hand through his hair

“Alright, so… after this meeting you went to your office and punched a wall?”

“More or less,” Titus returned his attention to Cor’s hand as more blood had seeped from the cuts there.

“Hey,” Titus lifted Cor’s chin so he looked into his eyes “it’ll be fine, Clarus and Regis know how Violet is, she’s happy here, and that is what that social workers report will say, alright?” Cor nodded while Titus wrapped a bandage around his hand “if Violet asks, and she will… you got your hand caught in a door”

“Yeah” Titus let go of Cor’s hand and they were quiet for a moment, before Cor gave him a quick kiss on the cheek “thanks, Titus”

[saviorofeosshield]

 “Can’t sleep?” (Nyx)

@grieving-glaive | “Can’t sleep?” |

Nyx rolled over to face her, “Sorry if I’m keeping you up. I just keep thinking about how the stars keep dimming as the years go by.”

[ahundredwars]

⚠️ a text meant for someone else.

Incoming text from: Nyx Ulric [open]

[Nyx:] What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little bitch? I'll have you know I graduated top of my class in the Kingsglaive, and I've been involved in numerous secret raids on Niflheim, and I have over 300 confirmed kills. I am trained in gorilla warfare and I'm the top sniper in the entire Crown City armed forces. You are nothing to me but just another target. I will wipe you the fuck out with precision the likes of which has never been seen before on this Earth, mark my fucking words. You think you can get away with saying that shit to me over the Internet? Think again, fucker. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of spies across Lucis and your IP is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, maggot. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your life. You're fucking dead, kid. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can kill you in over seven hundred ways, and that's just with my bare hands. Not only am I extensively trained in unarmed combat, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the Crown City Kingsglaive and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ass off the face of the continent, you little shit. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little "clever" comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking tongue. But you couldn't, you didn't, and now you're paying the price, you goddamn idiot. I will shit fury all over you and you will drown in it. You're fucking dead, kiddo.

[Nyx:] ...

[Nyx:] totally meant that for luche. hi Millie! :) hope you’re doing good!

[ofglaiveandguard]

@grieving-glaive liked for a starter from Titus.

It had been a while since he’d last been in the field. As Captain, he was often working from the sidelines, commanding troops and forming strategies without actually stepping into the field. Titus had been a soldier long before he became a leader though and he had always been better suited to fighting than office work though he was a good strategist. 

This mission was of the utmost importance – the Crown Prince of Lucis had been kidnapped – which was why Titus was venturing into battle to lead the charge. He looked over his troops.

“Vancil, you’re with me. We’re infiltrating the base to find the Prince. The rest of you, cause as much buy us time. Keep the fight going until I give the word that his Highness is in our custody. Now. Go and give them hell.”

[gingersmiith]

Star Bright

@grieving-glaive liked your post “fine y’all twisted my arm”

Tredd whistled to catch the younger glaive’s attention.  “Mills!” he called, when she turned, and gestured for her to come closer.  “I need a hand here, and yours are small enough.”

[rexmajestatis]

👐

Nonverbal starters | Accepting | @grieving-glaive

Alright, so, this isn’t...good.Yeah, definitely not good.

He’s pretty sure he should definitely be flat on the ground right now, but he’s being propped up. Glaive? He’s pretty sure? Honestly, there were a lot of them and he infrequently saw them without masks.

But he’s not really concerned about that right now. Mostly he’s concerned with the fact that he can’t feel his left arm. It’s still there. He can see it. As well as all the blood, pouring from the enormous puncture at the top of his shoulder. He doesn’t know what it was, but it had a stinger like a hypodermic needle the size of a garden hose.

He...also doesn’t know what the venom is going to do. But he knows he can’t feel his arm and the rest of the world is starting to feel like it’s sitting just out of arm��s reach. He’s pretty sure an elixir isn’t quite going to do the job here.

He laughs, faint and incredulous, eyes darting from his arm to her face. “Pretty sure this isn’t what they had in mind when they told me I was born to make history.”

He’s also pretty sure he’s started twitching. Seizing might be a better word, actually.

[toilalo]

🤝 (Silver. To give you and this boy some love)

Injury / Illness Care || Open - Silver Edition || @grieving-glaive🤝 Hold their hand as they recover

Silver was taken aback, his face flushing ever so lightly as Millie took his hand in her own. She had found out pretty easily that he was back in the hospital again after the previous mission – really it was becoming more of his home than anything. Yet each time she would come and ensure he was okay, that he was going to survive. Of all the times she’s visited, this was a first. She had a worried look on her face ( which wasn’t very unusual ) but she’s never once touched him before.

“Millie…” he murmured softly, his face only growing a bit more red, “I’m alright, really! You think a Daemon could take me out so easily? You know I’m tougher than that!”

He tried to joke, he really did, but she still didn’t let go. He squeezed her hand gently, trying to force his own shyness and embarrassment away. She needed this, Silver realized. It was her way of ensuring he was still here, alive and kicking – so he would endure his own shy nature.

“I’m not gonna leave you like that Sis, you know that.”

[medicusimmortalem]

How about amalgamation!Millie trying time take a swipe or jab at Ardyn with monster-y crystal like claws?

Touch Ardyn meme | Accepting | @grieving-glaive

When the swipe reaches where he had been standing, he is instead standing several yards away.

“Enough of that,” he tuts in disapproval, as if he’s doing little more than scolding a puppy confused about what counts as a toy. “Keep it up and I’ll start breaking pieces off. I’m sure someone would be willing to pay for unclassified gemstones.”

[nowherefcst-blog]

@grieving-glaive | x

       “That’d be great, thank you” Millicent tried to twist and adjust herself so that the hanging end of her jacket was easier for the man to reach. Adjusting to the loss of her arm was still a struggle, and despite having felt nothing when her shoulder shattered, there was a strange sort of phantom pain that lingered as though she had.

       It was a bit embarrassing to ask for help with something as simple as getting on her jacket, But it was much preferable than having her jacket half hanging off her. “Sorry for the trouble”

“Not a problem.”

Corvin catches the edge of her jacket sleeve when it comes into range, before shifting his hold to the shoulder and tugging the jacket into place for her. Perhaps a miracle, since by all appearances he seems incapable of fully tucking in his own shirt.

“All good?” he asks, hitching his thumbs through his belt loops.