#subtleblade

[drengar]

@subtleblade liked for a starter from Clive!

"Oh, Chidori, did you need something?"

He wasn't at the Hideaway as much as he probably should be. But Clvie didn't feel that comfortable staying in one place too long. After their first was attacked and they lost so many, he didn't want to run the risk of doing that again. Not to mention there was much work for him to do away from the base. But when he did return, he tried to make himself available to those who may need him. Or even just listen to what they may need even if he couldn't fix their problem.

#subtleblade #m: clive #v: main「 clive 」 #p: chidori #[i hope you don't mind that i assumed they know each other] #[i figured it was after the timeskip and they possibly are at least acquainted] #[but if you want something else let me know :3] #[i'll write you a new one :3] #[and i should have jing yuan's starter up soon]

[woodswarder]

“ stop punishing yourself for being someone with a heart. ” a pause, before softer. “ you cannot protect yourself from suffering. to live is to grieve. ”

king of scars - leigh bardugo — @subtleblade ✿

#✧ ⥼ 𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 — closed starter. #subtleblade #✧ ⥼ 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 — 001. warrior of light. ❝ i am trying. i am trying. i am still trying.

[mistdrinkersblade]

❛ the storm’s getting worse. ❜

The hanging edge of room was just about all that stood between the pair and becoming completely drenched. A simple and quick shopping venture had turned into a fight to stay dry, with Syla and Chidori now biding their time for a opening. An opening which seemed less and less likely to come through for them. "Don't tell me that. Just when I was beginning to have hope..." Syla muttered half under his breath as he chuckled. Even if it was a bit troublesome, rain never ceased to amaze him. Far different from home and almost precisely when it was needed. Or at least, how precise it seemed to be to cause trouble for him.

Shifting his shoulders and arms, the viera quickly slid the hefty leather overcoat from himself. Only to half lay it over his auri companion with a knowing grin. "There. At least you'll be dry." He huffed proudly as he adjusted it to cover more of her.

"I can handle getting a tad wet, but you might just be washed away if we aren't careful."

#subtleblade #asks #((i think he could give her his coat as a treat))

[congregenturanimarum]

@subtleblade || LIKED for a STARTER with Ser Florian

It was all over; the skies weren't falling down all around them, the heavens were no longer spitting stars unto the frozen lands his booted feet poised upon. Joy and elation had spread through the ranks of the Garlemald Contingent, small celebrations sparking betwixt all regardless of rank nor creed - - but Florian had distanced himself from the pooling happiness and had, instead, sat himself 'pon a large rock just outside of Camp Brokenglass.

They had much left to do.

Weariness shrouded him, exhaustion weighing down his shoulders; he'd witnessed one war after another, endless slaughter and abysmal outcomes only to get where he is now - - with peace surrounding. He knew not what to do, not where to go; ever since he was young was he raised for the battlefield for those of Ishgard had considered it a proud and noble path. But it had become all he had ever known, and now, with no war in sight, did he find himself lost and disorientated.

It had all started with the terrible vulgarities of the Dusk Vigil, to the front lines of the Dragonsong war, to Ala Mhigo, Ghimlyt Dark and then - - - finally, Garlemald.

Blood, long dried upon his face, lays forgotten; the honeyed tone of his eyes fixated forwards towards the wastes of snow and ice- the distant sounds of chatter and cheering reaching ears ... but he can find no joy. What did he have to return to? Naught.

The line of his gaze catches another, however; and though he had grown unfortunate in the state of conversations - - he made an attempt.

"...The quiet is almost haunting."

#Universe: Post Endwalker

[speciosuspoematis]

@subtleblade asked: ❝i want to say something but shame prevents me.❞

"Pray, forgive me if I speak out of turn, but---" Cyvel pauses, keeping his gaze fixated 'pon the beauty of the distance, the view that morning from the Last Vigil one in which he found great joy in. "...You ought find someone you can speak to without fearing any repercussions for your feeling of shame. Feeling it does not make it so, you know. Shame is... a perceptive thing."

He eases out a sigh, allowing his gaze to turn toward his company with a gentle expression and a slight smile;

"...I'm always happy to listen." He adds, "There would be no judgement from me, regardless."

#Poetry is the Spontaneous Overflow of Powerful Feelings. It Takes Origin From Emotion Recollected in Tranquillity || Replies ||

[speciosuspoematis]

@subtleblade asked: ❝ the truth is this, every monster you have met or will ever meet, was once a human being with a soul that was as soft and light as silk. someone stole that silk from their soul and turned them into this. so when you see a monster next, always remember this—do not fear the thing before you. fear the thing that created it instead. ❞

Cyvel leaned back within his seat, crossed a leg over the other comfortably and allowed for the entirety of his attention to be given to the woman in his company. A thumb brushes the rim of his teacup, sliding around idly while his consciousness weighs the true weight of words uttered to him.

As far as the poet was concerned, the term monster could mean all manner of things; the beasts in storybooks or those that wandered the wilds of the world, people that spoke against those of a like mind, folk who reached for abysmal heights of warfare - - just for a few examples. Some had even labelled his brother as a monster once everything to do with the happenings of the Ward came out to the public--- we're they correct, were they not? It wasn't his place to judge. Everyone's answer may just be different.

"Aye--" He whispered, consciousness lingering upon the very thought of his brother; he may not have always been the most approachable person, but he had been an immensely dedicated knight of whom had once cared very deeply for his brother, his family. But once he had been invited into the Ward... everything had changed, and now they knew why.

Tempering - - mayhap that could be considered stealing the silk from ones soul. Because after that... Guerrique had never been the same; violent, constantly angry, exceptionally protective of his brothers in arms and not his biological brother or father. Those that had initiated such a change... those were the true monsters, but they were seldom the ones to pay the price.

"...I've seen that too many times, now, despite not going anywhere. I dare not wonder how often it happens elsewhere... Or all in all... Or how many puppeteers may be lurking in the dark." He puts his cup down, nibbles on the inside of his lip and thinks upon what little he knows regarding the Ascians and their viciousness... In the least they are no more, now. If only he could find comfort in that... But he finds himself only bitter; bitter that they had done what they had, bitter that they had taken his brother from him.... and perhaps a little bitter that there was now a cure for tempering... all too late for him.

But life was difficult, like that... and monsters cared for little with regards to feelings and hurt, ultimately.

"I don't think I would sleep again if I lingered 'pon the subject for too long." Not that he slept much as it was. "I oft wonder how you manage to face it time and time again."

#Poetry is the Spontaneous Overflow of Powerful Feelings. It Takes Origin From Emotion Recollected in Tranquillity || Replies ||