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COTHARACH — a.k.a. a fistful of forget-me-not's, a tide that ebbs and rises, a love that is clear as water. affiliated black eagles flayn, written by mik.

banner is claude monet's the cliff walk at pourville. please read the information below the cut before interacting !

failnaughted

Dragons Big and Small || Claude & Flayn

Mission: Flying +1 || @cotharach || Mission Season: Infamous

failnaughted

The wide-eyed stare Flayn gave to Claude's old friend seemed almost starstruck, and he had to admit that it took some effort from him to refrain from laughing at the sight - expected as it was. For the wyvern's part, she regarded the celadon-haired girl with considerably less adoration, and at that, he had no choice but to chuckle.

"Hah, apologies. She warms to people very slowly. Let's say, she knows a little too well just how special she is," he explained, before pausing to regard the question about her name. How should he put it...

After a moment of silence, he settled for something relatively close to the truth.

"She has a few names, actually, depending on who you ask. Here, she's Viatrix." She-traveler, befitting of one of her many identities, one she happened to share with her human companion. One that defined who she was to those around them, while at the same time concealing her true self akin to a mask, to protect them both from unwanted gazes.

With that in mind, he turned back to the one he just introduced, and smiled. "Now, now. We are guests here, so let's be polite."

Viatrix looked at him, her piercing gaze no less regal than a moment ago, but with a hint of new understanding - before turning back to Flayn. White head, almost the size of the girl's entire stature, slowly lowered itself and leaned towards her for a new, deeper evaluation. Claude smiled and nodded.

"Offer her your hand to sniff," he instructed. "If she touches it, you can give her a scratch. Don't worry, she won't bite - unless you try to force the issue." Though he trusted she knew better than that.

cotharach

"Viatrix…" Flayn murmured, reverent as though in prayer. She slowly stuck her hand out, a cautious offering to the lady who might be gracious enough to receive it. Viatrix canted her head towards Flayn's pale palm, sniffed once, then twice, then turned her head around with a huff.

"Oh, I see." Flayn's despondence was potent and immeasurable. Here she had hoped that they could be friends. But what was a girl like her to a dragon like Viatrix? Nothing more than an annoyance, it seemed.

She turned her attention to Claude, having now established that she was nowhere near Viatrix's league. She felt she stood on more equal footing with the Golden Deer leader. He would not scoff at her like the wyvern had, at least.

"I suppose it was presumptuous of me to think that we could be friends so quickly." Her laugh masked the hurt, "She seems to be a very special wyvern. More special than the ones we have here, from what I can tell. When have you ever seen one as pretty as her?"

She tried to near her once again, stretching out a hand towards Viatrix's general direction, but the wyvern made it a point to avert her gaze. Flayn's arm fell limply to her side.

"Ahaha, well. She is certainly aware of her elite status. Oh! That reminds me!" Flayn perked up. What was once a passing thought now returned to her with full force, perhaps in a vain attempt to recoup whatever disappointment she had reaped. "I hear the Fine Arts department is hosting a competition for painting wyverns. Could it be that Viatrix is your model? You would surely win if she were your muse!"

#DRAGONS BIG AND SMALL — thread

breidatactics

i summon thee!! goddess messenger fish!!

breidatactics

Pride blossomed in their heart as the other cheered. Well, maybe not exactly cheered cheered but! It sure felt like it in their heart of hearts and that was what mattered. Still, they tried to dampen the buzz of energy they got from it to focus real hard on her words.

Like… hyah??? Okay, that’s so doable. Mhm, definitely within my skill level.

They nodded and, with a breath of anticipation, they threw their line into the water. A swing forward! It took some more effort than they’d initially anticipated (almost resulting in the line hitting them in the face! Not good!). But!! With the same level of intensity as a ‘hyah!’ written on their face, they managed to throw the line into the water.

It was not nearly as pretty as how their teacher had done, but their lure dipped its (head?? Toes??) body into the waters, a bit behind hers. A sigh of relief, they turned to the other. Just as they were waiting for what next to do—which was probably just more waiting but still! Gotta check!—they felt a sudden tug.

IS THIS USUALLY QUICK HELP—

Their eyes widened. Okay, okay—uh! This was fine, just gotta reel it in (HOW DO YOU REEL IT IN). Which! Was! Probably! About! Pulling! So, pull they did only to watch in both horror and awe as something very much outside of Kiran’s calibre appeared. A rather large, a rather beautiful, a rather ‘HELPHELPHELPHELP’ fish jumped into the air and back into the lake. What Kiran forgot to factor in was that they, too, could be pulled.

“AAA—”

SPLASH! And into the depths they went…

cotharach

In lieu of any visceral reaction, Flayn simply stood there, completely and utterly frozen. For her senses were overwhelmed by a shock so great that it shut down the delicate machinery that made her mind work. She was not alone in this response, however—nearby fisherfolk also gawked at the pond, equally as still.

Then, Flayn threw her fishing rod to the side and knelt by the edge of the dock, bending over to look into the murky waters. The bystanders flinched, some of them ready to surge forward to grab her lest she, too, fell into the pond, but Flayn remained stable in her position. Eyes frantically searched within the depths for any sign of them—a strange movement in the water, a pair of golden eyes, a fishing rod that was slowly surfacing. But she found nothing. So she shouted at the water.

"Hello? Can you hear me?" They probably couldn't, "I'm sorry, I can't really see you... Erm, just hold on!"

She grabbed her fishing rod, stood up, and closed her eyes. O Goddess, guide my line. Let it fly true and deliver that which has fallen into peril. Give me the strength to return them to safety!

Taking a deep breath, Flayn casted the line. The glittery green bobber disappeared into the water, carrying with it the possibility for salvation.

#I SUMMON THEE GODDESS MESSENGER FISH — thread

bxldrsdraumar

guy who learned his wife's favorite food is mushrooms vc: you know they make mushroom chocolates now

bxldrsdraumar

Regardless of how she phrased it, that was the correct answer, and Sigurd brightened with a little laugh. "I am pleased to see that it will not be the blind leading the blind," he offered, peering over her shoulder as she picked up the sheet with their instructions, glancing over them in their entirety briefly before focusing his attention elsewhere. "Not that we will not have guidance, but the owner will be rather busier elsewhere. I learn rather better in getting my hands into it, so to speak."

He demonstrated by lifting his hands and wiggling his fingers, noticing with another laugh that there was, in fact, a spot of chocolate somehow already in between fore- and middle knuckles on one hand.

"The demonstration will be just what we need to get going, but I suspect that the best lessons will be learned as we go along."

There was the bustle of movement as Stefanelli and his assistants moved to their positions for the start of the seminar, each getting into their proper place and tightening the aprons about themselves, taking a checklist to the neatly arranged selection of bowls along the great table at the fore of the room.

If it was possible, Sigurd's expression became even more delighted at Flayn's question, and he turned to face her fully, dipping somewhat so that she would not have to look up quite so far.

"My wife." Said simply, and with the infinite depth of warmth and love. "It is possible that you know her, she is a professor at the academy – ah, are you a student? You look of an age, and you appear to be wearing the uniform. Although even if you are a student, it is possible you are in another class, but I simply find it quite unbelievable that one could not have heard of Deirdre. I suppose that is my bias. In fact, you may even have heard of my son, Seliph – he is in the same class, the Black Eagles. I will be making some for him as well, although I know his tastes rather less well than Deirdre's..."

A sharp clap of hands before he could begin to list those tastes and preferences off, and Stefanelli cleared his throat, smiled broadly. "Can everyone hear me? Are we all ready to begin?"

cotharach

"Yes, chef!" Flayn squeaked alongside the rest of the class, but in truth, she was not ready to begin. The odes of praise that Sigurd heaped for his wife and son had thoroughly intrigued her, far more than any seminar on the art of chocolate could. Stefanelli smiled at the collective response, and continued with his lecture satisfied with the thought that everyone was listening, though they were not.

A blackboard was wheeled to the front. Diagrams and measurements of chocolate and cocoa butter were drawn out, and Stefanelli began to explain the vital differences in each amount. But Flayn's focus was fixed on Sigurd. She leaned closer to him and softened her voice to a whisper.

"I actually am a Black Eagle student, but I have not been for long. So I am not terribly familiar with Professor Deirdre or Seliph, but I shall endeavor to introduce myself to them after this."

For they must be wonderful people if he spoke of them with such tenderness. There was no better image a person could project than the one that love made, and Sigurd clearly had a great abundance of it. At least, he had enough to sing psalms of their glory to a near-stranger, he had enough to take time out of his afternoon to make them sweets. It all heartened Flayn greatly, which was evident from the way her face brightened.

"You speak of your wife so glowingly, however. My interest has been positively piqued! Could…" Flayn glanced around, checking to see if they had anything to do for the class, and returning to Sigurd when she was certain there was not, "Could I ask how you two met?"

#GUY WHO LEARNED HIS WIFE'S FAVORITE FOOD IS MUSHROOMS — thread

cotharach

— THE ILLUSION OF FREE CHOICE .

no pots of gold at the end of this rainbow.

peerlessscowl

He hadn’t laughed when he had been presented with the person who’d needed escort into the mountains, and neither did he comment when she had needed to stop to catch her breath. It was a trek that couldn’t have been for the faint of heart during the best of times, if it had been merely a lark, but Raven understood that the motive behind the journey was a pure and honest one, and he respected the girl all the more for it, silently taking the rear so that she could set the pace, and that he could nudge her if at all necessary; keeping watchful eye for outcroppings where she could be seated comfortably, for the movement of any nature around them while she rested; and waited for her to regain her spirit before continuing, agreeing with a simple nod and pressing onward.

Sometimes the body didn’t match the heart that was within. He knew that, firsthand.

She seemed rather younger and more naive than Lucius, though, and hadn’t needed to make these kinds of treks before - he assumed, based on the awe and wonder with which she commented on everything.

Less prepared for loss.

Raven didn’t need to be told the consequences of the beast taking the plant in its maw, the voracious grind that only a goat could create of mill-teeth against tender stem and leaves. The moment he saw the petals against black lips, his sword was out of its sheathe, and he was striding forward, making sweeps at the goat from the inconvenient position of the winding path.

It seemed prepared, somehow, or at least unsurprised, the singular determination of a beast that needed food badly, and the reaction toward the attempt to be separated from that very thing.

Though the tip of his blade glanced along its powerful shoulders, once, twice, neither decisive, the goat pawed at the earth and reared forward to butt him down the mountain path.

He tsked in time with its snort.

“All right…this doesn’t need to be difficult. Flayn,” he said to the girl, forcing the beast to keep its square eyes on him; “You need to gather what’s left. We can’t go back empty handed, and I’d prefer not to stick my hand in this thing’s mouth.”

cotharach

"Erm…"

The instruction was clear, though Flayn did not immediately obey. It was difficult... So instead she glanced about, wide eyes landing on Raven, then the plant, then to the goat. The animal, pinned between two strong arms, met her gaze with a fear that felt almost sapient, and Flayn froze. She recognized that expression. She had seen it in the faces of the sick in the village.

She looked down at the flower. About a third had already been consumed, but the rest looked pristine. They were beautiful enough that she was tempted to keep them there forever, that they may be undisturbed and continue to grow in splendor, but she knew that they had long reached the point of no return. There was no saving these flowers, the goat, and the people of the village at the same time. But she did want to try. She always did.

Flayn took a deep breath. She curled her fist around a bunch and pulled up until the stems snapped. The goat let out a long and loud bleat. Flayn flinched. She made the mistake of looking up and seeing the goat, who by this point, struggled pathetically to run up the uneven, root-scarred mountain path, so desperate to return to its flowers that it would let even its own hooves crack.

"Can't we leave some behind for the poor thing?" Flayn implored, "It looks sick. Perhaps it is in need of this miracle plant too?"

#THE ILLUSION OF FREE CHOICE — thread

failnaughted

You're Laughing. We're in Jesus' Tomb and You're Laughing.

#WINNINGSUN || Ethereal Ball 2026

Word Count Challenge: 350

seawardoath

What kind of monastery was this place? Illusions, prisons, monsters, and Bernadetta was a rat? Dorothea doesn’t even bat an eye at that part. Ronan frowns, then looks up at the bared fangs of the stone-made monster, which Claude thinks might be some kind of puzzle, like the tree downstairs.

“If Flayn says this place is safe-“ she didn’t, only that this place wasn’t a prison, “—then we shouldn’t be so worried. We’ll find a way out. This can’t be the first time someone’s come in here and had the doors shut on them, right?”

But why was this room charred, like there’d been a fire here not too long ago? Ronan resists the urge to reach up and touch the statue’s wrinkled face, instead turning to examine the rest of the room and the three crates Dorothea pointed out.

“There was a terrible sorcerer from my homeland who could turn living things to stone,” he murmurs, as if speaking too loudly might disturb the creature. “But it could only be reversed by a rare, special spell. Even if this thing was once alive, it isn’t now, and to keep the key to its imprisonment in the same cell would be a fool’s mistake.”

Still, the crates have him curious about if that might be true after all, so he walks over to one to try the lid. It’s neither nailed nor locked shut, but takes both hands and a grunt or two of effort to lift it. With a heavy sigh, Ronan finally slides it aside and peers in. Arranged on a bed of cloth are four different masks - human-like caricatures one might find on stage for a play.

“No statue pieces here,” he says, partly relieved, and lifts one of the masks to show to the rest. If it’s the visage of a saint, he wouldn’t know. “I’m beginning to wonder if this might just be the church’s storage room. What do you think about these, Flayn?" He holds the mask over his face to hide his smile. "How do I look? Am I lead actor material?"

@encantresse @cotharach @hermidetta @failnaughted

cotharach

Her endearment is tempered with alarm, for while she is certain Ronan would make for a dashing leading man, the mask he holds up to his face bears an all too familiar mien.

"You look… so much like Saint Cichol!" She exclaims, moving towards Ronan and bending over to take a peek at the crate. There is no mistaking what she sees inside. Her brows furrow.

"As I suspected, these are the faces of the Four Saints… Indech, Macuil, Cichol, and Cethleann are all here. But they look... strange." She rises to her feet, eyes still locked in on the masks. Their expressions are exaggerated, so unlike the otherworldly stoicism displayed by their statues in the Cathedral—an indication, perhaps, of a less than reverent purpose. Surely these were made in mockery of them? She stares at Cethleann's mask. The plaster is molded into a permanent grin.

Flayn frowns.

"I want to believe our fears are baseless, but I cannot deny the wary feeling I get the longer we stay here. Your tales about the gargoyles and the rats and everything else—" She glances at her fellow Black Eagles, something apologetic in the way her eyes angle downwards, "—are quite concerning. There is also the matter of the heartbeat in the walls… Ah, Claude?" Flayn turns to him, "Was there anything else you felt when you touched the wall? Or perhaps anything you see here that may be connected to it?"

Because she sees nothing yet, but she trusts his intellect, which seems much keener than hers.

"Perhaps unraveling the mystery behind the tower's pulse is how we can leave."

@failnaughted

#WE'RE IN JESUS' TOMB AND YOU'RE LAUGHING — thread #toaball2026 #wc: 276 #((im so amused by flonan here theyre really in a romcom meanwhile dorobern are in a psychological horror))#((we might be the muppets in a human only movie))

"Oh, Flayn!" Ronan catches her as the White Heron Cup draws to a close, his eyes twinkling like a child who'd just seen his first shooting star. "You're a magnificent dancer! I think I like watching you even better."

But something about her dance, as beautiful as it was, had seemed lonely, especially up against a pair who seemed to infuse their trust for one another in every move, but perhaps it was merely his imagination. And, he realizes suddenly, he'd just made a remark he hadn't quite meant.

"Er, that isn't to say that I didn't enjoy dancing with you earlier, I just-- You know what I mean, right?" He glances away and rubs the back of his neck as he scrambles to save himself. "I thought you'd win for sure."

The feeling that emerges after the White Heron Cup is not disappointment, per se. It is more of a disorientation, a force that sweeps her off her feet and leaves her on the ground wondering. The arrival of Ronan does little to help her up—why, his praise does more to knock her over! And to think he had watched her up there? A trickle of warmth drips its way from her chest down to her stomach. There is no mistaking this feeling.

Flayn smiles, but her cheeks tingle so much that her lips start to quaver, "I do know what you mean, Ronan. There is no need to explain any further. You flatter me greatly! And..."

She takes a deep breath. Wondering if she should take his hand, then deciding against it for now.

"It is fortuitous that we should meet. I was just thinking about you. In fact, I find myself thinking of you quite a lot." Admitting that, strangely, does not make her nervous. Nor does the question that comes after.

"Do you happen to be free right now? I'd hate to steal you away from your duties once again but... there is someplace I'd love to take you, if you will allow me."

#toaball2026 #inbox #((RONAN MY SWEETIE CUTIE PIE OHHHHHHHHHH))#((im throwing up))#((these two are so CUTEEE))#((i love how awkward he can be.... i would be too tbh))#((arrghh chews on him chews on him))

failnaughted

You're Laughing. We're in Jesus' Tomb and You're Laughing.

#WINNINGSUN || Ethereal Ball 2026

Word Count Challenge: 350

hermidetta

the walls are BEATING?! bernadetta thinks she hears herself squawk somewhere in the midst of everything. oh, goddess above in her tower, why are the walls beating?

well. at least claude told them. he could have just NOT TOLD THEM.

still, between that, flayn’s reassurances and dorothea’s yelp, bernadetta’s nerves are bobbing up and down. it isn’t until ronan remarks on the scenery that they slow enough for bernadetta to really start looking, too. the rich reds and mahogany browns, the fallen leaves—never mind their newfound elevation that’s foiled her plans to jump down.

“this place sort of looks like if you took autumn and made it into a room.” gloved hand unconsciously returning the squeeze of flayn’s, bernadetta blinks around some more. “huh…”

wandering within arm’s length, she pauses when her foot hits something that feels like a rock. maybe she should’ve taken a torch to occupy her other hand after all, because without even thinking about it, she bends down to pick it up. a bear statue…? it’s honestly sort of cute. something like a decorative paperweight, and it doesn’t feel any different from a regular rock or statuette in the palm of her hand.

berndetta’s eyes return to where she’d found it, drifting aimlessly until they catch the prongs of a dusty ladder. a gentle tug to flayn.

“i-is that another door? are we supposed to just keep going up, or...?” the longer they stand here in uncertainty, the less keen she is on the idea of splitting up anyway. “a-and if this is another prison... where do you think the prisoners are?”

@cotharach / @failnaughted / @encantresse

cotharach

"It is not a prison!" Flayn says, scandalized, "The Goddess Tower is a place for love and promise!"

At least, that is what she knows. She realizes now that there are a great many things she has yet to know about the monastery. The nature of this whole room and its statue tree and tall balcony and beating walls is a mystery. But what knowledge lacks, faith is sure to supply—she maintains her belief that there can be nothing bad in a tower made for the benevolent goddess!

"In any case, I believe going up may be our best option, that we may learn more about our strange situation. Ah, Ronan?" She calls the young knight, who seems infatuated with the balcony view—a fact that makes Flayn just a bit upset. Would that he could look at her like that…! She points at the torch he holds, "Could you lead our ascent once again?"

They climb up, the way lit by Ronan. Their steps ringing like chimes against the metal rungs of the ladder. The trapdoor is pushed open, leading to yet another room. This one has scattered papers all over the floor, greeting their feet as they walk. Further in, a shadowy figure stands at the center.

"Ah!" She clings onto Bernadetta, "Oh?"

The fear gives way to confusion, for what she had mistaken for some sort of beast turns out to merely be a statue, though that is not to say it is any less discomforting. The effigy is of some hideous creature perched atop a stone pedestal. Closer inspection reveals two stumps by the shoulder blades, the edges cracked and jagged as though something had been broken off it. Wings, perhaps? Flayn hums.

"There seems to be another statue that is missing something…" She taps her finger on her chin, "Whatever could that mean?"

@failnaughted @encantresse @seawardoath

#WE'RE IN JESUS' TOMB AND YOU'RE LAUGHING — thread #toaball2026 #wc: 307 #((CUTTING IT REAL CLOSE WITH THE WC SKHDJSJDFHBJDFH))#((is flayn getting jealous over literal trees rn? maybe.......))#((its been a long night she just wanted to make a vow with her awesome friend))#((and now she's in a weird heartbeat tower))#((and also defending the church w her life))#((JWGEHJAHAHAHAHA))

starrook

pas de deux

ethereal ball - white heron cup match 10 // alcryst & lapis vs flayn

lazulienne

The decision to come out and dance all on your own is brave enough, but the way Flayn rises from the ashes of her fall, expression not torn but instead defiant in the face of it is captivating. For the brief part where Lapis can glimpse her in the wake of the crowd's gasps, she sees not the error but how their rival comes out of it, still blazing, and she thinks in that way their competition feels somewhat Brodian-esque.

Maybe she hadn't needed Lapis's encouragement at all. But seeing their rival prevail and hearing that the song still goes on inspires Lapis to do the same.

“OK, let's do this!” she gives her assent as Alcryst warns her of the dip to come. There's nothing flashy on Lapis's end, no extra flourishes, but when her body descends at his call, her arm could hold on for dear life around his shoulder.

She instead lets her body remain loose— the ultimate display of follow-through on trust, just as the choreography would wish.

Alcryst tells her his promise, and Lapis's grin remains easy as she replies, “I know you won't.”

And when she rises again, she does it at his lead, continuing their work in tandem, simple and cleanly.

SCORE: 1, 10, 6 = 17PTS NEXT: @cotharach !!

cotharach

The pressure mounts. Flayn can feel it in her body, how it is tense and warm in all the wrong spots. She breathes, but the inhale gets caught in her throat.

She continues her dance, the same twists and turns and rhythmic steps. Though there is something about it that seems wildly different. Her determination from before melts into something dreary. There is weight in the way she carries herself, melancholy scribed in the roundness of her shoulders. She glances over to Lapis and Alcryst and realizes—

Oh, goddess, she wishes she could dance with someone!

Not just anyone, though. A distinct figure comes to mind, and Flayn feels the heat in her body travel all the way up to her face.

"3... 2... 1... Alright contestants, that's enough!"

The music fades out, and Flayn nervously turns to the judges' table. Her score does not make the cut: she is out.

They are ushered off stage to give the staff time to prepare for the next round. Flayn recognizes her feelings of disappointment, but finds something else beyond that—relief. Or hope. Or whatever this sudden airiness is. Either way, it rises above the mire of her regrets and lends a bright smile to her face.

"Thank you for the round. It was a wonderful dance to bear witness to." Flayn beams at Lapis and Alcryst, "You two make such a lovely pair. Why, I found myself wishing I had a partner of my own!"

SCORE: 2, 10, 2 = 14!

#toaball2026 #PAS DE DEUX — thread #whiteheroncup2026

starrook

pas de deux

ethereal ball - white heron cup match 10 // alcryst & lapis vs flayn

lazulienne

There's no time to dally, but Alcryst and Lapis are like two peas in a pod. When he's distracted by their opponent's solitary position in relation to theirs, Lapis finds herself distracted too, looking towards the green-haired girl with clear worry. But with the music starting and the judges ushering them, Alcryst's hands getting in position, Lapis's lapse in focus is a detriment.

“Uhh...! Best of luck to you too! You've got this!” Lapis calls out to Flayn, wanting to at least encourage her, but it means she's once again a bit off-tempo at the start of the new round, hurrying to stumble her way into (trying to) successfully follow her partner's lead.

But at least this time, even if her mistakes are more obvious, her spirits are higher, riding the high from their win last round. Alcryst and her had figured something out in the end before, and it's that trust that makes her radiant with seemingly misplaced confidence now.

“She looks like an awkward duckling...” comes the commentary from the judging panel, their eyes scrutinizing the competitors even more intensely than the first round. Perhaps it's true; she's no swan, has never thought herself fit to be so, surrounded by so many fine birds...

But she somehow takes her love's reminder to heart, smiling back, and making a tender scene nonetheless. It is in her awkwardness that another judge finds her joy heartwarming, leaning against and beaming at her love even when she inevitably trips again and can't quite hide it this time.

“I always think this, but you're really dashing tonight,” Lapis whispers to her partner. “Thanks for catching me there. Phew.”

SCORE: 9, 4, 3 = 16PTS NEXT: @cotharach !!

cotharach

Lapis' encouragement warms her heart, but what really fills her soul is watching the two of them dance together. They are imperfect, yes, but it is clear to Flayn that they share a bond that transcends the waltz they share. It shows in their eyes, but also in the way he catches her every stumble. Flayn takes in a deep breath. How she wishes she could be caught like that! Envy cuts its gash through her chest, but her own yearning for this sort of romance to enter her life should not distract her from the competition.

She takes her position, lifts her arms, and begins to spin.

The choreography is quite different from her last piece—better suited for a solo dancer than a pair—but it is nevertheless still a challenge to execute. The judges note her wobbly knees, her stiff shoulders, and the weak steps. At some point, her heels catch on a groove in the stage, causing her to stumble. The crowd gasps, but Flayn rises to continue.

Many would call it disastrous, and indeed, were it not for the fierceness of her expression and the aesthetics of her movement, she likely would have been eliminated. She is safe... for now.

SCORE: 9, 8, 1 = 18! NEXT: @starrook

#toaball2026 #whiteheroncup2026 #PAS DE DEUX — thread #((flayn vc scooch over i love yall))#((they are so cute.... as they always are...))

renaisguy

Duets by Rossini and waltzes by Strauss

White Heron Cup - Round 1, Match 4

far-from-common

It is time for the shining star to take centre stage! She has prepared for dance meticulously! She has faith in her partner! There is no way they shall fail!

Though, in the off-chance they DO fail, there are definitely far worse opponents to fall to than one of her cave exploring companions. Giving her a nod and a thumbs up, L’Arachel is quick to move out to the dance floor, excited to showcase her skills.

Forde leads them out, but L’Arachel takes charge masterfully. With a giddy smile on her face, she leads them in a lovely waltz; the simple rhythm enhanced by various dips and twirls, moments where she showcases her individuality with grace and poise.

Each step executed flawlessly of course

The performance finishes and she gives several grand bows to the audience and the judges. Looking up, expecting to see a perfect 30 points, she is instead stunned to see… less than that.

The judges’ comments: Dance executed masterfully, although the choreography felt uninspired and lacking in unity. Awful and garish outfit, like the cheerful demeanour, is unfit for the tone presented. 19/30

Awful outfit? Uninspired choreography? How dare. How dare! She shall be the bigger moment, but this indignancy shall NOT go unforgotten! She gives a polite curtsy towards the judges, before returning back to the sidelines, her nails digging into her hands with how tightly they are balled together in anger.

@cotharach

cotharach

When Flayn takes to the stage, taking up center all by herself, she realizes how little she can actually see the audience. The big spotlight is trained onto her, filling her eyes with a light that obscures everything else. Her shoulders relax. The thought of looking up and seeing countless eyes staring back at her had rattled her. But there is nothing but whiteness in front of her now.

The piano plays its first note. Flayn lifts her arms, and her dance begins.

She is most accustomed to the waltz—not the best thing to dance by herself, but she makes it work. Taking the position of the lead, Flayn dances with an imaginary partner whose height shifts quite a bit, but is nevertheless constantly in her caress. She twists herself to and fro, her heels scuffing against the wooden grain of the stage.

The music ends. Flayn curtsies towards the audience and makes her exit.

The judges' comments: Though it is clear that the dancer is amateur, her natural charms sell the waltz. The choreography pairs well with the music, though it's clear she struggles without a partner. 19/30.

Flayn reads this while seated. She hums—a partner?

Glancing down, she fixates on the white hyacinth she had tucked into her belt. A partner...

"Sorry dancers," A woman with a clipboard enters backstage, "the judges would like to see you dance again."

"Again?" Flayn blinks out of her trance. She turns Forde and L'Arachel, then rises to her feet, "Alright, I'll have another go."

She pushes past the curtains and takes her place, feet planted atop the 'X' marked on the stage. Flayn takes a deep breath. The piano plays its first note, and she once again lifts her arms and takes her step to the side.

This time, she pictures a certain someone as she dances—someone with a certain height, a certain gait, a certain hand. Memories of a sunlit pond and a fish hook delicately wrung from her hair dance at the edges of her vision, and a warmth courses through her veins.

The dance finishes. Flayn curtsies, like she had before, though this time she notices how much sweatier she seems to be.

The judges' comments: The execution has not improved much, but the dancer's emotions have been brought to the forefront, building up the image of a sweet and lovestruck girl. 22/30

Flayn's eyes widen. She hadn't expected to score so high. The woman with the clipboard asks Forde and L'Arachel to exit, and as she does, Flayn waves at them.

"Best of luck, you two!"

@renaisguy @far-from-common

#toaball2026 #whiteheroncup2026 #DUETS BY ROSSINI AND WALTZES BY STRAUSS — thread #((sorry for the wait!!))

failnaughted

You're Laughing. We're in Jesus' Tomb and You're Laughing.

#WINNINGSUN || Ethereal Ball 2026

Word Count Challenge: 350

seawardoath

“Knocking the door off its hinges would still get us out.”

Maybe they’d be fast enough to slip out before anything collapsed on them. But the way Dorothea adds on her warning, hurried, like she doesn’t want the rest of them to take her suggestion for a serious one, sounds like it’d be worse for them than it sounds.

“But this place is pretty important to the church, isn’t it? It would be best if we don’t damage it unless we have to.”

So Ronan just takes one of the two torches she’s pulled down from the wall and starts for the bottom of the stairs that spiral up into the darkness. The timid one with the purple hair stammering on about ghosts and monsters stops his foot on the second step though and he studies the thick blackness beyond the flickering realm of his flame.

“This tower might be out of the way, but it’s still pretty close to the rest of the monastery. Monsters here would pose a threat to everyone else, not just us.”

So there probably aren’t any. He tries to sound confident, and maybe if it were the middle of the day, he’d be as confident as he sounds. But a draft blows cool air down the stairwell, and along with it, the soft tinkling of wind chimes, and raises the hair on the back of his neck. He glances back curiously to see if anyone else had heard it, too. When his eye catches Flayn’s, he takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders.

“... Up, then. I’ll lead the way.”

The narrow stairwell spirals nearly a full circle to the next floor, the chimes growing louder the higher they go. A shut door awaits them at the top, but Ronan tries its handle - it’s in good condition, he notices, and that’s a heartening detail; it means someone takes care of this place - and the door swings open without resistance.

@cotharach @failnaughted @encantresse @hermidetta

cotharach

"Fret not, Bernadetta, there won't be any ghosts or monsters in this tower. We are under the protection of the Goddess! Now come on, let's not tarry." She takes Bernadetta's hand and ascends alongside the rest of them. When Ronan glances towards her, she smiles, "Thank you for leading, Ronan."

The door creaks open. The room they enter is far larger than it has any right being. The ceiling is high and mighty, and the west walls open up to a balcony that Flayn can't recall ever seeing. The chimes they heard as they were ascending grow a touch bit louder, its aimless clinking now shifting into something more melodic. A statue of a tree, with branches that outstretched magnificently yet are stripped of any sort of foliage, stands in the center of the room.

"What would a tree be doing here…?"

Flayn is tempted to move past Ronan and check it out herself, but her senses return to her. It would be wise not to touch anything they did not know much about. So instead, Flayn inches over to the balcony, moving just enough to be able to peer through the opening whilst keeping Bernadetta close. From what she can tell, there is a forest below—that makes sense, as Garreg Mach was surrounded by the woods of Oghma Mountain—but the treetops stand surprisingly low, most of them engulfed in fog and shadow, while the taller ones grow sparser the closer the make it to the balcony. If they threw a rock down, it would take some time before it hit the ground.

Her hand grips Bernadetta's just a bit tighter.

"This feels strange," Flayn turns to all of them, brows tightly furrowed, "I don't think this is in the tower normally. Perhaps we have entered some sort of hidden floor of the Goddess Tower, a space that is much further up than people usually access."

That is the best explanation she can offer right now, though it does not quite address every misaligned detail.

"Either way, we ought to investigate. Though it is rather dark... What else can you all see?"

@failnaughted @encantresse @hermidetta

#toaball2026 #WE'RE IN JESUS' TOMB AND YOU'RE LAUGHING — thread #((no wc because im on mobile and i cant check HWGHAHAHA BUT THIS SHOULDNT BE TOO LONG YEAH?))

[ FLOWER ARRANGEMENT ] - No matter how many flowers you gather, your bouquet won’t look its best unless you have the skill to make it so. A couple of students have taken upon itself to imbue their peers with the knowledge of flower language and the art of flower arrangement, and as a result the garden has become something of a workshop.

“f-flayn? um, i never got to thank you for rescuing me from getting clubbed to death by an army of little kids. i-i don't really have anything that good to repay you with yet, sorry... but will these flowers do for now?”

#TOABall2026 - Week 2

"Bernadetta!"

Flayn's eyes widened. She hadn't expected to see her here, but that was not to say she did not delight in it. Her face softening, she took the orchids from her with a gently curled lip.

"There's no need to say thanks. I am glad enough to see you delivered from that wicked Gouda Boy."

A hand went to play with the flowers, digits caressing the delicate petals. The orchids were beautiful, but they seemed quite fragile. A touch too rough would sever them straight from the stamen. Flayn hummed. These were only some of the soft things that ought to be protected in this world.

Flayn looked up from her flowers. She wondered if someone like her could keep protecting Bernadetta or if she, too, was soft. Could lambs shepherd their fellow lambs? Could orchids prick the greedy fingers of those seeking to pluck fellow orchids?

It was difficult to answer. For now she continued to smile at Bernadetta, and continued to hold tenderly her flowers.

"But if you must know: yes, these flowers most certainly suffice. I am happy to receive these!"

#inbox #toaball2026 #((THANKS SO MUCH FOR SENDING SEN))#((THE GOUDA BOY THREAD CONTINUITY....))#((looking back on it what happened to bernie was so fucked up))#((they almost pinata'd her bro))

[ SQUIRM ] - Some may recognize the blanket that’s been laid out in a momentarily-unoccupied corner of one of the dance halls. On it are rows of circles separated by color. Off to the side is a wooden board with an arrow pinned in the center and divided into four quadrants with colors and labels: right hand, right foot, left hand, left foot. Spin the arrow and put the respective appendage on the corresponding color. Just be careful not to step on any of your fellow players in the dark!

Well, this is uncomfortable. Literally. Boughs of lilac spill across the mat in a messy pool that submerges the unknown ankle in front of her. Sara can't check who it belongs to in the moment, thoroughly distracted just trying to support herself with one foot stretching what feels like halfway to the next room. Her left arm has been missing at least one round and the leg keeping her mostly upright seems ready to fall asleep any minute.

She may be willing to give most activities a chance, but the energy she chooses to spend heavily relies on the enjoyment she receives in return. The beginning hadn't been too bad. While some ducked and blushed when confronted by stray faces creeping a little close, she found it fun to stare until the other looked away first. Though there were warning signs when elbows bumped or a knee knocked into hers, nothing prepared her for the torture to come.

With the motivation to continue fast dwindling, Sara reaches behind her to spin the arrow and pray whichever color the wheel points to doesn't ask her to pull a muscle to stay in the game. Yet only after the ticking hand goes quiet does it occur to her that she can't see the result from her current predicament.

"...What color is it?" A groan. "If you say red, I'm quitting."

#TOABall2026 - Week 2

Flayn is barely holding on herself, truth be told. Her body is an awkward bind of legs and hands threatening to unfurl at any moment and leave her laying uselessly on the ground. Frankly it is some sort of divine miracle that she is able to hold this position. She even has enough leeway to check the spinner for the girl beside her, whose magnificent length of hair is currently blanketing her feet.

"It's on blue!" Flayn calls out, a bit breathless, "Have heart, you need not quit yet."

Though that is not to say things would be looking up for them from this moment on. Indeed, the prognosis of their fates seems rather bleak when one considers the limits of their limbs. How many more inches can their muscles stretch?

Still, she remains devoted to her game. Her body has always had such awful limitations—she will not allow it to stop her from having fun like the rest of her peers. Rolling over slightly, Flayn flicks the spinner with the only appendage that would reach it, her left hand's middle finger, and watches anxiously as the arrow goes round and round and round... and tells her to place her right hand on yellow.

"Oh, phooey!"

#inbox #toaball2026 #((THIS ASK WAS SUCH A DELIGHT TO RECEIVE THANK YOU SO MUCH TSUUUU))#((i lob your sara so much))

[ SEQUESTER ] - Some rooms remain unused, and while by the padlocks on their doors you suspect they are meant to remain that way, some poor sap seems to have forgotten to make sure they were locked properly. They make for an excellent space away from the chaos of the rest of the ball—though you may not be the first one there.

#TOABall2026 - Week 2

"What exactly do you want from me?"

It was rare to hear Flayn's voice take on this stern, almost cold tone, but Sylvain naturally brought out a more cautious side of her. Her brother had warned her of him. The Gautier noble had quite the reputation preceding him, and while she was not the sort of person to take stock of such rumors so easily, she was also not the sort of person to corroborate them. Slowly, she backed away from him, clutching her bouquet as if she were afraid he might steal it like he allegedly steals the hearts of men and women.

"If you wish to spirit me away from this ball, then I would have to politely decline. My apologies, I know it sounds rude, but it will be better for the both of us if we remain properly distanced from one another." She took another step away from him before frowning slightly, "I have been warned to stay away from you."

#inbox #toaball2026 #((YAYY THANKS FOR SENDING CIRI!!))#((didnt wanna assume he was gonna already be taking her somewhere so i hope this is ok nodding nodding))

failnaughted

You're Laughing. We're in Jesus' Tomb and You're Laughing.

#WINNINGSUN || Ethereal Ball 2026

Word Count Challenge: 350

failnaughted

Well, that escalated quickly, didn't it.

Claude's only intention was to pay a quick visit to the Ethereal Ball, and see how everyone else was doing. Having gotten stuck dealing with a small mountain of papers in his room, courtesy of the currently ongoing Alliance Situation and grandpops responding to it by falling sick again and leaving it all to him, he found himself with too little time to participate in person. Frankly, his energy was mostly spent at this point, too. The whole nonsense was pushing his people skills to their limits and at least a part of him really wanted to just lie down in the dirt and stay there.

Alas, not everyone was allowed such luxury.

Not that any of that mattered in this particular scenario, because, well,

"Not to ruin the mood, but the door won't open."

The doorknob, previously perfectly functional, suddenly refused to budge, as if it had been abruptly jammed. Frowning, Claude leaned against the door with his entire body weight, grunting as he tried to force his way through. He didn't have much hope in that to begin with - he wasn't exactly the strongest person around - and, well, the result was exactly that.

"Strange. It doesn't even feel like just the doorknob," he noted, turning to the others and shrugging. "The entire door doesn't move even an inch, no matter what I do…"

Well. It would seem that Count Gloucester would have to wait for his highly anticipated letter a little longer than planned. Oooh nooo.

Anyway.

"Any ideas? Unless someone else has more luck with the door than I do, then we might just have to try and find another exit." Thinking, Claude glanced at Flayn more attentively. "You've lived here longer than any of us, right? Do you know if there's another door somewhere that we can use?"

Surely even the most ancient and mysterious pieces of Fódlan architecture took at least some practical use into consideration in the planning phase, right?

@cotharach @encantresse @seawardoath @hermidetta

cotharach

Too much was happening in too short a time. She had only come here to test out an old wives' tale with Ronan—the sudden shift in lighting had provided the perfect opportunity for a getaway, and Flayn's own curiosity had grown too great not to make an attempt—so seeing others here had startled her enough. Getting trapped in the Goddess Tower had only added to that shock! And here she had hoped to make a vow with him... Flayn wrapped her arms around her body.

"You are correct, Claude, I have been residing in the monastery for quite some time. However, I am not privy to any other doors to and from this tower. My brother would surely know more about the entryways of this place, but…"

How would Seteth feel knowing she had brought a male peer into the tower with her, even if she had pure intentions? She did not wish to imagine it.

She glanced towards Ronan. Her face flushed, and she tore her gaze away from the young knight.

"...Involving others might get us in a spot of trouble. We ought to try resolving this on our own, if we can."

Flayn approached the door. True to Claude's testimony, it seemed not to budge, as if it were a statue of a door rather than the real thing. She placed her palms on the wood. It was cold.

"Could we perhaps use magic on it?" Flayn turned to the rest of them, head tilted, "There are spells for picking locks, are there not?"

@encantresse @seawardoath @hermidetta

#toaball2026 #WE'RE IN JESUS' TOMB AND YOU'RE LAUGHING — thread #wc: 257 #((YAY I CAN POST NOW))#((ANYWAYS WE'RE SO FREAKING BACK))#((team rodlan (ronan + fodlan) lets goooooo))

[ LYTHOS ] - A complicated dance performed by Lythian clerics, incorporating the choreography relayed to the former Divine Dragon Monarch by tales and demonstrations from pilgrims of the main four nations on Elyos as well as those from the Emblems. It requires mastery and control of tempo changes and willingness to move one’s body in many different ways.

"Lady Flayn! There you are!" He approaches with a smile—and, most notably, a small arrangement of three roses, tied neatly together with a light green bow and thin strings of gold. "I wished to give you this as thanks. If it hadn't been for your willingness to practice the dances with me, I would have made myself a fool several times over tonight."

It's sorely lacking as a gift, but he did agonize over it in the gardens prior to the official start of the ball. He can only hope it's as acceptable in her eyes as it is his.

"...And, with that—would you care to join me for a dance? It'd be a shame if we didn't get to enjoy the fruits of our labor now that the ball is officially underway."

#TOABall2026 — Week 1

"Of course! I had been waiting for you to ask."

She takes his bouquet—and his hand—and tugs Siegbert towards the dance floor. This time, there is music, and Flayn delights in the fact that she no longer has to rely on counting to stay within rhythm. Though that's not to say the task is any easier. The dance is complex, featuring many shifts in movement that an amateur like her would not normally be able to catch. Mercifully, she has Siegbert with her, and his excellent control over his body means she is able to catch up with all of the changes.

They spin. Flayn takes this opportunity to speak with him more, leaning in to make sure her voice rises above the orchestra.

"But I do not believe for even a moment that you would have made a fool of yourself without our rehearsals. Believe me when I say that you are a fantastic dancer. Why I'm certain your tutors from home would agree!"

#inbox #toaball2026 #((SIEGBERT MY FRIEND SIEGBERT YOU ARE TOO SWEET))#((im sorry for the late response btw this was just??? sitting in my drafts for some reason SOBS))

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