( bear brave ) @hermidetta - Tumblr Blog

*⚘ butterfly effect

⠀ herald '26 ⚘ any +1 ⠀

#'when i finally get hot and my frontal lobe fully develop its so over for you guys' ahh #ok back to brave detta legendary yuri icons /hj #aubins #thread: butterfly effect #the amount of ourple in thsi post is freakimn creazy #(the literal color .aand the alts JGKSKNFJWKF) ANYWAY DW ABOUT THE SETUP/LENGTH SORRY SHES JUST YAPPING #actually still losing it over this :crylaugh: bro theres freaking 4 of her sorry

there's five of them altogether, but she's the first to arrive from their future paved in crimson.

bernadetta doesn't want to break it to them, especially when—mixed in with their bustling interrogation of this bernie—they're already in distress...about being avoided, apparently, by some ‘new’ yuri who's just arrived. she knows how they feel. how could she not? if they were anything like her (they are her) she knew his wellbeing might as well have been their entire world. it's a different kind of hurt, real as can be, but they are still so blissfully ignorant to what more lies ahead.

— w-was it even possible for us to grow that tall?! — we wear makeup?! — wait, father finally got arrested! yes! — (a lot of scandalized staring at the windows of skin in her older self's tighter clothes. bernadetta very gently closes this one's hanging jaw before any flies can buzz in.)

yet this last bernie, tucked in the center of the other three, finally musters the courage to say something. her gaze stays trained to the ground, limbs hunching into herself like she's sorry just for existing, and bernadetta thinks this is the smallest she's ever seen someone be. this bernie murmurs, silencing the others: “...d-did he finally realize that he doesn't want to be friends anymore? is that why?”

...and bernadetta's shoulders sag. but it only takes her a beat to square them again and answer, chin high: “that's not it at all!”

it isn't. she knows it can't be, conviction eclipsing her very confusion of it in that moment. she doesn't know why it comes so strongly, but all that matters right now is stopping a band of little bernies from spiraling where they're standing. “okay, if you can't take my word for it, how about this? i just saw one yuri go that way. um, they looked like they were going to the beach... like you,” she turns to bernie number four. “all of you are great at running. if you hurry right now and catch up with them, just tell them how you feel and i bet they'll say what i did. they've always been a sweet, gentle boy. you just need to stay honest... and trust that they care about you.”

there's a bit of shared murmuring and hesitation, but that seems to placate the other bernies well enough. before long bernadetta has them scurrying off in the designated direction, sending them off with a wave. (“and don't look down so much! no, seriously. because we won't be able to stop laughing at their shoes, and then they really might get mad.”)

alone again. the stone castle's hallways grow quiet, and bernadetta sinks to the carpet.

“...i said all of that, but i can't even find my yuri, either. i even sent four mini-me disasters after one poor boy! oh, 'detta...” what now? she buries her face into her knees, gathered close to her chest, and lets a heavy sigh drag out of her lungs. it tapers off into a groan once she hears the sound of heavier steps beside her—presumably another hero's. “go away. i'm busy trying not to panic about losing my who-even-knows-what-we-are, and that's using up a lot of effort. ugh, i forgot how seriously anxious i used to be... or am. i don't know. i'm so confused.” / @aubins

hresvelged

Edelgard has no greater wish than for those dreams to be real— Those if's to be when's and how's. Every stain upon her hand, every weapon raised at her head, will all be worth it if people like Bernadetta and Dorothea will no longer be confined by a society so wrought in destruction. The people must open their eyes to this truth— To this warmth that now rests with her palm. If they could feel this too, she is certain Fódlan would finally be free. And it will, one day.

She hopes that her friend's words will match her own when she stands atop that throne and makes the greatest declaration one could ever imagine— When Edelgard hears the words of yesterday become today. The stream will be a flood. Who, she dares to ask, is ready for the storm?

If this dream Edelgard gets to walk a life with dream Bernadetta as her friend and ally, she can picture no greater reward. The more she learns of her, the further she feels this true. She does not tear her sights away from her. "Even if our paths diverged, I would happily declare you as my friend. Write me letters. Send me your stories, too. I'd like to read them. We could even garden together, if you'd like. How does that sound?" The awkward smile she wears feels that much closer to a real person.

As the two remain close, she does not pull away. Not this time. The princess keeps her chin lifted and moves her free hand to graze the cold air. How many people have walked in these rooms with disillusionment and ignorance? How many will force marriage in the hearts of those who need a path less walked? How many secrets have these walls heard? ".. I'm almost jealous of these dream versions of ourselves," she says with a light squeeze. "—Perhaps not today, or even tomorrow.. But if it does happen, we'd only be that much greater. I think that would make for a very compelling story."

Any silence she brings is brief but comfortable. The floor does not creak when she shifts. The dark room shines brighter. "— Coming here was my idea. I owe you an apology. But I am also thankful." Her necklace sways with her head. "I will not force you to speak with Ferdinand. Or anyone else. In the decisions you make, I hope you know that you can turn to me."

#toaball2026 #hresvelged #AAUHAGRGGRHH MY EDELBERNS :DUSTED: THE GARDENING AAYAUUGUH . THE TIFFGARD INTROSPECTION🥺🥺🥺 SOOO TASTY #beagirl stonks went insane (positive) this ball i am scooping them all so fondly tiff #HUGE AGREE ON EVERYTHING TOO🤝💯 almost like little offscreen vignettes/pieces before timeskip....excited for even more to come #i think bern's winding down so idk how/if you'd like to wrap a bow on this but🫴💐 it could be here or if you'd like to send it off hahaha #i def don't mind either way (and truly this was such a delight tysm tiff🥹 i need to grab you more soon oougguh🫳)

the more time she spends with lady edelgard, the more she reminds bernadetta of flowers. at first they did not seem so alike—she would have sooner likened her imperial princess to the advent of dawn, some insurmountable force, or the very reason why storms bear the names of man—but there are flowers, too, for edelgard. there are ones bernadetta finds herself wanting to grow with her.

“oh! i'd love to garden together,” she's quick to agree. if any one thing had been put on display for the world tonight, it was that bernadetta von varley had two left feet and two green thumbs. for edelgard she had showed even more, a glance behind the curtain for lilac eyes alone. (lilac, again. it all returns to lilac.)

“i'd really love... a-all of that, actually...” she trails off, another faraway hint in her voice. a story of the road to something better, the divergence of paths uncertain but hearts as one above all else. could it ever rise from the pages? it is here, in this classroom with edelgard, that bernadetta feels the closest thing to believing. and if she should someday be right there when edelgard stands on that throne...

or even before then. perhaps bernadetta will also find some cord to draw back and see, too.

“i should be thanking you, though. for asking. i haven't really talked to anybody about this, so...” a hermit, unused to a world outside of themself. it's easy to bottle the feelings alone. she nearly finds herself confessing that sometimes it gets lonelier than she realizes—but recognizing that comes with the daunting revelation that she's been spoiled by company. like edelgard's, now.

“i feel a little better. it's hard for me to stop living in fear, but i know that i just have to keep trying.” she mumbles, sheepishness shifting her weight between her heels. “and, um... i still can't promise i'll be a good student, or say it's what i want to do with my life, but i can at least promise not to let my personal problems with others make anything hard for you. i'll figure it out. e-even if i'm not around as much...”

she will sort it out. she must. bernadetta's eyes blink wider, and her hands almost swing edelgard's in their anticipation. “i-i'll start writing to you right now, actually! i already have another friend here who i like sending letters to.” this, she's better at. she's preferred the pen for as long as she can remember. “that way you'll know i'm okay, even if you can't find me, and i can also practice talking to hubert because there's no way he isn't finding these first and judging me."

(if edelgard insists on giving her friendship, then worthless as bernadetta could be in return, this is what lies in wait with the storm: sincerity. sincerity, sincerity, a ready sincerity to lift just a little more weight from that crown.)

wanted plots (herald 2026)

tumblr IM is my preferred communication if we don't already have each other on discord. i just wanted to go ahead and post wanted plots, but i'll be updating my pinned + doing light housekeeping later

#ooc /#plotting /

by any other name.

❥ the ethereal ball 2026 — bernadetta & yuri

can you catch a star that has already been caught? because here is another secret that is maybe not so hidden: the brightest star in the sky used to live in their heart. regulus has lived there since they first hid their name alongside their past. and the version of him they once held close to their chest may not shine as brightly as the one in the sky. but sometimes, when someone peers her head in, comes to sit next to him, and holds his hand—well, he may very well get close.

“but you’ll be there with me, right?” now, too, that same boy grins. he squeezes her hand back, braces his weight on the other as he leans back to look at her, and laughs again just because he can. “in that case, i think the view will be worth it, wherever it is.”

the truth is that regulus has not belonged to him for a very long time. they buried him away under the guise of protecting him and can barely even remember the last time they ever heard his name spoken aloud. what might it sound like in someone else’s voice? will he get to hear it again—not just in reference to the star, but to that boy, too?

maybe. his treacherous heart hopes: maybe.

so she speaks about catching regulus but here’s the thing: she caught him a long time ago. his first heartbreak had been in that haunting manor, that dark room. he’d cut his own chest open first with that knife before anyone else had the chance to beat his ribs in, bared his beating heart to her the moment he failed to put that blade through her throat. and it might’ve shattered, then, alongside his bones. there might be pieces of itself still left behind on the floor of her room.

bernadetta asked if it was cheating to copy; yuri leclerc is a liar and a cheat anyway, though. “well, i’ll wish for kinder things for you too.” that her flowers will all grow. that she will never again feel unlovable or alone. that she’ll continue to have reasons to smile, each and every day. “and then we can count those stars together.”

they ease their weight off their arm, leaning forward to turn and face her again. “...bernadetta,” yuri says before she can make her next wish. tonight, they can pretend. but tomorrow? “how long are you planning to stay in abyss?”

in the end, it was not nearly as strange as they wondered they might find it, having her down in the underground city. nothing really changed. they still spent most days on their feet until their body threatened to collapse from exhaustion and vanished for days at a time with barely a word of warning only to return as though they had never left at all. (and, very rarely, they would return with a deep weariness carved into their every bone and a shadow cast over their expression and no one but bernadetta would even know that they were back until days later when they returned to their usual self.)

clearing their throat, “you can stay as long as you want to. i’m not asking you to go.” in fact, it’s quite the opposite. for one who would never allow any to witness them at anything but their perfect impenetrable facade, to return to someone at anything less is unthinkable. the people of abyss need never see one of their stalwart protectors at anything but their very best, after all.

these days, though, they return. not to abyss but to bernadetta, who has seen them at their very best and absolute worst and never turned away. they do not ask her to hold the weight of every sin they bear, nor somehow unshackle the chain that rests heavy around their neck—indeed, as always, all they ask of her is that she simply stays.

still, they know she cannot stay forever. they could never ask it of her either.

#toaball2026 #aubins #thread: by any other name #ok my turn to have 5 different versions of this in my drafts :crylaugh: throws spaghetti at da wall and hits post hoping for coherency atp #that defective freak: goodness! a kiss? well(sound of him falling off this tower and blowing up. call that nice tbhx /jjjj)#if he asks to move in with yuridetta one more time im paying the $31 to just kill him /jjj #the salmon swims upstream the sun rises in the east and sen posts at 94728 different ass o clock hours (face pressed against glass at you)#AUUGHAHUHRGRRRGGGRGRRRAAAHRHGRGRGRRREGGA YURI LECLERCCCCCCCC :BOOM::BOOM::BOOM: LET HIM HEAR HIS NAME HIS MAMA GAVE THAT TO HIM GRHGRGRAA #ok normal again(me when i lie)

what comes tomorrow, indeed? in the end, not much had changed for her, either. what little involvement she had in class affairs hardly budged. the most deliberate thing about bernadetta von varley was her seclusion, her control over the lock, all so that she might cut off her line to public society at any given time. she had always anticipated it. she just hadn't done it yet. two years ago she'd even told yuri how she'd fake her own death if her father didn't beat her to the real grave first, never expecting anyone to take her seriously.

but yuri was always the first one to. wretched as she was, they did. they saw her and still did. did it truly come as surprise to them that her arms would open, a perch, a home, a heart, no matter how much of their best or worst they brought back? if it did, would they mind if she stayed to keep reminding them why through it all? would they mind if she chose to spend whatever she had of her life with them?

anything. they had told her earlier, but she wants to tell them: anything, they could ask of her. her next wish might be that yuri would let themself ask, not only let her choose them. she is greedy enough to want both.

like flowers turn to light, bernadetta turns to yuri. she easily gravitates to them as they face her, her body slanting forward to return their attention in full. the question gives her pause.

“...oh. um. i-i do feel bad about stealing your bed,” she mumbles, shying, but not in self-persecution. no, she shies on account of remembering its warmth. that when she closed her eyes beneath its covers, she felt safer than ever. that when sleep eluded her, and yuri had the misfortune of being back during it, she could roll out to poke their arm and say something absurd just to hear the sound of their voice, and maybe even their laughter if she were lucky enough.

(and while she could never ask them to lie beside her, no matter how cold or lonely she grew, no matter how much her heart ached to simply hold for all of the times she had never been held in her life without violence—it was the closest comfort to two children dozing off beneath a blanket in a garden, a girl who curled against her dearest friend before she did her armored bear stuffy because her heart beat for him even back then. more than ever, now.)

bernadetta blinks, refocusing with a clear of her throat. “and—you know with, um, th-the inn and all, i feel bad for...” a vague wave of her arm, letting the rest of that tangent speak for itself. “anyway, i didn't have any plans, but i'm a little less worried about being bothered by the people i'm avoiding. if something happens, i can handle it on my own. i still do want to disappear for good before anyone forces me to go back to that manor. but if i ever want to do that early, well... i-i know i can ask you... if that's still okay.”

there is more speculation she leaves unsaid about her future, still so uncertain in all factors but one: she wants to be with them. so when yuri talks about her being there with them, when they've come to say such things like that to her first—oh, how her heart hopes. do they hear how it hopes? that they might not push her away, or grow tired of her. that they might even ask her—

“do you want me to stay?” she ends up voicing, quiet, to her own surprise. gentler, tender in a way befitting to the softer starlight that cuts across her expression with the new angle. her hand linked with theirs squeezes again, this time on purpose. she is almost afraid to hear the answer. she almost tears away her gaze just like she had at the beginning of the night.

but she feels the warmth of their hand around hers, the closer warmth of them right before her, and bernadetta lifts the same hands to her cheek, the space suddenly feeling much smaller between them.

“you said anything.” the brief twitch of guilt in her lower lip ought to cue them in to her own perceived selfishness, but her other hand lifts to help cradle theirs against her warming face. “that goes for you, too.” ask bernadetta for anything. she lets herself lean into their hand. she lets herself feel held just a little bit, just once. and she lets herself look, hopeful, for their answer.

just theirs. what they want in their heart—where that boy with a special name used to live—not what the shackles around it want to hear.

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

#WINNINGSUN || Ethereal Ball 2026

Word Count Challenge: 350

... Saint Cichol? He supposed, if he squints a little and ignores the grotesque exaggerated expression of the mask, it does bear a resemblance to the Saint statue in the church. Probably. Claude has to admit that he's never attempted to study its face in that great a detail.

Those don't feel like something that would be made for the purposes of worship towards the Four Saints. The opposite, if anything - sarcasm and mockery is what comes to mind instead. Which, if that would be the case, why are those in the monastery at all, let alone in the Goddess Tower of all places? At best Claude would expect something like this to be hidden in one of the many dark corners of the Abyss, not what is supposed to be one of Garreg Mach's most sacred spots.

He shelves the thought for now as Flayn addresses him. "Uh…" Did he actually feel anything aside from instant panic and What The Hell? Actually… maybe he did?

"When there was the beat, I think something flashed before my eyes," he says with a frown, trying to remember. "For a brief moment, it felt like the tree on the lower floor flashed with fire. But I moved away from the wall instantly, and it disappeared, just like that." He strokes his chin in thought. "I could be wrong, but I don't recall any mention of the Goddess Tower catching fire in its history, so why would such a memory exist here?"

Boy does he wish he could ask Rhea about this place. But after the last round of "heretic" executions, ensuring no one ever found out they came here might be their second highest priority ever. First being getting out of here.

"What about the other crates?" He asks, approaching one. Similarly to the one Ronan opened, the lid gives way immediately. Claude reaches in; his hand comes back up with a pile of papers.

"Is that… Sheet music?" He squints, looking up at Dorothea. "You'll probably read this better than me. I don't think any of those are the usual Church hymns?…"

well, it's only a matter of time before things go south for them. walls with pulses, says claude. visions of fire. and now the saints! as if anything good ever happens when the saints appear!

once again, she chooses not to comment on it. there's no use stirring up more frenzy—but goodness, does she let out a great and forceful exhale.

"that's strange. mind if i take a better look?" dorothea reaches for the stack of papers in claude's hand. she stills at first, lowering her torch to illuminate what's written, though gradually finds herself drifting from his side to pace as she reads. soft humming accompanies her footfalls, eyes narrowing studiously.

. . . ♪ ♬ ♪ , ♬ ♪ ♪ . . .

"...not a hymn," she finally announces. "those are written to be simple enough for even an untrained congregation to sing. we're talking simple melodies, repeated notes, a comfortable range for all... so on and so forth. this, however—"

she raises the sheet music over her head, giving it a light shake to catch everyone's attention. "—is a completed piece, titled 'my bane to be.' a terribly melancholic one, considering all the modal shifts. were this an opera, it would usually signify a character descending into tragedy—like betrayal or loss. things of that nature."

@hermidetta @seawardoath

#thread: you're laughing. we're in jesus' tomb and you're laughing.#failnaughted #seawardoath #encantresse #cotharach #toaball2026 #wc 304

there's a brief moment in which bernadetta glances between flayn and ronan. once, then twice, then...

then dorothea's rustling snags her attention. tragedy and betrayal, she announces, unlike what ought to occur down here. (maybe a few moons ago, for bernadetta.)

or so they can only hope. without realizing she shifts closer again to flayn, unwilling to accept an apology that her downturned gaze does not owe anyone. instead bernadetta's mouth starts running, as it is wont to do when her body knows it will be marginally kinder to her than thinking.

“um, would you guys say the church is a fool? for, you know, that fool's mistake. ah!” she jolts beside flayn, gray eyes shot wide despite the sincerity of her question. and then, with some light patting to her own cheek, punitive in spirit: “s-sorry! i'm sorry! i didn't mean to say that!”

rather than digging herself any deeper, a spike of escape-fueled adrenaline compels her to scamper right past claude and toward the remaining crate. with a little grunt, she shoves aside the lid with her running start and dives halfway in as it's clattering to the ground.

“i-it's definitely got to be fine!” bernadetta's voice carries a faint echo while her legs kick in the air behind her. “no fools here, even though we just found some theater-fools' masks, nope. just like there's no getting smote for accidental blasphemy. hey, so about those wings!”

she found them, she thinks. at least one, which comes toppling with bernadetta's body after she wriggles out from the crate, hoisting the stone appendage with her underperforming might.

“ACK—” she lands on her back with a thud, and the heavy wing sandwiches her flat into the ground. one of the boys would do better in taking it off of her figurative hands, and more literal body.

“...mm-mmph. ronnmn? clauhnm?” ronan? claude? she even almost thinks to mumble saint cichol? but remembers what she'd just said about blasphemy. then, above even that: flayn's sweeter company.

@failnaughted / @seawardoath / @cotharach

hresvelged

Edelgard's hands are cold. The sprinkle that once washed near the princess has been replaced by a stream. Bernadetta's words linger in her ears longer than she expects. The realization of her accurate deduction shows no surprise on the future emperor's face. Where her friend cries, it is she who maintains a face of neutrality. The compassion she wields cannot be shown through a dried river, but by the reach of a hand that should have never left.

"Bernadetta," she says with as much volume as her usual cadence. "Bernadetta. Listen to me," she repeats again with softer colors. In a world so bitter— so unassuming— Edelgard extends it out once more. How can she not? If there is one thing she has learned throughout the moons, it is that reaching out to others is a sentiment never forgotten. The lack thereof is what makes this land so cruel. Anger fuels her soul with every word and thought she strings together the further she listens. Stray white locks stick to the sides of her face. With one hand resting on her knees, the other remains extended. Her hands hope to be warm.

"Do you remember what I said before? I meant it." She remains still. "Your decisions will be honored. I won't make you marry anyone you don't want to."

The classroom looks larger from this angle. "Marriage is not your duty." Keeping her hand forward, Edelgard focuses solely on Bernadetta. Void of eye contact, she speaks as if it is there. Her voice rises in fractions. "You know.. What if we had no need for that? — If our next Dukes and Counts were not bound by surrendering your own happiness, but instead led by people who rose and fell by their own merits." She forces a smile. "Then, your duty becomes the path you want it to be."

Duty and honesty are intertwined. She clearly sees why it was brought up earlier. Edelgard knows Ferdinand wouldn't have said those words if not for his heart that hoists nobility differently than she. She sees the conviction he wears in everything he does. "You explained it best. The fault is not with Ferdinand." A small scoot closer. "You and I both know where that belongs. Don't you think?"

#hresvelged #toaball2026 #EDIE :DUSTED: :DUSTED: :DUSTED: GGHRGRHGRGGRGGAAAA LADY EDELGARDDDDDD #‼️‼️‼️LADY EDELGARD FOR PRESIDENT‼️‼️‼️ THAT'S HER EMPEROR GRGRGGRGGGAAA oughh my god. my beagles #getting to delve into the disillusionment of duty is so neat like phewwww you can see bernadetta being sold in real time /lhj #academy detta knows she wants nothing to do with anything but cf brings me to her quote of her not being able to withdraw-#the way she wants if she doesn't leave her room [to change their world with edelgard] and it makes me ouoouguhgh /positive #I LOVE EDIE AAUGUUAHGH tiffgard the actual world 🥺 maybe she can only foreshadow rn but damn if detta will not be behind her :crylaugh:#she carries so much on her own and it makes me :dusted: to play w/ academy + let bern be part of that shift to something greater together

me, she almost lets tumble from the numbness of her lips. my fault. an old mantra that followed her to sleep. a clarion call. the closest thing to prayer in her mouth. a tale of persecution that was as old as bernadetta von varley.

but softer colors bleed into the cold around her.

don't you think? asks lady edelgard, enveloping her friend in a gentleness unique to her. and bernadetta tries. at last year's ball she recalls being met with the same idea—that persecution had no right staking her heart and there was no more she could have done. that she had been raised on a slew of vile lies about herself.

but falsehood cannot quit her so easily when ten years of it outnumber the two and counting that might have started to shed truth on her life. among the ghosts that haunt her, there is one that terrorizes her before sleep: that if she had been kidnapped just to find herself bound for garreg mach monastery, there was nothing to say she wouldn’t find herself twice snatched, stuffed in another carriage just to wake up bound for life at the highest bidder’s house. and if the noblest person she thought she had ever come to know would not respect her decisions, how would the world? the world—...

the world i will lead, edelgard's voice suddenly resurfaces, punctuating this direction of thought before it can keep spiraling. blearily, she blinks away more tears. a world. not an empire? vaguely, something restless stirs in bernadetta's mind. matters she knows are far beyond her understanding, and would gladly remain so if the future emperor would truly permit the future countess varley to withdraw from the royal court. she cannot put a name to this feeling yet, but for some reason, it is not so unwelcome.

edelgard's hand is not so unwelcome.

sniffling, bernadetta gradually lets both of hers fall limp. what can she say? the best thing, she had figured, would be to persevere. to survive long enough so that the scales gradually tipped—the years of lies no longer outnumbering what could be far kinder. it included the furtive kindness that dignified the visage of her princess the same way resolve did. forced smile or otherwise, edelgard is better at kindness than she may believe.

“u-uh...” an arm rubs at her eyes. “i'm so sorry. ugh, i'm such a mess... b-but, i...” after that, bernadetta breathes. in, out. feet on the floorboards. then she allows her hands to reach out and feebly meet edelgard's one. it is warm after all.

“...it'd be nice,” she agrees, voice soft. almost faraway. “if i could stop thinking it was my fault. if people like dorothea, who work harder than everyone, could find what they wanted... marry who they wanted... while people like bernie didn't have to get married at all.” her grasp on edelgard's hand unintentionally squeezes with a slow intake of breath. “i-it'd be nice... to just leave with my plants, and go look for new ones. i could just go somewhere quiet and keep writing my stupid stories. maybe people would even read them.”

deluding herself is dangerous, but delusions were all she used to have. for oft times worse, but a few times better, bernadetta's imagination used to be all she ever had. “i could write to you, or even visit you when i'm feeling social enough, because we'd still be friends—a-ah!” she jumps. some semblance of her usual self, at least, save her shining, red eyes. edelgard inches closer, but she does not move away one bit. “i'm sorry! i shouldn't have assumed you'd still want to be after i became a hibernating good-for-nothing! e-even if we're just talking about dream-bernie and dream-edelgard...”

[ HOSHIDO ] - A synchronized dance that must be done by two people. To a slow and gentle melody, the pair moves with fluid purpose, evoking the image of a crane in flight.

As soon as Sakura heard that familiar music, she dashed into the ballroom, swiftly following the movements of the dance, even though she soon realized that she needed someone else to properly perform that synchronized dance famous in her homeland.

She scanned the crowd around the ballroom, but when she was ready to give in, she eventually spotted a face she was not familiar with, but too many time she actually wished to know better. With a firm and secure pace, she approached the girl with a radiant smile, arm extended to present her hand to her. “Would you like to dance, with me?” she sheepishly asked, observing the beautiful dress she had and already imagining how cute it could be whenever she would move and twirl on the dancefloor.

“I’m Sakura, it’s a strange situation to introduce ourself, but it might be fate” she giggled, hoping for a positive answer from her.

the first thing that catches bernadetta's eye is the pink of her hair. it reminds of the small flowers that bloom in singles, not clusters, peeking out from the foliage of bernadetta's favorite sundew plants like blushing maidens.

and now, two of them. the first, giggling as she introduces herself. the second, blinking with a half open mouth as she's processing that sakura is talking to her. a dance? it isn't that bernadetta doesn't know how to, but—

“m-me? uh, i don't really know this one!” she feels like she must warn her. “i'd just get in your way...” but sakura's smile is as lovely as can be, unimposing hints of sheepishness at its corners that bernadetta can recognize when she looks closer. wait, when did she get closer?

(the truth is this: bernadetta von varley, who watches so many people from afar, has wished many a time for some chance to know her better, too. if fates existed, maybe theirs were just bound to intertwine sooner or later after all.)

so she finds herself stepping along with sakura before her nerves can talk her out of it, led by the hand, trying her best to follow the motions of a dance from the other's homeland. if bernadetta missteps or makes a poor excuse of a crane, at least sakura hasn't made fun of her yet.

but something about her gentle laughter lets bernadetta believe she wouldn't do that at all. and by the end of their imperfect dance, it's the both of them who have ended up giggling together.

“that turned out better than i expected!” by luck or otherwise, but that didn't matter now. what better way to celebrate a budding friendship than with a flower to match her cute dress? before sakura can part for the night, bernadetta twirls its stem a bit anxiously before clearing her throat. “um, this is for you. and... thanks! i-i'm bernadetta.”

#asks /#toaball2026 #gentlenekomata #ARI TYSM FOR SENDING THIS WHEN YOU DID AND I'M ALSO SO SORRY FOR THE JUMPSCARE AHAHAHA it was sooo cute i couldn't leave it alone #and then 2026 ball came🙈🙈🙈 HFKSKFJSLF but i really didn't want this to go to waste / thought it would still work for this year!!#it was more about finally establishing them meeting this way yayyyy #so i hope it's okay (also i think they're so cute!!! 🥹💐) she would want to be friends after watching afar for a while too hahaha

[ STEAL ] “HEY! IT’S YOU! PURPLE GIRL!!” that’s not her name. hopefully the enthusiasm counts for something. “i was wondering where you went! i never thanked you for patching me up, so here i am returning the favor. I found something of yours!”

he holds out an embroidered handkerchief. the color does not match the shade of purple she wears — a keen eye would deem it a dark plum.

the initials are P.L.

oh, he is loud. he is so loud. (and bernadetta, well—she has had her fair share of exposure to loud, athletic boys. the bellow startles her enough to jump, but not enough to fumble her growing bouquet doing it.)

she's been called a number of things in her life. bernie, bern, bernie-bear, bernie-bee, burnaby, ‘detta, rat princess. (stupid, ugly, useless, annoying, worthless, unmarriageable, hopeless.) this is a first, though, she thinks. there are only so many colors made available to the human eye, and surely there were more girls wearing the same one as her. so at first, she falters, not turning to the source of the voice just in case she's mistaken. but another beat comes with the clomping of steps, ones that she can nearly feel through the ground with their candor, and bernadetta is sufficiently prepared thanks to his announcement.

“m-me?! bernie, purple?” she can't quite deny that. her head, her dress, her shawl, her shoes, even the little bowtie she had fastened onto the bear charm at her hip for tonight. pick what works and stick to it, and with hair like hers, she doesn't have many other flattering options. his earnestness shines through either way, so it hardly offends her.

P.L., on the other hand. bernadetta gawks down at the unfamiliar handkerchief. the embroidery isn't hers, and if she's allowed a brief moment of honesty, she's glad it isn't. hers is better.

“um... why did you think this was mine?” the question isn't loaded with anything but genuine curiosity. “my initials are B.V.V.”

that's right—she hadn't given him her name, though, had she? earlier had been a quick fix for his clothes.

“f-for bernadetta. bernadetta von varley. not, um, pernadetta lon larley.” it's a nice gesture regardless. “you're welcome, though. i always carry my handy sewing pouch to things like this.”

somehow, something happens every year. at this point there's no way she won't be bringing it to the next ball, too.

“if you really want to make it up to me, could i have one of your flowers? they look like they'll be perfect for bernie's collection! o-oh, but maybe we should find out who this really belongs to first...”

#asks /#heirjinto #toaball2026 #there is truly no damn reason for me to have written this much and somehow it still just happened HAHAHA #TY SAWA SORRY THIS WAS A BIT DELAYED WUVU AND SHIRO WUAUGUAH 🫳💐💐💐#i also wracked my brain over and over and could not for the life of me figure out if PL was actually someone :crylaugh: sorry 4 da tupid #you already know absolutely no obligation to respond btw but i think just the idea of them hunting down someone would be funny #me nodding sagely (stupidly): professor layton

by any other name.

❥ the ethereal ball 2026 — bernadetta & yuri

“i’ll hold you to it,” they laugh. the smile wraps itself around their voice, tips their head closer to hers like they have a secret to share, though they say nothing at all, only swinging their legs in tandem with hers. maybe the secret is merely the joy so freely offered, so often kept under lock and key. they hold onto her hand, hold onto her smile, then they hum and haw over what comes next.

first wish off the top of your head, they told her. but now that they’ve already wished for theirs, what comes after?

(just for tonight, they can pretend. but what comes after tonight?)

i wish... but what do they wish? with too many to name and the easiest out of the way, which one will make it past their lips? i wish this world was kinder. i wish the better one i dream of didn’t seem so far away. i wish the goddess really did grant wishes from kids like me.

“i hope the stars stay out until the night’s over,” is what they settle on. on a night intended for festivities, it seems the easiest to voice.

regulus continues to shine like a beacon in the dark. it shines even when their own light is dim, shines through every dark cloud that threatens to snuff out its light. unlike the boy a mother named after it, the white star the goddess herself made into a disciple cannot be dimmed by anyone or thing. “everyone says plenty of things about the goddess tower, but the view when the sky is clearest is the best part.”

a hand raises to the sky, their free hand splayed out before the stars before they pinch their thumb and index together like they might catch one between them. “when i couldn’t sleep as a kid, my mom taught me to count stars instead of sheep. we had the best view of them out our window. but i think it only kept me awake longer. i’d sit on the windowsill and pretend i could catch them, one by one.”

they lower their hand, a soft laugh escaping them in a huff. “i always let regulus stay, though. i felt bad trying to pluck it out of the sky.”

#dont worry about it dont worry dont worry sorry(tumbling down 947284 stairs again)#toaball2026 #aubins #thread: by any other name #IM SICK IMAGINE IF HIS ASS JUST SHOWED UP AT THE GODDESS TOWER #(loudly)(doing jumping jacks in front of yuridetta) anyone wanna do some aerobics with me? if only someone would join me. aerobics? anyon #anyway (I GAF)(BREAKING IN THROUGH THW WINDOW)(TEARS OF JOY IN MY EYUES) I HAVE ALWAYS ESPECIALLY LOVED SEEING THE WAY YOU USE THEIR NAMES #it's a tool you use masterfully in your prose(that i also always eatup you dont even know) darcywriting the gift that gives back genuinely #i liek it so much . and i liek tjem so much :] yayyy (explodes from a missile)#i keep imagining whenever she finds out their name it's gonna be like that post 'you stood by and let me water a fake plant for 2 months'#('you let me keep yapping and being cringe about regulus for x years') /jjjj HAHAHA

without fail, every mention of their mother pours a gentle warmth in her chest that quickly reaches her eyes. envy has never once twisted her heart—no, she is only grateful that yuri has the love of one parent, and she is grateful to be someone they ever allow to hear of it. she gazes at them as they speak of days past, her free arm gathering her knees tight against herself so that she can rest her head against them. cheek pressed against the top of one knee, her smile widens. lost in them, her expression glows, and a wave of fondness creases the corners of her eyes like another secret between them.

she has nothing kind to share of her own parents. there is even less she has to share of the world they live in, too. even the uncle who she once ran to whenever he visited, uncle who swept up her tiny frame in his arms to toss her into the sky like father never did, uncle who told corny jokes with deep, hearty laughter and first gave her the name ‘bernie’, he is no longer in the waking world while his wicked brother remains. bernadetta wishes she could call for him one last time if only to ask: how can i be braver for the person i care about? how can someone like me possibly bring him the brightest star in the sky?

but all she has to ask is herself. she just hopes that her heart leads her to something right enough.

“...th-then my next wish is that a lot of kinder things will happen to you. enough so that you'll let yourself stop feeling bad for things you shouldn't.” that we'll both learn how to be a little nicer to ourselves, is what's tucked into her voice, even if sometimes it feels like the world is doing all it can to oppose them.

but there is also goodness in their world and the people she loves are the proof. it is a goodness that will persist even after tonight, no pretending about it. they, too, are what vibrance and beauty that bernadetta sees through her colorless eyes. she lets her knees fall back down and swing gently, righting her seated posture to turn her face forward and mirror yuri's gesture—free hand reaching to the stars, save that she does not pinch any of them. instead, gloved thumb and forefinger form a circle around the brightest one. (they did teach her how to find it, after all.)

“that one day”—she peers through this circle like she might a telescope, gazing affectionately at regulus that shines in its center—“you'll sit somewhere to look at the sky, counting again, and you'll let yourself catch regulus, too.”

they already know how she feels. ask her over and over, and she will say the same: her dearest friend in the world, the brightest star in her sky, he is someone good, who deserves everything good. he deserves good things, and all she can hope to do is keep trying to be one.

“i'll even let you use my windowsill. it's basically got your name written all over it, anyway.” she is beaming, still, although a passing thought weaves surprise into her expression, and bernadetta's eyes widen enough to reflect the entire moon. her hand squeezes theirs without realizing. “o-oh, right, but the view's definitely not as good as it is up here...”

hresvelged

Void of its usual ruckus, the Black Eagles classroom carries its presence like a carriage to its homely traveler; a girl who leaves its steps in wake of a place that is a home, but will never be. Holding onto Bernadetta's hand— hearing her voice and gratitude— makes this temporary abode feel that much closer.

Edelgard shifts her weight on the floorboards and hears the slightest creak against her heel. It is she who should be extending the regard, having been the one to bring her friend here in the first place. She could have just as easily rejected her, but she didn't. She wouldn't have been mad if she did. It is through this conversation and time that she begins to draw the curtain open in hopes of understanding Bernadetta that much better.

When she finally releases her hands from her friend's, she does not completely distance herself. She remains close. The house leader stands with her back to the chalkboard, partly littered with formulas it stands to be. "I thought it best to speak my question here without any potential eavesdropping. Pleasurable an evening I'm having, even I find it exhausting." There is humor to her words, visible or not.

"Enough of me. About that person you are eluding," she draws with a hand to her chin. "Are you able to tell me who? I'd rather hear it from you. How I do hate rumors," she emphasizes again with a welcoming chuckle. Even if she is certain she knows the answer, she'd rather listen first. Oft as she speaks the unspoken, there remains words better left said in the arms of who they belong to. The floorboard creaks a second time. She moves her weight off of it. "And— I would gladly catch you again. If you began to fall, that is. I enjoyed our dance."

#toaball2026 #hresvelged #THEY MAKE EACH OTHER BETTER.....black eagles strike force they could never make me hate you omg #war obviously not ideal but i think a charged/shared goal especially banded them and put a lot of first world problems behind them yfm :')#which is why :marge: i'm so sorry for academy phase being dramatic/lengthy HAHAHA (but this too will bring them together......)

it is ironic that something about their newfound quiet is more sobering than bernadetta knows what to do with. here, with lady edelgard, the very classroom she has been avoiding reminds her that life is not a fairy tale. the clock will strike midnight and bernadetta’s freedom is for whom its bells will toll, thrusting her back to reality with a wreath of funeral flowers. she will return to rags, unmarriageable and all, slinking back behind the curtain until the day she is displaced again by nobility’s whims.

but lady edelgard tugs at the cord before she can. edelgard asks for permission before forgiveness, because somehow she saw bernadetta and chose to call her friend, too. all of the black eagles did. it is no longer uncertain that she has found her wings with them, with edelgard at the helm.

yet when she thinks too much about him, who she had called their anchor, who she had called the spirit of their entire class, who she could never envision this classroom without—now, instead of nest, she only returns to old ghosts of seasons past. when she recalls his kindness, his spirit, his noblesse oblige, his heart so large and loud that it might burst from his ribs, it all turns around just to make hers bleed again. her gaze falls.

“w-well, uh…” bernadetta hesitates. it is no fault of lady edelgard’s. no—edelgard, who asks her first, who catches her, who leads her with purpose—edelgard has earned her place in bernadetta’s heart.

it’s just that despite everything, he still has one there, too.

“d-do i have to?” she mumbles, shrinking again. “it’s just… i might be avoiding him, but i don’t want to make him seem awful or anything.” but lady edelgard mentions rumors again. rumors. she thinks of all of the rapport she had presumed to share with those who did take stock in them, and bernadetta hears another creak in her ears that doesn’t come from the floorboards. for a moment, her body freezes on instinct. on unspoken command.

“i mean, we were just kids. it’s not like he knew. b-but he…” gloved hands wring in front of her. “…that’s just it. he didn’t know. i never even met him. but he thought i was a creepy shut-in who made little dolls to curse people, cried to his parents about it, a-and father was just so furious that when he tried to drag me out of my room, i—” without realizing, each new piece she affords edelgard gives way to another, all while her voice unravels and loses more and more of what little dignity she has left in front of her imperial princess.

she held her own during their waltz, but something fractures in front of edelgard anyway, teasing at the wretch behind the recluse. the monster in her tower that terrified all the little boys. a decade’s worth of lament that finally comes to collect. and bernadetta does not realize she has begun weeping until it is too late, until her breath is catching and stuttering for air between each cry.

“it wasn’t ferdinand’s fault,” she sobs, finally wilting, burying her face in trembling palms, “but why couldn’t he have just kept his big fat mouth shut just once? why’d he have to keep telling me how i couldn’t abandon my duty?” so the curtain draws open. crimson, heavy. a body shivers in the open, suddenly smaller than it has ever been in lady edelgard’s presence. (falling, falling, all over again. bernadetta is falling. will her friend still catch her?) “i don’t want to go home and have to get married to some old man, lady edelgard! please don’t make me, i’m begging you! please!”

#tickle me happy :)#toaball2026 #encantresse #aliberation #**#ooc /#do you ever just explode #they're so cute and for what they're soooooo #AUUGHGHH MY FRIENDS.FUUUUCK #antisocial fuck who 2 of the kindest golden retrievers picked up and never looked back ahh

★ "Alear! Don't you look stunning! Our Bern's outdone herself, hasn't she? At this rate, she ought to dress everyone for next year's ball!"

☆ "Right? You're a lifesaver, Bernadetta, not to mention talented... if I need advice on next year's outfit, I'm coming straight to you!" / @aliberation

★ “Y-you guys are really flattering me here! I just patched it up a little, but I'm glad it all worked out.” / @hermidetta

credit: pancito_detonao

by any other name.

❥ the ethereal ball 2026 — bernadetta & yuri

ask yuri any day of the week and they’ll say a wish from bernadetta is far more valuable than any the goddess could grant them. what has she ever done for them, after all? every prayer they recited as a child had gone unanswered. no amount of wishing to her could have spared them all their grief. if the goddess cared to answer her people’s wishes, she’s done an awful job ever proving it. any good thing that’s come to them in this life, they’ve had to claw their way to themself.

but bernadetta is right here, yes. she may just be the only certain thing in their life too. come hell or high water, on the handle-end of a pair of gardening shears or the blade-end of a knife, and even when faced with the ugliest truths they can hold, the ones even yuri hates to face within themself—she persists, she remains. they learn to let her.

stay, they asked of her the first time. tell me the truth, they asked of her the second. both selfish wishes, so maybe that is why they holds onto the third. they want it to mean something. they always want it to mean something, with her. the problem is just that yuri isn’t always sure how.

they’re trying to learn that too. it takes a little longer.

“my three wishes from my magic ‘detta have done more for me than the goddess ever has,” they say with a snort. “but i’m saving that last one, so the goddess will have to do for now.”

so, where to start indeed? the stars have no answers for them, but as her hold on their arm loosens, their eyes are drawn back to her. yuri’s eyebrows raise but her gaze is already turned skyward. are there any answers to be found there, really? it doesn’t seem so either.

yuri pulls themself free from her grip, but only to step forward again then fall to their knees, swinging their legs to dangle off the edge as they make themself comfortable there. the starlight slants across the top of their head, a soft and gentle glow to illuminate the side of their face as they turn back to her, holding out a hand in invitation to sit. “won’t let you fall, i promise,” they say with a grin. “if i do, you can take me with you though.”

from up here, the world seems to shrink. a pair of students is trying to slink through the shadows toward the tower too, only to be intercepted by a professor and what they can only assume is a harsh scolding. yuri can’t help but laugh a little at the sight, turning back to bernadetta again.

“...my first wish is that this night would last a little longer.” not forever—yuri could never ask for forever. but they’re selfish enough to want just a little longer. they nudge her. “okay, now you go. first thing off the top of your head. we’re going to wring the goddess dry of all her wishes by the time we’re done here.”

#toaball2026 #aubins #thread: by any other name #YES KING WHAT THAT WIND MAGIC DO (that's 1 more rank than detta has it's ok)#im sick in the head why are they so ourplebrained what the fuck like wym they'd both be like 'oh ok deserved' (+yuridetta privilege)#ALSO DW I OF ALL PEOPLE LITERALLY HAVE NO ROOM TO TALK ABOUT YAPPING ITS OK :CRYLAUGH: (eating up darcywriting always)#ourples are like ok if i'm fumbleproof for you and you're fumbleproof for me then who's driving the plane (albedo mii.jpeg probably)#i believe in them though iebelieve in lvoe and healing(said through my tears)

oh, but bernadetta fell long ago. she fell, and still falls, deeper and deeper. and maybe, just maybe, another guilty wish of hers would be to take them with her. because for whatever resilience yuri may imagine of her, bernadetta is still learning so much, too. she is learning that maybe the people she holds in her heart might hold her in theirs, too.

it’s hard. she has to keep trying harder.

she already misses their warmth when they do withdraw, but then yuri’s reaching back out to her before it can show too much on her face.

their magic ‘detta, stealing yuri leclerc’s praise from the goddess herself, and now bernadetta is stealing even more of their time. she meets their starlit grin with wide eyes, pink cheeks, and she has almost never felt more beautiful in her life.

(her hand takes theirs, of course. and if she is waiting for yuri to let go first, once she settles beside them on the edge, centimeters apart, she does not breathe a word about it. they want it to mean something with bernadetta without realizing that they are, without even trying, already everything.)

other pairs of students don't seem as lucky as bernadetta, who’s got them all beat in both stealth and in company. she’s covering her mouth with her other hand to suppress a likeminded giggle when yuri prompts her for a wish, any wish. any is easier than picking just one.

“wait, but yours already sounds perfect! i can’t cheat and copy it, can i?” no, but bernadetta concedes all on her own. first thing on her mind, huh? “let’s see… i guess i’d wish for all of my plants to grow once i take these flowers back with me. i can get brand new ones to sprout from the stems if i’m lucky. and that way, well…”

her attention turns from the world below in time to catch their gaze. under the stars, they are even more radiant than usual—no, rather, yuri is the brightest of them all. “...even after tonight does end, i’ll have something to keep alive from it. i’ll replant them next to the lilacs, and whenever they bloom again, i’ll share it with you,” she says, legs idly swinging as a small smile plays at her lips. how beautiful it would be, a brand new garden. just for the two of them. “okay, now it’s your turn again.”

warpaway

return to wallflower

wk 1 || ethereal ball 2026

warpaway

@hermidetta sent:

[ GOSSIP ] - For those who don’t want to be the center of attention, sitting on the sidelines and observing those who do is a time-honored tradition. Exchanging thoughts with another while doing so is a rite of passage for a student—it is a slightly worse look for the staff to take part.

linhardt finds bernadetta in a corner. her small plate of finger foods seems to be waning, so he offers his so that she may remain longer in the corner. that's his usual greeting to her - a silent acknowledgment or act of care. he won't even be offended if she shoos him away. that's bernadetta.

bernadetta is a little strange today, but in exactly the same way that linhardt is strange. both of them, the antisocial eccentrics, the creative minds of the black eagles, the weird ones, aren't attending a party (a place they might usually, individually avoid) alone.

(it makes them think. caspar has always been at their side. has bernadetta's date been a similar presence in her life, physical or otherwise?)

“i need a corner break,” linhardt confesses. after the plate of hors d'oeuvres is relinquished from their grip, they lean on the wall and slide down it to the floor, folding their legs underneath them. “you have the right idea of it, as always. though i can't say i'm completely innocent. i might say i'm impressed the two of us managed to find dates.”

he looks up at bernadetta with a small, conspiratorial smirk tugging only one side of his mouth. “how were you asked?”

#warpaway #toaball2026 #thread: return to wallflower #MY BAGELS(i am sold.gif)#(dw about the length btw i need to be sedated)

(physical or otherwise? in truth, most of her life knew the latter—and if you ever asked bernadetta, she would tell you with certainty that it had all been one-sided.)

when you have to claw your way back out of the grave and come back twice as better, twice as clever, twice as fast and twice as learned, the stupid girl who plays with flowers shouldn't be anything to keep in your one and only life even if she'll always keep you in hers.

but this is how she learned to love first, and that is why she will do it again. linhardt, who is right in front of her, has managed to get his hooks in her heart just like the other eagles in their nest have. gentle, a little blunt, but patient and ultimately kind. linhardt knows what type of space to afford her, the space that types like the both of them need. linhardt is observant and mindful; they always have been. it no longer escapes bernadetta that she is one of the luckier ones they choose to extend their care to.

so, no—less like caspar, her date has not always been by her side so much as their ghost used to be. but the here and now is what matters, present is too vibrant to let past steal away time. that twitch at the corner of linhardt’s lips keeps her with him. she takes the offered plate and follows him in sliding down, folded legs and all.

a bite of pastry; a drawn-out, almost faraway hum. after gulping it down, she answers with a shrug: “w-well, they just told me that i should sneak in with them. when they put it that way, i wasn’t even sure if they meant it like a date…”

if the clandestine nature of it matters, it’s a detail she already knows linhardt will keep quiet about for her. but, right back at him with a raise of her brows, “what about you though, linhardt? honestly, i don’t think it’s that you’d have trouble finding one. but it would’ve had to be a person you really liked, right?”

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

#WINNINGSUN || Ethereal Ball 2026

Word Count Challenge: 350

So it has been roughly two minutes since he advised against splitting up, and here they go, part of the group moving ahead on their own while others seem hesitant to follow. Great.

Oh well, what can you do. Brushing off Flayn's outraged remark in response to the others' prison comments, neither of which can be either confirmed or debunked here and now by one who possesses none of their imagination or her idealism, Claude glances behind his shoulder at Dorothea, shrugging lightly in what seems like defeat.

"Well, as I was saying about how it's best not to separate…" He sighs, then shakes his head. "I think we should follow them. We probably won't find much anyway if we'd rather not touch things, and I have to say that after that wall, I'm a little hesitant."

Upwards they go then, the torchlights providing worthwhile guidance along the way. (Maybe the first time in Claude's life when he wishes he knew a spell.) His head pokes through the trapdoor just in time to witness Flayn discover the peculiar statue. He muses to himself on the final steps up, thinking.

"Funny," he hums. "Dead in the center of the room, begging to be seen immediately upon entrace. Just like that tree, too… And just like the tree, missing parts of itself. Is there some puzzle going on or something? Can we find the pieces that had been broken off somewhere around here?" A quick look around the room just by turning around gives no results, but it's not like he's giving it a proper and honest try. What it does reveal to him is the nature of the area, a little different than the floor beneath; where that one had more of an aura reminiscent of the warm autumn sunsets, this one almost looks like it'd taken the idea to the extreme. The walls are damaged, as though someone had tried to burn them, the same applying for some objects in the area.

What's with that, anyway?… It's the Ethereal Moon. Bit late for autumn imagery…

@encantresse

there it is—all that faith placed in the church. in any other circumstance, dorothea might think to counter sharply, but in the end, what does she expect? this is flayn, after all, and who is flayn but another beat of the church's heart?

she sighs heavily and returns claude's shrug. i tried.

once again, she's the last to enter the room, yanking the trailing fabrics of her skirt to gather at the front so they don't catch on the wooden trapdoor. it's armful after armful of material she pulls, and thus, she can't help but sigh at herself, too. who'd have thought she'd be walking into a situation like this during the ethereal ball? if she'd had so much as an inkling, she'd have told ferdinand to go shorter with his pick of a dress.

dorothea frowns at the sight of the grotesque effigy before them, taking in everything from its protruding overbite to the curled talons attached to the six fingers she counts on each hand and foot. looking it in the eye leaves her with an uneasy feeling, so she lets her gaze fall back to the others. "what would a thing like this be doing in a place for love and promise?" she directs at flayn, though it's less of a jab and more of an uneasy question. "you have to wonder. not even a statue of the goddess herself. just this... thing." beast, monster, whatever it's meant to represent. "maybe there's more to the tower than we've been told."

she presses deeper into the room, sweeping the torch she carries to illuminate the shadowy corners of the space. "there are crates here." a pause. "three of them, actually. maybe...?"

@seawardoath @hermidetta

#toaball2026 #seawardoath #cotharach #failnaughted #encantresse #wc 335 #thanks rat princess for existing and somehow waking my sleeper cell on how she knows what it is #huge shoutout to stone cog (a joy to have witnessed) anyway now she's like oh maybe this is happyland 2 guys #thread: you're laughing. we're in jesus' tomb and you're laughing.

she doesn’t have a horse in this race (sadly she doesn’t have a horse at all) about the sanctity of this place, nor its promises. but with some shred of mindfulness to the one holding her hand, having hovered after flayn and ronan, bernadetta doesn't open her mouth at all until the statue garners most of their attention.

“um…” now that bernadetta’s looking at it, there's something about the creature that stills her, but not out of abject horror.

“hm-hm-hm… hmm?” moving to cross her arms, she ends up striking a pose of deep thought—a nod beyond her years like she’s understanding something more important than it really is, a rub of her chin with gloved thumb, and the other arm wound tight across her waist, clutching that paperweight she’d picked up earlier.

“okay, uh-huh…” a little more drawling, more nodding to herself. “yeah, wait a second… yep. got it! bernie’s heard all about these before! from my, uh—my really good friend. they’re gargoyles, and they’ve got these huge…” her arms flap to pantomime an eagle’s flight, except if the eagle were half dead and diving into its own grave.

“...wings,” she supplies, for her horrible acting. “if claude's right, we're looking for those? but…” three crates for two wings? let alone how nightmarish the creatures had sounded? why hadn't she brought her trusty cardboard box?

“to be honest, i haven't heard anything good about them. they're monsters that chase you around… o-on the bright side, they were only on some island that had games. nobody got seriously hurt, i think.” the idea of the church hosting a funhouse in the goddess tower is even less convincing than making a prison of it, but given the nature of tonight—the reception hall, those illusions…

“dorothea remembers where i’m talking about, right?” bernadetta spins to her, seeking validation for her claims. “i’m not going crazy, honest! i was a rat and everything!”

but, games were still all they were. and what was a puzzle if not another?

@seawardoath @failnaughted @cotharach

estelular

[ REVIEW AND REVISE ] - The White Heron cup is mere hours away, but that still leaves plenty of time to reconsider your approach. Ask a friend for a second opinion, or drag a passerby into an impromptu rehearsal.

"okay, remember what i showed you? after a quarter step, turn like..." bernadetta's found quite possibly one of the only people she's willing to skip right up to tonight, and after her cheery hello comes addressing the heron in the room. as she speaks she's twirling her fingers in the air like so; a tap of her foot here, another silly mnemonic there (because did her father really think she was just going to memorize everything because she was smart?) to share another handy hint or two before the real thing. "and just go like... yeah. yeah, you've got it!"

estel is smarter, faster, and most importantly prettier than she'll ever be. it's nothing stellar to teach a talent that's already budding. her face brightens. "you're gonna win this!"

because bernadetta's not trying to brag, but there's really no contest. right? "b-but, um, don't forget bernie's totally legal waiver that she asked you to sign if you don't. no hunting me down, especially with any sharp objects. i'll even give you this orchid to say 'pretty please'. good luck!"

ever the diligent student, estel follows her teacher’s tutelage down to the letter. she turns when told, steps right where she’s meant to, and even throws in an improvised flourish or two just because she can. though she may not have a noble’s fancy education, she has always been an eager learner—since her youth sat at teacher’s knee, with that old man’s bow, and, yes, now under bernadetta’s easy guidance too. she’d not trade any of her teachers in this life for a cushy education in the next.

none of her teachers are quite the same. bernadetta does not have teacher’s gentle nurturing nor the old man’s strict and unrelenting tutelage. but the confidence they all place in estel is the same: to care for the younger children at the orphanage; to always strike true with the aim of her bow; to win the white heron cup despite being leagues behind her competitors in experience.

is it any wonder, then, that she had grown the way she has?

“i don’t hunt down bernies,” estel laughs, her hands settling on her hips as she leans forward with a grin, “except to tell them thank you.” she is grateful, of course, and so she can express it the only way she knows, always preferring to be the helper rather than the helped.

pushing the orchid back toward bernadetta, she offers her dance instructor a determined nod. “so there’s no need for pretty pleases. i’ll only take your orchid when i’ve earned it by winning the competition. and you can have my hyacinth instead as my promise to find you afterward.”

#toaball2026 #estelular #sorry imesorry dont look at me :lmaopeek: DONT MIND MEEEE just wanted to tack this on (like a Bow get it Ha Ha Ha)#SHES SO FREAKING EVERYTHING . FAAAAWK (constantly spoiled by darcywriting)#orchid for miss estel anyway 🫴💐 (thank you too mr finn for taking care of my temp pupil🧑‍🩰)

“it was so close!”

estel should hear the exclamation and the scurry of steps rounding back to her after the crowds begin to disperse, and even if bernadetta seems near breathless from running, it doesn't tarry her one bit from presenting the orchid in her hand. it's the same flower from earlier, save one difference: a golden ribbon cinched at its stem. the bow is nearly as large as the blossom itself.

maybe sometimes bernies can hunt down estels before estels even have to keep their promises first. maybe sometimes bernies are a little faster.

it's no great trophy, she knows—and maybe estel will insist on rejecting it now, too—but the earnest clarity in gray eyes and abrupt straightness of her spine doesn't suggest she'll be happy to hear ‘no’ for an answer.

“th-this is for you! you really did do great. so, i want you to have it anyway... ‘pretty please’?” (and this last part, not so much plea than it is her own silly nod to earlier, tied onto bernadetta's offer like a small bow in itself.)

*⚘ and in the end, it's who takes a chance that bleeds.

⠀ continued. ⚘ ethereal ball '26 ⠀

THE FINALE.

[CUT TO: THE STAGE] Like unfurling smoke, the silhouette of the diva in all her fineries vanishes. With her disappearance comes the notable absence of what is beautiful: there are no lingering notes of an aria caught in the wings, no sweet-smelling perfumes that waft through the air, and no painted lips that twist coquettishly at adoring patrons.

The songstress leaves behind something far more unsightly: a young girl who stands there in frayed rags, trembling. She has not expected to be thrust into the spotlight, that much is clear, because imperfect children are not meant to be acknowledged. They are meant to be tucked into unassuming corners of a room or left behind dumpsters. They have learned that a glimpse of them means certain danger, and so they must hide away. It is what sticks with them for the remainder of their lives, even when they finally have their hands held.

And so, the child’s face crumples when she realizes the curtains won’t fall.

I’m not supposed to be seen, she sobs. Nobody can see me, because then they won’t want her. The young girl points in the direction of where the diva once stood, and then swipes furiously at her eyes. I can’t be seen. Please, I can't.

“But you want to be,” sings out a disembodied voice from the wings. It startles the child, leaving her to look around tearfully. “You would like to be seen, too.” The voice prods. "Correct?"

The little girl hesitates for a minute. It'd be nice, she whispers, and that mysterious voice chuckles.

“You are.” it says.

"She's looking right at you."