you who bears the flames within.

𝘴𝘩𝘦⠀ 𝘸𝘢𝘴⠀ 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 ;⠀ 𝘴𝘩𝘦⠀ 𝘸𝘢𝘴⠀ 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴.

[inexalt]

            hi !   :3 i just wanted to pop in and post because i never actually made a hiatus announcement ( i was too excited ) but i just got back from spending a week with my boyfriend. as you can imagine, now the tables have turned and i am super depressed to be away from him and also still mentally exhausted so i’m not hopping right back into writing Immediately! but i look forward to doing so and i hope the dash has been Spicy xoxo

[inexalt]

⟡   ❪   claude.   ❫

hollow victory / hey @inexalt          

                      Victory felt like it was the identical twin of defeat. With each passing day of this war, battles won looked nearly the same as battles lost. Blood, ash, flames, crumbled buildings and spatterings of gore, it was hard to look upon a battlefield with these as constants and feel like the victor. 

                       Claude stood on the remnants of a collapsed shed and looked over the shambles that once was this village’s market square. Corpses of Empire soldiers littered the ground, among them were also the bodies of church soldiers and those bearing the insignia of the Lecicester Alliance. So many lives lost, so many candles extinguished. Claude tilted his chin up and he looked towards the sky, the sun’s halo could be seen faintly behind the thick clouds, trails of light still managed to slip through the cover and touch his skin. It was all for something, the lives lost on both sides weren’t in vain. 

                      He saw Ignatz and Raphael emerge from between a pair of houses, draped across their shoulders was a wounded Alliance soldier. Claude took a step forward with the intention of going to help them, but the sound of hurried, and uneven flapping overhead caught his attention. A large shadow cast down over him, and his Wyvern ungracefully descended and fell the last couple of feet with a loud thud. It curled up in a patch of grass a bit away from the village square, in one of the few parts of the battlefield that wasn’t composed of scorched earth. 

                      Claude hurried to his Wyvern’s side. He dropped his bow to the ground and slid to his knees by its head. At Claude’s touch, the Wyvern let out a pained exhale through its snout, and it rose one of its wings to reveal a gruesome looking wound that was bleeding considerably on its flank. 

                      “Hey, hey girl, you’re alright,” Reassuring words, more for himself than the Wyvern. He slipped his gloves off and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. A long smear of soot now stretched down his temple. Gently, Claude petted her head as he raised his head and looked around. 

                      He couldn’t remember where he last saw Marianne. Or Flayn for that matter. Claude looked left, then right, and there he saw Byleth helping Hilda to her feet. 

                      “Hey, Teach!” Claude called, “I could use a hand!”

            ‘‘   can  you  stand?   ’’ 

            ‘‘   oh,  i’m  fine,   ’’   hilda  huffs  breathlessly,  but  there’s  a  pained  wince  that  contorts  her  face  for  a  moment  as  she  tests  her  bearings  on  her  right  ankle,  her  weight  steadied  by  byleth's  hand.   ‘‘   i  landed  funny.  it  feels  a  little  tender,  but  i  think  i  can  walk.   ’’

            ‘‘   let  me  help  you  back.   ’’   the  battlefield  was  a  treacherous,  churning  pitfall  of  splintered  wood  and  turned-up  mud,  littered  with  weapons  and  buildings  and  bodies,  but  just  as  hilda  opens  her  mouth  to  respond  there  is  a  heavy,  uneven  flapping  of  wings,  and  a  familiar  voice  ringing  across  the  field  that  makes  both  their  heads  turn.  byleth  feels  something  phantom  lance  through  her  chest.

            i  could  have  been  faster.  byleth’s  gaze  meets  claude’s  halfway.  he  always  hid  his  concern  well,  but  she  feels  it  anyway,  like  a  chill  on  the  back  of  her  neck,  and  there  were  no  healers  in  sight.  more  likely  than  not  they  were  already  preoccupied  with  the  wounded.  i  did  as  much  as  i  could.

            ‘‘   you  go  on,  byleth.   ’’   leonie’s  voice  pipes  up  from  her  other  side.  it  takes  byleth  a  moment  to  realize  she  had  approached,  and  is  easing  hilda’s  weight  off  her  hands,  taking  it  onto  her  own  shoulders.   ‘‘   i’ll  help  hilda  back  so  she  can  get  that  ankle  looked  at.  claude  sounds  like  he  needs  you.   ’’

            hilda  tries  a  wobbly  smile.  leonie’s  brow  is  furrowed,  and  the  collar  of  her  shirt  is  stained  with  blood,  but  she  seems  otherwise  unharmed.  byleth  stiffly  nods  her  assent.   ‘‘   you  two  be  careful,   ’’   she  says,  backing  a  step  towards  claude.   ‘‘   if  anything  goes  south,  come  find  us.   ’’

            she  spares  a  moment  to  watch  them  go,  and  then  turns  her  focus  where  its  needed:  as  she  trots  over  to  claude’s  side,  she  can  hear  him  gently  murmuring  placating  words  to  the  wounded  beast  in  front  of  him.  byleth  drops  to  her  knees,  and  as  she  does  the  wyvern  chuffs,  shielding  the  wound  away  with  her  wing  and  regarding  byleth  with  one  looming,  narrow  eye.  

            ‘‘   ...if  you  can  get  her  to  let  me  near  the  wound,  i  can  stop  the  bleeding.  it’ll  at  least  be  enough  until  we  find  someone  to  heal  her  properly.   ’’   she  feels  tense,  just  a  measure  unsure:  she  had  never  been  in  a  position  where  her  precarious  relationship  with  animals  might  be  relied  upon.  byleth  looks  to  claude,  her  eyes  instinctively  searching  for  sign  of  weakness,  but  she  already  knows  he  is  fine  ─   alive,  if  not  unwounded.  she’d  made  sure  of  it.

            ‘‘   i’m  glad  everyone  is  safe,   ’’   byleth  murmurs,  peeling  off  her  own  gloves  and  laying  them  in  her  lap.  she  reaches  a  tentative  hand  for  the  wyvern’s  snout  where  claude’s  hands  rest,  hoping  to  offer  her  a  comforting  scent,  but  the  beast  flinches  back.  ‘‘   i  wont  let  anything  happen  to  her  either,  claude...  but  you  may  have  to  lend  me  a  hand.  i  guess  we’ve  never  been  properly  introduced.   ’’

[super8angel]

rage and tenderness existing simultaneously in the same body

[inexalt]

the battle raged on before claude like a bloody and burning chessboard. the hurry to get all the men, women, and children, out of the village left the golden deer woefully off-guard for the empire's attack. the two sides clashed viciously, and the open wound across claude's ribs was testament to that. claude now crouched behind and over-turned wagon, one of his hands pressed against his side and the other rested atop the wood as he surveyed the field. (1/?)

the business end of a lance dismounted him from his wyvern, wounding both him and the beast before he just managed to tumble away from the conflict for now. out of the corner of his eye, he saw a familiar head of mint-green hair approach him. she also bore signs of battle, though not as painful as him. he gave her a weary half-grin, though his face contorted into a tight grimace of pain as more of his blood seeped out between his fingers. he didn’t even look down at his own wound, instead he held byleth’s gaze for a moment before turning back to face the field. “how’s it lookin, teach? you look like you’re starting to slow down,” another grimace, and his pained but light voice faltered for a breath, “i can’t have you holding me back.” (3/3 :]….)

            ‘‘   let  me  see,   ’’   she  says  breathlessly,  and  kneels  by  his  side.

            the  battle  around  them  is  relentless,  and  byleth  feels  spread  thin,  paying  attention  to  too  many  things  at  once :  all  the  pieces  on  this  field  are  valuable  to  her,  and  she  is  playing  a  losing  game  just  to  keep  them  in  play.  claude  is  not  someone  she  has  to  pour  her  focus  into  often.  every  time  she  does,  it  feels  like  the  entire  board  might  just  crumble  to  pieces  below  her;  the  king  is  in  check.  what  is  her  next  move?

            byleth  cups  his  hands  aside  and  sees  a  rush  of  red,  relentlessly  staining  his  tunic,  and  her  blood  goes  cold.

            ‘‘   it  isn’t  looking  great,   ’’   she  murmurs,  just  a  little  bit  wry,  mostly  thick  with  grief.  her  eyes  flit  over  the  battlefield,  drinking  in  the  chaos  with  an  eye  that  tries  to  remain  impartial  but  fails :  she  loved  every  piece  on  this  field,  and  she  was  playing  a  losing  game  just  to  watch  them  fall  anyway.

            her  eyes  meet  claude’s,  the  glow  of  the  sword  at  her  side  casting  a  warm  sheen  across  his  eyes.  he  looked  pale,  and  wound  tight,  like  he  was  holding  everything  in,  but  there  is  a  frantic,  knowing  gleam  to  his  gaze  that  she’s  seen  a  hundred  times  before :  this  close  to  death,  a  person  can’t  help  it.  this  close  to  death,  she  might  look  much  of  the  same.

            ‘‘   …that  isn’t  likely.  i’m  not  sure  i  can  ever  slow  down,   ’’   she  says,  and  takes  claude’s  hand.  their  palms  are  slick  with  his  blood,  and  for  a  moment  she  is  overwhelmed  by  her  failure,  overwhelmed  by  what  she  could  have  done  differently ─

            what  she  will  do  differently.

            ‘‘   and  neither  can  you.  so  stop  running  your  mouth.   ’’   a  baleful  smile  tugs  one  corner  of  byleth’s  mouth.  her  eyes  close,  and  somewhere  deep  inside  her  she  feels  that  familiar  pull,  feels  the  world  around  her  grow  distant  and  hazy;  everything  slows  to  an  imperceptible  crawl,  but  she  can  still  feel  the  slick  of  claude’s  blood,  can  feel  his  pulse  racing,  terrible  and  thunderous.  she  is  beset  by  beating  hearts  on  all  sides,  and  she  doesn’t  want  to  forget.  she  would  remember  where  she  failed.

            ‘‘   you  always  love  to  joke,   ’’   she  sighs,  everything  still  and  quiet  around  her.   ‘‘   right  to  the  bitter  end…  but  i  won’t  hold  you  back.  i  know  how  to  fix  it.   ’’

            she  asks  time  for  a  kindness ;  she  asks  it  to  spare  them,  and  time  complies,  flowing  back  around  her  like  a  tempest  while  she  stands  in  the  eye  of  it,  perfectly  untouched,  perfectly  unchanged.

            i’ll  do  better  next  time.

[inexalt]

⟡   ❪   dorothea.   ❫

     still sleeping like an angel, mercedes had told her in that piano-like voice of hers, which dropped to tender notes when she tried to comfort someone while masking her own disappointment. dorothea hums in response as her lips pinch a hairband and her hands card through tangles left by traveling winds in her hair. they continue filing down the hall, passing through streams of light from painted glass windows. even these artificial colors look brighter than mercedes’s face, with her blue eyes darkened by exhaustion and her smile withering small enough to be snapped by a visiting breeze from an open window. 

     the hairband snaps tightly around dorothea’s ponytail. dorothea transfers the towels hanging over mercedes’s arms onto her own and lifts the basin from her hands. ❝ thanks for your work as always, mercie! i’ve got this now. ❞

     mercedes’s hands chase for the towels. ❝ oh, but surely washing someone will be easier with another pair of hands?❞

     ❝ in case you’ve forgotten, my hands are very capable. ❞ dorothea shoots her a wink. ❝ if you can check on the orphans and maybe let michalina know i’m here, that’d be swell, but please get some rest after that. preferably more than four hours. i can handle everything else today. ❞

     mercedes’s lips part to protest once more, but dorothea leans in closer and interrupts gently. ❝ one night of rest won’t cause the church to crumble, mercedes. it’s okay to take time for yourself. ❞

     their eyes meet in a heavy stare, but in spite of hesitance, mercedes’s shoulders straighten as if a weight has been lifted off of them, and she nods. ❝ …the children will be very happy to see you. ❞ mercedes gives her a smile, a small one still but fuller than before. dorothea returns it, and she watches mercedes begin her walk back down the hall for a moment before she presses her elbow onto the doorknob. she slips between the crack and quietly enters despite the professor sleeping still as a corpse on the bed, unwoken for five years.

     ❝ …dorothea, ❞ croaks a voice. 

     dorothea’s eyes shoot up and she backs into the door with a yelp, water splashing over the basin onto her arms. the unmistakable color of sea green eyes captures her own, and dorothea forces herself to blink several times before she can fully trust in her own vision.

     ❝ professor? ❞ dorothea stares in reverie. the breeze coming through the window draws chills down her arms, and her gaze flickers down the half-emptied basin, to the droplets of water dripping over her skin, and then back up towards byleth. her voice cracks as a stream of words pour from her mouth, ❝ um, SO! would you fancy having your back washed while you tell me the full story of your journey leading up to the events which caused your COMA? ❞

            byleth  looks  at  dorothea  with  a  slow,  aching  horror  setting  into  her  brow.

            that  was  dorothea,  of  course  ─  same  brilliant  shade  of  green  to  her  eyes,  same  coils  of  dark  hair...  but  she  had  changed  somehow.  she  wore  her  hair  a  different  way.  the  turn  of  her  eyes,  the  line  of  her  jaw,  it  had  all  matured  somehow.  𝘴𝘩𝘦’𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘥.  the  dorothea  she  remembered...  𝘪𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘨𝘰.  byleth’s  head  swims,  her  gaze  flitting  around  the  room  a  little  more  insistently  now,  searching  for  signs  of  something  recognizable.  

            the  word  coma  hits  her  like  a  cold  spear  to  her  gut,  and  byleth  can  almost  feel  her  face  pale,  though  she  retains  a  strained  composure  on  the  outside.   ‘‘   how  long...   ’’   she  croaks,  touches  her  face,  her  hair,  the  blankets.  she  clears  her  throat.   ‘‘   how  long  have  i... ?   ’’

            her  tired  voice  trails  off,  unfinished.  byleth  realizes,  distantly,  numbly,  that  she  dreads  hearing  the  answer.

            as  the  fog  clears,  byleth  shoves  the  blankets  off  her  body,  sitting  up  with  her  back  pressed  firm  to  the  bedrest.  she  levels  dorothea  with  a  look  that  is  uncharacteristically  overwhelmed,  nearly  brimming  over  with  questions.  despite  that,  byleth  wields  what  she  can  summon  of  her  composure,  as  though  dorothea  were  still  the  one  who  required  her  guidance.

            her  eyes  find  the  basin  and  connect  the  dots.

            ‘‘   ...that  was  for  me?   ’’

[inexalt]

⟡   ❪   marianne.   ❫

    “gentle, rumi.” 

in the stables, marianne stoops next to dorte leading the hands of a small boy, no older than seven. he quivers at the sound of a rumble overhead, marking the beginning of a storm that would likely rage throughout the night, if the dark clouds approaching were anything to go by. nonetheless, marianne encourages his motion, drawing the brush through dorte’s mane until his fingers stop trembling. she almost misses the flash of mint that passes by, but before she can even process what she’s seen, she’s already stepping around dorte and near-tripping into a jog to catch up. 

she feels like a jack in the box that had been winding since she first heard that the professor had returned. her arms wrap around byleth’s shoulders unprompted, heart thundering in her chest and relief puffing hard from her lips. marianne has seen this ghost in countless dreams, reached out to touch only for byleth to dissipate between her fingertips. now, she feels skin and bones and muscles and she swears she can hear the blood rushing through her veins. she can certainly feel it in the warmth of byleth’s cheeks when her own lips brush each of them (or perhaps that’s her own, her face flushing as she pulls away, embarrassed at her own outburst). 

    “oh, mm, m-my manners!” marianne flusters, avoiding eye contact for only long enough to step away, fluttering from perch to perch like an erratic bird. she turns to the boy behind her and takes his hand, leading him down the steps of the wooden stool and finally meeting byleth’s eyes again. 

    “this is rumi. he, mm, he came back with our forces a few weeks ago and asked if he could stay. i’ve been teaching him how to care for the horses,” marianne glides down a perch, lowering to one knee beside the boy. “this is byleth. she was a professor here when garreg mach was still just a school. she, ah—” oh, perhaps she can be forgiven for this verbal stumble, where she must put into words how it felt to lose someone entirely yet with no evidence to prove it, only to have them reappear like a walking miracle of the goddess’ making. 

    “byleth was gone for a while, but now she’s back. we have all missed her very much.” 

what do we call you now that you’re not a professor anymore? / @inexalt

            byleth  paces  by  the  stables  with  her  wandering  mind  turned  to  the  sky;  overhead,  it  rumbles  another  warning,  turning  the  air  heavy,  the  clouds  rolling  over  in  their  dark  greys  and  bruised  purples.  she  never  thought  much  of  storms  before,  but  seeing  one  now  fills  her  with  a  strange,  sweet  melancholy;  it  had  been  raining  the  day  her  father  died,  and  she  had  missed  five  years  of  storms  since  then.

            it  is  dizzying  to  think  of  what  else  has  changed  in  five  years  time.  the  sky,  at  least,  is  the  same;  the  storm  is  grounding,  melancholic  as  it  was.

            behind  her,  there  is  a  flurry  of  sound,  the  crunch  of  gravel  underfoot,  and  byleth  half  turns  to  its  source,  expecting  a  soldier  or  a  stablehand;  instead,  she  is  bundled  swiftly  into  the  arms  of  a  person  that  she  only  immediately  recognizes  due  to  the  familiar  shade  of  her  hair,  its  sombre  periwinkle  reigniting  that  strange,  sweet  melancholy.  byleth  is  stunned  owlishly  for  a  moment,  though  she  returns  the  embrace  without  thinking.

            ‘‘   ...marianne ─   ’’  she  begins,  her  chin  tucked  into  the  crook  of  the  other  girls  shoulder-  she’s  taller  than  me  now-  though  it  gets  lost  in  the  wake  of  marianne’s  fluttering  to - and - fro,  her  lips  touching  each  of  byleth’s  cheeks,  her  fretting  over  her  manners.  marianne  backs  away,  gone  as  quickly  as  she  came,  and  byleth  looks  on  in  appreciation,  momentarily  humbled  into  silence.  

            she  has  never  been  so  glad  to  see  something  changed.

            ‘‘   it’s  nice  to  meet  you,  rumi.   ’’  the  boy  meets  her  eyes  shyly,  hugging  close  to  marianne  the  way  small  children  often  did.  looking  at  the  pair  of  them,  byleth  finds  herself  struggling  for  words-  not  for  lack  of  something  to  say,  but  for  an  overabundance.

            ‘‘   i’ve  missed  all  of  you,   ’’  she  admits,  a  fond,  almost  sorrowful  little  wrinkle  to  her  brow.  “   it’s  strange.  i  remember  seeing  you  all  like  it  was  yesterday,  but  looking  at  you  now...  it  feels  like  so  long  ago.   ’’  the  wind  buffets  them,  nearly  swallowing  her  words.  ‘‘   i  can’t  tell  you  how  glad  i  am  to  see  you  here,  marianne.  you  look  wonderful.   ’’

[inexalt]

"uh, professor?" right, before you start judging him, the route to the classrooms is much quicker than the route to the infirmary, and it's not like anyone offered to lead him anywhere else. they've turned to the show claude's putting on with ingrid now, and apparently they think caspar has more sense than this. he stands in front of byleth's desk and raises his hand, arrow jutting out of it and blood following his steps on the floor. "so, uh, i had an accident in training."

UNPROMPTED    /    irresponsible  arrow  retrieval 101   /   @wargains​

            during  the  day,  byleth  employed  a  sort  of  open  door  policy.  she  didn’t  like  dissuading  students,  whether  they  be  of  her  house  or  otherwise,  from  coming  to  her  with  questions  or  concerns,  and  while  it  wasn’t  always  easy-  the  requests  tended  to  range  far,  wide,  and  sometimes  time  consuming,  from  lending  an  ear  to  catching  stray  spiders-  it  was  rewarding.  

            that  being  said,  she’d  never  had  a  student  bleed  all  over  her  floors  before.

            ‘‘   …why  didn’t  you  go  to  manuela?   ’’   is  what  she  asks  first,  to  which  caspar  sheepishly  prattles  something  about  the  infirmary  being  too  far,  and  he  was  feeling  a  little  dizzy,  and  the  classrooms  were  so  much  closer  anyway.  as  he  goes  on,  byleth  reaches  for  the  bottom  drawer  of  her  desk,  packed  tight  with  first  aid  supplies,  and  draws  out  a  few  essentials.  he’s  looking  pale,  a  little  shiny  at  his  temples,  but  still  smiling,  strained  though  it  may  be.  

            ‘‘   caspar,  i’m  going  to  need  you  to  breathe.  alright?   ’’   byleth  takes  up  his  hand  gently,  inspecting  the  wound,  packing  gauze  around  each  side  to  slow  the  bleeding.  it  was  a  clean  shot,  but  nothing  but  magic  would  be  able  to  repair  the  damage  to  his  tendons.  as  she  goes,  caspar  takes  her  advice  as  earnestly  as  he’s  able,  gulping  huge,  deliberate  breaths.   ‘‘   slowly,   ’’   she  clarifies.  while  he’s  slow-breathing  to  the  best  of  his  ability,  byleth  quickly  and  efficiently  snaps  each  end  off  of  the  arrow.  to  caspar’s  credit,  he  only  flinches  a  little.

            ‘‘   okay.   ’’  turning  his  palm  over,  byleth  grasps  the  end  of  the  shaft  jutting  from  the  back  of  his  hand  and  glances  upwards,  fixing  caspar  with  a  steady  look.   ‘‘   i  know  you  don’t  want  to  get  anyone  in  trouble,  caspar,  but  when  we’re  done  here  you’re  telling  me  exactly  what  happened,  and  then  you’re  going  to  the  infirmary  to  get  fixed  up  properly.  understand?   ’’

            he  seems  a  little  frazzled,  but  perhaps  coming  to  realize  the  hand  that’s  currently  at  stake,  casper  jerks  his  chin  down  in  a  quick,  earnest  nod.

            ‘‘   good.   ’’   it  looks  like  a  crime  scene  between  them,  but  byleth  appears  calm  and  practised  as  she  turns  her  focus  back  to  the  task  at  hand  (  pun  not  intended,  much  as  caspar  might’ve  loved  to  hear  it  )  and  braces  her  grip  around  his  wrist.  there  is  a  brief,  but  meaningful,  pause.

            ‘‘   this  will  really  hurt,  by  the  way.   ’’

[inexalt]

            𝘵𝘩𝘦  𝘧𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦  𝘪𝘴  𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵  𝘢𝘯  𝘰𝘭𝘥  𝘩𝘢𝘶𝘯𝘵  𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨  𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵  𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯 ;  she’s  been  in  places  like  it  a  hundred  times  before,  with  foundations  that  groaned  at  night,  with  dark,  scurrying  corners  and  hardwood  floors  with  worn  -  in  footpaths.  it  was  a  liminal  space,  something  that  byleth  had  grown  to  find  a  mechanical  sort  of  comfort  in :  a  space  not  made  for  living.  a  space  that  bore  witness  to  those  inside  it,  but  little  else.  

            it  makes  her  think  of  her  father.  he  was  a  bedrock  of  familiarity,  persisting  through  a  life  that  was  otherwise  harrowingly,  relentlessly  liminal,  and  as  she  thumbs  aside  the  old  curtains  and  glances  into  the  empty  field  beyond  them  she  feels  her  stomach  seize  at  the  thought,  wrung  out  like  old  cloth.  𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵  𝘢  𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦  𝘰𝘧  𝘢  𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥  𝘴𝘩𝘦’𝘥  𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯.  she  was  a  liminal  space  herself,  and  jeralt  had  passed  right  through  her,  holding  out  for  signs  of  something  sustainable.  

            behind  her,  hubert  and  edelgard  exchange  words,  but  they  are  beyond  her  focus  and  ill - defined.  it  isn’t  until  edelgard  addresses  byleth  directly  that  she  smooths  the  curtain  back  and  turns,  her  arms  folded  into  herself,  shoulder  tucked  against  the  edge  of  the  windowpane.  hubert,  as  hubert  does,  has  already  disappeared.

            ‘‘  if  you  have  any  questions,  ’’  edelgard  says,  draping  the  flame  emperor’s  regalia  across  the  back  of  a  nearby  chair,  ‘‘  now  is  the  time.  i’ll  answer  anything  you  ask.  ’’

            she  speaks  so  carefully,  with  such  conviction,  that  byleth  feels  like  a  fixture  in  the  room  compared  to  her,  who  almost  seems  to  stand  in  defiance  of  her  surroundings ;  she  is  all  emperor,  all  horn  and  steel.  

            ‘‘  you  gave  your  men  the  order  to  kill,  ’’  byleth  murmurs,  a  few  beats  after  the  silence  had  worn  its  welcome;  she  speaks  with  a  muted,  wry  sort  of  interest,  searching  edelgard’s  gaze  for  something  familiar.  ‘‘  before  today,  i  wouldn’t’ve  pegged  you  as  the  sort.  ’’

                                                                                                     for  @dreyari

[inexalt]

(  very  very  softly  and  very  quietly  )  you  can  like  this  for  a  starter  but  im  capping  it  at  4  right  now.  by  liking  you  also  hereby  deem  it  permissible  for  me  to  dm  you  if  i  need  to  plot  something  or  ask  questions  or  seek  inspiration

[inexalt]

"It looks like they’ve taken a liking to us." - from Bylese, your super beautiful and wonderful twin sister.

ASKBOX  MEME :  TERROR  IN  RESONANCE  ( accepting )

            ‘‘ 𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦,  ’’  byleth  murmurs.

            𝘩𝘦𝘳  𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘺  𝘪𝘴  𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘧𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥  𝘢𝘯𝘥  𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥,  daunted  as  she  is  by  the  curriculum  in  her  hands  ─   bound  and  tied  with  leather  cord,  she  can’t  even  bring  herself  to  crack  it  open,  much  less  think  of  what  they  expected  her  to  do  with  it.  next  to  the  desk,  the  empty  bulletin  board  and  calendar  sit  as  a  testament  to  looming  responsibility,  refusing  to  go  ignored  or  undocumented.  it’s  all  a  little  damning,  really.  she  turns  and  glances  back  at  her  sister,  who’s  made  herself  comfortable  on  the  edge  of  her  bed,  looking  like  she  is  patiently  waiting  for  a  little  more  than  just  maybe’s.  

            ‘‘  they’re…  ’’  she  paces  a  few  steps,  tucking  the  curriculum  under  her  arm.  ‘‘  enthusiastic.  ’’

            ‘‘  that’s  a  good  thing,  ’’  bylese  says,  smiling  the  way  she  does  when  she’s  about  to  say  something  clever.  ‘‘  maybe  it’ll  rub  off  on  you,  ’’

            ‘  𝘴𝘩𝘦  𝘩𝘢𝘴  𝘢  𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵,  ’  sothis  sighs  coyly.  ‘  𝘪  𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳  𝘸𝘩𝘰  𝘪𝘴  𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥  𝘵𝘰  𝘣𝘦  𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨  𝘸𝘩𝘰.  ’

            ‘‘  you’re  very  funny,  ’’  byleth  deadpans,  and  bylese  and  sothis  breathe  a  laugh  in  unison.

            crossing  what  distance  remained,  byleth  drops  the  stack  of  parchment  and  leather  into  bylese’s  lap  and  plunks  down  beside  her  in  a  similarly  unceremonious  fashion,  the  mattress  groaning  its  protest.  she  begins  methodically  unclasping  her  gauntlets;  her  shoulder  guard  teeters  off  the  edge  and  hits  the  floor  with  a  graceless  thunk.  ‘‘  you  know,  ’’  she  begins,  absently  rubbing  at  her  wrist.  ‘‘  if  we  traded  places,  they’d  probably  never  be  able  to  tell.  ’’

            ‘‘  except  dad,  who  we  haven’t  been  able  to  trip  up  in  years.  ’’

            ‘‘  well…  ’’  it’s  another  halfhearted  defiance  that  goes  unfinished;  it’s  more  of  a  sigh  than  anything.  byleth  shrugs  her  jacket  off  of  her  shoulders  and  tips  back  onto  the  mattress,  palms  scrubbing  down  her  face.

            ‘‘  i  have  no  idea  what  i’m  doing,  ’’  she  admits,  and  it  is  as  close  to  the  truth  as  she  can  comfortably  stomach.

                                                                                               for  @flamecrest

[inexalt]

byleth.  with.  long.  hair.

byleth.  with.  ponytail.

byleth.  with.  her  pale  green  hair  thrown  back  in  a  messy  bun  with  the  little  stray  pieces  framing  her  face  and  the  little  loose  baby  hairs  at  the  back  of  her  neck,  sitting  at  her  desk  in  the  early  evening  with  the  door  slightly  cracked  and  she’s  bathed  in  candlelight  and  wearing  a  cotton  blouse  with  the  sleeves  rolled  and  buttoned  to  her  elbows  and  she  looks  a  little  tired  but  she  still  smiles  at  you  as  you  come  in  and  you  spend  the  better  part  of  the  evening  talking  and  drinking  tea  and  she  does  the  thing  where  she  leans  back  in  her  chair  with  one  leg  drawn  up  and  the  teacup  cradled  close  to  her  chest  AND -

[inexalt]

                  𝘺𝘰𝘶... 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱?

            she  wakes  up  alone,  in  a  room  she  does  not  recognize.

            weak,  filmy  sunlight  filters  in  through  the  curtains,  casting  everything  in  an  unsure  midday  haze,  like  the  sky  took  part  in  no  particular  place,  no  particular  time;  byleth,  for  her  part,  feels  ancient.  feels...  heavy.  time,  which  so  often  did  as  she  willed,  was  lost  to  her.  she  only  remembers  a  canyon,  and  falling,  and  falling.  she  remembers  sothis’  voice...  but  their  conversation  had  been  so  brief.

            byleth  shuts  her  eyes  again,  her  brow  tight  with  the  effort,  casting  the  images  aside.  somewhere  on  the  far  wall  a  clock  ticks  relentlessly.  𝘪 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘥.

            to  that,  her  mind  rings  clear  and  empty.  if  such  a  thing  were  possible,  it  seems  sothis  has  run  out  of  things  to  say.

            as  she  wills  herself  vertical,  idly  appraising  the  tunic  she’s  dressed  in,  the  stitch  of  the  quilt  draped  over  her  body,  byleth  first  notices  her  sword  propped  up  by  the  end  of  the  bed,  and  second  notices  the  hum  of  voices  just  outside  her  door,  soft  and  yet  drawing  louder  and  nearer  nonetheless.  the  door  cracks,  groaning  its  protest.  she  sees  a  tumble  of  chestnut  hair.

            ‘‘  ...dorothea,  ’’  byleth  says,  and  her  own  voice  sounds  strange  to  her  ears.

                                                                                                     ⟡   for  @milotheas

[inexalt]

ASKBOX  MEME :  TERROR  IN  RESONANCE  ( accepting )

            𝘴𝘩𝘦  𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥  𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘭𝘺  𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵  𝘵𝘩𝘦  𝘯𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳  𝘰𝘧  𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴  she’s  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  sylvain  angry  on  one  hand  ─   and  byleth  does,  idly,  as  she’s  washed  through  the  portcullis  on  a  gust  of  biting  air,  a  meagre  procession  of  soldiers  trailing  at  her  heels.  she  is  cold,  a  little  winded,  and  marked  by  a  spattering  of  blood  along  her  jaw  and  the  hollow  of  her  throat  that  had  caused  everyone  a  bit  of  a  stir  when  they’d  found  her,  but  otherwise  unharmed  and  unbothered.  she  works  the  leather  off  of  each  of  her  fingers  and  peels  the  gloves  from  her  hands.  𝘰𝘯𝘦.  sylvain  claps  a  rallying  hand  to  the  shoulder  of  the  soldier  at  her  left  and  says  something  she  doesn’t  hear,  smiling.  to  her  it  looks  more  teeth  than  kindness,  but  he  hides  it  well.  

            𝘰𝘯𝘦...

            the  count  stops  there.

            one  time  she  can  recall  seeing  sylvain  truly  angry.  years  ago,  when  they  had  barely  known  each  other  and  she  had  barely  known  it  at  the  time.  she  looks  at  him  closely,  feeling  almost  resigned  to  the  stormy  furrow  of  his  brow  that  nobody  else  seems  to  notice,  and  he  looks  anywhere  but  at  her.  even  so,  when  byleth  grazes  past  him  to  retreat  somewhere  deprived  of  cold  and  chatter,  his  stride  falls  into  place  with  hers  perfectly.  they  walk,  wordless,  until  they’ve  turned  deeply  enough  into  the  belly  of  the  monastery  that  byleth’s  tongue  loosens.

            ‘‘  sylvain,  ’’  she  sighs.  sylvain  grinds  to  a  halt  like  she’s  wrung  him  back  by  the  scruff  of  his  neck.

            ‘‘  i  shouldn’t  have  to  say  this,  ’’  he  says,  and  finally  turns  to  look  at  her.  his  eyes  are  gloomily  lit  in  the  candlelight,  fuming  with  what  might  be  a  thousand  other  things  he’d  like  to  say,  but  even  so  his  tone  is  carefully  clipped.  ‘‘  but  don’t  do  anything  on  your  own.  is  that  clear ?  ’’

            she  is  not  as  practiced  as  sylvain.  byleth  feels  a  hot,  searing  indignation  pooling  up  in  her  throat,  tightening  at  her  temples,  going  cold  in  the  pit  of  her  belly,  and  does  a  very  poor  job  of  keeping  it  off  her  face.  a  litany  of  retorts  rear  their  heads  in  her  mouth,  but  none  of  them  seem  sufficient,  and  his  stare  is  so  level  it  almost  makes  it  worse.  

            ‘‘  ...there  was  no  time,  ’’  she  grits  out  instead.

            ‘‘  you  should  have  come  and  found  me -   found  anyone -  ’’

            ‘‘  you  and  i  both  know  how  long  it  takes  to  deploy  a  group  of  soldiers.  those  people  would  have  died.  ’’

            ‘‘  you  could  have  died.  ’’

            ‘‘  i  didn’t,  ’’  she  snaps,  but  something  inside  her  quickly  loses  its  footing :  sylvain  hisses  a  sigh  out  through  his  nose  and  turns  away,  scrubbing  a  palm  across  the  back  of  his  neck,  and  byleth  stagnates.  𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶.  well,  they  needed  plenty  of  things  ─   she  was  not  the  lone  pillar  of  this  resistance.  they  needed  to  save  lives.  𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯'𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦.  but  she  was  raised  like  one,  shaped  like  one,  born  and  bled  like  one.  

            so  much  had  changed  in  those  five  years.  could  she  stand  to  stay  the  same?

            ‘‘  sylvain,  ’’  byleth  murmurs.  his  chin  turns,  almost  like  a  twitch,  but  he  does  not  look  at  her.  ‘‘  sylvain,  ’’  she  says  again,  a  little  more  insistent,  her  palm  catching  his  elbow  as  it  goes  to  fold  across  his  chest.  he  does  turn  to  her,  at  least.  he  looks  irritated,  still,  but  perhaps  a  little  less  like  he’d  like  to  give  her  a  good  shake.

            ‘‘  i  am  sorry,  ’’  she  says  carefully.  if  she  said  it  the  wrong  way,  held  the  words  too  harshly  in  her  mouth,  it  felt  like  they  might  do  more  harm  than  good.  ‘‘  i...  forget  sometimes.  what  it  means  to  have  other  people  rely  on  me.  i  won’t  forget  again.  ’’  sylvain’s  eyes  are  still  gloomily  lit  in  the  candlelight,  and  he  is  as  infuriating  and  discerning  and  difficult  to  pry  apart  as  ever,  but  the  lines  of  his  face  are  no  longer  bogged  down  by  anger.  he  appraises  her  up  and  down,  like  he’s  thinking  of  what  to  say.

            ‘‘  you  look  a  mess,  ’’  he  points  out  finally.  begrudgingly.  out  of  the  fire  and  back  into  the  frying  pan,  at  least.

            ‘‘  well.  ’’  byleth  glances  down  at  herself,  scrubbing  her  hand  over  her  cheek  halfheartedly.  all  this  standing  around  was  only  encouraging  the  blood  stains  to  stick.  ‘‘  it  isn’t  my  mess,  if  it  makes  you  feel  any  better.  ’’

            he  grants  her  a  tiny,  wry  smile.  ‘‘  barely.  ’’

                                                                                                       for  @crestid​​

[inexalt]

            i  just  woke  up.  idle  thought  time:  byleth  has  a  hard  time  naming  things  (  im  talking  in  terms  of  like,  pets  or  animal  companions  )  and  while  i’ve  always  imagined  that  she  owns  a  horse,  idk  if  she  like.  would....  name  it ?  i  think  she  would  just  struggle  with  the  creative  aspect,  and  maybe  also  feel  strange  about  giving  another  creature  a  name.  it’s  hard  to  put  into  words  but  she  has  a  very  weird  sense  of  self,  and  so  having  the  responsibility  of  giving  a  horse  something  as  personal  and  sentimental  as  a  name  doesn’t  sit  perfectly  with  her.  in  a  perfect  world  the  horse  could  just  tell  her  what  it  would  like  to  be  called  and  she’d  do  that.

            so  having  said  all  this,  yes,  byleth  doesn’t  name  her  horse !!   though  i  can  easily  imagine  her  giving  in  to  any  number  of  characters  if  it  were  to  come  up  in  conversation  ─   given  that  they  care  enough  to  balk  at  her  nameless  horse,  and  given  that  they’d  be  willing  to  help  her  by  throwing  around  ideas.

[actiasteeth]

“I thought you said you wouldn’t get too involved." 

"I’m sure you are aware of this, but there’s nothing but misfortune waiting for someone who gets involved with us." 

"There’s no use having her around. She’ll just get in the way." 

"We will not be allowed any further failures." 

"Um … I think I messed up a little … But what do you think?" 

"Hey, aren’t you being a little too blunt?" 

"If you were trying to show us that you can be useful, it’s having the opposite effect." 

"It looks like they’ve taken a liking to us." 

"Will you ever learn from your past mistakes?" 

"That’s an impossible mission." 

"There’s no other way." 

"This can’t be a coincidence." 

"This is dirty work." 

"I can go from here, I can just barely make it." 

"Are you okay? Are you alive?" 

"I’ve never seen you having so much fun, _____." 

"Playing a game by yourself is boring. You need a loser to crush so badly they can’t recover." 

"I’m the only one who can catch you." 

"Why don’t you rest more?" 

"Well, she won’t let us get away easily." 

"There’s nothing you can do." 

"Just don’t get in the way. That’s the best thing you can do right now." 

"Saying they’re going to help us is just a front." 

"What kind of proof do you have?" 

"That’s the best joke I’ve heard all year." 

"I’m in the way, aren’t I? It’s better if I’m not here, isn’t it?" 

"That guy might say mean things, but he doesn’t actually hate you." 

"There was never any sanity to begin with. For her, or for us." 

"We don’t have time to think about that right now!" 

"I shouldn’t have to say this, but don’t do anything on your own. Is that clear?" 

"We just have to move on the assumption that we’ll be caught." 

"That’s out of the question." 

"I want to be … one of you." 

"You’re being careless, _____." 

"It’s about time, you think?" 

"Some kind of message will probably show up here. Pay attention to your surroundings." 

"You can’t do it after all?" 

"I’m fine. I’ll do my best." 

"Don’t move." 

"We haven’t seen each other in so long, and this is how you greet me, _____?" 

"Why are you getting in our way?" 

"I came to settle things with you." 

"I don’t remember giving you permission to shoot or talk back." 

"Are you saying that we have mutual interests?" 

"I’m going to make you regret this." 

"I won’t let you get away again.”

[inexalt]

i doubt anyone is terribly awake at this godforsaken hour but when you see this, You Will Like This For Something In Your Inbox

[inexalt]

            hello !!   this  is  faye  making  a  cool  and  sexy  comeback  on  ms.  byleth  eisner.  i’ve  been  inactive  for  a  few  months  and  so  as  you  can  imagine  my  dash  needs  a  little  love.  please  pass  this  around,  and  perhaps  in  return  i  will  write  you  things,  and  you  will  perhaps  write  me  things,  and  it  will  be  très  bien.  (   also  rules  have  been  updated  and  by  updated  i  mostly  mean  they’ve  been  made  more  concise  so  pls  check  them  out  :^]   )