#eirsne

[emperorcrest-blog]

@eirsne / starter call.

  “so. you have spent five years... asleep.” hungry wolf, you open your mouth and breath, breath, breath in the presence of someone else not dead. you remember the ground opening, the feeling in your chest of another loss, another death you were not exactly present for but felt all the same. glenn had died despite of you in duscur, and then byleth falling, falling, some had said, falling deep beneath into a ready made grave, like the earth had been hungry for his bones, for his flesh. five years you spent wandering the earth, looking for some way not to hurt too much, five years beating yourself up over another person you had allowed to settle in your good favour who had been lost. the relief you feel now is almost overshadowed by the fury that you had wasted five years trying not to mourn, only to be proven wrong. “i hope it has not hindered your combat ability. i still plan to beat you.” ( if only glenn had walked out of his grave the way byleth has risen from his. )

[endreamt]

𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐧𝐞  murmured     :     "    𝙔𝙊𝙐'𝙍𝙀  𝙏𝙃𝙀  𝙁𝙄𝙍𝙎𝙏  𝙋𝙀𝙍𝙎𝙊𝙉  𝙏𝙊  𝙀𝙑𝙀𝙍  𝙃𝙀𝘼𝙍  𝙄𝙏  𝘽𝙀𝘼𝙏 .     Even  I  only  heard  it  when  I  came  to .     "      It's  in  his  ears ,     in  the  pulse  at  his  neck ,     and  underneath  the  hand  she  lays  pressed  against  his  chest    :     a  heartbeat .     Byleth's  lips  curve  into  a  brief  smile .     "     Can  you   ...   describe  it  to  me ,     Edelgard ?     "

𝐃𝐎  𝐘𝐎𝐔  𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑  𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄  𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒  𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌  𝐒𝐎  𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆  𝐀𝐆𝐎 ?     the  halcyon  inspired    /    summer-kissed  inspirations  of  first  love’s  armistice ?     i  should  have  told  you  then     :     𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘧𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘰𝘳,     𝘪’𝘮  𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨  𝘵𝘰  𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘺  𝘺𝘰𝘶 .     but  i  didn’t  have  to  because  you  already  knew .     your  heart  should  have  felt  a  dull  pang  then ,     but  i  guess  it didn’t .     i’ll  never  forget ,      professor ,     the  night  i  first  realized  you  were  the  only  one  who  saw  me  for  who  i  truly  was .     but  you  see  me  now ,    and  that  matters  too .

she  smiles     :     sharp ,    curved ,     teeming  with  injustice .     sweet  melancholia  and  blessed  abundance  of  aspirations  now  to  know .     the  future  is  sheltered  and  prudent ,     no  longer  under  the  heavy  wing  of  a  succubus  who  could  hardly  care .     and  in  return ,     she  has  been  gifted  perfection .    handsome  and  pristine .     with  a  faint  twinkle  of  porcelain  make .     he  was  crafted  by  the  gods    ❪     the  joy  of  soothes’  imagery ,     prolonged  beauty  thereof  humanity  as  divinity  turns  almighty  and  substance  continues  for  even  when  we  are  weak ,     he  is  enchanted  deliverance .    ❫     so  the  empress  of  death  doth  smile ,     palm  flattened  and  laid  tender .     it’s  so  easy  to  remember .

❛     𝘪  𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵  𝘺𝘰𝘶  𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦  𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘥 ,     𝘣𝘺𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘩 .     ❜     could  she  say  that ?     taste  the  name  of  humanity’s  last  glimmer ?     for  it  is  sweet  and  enduring ,     fulfilling  and  heavy .     to  say  it  replaces  orison  in  a  land  that  has  been  nothing  but  the  opulence  of  the  consecrated .     𝘣𝘺𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘩 ,    𝘣𝘺𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘩 ,     𝘣𝘺𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘩 .     saccharine  repetition  and  sovereign  veneration  swells .     dahlia  eyes  squeeze  to  reminisce's  burdened  film .     ❛     it’s   …   so  private .     so  determined ,     like  you .     𝐢𝐭  𝐰𝐚𝐬  𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲  𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭  𝐰𝐞  𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞  𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫  𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭  𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞  𝐛𝐲  𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞  𝐚𝐧𝐝  𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲  𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭  𝐰𝐞  𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐭  𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐮𝐫𝐞  𝐢𝐧  𝐭𝐡𝐞  𝐟𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 .     ❜

a  thrumming  concinnity  of  longanimous  sound.     so  glorious  to  confront  and  moreso  than  any  operatic hum.     the  chanting  of  cathedral  bells  on  sacred  ground     /     the  soporific  whisper  of  lovers  in  the  night  when  interventions  cannot  exist.     he  has  always  been  a  liminal  anima .     odd  and  supine  in  every  way ,     but  somehow  worth  the  risk .     oh ,     she pined ,     loved  cruelly  and  hopelessly  and  madly  for  it  was  true  that  if  he  could  see  her ,     praise  her  and  protect her ,     then  her  dream  was  worth  the  strife .     she  loves  him  even  if  it’s  complicated  to  say  so .     how  easy  it  must  be .     how  easy  it  could  be .     ponderous  is  the  tongue  that  otherwise  relentlessly  enjoins  and asseverates .

in  this  moment ,     she  is  no  good  with  words .     struggle  impedes  her  every  attempt .     rose  overtakes  the  curve of  her  cheekbone,     fosters  fluctuant  reservation  where  her  own  vulnerable  canary  waits .     she  digs  her  nails  in  ever  so  slightly .

❛      𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫  𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐬  𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭  𝐦𝐲  𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲  𝐨𝐰𝐧  𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐜  𝐛𝐨𝐱 ,     composed  and  written  for  me ,      ❜     like  before  at  the  tomb  of  the  saint ,     she  tucks  her  face .     ❛     your  chest  is  full  of  life .     𝘪  𝘤𝘢𝘯  𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳  𝘢𝘭𝘭  𝘰𝘶𝘳  𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘵𝘦  𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 ,     and  the  other  words  we  are  too  nervous  to  say .     𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯  𝘪  𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯 ,     professor ,     i  can  hear  you  say   …   𝐢  𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞  𝐲𝐨𝐮  𝐬𝐚𝐲  𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭  𝐲𝐨𝐮  𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞  𝐦𝐞 .     ❜

her  own  heart  stutters .     she  exchanges  their  hands ,   feels  her  spirit  shiver .     ❛     and  mine   …   responds .     to  you .     𝙞  𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚  𝙮𝙤𝙪 .    ❜

[hevrng-blog]

“ make your survival mean something. ”

          casualties come with war,  it’s a fact that he’s been told time and time again,  a fact that he’s forced to face with every battle he’s forced into.   despite his feigned indifference to the continent - wide war,  how could he refuse when there’s even the slimmest chance he could save someone —-  anyone?

          people die anyways,  even with all the magic and all the care he could use,  death is unavoidable.   but this one,  this one certainly could have been.   maybe if he’d paid just a little more attention,  kept his guard up just a little more,  someone else wouldn’t have been cut down in his stead.   linhardt can still feel their blood on his hands,  long after it’s been washed off.   it doesn’t make him flinch anymore,  but that fact alone disgusts him.

          despite his respect for byleth,  for everything he’s done and everything he continues to do,  the words   ‘  make your survival mean something.  ‘   are hard to swallow when guilt still lies so heavily on his shoulders.   he doesn’t dismiss it,  but he stays silent for a long moment,  gaze fixated on his own hands.

          “  that’s easier said than done,  isn’t it ?  “   he has to fight with himself to tear down the detachment that has become a shield for what’s going on around him.   as if pretending to be unaffected will somehow make this turn out better for himself.   his shoulders slump,  and after a moment he tears his gaze up,  to lock eyes with him.   “  how am i supposed to do that ?  “

alice  /  @eirsne

[synaer-blog]

‘ would it really kill you to be honest for once? ’

        a  deep  sigh.   he  contemplates  the  question,  a  blank  stare  not  really  signalling  anything  before  he  closes  his  eyes.   honesty?  in  his  life,  there’s  never  been  any  room  for  such  a  thing.  he  shakes  his  head,  eyes  opening  back  to  stare  directly  at  the  man.  some  see  a  professor,  others  see  a  friend.  what  he  sees  is  entirely  different.  a  potential  obstacle.  there  was  no  mistaking  how  formidable  Byleth  was,  but  were  he  ever  to  cross  blades  with  him,  Hei  wasn’t  entirely  sure  he’d  come  out  the  victor.  then  again,  he  has  not  raised  a  blade  towards  the  undeserving,  not  since  Duscur.     ‘ no,  but  it  might  kill  you.  ‘  he  finally  responds,  hands  sitting  in  the  pockets  of  his  coat.     ‘  some  things  are  better  left  unsaid,  you  weren’t  there.  keep  it  that  way.  ‘ 

[pinellis]

@eirsne​

❝ HEY , PROFESSOR ! I need a favour from you ! ❞

SHE NEAR LEAPT IN FRONT OF HIM , in the rather crude fashion that she was known for around the academy . Both of them had something in common -- they were students of the great Jeralt , the blade breaker himself , and as Leonie oft went around referring to herself as his number one student , she had quite a bit to prove against the professor , Jeralt’s own child . Well , with the plan she had up her sleeve , the professor would never know what hit him ! 

❝ I FEEL LIKE my form’s a bit off in training lately . Could you maybe give me some pointers ? ❞

( her plan to use his own teachings against him in a matchup at a later date ? engaged . )

[gonrils-blog]

❝  do you love yourself?  ❞

     “  what kind of a question is that,  byleth ?  “   the smile on her face doesn’t falter,  but there’s an edge of hesitation in her voice as she locks her gaze with his.  does she love herself?  she thinks the amount of people that could answer yes to a question like that,  and still be truthful,  could be counted on one hand.  and she isn’t one of those people.

     “  i do.  “   she can feel guilty for a small white lie later,  but as much as she would carelessly burden others with physical work,  her own feelings are a different matter.  she’s content to keep her insecurities to herself.   “  that sounds narcissistic,  doesn’t it ?  “

richard siken  /  @eirsne  /  accepting

[timecall]

🌹 ( bc ofc he's got flowers for his twin. )

give a 🌹// SELECTIVELY ACCEPTING?

Being thrown into this whole ‘teaching’ situation is ... weird. It’s a complete break from what she’s known for the past however-many years of her life, and when she wakes up the in the room that’s now supposedly hers, Byleth finds herself momentarily at a loss for what to do. There’s a few days before classes start where she’s been allowed to simply explore and ... sort of gather some bearings, but it’s overall a bit ... much. At the very least, she’d gotten some peace from doing some fishing and learning little bits about gardening. Neither of them are hobbies she truly expected to pick up any time soon ( though, she has gone fishing before with her father, so she supposes that one isn’t too left field ), but they’re ... something.                 Despite having woken up far earlier, she finds herself still laying in bed, wondering what to actually do and how to actually teach before hearing a knock on her door. The sound startles her, in the sense that her head turns towards the door a little too quickly, but it’s an excuse for her to finally rise—                               Only to immediately blink confusedly at the flower that’s apparent, and the brother that’s holding it.                “... Thank you,” she says, even though her monotone voice sounds like it’s halfway to a question. Gingerly, she takes the rose out of his hand, still gazing at it momentarily, something of a mix between being pleased by the sweet gesture and confused by it. She stares at it for a second longer before glancing up at him with a tilted head.                                                “Picked up gardening lately?” 

[clawins]

          “   --------   are   you   trying   to   keep   your   composure   ?   would   you   like   to   let   it   all   go   ?   “   their   script   ,   white   rum   dripping   from   tiers   .   inhale   until   you   glisten   ,   the   inferno   within   .   gaze   upon   the   stranger   ,   comprehend   -------   something   more   ,   something   less   that   what   you   pine   .   “   why   are   you   here   ?   ------   are   you   here   to   seek   yourself   ?   “     @eirsne !