#gauldheri

[tathlums]

“You were worried… about me?”

odin sphere prompts | accepting!

Despite what one may think, it’s not possible to have someone watching your back at all times during battle. 

Sometimes, things progress differently than expected. Sometimes, an enemy breaks through the defense line regardless and makes a beeline for the easiest target - In this case, her.

“Mercedes!” 

It’s more than one voice that cries out her name. In that moment, they all realize that they’ve made a mistake– Potentially a grave one. Her entire body seizes up, expecting to feel the white hot pain of being sliced by a sword and her own blood flowing like a waterfall down her back. 

Instead, two other noises pierce her ears within seconds of each other: First, a grunt from directly behind her. Then, a scream of pain and the sound of a body collapsing onto the earth below.

There may be times when she isn’t the quickest to figure things out, but it doesn’t take a genius to know that someone took the blow that was meant for her. Her world is already spinning as she whips around to see just who it was that put their life down on the line for her.

“Sylvain…!” He pulls his lance out of the enemy’s body before turning to meet her horror stricken gaze. And he smiles.

“Good, you’re not hurt.” Her hands are immediately on his shoulders and chest, trying to keep him steady. He ignores her pleas for him to not talk, to rest because he’s bleeding and she needs to help him right away. Instead he takes one of her hands within his own, squeezes despite the both of them trembling. “I’m glad… I made it in time.”

She stops remembering anything when he finally collapses against her.

———–

 When he wakes later that night in the infirmary, she’s right there by his side. It’s not just guilt that keeps her in the chair for hours, nervously wringing her hands and feeling her heart leap whenever he stirs the slightest bit.

Over time, Sylvain has become a dear person to her. An unlikely bond, but one she treasures all the same. Because of that, it doesn’t feel right to leave him here alone. When he finally opens his eyes, they squint at the ceiling in the darkened room before landing on her. Every emotion she was feeling must show plain as day on her face, because he asks:

“You were worried… about me?”

“Of course I was worried! You…” Idiot. Moron. Completely reckless person. A whole swarm of names are practically bursting on the tip of her tongue, but his lopsided grin halts her. Clearly, he’s already been called everything in the book. Her lips purse, and she takes a moment to take a deep breath, shoulders rising and eyes closing. It’s not like her to lose her cool, even for a few moments.

“What you did was reckless, Sylvain, but I… You protected me. Thank you.” To admonish his noble action would be cruel, so she accepts it despite wishing things could have happened differently.

“Next time, I promise to protect you in turn.”

[ladyleonster]

[ Street Crepe ] - A novel take on an old classic, these handheld, stuffed crepes come in varieties both savoury and sweet. A light and fluffy treat to cap off the evening.

"Ah, if only a valiant lady knight would rescue me from despair," Sylvain declares dramatically, head tilted back as the back of his hand rests across his forehead. His left eye peeps open and he can't resist grinning at the lady's expression. "It seems I have been utterly defeated by this crepe. If only a beautiful, fearsome warrior would take over my gallant efforts!"

He hands her the crepe, a single white feather from his brooch tucked behind the pastry. She might want to remove that before eating.

"Would you be my heroine tonight, milday?"

It's nostalgic. Almost endearing. He reminds her very much of a certain knight of Chalphy and her heart aches thinking about him and missing him.

"I am quite valiant," Ethlyn agrees with a laugh. Does anyone actually fall for this sort of act? She doesn't remember it being all that successful with Alec either. "But I'm afraid I've already been claimed as a heroine for someone else."

She reaches her left hand out, Quan's ring clearly visible if he were to look, and snags his feather off the plate while leaving her crystal behind. "I will take this though, if you'd like my crystal in return!"

[hermidetta]

[Sweet Bun Trio] Sylvain cautiously slides in to the seat next to her, making sure to wave on the way over first. Let her know he's coming. There's a plate of sweet buns in hand, one mostly eaten. He takes that and pops it in his mouth, chews thoroughly and hands the plate over.

"Want to help me with these? You like sweets, don't you?" He's softer than usual with her. It's easy for him to just slip into people space and make himself known, natural even. He waits to be let in, no matter how long it takes. "Mind swapping brooches with your biggest fan, Bernadetta? I'm eagerly awaiting your next chapter."

"You've got a great gift. Maybe one day you'll be ready to share it with the world but in the meantime, I'm happy to be your audience."

it would be a boldfaced lie for bernadetta to say she did not care for sylvain in the least, notoriety and all. because bernadetta von varley, she is not used to being handled with care—never. she does not think she will ever get used to it, but even though there are times she regrettably fumbles with it, there are also times she recognizes it and appreciates it proper. signaling wave and all, sylvain approaches her in the best way possible. he just knows.

"my biggest fan?" she shrinks, brows pinching. there is a pleased tint in her cheeks all the same, a tell that his company is not truly unwelcome. she huffs without any real bite. "you sure about that? i-if you want my brooch, you can just say so, you know!"

sylvain would not hurt her, would he? not even for sick amusement. she cannot think of a single thing he has to gain from it. her humiliation, her tears, her everything really is kept strictly behind the closed doors of her room. she has no worth to her name nor her face, and there are far prettier pursuits for half of the headache.

sometimes it makes no sense to bernadetta. people like sylvain have no sense being seen around people like her, no matter how shameless enough he may be to mingle with dirt. yet here he is anyway, fluffing up bernadetta's ego with sweets of all sorts. surely her work cannot possibly be that enjoyable to read. half of the time she wants to give up on writing altogether, chuck it all into the fireplace. but...

"you could have it anyway," she mumbles, meek fingers sliding a crystal to him on the table. they pluck a sweet bun from the plate soon after. "but bernie'll definitely accept these. yum! heh, heh—i mean, a-ahem!"

...if her silly stories bring joy to sylvain, any joy at all, bernadetta thinks she may not put up her quill just yet.

"hey... sylvain?" another mumble, behind her sweet bun. this one is gentler, almost vulnerable, even. almost. "um... thank you. bernie— i mean, i really... i don't like myself a lot. so that makes me happy. ... a-anyway, thanks! that's all!"

[mercenarymage]

[Mulled Red Wine]

"Hey hey, you look like a reasonable guy," Sylvain approaches the mercenary with a friendly smile, posture open and a wave. He's already spotted the missing white feather. "I could use a favour... I owe a lovely young lady a glass of champagne. Accident, of course."

Not quite, but his companion didn't need to know about his and Hilda's escapades with the champagne.

"As a student, I can't just walk up and get a replacement. Could I trade you this feather for a favour? If you're not sure if you should trust me, just tell the pink haired beauty over there Sylvain sent you, yeah!"

There we go, a debt repaid.

Hugh had been taking the evening to unwind, the classical melody setting the regal tone of the ballroom floor. People were dancing, expensive food was being served, and someone was -

Wait. "Eh?" What was that?

Hugh hadn't considered someone approaching him, especially for a favor. The guy here knows how to make a good trade, though. It's the last that he needs!

"That's all?" Man, he really wants to know just what went down, but given the circumstances, he decides not to pry too much. The guy probably knocked the glass over on accident. Really, he only hopes that nothing was stained in the process - plenty of dangers to be had ruining high-class attire.

"Sure! Sounds easy enough." He reaches out for the white feather, but before he's off, Hugh goes through his belongings, and produces a black feather. "And here. Got a few of these from the event, so good luck with collecting them all, eh?"

Pink hair, huh? Seems easy enough to him.

[swdmaster]

a kiss where they’re both covered in blood

//via kisses; still accepting ! cw: blood, gore. REALLY edgy

"...So this is your idea of love?" Lon'qu croaks, tilting his head back following their shared embrace. The rouge stain on the other man's lips had meshed nicely with the bits of viscera in the corner of his, pressing beneath their combined force as helpless as a length of rope in a vice. Crushed, it added its fleshy pink to the whole mess of it all--the spliced fluid trailing down the swordsman's chin.

"Well," he huffs, that uncanny drunkenness of their bloodshed hot in his voice, "there's no going back now, is there? Very well!" Blood-soaked arms crackle as they shoot from his torso, first running their fingers through hair matted by slick ichor, before wrapping around the redhead's neck. He has been so warped by the chaos, so entangled in the sopping web of guts and gore indistinguishable from their own bloodied bodies that surging forth for a second kiss doesn't seem so bad an idea.

He digs deeper into the mess, his hungering maw acting out more of a bite than a kiss against Sylvain's lips. Teeth gnaw against skin, sinking so hard and so far that they draw another droplet of blood--then another, and another. And for all his effort to mar the other's face, it doesn't make the slightest difference. Lon'qu laughs. They are both already so far down the path of unending slaughter that the cut he gives Sylvain is a droplet of water in a vast ocean. With red at their feet, red in pools--red making a host of every color of their outfits, a little more won't hurt.

And so he helps himself to all the man has to offer. Violence, vengeance, passion and need all come together in the way his mouth laps at the Gautier's, and his hands knead his neck. He rolls a leg around to get a better grip, and without looking, finds his boot squelching in the corpse of one foolish enough to make enemies with either of them. Whether they were Sylvain's or Lon'qu's matters not: they're dead now, made an example of what comes from men so strong they corrupt. Regna Ferox did not take into account the fine line between power and madness, and the crest at Sylvain's back is just a catalyst to a story running off the pages into raw, unfiltered mayhem. He grunts as his instincts carry him through the motions. They are no better than dogs.

In this, they are united--two broken souls forcing their fractured edges to mend together.

[aegisshielded]

[ last ditch ] right before receiver leaves for battle, sender rushes into their arms and kisses them desperately

Different Kinds of Kisses Ask Meme - {Still Accepting}

The Monastery often sends off a gaggle of students to attend to a minor issue in some remote village, far too unbothered to deal with it themselves and worry the folks lining the church’s pockets. Those ornate, beautiful statues in the church don’t just carve themselves for free, after all. The very notion of sending students off to fight some bandits makes Felix scoff, and it reminds him far too much of the bitter memory of his brother, dead and buried in the ground for naught. 

This time, Felix is off with the Blue Lions students to deal with some bandits disrupting the peace. At least, that is all it is supposed to be. However, dancing embers float from burning buildings and catch Felix’s darting amber gaze. His eyes search for something, someone to focus on. His hand grips the hilt of his sword, unsure whether or not to draw it just yet. People run back and forth, desperate to put out the flames with spilling buckets of water from the local well. Bandits off in the distance taunt the students to do something about their horrific pillaging. Felix tenses, squares his shoulders, steps forward to charge, and is suddenly stopped by Sylvain. 

The chaos around them stops and fades away to silence. All Felix can think about is the firm hold Sylvain has on him as their lips lock desperately, as though they might not get the chance to do so in the future, as though this might be the last chance either of them might have to make meaning of their longstanding relationship. The very word “relationship” holds such confusion for it to properly apply to the two of them, their history with one another fraught with Felix's passing hopeful glances and mostly-friendly banter that dismisses the former. Felix has spent so long pretending he hasn’t wanted this very thing to happen—only, not like this. 

When they part and Felix has enough space from Sylvain’s lips to form words, he finds it difficult to do so that very thing. Instead, he furrows his brow with frustration and grips the collar of Sylvain’s shirt above his breastplate. “Don’t do that like we’re about to die!” He yells above the noise as it all comes back to his ears in a rushing boom. The silence is broken and Felix scoffs. “You owe me one that doesn’t taste like ash and sweat, Sylvain. Pay up when we return to Garreg Mach.” He huffs, finally draws his sword, and rushes off toward the bandits, though his heart races in his chest with more than just the adrenaline of battle.

[isolaradiale]

can I put a tentative reserve on doma from kimetsu no yaiba please? contact is @eikwoods on twitter!

doma will be reserved for you!

– mod pleiades.

[pinellis]

❝ As lovely as that is, don’t you think it’s a little big to bring home by yourself? ❞ context? i don't know her

raiding dem tombs // accepting

OUT OF ALL OF THE TROPHIES ONE COULD TAKE FROM THE BATTLEFIELD , a ballista was probably the strangest one could imagine , yet here Leonie was , attempting to remove it from its stalwart place in the ground somewhat to get it ready for transport ( if she could find some … ) . She was a frugal woman , so the idea of leaving a perfectly good ballista out here , with nobody ever to use it again , seemed like a perfectly good waste , especially with how useful the apparatus was at sniping enemies , or even groups of enemies , from afar . Though she had no personal stake in this war , save for bringing vengeance to those who killed her master , a ballista would always be useful to her in some way , so she wasn’t about to leave a perfectly capable one lying around . 

❝ IF YOU HAVE time to sit around and stare , maybe you could give me a hand ? ❞