#support: f!corrin

[theindigoflirt]

Ouroboros

>starter for: @ofdusk Chapter 1: The Hero’s Journey 

Blizzards make him restless. 

Far too many extremes come attached to the inclement weather. Too dangerous to play in the snow. Too boring to sit inside by a fire all day. Too repetitive to run through sword drills day in and day out as the wind howls outside. 

Pushing away from the frost-covered window with a huff, Inigo meanders through the halls of Garreg Mach. His breath fogs the air in front of him; old stone walls only encourage chilly temperatures. With no particular destination in mind he lets his feet carry him where they may. He could go bother his brother for a game of Go, maybe. But nah, he’s probably buried underneath a mountain of blankets while seated in front of a fire. All Inigo’s other friends have things going on themselves—from studying for tests to cleaning their dorms out of sheer boredom. 

Huh. Footsteps stop just outside the library. Well, people are always telling him to read more. No time like the present to pick up a book and idle the afternoon away. Dancer enters without a sound, nodding quietly at the scattered students also seeking solace. 

Damn. It is cold up here. As much as he adores winter, even he doesn’t want to freeze. No one would say anything if he smuggled some hot chocolate up here, right? He’ll be super careful not to spill it, too! 

Nah, he’ll be a good student, if only because the librarian is finally starting to like him after nearly three years. Not worth ruining what little rapport they’ve built up over some hot chocolate. 

Pink head tilts to one side, eyes skipping over the multitude of titles lining impressively clean shelves. There’s bound to be something here that will catch his attention. He creeps closer to one volume in particular, Dishonor of— 

Something skids across the floor. Oops. Inigo glances around, finding an open book resting a couple feet away. Naga, he hopes that librarian isn’t around. Two quick steps and he’s bending down to examine the yellowed pages. 

Inigo hisses the moment his fingers make contact. A static shock travels up his arm, like his entire limb has started to fall asleep. The pages begin to rapidly turn, then there world goes dark— 

“Ow,” he mutters. Was that a tome he unwittingly activated? One moment passes, then another, before he realizes he’s laying facedown on…a street? Inigo sits up, brows furrowed as it registers he’s now smack in the middle of a town square. 

Honestly, he’d be more shocked if not for the fact this isn’t the first time he’s been transported to another place. Or time. Please don’t let this be time travel. 

[princepsumbra]

A Moment of Weakness

>starter for @ofdusk

In retrospect, he should have known there was nothing to fret over. 

He makes a habit to check the list of new arrivals--curiosity at first, then a subconscious desire to never be taken by surprise, should someone from home appear at the monastery’s gates. 

People often wonder how he always seems to know what’s going on, and when. While it does lend yet another layer of mystery and fear to his reputation, he can’t claim any supernatural abilities beyond his talent for black magic. He pays attention, which can’t be said of everyone. 

It’s amazing, what can be gleaned from the world by simple observation. 

One gloved hand gently brushes the rose standing tall in its vase. No, he is not surprised at all when a gentle knock sounds on his door, nor is he taken aback when his wife slips into the room. 

A rare smile graces his features as he stands. He wants to be upset, to demand an explanation as to why she hasn’t responded to either his or their son’s letters. But she’s never been prone to thinking ahead--always concerned with what’s right in front of her. Seeing her name appear under a list of applications for a position in the Knights of Serios explained much. 

Prince rounds the desk, coming to a stop a few inches in front of Corrin. Green eyes remain cool as he studies her, assessing her for any injuries or signs of hardship. One knuckle rests under her chin, tilting her face up a touch. 

He missed her, more than he’s willing to admit. “Hello, Corrin,” he says, tone full of affection. Fingers travel up her cheek, brushing some hair off her face. “You look well.” 

Leo leans forward, planting a soft kiss to her forehead. “I’m so happy you’re here.” A confession he can only make behind the privacy of closed doors, where weaknesses can not be exploited.

[aliberation]

The multicolor hair is hard to see from a distance, but Corrin can still make out the mixed hues from a distance. Is... is that?

"Peri?! Is that you?"

Corrin runs over to who she assumes to be her knightly friend, until... huh. That isn't pink and blue, just red and blue.

"Oh. Sorry. Thought you were someone else. Apologies!"

Corrin gives a small curtsy (after all, interrupting a Knight of Seiros is not a good thing to do,) but she can feel the gaze on her, even still.

"...Do I have something on my uniform?"

...That was probably rude, actually.

"Sorry."

A name that holds no familiar memory tumbles from the visage of an old ally, and Alear has to stifle the reaction of joy that nearly bubbles forth. Emblem Corrin, of course, had been such a loyal companion for what felt like an eternity— and like all the others, when sent to their final slumber, missed as heavily as every ally was. As every friend was.

To see her here…. to hear her voice again…. She can’t help but to break out into a brilliant smile, easily laughing off the interruption into her thoughts.

“No, it’s okay! Really! As weird as it sounds, I’m glad you stopped me.”

It’s a whole conversation for another time, but Alear extends her hand in a shake. Though recollection flashes in the depths of her two-toned gaze, she knows it won’t be returned… and that’s okay. They can learn one another all over again, and experience the joys of Corrin’s companionship a second time.

She’s worth the effort. All of the Emblems are. Now’s the time to see them in their true forms, and she couldn’t be more honored.

“I’m Alear. I’m sorry if I was staring— you just…. surprised me, is all. You remind me of someone I used to know.”

[laslow]

Lady of Lies

>starter for: @ofdusk

When you break the news about the imposter lords to one of the villages, they naturally react in horror and shame for being deceived. However, something goes awry when the message is passed along to the village elders. A miscommunication down the line leads these leaders, half-blind and three-quarters-deaf, to believe that you are the “real Lyndis”. Whether you are or not, there is little you can do to convince them otherwise, and so they demand you make things right. [Grants +1 Authority]

Returning to the monastery only to immediately hear that Faerghus was in an uproar over imposters was hardly the worst thing he’s ever heard. Anything sounds like an easy undertaking compared to living in a nightmare for a month. 

Even the march into the Holy Kingdom was a walk in the park compared to Spa…Sprag…huh. He’s already beginning to forget little details, the bright colors of the dream fading to washed out hues. The big stuff remains—rescuing false Xander, fighting on the wrong side of a war, enduring a blizzard. Maybe it’s for the best he embarked on this not-quite vacation. 

Now, he runs a hand down his face, doing his best not to wince as yet another elder shouts for the “real Lyndis” to please come forward and put this whole mess behind them. “Hey, hey, Corrin!” swordsman calls, slipping away from the ranting elder, who doesn’t notice Laslow’s departure. “Apparently the false Lyn stole over half the village’s emergency fund.” 

A sigh. His nerves are beginning to fray, the result of well over an hour’s worth of misplaced blame heaped upon his shoulders. “There’s more, I think, though they all started yelling over each other.” Obviously, the start of soothing their ruffled feathers would be to pay them back their lost gold, though Laslow doubts that will satisfy them at this point. 

“What do you suggest, my dove?” 

[midoriwings]

[ CROWN ] -- "Oh!" Carefully selected from the pile of flowers are a handful of white daisies, and Corrin turns with a grin to the green haired woman beside her. "These would compliment your hair very nicely! Here-"

Midsommer 2022

For her next letter home, she should include a pressed flower or two. Prove to her family she's truly enjoying herself in this new land.

"Hm?"

The other woman is vaguely familiar; Vanessa recalls seeing her around the Knight's hall. "Oh, thank you." She accepts the flower crown, gently placing it atop her head.

Turning from side to side, she again faces Corrin. "Did I put it on right?"

[laslow]

They had yet to get a proper meeting, not since the near stranger Inigo disappeared, only to be replaced a breath later by a much more familiar head of silver hair. Which is decidedly criminal.

Corrin bumps her shoulder to the other's, matching his stride through the academy's hallways. She bends at the waist, forward enough to peer up at his face as he walks beside her, a grin on her own.

"I've got something for you," dragon hums, cheerful. Her head tilts sideways as if daring him to guess exactly what. "You'll like it, I promise."

From behind her back, Corrin produces two things. One, a cream envelope with Laslow written in a near perfect cursive on its face. The other, a lily.

"It isn't exactly what she asked, but it's the best the greenhouse could offer," the flower is handed over first, then the envelope. Corrin's eyes glitter. "Happy birthday. She'll be happy to hear from you."

The weirdness of his entire life is starting to fade. Leaving a place, only to return much later as a much different person, has become such a common theme over the years.

He cherishes his friendships all the more because of it.

Dancer pretends to stumble sideways when Corrin bumps him, grinning right back down at her. One eyebrow raises. "For moi?" As if he isn't positively delighted--for no matter how old, how mature he grows, he adores his birthday and all that comes with it.

"I know I will, milady! Anything from you..." he trails off, half baked line forgotten once he sees the lily. Fingers close around it reverently, petals soft against his skin. Between adjusting to a new schedule and added responsibilities of an assistant teacher, he hasn't spent near enough time in the greenhouse as he used to. She won't mind this little token of affection being late. Hopefully.

(Oh, how he misses her.)

"This is perfect, my dove! Thank you." Only then does he remember to accept her offered letter. Paper is tucked safely inside his jacket, lily still carefully cradled in the palm of his free hand.

Laslow leans over, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "If you'll excuse me, I have a letter to write!" He trots off in the direction of his dorm, pausing only to call over his shoulder, "I owe you one cup of tea!"