albaccelerando

[albaccelerando]

things we lost in the fire

[starter for @dameofcrimea]

The whispering voices scared Reyson more than they welcomed him, which is mostly why he listened to their pleas for him to follow. This felt familiar in a way he could only describe as haunting. He couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but they were speaking his language, he was sure of it... 

His wandering lead him to a dark alleyway, and that’s when he spotted the sign. 

Speak with the Dead. 

A shudder ran through his body, shaking a few feathers from his wings. Of course it felt familiar, he had been a part of them not too long ago-

“Hello?” The gentle call snapped him back to the present. There was a beorc woman sitting in the dark, her hands folded in front of her. There was a small table set up in front of her, with various devices on it. She tilted her head slightly, studying him,  her face breaking into a pitying smile. He took a step back, but whatever was calling to him was strong, and he couldn’t move himself any farther away. 

“I feel them too,” the woman said, her voice strangely present among the swirling wailing. “They have been trying to speak with you for a long time.” Reyson swallowed, feathers flared in fear. 

Something brushed his shoulder, and he turned, startled, to see Titania among the crowd walking by. His eyes, for a moment, showed his panic, but he did his best to wall himself off. 

“Titania,” he mumbled in greeting, ducking his head. He opened his mouth to speak again, but couldn’t find words, instead glancing back behind him, where the woman still sat, staring. 

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quick ooc starter call for the event! I realize now I should probably be specific in which threads I’d like to do. (I’ll do a similar post on janaff in a minute :)

haunted house - reyson likes to pretend he’s unbothered by such things. he has a class to get to, he doesn’t have time for the people chasing him-!

fairgrounds - I think reyson deserves some fun. just a little bit. he might even enjoy some time there! 

costumes - maybe someone can convince reyson to wear something spooktacular. he won’t take much convincing. 

speaking to the dead - ...he hears something... (this will be. major angst. I feel like I should say that in advance.)

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Kenopsia: The eerie, forlorn atmosphere of a place that is usually bustling with people but is now abandoned

Reyson stood on the edge of the forest, eyes dull with recollection. The forest was dull, its song had faded long ago. This forest was sleeping, not dead, but it was still all too familiar in his mind.

The driving snow had kept most inside today, but something called him outside today, and he wasn’t going to question the first contact he thought the forest made with him in months. He shivered, drawing his wings closer around himself. It was quiet. Absent, almost. He felt his feathers fluffing up, guarding vaguely against the cold, but it didn’t help much. Was it truly worth it to stand here, listening to a whispered sleepsong sung by a stand of trees, in the middle of the night? Perhaps he had imagined it...

Someone was watching him. He glanced back, but he could barely make out the figure in the snow. He stepped slightly closer, narrowing his eyes against the wind and darkness, but he still couldn’t tell who it was until they spoke to him.

“Elincia,” he greeted softly, his voice trembling with his shivering form. “I- I thought I heard the forest speaking, though I think I dreamed it...” He halfheartedly mumbled something to the dim forest behind him. “Either way, I feel a little cheated...”

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[What type of “I love you” are you?]

i love you, i've always loved you, i will always love you

it's commitment, it's devotion, it goes often without saying, but is felt nonetheless. it's accepting that you would travel to hell and back for them if they asked and knowing that they would do the same for you. it's an old ache, long after they've burrowed deep into your chest and settled there like a weight- grounding, an anchor point. even when you're apart, you can still feel the shape of them, it's like phantom pain. neither of you can help but succumb to the other's gravity, yet neither of you fear the collision. it means that you trust them, that they make you feel safe, that they feel like home.

[albaccelerando]

ask-meme-addicts​:

Obscure Feelings drabble prompt meme

Send in a word for a drabble of our muses based on it.

Sonder: The realization that each passerby has a life as vivid and complex as your own.

Opia: The ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable.

Monachopsis: The subtle but persistent feeling of being out of place.

Énouement: The bittersweetness of having arrived in the future, seeing how things turn out, but not being able to tell your past self.

Vellichor: The strange wistfulness of used bookshops.

Rubatosis: The unsettling awareness of your own heartbeat.

Kenopsia: The eerie, forlorn atmosphere of a place that is usually bustling with people but is now abandoned and quiet.

Mauerbauertraurigkeit: The inexplicable urge to push people away, even close friends who you really like.

Jouska: A hypothetical conversation that you compulsively play out in your head.

Chrysalism: The amniotic tranquility of being indoors during a thunderstorm.

Vemödalen: The frustration of photographic something amazing when thousands of identical photos already exist.

Anecdoche: A conversation in which everyone is talking, but nobody is listening

Ellipsism: A sadness that you’ll never be able to know how history will turn out.

Kuebiko: A state of exhaustion inspired by acts of senseless violence.

Lachesism: The desire to be struck by disaster – to survive a plane crash, or to lose everything in a fire.

Exulansis: The tendency to give up trying to talk about an experience because people are unable to relate to it.

Adronitis: Frustration with how long it takes to get to know someone.

Rückkehrunruhe: The feeling of returning home after an immersive trip only to find it fading rapidly from your awareness.

Nodus Tollens: The realization that the plot of your life doesn’t make sense to you anymore.

Onism: The frustration of being stuck in just one body, that inhabits only one place at a time.

Liberosis: The desire to care less about things.

Altschmerz: Weariness with the same old issues that you’ve always had – the same boring flaws and anxieties that you’ve been gnawing on for years.

Occhiolism: The awareness of the smallness of your perspective.

[albaccelerando]

𝗥𝗣  𝗠𝗘𝗠𝗘  𝗙𝗢𝗥  𝗧𝗛𝗘  𝗠𝗢𝗢𝗗

(  +  reverse  )  to  reverse  roles

for  when  they’re  feeling  violent  

[  BELT  ]  for  your  muse  to  use  their  belt  as  a  weapon

[  BETRAY  ]  for  your  muse  to  reveal  to  my  muse  they’re  not  who  they  think  they  are

[  BLEED  ]  for  your  muse  to  make  mine  bleed

[  BOOT  ]  for  your  muse  to  press  their  boot  against  my  muse’s  mouth  

[  BRUISE  ]  for  your  muse  to  purposely  hold  my  muse  hard  enough  to  bruise

[  CHOKE  ]  for  your  muse  to  hold  mine  by  the  throat,  either  with  the  hand  or  forearm

[  DENIAL  ]  for  your  muse  to  angrily  deny  something  my  muse  is  calling  them  out  on  

[  FIRE  ]  for  your  muse  to  threaten  my  muse  with  fire

[  GRAPPLE  ]  for  your  muse  to  wrestle  mine  down  to  the  floor  or  against  the  wall

[  HAIR  ]  for  your  muse  to  pull  my  muse’s  hair  

[  KICK  ]  for  your  muse  to  kick  my  muse  (  can  specify  where  )

[  KNEE  ]  for  your  muse  to  knee  mine  in  the  stomach  or  groin  

[  KNIFE  ]  for  your  muse  to  hold  a  knife  to  my  muse’s  throat

[  LAUGH  ]  for  your  muse  to  laugh  at  my  muse  for  being  pathetic  

[  LIAR  ]  for  your  muse  to  call  mine  a  liar

[  MOUTH  ]  for  your  muse  to  put  their  hand  over  my  muse’s  mouth  

[  PANIC  ]  for  your  muse  to  find  my  muse  panicking  after  they’ve  done  impulsive  or  dangerous

[  REGRET  ]  for  your  muse  to  immediately  regret  hurting  my  muse

[  SLAP  ]  for  your  muse  to  slap  my  muse  in  the  face

[  SLEEP  ]  for  your  muse  to  approach  my  muse  while  they’re  sleeping  

[  SPIT  ]  for  your  muse  to  spit  at  my  muse

[  STAB  ]  for  your  muse  to  stab  my  muse  (  specify  where  )

[  STEP  ]  for  your  muse  to  step  on  my  muse  while  they’re  down  

[  SHOOT  ]  for  your  muse  to  shoot  at  my  muse  (  specify  where  )

[  STRONGARM  ]  for  your  muse  to  use  force  to  make  my  muse  do  something  

[  TANTRUM  ]  for  your  muse  to  throw  a  temper  tantrum  that  my  muse  gets  caught  /  hurt  in

[  TEAR  ]  for  your  muse  to  tear  clothing  off  of  my  muse

[  TEETH  ]  for  your  muse  to  bite  my  muse  (  specify  where  )

[  THREAT  ]  for  your  muse  to  threaten  my  muse  /  specify  threat    

for  when  they’re  feeling  soft  

[  BOOP  ]  for  your  muse  to  bump  their  nose  against  my  muse’s  nose  

[  BREAK  ]  for  your  muse  to  know  that  my  muse  is  about  to  break  up  with  them  

[  CALM  ]  for  your  muse  to  calm  my  muse  down  from  a  moment  of  anger

[  COUCH  ]  for  our  muses  to  cuddle  on  the  couch  

[  DANCE  ]  for  your  muse  to  take  my  muse’s  hand  and  start  dancing  with  them  

[  EYES  ]  for  your  muse  to  send  bedroom  eyes  at  my  muse  

[  FEED  ]  for  your  muse  to  feed  my  muse  something  (  can  specify  what  )

[  HAND  ]  for  your  muse  to  slip  their  hand  into  my  muse’s  hand

[  HICKEY  ]  for  you  muse  to  give  my  muse  a  hickey  (  specify  where  )

[  HUG  ]  for  your  muse  to  hug  my  muse

[  INTERRUPT  ]  for  your  muse  to  interrupt  my  muse  talking  by  kissing  them  

[  KISS  ]  for  your  muse  to  kiss  my  muse  

[  LICK  ]  for  you  muse  to  lick  my  muse  

[  PATTER  ]  for  our  muses  to  have  a  conversation  in  the  car  while  the  rain  patters  down  around  them  

[  PLAY  ]  for  your  muse  to  play  a  musical  instrument  for  my  muse

[  PICNIC  ]  for  our  muses  to  go  on  a  picnic

[  RAIN  ]  for  our  muses  to  dance  in  the  rain  /  kiss  in  the  rain

[  RIVER  ]  for  our  muses  to  jump  in  the  river  together  /  or  for  one  to  push  the  other  in  

[  SING  ]  for  your  muse  to  sing  to  my  muse  /  song  or  lullaby  

[  SNEAK  ]  for  your  muse  to  sneak  a  touch  under  my  muse’s  clothing  

[  SPOON  ]  for  your  muse  to  big  spoon  my  muse  

[  STARE  ]  for  your  muse  to  be  caught  staring  affectionately  at  mine

[  STROKE  ]  for  your  muse  to  play  with  my  muse’s  hair

[  SWEATER  ]  for  your  muse  to  be  found  in  my  muse’s  sweater  or  hoodie

[  TOUCH  ]  for  your  muse  to  softly  touch  my  muse  (  specify  where  )

[  WARM  ]  for  your  muse  to  put  their  jacket  around  my  muse’s  shoulders

[  WATCH  ]  for  your  muse  to  watch  my  muse  sleep  

[albaccelerando]

atypicalsenerio​:

albaccelerando​:

atypicalsenerio​:

heronprinceofserenes​:

atypicalsenerio​:

heronprinceofserenes​:

the candle

“Facts, data, memorization, I can absorb information, but I sift through it what I need. My studies are generally reason or tactics related. Getting graded is a side effect of my real goals.” Soren took studying seriously, but his posing as some teenager getting an education wasn’t that important to him. “That isn’t to say there isn’t value in history. One never knows when such things come up, such as the need to understand the nuances of political relationships.”

Of course, music would be central to a heron’s life. Their singing was not only self expression, but the root of their power. Soren might as well have said he’d never walked before despite having workable legs. Reyson’s tone pulled a slight scowl from him, neutrality disintegrating for a moment.

He was tempted to snap, ‘I’m Parentless, what kind of life do you think I had? Was it a life any of your kind would have cared to spare me from?’ but he bit his tongue.

Reyson had lost his home and nearly every other heron alive. He too, had been shaped by wounds that scarred over with time but never fully filled in. His resolve and personality were the result, and Soren could never know what he might’ve been like before Serenes Massacre. Just as Reyson nor Soren himself could never know who Soren might be, had he been raised somewhere with warmth and music. The old anger that had never fully dissipated inside of him against the world had nothing to do with Reyson.

The seconds dragged on a bit too long to pass as a natural pause in the conversation. The dark shadow that had crossed Soren’s face faded. The past was not a subject either were likely to be prepared to handle well when put on the spot.

“Never. No one sang in the households I was raised in, and I was kept away from other children who might’ve ever taught me.” It was true, but not detailed. “By the time I first heard music in a church, I was not the type who would sing. I had other things to occupy myself with.”

Though Soren bit his tongue, he might as well have said it out loud, from the momentary almost-shame that sparked in Reyson’s eyes. He glanced away, staring at nothing in particular, to try and ease the tension of the moment. His lips tilted upward in a joyless smile. 

“Goddess, how I must sound to you, rambling on...” His gaze finally wandered back to meet Soren’s, the green light dimmed by the fading candlelight and energy. His faint smile fell. “I’m sorry, Soren.” He paused, unsure of what else to say, so he just sighed, pulling his wings against his shoulders. His hair had slid under his circlet, and now pooled against the page in his hand. For a moment, he let his gaze travel over the words, the gentle curves of the ancient language (messy as ever, his siblings always had better handwriting) singing to him. Somehow, the life had drained out of his words. Never had the language felt more dead to him than then. He calmly stacked it on top of the other now-dry pages, and set the stack on the corner of his desk. He’d process that when he had the energy to. 

He turned back to Soren. “Does that ever happen with you? When you read magic, but not aloud, you sense it. Like if it’s being cast, but only a shade of what it should be?” 

[albaccelerando]

saionofvalflame​:

to change fate

Saias furrowed his brow at the other’s decision to make a wish, not for himself, but for someone else—for others, in fact. It… made a surprising amount of sense that the redhead could sympathize with, considering all the people they had lost in that expedition. Even though all of them were now alive, the sense that any of them, or even the survivors, could die permeated the group and made them cling to each other to ensure everyone was all right. Or at least, that’s what Saias felt and experienced.

“Tying it up for someone else… I like that. I think I might do that as well.” I probably would’ve wished for everyone I care about anyway, since what I really want is for them to be healthy and happy. Well, and for my family issues to work out, of course. I suppose that qualifies as part of it. He gave a small chuckle at the thought.

The teen pouted as Reyson flew up into the tree to tie his own ribbon. Lucky bird… I wish I had wings so I could do that too. He shook his head, then laughed; getting jealous over another’s species advantages wouldn’t do him any good, and it wasn’t exactly a wish that could feasibly be granted. Now there’s a thought, waking up one morning with wings on my back. Chuckling, Saias approached the tree, looking for an empty spot amongst the sea of pink where he could tie his ribbon. The entirety of the lower branches appeared to be covered, which made sense since they were nearer to the majority of people. Looks like I’ll have to climb up to find a better spot, then. Just like when I was trying to catch Theodore—ah, now there’s a fun memory. He hadn’t seen shell nor tail of the arachnid since he’d woken up from the expedition, and he hoped the little guy was okay.

Reaching for one of the lower branches, Saias hoisted himself up as he began to climb the tree.

Reyson hesitated at the top of the tree, letting the breeze gently sing under his wings. He let the ribbon tug against his fingers, just barely keeping it from escaping from his hand. He finally spotted a place to tie the ribbon, and hovered over the tip of the empty branch. He pressed the ribbon to his lips for a moment. 

“Please,” he whispered, so quiet he could barely hear himself. “Keep them safe, all of them.” He wanted to say more, but he couldn’t find better words, so he gently glided down and reached out to tie the ribbon to the tip of the branch. His wingbeats stirred the other ribbons, gently pushing them out of hiding, letting them sway and (hopefully) carry their wishes and prayers into the breeze. 

He wondered for a moment if his words would ever reach Serenes. His eyes wandered to the horizon, staring over the seemingly-endless trees. He could almost convince himself he was at home... but Serenes wasn’t as lush, not yet, and though the wildlife had begun to return, he couldn’t feel the same hum of life in the air. 

There also weren’t any pink trees in Serenes. He was sure of that. 

He glanced down again, watching Saias climb higher. He eased himself a few feet down, cautiously watching the mage, ready to help him if he slipped.

[albaccelerando]

threlehranody​:

fancy meeting you here

He places the spade down gently as Reyson closes the door behind him, marking his place in the earthen plot. He means to make his way over to the prince in the same tranquil manner but at Reyson’s hesitation, at his referring to the church as letting him do something, his eyes harden.

They are not family, not really. The man known as Sephiran has no kin and regardless of his goddess’s wishes that is the only name he feels the right to possess. But it was the heron tribe who would have been the only ones to survive in his ideal, ordered world and it was the heron tribe who took him in after that all fell apart.

He owes Reyson and his father a debt he knows can never be repaid. And it is that reason that rings clearest when he ponders why indeed he is here.

“Recover? I do hope the Church has not been misusing the students and faculty sent here in good faith from abroad. The Archbishop seems to enjoy debriefing me in the mornings if you would like me to talk to her for you.”

His tone towards light to the end to show Reyson that his intention is not to make another enemy, but the worry remains. There is no real point in trying to mask the emotion and so he does not try.

“I have been… coping,” Sephiran says when Reyson inquires after him. It is a half-truth at best and in the ensuing silence Sephiran turns back to look at the garden plot he’s left behind.

“Teaching, yes. When I am not doing menial chores for my student I teach Faith magic to the Blue Lions house. The background many of them come from is not so different from what I experienced in Begnion.”

Reyson laughs, though Sephiran can sense no joy in it. 

"I would say the church is doing the exact opposite. You weren't sent on that mission, but I imagine you must have heard something about it." He glances down, trying to judge how much he should tell. 

He is again confronted with the issue of how to break the news of one's own death. It isn't like Sephiran will care either way. 

"I died," he  starts, then frowns. A bit more direct than he should have been. "At least, I believe I did." He finally tears his eyes from the floor to look at Sephiran. He tries his best to not look upset, to keep his eyes unreadable, but he hears the tremor in his voice and knows it's probably too late for that. "All of my memories of the past month stop about halfway through, after I was caught in a fire. Based on how people have been treating me lately, I don't believe I survived." He pauses, his wings nervously pressing into his back. "So no, I don't think the church has been very kind to me lately."

He pauses, tilts his head. “You teach faith magic?” It’s quite possibly the worst attempt he’s ever made at steering a conversation, but again, no one’s taught him how to speak of his own death. “I have found the magic here to be similar to what I learned at home, though something feels off about it. Have you noticed that?” 

[albaccelerando]

divinetyrfing​:

it’s unexplainable the sensation that washes over him, the song a gentle hug that washes away negative emotions. the best he could liken it to was ethlyn’s healing hands in the past, but even describing it like that does not give it justice.

he stares at reyson for just a moment, in awe at the power of the heron’s gentle hum. "this is the magic you used in the battle earlier, isn’t it? the power of a heron?” he recognizes it once he gets ahold of himself again. “incredible. i see now why the knights were so invigorated with you at their side.” genuine praise with a lighthearted chuckle at the end.

Reyson nods. 

“They’re called galdrar.” His gaze falls to his hands, folded in his lap. “You could call them the power of the herons, though I believe that’s oversimplifying it. They’re sacred songs that invoke our seid magic.” He explains it slowly, like he’s said it a thousand times before. “Each song has a melody, and lyrics in the ancient tongue of Tellius to go with it. Both together invoke the power of the song. I- I don’t think I ever learned all of them. Just the most useful ones.” He shakes his head slightly, then fluffs his wings against his back. 

[albaccelerando]

Reyson finds himself staring down another ghost in the greenhouse. 

He’d just been minding his own business, really. He hadn’t been assigned any tasks for the day, and he’d found himself wandering again. He’d given up on trying to process what had happened last month, instead filing the memories away, focusing ahead like he always had. He’d let the soft, soothing voice of the forest replace the screaming of fire. 

The plants were nicer to talk to, anyway. 

He finds himself wandering towards the greenhouse today. It’s empty, as far as he knows. It’s quiet down by the glass building, and when he pushes open the door a bit of humidity settles on his wings. He closes the door behind him, and- 

“Sephiran,” he returns. He flicks his wings against his back. “I- Yes, the Church is letting us all recover from...” Well.  “Have you been well?” Reyson wishes the earth would swallow him again. Everything he could have said, and he chooses to make smalltalk. And not even interesting smalltalk! He feels his feathers fluffing with embarrassment. “I- I mean, when did you get here? Are you teaching here?”

@albaccelerando | fancy meeting you here

As a professor Sephiran is meant to spend the majority of his day teaching classes; however, new school year besides it is difficult to find students when one balks at the idea of interacting with others. He is not rude, or he does not think so, and all of the interactions he has had with the Blue Lions thus far have been perfectly pleasant but he is regrettably continuously quite available.

This would never have been the case in Begnion, and he is not quite sure how to deal with it here.

Thankfully it seems the goddess of Fodlan is ever merciful indeed and the office of the Archbishop herself has seen fit to grace him with duties on mornings where he wakes up with none. He’s grown quite accustomed to the second floor and her aide’s office, though this morning it is a young man who leads him to his destination on the ground floor of the monastery.

“Seems a few Blue Lions students have been playing hooky and the seeds in their side of the greenhouse are lower in bulk than we thought,” the Almyran calls behind him as Sephiran wonders at his brisk pace. Judging by the list he keeps lowering his head to check the boy might not even need to use his eyes to find where he’s going at all.

“So it’s your job to check the inventory and get to planting anything that needs it.” Once Sephiran has managed to fall into step with the other the list is promptly handed off to him. He takes it and the young man nods once before swiftly turning on his heel. “Okay, you know the way from here. Lady Rhea says “start promptly”. Oh, and you should be able to hear the lunch bell so don’t forget that. Good luck!”

Sephiran returns his wave before, still a bit bemused, entering from the back entrance of the greenhouse. He finds the plot indicated on the piece of paper swiftly enough and manages to drag over two boxes of the appropriate seedlings. Despite the foreignness of the job he’s almost started to find his rhythm before his eyes catch on the familiar glow of sunlight refracted off the ever shining hair of heron royalty.

He does not think Reyson had been initially looking at him when the man stopped to peer into the greenhouse but now that their eyes have met, well.

“Prince Reyson,” he greets, still uselessly holding his spade for some reason, “have the rounds been treating you well this morning?”

[albaccelerando]

saionofvalflame​:

It’d been an interesting time getting back into the swing of things, and Saias could not be more grateful for this chance to actually start the year (again) when everyone else did. Doing so made for more free time, especially since he’d narrowed down the subjects he wanted to focus in and dropped all the others, and much of this time was spent either with his new friends, his family, or in the greenhouse where the redhead got to enjoy gardening like he would do at home. When he heard about the beautiful pink trees, he knew he just had to go see them for himself. Perhaps he could pluck a few of the blossoms and press them into new charms or something of the like. He could give them to his friends and family as thanks for just being in his life… yes, that sounded quite nice.

As he ventured further into the forest (so unlike the one in which his friends had met their end, however temporary), the teen caught sight of a wondrous great cloud of pink and found himself tearing up at the display, especially when he noticed a familiar pair of white wings nearby. At home, he’d learned that cherry blossoms stood for the fleeting nature of life as well as new beginnings—two things that could not be more appropriate considering the heron’s death during the mission and the second chance Reyson had been given. Swallowing down the lump in his throat, he approached the angel-knight, smiling at the man’s greeting. “No worries… it is a beautiful sight after all. Definitely one that inspires contemplation, I think.” As he gazed up at the tree, he spotted little pink ribbons tied here and there among the lovely blossoms. Huh… interesting. I wonder if it’s a custom here and what the significance is.

Someone shoved something into his hand, and he glanced down, finding a pink ribbon in it courtesy of the enthusiastic woman nearby who gave him a nod and a wink. … Okay then. He listened to her as she prattled on about fate and—wait, destined love? Saias raised his eyebrows before blushing in embarrassment. Oops. He’d had no idea about the romantic notions surrounding the tree, and now he felt a little silly in coming here; he hadn’t thought about romance since his early teens. But… perhaps the fate part of it could prove helpful. It seemed a little bit like prayer, if he thought about it: one offers one’s desires up in the hopes that they will be granted, and one must believe that such a thing will happen. Yes… yes, that made sense.

Turning to Reyson, he smiled. “Well, what do you think?”

Reyson kept his eyes on the ribbon in his hands. 

“I think tying a ribbon up won’t do much for me now,” he said, his voice nearly breathless. He slid the silky fabric through his fingers, still lost in his own head. 

What could it do for him now? Any prayers for safety from a raging flame had obviously gone unanswered. Besides, he’d stopped praying to Ashera after, well... 

He sighed to himself, glanced back up at the tree. A ribbon for himself wouldn’t help much. However... 

“I’m going to tie it up for someone else.” A hint of resolve glimmered in his eyes. There were always others that needed to keep moving on. Those who would only pause where he had fallen before and keep walking. He’d done the same, all those years ago. He had fallen, but there were others moving on without him. 

Tibarn. Leanne. Rafiel. Sir Sigurd. Saias himself. 

“A lot of people,” he corrected himself. “I don’t know if that’s how it’s supposed to work, but...” He could fill an entire tree with his hopes for everyone around him. He would, too, if he wasn’t afraid of running out of ribbons. 

He approached the tree, then snapped his wings down to zip towards one of the higher branches. 

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divinetyrfing​:

he blinks, surprised at the sudden but small outburst of frustration. of course the heron has feelings too, they were just about human as anyone else he knew. he curses himself in his mind for being stupid then looks at reyson adamantly. "my apologies, reyson.” and then he shakes his head. “you are very useful to the group, i promise you that on my life.” and he means it. he’d seen how motivated the knights had become during battle with reyson’s songs, and he knows that a good amount of the knights would be injured if it weren’t for reyson’s help.

“i just-” and then he sighs, because he doesn’t truly know how to explain himself. it takes him a moment to come up with an explanation. “i didn’t like seeing you get hurt like that. it reminded me of someone dear to me.” and he figures he doesn’t need to mention that this ‘someone’ is his wife, unsure of how he would react to that.

Reyson flutters his wings again, glancing away apologetically. "I- thank you," he mumbles. He senses the strange flare of fondness from Sigurd, but he chooses to ignore it for now.

He fidgets with the hem of his shirt, regretting saying anything at all. His issues weren't Sigurd's, after all. The reassurance was still nice to hear. 

He shifts his injured arm cautiously, wincing slightly at the pain, but the arm is usable. He hums to himself, golden magic flowing from his other hand. The soft melody wraps around the both of them, bringing a gentle surge of energy. 

“That should help you.” He does his best to smile at Sigurd. 

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phoenix

[finally wrote reyson’s post-unlocked drabble.]

Someone is holding him, running a hand through his hair. 

There is pain, and though it is brief, it rips away whoever was holding him. 

He sings a galdr - to himself...?

Fire. 

Something holds him back, something caught on his boot, no, inky darkness from his heel. 

Someone is reaching for him, they only grab the edge of a wing and pull away a feather. 

His ankle burns. He hears someone howling. 

Someone is shooting arrows at him, someone is sending wind magic at him. 

There is blood on his hands. There are roses in his hands. 

A sword strikes him down. 

A wind spell knocks him out of the sky. 

He dies... twice...?

Someone speaks to him. He understands. 

Why is he a ghost...? 

Why is he a- ghost?

Why is he a ghost?

Why is he a ghost?!

Why is he a ghost why is he a ghost why is he a ghost-

He isn’t dead.

He surges upward, frantic wingbeats slamming him into the low wooden ceiling of his bedroom. Stunned, he falls, barely catching himself on his feet before crumpling to the floor again. He takes a breath. Then another. The third isn’t as hard. 

For a moment, he just listens to his panicked, pounding heart. His entire body is shaking but each shuddering breath is another cry of victory. He coughs. His body aches. 

Of course he’s alive. He’d come back from that mission, right... ignoring the fact he didn’t remember coming home, and all his memories ended in- 

The world spins for a moment. He feels like he’s holding Yune’s medallion against his very soul. He breathes, and his voice is a pained whine. He has to focus on something, anything that isn’t the fire, he’s burning, everything is burning and fire and he is singing again and 

Someone is knocking on his door. He forces his heavy eyes open again. Someone is standing outside the door, and they are concerned. He doesn’t place who it is, he doesn’t need to. 

Concern. It sounds slightly discordant, in the way a particularly crunchy harmony sounds - welcome in the right moments. It tastes savory in the back of his throat. He holds onto it, savors it even, as he slowly gets to his feet.

He is alive. 

He isn’t dead. 

Dead people don’t come back. 

They can’t. 

They can’t. 

They can’t...

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to change fate

[faith starter for @saionofvalflame]

Reyson wasn’t surprised to find himself wandering out to the forest today. His soul felt heavy for reasons he couldn’t explain, and the call of the forest outside was too much to ignore now. He hummed to himself as he walked, the simple tune easily tumbling from his lips. He came to the top of a hill and stepped off into the air, opening his wings to glide easily down to the bottom. The quiet murmur of the forest around him was comforting, and the song Reyson was singing fell quiet so he could listen. He let his eyes fall shut, the weight on his shoulders lifting for a moment- 

-someone else was in this forest. He glanced over towards the voice, cautiously following it. The song of the forest only got louder as he approached, and he ducked under a low branch to see the source. 

Reyson had never seen anything like it. The massive tree draped over the clearing, its leaves a blushing shade of pink. A beorc woman sat underneath it, leaning against a bag spilling over with fabric. The entire tree shuddered in the breeze, and Reyson realized that it was weighed down with hundreds of tiny pink ribbons, almost the same shade as the leaves. The beorc woman stood and approached him, a ribbon in her hand. 

Fate. Destined love. He took the ribbon, not because he believed he needed it, but because he hadn’t had time to say ‘no thank you.’ He ran his fingers along the soft material, thinking. A ribbon to change his fate. What would he have done with this all those years ago? What would he do with it now? 

His train of thought was stopped by someone else standing next to him. He blinked, fluffing his wings against his back. 

“Hello, Saias. Sorry, I was thinking...”

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❰❰ BRUSH ❱❱ sender plays with / brushes receiver’s hair

The offer from Elincia was kind - perhaps too kind. If she had seen the state of his hair, full of knots and tangles, she probably wouldn’t have offered.

Maybe she had seen it, and that was why she’d offered.

Either way, she was brushing his hair out now, her hands gently working the brush through it. He fiddled with his circlet in his hands.

“I- I cannot thank you enough, Elincia,” he said, not wanting to turn around and disrupt her but still feeling awkward about the lack of eye contact. His wings, normally tensed by his sides, relaxed, almost melting to the floor behind him, one on either side of her. He felt the ghost of an easy smile on his lips, and he didn’t want to fight it today.

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❰❰ EMBRACE ❱❱ "Reyson!" Saias is delighted to see the "angel knight," as he likes to call him, out and about. He heads over to the blonde and effectively glomps onto him as gently as he can—herons, he's learned, are a bit more fragile than humans, and he doesn't want to hurt the older man. "How are you today? How is work going for you, is everything running smoothly?"

Reyson glances up when he hears his name, scanning the courtyard until he spots the familiar face in the crowd. A faint smile breaks onto his face, and he's moments away from responding with his own greeting before -

Ah.

Reyson tries his best not to look uncomfortable. Saias seems to understand that Reyson isn't built for squeezing, and he returns the hug after a moment.

"It's good to see you, Saias. Everything's been going well here, how have you been?"