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@crimsenza​ sent:   [ cup ] almedha & pelleas <3  ( prompt. ) 

    For the first time in his nineteen years of life, the orphanage tells Pelleas that there's someone who wants to see him. He knows it's not him specifically. They've been going through everyone, he's noticed. Kids far younger than him have made their way to the meeting room, leaving it and then having another name called. This must be a picky prospective parent, Pelleas thinks to himself as he keeps to himself in his corner as he always does.

He thinks to leave the building. Being here will just make him restless. No one's been granted freedom to roam outside as this guest remains, clearing through their entire roster. Pelleas can feel the eyes of the other orphans in there on him, burning through him with their gazes.

The longer he stays here, the longer he cannot stand it. He's being a nuisance, he knows it. He stands up, intent upon finding some way, but it's just then his name is called.

He's the last of them.

He's ushered into a room, and before he can get a proper word in, the man there seems pleased beyond comprehension at the first sight of him. How? Everything moves far too smoothly from that point, and before he knows it, he’s following the man outside of the orphanage to meet someone.

Your mother, he tells Pelleas. 

When he meets the woman the man, Izuka he’s learned, wishes to connect him with, she stands there with a veil covering her face, expression unreadable but one Pelleas guesses must be of mourning by the way she dresses.

So they've come to replace a child. He has no idea why they'd bother with one his age though.

But following a hushed conversation, the woman from before rushes forward and cups his face, the strength in her hands and limbs unable to allow Pelleas to escape her grasp. He freezes, eyes wide and blood singing, begging to scramble away as she gazes at him, sweeps his bangs to the side—

He almost cries out in protest, but she is too quick, and he knows there is nothing he can do. She has seen it. They have come for him, and they have found the red lines that mark his forehead vividly for her to see now that she has moved past his one defense.

He wants to shrink back, wants to flee, but the warmth he feels in those hands at his face, the tender love he can feel from the woman's smile, everything— it all culminates into one image he finds he cannot fight.

Even before she will ever tell him one day, a part of him can feel it: this woman loves him so, cradling him already as if he were her son.

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@fillespreferees​ sent:  [ WOUND ]:          upon noticing a recent injury on the receiver’s person, the sender carefully moves closer, running a thumb (or hand) across the wound in a gentle, troubled manner.((for Deimne from Julia!))  ( prompt. )

   “ Mm. You don't need to be gentle on my account. ”  Julia's a fairly new addition to the Rebel Army, but already she is being put to work healing the various people fighting alongside Sir Seliph. Deimne barely knows the girl, mysterious as she is, but she has moments like this that remind him of how tirelessly she works on their behalf.

It reminds him a bit of his sister in a way.

When she touches his wound so gently, looks at it with such worried eyes, he too cannot help but grow a little concerned for her sake. If she really did mean to become a healer in their ranks, will she look this way to them all? Does she stare at every cut, every singe, every scar like it will break her heart to know them?

Maybe it's all she thinks she can do to fit in. After all, all of the people fighting alongside Sir Seliph right now were his childhood friends. Even Muirne and Deimne both, the newest additions, have spent quite a few years in Isaach by his side and training underneath Sir Oifey and Lady Edain's care.

But... Julia? She was all alone for now, the fish out of water. Deimne sighs, shooting her the best attempt at a smile he can to try and ease her worries. If she needed a bone thrown her way, he could do that much at least.

“ 'pose Muirne missed a spot back there. It'll heal right back up, I'm sure, but... if you wanna heal it, I'll let ya. ”

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@fabuelix​​ sent:  [ HUSH ]: while standing close to one another and hiding from pursuers, the sender reaches up and places a finger against the receiver’s lips to prevent them from speaking and revealing their location. ( from daisy, to deimne !! )  ( prompt. )

   “ Hey, what are you do—? Mmph?! ”  Deimne's words are cut off by the touch of the thief's finger to his lips. Though it's hardly much of a deterrent, he begrudgingly accepts it this time, willing to bide his time before he asks again, even if he's tempted to roll his eyes.

The two of them stand there, pressed up against each other in an alleyway. They were merely meant to grab some supplies for the Liberation Army, but without much warning, all thoughts of shopping had been dashed away as Daisy had pulled him roughly into hiding, clearly trying her best to make sure they looked as small and out of sight as possible.

He hears a few sets of footsteps rush past, and it's a few moments of tense silence before Daisy seems to relax ( as far as he can tell, though he always thought she was relaxed— always except he supposes now, this new stern side of hers a discovery he knows not what to make of quite yet ) and a clear sign that the coast must be clear.

“ So. ”  The archknight lightly pushes her hand away from his lips.  “ Do I get an explanation now? Hm. Or do you plan on keeping me pushed up against a wall all day...? ”

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@patroklides​ sent:   [ WOUND ], from micaiah to pelleas!  ( prompt. )

[ WOUND ]:          upon noticing a recent injury on the receiver’s person, the sender carefully moves closer, running a thumb (or hand) across the wound in a gentle, troubled manner.

   Pelleas winces at such a touch, not before he utters a choked,  “ I'm sorry. ”  His whisper comes out but he fears it came out too late; he cannot hide the fact his instinct was to reject the comfort of another, and even if he could, his apology has made it plain to see.

It is always his choices that take him to the worst possible route, why his life has turned into this mess from which he cannot pick up the pieces to reassemble. Micaiah has far more wounds on her person than him for his foolish mistakes, dragging her into a war that has led them to very nearly the end of the world, and yet here she is still reaching out for him in worry.

The Tower of Guidance feels so quiet in this moment, amplifying the hugeness of everything, that he hides his voice in quiet tones so as to not hear it resound.

“ I'm... It's not you. I'm just unused to touch still. ”  Yes, his mother has oft shown her affection, but it is crushing in its love, enough to have made him run from it on the journey here. And that is not to say anything of those who hold no love for those with a mark like his upon his forehead.

He may not be one of the Branded, but he has known what ire gets pushed upon them. Memories of horrid pains lance across his flesh at the first sign of contact against him, evoking such shudders from him.

“ ...I-I'm sorry, ”  he tells her again, daring to layer his hand over hers to try and bring it back— to prove that he can do this and to tell her that it's alright.

She could never hurt him. But even if she wanted to, he knows in his heart he would let her. If she decided here and now he must burn for the world to mend itself, he would accept her judgment in a heartbeat, no regrets to be had with it.

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fillespreferees​:

Guinivere tenses when she hears the footsteps behind her. She’s been found. Another potential suitor has come to lead both her and her aching feet back onto the dance floor. Or worse. Perhaps Father has come to scold her for her rudeness to their hosts for the evening. At that thought, she quickly straightens her posture and fixes her face into a polite smile before turning around to greet whomever has joined her.

“Brother!” Relief is clearly evident in her voice. She’s tried to make excuses to speak with him all evening but each time, something managed to ruin it. Another guest would pull one of them off into a dance or the king would insist on introducing her at that exact moment to another young noble. But now, finally, she can share a moment with her beloved brother. “I was beginning to worry I wouldn’t get to see you at all this evening.”

The princess’s lip puffs into a slight pout. Zephiel parrots the instructions their father made certain she understood. She knows how important her first appearance in noble society is now that she is no longer a little girl. She’s felt every set of eyes on her since her arrival to the ball had been announced and heard her name whispered when it was assumed she wasn’t paying attention.

“My cheeks hurt from so much smiling and my poor toes are sore from so much dancing.” Guinivere hops up to sit on the railing of the balcony and lets her elegant dancing slippers slide off her feet. “But it’s near impossible to remain dour with you here, Zephy.”

   Though today was meant to mark a day of Guinivere's growth, she was still the same as always, it looked. Zephiel doesn't know whether to sigh or to laugh at her obvious lounging even in as stiff a place as this.

He wonders if he lived in Bern's palace proper, would he be able to be a part of such a idyllic life as this? Were such joys waiting for him once he earns his father's approval— his love? Could there come a day when he too could kick off his shoes and relax as she does, become the man less than what he must always strive to be?

What happy times to look forward to if so, but it's wishing for such things that make him childish and why St. Elimine refuses his prayers so. He must step in and be a better brother than this.

“ Let our chat here be your moment of respite then, so you may rally your strength and finish the night well. ”  Zephiel moves slightly away from the railing so as to be able to block her image from the sight of anyone who might approach them out here, giving a chance to save Guinivere's reputation should they be interrupted.  “ I could use the moment as well. Though please be careful while you sit, Guinivere. I can hide you from prying eyes, but Father will cry if you fall from here. ”

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what if we were married…and we were happy……..haha jk……..

…unless?

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   “ You're mistaken. I have no idea what you're talking about. ”  The words Coirpre says towards the woman are harsh, and though he knows he lacks tact outside of his job, ( a trait others would say his being a Thracian is to blame ) he brings it out primarily when he feels like he is justified to. When the person he is speaking to is being rude, like some of the mercenaries who come by his father's manse or like the girl with the long blonde braid in Seliph's army.

Maybe Silvia wasn't being rude per se, but he's not sure how else to react to some strange woman he's never met before coming up, grabbing him, and telling him that he's her son.

“ I don't have a mother. I haven't had one since I was a baby, ”   he tells her more firmly, trying to be clear and logical in how he rebukes her.  “ And my father has never taken a wife. So I’ve no reason to have a mom. ”  // @fillespreferees  ( silvia. )

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𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐆𝐎 👀.

okay so i got like, three books delivered this week, and in anticipation i reread another book that i had, and lads, let me tell ye, it was like quicksand. so now i have a list, some from my head, many from my wonderful friends’ heads, of prompts that basically made us all very soft or very “pleasantly scandalized rich lady from the sixties who just found out a juicy bit of goss about the new neighbor”. i hope ye like them! (DO NOT ADD TO THE LIST. I WILL MAKE A PART TWO. AND THREE. AND FOUR. MANY MANY PARTS. EVENTUALLY. )

[ HAIR ]:          sender slowly reaches out to catch a loose strand of the receiver’s hair and tuck it gently and securely back behind their ear, letting their touch linger afterwards. (if the receiver has short hair, then the sender reaches out and gently runs their fingers through their hair to smooth it back.)

[ CLOSE ]:          while standing remarkably close to one another, the sender is unable to stop themselves from running their gaze across the receiver’s body, lingering for a moment on their lips, before returning to initiate prolonged, intense eye contact.

[ CHIN ]:          as they stand close to one another, the sender hooks a finger and tenderly lifts the receiver’s chin, tilting it up so that they can look at one another, and running a thumb across their skin lightly.

[ THUMB ]:          while cupping the receiver’s cheek in their hand, the sender slowly glides their thumb across their cheekbone in a tender, sweeping caress.

[ WOUND ]:          upon noticing a recent injury on the receiver’s person, the sender carefully moves closer, running a thumb (or hand) across the wound in a gentle, troubled manner.

[ INHALE ]:          while standing in very close quarters to the receiver, the sender shakily inhales with desire/anticipation as they realize how intimately close they are to one another.

[ DANCE ]:          when alone together (e.g. the bedroom, the kitchen, literally anywhere once they’re alone) the sender takes the receiver’s hand, and pulls them into a graceful yet intimate dance as a spontaneous act.

[ BARE ]:          as they get undressed, the sender gently places a soft, tender kiss against the receiver’s bare shoulder.

[ SCAR ]:          noticing a scar on the receiver’s skin, the sender tentatively stops them from covering it up, and rests a gentle, soft kiss over it.

[ FOREHEAD ]:          placing a hand on the back of the receiver’s neck, the sender guides them close and rests their foreheads together.

[ PALM ]:          taking the receiver’s hand, the sender brings it to their mouth, and places a tender kiss against the receiver’s palm.

[ LINGER ]:          taking the receiver’s hand, the sender lifts it to their lips, and gently kisses their knuckles, lingering for a moment before withdrawing.

[ BEHIND ]:         upon entering the same room as the receiver, the sender steps behind them, and winds their arms around the receiver’s waist, drawing them close against them.

[ WAIT ]:          realizing the receiver is about to leave the room, the sender hastily reaches out and catches their wrist, preventing them from continuing their departure.

[ ARM ]:          after holding their hand, the sender releases the receiver, but slowly glides their hand up the full length of their arm, lingering on the upper arm, then the shoulder, then resting their touch against the side of their neck.

[ HOLD ]:          while close to the receiver, the sender wordlessly takes a hold of their hand, for no other purpose than to be holding it.

[ PLAY ]:          while sitting together, the sender absently lifts the receiver’s hand, idly running their fingertips across the lines of their palms, mapping out every inch of their hand with slow, lazy touches.

[ GUIDE ]:          in the process of guiding the receiver through a crowded place, the sender’s hand protectively grazes against the small of their back

[ TOUCH ]:          while touching the receiver’s waist, the sender’s hand briefly dips beneath the hem of their shirt, skimming briefly across the bare skin of their waist.

[ CUP ]:           bringing both hands up to cup the receiver’s face, the sender draws them in closer to them in order to get a better look at their face.

[ TUG ]:          the sender tugs the receiver close against them by resting a hand against the small of their back, pulling them flush against their body.

[ HUSH ]:          while standing close to one another and hiding from pursuers, the sender reaches up and places a finger against the receiver’s lips to prevent them from speaking and revealing their location.

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my activity feed being broken........ yeah that’s fair KSJLSKJRGR

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   “ Oh, right... that owl is just like that. Don't mind her. ”  Leif had honestly almost forgotten the owl's existence, but perhaps he shouldn't have. Feh likely held a bounty of information he could use, having been here with the Order for as long as she has been, connected to all these heroes of different worlds...

There was still so much he wanted— no, needed to learn, and that was one resource he had been ignoring already. How many more avenues of potential could he be missing out on?

“ ...I really do need people like you here, ”   he mutters aloud after this revelation, not in response to any one thing in particular that Karin was saying, though she was indeed saying plenty. At her request, he thinks it over a moment before giving a slow nod.

“ I should warn you that most of us aren't here. I'm not sure how many August thinks there are, but it's mostly just our numbers back from Fiana with a few other faces like Sara, Asbe, Miranda, and Ronan... Oh, Lifis too, I guess... sort of. ”

Though he hadn't seen the man since the Pirate Festival. Strange. Well, if he ever came back, he'd come back of his own accord...

“ Oh! Some of Lord Seliph's army is here though. And even heroes from before us... I still have a hard time believing it, really. ”  // @flowinglikestars​ ( cont. )

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     The night air feels so cool like this, a welcome reprieve from how stuffy the opulent halls of House Terrowin's estate could be. It took some time, but Zephiel finally finds the window of opportunity to excuse himself from the party, escaping into the balcony adjacent to the ballroom.

But he is not the only one, it would seem. The company is not unwelcome however, for he could smile at the sight of this person forever, each moment shared a special treasure for how rare it is.

“ I see you have found your way out here as well, Guinivere. ”  Though he had been exhausted just moments earlier, it's like it all melts away as he takes a place at her side, leaning one of his hands on the railing as a gentle breeze sweeps past them both.

This party had been that year's debutante ball, and knowing that both Princess Guinivere and Prince Zephiel would be in attendance was enough to bring what seemed like the entire continent into this one place. The fact it was hosted in a place owned by neither the King or Queen proved fortunate, however, for Zephiel isn't convinced he would have been able to see his sister so early in the month without this neutral ground first.

Though he wishes to be sweet, it's evident his sister is out here for similar reasons to himself, and so his brotherly instincts kick in, remembering his duty to support her journey into maturation. He makes a compromise, his voice a gentle scold as he says,  “ However, I must tell you to try not to look so dour. I know it may be difficult, but greeting all the nobles here is important. Everyone here has come for you, after all. ”   // @fillespreferees  ( guinivere. )

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fieryties​:

Slow people are slow.

come on, play nice.

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( tw: brief misgendering in dialogue )

    “ trick or treat, ”  byleth tells one of the harvest festival attendees in his trademark deadpan tone. they laugh at him, reminding him that at his age, it's supposed to be him giving out the candy rather than asking for it.

there is a beat of silence that passes before he visibly — or rather, audibly — reacts. it's nothing more than a quiet,  “ oh. ”

he truly hadn't known.

though he was sheltered, it wasn't as if this had been a holiday he had learned about from either his father or his time at the monastery. it was an entirely new, entirely foreign, and for that reason, he had decided it was worth giving it a try.

his father had warned him to be cautious about things he learned from this point forwards, but he also wished for him to enjoy life— to grow, to bloom, to transform, just like the woman before him had done so through learning from the stories his father had told her.

it is with knowledge of a world she had never stepped foot in that had caused her to smile, and perhaps byleth could do so too. perhaps the child takes after the mother in so many ways if not all but strength.

the archbishop is in attendance to this strange festival too, but despite that, she seems completely in her element. there is something about her that byleth can never place; he finds he never really can, whether it is a time of severity or one of irresponsibility like this.

she is the storm, the calm, and the whimsy all at once. she can adapt to anything, but she is also the stone that anchors so many people. she is a presence that is hard to ignore, but no matter how byleth stares at her, he never truly understands her.

he wonders if that is why his father was so cautious around her and told him to be too.

“ so you couldn't even obtain a single piece of candy to add to our hoard, could you? ”  sothis's voice breaks him out of his reverie, but this time, it is not looking skywards to the sound of her voice in his mind that his eyes travel; instead, they glance downwards to where she stands at his side, plenty of treats within her hands.

though she is the same as always, she is at the same time not at all. her voice sounds less like a dream and more bound in reality. if byleth wished to, he could reach out and weave his fingers through her green locks, know that she was there physically and able to react to his touch just like any other person could.

the person byleth had requested candies from earlier giggles again at the sight of the two of them.  “ i see. so it was for your daughter that you were asking about those candies for. ”

sothis only now acknowledges the third party's presence, a bit aghast at the way the two of them come off as, but it is evident this other person doesn't see her reaction as anything other than a child's petulance.

“ you're a darling father, going so far to make her happy, but the two of you ought to spend more of the festival together. go now! the night is young, and the two of you have such adorable costumes together. ”

byleth nods, accepting of this new directive even if it comes not from a superior at all.

even as a professor, byleth finds it far easier to follow orders than to be making them. every step of this festival proves it. this costume had been picked out for him by sothis when she had mentioned:

“ so, tell me. you say you were called the ‘ ashen demon? ’ ”  he had nodded.  “ what a terrifying name, but perhaps it will be the perfect thing for our trickeries to be! a witch and her demon familiar: the two of us will make quite the pair, i say. ”

he had nodded again, no complaint in mind.

if that's what sothis had wanted, then it would be. she had saved his life once after all, and there was nothing about the arrangement that went against his values.

( what are his values? does anything at all go against them? )

byleth's not sure. he's never thought about it. even during this festival where sothis has been granted a corporeal form separate from him at last, it is to her that his eyes wander and it is to her whims that he follows.

what about this then, at its core, is truly different from normal?

“ let's go, ”  he tells her, taking a few steps forward. sothis finds no trouble keeping up once she realizes they are moving, kicking up to float beside him.

“ why, isn't this interesting? so you have someplace you wish to go to yourself! ”

“ not particularly. ”

“ hmph! and here i had thought you were finally showing a bit of initiative, but you tell me it was empty? ”  the progenitor goddess sighs.  “ very well then, allow me to lead us to more treats. don't be getting lost behind me now! ”

and off she shoots, byleth working into a sprint to chase after her, ornamental tail swishing behind him. he can hear some onlookers finding amusement in their high-speed hunt, and all the ashen demon can wonder is what sort of impression do they give off now?

is it still that of a parent and child? or has that illusion been dispelled?

at all times, not just at this harvest festival, what do people see when they look at byleth? and will it ever match the truth? or will he simply have to learn to change, to transform like his mother before him, and become the person who can overlap that image himself?

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    “ tell someone if you aren't holding up well. obviously someone reliable, so steer clear of the likes of luke, but ryan or our leader should be fine. ”  it's this that roderick tells katarina not after the conclusion of a fight but rather out of the blue when he is assigned to tend to the various steeds in their army. he knows they had done this just because they knew he wasn't lenient when it came to messes, and so out of all the free people that week, he was the best choice to pair up with their traitor-turned-ally again, but even though it was for his sensible side that he'd been given this duty for, it is his less than logical side that has him advising the tactician like this.

even after everything, she was still someone who had shared the seventh platoon's victories and mistakes both. if anything, it was likely her who had been the most anguished when the hour of her betrayal had come.

he's a knight, but he is a brother first, and his brotherly instinct tells him to forgive when someone knows they have done wrong. if katarina truly was to be reintegrated, then they couldn't be having her fearful and on edge wherever she went.

“ ...i know cecil has been giving you a hard time. bear with it for a little. she's... less than sure how to deal with delicate things like this, and even less subtle too. ”  // @heartwilled​ ( sc. )

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matching halloween costumes~