#fenrena

[theofficersacademy]

Life came at me faster than expected. I would like to drop Sharena. Thank you for the warm welcome, and I'm sorry for the sudden departure.

Sharena has been dropped and is now available!

- Mod Ree

[herrings]

truth that dwells within,

there’s an odd sensation in linhardt as he walks the streets of fhirdiad; he’d like to call it a guilty conscience. fhirdiad is a shell of itself in the devastation of war, a capital city in prominence but surely no longer in spirit. while it isn’t desolate, it certainly feels as if it should be as civilians are controlled under a scrutinizing eye; laughter becomes nothing more but a distant memory as people hurry past, their head cast downwards as if to avoid the gaze of soldiers.

his father stands for this. senseless bloodshed, the subjugation of a country, and the suffering of innocents. linhardt is unaware of how he clenches his jaw, knuckles blanched as hands ball to instinctive fists, the foreign sensation of ire pulsating through his veins. the entire climate of this war-- truthfully, linhardt can’t understand it. why must sovereign leaders resort to brute force to make others submit to their ideals, why is diplomacy so frequently overlooked, and why does no one cherish the value of a life?

he walks in relative silence , sharena at his right, until they arrive at an entrance to a bakery. it’s only then, when the sweet aroma of freshly baked confections gently appeals to his senses, that linhardt finds himself relaxing. his knuckles crack as he frees his fists, apathy never once deprived from soft features as the hevring heir casts his ‘guard’ a glance.

“since you’re supposedly my guardian,” the heir speaks in a low murmur, only for sharena’s ears to hear him, “you enter first; i’ll follow behind.” @fenrena

[asphuxia]

She trots up to Eir. "Eir! I heard it was your birthday." She holds out a boxed present, wrapped in gold paper for her, eyes watching her expectantly as if she were hoping she'd open it now. "Happy birthday. I know we're far away from your realm, but I hope this brings you some comfort." In the box is a small plushie replica of Eir's dark pegasus mount.

“princess sharena,” eir greets her, ever monotonous tones of voice slightly lifted into brighter shades at the sight of the princess. her expression falls for a moment, countenance askance— she felt some rendition of guilt at the statement, for she knew that she herself couldn’t tell if this day was, in fact, her ‘birthday’. but she understands very clearly that as a mortal herself, she should have had a moment of time when her lives were first started— so eir nods. “it… is, yes.”

eir watches in minute curiosity as sharena holds out a box to her— a gift, eir supposes, for she had learned that they were a rather common birthday tradition beyond flower-giving— wrapped in a colour akin to her hair. it contrasts with the lack of colour within her nearly bloodless skin, and eir cannot help but feel a little out of place at the thought of it in her hands. she reaches out, tentative grasp around the edges of the gift until it is fully within her hands. both doubt and confusion— and perhaps, the hint of excitement— amalgamate into a look upon eir’s face, and her eyes lift to meet sharena’s; the gold goes well with the emerald of her eyes, she notices. 

but her observations are not confined to the colour of the askran noble’s eyes, and eir swallows a question as sharena watches her with expectancy. ashen hands, shielded by stygian leather pull hesitantly at the ends of the paper; unfurling the gift out of it’s wrap. eir picks it apart as though she is reluctant to ruin it— until the paper falls and reveals the box inside to her. her thoughts stumble to a halt; she almost faces sharena for guidance— but she lifts the lid off. 

                                               ...

“…oh. ” every vowel and consonant of every word catches upon the walls of eir’s throat, reaching far enough to resonate in the furthest caverns of her mouth— but end there. the contents of the golden box reduces her to atlas with the world in her hands— every stitch and hatch a wide sea and wilderness, black thread sewn with white into the gradients of a bright azure. eir thinks it twice the weight of ruling the dead; a tremble growing from the paled veins of her wrist, trailing to her fingertips. she lifts the plushie out of it’s box, setting it aside. her hands run over every part of it, cotton and faux fur nothing in comparison to the real thing— but every bit as comforting and loving to her. 

routinely downcast eyes glances upwards, tempest blue coming to meet mossy green. her half-alive heart races as it has never done in her memories; it sets every drop of blood that courses through her veins aflame— bursting into light as her heart leaps into the fire. that light travels from her chest, centering from her sternum ( as she breathes— neither slow nor measured—for fire hungered for air, ) to her neck; burning with words she had neither the strength nor capability to ply from her throat. it acts as ash upon the walls of her skin, thoughts as fuel— it reaches her face, rosy and burning; from her trembling lips to her eyes— swimming within tears she blinks away. she cannot cry. “i-i’m sorry, this…”

“... thank you,” she whispers, gloved hand pressing against the side of her cheek ( despite her efforts ) wet with tears; a hint of saline upon her tongue. azure hues shift once again to meet sharena’s eyes; they twinkle with a fervent joy that eir had seldom experienced in her lives, and through her tears comes a nearly soundless laugh— the ghost of a smile. “i truly adore it.”

[forlornwyvernrider]

"Hiiiiya, Gerome!" A loud call for the other before she bounds up to him, skidding to a stop in front of him, spraying some sand in his face. "Oh, sorry! Anyway, can you sign my arm? It's very important to me that you do!" She is also patting off some of the sand that got on him. Oops.

A heavy sigh escapes him as she pats him down, patience tested.No good ever came out of mingling with others. This was proof of it. He should really just fly away somewhere no one can bother him, if only Minerva didn’t enjoy the feel of the water... 

He doesn’t care if it was important to the hyperactive blonde, but he is tempted to agree solely because he wants to give a condition: Only if you say your name.

No, it’s far too late for that. Perhaps he can just declare he’s part of this game too, but that would mean hinting he’s a babe hunter-- no, he’d never say that.

His pride.

His pride....

HIS PRIDE.

“...” Just say it. Just ask. “...let’s get this over with.” Quill grabbed, he writes his name on her arm, grumbling as he does. His pride. His pride...

He returns the quill, but puts up his arm in return.

“A signature for a signature.” No context given, just a signature asked. He’s burning up. Naga, take him now. But goddamn it. He refused to be in the dark another second longer.

[wolfhednn]

♖ — Do people, in your muse’s opinion, ever really change? Do they believe themselves to be capable of changing?

             +  /    LIFE PHILOSOPHY HC’S.  /  @agneas & @fenrena

in a word — he would prefer for things and people to never change, but is rational enough to ruefully recognize that, of course, they do. and that often what changes can’t be bought back by any means.

felix is a traditionalist and, more importantly, someone who doesn’t take well to change. he’s generally slow to adapt, largely because he finds a lot of safety in routine and familiarity, and therefore change disrupts his sense of personal security. it puts him in a vulnerable position of newness, one where he doesn’t know what’s expected or where to go from here. any ‘uncharted waters’, so to speak, puts him on edge until he finds out what the new normal is.

i think we can see this from a number of his supports; whenever he makes a remark about how someone “never changes”, it’s said approvingly or in relief ( even if exasperated ).

FELIX: You never change. SYLVAIN: Nope. I try to stay on an even keel. FELIX: You’re always…

he doesn’t say it in that moment, but it comes out later, in their A+ support, that it was meant as a compliment:

FELIX: I am… grateful. You’ve been doing this since we were children. Constantly fooling around, but then showing up and helping when we really need you.

likewise, in the byleth S support:

FELIX: Finally, you came. Wars begin and end, but this place never changes. And you don’t change either.

it’s hard to discern through just text, but his tone here is one of palpable contentment as he looks around the training grounds of garreg mach and finds comfort in the fact that it’s remained the same, as has byleth.

that being said, of course, he does realize people change and situations change. he himself is the greatest example of that to himself: as sylvain tells us, felix has become a completely different person from the sweet crybaby child he was before duscur, and dimitri also clues us into this in both their shared group task completion lines and dining hall lines. in each of these instances, felix fires back with dismissal, either deflecting or getting annoyed at the other person for bringing up his past self that’s as good as dead.

he also struggles with the idea that dimitri and ingrid ( at least, as far as he believes ) have changed from the people he knew, and groups them along with the sense of alienation he felt after his brother’s death when it seemed to him that his whole idea of reality and faerghus itself was changing into something he no longer recognized. so just like with faerghus, he pushes them away or tries to conceptualize them to himself in a way that makes it easier for him to digest: in the case of dimitri especially, by ascribing a very black and white view on him because that’s easier than wrestling with the idea that both dimitri and this ‘monster’ exist inside someone he thought he knew so well. ( he comes to this in their A support of course, but that’s not until 5 years and much emotional maturation later ).

the contrast to this is, of course, sylvain, who, felix believes, hasn’t changed since they were kids — a kind of anchor amidst the storm, if you will. and for him, this is definitely a source of solace: the seemingly only familiar thing that remains.

as for whether he believes himself to be capable of changing, we only need to look at the seteth support for that:

FELIX: I’ll consider your advice, but I’m not usually one to change my mind.

i think felix unconsciously actually considers rigidity to be something of a positive characteristic, emblematic of strength, self-possession, self-knowledge, and principle. he’s very stubborn when he’s set in his ways ( some of this comes from a coping mechanism he had to employ in the wake of duscur in order to resist the erasure of his own experiences, but that’s an essay for another time ), and he’d probably be the first to say that he’s not a changeable person. but i think he’s a little more open than he gives himself credit for, as in a number of his supports, it’s clear that he is someone who takes what others say into account and that his perspective on a person or situation can change more than he recognizes.

[alfvangr]

Celica was so vicious! She heard that pie hit Alfonse from like a 1000 miles away! She rushes to his side and pulls him into a hug, dramatically "weeping" as she says, "No! No, Alfonse! Speak, Alfonse, speak! Don't leave me, brotheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeer!!!!!!"

“Sharena... if you stand here too long, you might just find yourself defeated in the same manner,” he remarks with a laugh. Because there is no mercy on the battlefield, and as much as he appreciates the (overly dramatic) sentiment, someone would see it as an opportunity to remove her from the running as well. “You’ll have to carry on in my place, I’m afraid.” That said, if she would let go of him now so he can get his uniform washed and cleaned...

[braveryinblue]

Feet patter against sand before she skids to a stop in front of him. A quill in one hand, she slaps her stomach with the other. "Sign my abs, Hector! It's important!" Ah, wait, has she introduced herself to this Hector? Eh, it'll be fine.

The pitter patter of feet... He doesn’t have to lift his head from where he’s sunning to know. He just feels it in his gut. Here comes trouble.

Half-lidded, judging eyes watch as Sharena skids to a stop before him. It seems she has forgotten what she had put him through already...

But. He hasn’t.

“I think not, you sorceress. No doubt this is somehow another of your conniving tricks, like those bedeviled sprinkles of yours.” With a scowl, he waves her away. and pushes himself from his back to his stomach, laying his head on his arms. “Go bother some other sap.”

[maesterofmagic]

A wittwe cheek kiss perhaps? :3

Cherry kisses~

     Up next to the booth was the girl with unmistakable pink frosted tips on blonde hair. It always reminded her of a cookie, like the sugar ones that were one degree away from being dough covered in powder and sugar. They had the strangest mouth feel, but they were tasty nonetheless.

    Oh, right. She should be tending to her customers instead of dreaming about cookies. Though, perhaps she could find them when she swaps shifts with Celica.

    "Sharena, I'm glad you could make it!" Mae points to the sign above her. "Lucky for you, they are free and just so happen to be a common greeting in Zofia." She presses a chaste kiss to Sharena’s cheek.

    “Ah, but before you go!” She ducks underneath the booth, returning a moment later with a plump and ripe orange. She extends her arm, offering up the fruit. "Albeit, a little belated, but my apologies... for throwing up on your shoes."

    There wasn't anything a little citrus couldn't fix! Well, flying sickness perhaps. Green apples were more apt for that job.

[hungrymage]

A sucker resting between her fingers in one hand, and a quill in the other, Sharena smiles at Ilyana. "One sucker for one signature on my arm. How does that sound, Ilyana?"

Beach Paradise! 

Why can’t all trades be like this? Poor girl; Ilyana totally got the better end of this little deal. Who cares about some signature? She deftly plucks the sucker out of...whatever her name is grip. 

Candy firmly between her teeth, Ilyana accepts the quill and scrawls her signature. 

[sweettoothforhire]

She has one pie left on her broom. She jumps from the room, silent as mouse, and swings her broom (pie tied to the end of it) down on Gaius. "Free candy!" she cries, hoping to catch his attention.

“Where?!” The bait worked, as simple as it may be. If he fell for the bait of free pie, free candy definitely got his attention. He looks excitedly at the the direction of the one that shouted, only to see pie already being flung at him.

Not amused by the treachery, Gaius quickly takes out his sword and cuts the pie in half. “...you lied about the candy, didn’t you?” He was less pissed, and more hurt. Candy....

[theofficersacademy]

I would like to drop Beleth, Sharena, and Alm. Thanks for all the memories 💗

Byleth (F), Sharena, and Alm have been dropped and are now available!

- Mod Ree

[herrings]

determination.

@fenrena​

it hurts.

the pain, once distance, crawls closer. he feels it in his arm, his thigh, his abdomen-- numbed ringing pulses greater until whispers become roars, until muscles squeeze and cry out in agony. it’s paralyzing, nauseating.

his jaw grits in silent anguish, he feels his stomach churning. bleary eyes pierces their faltering vision into the dark, unable to discern any evidence of surroundings besides gold. hammering continues against linhardt’s temple, his head throbbing as the world sways and sways.

tongue dry, no words are able to be uttered from the heir as a quivering hand moves. it presses against something soft-- flesh? linhardt stirs once more, a pathetic gesture as his body falters back upon the surface beneath it. bearing through dissonance, linhardt dares to flutter his eyes open again.

blonde hair, faded to amaranth pink. dirtied skin, furrowed brows, concentrated---

sharena.

linhardt moves his hand once more, pressing against her shoulder. he inhales, mustering strength he has yet to obtain, and grimaces. his palm buzzes alive, a weak sigil attempting to curl from his fingertips. it fails, wisps of light fading to nothingness as the heir feels his consciousness threatening to plummet once more. he clenches his jaw, tighter, and attempts to summon the spell once more.

nothing.

his arm flops back downwards. he holds his silence. 

[asphuxia]

“ walk with me? ”

“do not worry. i seek only friendship— not your life.”

(accepting!)

smiles were never very present on eir’s face.

in this life, or the life before, or the hundreds of thousands that she had lost to the past— she had never much smiled in many of them. for good reason, she supposes; there was never much to smile about in the realm of hel, and even if there were... such happiness was quickly dispelled. or made forgotten. in some cases, both. her mother made sure of that.

but that lifetime changes when she first meets alfonse and sharena, both blindingly luminescent with every colour of life imaginable. compassionate. selfless. needing nothing beyond peace and joy and being ever more eager to share it. they teach eir many things she could never have known in hel, and they do so with a patience and clarity that she was never offered by the dead. they teach her of stars, of flowers, of happiness, of life. and eir starts smiling, no matter how pallid her cheeks, nor how stiff her lips; until the warm hues of their life paint her face bright— until she is no longer the phantom of hel she had been. 

now, a lifetime later, she meets again with a person whom she’d lost; someone who’d smiled for her the most; and, in turn, had made eir smile more than she ever had. in front of her is askr’s princess, with hair as golden as the sun— and a beam that was twice as bright. she offers the princess of hel a walk. 

a gloved hand reaches out to take sharena’s, a step forward taken to close the distance between them. facing her, eir smiles— and it feels like the most natural thing in the world. “with you? of course.”

[forlornwyvernrider]

» spicing it up

starter for @fenrena

non-mission task-board: Over the centuries, the people of Fódlan have come up with clever ideas to stay warm and entertained during the long, dreary winter months. One of the most long-standing of these is the annual Spice Festival. Visit the dining hall to partake in the chef’s spiciest creations to clear out your sinuses and warm you up from the inside out, or sign up for the pepper-eating contest to see how well you can withstand the heat. You might also catch some of the younger students furtively daring each other to scoop spoonfuls of unattended spices into their mouths. They claim it’s an ancient shepherd’s game, but you have your doubts.

Gerome should have known better than to stay a few minutes longer the moment he saw the unusually large crowd in the dining hall. He learned his lesson, you see. This time, he looked around and inspected just in case it was two of his friends causing the scene again. He would have interrupted if that were so. But there were no fists being thrown or aggression being spat, there was only the sounds of peers pushing each other in front of the line and existing they try out a specific dish. 

Given the weather, it wasn’t too surprising the monastery had a celebration that showcased spicy dishes, and if it weren’t for the overwhelming amount of people, he’d be joining them, eager to try them out himself. He considers coming back at a later time when the students gave up and submitted to their throat’s cries of help. When they all retreat, that’s when he’ll strike.

Or at least, that was the plan... until he turns around and bumps into her.

They share the same house, he sees her often enough, and there was no denying how friendly she was... and yet even now, her name is still a mystery to him. So when they cross paths once more, he’s lost on how to address her. Instinctively, however, he looks around and searches for any traces of alcohol in the vicinity. It’d be too dangerous. She’d be too powerful. 

“...try to take it easy this time around.” He manages to say as a greeting,a bit relieved no one seems to be selling any alcoholic beverages as this was not that kind of event. He could have just left it at that-- or better yet, not say anything at all. Acknowledging her there gave him an odd feeling. His escape route was only a few feet away, and he only needed to move to the side and make a run for it but for some reason, he already feels it was a faraway dream and he surrendered himself to her the moment he opened his mouth.

[progenitorheart]

A quick step on the edge of a pie tin. It flies up and then she swings the broom, hitting the back of the pie with it. She yells, as it makes contact, "How about some extra credit, Professor!"

Result: Barely hit! Roll again to determine your fate.

Result: Failure! Use saving throw?

Result: Success!

It clips Byleth’s shoulder—thankfully he’d left his overcoat in his room and thus spared it a fate of pie crust and filling—and bounces off to hit the ground with a clatter. She gets points for creativity, if nothing else. “I’ll consider the extra credit... provided a student is the last one standing in all of this.”

Never hurts to give them a little incentive, right?

[regalblades]

Lloyd was never a hugger, so the urge to hug is strong, but she holds it back, hands clenched into fists when she comes to stand in front of him, her shoulders back, when she says, "You kept calm in a situation I don't know that I could have handled... at all." She bows and when she comes back up, there's a resolve in her eyes. "Thank you, Lloyd. You saved our lives. I don't think Felix would have listened to us if you weren't there." Her smile softens. "You're a pretty great knight."

“You don’t have to thank me. I didn’t do anything special.” Gaze falls to the ground, away from where moss green stare at him. If anything, it felt like luck that the older Felix chose to listen for how much they radiated suspicion to him; knows it could have gone worse ( would have futilely tried to save her and the others knowing full well they’d all die ).

‘A pretty great knight’, huh. All he’s good for is swinging a sword and maybe paying attention to things ordinary folk wouldn’t so much as bat an eye at. A shadow of the man he used to be, with his pride stripped away and bereft of meaning to his life. There’s nothing so great about that, not really.

“...Your recklessness could have gotten us killed today,” Lloyd says after a long pause, making eye contact so Sharena can see the hard edges in hazel. “I hope this teaches you to think your actions through more carefully in the coming days. No one here wants to be the one to tell your brother that he doesn’t have a sister anymore.” If they even make it back to where they belong. The swordsman isn’t angry at her—just disappointed given the state of things... and he hasn’t forgotten the words she’d blurted out back at the hill, serving to ignite something like suspicion within him.

There are other worlds. There are hundreds, thousands of other worlds, and they’re from one. She’d said it with such certainty that it became apparent to him she knew more than she was letting on. There are questions he wants to ask... but Lloyd refrains from being too harsh with the girl. Everyone has reasons for what they do or don’t do, after all. Instead he asks, “How’s the arrow wound? Have you gotten it looked at yet?”