#fenrena

[resalire]

@fenrena sent:

It's not hard to spot him. Average height — for now, she believes he's gonna hit a growth spurt like their dad did — blue hair, and a face she's seen for her whole 18 years of her life. The second she does spot him though, Sharena leaps over the table in the dining hall, her voice echoing when she chirps: "Alfonse!!!" And then she wraps him in a hug, tighter and bigger than any other hug she's given before.

"Boy, am I glad you found me! I hope Kiran wasn't too worried. I was worried for a second I wouldn't be able to get home. How's Kiran? How's Mom? How's Commander Anna?" The next thing she says is more hushed, like a whisper, "Listen, did Kiran summon another hero while I was gone? Because if they sent them home before I was able to do my interview with them, I'll be angry!" Cheeks puff out when she says that, and eyes focus on him for an answer to whatever shenanigans Kiran has been up to.

Nothing beyond the ear-splitting, though numbingly familiar, call of his name prepares Alfonse for what comes next.

“Sha—“ She knocks all of the wind out of him in one go. “—ron?!”

Alfonse gasps, his ribs leading a fruitless revolt against the only tightening grip of his sister. One after the other, his feet stumble as he frantically searches for purchase; the ground seemed to only get dizzyingly closer. The prince barely manages to keep upright, though his arms come to wrap around his sister. It’s a weak hold, compared to hers. His mind reels; the words his mouth form are a half-step behind his thoughts, and miles behind his sister’s. “Found… have you been stuck—“

Then comes the onslaught of questions— Alfonse should have known to mentally prepare himself for the barrage.

“Kiran is fine— Mother is quite alright—“ (��You correspond with her more than I…’ he fails to manage,) “— and the Commander fares well with her business…”

A wince. ‘Well’ was perhaps not the most adequate of words to describe Anna’s dealings, as fluctuating as they were. The Ylisse branch of the company had performed its fair share of wonders within Askr, that much was certain; still, the Order’s chronic budget deficiency demanded much more of them. With heroes bound by monetary contracts, and their numbers only increasing in recent times, it was a steadily growing cause for concern. Perhaps he should write a letter to inquire after the state of affairs in his absence… though he suspects it’s not what Sharon wishes to hear in this moment.

As he gathers his thoughts, his sister leans in— her voice is low, almost secretive. What she says next gives the prince pause.

He blinks. Alfonse doesn’t have a sufficient response, despite the way she searches his face for an answer. In that moment, she seemed… unlike herself. “… Send home?”

✧ / REUNION…?

[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.”

[splinteredash]

//continued from here; @fenrena

So much for a quick rip.

Instead, Sharena is slow with how she pulls off the bandage--meticulous. Had time been allowed any chance to rekindle the fires of what had been lost, she has come to undo that process, surgically unzipping and re-opening the pores of his pain. There is a Sharena--not his, but a--dampening his professorial coat with her tears. Like any younger sister would to her big brother, she cries. But this is not for the same reason. A breakup, a bad day, a scolding from father... Any and all are preferred to the harrowing sense of guilt shooting up his ethereal nerves. Nerves that aren't even there, but can still be felt like thorns growing in between plates of armor. They exist in the gaps between hardened layers over the heart. He abandoned her, turned her away--and even if it wasn't him who hurt this Sharena, he has hurt another.

He wants to laugh. Fate could not be any crueler.

The sheer difference in size makes it easy for Sharena to hug him while seated, but that does not stop Lif from abstaining at first. His hands are poisonous. They grab the hilts of swords designed to cull the living and bleed dry the sacrificial lambs laid upon Hel's--or Thorr's, or whoever's--unholy altar. They are unclean. Lif wonders if they even remember how to be tender anymore. Because after all,

'Even if our world were to be saved, as we wish it to be...'

'It would be no place for us.'

Silence drapes over them like a shadow. Seconds? Minutes? An hour? Lif does not know how long he waits. Only when the slow stutter and mumble of his otherworldly sister comes to a complete stop does he stir.

Perhaps he is right. Perhaps he has no right, not to touch or help or even love her, after soaking his hands in the pool of Askr's demise. Ask anyone sane, and they may say that for once hoping to barter another Sharena for his--another Alfonse's mind for the small trickle of healing his would receive--he should earn her scorn. But the heart is not sane, nor does its beat ever truly stop. Not even in the husk of a corpse.

"... Very well."

A piece of Alfonse remains: his arms. They guide Lif's, slowly encircling them round Sharena's back until her hug is mirrored. His hands give a few gentle taps, before they recede into his psyche and it is just Lif's left on Sharena. Then Alfonse's legs push up against the weight of the Revenant so that he may stand. By circumstance, he's gained a significant portion of height over her, but that changes their dynamic very little. He is still Alfonse, solemn keeper of Askr's peace; protector of those he holds dear. This small part of home walks among him, and so as she always has, Sharena receives his shield.

Fingers find a latch by her shoulder and brush past her uniform to hold on. A gentle squeeze locks her firmly in place, pushing her tear-damp face against his outfit in the hope that cold steel and colder leather could provide some sort of comfort. What he wouldn't give to radiate some warmth, though--even just a little bit.

But some things are simply unattainable now. He'll have to accept that fact.

"... What would you like to talk about, Sharena? I... Have the time."

His eyes squeeze shut, trying to choke down tears that will never fall. And if I don't, I will make it.

✢⁎. stitching bonds

[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.

[nelithic]

❪　cont. from here　❫

she is studying the field with a scarlet, granitic apathy when a sudden nearby outburst from a sparkling voice redirects that attention closer at hand. a young head of blonde, all but bouncing on her feet and eager to pick up conversation, easily presuming her another contestant.

it is not that she minds, precisely. however . . .

"i am not competing." the misunderstanding is erased with a brief headshake, wherein her gaze returns outward again to the field where the next participant — twelve — has stepped up to take their post; in doing so, nel half-turns to reveal the lack of a number posted to her back. but rather than the student themselves she examines, it is the weapon in their grasp. an iron javelin by all appearances, the same as the one in this girl's hand beside her and every other who had gone thus far.

the atmosphere about the perimeter quiets in anticipation, and the contestant steadies themselves over the placement mark hatched into the grass. she too withholds further remark until the gathering has released its breath.

the young man throws— . . . and the spear flies far, thudding solidly into the distant board only a few inches off center. tension dissipates into clapping, sighs of awe or concern, mutters of admiration or envy.

"i am overseeing as a judge," nel finally turns to the girl again to continue in the midst of it, looking to her now properly. and those same inscrutable scarlets trace her too, as though considering something. already, number thirteen is being called, and her decision must be swift.

"i would ask you to assist me." her tone has sharpened slightly, but keeps its level volume — not surreptitious to be a whisper, but just above, difficult to overhear in the tumult of the crowd shifting and changing in the moments when one competitor steps down and another takes their place: friends, classmates, and loved ones swap; the crowd is for a few fleeting moments mutable and uncaring of its surroundings. "when it is your turn, feign injury. let them escort you away."

thirteen takes her place. the crowd begins to quiet again. nel does not know this student, nor she her, but there is no time to say more. she impresses upon her only the heavy intent of a held gaze, somber and impenetrable. "i will come find you then."

　▀▀　@fenrena　₊

　𝐬𝐭𝐲𝐠𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐮𝐧.

[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. 

[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.