housegautier

[housegautier]

"Hey! Sylvain!" Inigo trots up to his classmate, neatly wrapped box in hand. "Happy birthday, my friend!" Dancer claps him on the shoulder, then hands over the gift. Inside rests a set of grooming brushes for his horse. "I'm no fan of the animals myself, but I heard you were in need of supplies."

They just keep on coming--gifts that he neither asked for nor anticipated.

Not that they're unwelcome in the slightest, of course, but Inigo is putting something into his hands and--

"You did, huh? Who's ratting me out?" he offers the other a grin before he's carefully undoing wrapping and confirming the contents. A laugh leaves him, and eyes meet Inigo's once more.

"Cotton will be thrilled." Shoulder nudges the dancer's own, an affectionate little gesture. "Thank you."

#[inbox] #[s] inigo #// short n sweet bwah #// thank u sammy :)

[housegautier]

"Sylvain!" Bernadetta quickly glances around to make sure no one is looking over at them before she darts over to the Blue Lions student. Quickly, she shoves a neatly gathered bundle of pages into his chest and urges him to take it. "H-happy birthday! Here's the next chapter! But you can't tell anybody! Got it? I-I'll kill you if you do!" Alright, mission accomplished, time to get out of there. "B-bye now!"

Hers is not a face he anticipates seeing--let alone as it hurries towards him. Bernie is sweet, but a birthday wish from her is far from expected.

And what she offers him is even less so.

Pages are thrust into his hands, words of explanation falling so rapidly from her mouth that Sylvain doesn't even register what they were until her back is to him and she is disappearing just as quickly as she came.

Goddess. He's smiling.

There's no sense in calling out after her or chasing her down, so he simply takes his leave. Her writing is brought with him into his own room--handled as though the pages are porcelain. Her work never fails to impress.

It's towards the evening that he makes his approach to her room. His own paper, folded neatly in fourths and with his thanks scribbled upon it, is slipped beneath her door.

#[inbox] #[s] bernadetta #// sylvain birthday asks getting wrapped up here in a sec im sorry im so slow WYHGFSDH

[housegautier]

Deirdre overhears as a group of giggling girls greet Sylvain with birthday wishes. She has yet to be properly introduced to him herself but what better a day to do so! She approaches him cheerfully, eager to make a new friend. "Did I hear correctly that it is your birthday, my lord? Oh, I hope it is absolutely wonderful! I regret that I have nothing to give other than my acquaintance but I would very much like to be your friend."

Being this popular is a burden, truly. Not even a whole ten feet from his own bedroom door and he's being stopped by a face long forgotten--offered some flower that'll probably end up in Annette's hand by evening and the sweetest birthday wish ever (that he will hear a hundred times more before the day's end.)

A group of three has ambushed him this time, all clamoring for a turn to give him that same treatment. They gave their names, earlier--to which he had tossed back some nonsense about 'never forgetting the name to a face as sweet as that.'

Says he, who has already forgotten.

Lilac catches his eye just as the girls finally take their leave, giggling down the hallway so that this stranger may take their place. Sylvain greets her with a grin.

"Sure is," he sketches a little bow. "Just well wishes from a lady as lovely as yourself is gift enough. Name's Sylvain--care to honor me with your own?"

#[inbox] #[s] deirdre #// sigurdarvis PLEASE dont kill him

[housegautier]

"There you are." The prince says out loud, leaning against the portal of the door that led to Sylvain's bedroom- right next to his own. His arms were crossed over his chest- and coupled with his stern expression it seemed like a scold was ready to come for the Gautier heir. "Finding you is surely starting to become more and more difficult as time passes. I might have to give you a collar with a bell on it, or I may risk losing my friend."

Stepping away from the wall and towards the other male with a sigh, the prince's expression gradually softened. "I hope the ball has not treated you too badly." Dimitri just knew what most likely happened time and time again in the ball- it was to be expected, unfortunately. "It worries me more times that I can count, I will have you know." One angry lady can lead to an angry father. Or an angry mother. Or an angry sibling. Or even more angry ladies. And then…

Dimitri doesn't wish to think about it, he had witnessed Sylvain's battered face far too many times in their youth to want to think about it again.

Mere feet away from his friend, Dimitri sheepishly hands out a sizable package clumsily wrapped in half-ripped baby blue silk paper- clearly done by hands that lack grace and care. Inside were two objects. The first was a brand new chess board, but the black stone was replaced with lapis lazuli- ultramarine gleaming with bits of gold. The other object was a horse plushie- but one that looked just like Sylvain's own steed. "We could play together one day again. As for the plush…ah…" Dimitri's cheeks flushed a deep pink. Fool, Sylvain is a grown man now. He didn't need something to cuddle with. Yet still…"The lady who made it was very kind."

With the gifts now in Sylvain's hands, the prince fidgeted for a moment, words struggling to come as his gaze flickered around. When it finally settled back on the redhead's eyes, Dimitri's look was bashful, reminiscent of his younger years- but determination shone through. Conviction. "Whatever others may say about you, or whatever fate has in hands for you, know that I will always be there for you- both as your prince, and as your friend. Your battles are my own." A sure nod, followed by a warm smile. "Happy Birthday, my dear friend."

His door is never locked.

It's a convenience thing, mostly--left open so that his dearest friends may barge in to scold or lecture him at their leisure. No matter how ill advised it may be to do so, Sylvain never changes that way of his. He has his full faith in the church in their security.

That, and if someone wants so desperately to kill him that they may try to do so when he's unarmed and within his own space, well. Might as well give them a fair shot.

He knows Dimitri's approach, hears it in the door to the room beside him closing and then all three of the footsteps his highness has to take to reach Sylvain's own door. Feet have only just met the floor when the man himself is propped against the doorframe.

"I know that face," shoulders heave with a sigh, a hand carding through his hair while the other rests at his hip. Fitting, to open his birthday with a lecture. "Yeah, yeah. Ingrid has already pitched the suggestion. Verdict was that I'd be too annoying, jingling all the damn time. Besides, this face is easy enough to find in a crowd, no?"

The little attempt at a joke simply breezes past his prince. Figures. Guilt worms its way into Sylvain's stomach as the other expresses his worry. It isn't as though he is unaware of his own recklessness--quite the opposite, actually--but being reminded by Dimitri tends to hit harder than most.

"I'll be fine, Dima, seriously," laughter laces his tone, desperate to ease that seriousness that his company seems incapable of ever dropping. There's such a sincerity to his concern, laid so bare, that Sylvain has to swallow the kneejerk urge to shove it away entirely. "You don't need to waste your time worrying for me."

Dimitri's wrapping job is truly spectacular, and the laughter that rises from Sylvain as the package is passed into his own hands is no longer forced. "C'mon, you know I wasn't expecting anything." An appreciative little glance to the other's face before his thumb finds an already existing hole in the paper and finishes tearing.

Amber eyes warm at the chess board, widening just so. Expensive gifts don't do much to impress him, but it's the craftsmanship of this that awes Sylvain. Nearly as much as the intention behind it--it's the kind of gift only someone who knows him as well as Dimitri would give. "You'll kick my ass, but I'd love to play. It's been too long."

His attention turns then to the stuffed horse. Amusement drips into that gaze of his. "It's perfect. I'll call her Cotton junior."

Just when he's thought that his composure will be kept--that he can get all dumb and emotional about the gifts once his friend's back is turned--Dimitri just has to go on and speak again. Saying such things with all that damned sincerity of his again. Sylvain's cheeks warm.

Chess board and stuffed horse are set aside, forgotten atop his desk for a moment as he reaches instead for the prince. It's his birthday. He's allowed to demand a hug or two.

"Thank you, Dimitri. It means more than you know."

#[inbox] #[s] dimitri #// HAPPY BIRTHDAY SYLVAIN DEWA THIS ASK BROUGHT TEARS TI MY EYES

[housegautier]

[ Bunny ears ]

"Best watch your back, Sylvain!"

"Best huh-"

The camera flashes just as he turns to investigate behind him. There's nothing there. Damn. Consider him gullible.

And then they're handed back their photo. His face is a blur, but Ingrid's hand behind his head is clear as day. Sylvain has to laugh. Ingrid being anything but serious is an occasion that demands it.

"Consider me bested," a shake of his head. "Good one, Ing."

#toaball2022 #[s] ingrid

[housegautier]

[ Arrow ]

Bernadetta squealed loudly once she realized exactly what the setup was for. "You want a picture? With me? Bernie?" Why? What was in it for him? Would he blackmail her with it? No, he already knew about her writing, there was no way he couldn't just use that to destroy her if he wanted to!

Bernie held up the blank sign he had passed to her and hid her face behind it. "I-I don't know if I can do it! I'm sorry! I'll just stand here and you can pretend I'm not, it's okay!"

"Oh, c'mon! It's for memory's sake--"

Well. He had handed her the sign for its intended purpose, but looking at it now he really shouldn't be surprised that she had chosen instead to duck behind it. Figures.

That's alright, he's persistent.

"It doesn't count if you're not in it, y'know," Sylvain taps against the arrow with a closed marker. "Write something for me on it, and I'll do the same for you, yeah? The picture part is easy, I promise."

#toaball2022 #[s] bernadetta

[housegautier]

flowerofgoneril​:

“I don’t know how you do it,” Hilda laughs as she stuffs the photo away into Sylvain’s pocket. She can’t even rely on the old cleavage pocket to hold her stuff in this dress, damn. At least she’s got a date. “But even with the dumb sign, you still look incredibly sexy. Come on, let’s take a real one now!”

Silly sign tossed to the side, Hilda rests her hands against his chest and looks over her shoulder with a practiced, perfect smile. She’s gotta show off her backless dress somehow!

Already, Sylvain has come to accept his pockets as communal. The picture is probably joining her lip gloss and a myriad of other things that simply are not his. Oh well. A burden he simply must bear.

Just shakes his head, letting himself be dragged back to center. "You're lucky to be as gorgeous as you are," but he laughs, settles his hands on her waist and gives the camera that award winning smile of his.

And this photo is much better.

[ Arrow ] - A blank white sign in the shape of an arrow pointing to your left. You can write all sorts of things on it, from “Best Girlfriend Ever” to “I’m With Stupid”.

"Oh, come on Sylvain! This looks fun!" Hilda grabs him by the wrist and drags him toward whatever it is the Projectionist is up to this time. As long as the evidence of what her dress looks like doesn't make it back home, it should be totally fine!

Giggling, Hilda grabs two arrows to write one, then turns back to her date. "Look, we can both hold one and point them at each other!" The arrow she hands to Sylvain reads "I'm with sexy". She purposely doesn't face the words toward him on the second which says "I'm with stupid".

He is more than willing to let her drag him. It means he has someone else to blame his own interest on.

"Yeah, sure," and he doesn't even bother glimpsing at what the sign that is to be pointed at him says. Sylvain just reads the one slotted into his hands and laughs. "Brilliant, Hil, really."

It's only after the photo is taken, when they get to actually see it, that Sylvain realizes he's been fooled.

The most exasperated sigh ever. "Guess I asked for that one, huh?"

#toaball2022 #[s] hilda #// theyre hot and they know it

[housegautier]

[ 1180 Glasses ] - Oversized glasses with unique frames formed in the shape of the year “1180”

Inigo does feel a little ridiculous donning the glasses, but y'know, it will make for a good memory. "Come on, Sylvain, I can't be the only one wearing these!"

Inigo does indeed look ridiculous, and it shows plain as day in Sylvain's poorly suppressed laugh. "Suit yourself, buddy-"

The glasses are jammed onto his nose before he can even finish that thought, and he knows without a doubt that he looks the same (perhaps worse) without even waiting to see the reaction on the other's face.

But, goddess, the other looks so damn stupid that he just cannot stay mad. Fine. At the very least, they look equally dumb.

#toaball2022 #// the boys. at long last. #[s] inigo

[housegautier]

[ Back hug ] - For the photo, the sender embraces the receiver from behind.

he just wants a bro hug....

Well, Hilda had already dragged him up here.

"Your highness! Hey!" May as well get a photo with his friends, too.

Not that he expects Dimitri to wrap both arms around his waist and stand firmly behind his back--that comes as a surprise. Sylvain looses the most unsure of laughs as the picture is taken and he slips from his friend's arms. The moment the image is presented to him, he practically doubles over. It is giving junior prom with your mom's coworker's son.

"We look miserable," shaking his head as he recovers from his laughing fit. "Let's do another, yeah? Come on-"

#toaball2022 #[s] dimitri #// the dimivain awkward prom pic was just. it was just too funny to me.

[housegautier]

[ Arrow ] - A blank white sign in the shape of an arrow pointing to your left. You can write all sorts of things on it, from “Best Girlfriend Ever” to “I’m With Stupid”.

"Oh, come on Sylvain! This looks fun!" Hilda grabs him by the wrist and drags him toward whatever it is the Projectionist is up to this time. As long as the evidence of what her dress looks like doesn't make it back home, it should be totally fine!

Giggling, Hilda grabs two arrows to write one, then turns back to her date. "Look, we can both hold one and point them at each other!" The arrow she hands to Sylvain reads "I'm with sexy". She purposely doesn't face the words toward him on the second which says "I'm with stupid".

He is more than willing to let her drag him. It means he has someone else to blame his own interest on.

"Yeah, sure," and he doesn't even bother glimpsing at what the sign that is to be pointed at him says. Sylvain just reads the one slotted into his hands and laughs. "Brilliant, Hil, really."

It's only after the photo is taken, when they get to actually see it, that Sylvain realizes he's been fooled.

The most exasperated sigh ever. "Guess I asked for that one, huh?"

#toaball2022 #[s] hilda #// gwahsghjsfgsjdfkghsd be nice to him

[housegautier]

prompt 1. “foe-toes”

In prior years, you had to rely on your own memories to recall the events of each ball (however well that went considering, well, the overarching situation…). Tonight, the Projectionist is determined to make that a thing of the past. In her pursuit to bring light magic to its true potential, she has developed a new invention: the photo-artifex! Magic and lenses work together to imprint light onto paper, creating a lasting black-and-white image of whatever it sees.

The machines themselves are less than portable, but there are several to take advantage of tonight. Most are set up in what she calls a “theater” kind of environment: one photo-artifex pointed at a background, with a table of props set up nearby for people to use in their “photos”. The wide space allows for multiple people to be in the photo at the same time, perfect for groups! For couples, however, the Projectionist insists that you try her “artifex-box”, a booth that fits only two people but allows each patron to take home a string of multiple photos.

Take a picture! Strike a pose!

[ Back hug ] - For the photo, the sender embraces the receiver from behind.

[ Bunny ears ] - The sender sneakily puts up two fingers behind the receiver’s head, making them look like they have bunny ears.

[ Cheek ] - The sender kisses the receiver on the cheek for a cute photo.

[ Dance ] - For the photo, the sender and receiver pose in a way that suggests they are in the middle of a dance.

[ Glamour ] - The sender struts their stuff, posing their body in… “interesting”, angular ways that show off their outfit.

[ Jump ] - For the photo, the sender and receiver try to time their jump so that the photo-artifex captures them in mid-air. Might take a few tries…

[ Laugh ] - Laughing makes for a natural smile, and so the sender tries to make the receiver laugh for the photo.

[ Lift ] - For the photo, the sender boldly lifts the receiver up in their arms. Whether or not they can hold them long enough for the photo may be another story…

[ Muscle ] - For the photo, the sender and receiver pull back their sleeves to show off their rippling biceps.

[ Secret ] - The sender leans in close to the receiver and hides their lips from the photo-artifex, suggesting a kiss between the two. Whether or not the sender actually does…

[ Smooch ] - The sender kisses the receiver on the lips for a romantic photo.

[ Spell ] - The sender and the receiver put their hands up in the air, posing in a way that spells out a word.

And any other pose you can think of!

Take a look at the props:

[ Unicorn ] - Unfortunately, no horses are allowed in the ballroom. The Projectionist has thoughtfully prepared a stuffed horse for prop purposes, sturdy enough for one small child to sit on without fearing for their life. A single horn adorns its forehead.

[ Meow ] - Headbands adorned with two cat ears, perfect for hissy felines in human suits.

[ Tinted Glasses ] - Oversized glasses with dark lenses and colorful frames. A little silly-looking.

[ 1180 Glasses ] - Oversized glasses with unique frames formed in the shape of the year “1180”.

[ Arrow ] - A blank white sign in the shape of an arrow pointing to your left. You can write all sorts of things on it, from “Best Girlfriend Ever” to “I’m With Stupid”.

And anything else you can find on the table!

#toaball2022 #// i’ll get to sending some out after work !!

[housegautier]

button holes in the sky

damegalantea​:

The storm continues unconcerned with the two humans dangling just below its eye, but at least now they are far enough away that Acis is listening to her again; continuing to squeeze the steed with her legs Ingrid uses all of the upper body strength she can muster to pull Sylvain back into the seat with her.

The feeling of his hand finally tightening on her arm is a burst of relief in the otherwise frantic beat of the moment and once she’s sure he’s really there she turns around to grab hold of the reins again. She’s tempted to check he’s still there when both arms wrap around her (as they should have before, honestly) and she can finally breathe.

Taking stock of the three of them Ingrid releases some of the tension on Acis, taking in how he still shivers after the latest crackle of the storm. 

“I’m not keen on doing that again,” she says loudly, “but hand me the flask you have and I’ll see if we can at least collect the rain water from here.”

With the exchange made Ingrid waits, to some success. The flask is only half of what the other contains but when Ingrid sends Acis down she does so knowing any longer she or Sylvain may catch cold.

Handing the flasks over take priority but afterwards she is all business, forcing both Sylvain and Acis into the nearby stables. They aren’t the only ones taking shelter here and in between finding hay that isn’t soaking she throws a horse’s blanket at Sylvain’s head.

“Towel off properly so you don’t catch your death of cold and I will make sure none of your suitors know I had to cradle your limp body like that,” she states, far too relieved to actually seem as cross as her frown might otherwise indicate.

Surprisingly enough, he’s thankful for the rain. The way it soaks through his jacket makes for a good excuse as to why he’s shaking against Ingrid’s back. Goddess forbid it be actual fear. That would be embarrassing.

The flask is passed off to her without a word, and he bides the time it takes to try and fill it by clinging miserably to her. It’s silly how childish he feels. As if he hadn’t nearly just fallen to his death from atop a pegasus. In the middle of a storm, no less.

He’s normally better about these kinds of things–always laughing off his own fear or discomfort. It’s just in his nature. To have people worry for him feels wrong. It’s always easier when they don’t.

This is different, though, that feeling of falling. It’s familiar in ways he would trade almost anything to forget, and he hasn’t had such a stark reminder of it in quite some time. Sylvain’s silence goes uninterrupted even as they land, as he dismounts, as he watches Ingrid wander off. There’s solid ground beneath his feet and finally he can breathe again.

His jacket is shrugged off and he falls backwards onto some crates that have been stacked against the wall, wringing out the fabric with his arms on his knees. He’s still staring down at the puddle between his feet when Ingrid hits him.

“Gee, thanks,” one hand catches the blanket as it slips from his head while the other discards his jacket somewhere beside him. He’ll have to wash it, anyway. 

Sylvain does as instructed, mussing his hair in the process. The blanket ends up around his shoulders, and finally he blinks up at Ingrid.

“That all?” He’s used to far worse in terms of lectures, but his tone is mostly teasing. A hand pats the spot on the crate beside him–an invitation. “Not in the mood to threaten my life today, huh?”

#damegalantea #[thread] buttonholes in the sky #[s] ingrid #//GAH sorry for the wait #//slipping some sylvain trauma into the silly horsey thread. as a treat.

[housegautier]

Storm Witch

hungrymage​:

ϟ–He had passed her a bowl of food once during their training days—either out of kindness or just a desire to get rid of the extra food—so of course she’d committed his name and face to memory. 

Inferni are generally hard to forget, regardless. Loud and eager to show off for the most part. Ilyana’s not one to make generalizations, but her time at the Little Palace was a sheltered one. 

And now that Grisha are viewed merely as…not tools, but not entirely worthy of basic decency, she’s not eager to make new friends, lest they discover what she’s capable of. 

Silence descends between them. She’s content to ride out the remnants of her headache, sipping water and watching the constant stream of people float by. 

She smells the platters of food before they come into view. It takes three severs in all to bring her meal. It’s less than she’d normally consume, but she’s long since grown used to living half hungry. 

“..thank you,” she waves, for if you are not grateful to the people kind enough to serve you food, you must be some kind of monster. Tidemaker greedily digs into her first dish—something with eggs. 

Only after she’s polished off that first place does she remember her manners. “Oh…are you hungry, Sylvain…?” One bite or two shared among friends won’t cost her anything. 

“…as thanks, for getting me…off the street.” 

Watching her is admittedly fascinating. From what he remembers of their time as students, she had always been a little strange. Distantly, he regrets not having gotten to know her better back then. It would be nice to have a friend now that they’re both in situations that are… less than desirable.

Better late than never, he figures.

And he’s content to just watch in intrigue (and maybe a little concern) as she’s brought more food than he’s seen in one sitting since he was a teenager, hoping he’s imagining the look in her eyes. Something like disappointment–perhaps longing? Saints, if she orders anything more he’s going to have to do far more than flirt with their waitress.

Deliberately, Sylvain chooses to ignore the pang in his chest. If he squints he can picture the dining hall of the Little Palace–can replace Ilyana’s lavender head with a blonde one, make those eyes of hers green. 

Amber eyes are pried away from her before that thought can creep far enough up his throat to be impossible to swallow. It’s her voice that pulls his attention back. The offer surprises him, and he’s almost compelled to laugh. 

“I’m fine, don’t worry about it.” Wave of his hand. He is a lot of things–most of them undesirable–but he’s not about to take any of that from her. Especially not after he had to drag her in here like a corpse. “All you owe me is picking better places to faint from now on.”

#[thread] storm witch #[s] ilyana #[au] grishaverse #hungrymage #// alina reappearing on the dash to throw sylvain into the void and then leave #// sorry this took almost a whole month LMFAO

[housegautier]

[ BLANKET ]:     just as they’re all about to go to sleep, the sender covers the receiver with their own blanket.

settling dust

More often than not, Sylvain dreams of home.

It’s the same nightmare that has plagued him since long before his time at the Officer’s Academy. A seemingly never ending fall through darkness, the sky above him a mere prick of light that only ever shrinks, the walls around him echoing his brother’s voice. 

The dream has changed, though. No longer is the well all that haunts him, but instead the image of Miklan’s crest beast–of his own lance through it.

He’s found that those dreams hurt less now that he marches alongside Edelgard and her empire. They’re only a dull reminder of why he is here–a fan toward the flame that pushed him away from Gautier and Faerghus as a whole. These days it’s the happier dreams that hurt the most, always rimmed by an unfamiliar sadness. Longing, maybe. Mourning.

Mostly, they’re dreams of Felix and Ingrid. Full of bickering and laughter and all of the things he knows he will never have another chance to say to them. Not as their friend, at least. He’ll never have that right again.

Now, though, it’s Dimitri that comes to him. The one that he had known, at least, before all of this had come to be. Not the walking corpse he had come to find of his old friend, but the prince he had used to be.

Sylvain wakes soundlessly. There are tears in his eyes, he knows, so he doesn’t open them. Just listens as the rest of his little scouting party settles in to sleep around him.

Something shuffles close enough to draw his attention. He stays silent, unmoving–not quite willing to give up the guise of sleep in favor of fumbling for that stupid mask of his that he still can’t seem to shake. More shuffling. Sylvain caves.

One eye cracks open just in time to see Bernadetta settle beside him. It’s only then, when she shifts, that he realizes he’s beneath a blanket. Hers, more specifically. A smile pulls at his lips before he can stop it.

“Thank you,” soft, perhaps so much so that she doesn’t even hear it, but he means it.

#minorindech #[s] bernadetta #[asks] #//this is such a cute prompt im sorry i took it and used it to make sylvain depressed #// i just think crimson flower sylvain mentally unwell. u kno. #//kiss bernie.... love u little lady

[housegautier]

[ TOGETHER ]:     when the receiver awakens, they discover that the sender has been sleeping next to them, arms wrapped around one another for warmth, comfort, protection ( or something more… )

settling dust ( cw ; sylvain typical implications )

Sleep has been quick to evade Sylvain since he was small. Nightmares had always plagued him, even before his brother had given them a reason to. 

Copper eyes blink open, the only indication of him waking. The darkness in his tent tells him that it’s still night, and the silence outside that it’s not quite early enough for the rest of the camp to have begun stirring. 

It’s only when he begins to shift that he realizes there’s warmth pressed against him. There’s that familiar pang of regret. Oh no. 

And it only worsens when he finally brings himself to look at the body that’s wrapped around him. Pink hair, mussed from its usual updo. Sylvain feels sick. Hilda was his friend, he couldn’t have fucked up that bad-

No. They’re both dressed and his tent’s flap isn’t fully shut. He hadn’t fallen asleep with her here. A breath of relief. 

It doesn’t take much guessing to figure why she is here. 

Carefully, so as not to wake her as well, Sylvain moves to face her. His own arms snake around her, pulling her to his chest. War is awful, and she’s fighting it away from home. The least he can offer is comfort when she asks it. 

“It’s alright,” soft, nose burying into her hair. He doesn’t care if she’s awake to hear it, neither of them will speak of it in the morning. “I’ve got you.”

#[s] hilda #flowerofgoneril #[asks] #//i think abt the fact that you can recruit hilda in to the blue lions sometimes. yeah.

[housegautier]

[ DRAG ]:     unable to leave them behind, the sender drags the wounded receiver out of danger and into a safe hiding place for both of them to wait until help arrives !!

settling dust

It isn’t that he hadn’t tried to walk.

An effort had been made, but as stoic about it as he tried to be, Sylvain was useless. He had managed all of one staggering step before nearly making his current, and rather unsavory, condition worse. 

Sharena’s sweet, he likes her. He would like her a lot more, though, if she would leave him to mourn his pride in peace. “I’ll be fine, you can come back for me later,” but she hadn’t budged from his side. Ridiculous. She had her own life to worry about, not his miserable excuse for one. 

He doesn’t register what she’s doing until her arms are hooked beneath his. “C’mon, really, you don’t have t-“ but she doesn’t relent, and he’s only making her work harder by struggling. 

So he gives in. An exhausted sigh as Sylvain allows himself to be hauled into the safety of some nearby brush. 

“Thank you,” it’s quiet, and he doesn’t look at her as he says it, but it’s sincere. For not leaving me to die.

#[s] sharena #ljosalir #[asks] #//sorry im leaving details vague as hell otherwise these will become novels #//but look!! hes respecting women!!!

[housegautier]

“ come on… wake up. please… please wake up… “

settling dust

Distantly, he’s aware of the fact that he’s being moved. Laid down, he thinks, propped up against something. Unfamiliar hands guide his descent, but he knows that voice.

“...Dedue?” Eyes open, slow. His vision is dull and blurry, but he can see well enough to confirm his suspicions. “Shit.”

The world comes back into focus with a sharp pain in his leg. That explains a lot. He must have passed out. Blood loss is his best bet, confirmed with a quick glance to the offending appendage. There’s a rapidly darkening makeshift bandage there–a torn piece of fabric, hastily tied over what is making itself known to be a very deep gash. 

Perfect. What a lovely Tuesday afternoon.

“I’m awake,” Sylvain’s gaze settles back on his savior. There’s appreciation there–more than he will ever voice. “Get back out there, I’ll be fine.” A smile, an attempt at reassurance. It’s more than a little strained.

“Dima needs you.”

#[s] dedue #loyaltestament #[asks] #//thought 2 be like timeskip war w/e... yeehaw #blood cw