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whumperofworlds · 3 months

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To Protect You

A/N: First time doing OC ladies in whumpy situations! I know that it's not everyone's cup of tea, so feel free to skip this story! I wanted to experiment since the only time I did that kind of thing was with Edelgard from Fire Emblem Three Houses. Also, this is my Fierce Forests OCs Hazel and Maple's debut! Anyway, hope you enjoy!

TAGS: @robinbugbanned

TWS: captivity, beaten up, blood, forced to watch, cursing, nonhuman whumpee (Maple is a Magical Elf), Whumpee x Whumpee, female whumpees, male whumpers.

_____

Days. It had been days since Hazel and Maple were taken captive by Brennus. Days of being beaten up and tortured for opposing against the king. Days with very little food and water.

Hazel could only sigh as she curled up into a ball, trying to protect herself from the freezing air in their prison. Anger coursed through her over the sheer helplessness she was feeling for those days. They took all of her weapons, including her signature Bolt Blade, a sword that was infused with Lightning magic passed down by her father. Without her weapons, she was nothing but a helpless woman who was unable to fight back.

She hated it. She hated it so much.

She heard the chattering of teeth, and she turned her head to see her best friend, Maple, also curled up into a ball to protect herself from the cold. However, judging by the chattering teeth, she wasn't able to keep warm.

Hazel crawled up to her, shivering now that she was no longer in a ball. "Hey," she whispered, sitting beside Maple. "You okay?"

Maple turned her head to face Hazel, and Hazel gritted her teeth at the bruises and cuts her best friend had on her face. Those guardsmen had given her quite the beating the past few days, and Hazel's anger grew at the thought of that.

"I..." Maple tried to speak, trailing off for a second to tighten herself into a ball. "I'll be fine, Hazel. Don't worry about me."

"You're cold..." Hazel pointed out, frowning. When Maple gave no response to that, only shivering, Hazel knew what she had to do.

She slipped off her fur coat, feeling the chilling air biting her skin as soon as her coat left her body. She placed it around Maple's shoulders, covering her with it. The coat was filthy due to not being washed for days, but Hazel figured that Maple wouldn't mind.

Maple glanced up at her, eyes wide, but no longer shivering. "Hazel, what--"

"You need it more than me," Hazel said, a small smile on her face.

"But--"

"Don't worry about me. I'll be fine..." She trailed off when she felt the biting cold hitting her skin, leaving goosebumps on her. She shivered, curling up into a ball once more.

Maple frowned. She didn't have to sacrifice her own coat just to keep Maple warm. "Hazel..." Maple whispered, inching closer to her friend. "We can share this, you know? You didn't have to give it up to keep me warm."

"I said I'll be fine, Maple," Hazel insisted, shaking her head. "You don't have to--"

"I don't have to, but I want to." Maple said, before taking the coat and wrapping it around Hazel's body. It didn't leave Maple's body, as it covered both of them partly. It wasn't exactly a blanket, but it would have to do.

Hazel blushed as Maple curled up beside her to share body heat. She didn't admit this to anyone, not even her sister Holly, but... lately, she had been crushing on her best friend. She wasn't sure why she felt that way--they knew each other since they were small children, and it wasn't until recently she began to feel this way.

She shook her head to get rid of those thoughts. Now was not the time for that. She and Maple had to find a way to escape--

The door to their cell opened, and the two women jumped at the sudden sound. At least five guardsmen, all wearing golden armor, entered the cell, their weapons drawn.

Maple curled up tighter against her friend. Hazel, however, glared at their captors.

"What do you want?" Hazel demanded.

"Isn't it obvious?" One of the guardsmen chuckled, approaching the two. His sword glistened in the dark, to which Hazel shuddered. "We're here to get information out of you two ladies. Now, be good little girls..." he held out the sword close to Hazel's face. Hazel tried not to flinch at the sword's tip touching her face. "...And tell us where those damned Fierce Forests are."

"Go to hell," Hazel growled, her glare saturated with hate. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around Maple, holding her close in a protective manner.

The guardsman seemed to have noticed this and smirked. "Ah, protective, aren't we?" He chuckled. He moved the sword away from Hazel, only to point it at Maple. The Magical Elf gasped, curling up against Hazel once more. "Tell us, and we won't hurt your girlfriend here."

"Go. To. Hell." Hazel growled again, her hold on Maple tight.

The guardsman tsked, before he raised his sword. Towards Maple.

Maple yelped in fear, burying her face in Hazel's chest. She shut her eyes tightly, awaiting the inevitable blow.

The sword hit skin, and a feminine cry of pain echoed in the dungeon.

Except... it wasn't her scream.

Maple slowly opened her eyes, and she gasped in shock and horror upon seeing the sight.

Hazel had her pushed against the wall, her back facing the guardsmen. Hazel gritted her teeth in pain as her eyes were squeezed shut, and crimson dripped down from her back. Her eyes widened, and her mouth gaped open at the realization.

Hazel took the attack for Maple.

"Dammit!" The guardsman cried, throwing his sword to the ground in frustration. With a growl, he grabbed Hazel by the scruff of her tunic and tried to pry her off of Maple. However, Hazel held on, her hold tightening around Maple's body, as the Magical Elf tried to hold onto her friend.

"No!" Maple screamed, "Don't hurt her, please!"

"Shut up!" The guardsman grabbing Hazel yelled. "And let go! Or else!"

"Never!" Maple cried, her hold tightening once more. "I'll never let you hurt her!"

"Maple," Hazel whispered. Maple glanced up at her friend, whose eyes were filled with worry. Maple could also see the fear in her eyes, but she could tell that she was trying to hide it from her. Likely to not make Maple worry. "Let go. I'll handle it."

"Hazel, no," Maple gasped. "I can't let them hurt you! Please, I--"

"Maple," Hazel whispered again, this time her tone firm. "Let go. They'll hurt you otherwise. I'm strong, I can deal with it. Please, Maple... before they hurt you."

Maple gulped, tears pooling in her eyes. If she let go of Hazel... what would these guardsmen do to her? What if they ended up killing her? What if--

"Let go now!" The guardsman bellowed.

Without another thought, Maple released Hazel from her hug, and Hazel was pulled away from her. She could have sworn she saw a small, relieved smile on Hazel's face when she was taken away from her.

The guardsman holding Hazel threw her to the cold, stony floor, and Hazel grunted in pain. The cuts and bruises she had endured the past few days burned and ached, as she grunted when a sharp boot met her stomach.

"Dumbass," the guardsman who grabbed her muttered under his breath. "Should have told us where your pals were!"

The other guardsmen surrounded the swordswoman, before a rain of blows attacked Hazel's body. Each kick, punch, and strike hit her body, as she grunted and growled. Tears began to form in her eyes due to the sheer pain, but she held on. She refused to cry in front of these bastards!

Maple could only watch, tears falling down her face. She sniffled, shaking her head, as if doing so would make the guardsmen stop their assault on Hazel. However, she could only watch in horror as they continued to beat Hazel for her crimes.

A sharp boot hit Hazel's lip, splitting it, and that was when she screamed. A single tear rolled down her cheek from the blow, and she couldn't help but blush in embarrassment. Ugh, she hated crying. Even when her father was executed by Brennus, she didn't cry at all--she didn't want Maple or Holly to see her weak.

"Heh, are you gonna cry?" The guardsman taunted with a grin.

"Damn you," Hazel growled.

That rewarded her with another kick to her eye, nearly gouging it due to how sharp the boot was. Thankfully, Hazel shut her eye in time, only leaving her with a black eye. The tears she was holding back from that eye began to fall, to which her captors taunted her over.

"Look at the crybaby crying!"

"Heh, what a wimp!"

Maple couldn't look. She turned her head, tears continuously falling down her face. However, her sharp hearing could still pick up the beating her friend was getting, and she couldn't help but imagine what was happening.

Hazel smiled in relief when she looked behind one guardsman to see that Maple was looking away. Good. I don't want her to see this...

A headache began to form as she was kicked on the head a few times. But she held onto her consciousness as she saw the black spots forming in her eyes. No. She shouldn't pass out now. Not like this.

To her, it felt like hours when she was being beaten. And just like that, it stopped.

She slowly glanced up at her captors, an eyebrow raised. The guardsman who pried her off of Maple scoffed, before throwing two pieces of moldy bread at Hazel and Maple.

"That's what you get for not telling us," the guardsman growled. "We'll be back tomorrow, and if you two still want to be stubborn, we'll beat you again. This time, starting with her." He pointed at the shaking Maple, who continued to cry.

Hazel gritted her teeth, anger flowing inside her. They wouldn't! "Don't you--"

She was met with another boot to the face, this time, hitting her cheek.

"Shut up." The guardsman who struck her growled. And with that, the five guardsmen left the cell, closing and locking it behind them.

Hazel couldn't move. Pain flared up everywhere, as she attempted to get up to no avail. She heard Maple gasp before she was gently lifted to sit. Maple held her best friend close, Hazel's face buried in her shoulder, as Maple ran a hand through her bloodied hair.

"Hazel," Maple whimpered, "I'm sorry. I--"

"This isn't your fault..." Hazel whispered. "Don't blame yourself, Mape... I took the hit to protect you. I'm sorry you had to see that..."

Maple cried into Hazel's arms, and while she didn't notice it, Hazel was, too, as the pain was too much. Both of them could only hope that they would be rescued soon...

#whump #my whump stories #captivity #woman whumpee #male whumper #<<<as suggested will do this for male and female whump as well as trans and nonbinary #beaten up #multiple whumpees #blood #forced to watch #nonhuman whumpee #maple #hazel

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orjange · 4 months

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sheepish

Rating: General Audiences Category: M/M Fandom: Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia Ships: Lukas/Python Characters: Lukas, Python Tags: / Words: 1,315 No additional warnings.

From 2018. short fic with mostly dialogue! there are some inconsistencies im not entirely happy with but i dont feel like fixing them since its so old

Summary:

Lukas realizes that maybe he had been striding the false path to love all this time. It was time for change.

They stop next to an old willow tree, as they'd agreed on just a few moments ago. Darkness had engulfed the sky, only letting through the soft shine of stars. In the distance there was chattering, the sound of carafe meeting carafe cheerfully and the flickering glow of torches. The fest Lukas and Python just left.

"So, Lukas…" Python breaks the silence suddenly. "What's so important?" The question lingers in the air a little. Lukas closes his eyes, the gears in his brain are overworking themselves. He is at a loss. He'd asked the other to come with him, to talk to him, but now he could not put his thoughts into words. Talking about whatever went on in his heart was new ground for him after all. It was not something to be taken lightly. Lukas takes a deep breath, his eyes open again, fixated on some spot on Python's face - just not his eyes. "I don't think I will ever come around."

Python looks at him, confusion written all over his face. It takes him a moment to understand. "Oh." He says. "Well, don't let it bother you. You'll find a girl eventually, we can't all be married at 25 or so." "No." Lukas shakes his head. "I don't think that will happen." "Eh? You ought to be more specific there, Lukas. I'm no mage, I can't read minds." "…I don't think women are for me, really." Lukas feels his knees give in a little. So unlike him. "So, like…" Python frowns, deep in thought. "You mean… Men are more, uhm, your objects of desire..?" Though his words almost feel like a jape, neither of them laugh. "I don't know, I mean - I haven't given it much thought." He had given it thought, to some degree. Ever since he met Python in fact. "If that were the case. If I felt attraction towards men…-" Python placed his right hand on one of Lukas' shoulders, a smile adorning his tired face. "Not like you'd be the only one." "I know that, Python. If it were any other way, I wouldn't be having this conversation with you, I don't think." "Ouch! And here I was giving my best trying to hide it…" "As Forsyth might put it, your best is only as little effort as possible." Lukas says with a grin and they both laugh, clearing the subtle tension in the air. Lukas can relax again now, at least a little. He still isn't used to how freeing it can be to talk to someone about whatever is bothering him.

Python lets out a big yawn. "How long were you holding that one in." Lukas asks, his everlasting smile back on. Python laughs tiredly. "Feels like an eternity."

In the distance, the sun is slowly lifting its head above the horizon, illuminating both of them. Lukas takes in the view a little, then looks over to the others and sighs. "The sun is already rising and they are still at it… I leave them for a bit and with me does their common sense, apparently." "Oh come on, you think they would've listened to you if you'd told them to stop? Drunk as they are?" "This may come as a surprise but I'm told I can appear quite threatening." Another sigh. "Oh, it was a mistake of me to allow mere children to drink. I should have intervened…" "Ack, Lukas, don't blame yourself for their decisions as if you are their father. They were an unruly bunch to begin with." "Hm…" "Also I am wracking my brain trying to see how you could ever appear threatening to anyone. Cold, sure, but you're tiny-" "I don't see what my size has to do with this." "I'm just saying." Python grins. "To me you are as threatening as a sheep in sheep's clothing." He adds, and pats Lukas head lightly. "Is that supposed to be a compliment…?" Lukas raises a brow, unsure what to make of this. "Sure."

"How. And why a sheep?" "Huh? Because of that saying, you know, a wolf in sheep's clothing!" "A 'sheep in sheep's clothing' is quite nonsensical." Lukas feels that it implies that he wears his heart on his sleeve, instead of keeping it locked up. It doesn't sit right. "Agh." Python narrows his eyes. The light of the rising sun is dancing on his blue hair and fair skin, Lukas can make out subtle freckles on Python's cheeks- "Does it matter? Sheep are cute." Lukas averts his eyes. "You're right. Sheep are cute." He wants to ask what Python thinks of him, but doubt gnaws at him. He fears rejection, he realizes suddenly.

Python turns to Lukas. "Have you ever touched a sheep's wool? As it was still on the sheep, I mean." "I don't think I have." "It's not soft as you might expect." Python says and absentmindedly runs his hand through Lukas' hair. "It feels rough, and it stinks… Unlike your hair." He is playing with one of Lukas' curls now. Lukas stands there, frozen. He can feel heat rushing to his face and he fears he was about to turn as red as his hair. He was ready to bury himself.

"Hey…" Python notices Lukas' reddening face immediately. His hand brushes against Lukas' right cheek. "…You're burning up, Lukas. Caught a sickness? That's no good." Lukas curses the sun for rising. Anyway, either Python was as dense as a brick wall or he was only pretending to be - it didn't matter. This was killing Lukas. "You look like a tomato, you know." Python pinches Lukas' cheek. "Ripe and ready for plucking." A snicker.

"You're challenging my patience, Python." Lukas struggles to keep his composure. Python apologetically takes a step back. "My bad, my bad." "…And I'm perfectly fine, just feeling a bit cold." Lukas manages to smile but it must seem awfully fake. If Python noticed, he didn’t mention it. "Let's go back then." Python points to where the others had started singing songs now, unbothered by the world. "Not yet." Lukas faces the horizon again, the sun is now further up and stronger sunlight falls onto both of them. The warmth of that light mixed with the icy breeze from the hills which makes the leaves on the willow tree rustle in calm waves is a sensation Lukas can't quite describe. He shivers a bit and looks over to Python who, Lukas realizes with a slight stinging sensation in his chest, is clearly staring at him. He wishes he had the ability to make some snide remark but instead he averts his eyes again quickly. This, an emotion he couldn't put into words, made him feel like an unknowing teen, and unbelievably foolish.

Without any warning, Python throws his right arm around Lukas. He's warm. Lukas almost falls from shock. He stares at Python, confused. "I can't let you freeze to death here just because the sunrise is so beautiful, you know. I think we'd all be pretty lost without you." Lukas smiles. "Maybe I should opt for long sleeved armor next time." "…Let's hope there won't be a next time." "Of course. I was speaking hypothetically."

Lukas allows himself to lean into Python, lost in thought. "You're a bit like a wolf." He says then. The other laughs. "Not a python?" "Of course not." Lukas frowns. "As majestic as they may be, pythons and you don't have much in common." Python hums. “Why a wolf then?”

Lukas thinks about this for a moment. “I haven’t given that much thought. I only realized it just now.”

“I kind of understand.”

“…You do?”

“It’s because of my handsome good looks.”

Lukas closes his eyes. “…Sure.”

Python laughs and pulls the other closer.

If he could only fall in love with men, he would be alone til death, is what Lukas had thought.

Now, he isn’t so sure.

#fire emblem echoes #fire emblem fanfiction #lukas python #lukas x python #lukas fire emblem #python fire emblem #orjange

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frstcorinthians · 1 year

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I posted 9,002 times in 2022

That's 1,261 more posts than 2021!

15 posts created (0%)

8,987 posts reblogged (100%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@americankimchi

@rachaels

@saetyrn9

@carry-on-my-wayward-butt

@waricka

I tagged 2,308 of my posts in 2022

#sandman - 187 posts

#art - 181 posts

#film - 154 posts

#the batman - 81 posts

#collage - 56 posts

#stranger things - 48 posts

#goncharov - 43 posts

#daredevil - 42 posts

#critters - 37 posts

#moon knight - 37 posts

Longest Tag: 125 characters

#different but similar thing happened when i started lexapro and i was able to eat on the quad without like. thinking about it

My Top Posts in 2022:

with all that’s going on in my life I am *this* close to getting blasted and writing fanfiction again

1 note - Posted February 12, 2022

I am going to chew up a ball of tin foil I am so goddamn angry

1 note - Posted January 30, 2022

My advisor in our last thesis meeting: wow you’re done! This is the longest thing you’ve ever written, right? Good job!!

Me, clenching my jaw shut, trying desperately to forget the self-insert fire emblem fic I wrote in middle school that clocks in at a rough 80 pages: mhm!!

2 notes - Posted March 24, 2022

; rosary-strung (i)

summary: second meetings seem like firsts. even saints have nightmares. pairing: eventual hob x oc x morpheus, right now it’s just gearing up warnings: mentions of violence (familial abuse & sexual assault hinted at very vaguely), blood, rusty writing skills since it’s been a minute for me wc: ~1.7k notes: hihihi i haven’t written fic, never mind oc fic, in like a literal decade. but here, have this. hope its alright okay bye

cross-posted to ao3

The second time she met Hob Gadling, he was taking care of her cat.

The silly creature had wandered off without telling her, there one day and gone the next. She had heard the calico’s cries for distress in the back of her mind, a small itch that manifested into louder meowing. She followed the sounds late one night to the door of a brightly-lit building, the sounds of chatter and good cheer spilling out onto the street. The sign read “The New Inn.”

She sighed. Time to collect her cat.

She pushed her way through the crowd, following the small purring rattling in her mind. It led her to a cozy corner towards the back of the building, covered in papers in various stages of grading. Her cat sat squarely on top. The purring moved out of her head and into the real world as she took in the scene before her: a handsome man cradled her cat’s head, petting and scratching between its ears. A small smile crossed his face.

She cleared her throat. “Excuse me. It seems you’ve found my cat.” The man looked up. He had kind eyes, she noticed. Absently, she thought she’d seen eyes like those before. It had been so long, though, since she had recognized someone. A lifetime ago.

“She’s yours? She wandered in the other day. Sweet thing, she had a thorn stuck in her paw. I pulled it out, she seems to be healing well.” He gave the cat in question a couple pets between her ears.

“Thank you. I was worried, with the traffic and all. I’m glad she found a kind heart to land with.”

The man’s smile was dazzling. “Of course.” The calico yawned, stretched, and eyed its owner, before hopping down onto the table bench and beginning to wash itself. She looked around the bar once again, taking in the atmosphere. Maybe she’d get a drink. It had been ages since she’d had a night out.

“Can I buy you a drink for taking care of my little runaway?”

The man laughed. “I’d love it, but I’m not sure the owner should drink while on the job.”

“Consider it a debt owed, then. If you’re ever at the coffee shop down the road, I’ll buy you whatever you want.”

“Saint Sebastian’s? Consider it done. Their cider is hard to beat.” A small smile began to play across her lips. She liked this man, despite the strange feeling he brought to the back of her mind. Maybe she would linger, buy a round. “I don’t mind watching her for a few more minutes, if you want to sit down and have a drink.”

She laughed. “If you insist. A couple of the drinks did catch my eye.”

He raised his mug. “Cheers to that. Let me know when you two are leaving, I’ll come say goodbye.”

“Of course.”

The rest of the night passed in a warm haze, the familiarity of being surrounded by strangers, all kind but all unknowing. It had been a long time since she had gone out, longer still since she had been relaxed enough to enjoy herself. She lost herself in the steady thrum of life around her, the snippets of conversations she overheard, the peals of laughter. Her scars barely bothered her, the warm environment chasing away all memories, as she purchased round after round, indulging. She was at loathe to leave, even when her eyelids started drooping. She only called it a night when she found herself nodding off at the bar. She whistled for the calico, hoping it would hear but not expecting it to respond, before donning her coat and heading for the door.

“See you soon! I’ll remember about Sebastian’s,” a cheery voice called out from behind. She stumbled, heart knifed by a pang of familiarity. She was back in the bar just days before her death, riding the same high of good company and heavy drink she felt now. The voice that had waved her out of the New Inn was a mirror to the one echoing through her mind now. She brushed her hair out of her face, determined not to lose herself in the past. Not yet.

“Of course! Tell them you know the owner.” She waved her hand behind her indistinctly, calico trailing at her heels. After a short walk down the street, she pushed her way into her apartment. Her eyelids felt heavier still as she peeled off her coat before flopping into bed. Her sleep was dreamless, at first.

It began the way it always did. She was scribbling at her father’s desk again, nine years old. The words were placed in her mind as she wrote them, divine and perfect. The door banged open, her father grabbed her hair, and she was hauled off his chair and down the stairs, pain ricocheting through her knees as they hit every step. The pain moved into her wrists as she was pinned down, James’s breath wet and sticky on her neck. She twitched as she slept, thrashing smothered under the blanket of sleep.

This night, however, the dream didn’t reach its zenith. She expected the pain to move up, lacing delicately around her neck. Instead, it seeped out of her completely. She found herself stretched out, four paws and twitching tail. She looked rather like her own calico. She was suspicious, at first - why had the pain left her? where did it go? - before slumping down to enjoy the warmth of the fire. She had been suffering for so long. Who was she to deny a little comfort? And the fire was so warm, and she was so cozy. She slipped away before she even realized, into dreams so deep she didn’t remember them when she woke.

The next afternoon found her mirroring the stranger’s position from last night. Her books were spread out across a table in the back of St. Sebastian’s, glasses sat low on her nose, pencil dancing between her fingers. April hummed away at the espresso machine, pulling shots and steaming milk. She was partway through dissecting one of Byron’s poems when the bell above the door chimed. A warm greeting echoed through the space, and she looked up to see the face of the stranger from last night. She felt her face break into a smile, despite herself.

“The cat owner! I figured I’d find you here.” He rubbed his hands together, warding off the last of the late autumn chill. “So how’s the cider looking today?”

She pushed out from the table.

A round of coffee led to conversation about the state of the neighborhood, the customers each of their businesses got, how beautiful the weather had been lately. There was still something about this man she recognized, something in the tilt of his head or the glint of his eyes. She was comfortable around him in a way she hadn’t been around someone in very many years. She hesitated to question why, but couldn’t stop her mind from wandering.

The conversation drifted, then quieted. He glanced at the books covering the table, lazy at first, before his eye caught on one.

“Hamlet, huh?” His nose wrinkled.

“What, you take issue with the Bard?” She aimed to tease, but something in his tone snagged her attention.

See the full post

2 notes - Posted October 14, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

; rosary-strung (ii)

summary: unusual girls find each other. strangers become known. pairing: eventual hob x oc x morpheus, right now it’s just gearing up warnings: more blood mentions, mentions of familial abuse wc: ~1.7k again, wow, look at me go notes: place your bets on how long it’ll take me to get to her actual name. anyways more hob, more morpheus, and could it be ?! an actual plot ?!

cross-posted to ao3 - chapter one

A few days after her run-in with the owner of the inn, her neighbor’s daughter begins lingering around the coffee shop. The girl was only about thirteen, too young to really need or want to drink coffee, so she mostly sat in the corner of the shop, quietly doing homework or reading. Unobtrusive, but certainly lonely. Looking at this girl, wild-eyed and skittish, made the little saint’s heart ache in fierce reminder of the past. Who she had been, who she was now. All the changes she could never undo, even if she had wanted.

The girl’s mother came to get her one night, clearly coming home from working a late shift. Tired as she was, her eyes lit up upon seeing her daughter, who had been put in charge of refilling the napkins around the tables. She smiled softly, leaning against the bar as the owner looked on. “You’re a saint for taking care of her, I can’t thank you enough.”

“Of course. She’s quiet as a mouse. I couldn’t ask for a better customer.”

“You don’t mind having her here, do you? She finishes school a few hours before I get off work, and I’d hate for her to be all alone in our apartment.” The stress settled back into the lines of the mother’s face.

“It’s no problem at all.”

The girl hopped down from the barstool and trotted over to her mother. The bar was impeccably organized, everything restocked and in its place.

“We’d better get going,” the girl’s mom started to gather her daughter’s things. “C’mon Steph, you’ve got school tomorrow. Let’s get some sleep.” The girl trotted over to her mom, helping her put away the books and binders that had slowly taken over one of the cafe tables. She waved as the two of them left, shoulders slumped and happily tired out. The little saint smiled as she watched the pair leave. It was time for her to head home, too.

She braced herself against the cold of the outside. As she pulled the front door tight to lock it - the stupid thing always got stuck when it was cold out - she heard a call come from down the street.

“Cat owner!”

The stranger from before was walking down the street, hands buried in his coat pockets and smile wide across his face. “Thought I’d catch you here. I just saw Melanie and her kid leaving, didn’t know you two were friends.”

“We’re neighbors. Her daughter hangs around when she’s busy with work. The cafe’s safe and she’s quiet, I don’t mind.” She slipped the key out of the lock and pushed her coat collar up against the wind.

“That so.” He kept pace alongside her as she walked down the street. “I never introduced myself when we met. Hob Gadling.” He stuck his hand out towards her. She shook, firm.

“Nice to meet you.” A strange pause as she dodged around giving her name. Then,

“You know, that girl is a little odd. Melanie’s kid, I mean. I’ve heard some of the people at the bar saying she’s up at odd hours, weird thumps on the walls and such.”

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. “That so?”

“Yeah.” She glanced sidelong to see his eyes locked straight on her face. Without thinking, her fingers came up to rub at the necklace tucked under her shirt.

“Well, I’ll keep an eye on her. Let you know if anything strange happens at the shop.”

He chuckled. “That’d be nice. Hope I’ll see you around the pub sometime, I’ve got some papers on Hamlet from my students, a few of them you might appreciate.”

She laughed, surprising herself at how bright it was. She hadn’t laughed like that in ages. “Say less.”

“Perfect. They’re due this Friday, if you want to get them while they’re fresh.”

“Consider it done.”

Their paths parted and they went their separate ways.

She wakes the next morning with a neck weeping blood and a tap, tapping against her window door. Blearily, she looks down, seeing fingernails crusted with blood. Eugh. The tapping becomes more insistent, and she grumbles as she throws the comforter off her legs. She approaches the window to see - an enormous black bird. It notices her noticing, and begins hopping across the window ledge.

She pushes the window open, and the bird comes into her home in a flurry of feathers.

“Thank God! I was out there for ages, can’t believe how long it took you to wake up.”

She blinks. “You talk.”

“Sure do. Name’s Matthew. Say, you got anything a bird could eat lying around? The trip really took it out of me, I’m starving.”

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3 notes - Posted November 4, 2022

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#tumblr2022 #this is so fun awww

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illusionsofdreaming · 3 years

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what kind of characters are your type?

To answer this question I had to look into the deepest, darkest depths of myself. And it was an absolute dumpster fire in there.

Course, I could’ve just taken the easy way out and list out several characters I like but why do that when I can try to psych myself out by analysing why?

So without further ado...

my favorite character types:

Let’s get the simplest one out of the way first which is: Character visual design

This only applies to characters which usually have some sort of canon visual design (eg. anime, manga, webcomics, games. For now characters from books will be excluded.)

I’ve picked a few good boys as examples but as you can see, I seem to have a preference for two types of designs: wavy hair and redheads.

Wavy hair group:

is that bedhair or natural curls? sometimes look like they’ve never showered in 80982638 years but still hot. only works in anime. rain only makes their hair look better. 80% chance they smoke. usually darker hair. 200% tired. probably looks kind of dead inside. also can look evil/assumed evil but actually baby. wow they already look good but when they pull their hair back-ASDLAKSJDLKJ. I want to run my fingers through their hair. btw those curls can’t be replicated in rl. short, medium, long lengths, all of them please.

Redheads:

red.

With that out of the way, let’s move on to the good stuff. Character personalities.

Did I just make a shitty meme for this? Yes. Yes I did.

Obviously that’s not the real selling point of these babies.

It’s also not everyone but I specifically chose these few as an example because they are also part of a group I’d like to call “boys with unassuming/disagreeable reputation but psych! they’re actually super smart” group.

Please, let me elaborate.

These characters usually have two sides. The public face and the ‘real’ self. Now, a lot of characters have two faces but the characters I end up liking are those who’s ‘public face’ is perceived negatively or extremely ‘harmless’ that they’re often underestimated/looked down upon.

Their fronts are actually a defense mechanism - a repellant if you would - to discourage others from investigating too close and hide their vulnerability. Because most of these babies have been through so much.

Virion’s flamboyant, braggart, flirtatious front masks the fact he still feels so much about the fact he’s been forced out of his country, watched his people die and continue to suffer their wrath for what they perceived as his ‘cowardice’ when he was just as much of a victim as anyone else.

Cale who insists he is trash because theres injustice in this world and if he’s trash he might as well break all the rules and mould the world as he sees fit. If only to create a world where people can live without regrets then he’d be the trashy one and point out the flaws in the system and correct it himself. Trash don’t follow rules anyways.

Kenshin who clings to an easy-going, happy-go-lucky, very non threatening persona as he tries to live day by day, atoning for the sins of his manslayer past which haunts his every step.

Claude is known as the schemer. A person who’s nonchalant attitude makes reading his intentions hard. Untrustworthy. A person who’s willing to use any and all kinds of underhanded tricks to win. Because that’s how he had to survive back home, when he had to fight his brothers to survive. He learned to keep a facade because the wolves are vicious and unforgiving once they smell blood. Despite his childhood, he only had one simple wish, grander than others. To open the borders, so that everyone can be treated as an equal.

Venti literally wore the face of his dead friend for over 2,000 years, need I say more?

I would go on and explain more but I think you get the gist of it. Perhaps what separates them from others is the fact they don’t care to change what others think, almost welcoming bad rep because it helps one way or another to be unnoticed and underestimated.

Because guess what. All of them are incredibly smart/skilled. It’s sexy. Despite their skillsets, they would choose to withhold from abusing them and accept abuse society throws at them instead. Well not entirely, they do have a line, it’s just more tolerant than others but boy, if it is crossed...

Perhaps it’s because I’m a writer, these characters just naturally attract me because their duality has so much potential I can angst about.

Anyways, that seems to be majority type of characters I go for. There’s also a small group of emotionally constipated characters such as Saizo from Fire Emblem Fates and Gilbert Nightray from Pandora’s Heart. These characters who are fluent in communicating in grunts and glares, have the emotional range of a brick, gets offended if they’re given affection - otherwise colloquially known as the tsunderes.

random outliers:

Tartaglia is... I don’t know. He just grew on me like a stinking weed. He’s a bit on the crazy side but I think I smell something of story - I don’t know much, I feel like I want to know more but whoops. I like him now.

Niles who’s whole personality revolves around being as vulgar and repelling as possible. An angry cat, albeit a justified angry cat. He has so much anger and expresses it so painfully. that I just. can’t. I feel for him.

#chatter #character types #asking a simp why they simp #like wow #i could write an essay for each character i like about why i like them #but it would break my heart #can you see how much fun i had writing this #let me show you my babies #fire emblem #rurouni kenshin #genshin impact #tcf #everyone should try this #a deeper analysis into why you like certain character types #i swear it's very enlightening #please tag me if you do #i want to read

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teaandinanity · 6 years

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... I blew all of my hoarded orbs sumoning on green on the Valentines banner because I really wanted LA!Hector.

Things I have gotten instead:

Minerva

LA!Lilina

Julia

another LA!Lilina

ANOTHER LA!Lilina

yet another LA!Lilina

There is no hell like banners where two of the focus characters are on the same color. I just want hot Hector. On the plus side, I think this means I’m going to make a supermerge cavalry princess to destroy things, because she DOES have a very pretty dress. But her voice is really grating why do they always do that with female characters not that I can actually talk since MY voice is really high and nasal too but WHY.

#fire emblem heroes #gatcha game hell #oh look that was already a tag #ugh #babble tea (blacklist this for less chatter)

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miraculous-ninjabird · 2 years

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Hi! Welcome to my personal blog! My name is Robin and this is where I collect all my thoughts and reblog/occasionally write posts of whatever my current interests are. Right now you’ll find lots of Fire Emblem stuff but you’ll see all sorts of other things here as well.

All personal posts are tagged under ‘mk’s chatter’ (previously) or ‘Robin’s twittering’ (current) for any of those who care not to see my posts about various random thoughts I have/things going on in my life. I don’t really tag much else but if you need me to feel free to ask.

I like to write and might post things about what I’m working on here or there, both original or fan related. I’m always down to make new friends, so anyone can dm me any time. I try my best to be responsive.

I don’t have a DNI for personal reasons but I reserve the right to block anyone who post things/are involved with things/send me messages I am not okay with. My only rule is to be respectful and be kind.

Here is a more in depth opinion on how I feel about character drama (though that applies to fandom drama as a whole as well). Short version: I do not care and don’t have time for you

Hope y’all enjoy your time here

#pinned post #Robin’s twittering

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clonetrooperwizard · 3 years

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The Abused

Tech x Reader (Kind of) Mostly reader centric.

Ace friendly

Not self indulgent at all, nope, no sir

Part of the Bad Batch's Angel Series

Word count: 1.2K

Part 1/3

Note: thank you @purgetroopercody for the beta❤️

The Bad Batch lands on a remote planet in hopes to help the local forces retake their city from a power hungry dictator. But like every mission for this crew, something was bound to go wrong.

Being the assigned medic for The Bad Batch was exhausting. Not only were they reckless, always getting themselves into trouble and causing more work for you, but they bickered all the time. And it is always over little things, even this morning.

“Tech I told you to not turn the power on until I was done with these repairs!” Echo shouted from under the main console, head buried deep in the hardware.

“And I told you we would need to leave by 0800, Hunter and Wrecker overstayed their welcome again and we need to go.” Tech retaliated.

A grunt later and Echo was sitting up and closing the maintenance panel. “Go ahead, but the next time all the lights on the controls go out, you get to check all the wiring,” Echo grumbled as he left the flight deck.

All you could do was stand there and sigh whenever they bickered. You could swear it was like listening to an old married couple… that consisted of five grown man-children.

“Heads up,” Hunter called, “landing in 10.”

Today you were headed to a lesser known planet to provide relief to a local group working against their local government that was rounding up citizens, tagging them and sending them to slaving camps. The Secondary Minister of the planet, a human named Kail Dugan, called in the assistance of the Republic to help his people, saying that the Prime Minister was using his position of power to abuse the people and refused to step down when a vote of non-confidence was passed.

Since then, the Prime Minister has doubled his security measures and increased the brutality so much that before long, most of the citizens had been captured and enslaved after seven rotations.

Due to the planet’s neutrality, the Republic could not get involved directly, so Clone Force 99 was sent to ‘do what they do.’

Before long the team was touching down and exiting the Marauder on the outskirts of the capital. The majority of the planet was desert coated in gold sand with sandstone buildings littering the outer parts of the main city. The city itself was a little more modern with paved streets and concrete buildings.

“Secondary Minister”, Hunter greeted the man as the group made their way over.

“Sergeant Hunter was it?” The man responded.

“Yes, and this is the rest of my team, Clone Force 99.” Hunter said as he gestured to the rest of the squad.

“Perfect, I see you have a medic, we could really use their help with some of our wounded. There is a medical tent right behind our housing tents, my assistant Layla will guide you there.”

“Of course sir,” you said as you quickly made to follow Layla, waving at Tech as you left. As you walked away you could hear the rest of the team discussing their next move.

Making your way to the medical tent you noticed the people around the campsite. Some were wearing the local military garb that Tech had shown you a picture of on the way to the planet. Unlike in the photo, here you noticed that the government's emblem had been ripped off, as well as the name and rank tabs on everyone’s uniform. They obviously didn’t agree with the Prime Minister's ideaIs, you thought to yourself. It was a good thing really, it meant that your team wasn't going in with a bunch of civvies who didn’t know how to fight, they had some training behind them.

Once you had arrived at the medical tent you started noting patients and any visible injuries they may have. Some had blaster wounds, but in non-critical places. Some were nursing one of their limbs, likely sprains or breaks. But there was one patient there that caught your attention, a little girl, no older than 10 standard. Cropped brown hair, green eyes, and a beauty mark on her left cheek. She was very dirty, covered in mud and dust, and had small scrapes all over her body, but other than that no obvious injuries. She sat on the edge of the cot facing your direction, swinging her legs that didn’t quite meet the floor.

Something about her peaked your interest so you made your way over to her first. “Hello dear,” you said as her eyes came to meet yours. “I’m a medic, would it be okay if I took a look at your injuries?”

She nodded slightly and turned around on the cot, now you could see the tear in her clothing and the fairly large road rash on her back, she must have fallen. As you made your way to clean the wound, you decided to make conversation with the girl. “So sweetheart, what happened? Playing a little too hard with your friends?”

What she said shattered your heart. “No, I was running from papa. He got mean and started taking people. I don’t know why, but ever since mama died he’s gotten meaner. I didn’t like how mean he was being and he started yelling and had his guards chase me. I was running and tripped, scratched my back. I was scared so I hid. Mr. Dugan found me soon after and got me out of the city.”

By the time the little girl was done telling her story you had applied bacta and a proper bandage to her back. The little girl turned around, “thank you,” she said.

“My pleasure. You can stay here if you would like.” Figuring she would need something to do you encourage her to visit the other patients and say hi. That way you could keep an eye on her. Something about her continued to peak your interest and you felt it would be best if she stayed close by.

After an hour's time you had treated four patients and you were right, two sprained wrists, a blaster shot to the shoulder and surprisingly, a soldier with a nasty rash, poor guy fell into a poisonous bush while jumping for cover.

During that time you could hear chatter on the team's comms. By now they were making their way through the city to locate the civilians and capture the Prime Minister. They had met a couple of small enforcement groups along the way, but nothing the boys couldn’t handle. Hunter gave the command to split up so Tech, Echo and Wrecker went to go look for the citizens, while Crosshair and Hunter continued to look for the Prime Minister. You were treating a woman who had a blaster shot to the leg when Tech’s voice came through the comms, “Hunter, we have found the civilians, they are working in an underground mine under the palace. All of them seem to be accounted for.”

“Good news Tech, we haven’t found the Prime Minister yet. Things are too quiet for my liking.”

Suddenly, a man shouting outside caught your attention, “where is she? Give me my daughter!”

Blaster fire rang through the camp and you peaked your head out of the tent to see a tall man dressed in official looking clothing with five guards in tow. You could see several people on the ground, some unmoving, some with minor blaster wounds.

“Tell me, NOW!” He shouted as you ducked behind the cover of the tent.

“Hunter?” You ask into your comm, “I found the Prime Minister, he’s here.”

#the bad batch #tech #wrecker #hunter #crosshair #echo bay #self insert #reader x tech #kind of #sort of #established relationship #first star wars story #my writing 2021

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radiowrites · 2 years

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Tagged by @nillabean ! Thank you!

Three Ships: Mairu (Ghost Hunt), Rang/Yu Ri (Tale of the Nine Tailed), Royai (Fullmetal Alchemist)

First Ship: Ike/Elincia (Fire Emblem: Path of Radiance & Radiant Dawn)

Last Song: Tomboy by (g)Idle

Last Film: umm, probably Castle in the Sky

Currently Reading: well, guess who was revisiting Fire Emblem fanfiction

Currently Watching: Korean Drama “My Strange Hero”

Currently Consuming: nothing unfortunately

Tagging! @writercorianarose @dreams-of-kalopsia @radio-chatter @elizabethchelly @talesofsorrowandofruin @azdesertwillow @mostdeceasedjay @scribblesandsorcery and anyone else that wants to!

#meet the writer #ghost hunt #fire emblem #tale of the nine tailed #radio talk #ask game

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philliamwrites · 3 years

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The Dawn Will Come [Chpt.2]

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Dimitri x Reader, Claude x Reader, Edelgard x Reader, Yuri x Reader, Edelgard x Byleth, lots of minor pairings

Tags: #gn reader, # platonic love byleth & reader, #reader is a tactical unit, #angst, #slow burn, #subplots, #unreliable narrator, #pining, #remporary amnesia, #reluctant herp, #canon divergence, #lost twin au, #many chapters, #original content

Words: 6.7k

Summary: Waking up in a forest without any knowledge of your past and who you are, you join the house leaders of the Officers Academy to search for a way to return your memories. Unfortunately, the church has different plans for you, and Fate places you in the centre of a cruel game with deadly stakes. It certainly doesn’t help to fall in love with a house leader who is doomed to be your demise.

Notes: Chapter 1 | Chapter 3

Chapter 02: The Herald of Dawn

Hold me, O Night, with motherly affection, While the wan earth wakes with a misty yawn. By my blood will be born the Dawn and from my fleeting dream—the undying sun!

[Gabriele D’Annunzio]

Hushed whispers wake you from the dark. The crackling of fire sweeps away the last remains of weary unconsciousness, and you blink at a tent's ceiling. Someone draped heavy blankets over you, and with every breath you exhale, puffy white clouds rise up. The shadows of a fire dance across the walls, their blurry movements flush another wave of dizziness over you, and as you sit up, you notice a tight feeling around your head. When you raise a hand to your forehead, there is a bandage sitting tightly wrapped around your head, covering your right eye. The pain has finally stopped, but it still feels dully raw, like an injury that hasn’t healed properly and serves now as a reminder of anguish.

The memories from the battle rush back to you, the sound of metal hitting metal and heavy bodies dropping to the ground echo in your mind. Death was nothing new to the soldiers and mercenaries, so how come you don’t feel particularly sorry for the fallen? You’re no soldier, at least that’s what every fibre of your body tells you, so normalising killing isn’t right. You rebuild your surety of that, one shaky brick at a time.

Once on your feet, you make your way outside, drawn in by the smell of cooked meat and quiet chatter. The sight of a small camp greets you: more tents build a row on this side of the camp, and in the centre, solders sit around a small fire, their voices barely audible. They lean over a steaming kettle, their weapons at their feet or beside tree trunks—laid down for the night but still within reach.

“Heey, you’re finally back with us!” Claude’s voice rings through the camp, and several heads turn in your direction. As he waves for you to join him, you duck your head and move quickly to his side, wishing you could just merge with the ground and disappear from everyone’s attention. “Little one, you got us worried there,” he says. On his knees, he’s balancing a steaming wooden bowl, and the sight and smell reminds you how hungry you are. Your stomach agrees by providing a low growl.

“How long have I been out?” You barely recognise your own voice, the sound rough from exhaustion. Claude hums in thought and gestures with one hand to a soldier to bring you food, while his other pats the ground beside him for you to sit down. “We managed to march a couple of hours after cleaning up the mess from the battle. Right now we’re near the edge of the forest. There should be only one more day of marching until we reach the monastery.”

“And you guys are sure they can help me up there?” you wonder, watching the first group of soldiers get ready for the night watch. They’re frighteningly young, jostling and bumping into each other, laughing and stamping their feet against the cold snap that still lingers, the last gasp of winter before spring begins in earnest.

“If not there, I’m not sure there’s anyone out there who can help you.”

You glare at Claude. “Surely you must be the voice of confidence in this merry bunch, right?”

He laughs. “I’m the closest you’ll get to an optimist around here.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“Reassuring is my second name.”

“No, you said it’s von,” you mumble. Claude stares at you for a long minute, then bursts out laughing, the sound dark and rich. “No, that’s a noble prefix. You don’t even remember that?”

You open your mouth, and close it like a fish, feeling your cheeks raise in temperature. He shouldn’t make you feel guilty for forgetting something like that, and yet the shame settles in your bones and you want to smack your head against something to help your brain remember.

“Ah, but pardon my rudeness,” Claude purrs and gives you a mock bow. “I can tell you everything you want to know about nobility and how overrated it is. In fact, I might as well convince you to join the Alliance before Their Highnesses steal you to their side.”

“I’m not going to be on anyone’s side,” you mumble, and steal Claude’s blanket as payback, relishing in his offended expression. “It has nothing to do with me.”

Claude raises an eyebrow. “Ehh, I’m not so sure it’s that easy.”

“It is,” you insist, unable to hide the sulk from your voice. “Because I say so.”

Claude raises both eyebrows. “That’s not how it works.”

“Watch me.”

Something like a shadow flashes across his emerald eyes, but it disappears quickly enough for you to think it’s only the light from the campfire playing a trick on you. “We’ll see about that.” He scrapes the remaining contents from his bowl and lets out a satisfying yawn when he’s finished, stretching his long limbs like a cat getting comfortable. “Sooo,” he starts, unnecessarily dragging out the vowel and the sound of it locks up your shoulders into one tense muscle in preparation of what he’s going to say next. “Care to explain what happened back there?”

You take a deep breath. “You mean when it felt like my eye was going to fall out of its socket?”

“Actually I meant when you tripped over that one root after we found you.” He gives you a crooked grin. “But that’s interesting too, please go on.”

“I thought no one saw that,” you mumble, and avoid his gaze as you remember that stupid root that nearly broke your neck. Well, Claude surely knows a thing or two about tricking someone into talking about exactly what he wants to hear.

You thank the mercenary that brings you food, and notice it’s the one from the battle with the crooked nose. He gives you a just as crooked grin and limps back to his comrades. The stew warms your chilled bones, the rich flavour of meat and vegetables lifting your spirits and filling you with energy. As you eat, you drag out the minutes but Claude doesn’t even squirm as you let him wait, and starts whistling an off-key tune until you start to feel uncomfortable.

“Well, if I knew, I wouldn’t be afraid that it might happen again,” you admit begrudgingly. “Because that was scary.”

“Yeah, it didn’t really look like fun,” Claude agrees. “But what was it in the first place?”

“I don’t know.” You start to become weary of those words. “But it hurt.”

Claude gives you a sympathetic look, and goes silent, allowing you to eat, but you can’t shake off the feeling his mind is still trying to figure out what’s the deal with you. He can, for all you care. And once he’s done, he can write a report and hand it right to you so you’ll understand as well.

Out of the corner of your eye you notice someone moving towards you. Dimitri approaches you with caution like you’re a small animal he might scare off with hasty movements. But the look he gives Claude is that of a disappointed father, and he shakes his head once he’s standing in front of him. “Claude, we were supposed to not disturb our guest,” Dimitri says sternly, then bows his head in your direction. “Apologies. We should let you rest.”

“No, it’s okay,” you admit, and shuffle a little to the side to make room. “Please stay.”

Both boys exchange a quick look, but then Dimitri sits down, minding a polite distance unlike Claude who only needs to stretch his legs for his feet touch your knee.

“We were worried,” Dimitri starts. Just like Claude, he’s taken off most of his armour, and nothing about him stands out as a member of the royalty. He looks just like any other boy, and you’d never admit it out loud, but you already miss the blue tones on his uniform, the colour making his remarkably ice-blue eye stand out even more. “Luckily we could dispose of all bandits and return to a safe area. Byleth carried you here all by herself.”

“Yeah, remind me not get on her bad side, okay?” Claude laughs, but you think you hear a slight nervous tremble in his voice. “She looks like she can decapitate me with a butter knife.”

“She doesn’t look like it. She very certainly will behead you with a butter knife,” Dimitri provides with a pleasant smile as if he’s talking about the weather.

“See, and that’s why she fits best in the Alliance,” Claude says, winking at you. “We’re always full of surprises.”

Dimitri rolls his eyes and crosses his arms in front of his broad chest. “You might try it. I personally plan to convince her to join the Kingdom.”

“I think you’re both too late for that,” you say as you look to the other side of the camp where Byleth and Edelgard are currently engaged in a deep conversation, their heads leaning close to each other. Claude groans miserably, but quickly recovers as he turns to you, his eyes brightening up with excitement. “It’s okay, because once my disarming charm has wrapped you around my little finger, I’ll have an impressive tactician on my side.”

You almost choke on your next spoon of stew. “Tactician? I wouldn’t go that far.”

Beside you, Dimitri clears his throat. “Though I have to question Claude’s way of persuasion, I must admit he isn’t wrong about the latter. What you did back there was impressive.”

“I really didn’t do anything special,” you mumble at the same time Claude raises both hands leisurely and says, “Hey, it’s not my problem you think you’re immune to it, Your Princeliness.”

Dimitri grumbles something in a foreign language under his breath. Grinning smugly, Claude turns to you, and nudges your side. “Have confidence, little one. They’ll teach you everything you need to know up there.” He points up towards a mountain where you’ll apparently be heading tomorrow. If you squint, you think you can make out lights in the horizon brightening the night sky.

“That monastery,” you say, trying to ignore how Claude’s body radiates heat. “What exactly is that place? I’ve never heard of a monastery that holds a school. I think,” you quickly add, unsure what thoughts provided by your hazy mind are facts.

“The Officers Academy is a facility where students learn the arts of warfare, magic, and leadership,” Dimitri explains. He’s very obviously trying not to look at Claude, which in return has Claude’s grin widening even more. “The lessons provide us with everything we need as upcoming heads of our families. Swordsmanship, sorcery, authority, the history of our continent. There is much to learn for everyone attending the classes.”

“So it’s a death factory,” you translate, the sudden bitter taste in your mouth overshadowing the taste of the stew. “How can they just teach that stuff like it’s normal?”

“You saw it yourself, didn’t you.” Claude stretches his long limbs and leans back until he props his body up on his elbows. “Bandits and thieves everywhere.”

“And most students come from a noble house,” Dimitri adds. “They need to be taught how to take command, and about the responsibilities coming with leadership.”

You blow a strand of hair away from your face, mood dropped now that you know where you’ll be from tomorrow on. “This doesn’t sound right.” Though you can’t really say how a school is supposed to be instead. This is a world with different rules, and you aren’t sure if it’ll be easy to accommodate to them.

While the boys bicker how good the plot of the tale mentioned earlier really is, you see Byleth approaching. A bruise is forming on her left cheek, and she holds her arm as if bearing the pain from a wound. But nothing of that is portrayed on her face, as if her brain hasn’t registered she’s wounded yet and hence doesn’t need to express it.

“How are you?” she asks, sending the boys a quick look. Dimitri and Claude climb to their feet and wish their good nights with a quick bow. They hurry to Edelgard and gang up on heir, probably interrogating her about the conversation she's had with Byleth.

“I’m better,” you say, a little surprised you actually mean it. You feel refreshed and nourished, ready for another day of walking. Byleth sits down and watches the camp for a moment in silence. The chaos from before has settled into a quiet hum. Men and women sit together in little circles and tell their glorious battle stories with boisterous laughter, selling the illusion of a victorious life. But that might easily end the next day because of a hasty recklessness. No one thinks of that. Everyone is just celebrating, reaching for flasks and living in the moment. It’s a beautiful sight.

As the buzzing sound of people chatting subsides and the first turn in for the night, Byleth turns towards you, her voice lowered. “What you did back there,” she starts, and for whatever reason remains silent as if she decided talking about it isn’t a good idea. Shadows from the weakened fire dance across her face, and again you’re flooded with the unfathomable feeling of familiarity. It’s in the sharp lines of her face, the way her eyes move and settle on something as she observes her surroundings. It’s almost a painful sense of nostalgia. Something about this woman just brings you an unusual amount of ease, like it doesn’t really matter who you are, and rather that you’re here that makes the difference.

Before you can stop your brain, you’re already asking, “Do we know each other by chance?”

Byleth looks at you for a long minute, then slowly shakes her head, and you try not to show your disappointment too much. “I’ve travelled a lot with my father,” she says. “We’ve come through many lands and villages. You may have seen me at some point, but we’ve never exchanged a word until yesterday.”

You nod at the plausible explanation, but the feeling that this isn’t the right answer curls like a hook into your heart. “And your father hasn’t said anything about me as well?”

“No.” Byleth’s eyes follow your hands as they set down the empty bowl. Seeing that you’ve finished everything, she nods in approval. “And he doesn’t forget a face.”

“How do you all just … trust me,” you wonder, looking to where Jeralt is miserably leaning against a tree trunk as Alois keeps talking and talking. He looks like he wishes someone would take him down with an arrow.

“He doesn’t,” Byleth says. “And he calls me a little whippersnapper for that. He hasn’t called me that in the five years.” At the sound of the smile in her voice you snap your head in Byleth’s direction, but when you look, she wears the same bland expression like before.

“But you do,” you start carefully, not trusting your ears again, so you settle on staring at her until she gives another emotion. “Care to explain why?”

“For now, you haven’t given me any reason not to,” she states as if it really were that simple. It couldn’t be. Up until now Byleth has been your only anchor that your meeting wasn’t purely coincidental—that the reason shrouding your memories would dissipate like the night once dawn breaks if you just stick to her side, and everything will be revealed in time. But now without anything to hold on to, you feel like you’re slipping deeper and deeper into an abyss from which you can’t ascend. This feeling is terror fizzing in your blood like poison, and you shudder at the thought that you’ll forever remain adrift.

“Your powers,” Byleth continues, unaware of your mental breakdown right next to her. “They’re unusual, and if you learn to use them right, very dangerous.” Spoken by everyone else, this might sound like a threat, but Byleth says it like a simple statement, a fact, unaware how much she tilts your world with it. “What do you plan to do with them?”

You don’t have to think long about it. “I won’t do anything. Whatever it was, it’s over,” you say and gesture at your bandaged eye. It’s true. Since you woke up, your eye has remained calm, no red veil or eery proclamation someone might step into the campfire and burn alive. The pounding has stopped, and the normalcy of it is like a soothing balm.

Byleth studies you. You really wish she could give you more than her vacant expression. “You don’t know yet … your eye.” She takes your spoon and with the end of it, she draws a symbol on the ground. “Do you know what that is?”

You look at it, but nothing comes to your mind. It’s just a four pointed star with two lines crossing the right and left tips. “No, I’ve never seen it.”

Byleth holds your gaze as if she hopes to find a lie written between your eyes, and this time you don’t look away until she relents with a barely audible sigh.

“Why do you ask?”

“Because before you passed out, it appeared here.” She taps a finger against her closed, right eye, then points at you. Your body goes rigid. Immediately, your hands fly up to tear off the bandage, but Byleth catches your wrists and holds them down. “Not yet.”

“I want to see it.” Your breath catches in your lungs. It sounds like you need air because you’re drowning. “I want it off. Take it off!”

“I can’t show you, there are no mirrors,” Byleth says quietly, and throws a quick glance around the camp to see if your panic has alarmed anyone. You want to point out that you could use the reflection of her sword, but maybe Byleth has considered the same and thought it a bad idea, because she doesn’t know what else you might do with a weapon in your current state. Seeing that fighting against the vice grip she has on your hands is futile, you slump down, your arms falling slack back to your side. “Just what… what is happening. What is that?”

“Edelgard said it might be a Crest, but none she or the others have seen before,” Byleth explains. “They told me there is a teacher at the monastery who studies Crests.” She gives your arms a barely noticeable squeeze before she lets go. “So it’s going to be okay.”

“How can you say that?” you nearly sob, and wish you could hold onto her longer as she stands up and brushes dirt off her uniform. “How can you be so sure?”

“I’m not,” Byleth says, giving you one last look. You want to tell yourself it’s something like worry you see in her eyes, but her expression remains blank, like a board that’s been wiped clean. “I can only hope.”

The next morning, Jeralt and Alois set an unforgiving pace, determined to reach the monastery shortly after dawn broke. While everyone else couldn’t wait to reach their home as fast as possible, you feel worry grow with every step up the hill towards the walls and towers. The monastery looms like a stronghold, a building so tall and intimidating, built to make people feel small.

You were allowed to take off the bandage, and there was nothing worse than knowing something was on your eye but you couldn’t see it. Unlike everyone else. They kept staring at you, mumbling to each other in quiet whispers, and more than once you considered telling them that just because your eye was different it didn’t mean you were blind. It was reason enough for you to put the bandage back on and stay away from the soldiers and mercenaries, leaving them to their superstitious rumours. Who could have thought that you’d grab someone else’s attention entirely with that revelation.

Even before the first sunbeams broke through the budding branches, the wind carrying the smell of spring and new life, Edelgard stuck to you like a tick. It wasn’t hard to find out she was more interested in your Crest than you as a person, and every question you couldn’t answer fuelled her irritation. Still she was nothing but determined to squeeze the tiniest information out of you, and even though you tried to avoid her by either marching way too fast or way too slow, Edelgard didn’t relent and remained by your side. Fear is a little exaggerated to describe what you feel towards her, but it's close. Whenever her sharp eyes focus on you, unease takes hold of your brain and the words leave your mouth as nervous stammers. It certainly doesn’t help that you know she can easily hack off a grown man’s arm without so much as blinking. Or that the corners of her mouth curl up into the sweetest, rare smile.

Once you’re on the trade road up to the monastery, pebble makes way to smooth cobblestone. Giant iron doors stand wide open, and as your group enters, a merchant’s cart rolls past you and greets the returning knights. After the first entrance point, the second waits in the form of a portcullis and more knights standing on guard. Past the second ring of walls, you enter a small forecourt. On both sides are stalls and booths with merchants screaming their prices and the sound of metal hammered into the right shape at the blacksmith’s. At the foot of wide stairs leading up into the first building, a man dressed in dark blue robes awaits you, his strong arms crossed behind his back.

“Welcome back,” he greets Alois and the students. “Your messenger bird has reached us yesterday late into the evening, and preparations have been made.” To Jeralt, he says, “My name is Seteth. I am an adviser to the archbishop. Lady Rhea awaits you.” Jeralt nods but he looks a lot more cautious since you’ve entered the monastery grounds. At the mention of that name, his posture visibly tenses, but he gestures to Byleth and you to follow him nonetheless.

“We shall return to our respectable classes for now and make known we are unscathed,” Dimitri says. “Please, Byleth, and you too, if things have calmed down, meet the other students as well, won’t you?”

“Ohh, good idea. You have to go around and introduce yourself as our great saviours.” Claude winks at you with both thumbs up. Edelgard slaps his hands back down.

“We’ll be standing here until evening if we don’t get going," she says. "Please give Lady Rhea our regards. We’ll report to her once everything is sorted out about you.” She eyes you sideways, then ushers the boys down another hall like a mother hen. You exchange a quick look with Byleth who already looks very exasperated with the student’s antics.

Seteth leads you into the Audience Chamber, a rectangular room with statues decorating the walls, and asks for you to wait. The moment he leaves the room, you turn towards Jeralt and Byleth and ask, “Who is this Lady Rhea?”

“I’m aware Byleth doesn’t know much about her, I haven’t taught her he teachings of Seiros, but you—” He stops mid sentence seeing the way you look at him, and clears his throat. “Lady Rhea is the archbishop of the Church of Seiros. She’s commanding the knights and sees that the people don’t do anything stupid in the name of Seiros.”

“Seiros?” you ask, turning the name in your head. Nope, nothing.

“You know, the one who defeated the King of Liberation and founded the Church of Seiros?” When you just shrug, Jeralt scratches his beard and hums in thought. “Well, I sure won’t be the one preaching what you should know or not. But maybe don’t make it all too obvious you aren’t a follower.”

Or what, you want to ask, but Seteth returns and he isn’t alone. The woman walking ahead of him looks like she belongs on the portrait of a saint. It isn’t much that she walks towards you, but rather strides in grateful steps to the middle of the room, her chin raised high and shoulders squared. And yet when she looks at your little assembly, her eyes are soft and kind, her expression open and friendly.

“I welcome you into these sacred halls,” she says, her voice like soothing velvet on your skin. “Alois informed me of what happened, and I thank every one of you for saving the students.” Lady Rhea smiles at you all separately. Her eyes linger on you, and she titles her head slightly. “I've also heard about the wondrous things that happened to you. Please, be so kind and remove the bandage. Let me take a look at this Crest.”

You hesitate, your fingers playing with the hem of your shirt. But Rhea waits patiently and raises a delicate hand when her advisor Seteth flinches to repeat her request. Slowly, you take the bandage off, barely able to imagine how the symbol or Crest as they call it looks upon your eye. When you meet Rhea's gaze again, her smile freezes, and her eyes widen in surprise. Her lips part slightly, then stretch into an ecstatic smile. Beside her, Seteth inhales sharply. “This is impossible,” he breathes, growing pale. You start to panic.

“Why, what's wrong with me? What is impossible?”

“Nothing, nothing is wrong,” Rhea quickly reassures you, but it's hard to believe when Seteth looks like he's seen a ghost. “A fortunate day indeed. Not only does one of the strongest knights to have ever walked these halls return, but it also seems that a new chapter of history dawns upon us.”

All eyes land on her, one more puzzled than the other. Even Seteth doesn’t look like he fully comprehends what’s happening. “Lady Rhea?” he asks cautiously at the same time as Jeralt demands, “What are you talking about?”

The archbishop ignores them both, and the longer she gives you that pleasant smile, the more unsettled you feel. “When Alois wrote about a Crest appearing on your body, I was not sure what to think of it. But now, I cannot hide my joy at the return of a Crest that we thought was lost to history.”

“I—I don’t know why I have it,” you quickly say, feeling you have to defend yourself before they accuse you of stealing it. Can Crests be stolen in the first place? “I don’t remember why I have it.”

Lady Rhea nods, her solemn expression making way to worry. “Of that Alois informed me as well. You may stay here until your memories return. Allow me for now to tell you about the Crest. Maybe that will dissipate some of the darkness shrouding your mind.”

You nod, and brace yourself for whatever she’ll reveal. It certainly helps that Byleth stands close to you, her mere presence a standing stone you can hold onto for now without drifting away.

“It is a Crest most uncommon,” Lady Rhea explains, her hands gracefully crossed in front of her. “For there was only one person who bore it. This Crest belonged to the very one who served our Lady Seiros against the evil powers that threatened Fódlan thousands of years ago. He was known as Seiros’ Champion. The Herald of Dawn.”

She allows those words to sink into you, and how deep they sink. Now that they’re out here, you feel like they pull you down, deeper down into a dark sea from which you can’t surface. The only result is drowning.

“Herald of … you don’t think. You can’t think—” Your thoughts move way too fast, you can’t grasp any to sort them.

“What I think means nothing in light of what has transpired and therefore is reality. You are chosen by the Goddess herself to bring hope to the people of Fódlan. You are the Herald of Dawn.”

You feel sick. It may be phantom pain, but you could swear your right eye starts hurting again, as if the Crest is reacting to the revelation, the call of its true nature. You dig your trembling fingers into the fabric of your jacket, considering for the tiniest second to gouge your eye out. Can’t be anyone’s champion or Herald without the Crest, right? “So, you’re saying … am I the one from back then? This Champion?” If you were really the same person, how were you still alive after a thousands of years? The prospect of finally having an identity is great, but you aren’t sure you’re ready to pay the price that comes with it. And this one seems to carry a very heavy price.

“That seems quite impossible.” This time Seteth speaks up. He looks just as unnerved by this revelation as you feel. “The Herald appeared when Saint Seiros was in dire need, and once his duty was fulfilled, he vanished. ”

“But now, another Herald has come, and with you the promise of suffering and hardships,” Rhea explains, her expression now strict and foreboding. “The task of giving hope is the most difficult to ask of a person. But that is the path the Goddess has chosen for you.”

“No, no, you’re wrong. I’m no Herald … and certainly no Champion of anyone. I can’t give people hope, I don’t even know what to give them hope for!” Your voice borders on hysteric, but you’ve never been more determined to plead your case. “I’m not the right person. I’m really not.”

“Then how come you bear the Crest of Seiros’ Champion, my child?” Lady Rhea asks, and you notice the tiny shift in her voice. The kindness grows thiner and thiner, and in its place austerity and even coldness settle—the voice of authority and undeniable command. “It is Our Goddess’ will. The Church of Seiros needs you. The people of Fódlan need you. You cannot turn away from your Fate.”

You want to argue that yes, you can; you’ll turn around and leave this place filled with crazy people and their fanatic beliefs. One look from Byleth stops your thoughts. Lady Rhea interprets this silence as compliance, and nods, visibly pleased. “We have waited for this opportunity for so long,” she continues, now smiling again. “There shall be festivities today. As a welcome to our Herald, and the return of Blade Breaker Jeralt. For you, his daughter, we have also thought of a task that will greatly help Garreg Mach.”

Jeralt grunts, clearly unhappy, but Byleth only cocks her head to one side. You’re astonished that after everything, she’s still awfully calm and collected.

“A teaching position has become free as of yesterday,” Lady Rhea explains to Byleth. “By Alois' recommendation, you are to take that position and teach one of the Houses here at the Officers Academy. Your colleagues will provide you with further information. As for you,” and you flinch when she turns to you, afraid what else she has in store, “you too shall teach the students the course of leadership and command. Seiros’ Champion was a great tactician. He honed Saint Macuil’s abilities. I would not be surprised if you too show an unparallelled gift for strategy.”

“Well,” you start, but the hesitation is clear, and Lady Rhea smiles like she knows what you can do once the Crest is activated. “Whereas you are to choose one house,” she tells Byleth, “the Herald will hold seminars. As a servant of the Church, you cannot call in favourites.”

“I don’t even know what to teach,” you mumble weakly. “How to teach.”

“Me neither,” Byleth says, the first time she’s spoken since entering the Audience Chamber. The amusement glinting in Lady Rhea’s eyes is like the sun reflected on a purling river. “Do not worry,” she says. “You will learn in time. And we are here to help you as well.”

On your lips lie the words that they certainly didn’t help you. You came here so they could help to search for a way to return your memory.

Instead, they made everything worse.

The ceremonial robes hang heavy over your shoulders. The feast hasn’t started yet, but you’re already sweating and panting with the weight of the golden embroidery and the head piece decorating your forehead. When Seteth brought everything in a couple of hours ago, he was grumbling something unintelligible under his breath, at his side a little girl who, unlike him, was happy to meet you and to see that you’d take on the role as the Herald. You wanted to tell Flayn there was a difference between want and have to, but she was already focused on helping you dress and prepare for the festivities. Servants handled the remaining tasks of making you presentable, and now you’re standing in front of a giant mirror, observing yourself.

It was scary how things changed so fast. Not even 24 hours ago, you were a nobody, a nameless figure roaming the woods, and now there is a name that isn’t your own—no, not a name. A title. A title that will all but replace your name. History won’t remember you as a person, they will remember the deeds that you’ve done, the mistakes that you’ll commit. Lady Rhea spoke of honour like it’s a crown on your head, but you see the noose that it really is around your throat. The head piece feels too heavy, and the golden necklace sitting on your neck reminds you more of a dog collar.

There’s a knock on your door. Seteth said that someone would get you before everything starts, and you don’t even try to hide the relieved sob when Byleth enters the room. She examines you from head to toes, and leans her head to the side, one finger on her chin. “You look … different,” she says.

“You mean ridiculous.” You move your arms, demonstrating how the wide sleeves flap uselessly at your side. “I wish we could do this all without me looking like a sack of potatoes.”

“I had to think of cabbages, but you aren’t wrong either.” She crosses the room and looks outside the window. You can already hear the masses as they enter the Cathedral, and it does nothing to calm your haywire nerves. Byleth seems to notice as much. She turns to you, and asks, “How are you holding up?”

“Do you want the real answer or the one I prepared for Lady Rhea?”

Byleth raises a brow.

“Not good. I’m just … how could this happen?” You throw up your hands in frustration, and the robes give a dangerous tearing sound. Your arms fall immediately down, the thought of damaging a hundreds of years old ceremonial robe the last thing you need today. “Of all the things, how could I suddenly become some figure of the Church.”

“Is it so hard to believe that the Goddess of Fódlan has lead you to this path?” Byleth crosses her ams and leans against the wall next to the window, eyeing you curiously.

“I don’t even believe in this Goddess,” you groan, flopping on your bed. The chambers chosen for you overlook the bridge leading to the Cathedral where people swarm inside like little ants returning to their anthill. It was a small room equipped with all necessities for comfort but no additional expenses on luxury. A bed, a dresser, a simple table and chair, a mirror, and a shelf take up all the space. Not that you could have brought anything with you.

You look up at Byleth and dread the next question. “Do you believe in it?” you ask. “That I’m someone chosen?”

“Hmm.” Byleth casts one last glance outside, then pushes off the wall, gesturing you to follow her. You sigh, and mentally prepare yourself for what will happen in the Cathedral. Before you leave the room, Byleth rests her hand on the door handle and looks back at you over her shoulder. “I don’t know. Where I’m from, belief doesn’t save you from the sword of a thief. Only deeds and actions. It’s the reason my father and I are still alive.” She considers you for a moment, and when you blink you imagine you see the tiniest smile on her face. “What you did yesterday was very much real to me. Maybe a Goddess guided you, maybe it was just lucky instinct. But you saved my life, and that certainly is something I can rely on.”

She doesn’t wait for an answer, and swings the door open. You quickly follow, your steps feeling a lot lighter than before. “I guess I’m just frustrated,” you admit, carefully paying attention your voice isn’t too loud. “That they think there’s someone who can just decide how my life is going to be. Like this herald business suddenly defies who I am.”

“As long as you don’t forget who you are, does it matter?” Byleth wonders aloud, turning down another corridor that ends in stairs leading down. “As long as there is just one person who doesn’t forget, does it really matter?”

Maybe not to her, but for some inexplicable reason, it means a great deal to you. So you answer with a grumble, and Byleth hums like she knows she’s right. To change the subject, you ask, “What about you? How can you just follow along with being a teacher here?”

“Truth be told, I’m not happy,” Byleth says, nodding to the knights standing on guard in the first floor that leads outside. “But at the same time I can see Lady Rhea’s reasoning. Those students need someone who teaches them not to be stupid on the real battlefield. Especially when they are to be future rulers of Fódlan. If I’m the one shaping those little whippersnappers, I can rest at ease.”

You follow her down the hallways, staying silent until, “Whippersnapper is such a weird word,” you say.

Byleth gives a huff of air that barely passes as a chuckle. “It is.”

Together you leave the living quarters and enter the Cathedral at the backside where everything is closed off for the rest of the people. Lady Rhea and Seteth are already waiting for you, both dressed in equally complicated robes as you.

“Thank you, Professor.” Lady Rhea nods towards Byleth, who nods back and joins the other teachers. “And now, Herald, it is time to meet the sheep you shall shepherd from today on. Please, follow me.”

She doesn’t give you time to prepare for the crowd waiting for you, and glancing at Seteth for help doesn’t do anything either as he just crudely nods towards Lady Rhea, telling you to go along. You square your shoulders and hope for the best.

The Cathedral has been decorated with candles and tapestry showing the banner of the Church of Seiros and above it the Crest of the Herald. A platform has been built for your entrance, and stepping on it, your gaze roams over all the assembled students, clergy, and knights. Seeing them, you feel terror seize your body, locking up all muscles. The masses look at you with hunger in their eyes, ready to devour you like you’re the last piece of bread on the table. “Herald, Herald! ” they cry, and each time they open their mouths, the noose tightens around your neck. Saint and Martyr vaguely dance at the edges of your mind, beyond your grasp, mocking how you know them but don’t understand their very being. This is bigger than you. This is far bigger than you can manage, and you want to run away and hide from their greedy eyes.

Scanning the crowd, you notice the house leaders in the far back. Edelgard looks unpleased, her mouth set into a grim line, while Dimitri claps politely with the rest, and Claude raises a golden cup in mocking salute. You really want to break down and cry. The only solid point is Byleth, has always been Byleth up until now, at the other end of the room, holding your gaze steadfast like a pillow of strength in troubled waters.

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