skycleft - Tumblr blog

[skycleft]

quite sexy of me to not force myself to write for byleth when i don’t have muse for them which would inevitably only lead to burnout & resentment for their character :thinking: :thinking: :thinking:

[skycleft]

byleth’s first time experiencing/bearing witness to romantic love...

sat on an overturned crate next to a market stall while jeralt haggled with the merchant. watched a young couple spill out onto the street from a tavern across the way—laughing, embracing. teetering a little bit (unsteady on their feet, tipsy in daylight)

the couple shared a kiss and jeralt paid the merchant and they left town with supplies replenished

[skycleft]

death’s horse is not pale it is blue DEATH’S HORSE IS BLUE AND SO IS DEATH.

[skycleft]

🥺🥺🥺

this thing over here || accepting

frustration is commonplace. disappointment.no one is ever excited to fail.but they’ve never seen a student this upset before.

they’ve never swiped tears off a student’s cheek.or said “𝐢’𝐦 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲, 𝐰𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞,”said “𝐢 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞. 𝐢 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭.”pressed steel-cool palm to the back of a sweat-damp neck. swelterflesh.

“𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐞. 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞. 𝐢—” (i, the fool.)“𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧.”(‘a mission.’ that mission. i, the fool, sense-deaf.)“𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞. 𝐧𝐨 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲.”

[skycleft]

🤠 bro.......................................................

this thing over here || accepting

“𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬, 𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐚.”

patience wears thinner in 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑟’𝑠 𝑜𝑝𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑛.irritation buzzes in ears as they’re wrenching loose the axe buried shallow inthe far left edge of the target.boots scuffle through trainground sand, approaching passive pink.

“𝐢 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬. 𝐢’𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨 𝐢𝐭. 𝐢 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫—”

they pause in the move to stubbornly re-arm her.

“𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐰𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐲?”they ask, and answer before she’s given the chance to. “𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐟? 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬?” (not a perfect estimate, perhaps, but certainly more time than they’redevoting to other students. most of it spent redirecting her attention.)

“𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐲. 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐢𝐭?”

as they speak they’re polishing the axe’s hilt with thefabric of their tunic. sparing manicured hands the effort (and the excuse. there’slittle hilda won’t do to burn daylight. as crafty as claude but instead ofambition it’s contempt of expectation that seems to be driving her. 𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑐𝑢𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑐𝘩𝑖𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡.cleverness shoots her in the foot.)

“𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐞𝐟𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐟 𝐨𝐟𝐟.”

byleth 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑒𝑠 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑎𝑥𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝘩𝑒𝑟 𝑔𝑟𝑖𝑝 and paces back off tothe edge of the trainpit.

“𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐬. 𝐰𝐞’𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤.”

[skycleft]

🥺

this thing over here || uhh ig i’m still accepting.. idk life is wild

perhaps it is a 𝑐𝑟𝑢𝑒𝑙 thing to do, to set someone up forfailure.perhaps they’ve allowed their curiosity to make them harsh.

it occurred to them at breakfast with the cracking of anegg. raphael’s thick and sturdy fingers pried white membrane halves apart andthe thought dribbled into their head like albumen in time.the viscous dribble of a yellow yolk: 𝑖 𝘩𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑐𝑙𝑎𝑢𝑑𝑒 𝑓𝑎𝑖𝑙.

the notion carried them to theclassroom. it pulled the diary out from the desk drawer and leafed through thepages while they nursed a piece of toast and watched it hunting for claude’sweakness.the notion plugged a fingertip into claude’s name on a hastily-scrawled listthat they’d made on their second or third day of teaching here. the notion scrapeda trim-due nail over the smudged-ink notation of seems to lack confidencewith lance and muttered 𝑤𝘩𝑎𝑡 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑙𝑖𝑚𝑖𝑡𝑠, 𝑔𝑜𝑙𝑑𝑒𝑛 𝑏𝑜𝑦? aloud.

something weighty in their chest has them picking the training pole up out ofthe dirt for him. his fifth or six time being disarmed by lorenz and it’s—

a strange feeling.what, 𝑔𝑢𝑖𝑙𝑡?what for?it’s not as if they did this to prove some kind of point. merely to satisfy acuriosity. to see how claude would handle it—see if losing was even inhis realm of capabilities.

is it disappointment? maybe it’s that they’ve become so usedto seeing him all 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑧𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒, 𝑓𝑙𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑠𝘩 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑓𝑙𝑢𝑚𝑒 that they’re simply unsettledwatching 𝑓��𝑢𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑔𝑟𝑜𝑤 𝑟𝑜𝑜𝑡𝑠 in the garden of his face.

has got to be…obligation.responsibility is what they feel. purpose. movement to correct, to improve—𝑠𝑜 𝘩𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑏𝑒 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑛? 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤. 𝘩𝑒𝑙𝑝 𝘩𝑖𝑚 𝑢𝑝.

“𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐮𝐢𝐭,” they concede, pressing helve backinto his hand. “𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭. 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧’𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐞𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭.” beryl bevels as they incline their head, gesturing with it towardlorenz. “𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭.”

[skycleft]

the man (who is your father) and the child (who is you) stop in the snow by the wide and noisy river. the air is so cold that the water’s turned part to slush, separated to layers. ice floes speeding past smooth and frosty, like bits of shattered shell.

the man takes off his clothes and cleans as fast as he is able in the water that is so cold it stings while the child sits in the snow-dusted sand of the bank and stacks smooth river rocks into towers. he mutters a few curses as he swipes tiny beads turned to ice off his skin and rushes back into his clothes. and he says to the child Alright, your turn.

the man stands the child ankle-deep in the creek. he soaps the skinny legs and scrawny wings and says Sorry, I’ll make sure to be quick and the child doesn’t say anything. the child just shivers. and the man says What do you want to eat tonight and the child answers with more shivering.

the man rinses away suds from the child’s limbs and little pot belly and says that he thinks the rabbit they snared is soon to go rank and if they wait much longer to eat it it’ll probably make them sick. he says that he’ll cook it up over campfire tonight and boil the field peas that they bought when they last passed through a town to go along with it. the child likes field peas but only when they’re drenched in butter and they ran out of butter a week ago. butter is always the first thing they run out of because they both have such an appetite for it—heap it onto bannock and boiled breakfast oats; the child’s even eaten it straight from the tin before, digging out dollops to suction off of tiny fingertips. the man says There isn’t any butter left and the child just shivers more because they already know there isn’t.

the man wraps the naked child in his heavy, musty cloak and carries them and all their gear back into a clearing. he sets them down on a rock and kindles a small flame. gives the child some twigs and dry leaves and says Here, get it going and get dry and walks away to pitch the tent. as he drives the stakes into the frozen ground he hears the child puffing breaths on the fire to get it to grow, hears them feeding it leaves and he minds them Don’t burn yourself.

the child burns themself and shoves the singed fingers into a pile of snow. as they are preoccupied with the pain, the fledgling fire they tended dies out. the man finishes up with the tent and goes back over to them. he dresses them in his spare shirt and socks and smears a thick balm onto small and smarting fingers, which have already blistered. he revives the fire and skins the rabbit, which he cooks and feeds the child most of. he forgets to boil any peas.

he heats flowers in water he creates by melting snow and gives it to the child, a weak tea. he shoos the child off to the tent to sleep and brews something for himself, something strong and black and bitter.

the man goes into the tent to sleep too. he puts the child on his chest and sleeps with his left hand gripping the hilt of a sword.

[skycleft]

send 🤠 & byleth will critique your muse

send 🥺 & they will console your muse

[skycleft]

waiting til the dead of night to steal away to the sauna to bathe is big byleth energy

[skycleft]

[skycleft]

byleth: *points to side dish* what is this? monastery head chef: stewed apples byleth: apple.... stew??? head chef: we put apples in a pot with molasses, cinnamon, and a dash of brandy. then we add sugar and nutmeg and cook until tender byleth: *eyes roll back into their head and they black out. they eat an entire tureen of stewed apples while students watch on in vague abject horror*

[skycleft]

@varentine || 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝘩𝑒𝑟𝑒 (𝑥)

it’s either the exhaustion or an 𝑒𝑥𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑒 𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑜𝑓 𝑝𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑐𝑒𝑑 𝑠𝑜𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑙 𝑠𝑘𝑖𝑙𝑙 that has them interpreting hilda’s we should go as a we should go right now as in immediately. and so they answer, rather loutishly:

“i'm a little busy at the moment. i was just on my way to—”

wait. ‘wouldn’t be caught dead?’ chin tilts and eyes drop. the 𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓-𝑒𝑥𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 begins. their ensemble might be a bit wrinkly, sure, but the colors aren’t too busy. (could it be that they’re not busy enough? hilda is vibrant and illuminates the room, a pop of peony pink against the brown and gray monastery stone. perhaps she thinks them drab by comparison.) and, oh. there’s a stain there. reddish-purple—they must have 𝑑𝑟𝑜𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑑 𝑗𝑎𝑚 𝑜𝑛 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑚𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓. but when? they haven’t eaten since—

“—the dining hall. i worked through breakfast.” a bird twitters and the sound is clear in the lofty acoustics of the hallway. one must have flown in from out of doors. “grading,” they provide, when they notice her notice their 𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑟𝑝𝑒𝑛 𝑓𝑖𝑥𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒𝑠. “i didn’t mean to put it all off. i just underestimated this month’s mission, is all.”

they sound like 𝘩𝑒𝑟, with an excuse like that.

a switch-foot. they double back on to one of her earlier remarks. “you don’t think manuela knows what she’s talking about? she’s very good-looking.”

[skycleft]

they catch her in the corridor. with both slender arms loaded with books and a quill tucked behind each ear, they cut her off before she reaches the corner. an ungloved thumb hooks through the handle of an empty tea cup.

normally they would preface a query with a hello or a say, hilda, you’re pretty in-the-know when it comes to fashion, aren’t you? they don’t this time. they’ve just sat up the whole night furiously grading a month’s worth of assignments in a 𝑏𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑡𝑒𝑎-𝑓𝑢𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑓𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟-𝑓𝑒𝑟𝑣𝑜𝑟.

‘‘manuela said my outfit is dowdy.” (the tiniest bit dowdy, professor, had been the phrasing which she had actually employed. and in a delicate enough tone, too, but still. the dowdiness was dubbed.) “do i really look that bad?”

it’s a question that probably would be better asked tomorrow, after a good night’s sleep. and a hair brush. and a 𝑏𝑎𝑡𝘩.

@varentine 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒𝑑 for a starter!

[skycleft]

“so you’re an emperor now. truly.” the sky is gray and the field is gray. everything is gray in the place that they meet, somewhere 𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑒𝑛𝑏𝑎𝑟𝑟.

she looks so different. and yet she’s still so the same. “i slept straight through your coronation. i’m sorry.” wry smiles (smiles at all) aren’t often managed, but they’re able to eek out 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑎𝑐𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑔. “if i had managed to stay awake, do you think you would have invited me?”

@hresvlgse 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒𝑑 for a starter!

[skycleft]

a 𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛 beyond what is usual is lacing his movements. set on edge by his father’s brief but turbulent visit, felix is storm clouds. with his shoulders drawn tight and his jaw clenching tighter, there is speed and there is sharp in every gesture. and 𝑑𝑤𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑠 in his eyes. 𝑑𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑝𝑢𝑧𝑧𝑙𝑒.

they come upon his place at the dining table. “may i sit?” they ask, with an illustrative point to the empty spot next to his.

@emperorcrest 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒𝑑 for a starter!

[skycleft]

the winds of garreg mach were never very kind but they were certainly never 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑠 𝑐𝑟𝑢𝑒𝑙. the dry faerghus air feels like the atmosphere of another planet—a sadistic kind of cold. had it not been for a particularly generous donation from the victor family, they might not have been able to afford all these new winter wares; sturdy and fur-lined most, and others stitched of warm but scratchy wool.

supple leather boots 𝑐𝑟𝑢𝑛𝑐𝘩 𝑡𝘩𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔𝘩 𝑑𝑒𝑒𝑝 𝑠𝑛𝑜𝑤 as they go to her. glove-clad hands present an offering: a tin cup half-filled with campfire-brewed 𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑡𝑒𝑎. “you must be freezing. you should join us around the fire.”

@mauricrests 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒𝑑 for a starter!

[skycleft]

thinking about….. dimitri after the time skip…. his behavior/demeanor toward byl and how………. come a certain point, they really wouldn’t want to put up with it anymore.

i don’t know if they’d ever go so far as to flat out give up and walk away but like…. they probably thought about it. frequently. not being able to say a single thing without him sneering or insulting (sometimes flat out threatening) them gets…. so old so fast. and it feels especially raw considering how close they had been before. they’re trying to be understanding and patient considering all that dimitri has gone through but at the same time there’s only so much abuse that they’re willing to tolerate? i honestly wouldn’t be surprised if they had tried to leave only to be talked into staying by gilbert or rodrigue or flat-out asked to stay by one or more of their former students.

and if they didn’t try to leave, they’d still at the very least start sticking up for themselves. i’m sure that they would be advised to ‘let him be, don’t let it get to you’ because dima’s (more or less) king and it’s wartime so of course all of his mistreating is going to get rugswept, and while at first they might try eventually it just gets to a point where like…. no. they’re not going to let themselves be trampled by him anymore. dimitri’s traumas and suffering do not afford him a free pass to make other people suffer. they’re going to buck him when he treats them like dirt. they’re going to walk out of the room in favor of standing there and being belittled.

they understand he’s struggling. they will stay and support him for as long as they can. but they will challenge his methods, attitudes, and decisions more than we as players were allowed to in blue lions. they will not be made a punching bag.