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Thank you for your patience

(My fam’s had some stuff going on that meant I needed to step up in terms of stuff to do, so I was a little overwhelmed the past couple weeks but I’m good now and should be back to regular posting!)

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@coldlychivalrous​ mentioned you in a post

unboundbyfate �� Then why did…

The words made sense to her in a way they wouldn’t have some months ago.  To her before she came here, death was death.  There were men among the mercenaries who killed with more relish than others, true, but all killed.  It was in the nature of the job.  Byleth herself had killed so many that she was now a frightful legend in her own right, an impassive monster.

No longer, truly.

And so now, hearing Dimitri’s anger and guilt and hurt, directed at himself, directed at what had happened, at what she knew he felt he had allowed to happen, she placed a hand on his arm.  Such things she did know now, about her students, her friends.

“...They would have killed us, if we had not killed them.  Killed us, those villagers, and likely many more.  You heard as I did that this was only an experiment to them...amusement.  I was angry too.  Papa was.  And you are young,” She said to the young man likely barely three or so years younger than herself, “And you haven’t been killing very long...and you shouldn’t have to, Dimitri.  I’ve heard you over these months.  You’ve got a good heart, and you believe in people.  You should continue to do so, and never just see nothing at the end of your sword, or beyond it.  Remember those who have to watch.  Even protecting someone can leave scars on them.”

“But we were protecting them...we were.  If you like, I can talk to the priests about working out some training to help you temper your anger...so that you control it, not the other way around.”

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lifelirius‌:

       THE VERY SECRET ABOUT FELIX LIES IN   knowing how to skirt around him and find the problem before approaching him. Contrary to much belief, Felix does not mind people holding a conversation with him, as long as it does not waste his time or turn out to be fruitless. No, he would much rather speak to someone when they have something important to say, and didn’t stammer over their words just because his intense expression made them nervous. It took them longer when they were afraid of him, but he could not change their fears. That was on them, and he was not going to put forth the extra effort. He is not a boy to talk about his problems, but he is also very transparent. He does not always keep everything to himself.

       There have come times, nowadays, that when he is just angry, people around him will just let him be. If they ignore it, it will eventually go away. Felix was foul - mouthed and crass, rude to a default, and sarcastic to a point that it puts most bandits to shame. He is not the sort of person most enjoy having conversation with, let alone asking him what his problem is. He seemed to have a lot of them – a majority floating around Dimitri that nobody seemed to care about. Felix was just being mean to poor, poor Dimitri. Felix was mad at him, and he was trying to get everyone else mad at him. That’s just how he is. But, that slew of thoughts couldn’t be further from the truth. He knew was Dimitri was, and yet no one seemed to want to listen. No one seemed to care.

        It was made extra apparent in the new letter from his father, and perhaps that was the one thing that had set his whole day off the rails. The contents of the letter mostly, vaguely, calling Felix selfish and foolish for talking so badly about the prince, and how he should be grateful in his position. About what the future will hold and that he needs to straighten up. That he cannot blame his issues and everything he is upset with on Dimitri. The letter Felix had sent home was not for his father, and yet his father was the one to write back. One day, Felix knew, they would realize they were wrong. But he would not stop trying to make them see what he sees. They deserved to know that he was a beast.

       He was done thinking about that now. He couldn’t train properly with a mind so clouded like that – though when he enters, he’s surprised to see her already there. When she had asked him his goals for the nine week period, he did not know she would take him so seriously when he told her he just ‘ wanted to beat the shit out of things ’. He supposes he can’t take such an aloof woman so loosely, she seems to turn things into a serious opportunity. Not that he doesn’t know how to fight with his fists – he is well versed with using his entire body as a weapon when need be – but it also would not hurt to give her what she’s prepared for. He could do with a little hand - to - hand.

       Felix can read her loud and clear. Her invitation is for more than just practice. It’s an opportunity to let him voice his anger without saying a word. It’s what he likes most about her as a professor, he thinks, that she can do this without expecting him to talk to her. They didn’t need words – they needed weapons. They both spoke very fluently in that language, after all. So, he does finally cross over the sand to her, lifting the gauntlets from the ground to wrap flush around his fists and his forearms, strapping them into place tightly. It’s a strange feeling, as he does not usually wear any sort of glove when training, but he supposes they’re not just a glove. Anything is a weapon if you use it right.

       There is probably an unspoken rule about hitting your teacher somewhere in the handbook hidden away, but it seems that Byleth is not one to care for the norms or constructs of how things are supposed to work – and Felix is more than alright with that notion. The unconventional people were always the most interesting. He shakes his arms out, giving a sigh as he turns to look at her with a raised brow.

         ❝ Are you just going to stand there, or are you not going to take the first swing  ? ❞ 

Byleth has difficulties reading people.  Byleth has difficulties, frankly, with reading emotions in general.  She’s known people of course, mainly her father’s mercenaries and Jeralt himself, who gave little to nothing away in terms of emotions.  And now she’s a teacher, who is expected to manage her students’ behavior and...by extension, to some degree, their emotions.  To manage a classroom, to keep them from doing anything that will disgrace the monastery, or some such.

But that wasn’t why she was here.

She was here because she liked Felix.  To some degree, Felix relaxed her.  With Felix, she didn’t need to guess at the right things to say, because she frequently needed to say very little, if anything.  Felix did not expect guidance from her in anything but combat, and in such a situation, she was comfortable.  She could guide him there, which was what she was doing now.

Helping out a friend with some anger, via combat training.  It worked.  Simple as that.  Felix made things simpler.  His...words, the things he said, the complex barbs he tossed to disguise his concerns in regards to others...those she had yet to untangle, but in combat she was fluent, and so was he, and thus they developed something that gave them both comfort.

She even smiled a little as she set herself in a stance, weight evenly distributed between both legs, waiting to see what Felix would do.  She’d found some love for seeing her students improve and grow in their abilities.  Even Felix had started to hone his own style, refine it.  One day his blade would be but an extension of his arm.  He had a legend in him.

And he invited her to take the first shot.  He was impatient, which she could have likely deduced anyway.  He didn’t want to wait.  He wanted to start fighting until he’d managed to exhaust whatever new anger had gripped him.  Normally she’d have waited him out, let him see what impulse and impatience did in a fight like this, but it was a lesson for another day when he’d be more receptive to it.

Instead she moved forward smoothly, small jabs to open his defenses so she could attempt to land a real blow.

A Different Dialect

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Some of the students told me to make a dating profile

“So I did, but I’m...really confused.”

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helieds‌:

       HE IS FAR TOO EAGER   to do so, happily waiting to see just what the extent of her skill could carry. While his son had spoken about her, and her unwavering skill, there is only so much that Rodrigue is willing to believe without seeing it for himself. His son is strong, and very formidable, but to hear of someone even moreso was impressive. It was very much a sight to behold to have someone wield one of the relics.

      Rodrigue holds her skill to high expectations, as he does every single person he lays his eyes on. His bar is raised nearly to be unattainable, but it does not make it impossible. Of course, he is pleased with very many things that he sees, but there is very little that actually shock and take him aback. But her . . already, there was something that struck him as odd, though he is unable to place a finger on it. Her unwavering expression of stone is hard to follow, as is any sign of even being aware.

        He wonders, very slightly, if perhaps she is even alive.

               But there is no time for questions – they must hurry.

           ❝ Lead the way, professor. I will be right behind you. ❞

She had skill.  It was why she had been hired...nominally.  It was what was familiar, what she was comfortable with.  Teaching was...odd, but speaking about tactics and strategies and battle form?  It was just verbalizing things she knew as a matter of course by now.  The hard part was remembering everything that had become second nature, seeing a student working with a technique she’d spoken of and realizing a thousand small things she just hadn’t mentioned because they were simply part of the motion to her.

Demonstrating was easier.  Form could be imitated a great deal better than it could be explained.

Her opinion of Rodrigue is...well.  Neutral.  Dimitri spoke glowingly of him, and yet Felix avoided him.  Conflicting reactions, and thus a conflicting image of the man.  He was polite enough, and it made sense that he would want to know what his son’s teacher was like, and given Felix’s own priorities, how much her skill level differed from his.  How much she could actually teach him.

“To the training grounds then.”

She strides off without thought.  He did say he would follow her.  A duel is what she assumed he wanted, again basing her judgement off Felix.  Seeing her strike at training dummies would give but little information even to a veteran warrior, as he apparently was.

The title of ‘father’ is one she bases off Jeralt, and in that fashion this example is odd.  Rodrigue’s manner was warmer than her own father’s, but that wasn’t difficult given how gruff Jeralt was with everyone.  She couldn’t ever imagine avoiding him though...that part was odd.

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🎃Suggest my muse a halloween costume🎃

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Always feel free to send me things

(”Consult the Professor” and “Conversation Starters” are my original starters and reblogged memes respectively, they’re not time sensitive by any means!  Though if you’re using an old meme maybe remind me of what it was please. :) And of course just.  Send me whatever pops into your brain.  Like this for a starter.  Throw a hard candy brick into my inbox.  Idc, interactions are fun!)

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Rumor has it you're the one who left the tea in my room. Thanks for that, Teach. (Claude)

@archersmight

“I heard it was a blend you liked.”

Who else picked up all the things the students left around?  Only this time...she just didn’t hand it directly back to the person she thought it belonged to.  She still wasn’t sure what to do.  Whether to commiserate or...pretend she hadn’t read the note...or what.  So she split the difference.

“...If you’d like, we could have tea together and talk sometime.”

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Send “Rumor has it...” And a rumor about my muse

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archersmight‌:

What’s this? It seems to be a journal, written by Claude. He must have dropped it.

It isn’t easy being an outsider. No one who really understands what you’re dealing with. No one who you can confide in. The lonely feeling… the talk… the otherness… It hurts. Sometimes it threatens to take over and even does, leaving a shell behind and a long recovery. I wonder if I’m making the right choice. And have no one to ask this to.

It really hurts.

The only entry in the journal, which appears to be put together for the suggestion box… with no clear indication that it would ever be added.

The fundamental question of what to do with something like this.  What should she do?  What could she?  Claude...he meant to put it into the suggestion box, and she frequently found out who put those in anyway.  So should she speak to him?

The refrain was familiar in a way that cut her to the core.  An outsider, someone so unlike everyone else here that it was as if you were speaking a different language.  Sometimes she wished that her father had never been found...as much as she did love it here, that she had never come at all.  Life was so much simpler then.  And so incredibly different.

She couldn’t understand what Claude was truly saying...not enough details.  Not enough knowledge about Claude himself.  He played very close to the vest as a rule.

In the end, she didn’t know the right words, so what she did was this: the journal was left in his room, with a tea bag of Almyran Pine Needle on it.

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It’s Sinday! Send 💋 to straight up kiss my muse!

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My muse will be married to the next muse in my ask for three days.

Remember to specify muse for multi-muse blogs.

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lifelirius‌:

       THERE WERE MANY ADVANTAGES TO    know skills that even he himself did not specialize in. He now knew where the weakest point on an axe was, he knew that he could turn a lance inward and trap an arm and its weapon behind his opponent. He knew a simple healing spell to keep himself going on the battlefield. He learned that there were soft spots within certain armors that if angled just righ, he’d have no problem getting his sword into. All of this, he would not have learned if he had not have came to the academy for studies – if he had to give his old man credit for one thing, it would be sending him there. Learning how to be a better warrior was truly all he was interested in.

       Not the interacting with others part. All of the faculty at Garreg Mach seemed to have the same consensus when it came to the heir Fraldarius. He was crass and rude, often sarcastic and troublesome to get along with, or even speak with. He was not friendly, and put in no effort to be so. A lone wolf, they would say, and he is not one for teamwork or group strategy. When given the choice, he would much rather do something himself. He was unconventional, and his tactics were flawed and off the wall. His thinking is not streamline, and there are times where they all have questioned whether he should be entered into a more remedial study focus. But, they would never act on it. He would never show up, and they know that. It is not their place to tell him how he should act or think – not when he hails from the family that he does.

        One would not go so far as to say they are afraid of him, but they are wary of what sort of outburts someone like him is capable of. Felix himself does not speak on his own accord much – nothing other than a confident buzz from his skills. He stays quiet until he is provoked, but once he is, there is little to be done to escape the fray of his upset. Though, while he may not pull a weapon on them, he will be cold and give them the cold shoulder, which on some days was arguably worse than being hit with a sword.

       It didn’t matter, though. He took care of himself and always kept his studies in line with his training, as much as he didn’t want to. Barely passing in his core studies, but it was enough to graduate. He didn’t mind being there to get away from his father, but he also wanted out more than anything. Being at the academy kept him away from battle and honing his blade on the real threats. For now, though, the flimsy training dummies would have to do.

       The glint from her sword does catch his eyes, auburn hues narrowing to the weapon, and then up at his professor to realize that she has respected the want to not be gazed on. They spoke the same language, he and her, he is not disappointed that she does, in fact, understand him. He has no real reason to give an answer, she knows where he is off to – the best option is to meet her there. Get a warm up in before he gives his all into trying to notch a win against her. Part of him knows he will not be able to, but . . she puts up a good fight.

       And he needed a good fight today . . something to keep his mind off of the troubling news at home. Or, rather, news that his father finds troubling, not so much Felix. He doesn’t send his father letters, but he receives them from him. No matter how many requests he puts in to burn anything that comes from the duke, it is never carried out. He also regrets opening them when they are still in one piece. He could forget about it for now, making his way out of the classroom with a sharp left turn.

         She had plenty of time to meet him, for he had plenty of time to train.

There were days she still felt as though she were drowning, floundering in unfamiliar seas she’d been pushed into, although ironically these days were more peaceful than any she’d had in her life on average.  Not once had she been woken by shouts of an ambush, nor drunk men tripping over her tent, or even her father’s snores.  She had her own room, neatly furnished, and outside frequently waited a student or two with a question.

And that was the odd part, the new ambush.  They had questions, and they expected her to be able to answer them.  Sometimes they were about classwork, or battle strategies, or some form of training, but just as often they were about personal matters.  A love gone wrong, a friendship foundering, a life’s path lying within the fog.

And she was to be the guiding light.  She who had dealt with none of this herself, no friends, no lovers, and the path before her under the feet of a stern man who seemed unassailable in every respect.

It was even worse when they didn’t come to her.  When, like now, she saw the little signs she’d come to know in them.  Signs of a troubled mind and heart, hidden to lie to themselves that it wasn’t there, or to avoid attention from others.  And then she was left with what to do with the problem, whether to intervene, to speak, what to say and how...what to do.

There had been mercenaries like Felix.  Men who lived within their swords, who had no time for card games nor jokes nor drinking, who honed their blades as if they could wipe away the world itself with a swipe of the whetstone...someday.

She liked Felix.  She did not want him to crawl inside a sword and live there until his heart’s blood lay spread on the ground.  But she...did not know what to do for him.  How could she?

Even so, she could only do what she thought was best in the moment.  Felix would find her first at the training ground; no warm up.  Or rather, a different kind.  A pair of gauntlets beside her, and one on her own hands.  Different muscle groups to be used, different strategies, different ways of thinking that could be applied to his blade.  All such things a proper teacher would want him to learn and experience.  And, after all, what if his blade was struck from his hand?  A little unarmed combat was useful for anyone to know.

The real reason: his anger was a hindrance with swordplay.  Swordplay required finesse, at least with the blade he used.  If he wanted brute strength to be his only focus, he could’ve chosen a broadsword.  But this, however.  This would let him use it.  Let him put anger behind strikes, until he had spent it.

It was the best way she knew how to help him.  She stepped away from the gauntlets, waiting for him to put them on.

A Different Dialect

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Why People Change Houses

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imperialvestra‌:

With a huff, Hubert keeps his head ducked obediently so she can reach the leaves tangled in the dark locks. “I can attend to this myself, professor.” 

“Yes, but you weren’t, so I’ve got it.”  Occasionally she did feel a little motherly when it came to her students, and she smiled just a little as she brushed the leaves from Hubert’s hair.  “There.  I think that’s it.”