don't underestimate me!

a collection of starters based around autumnal activities. send an emoji for our muses to do the thing!

Send 🍁 for our muses to rake the leaves together

Send 🎃 for our muses to go to the pumpkin patch together

Send 🌽 for our muses to walk through a corn maze together

Send 🍎 for our muses to go apple-picking together

Send 🍵 for our muses to make apple cider together

Send 🍂 for our muses to jump into a leaf pile together

Send 🌳 for our muses to admire the fall foliage together

Send 🚶 for our muses to go to a fall festival together

Send 🔪 for our muses to carve a pumpkin together

Send 🍲 for our muses to make soup together

Send 📺 for our muses to have a horror movie marathon together

Send 🧺 for our muses to go on a hayride together

Send 🏠 for our muses to visit a haunted house together

Send 👻 for our muses to tell scary stories to each other

Send 🧣 for our muses to help each other bundle up for the cold weather

Send ☔ for our muses to get caught in an autumn rainstorm together

Send 🧶 for our muses to do an autumn / Halloween crafting project together

Send 🥧 for our muses to make a pie together

Send ☕for our muses to make hot chocolate together

Send 🦇 for our muses to dress up for Halloween together

Send 🪣 for our muses to go trick-or-treating together

Send 🎉 for our muses to attend a Halloween party together

Send “Trick or Treat!” and I’ll…

🍬 Give your muse a sweet (a kindness, a confession, a gift).

🍫 Give your muse something rich and heavy (a burden, a truth, a promise).

🍭 Give your muse something sour (a lie, a betrayal, a sharp remark).

🍎 Give your muse something dangerous (a dare, a temptation, a poisoned apple).

A large crowd was gathered cheering at the end of the row, cluing the professor in to location of the game they were seeking. As they arrived there was a whoop of delight from spectators and a loud splash as the person sat on the hot seat was ceremoniously dunked in the water. Craning their neck to see who had fired the winning shot, they were unsurprised to see Leonie being behind the bow.

The golden deer student was well known for her superiority with the weapon. As if she sensed the mercenary's eyes on her, Leonie had zeroed in on them and was making her way over to them.

"I thought I'd give it a go. I've had some instruction with the bow in my training" They told her in answer to the question. Byleth didn''t understand Leonie's preoccupation with her father. They weren't even sure where the pair had met or given Jeralt time to train her but respected his decisions. If only it wasn't having this unforeseen affect years later.

Whatever the case is— She’s not gonna back down from a challenge just because the stakes were raised even higher.

Especially not one from Captain Jeralt’s own child.

“Sounds like you’re dyin’ get dunked then, Professor.” Leonie haughtily comments as she briefly puts down her bow. She unties the orange jacket around her waist and puts it on, zipping up the garment to her sternum out of precaution. It’s not that she’s anticipating getting dunked— But in the RARE chance that she does get dunked, she doesn’t want to fall into that tank with her white uniform shirt! She pushes up the jacket’s cotton sleeves until they’re bunched up at her elbows, then she picks up her bow and an arrow.

“Now–” Leonie positions herself for the shot. She squints one eye and angles her bow, “--Watch and learn! This is what a TRUE victor looks like!”

She takes a deep breath, steadying her heartbeat as she concentrates and—

[Roll 4: MISS!]

A nerve twitches in her arm as she tries to pull the bowstring back; her fingers fumble. The shot’s released prematurely, a weak ‘THWUNK’ announcing its poor trajectory as the arrow arches past the target and crumples pathetically to the floor. Leonie goes beet red.

“I-I—” She stutters, trying to find an explanation. “I-’m out of practice because we were using guns instead of bows on our recent mission, okay!?” It doesn’t explain why she’d been on an outrageous win streak before challenging Byleth, though. Maybe she was panicking at the thought of getting dunked in the tank—- Curse that professor for being so sneaky and suggesting that plan before they began!! 

She doesn't even know who proposed it originally in one of the faculty meetings, but she's never seen an idea get so many disgusted and unhappy looks when the sign up sheet was passed around. By the time she gets her hands on it, it's basically empty, devoid of even the archery teachers who she was pretty sure this was somewhat mandatory for since it was their students' grades that were in the gutter.

She's not eager to sign up either. Her students are doing great, and she can only imagine how many stars she's gunna have to replace if she's jumping in and out of the water all day. Still, the lack of names on the list does make her feel a little bad for whoever suggested the idea, and she doesn't like the idea of students suffering just because some people couldn't get over themselves...

On the day of the big event, she's bright eyed and full of big smiles as she swings her feet back and forth on the little platform they've had her sit on. So far it's been pretty smooth sailing. When they said this was to try and solve the absolutely awful archery grades that were coming in, she should have anticipated that the students would be doing an absolutely awful job at actually knocking her into the water too.

She's not familiar with the student who calls out to her. She's got an attitude in a way that kinda reminds Yunaka of Etie. Instictively, Yunaka scoffs, leaning backwards on the platform with her hands holding onto the edge to keep her from going tumbling over. "People improve with a goal in mind!" Which is true. Admittedly, if they showed up with this kind of training idea for her to get better, she'd be a little insulted by it. But the students also shouldn't be trained the way she was, so she's willing to put up with it. A little.

“You think I’m not gonna make the shot? Please.” Leonie responds as she waits for the attendant to shuffle over. The young knight hands off a training bow to her– Simple, as expected. It’s not like they want the students accidentally missing and impaling their professor, or something. “You clearly aren’t a Golden Deer professor— Maybe it’s all of your students tanking the academy’s overall grades!” 

Leonie picks up one of the arrows, eyes narrowing as she briefly examines its blunt tip. Then, she positions herself into proper form, feet planted against the ground as she positions her arm. She squints as she examines the target.

“Got any last prayers, Professor?” Leonie smirks once she nocks her arrow, ready to fire. Her fingers begin pulling back the bowstring. “You can tell me ‘em—That is,  after you crawl your way out that tank!”  

She doesn’t waste a second. One the words leave her lips, Leonie fires. 

[Roll: 18: HIT!] 

SHE DEFINITELY DIDN’T THINK ABOUT ANYTHING ELSE! 

She had no weird ulterior motives when she heard the rumors making rounds on campus, nor did she have any nefarious thoughts when she decided to drag her Golden Deer classmate with her to investigate this very interesting establishment. Leonie was just curious and devoted to gaining muscles— Mind you, she has a very pure heart and a very, very open mind! 

So– Her jaw is definitely not on the floor right now. She’s definitely not gawking at these women, she’s just— It’s just— Well, it’s just like what Soleil said! There’s so much going on right now. Whoops, hollers, and cheers quake the establishment as one brawler slams her foot against a patron’s behind, shrieking: “HERE COMES MOMMY!” 

Any more force and the guest would have gone flying out the roof. Instead, the crumples onto the ground and Leonie’s about to rise up from her seat and see if they’re okay when a weak hand quivers upwards, digits twitching into a feeble thumbs-up. Then, the guest faints completely and is carried out back to saints-knows-where. 

Wow. Leonie thinks and her gaze flickers towards the woman’s calf muscles. Her foot nudges against her own, which feels stick-thin in comparison. She NEEDS to ask that mommy for her training routine. In fact– She needs to survey the entire ensemble of mommies here! Her head snapped towards the woman that came to her table, eyes fixated upon her arms. Those biceps are like mountains of their own and, not to mention the woman’s chest is just as vast as the ocean, muscles rippling in a beautiful sinewy expanse–

WAIT, THE WAITRESS IS TALKING TO THEM!!!! 

“Y–Yeah, I want some MEAT–!” Leonie squeals, fumbling back into the conversation. “I mean– We ALL want meat, right?! Right. Why would we visit muscle mommies if we didn’t want meat– We’re trained for WAR, we can handle any meat thrown at us— Uh– I mean—” Saints, Leonie, SHUT UP!  

The waitress smiles politely at her, then snaps her attention to Soleil and Alear. 

“If you order the MEGA MEAT MUNCHER special, you’ll be MOMMY’S DEAREST and win yourself a special surprise~” The waitress winks and cutely flexes muscles, one leg daintily kicked up. 

Either way, he cannot, does not keep his distaste from his features.

That was his tea she had so casually picked up and sipped from.

His. Tea!!

And, judging from the look on her face, she even has the nerve to not appreciate it. Really, just like how she'd stuck with Haven on Virato, there is simply no accounting for poor taste, is there?

And then, there's that infamous title again.

Lapdog.

What's worse is the fact she has a point - but Azama's never been one to cede at the first sight of trouble. Fingers steeple together in thought. It's clear this brat still has more she wants to get off her chest. Well? Go on, then.

...

Ah.

Azama exhales softly. There it is: the foremost point he hasn't fully been able to reconcile with concerning his behaviour beyond the mirror. He had been there on a mission - to rout the prisoner, yes, but also to watch over his charges.

He smiles. It's a bit lopsided. Hands finish pressing together, palms flat.

"You misunderstand. Beyond the first day or two of the mission, Azama no longer had students to care for. He... I... was not quite myself." That isn't true, though. He may not have been Azama of Fodlan or Hoshido, retainer, professor, and so on, but he was still as much Azama as he'd ever felt over the course of his entire life. He had felt right at home. Brow knits. Fidgeting, fingers interlace again, tense. For a second, he considers another sip of tea, but no - that has been ruined. He pushes it back with his knuckles to her half of the table. Hers to finish now, whether she likes it or not. He just hopes she has the grace not to slurp.

"I won't apologize for succumbing to the mirror's magic and living life the way I best saw fit thereafter. I stayed true to myself."

And then, confidently:

So, that’s it?

The moment he’d succumbed to the mirror’s magic, he was absolved of all responsibilities that the church had placed onto them? Leonie’s grip tightens around the cup’s handle; it trembles beneath her strength. That’s the lame excuse he’ll use to wave away reason? Had the entire mission been nothing more but a mere game to him? Did he care at all about the stakes at play?! 

“You can’t be serious,” Leonie says, tone flat. She stares at Azama in disbelief, the tides of a quiet wrath swelling within her. Rancor grows in ripples, nipping at the tips of her fingers as she breathes— trying to steady her breath– to no avail of a rumbling storm. She grits her teeth and reminds herself: she’s at this academy on the goodwill of her village, she can’t argue with a professor and risk the damage of her status being here. She thinks of her father begging to nobles, her neighbors emptying their purses for her even when they’d hardly any coin to live for themselves, she can’t let her wrath get the best of her, she can’t act on impulse and ruin her stance—

“Who CARES which side was right or wrong—- They’re DEAD! ALL OF THEM ARE DEAD!”  Leonie shrieks, slamming a fist on the table in emphasis. Pain splinters up from her limb. She ignores it. She shoots up from her chair, vision red.

Behind them, a crowd of patrons holler wildly. Leonie doesn’t care whom their cheers are thrown towards. 

“I’m asking YOU why you didn’t do ANYTHING– We all could have died!” They all did die at the end, when each of their skulls had begun to fracture one by one. “You didn’t heal Mercedes when she was slaughtered by that dragon and– and you didn’t even help Professor Nel when she turned into a beast during her time at Argent but I bet you were too busy licking Andres’ boots to give a damn, just like you are right now— And–! AND–!” 

Leonie’s voice scorches her throat; her lungs burn with noxious resentment, the lava of her ire so hot that it practically melts her. 

“Did you even look their way when they died?” The words are squeezed out of her amidst the outburst, strained. Leonie’s fingers rake into the surface of the dining table. They sting. “Or were too busy buddying it up with Andres and gloating about Argent being OH-SO-MORALLY RIGHT and destined to win that you didn’t care who had to die as long as your de facto ‘revolutionary’ gang won? Mercedes and Professor Nel were in Argent– Why didn’t you heal them?! Did you ignore them because they were no longer part of your responsibility?! The mirror’s magic was just too strong for you even though you’re a FAITH specialist!?” 

Leonie slams her palms into the edge of the table. The tea cup flies, splattering onto Azama’s chest as she cries out: 

“ANSWER ME!” 

It’s childish. it’s impulsive. Her village was counting on her and she didn’t have the right to be this angry but she couldn’t have been the only one who had failed spectacularly on the mission. The guilt of their collective failures, the weight of their companion’s death and the overwhelming perplexity shrouding their circumstances– they were all a phenomenon too large for her sole comprehension. Yet, instead of a mentor to wisely sail her through the tumultuous storm of emotions, she sought a punching bag. 

Grima had been trying to avoid any colored language that he usually used, because Robin would not. They were timid and kind, he was anything but.

But, alas, he was now bedbound in the infirmary. And... buried under piles of flowers.

And he would give anything to just...

KILL.

Maim, massacre, anything, everything.

"NNNNNNGAHHH!"

He lets out a scream, before coughing painfully, more plants escaping their throat.

And no, it couldn't be any of the fun, pretty, useless plants humans seemed to like so much. No, it just had to be giant roses of ebon black, thorns sharp as his old fangs were.

"...Isn't there supposed to be one of you worms on duty to move the flowers off? I can barely move!"

Finding the source of the disease and quelling the curse became a monastery-wide effort. Masks were issued out to protect those who’ve yet to show symptoms and service to the infirmary became an all-hands-on-deck operation. Leonie checks into her volunteer shift after training, readying bedpans and sanitizing bottles. Wet, sticky coughs and pained groans filled the infirmary; it was a dour sight. Amidst sickly ambience, one particular patient’s complaints rang sharp; a professor purposely shoved at the back of the infirmary, whose snappish personality made him loathsome to approach. 

“Hey, professor, has anyone told you that you’re in an infirmary?” Leonie boldly chastises as she approaches, scowling, as she places gloved hands onto her hips. “If you wanted house service, you should have checked yourself into an inn instead.” 

Leonie drops a basket onto the professor’s lap and starts shoveling fallen petals with a disapproving sigh. The patients at the infirmary are coughing up more flowers than the staff could dispose of; the wastebins stationed around Garreg Mach have gotten impossibly full, too. 

“You’re a professor for the Black Eagles, right?” Leonie asks as she drops flower after flower into the waste basket, “Shouldn’t you know more about curses?”

A cheerful event twists sour as Leonie hoists the wooden mallet over her shoulders, expression darkening with a glare. The poor student before her dons a similar expression as they clutch their hand, fingers red from where Leonie had accidentally stricken them. 

“You’re the one who isn’t following the rhythm that they set for us! I’m using a perfectly acceptable strength—- No, I’m not trying to hit you on purpose! Why would I do that?!” The two’s argument escalates as the student rises, barrages Leonie with their own grievances. “If you don’t want to do this, then stop whining and leave!” 

Her partner does exactly that, though not without venomous critique about Leonie’s conduct. She watches them leave, nose scrunching, then sighs and puts her mallet down. Her shoulders slump. 

Ever since they came back from the mission, there’s been something so weird about her. She’s been— well, pretty aggressive. According to her peers, anyway. Leonie knows she’s a natural hothead, but she never believed herself to be this bad. Maybe she’s gotten a bit too excited about bettering herself; she knows how badly obsessive she can be about things. While she ruminates on her thought, a nearby figure approaches and Leonie’s drawn out of contemplation.

“Mercedes! Hey— Over here!” She exclaimed, waving eagerly. Clutching the mallet again, she practically rushes towards her fellow student. “Are you here to make some mochi too!?” Leonie’s about to propose for Mercedes to be her partner, when the last argument with her previous teammate ricochets back into her mind. She lowers the mallet, then offers it to Mercedes. 

“I heard you can get develop some crazy arm muscles if you pound enough mochis with this.” Leonie says instead with a mellow smile. “My last partner kinda, uh, left me a few seconds ago, so if you want someone to practice with….” Her voice trails off awkwardly, unsure if Mercedes would want to work with her. “I don’t mind mixing the dough for you and all. I promise I won’t hurt your hands, since I’m mixing the mochi and you’ll be hitting it!” 

Plus, it’s pretty fun kicking everyone’s ass at archery, too. 

Leonie’s on her third victory against a fellow student and counting; she takes her victory with smug taunt and laugh as the poor boy shuffles away with a figurative tail between his legs. She breaks away from the station, allowing the soaking wet professor to take a break from being mercilessly dunked as apricot-toned eyes flicker across the crowd, searching for their next victim. Some seem to detect Leonie’s bloodlust for, when she locks eyes with them, they wearily turn away as if they hadn’t noticed her. 

What, afraid of a commoner? She’s tempted to goad, big-headed from her winning streak. She tightens her grip on her bow, her trusted partner. If her peers had an advantage over her in archery, it’d be pretty damning; she’s been a bowsman her whole life! If there’s one field she’s absolutely conident in, it’d had to be this. 

Leonie’s near the end of the pack when a familiar cut of admirable blue hair snares her attention. Byleth. Captain Jeralt’s child. Leonie’s smirk widens as she saunters up to the professor; Byleth was proficient in swords, so there’s no way she could outclass her in archery, right? 

“Hey, Professor Byleth!” Leonie approaches and her ego’s written all over her features; it’s not hard to guess her wicked intent. “Are you here for the bow challenge, too?” She takes a moment to scrutinize the older’s appearance; it doesn’t look like she’s been on the platform yet. Good! Leonie would hate if Byleth wasted their time getting dunked, instead of showing other students how true archery’s supposed to be done. “I just beat a handful of guys at the game and need some real competition. So, how about we go a round? You know, like a formal battle between Captain Jeralt’s disciples!” 

Leonie can’t say she speculated on what the academy would offer to bolster their student’s interest. After all, her archery skills weren’t lacking. Still, whatever conspiracy she’d spin would never hold a light to perplexing reality: a festival game out in the town square, consisting of students desperately trying to dunk their professors. 

Seriously? Leonie thinks at first, ready to turn her nose away at the display. Everyone knows the best way to hone your skills is to hunt. For starter’s, your target’s actually moving. She adjusts her knapsack of thingamabobs acquired through her weekly errand run and moves closer to the crowd despite her initial prejudices, curious about commotion. Sure enough, a throng of eager students crowd about the square, bows in hand, cheeks rosy with merriment. Leonie quirks an eyebrow, then glances at one of the professors sitting atop the platform.

“Does this actually help students with their accuracy?” Leonie asks, one hand haughtily on her hip. “Or do you just like getting dunked in water, Professor?” 

Sephiran does not go out much. He does not talk to new people, nor did he often talk to familiar people, for that matter, especially not in the last week. It isn’t a surprise, or at least, it shouldn’t be, that the sibylla responsible for the whole mess would spend his time hiding away. Former sibylla, he corrects himself uselessly, since he could no longer peer into the future.

But one could not stay in hiding forever, even if only speaking to Cybele was good enough for a time, and nobody would trust him with a mission anyway. He could not stay in Haven on goodwill only, especially not when for him it would be hard to come by for him at best. 

So reluctantly, and carefully, he exits his seclusion.

… And, in his attempt to retrace the path needed to go to the park, immediately runs into someone he doesn’t recognize. A new recruit, probably, given the general state of things- mostly the fact that he doesn’t recognize her at all. He stops in his tracks, thinks about how close his room is (it isn't) and how quickly he could simply avoid this interaction altogether (decently quickly).

Now—- Well, now she has a chance to protect her community! She doesn’t have to twiddle her thumbs and pray for someone to rescue her people when things turn south; she has the power to protect those dearest to her now. And—- And the greatest part of it all is that her mentor is a cornerstone member the King’s Garrison themselves!! Sure, their first introduction was a little bit underwhelming, Zaccaria has some vices that she’s not particularly a fan of and, okay, maybe Zaccaria is a bit wimpier than she’d imagine them to be and they’re kind of pathetic with a weapon but—- But they can be wise when they want to! And they’re fun to talk to and maybe if they put in a bit more effort in their daily life, they’d really be super-duper admirable! Their reluctance is just another facet of their charm! What truly matters is that their laidback personality is reassuring and Leonie likes meditating with them so it’s okay in the end, because Zaccaria’s uniqueness is what makes them endearing! If they were a bit too charismatic, the balance between them, Lucio, and Luz would be off-kilter. Someone has to be kind of pathetic to make the Garrison relatable or else people would start getting a bit too scared. 

Leonie’s in the midst of her errand run as she admires the enormous expanse of Haven’s campus again. It hasn’t really sunk into her that this was her home now and, as she adjusts the bags of feminine care products and other personal affixes that her colleagues had sent her off to retrieve (she never questioned why they’d decide to send her instead of a rook), a man with long hair catches her attention. She stares at him, both in wonder and contemplation, as ghosts of past conversations she’s overheard echo in her ears. She squints as the man comes closer then freezes in his tracts, a hazy name swirling in her mind before she says—-

“Sephiran!” 

That’s who everyone was recently talking about! Nobody liked him because he made the council mad or something. He was a betrayer of sorts, Leonie hadn’t been paying attention to negative gossip, but she knows that people hated the guy because he was untrustworthy and she was advised by some seniors to avoid him at all costs!

Wait. 

“Uh,” there’s an awkward pause. Her gaze flickers from the man, then to her bags, then to the hall behind him.

Well.  It’s a bit too late to avoid him. 

(Not that she wanted to partake in the rumor mill, anyway. They’ve already done enough slander to Summer; she’s not going to contribute to something so unproductive and annoying.)