#inexalt

in the stables, marianne stoops next to dorte leading the hands of a small boy, no older than seven. he quivers at the sound of a rumble overhead, marking the beginning of a storm that would likely rage throughout the night, if the dark clouds approaching were anything to go by. nonetheless, marianne encourages his motion, drawing the brush through dorte’s mane until his fingers stop trembling. she almost misses the flash of mint that passes by, but before she can even process what she’s seen, she’s already stepping around dorte and near-tripping into a jog to catch up. 

she feels like a jack in the box that had been winding since she first heard that the professor had returned. her arms wrap around byleth’s shoulders unprompted, heart thundering in her chest and relief puffing hard from her lips. marianne has seen this ghost in countless dreams, reached out to touch only for byleth to dissipate between her fingertips. now, she feels skin and bones and muscles and she swears she can hear the blood rushing through her veins. she can certainly feel it in the warmth of byleth’s cheeks when her own lips brush each of them (or perhaps that’s her own, her face flushing as she pulls away, embarrassed at her own outburst). 

    “oh, mm, m-my manners!” marianne flusters, avoiding eye contact for only long enough to step away, fluttering from perch to perch like an erratic bird. she turns to the boy behind her and takes his hand, leading him down the steps of the wooden stool and finally meeting byleth’s eyes again. 

    “this is rumi. he, mm, he came back with our forces a few weeks ago and asked if he could stay. i’ve been teaching him how to care for the horses,” marianne glides down a perch, lowering to one knee beside the boy. “this is byleth. she was a professor here when garreg mach was still just a school. she, ah—” oh, perhaps she can be forgiven for this verbal stumble, where she must put into words how it felt to lose someone entirely yet with no evidence to prove it, only to have them reappear like a walking miracle of the goddess’ making. 

    “byleth was gone for a while, but now she’s back. we have all missed her very much.” 

           “what, this?” it’s his sun ring –– a topaz-made trinket from a witch that prevents him from burning slow when the morning greets all of fódlan, and threatens him alone. “it was a gift from a friend of mine that dates a few years back. nothing specific. i’m not surprised it caught your eye, though. it’s pretty, right?” 

“ In  loneliness,  the  lonely  one  eats  himself.   Come  out. ”

non - sexual acts of dominance   →   [ calm ]   your muse telling mine to  ‘ just breathe ‘ 

                 𝐈 𝐓   𝐈 𝐒   𝐒 𝐎   𝐇 𝐎 𝐑 𝐑 𝐈 𝐁 𝐋 𝐘   𝐈 𝐑 𝐎 𝐍 𝐈 𝐂    to be a knight  /  a  soldier  /  a  bleeding heart  gifted with a  rage  triggered by battle and blood and death  /  triggered by  existing  in some pocket of time  untouched  by present or future  ,  trapped in a moment that replays with every breath or blink or turn of the head  ;  a boy masquerading as a man  /  a beast masquerading as a  human being  ,  pretending this lance is somehow any different from the bloodying of his  unholy maw .  he has learned the art of  keeping control  over the years  ,  steadying his breathing in time with the heart rate he  desires  to have  ;  in  ,  out .  in  ,  out .  in   ------   the sensation of steel ripping through skin  ,  through bone   ------   out .  in   ------   the smell of blood  ,  heavy and thick and clinging to him  /  his skin  ,  his clothes  ,  his   ------   out .  in   ------   bodies  ,  piling  /  bodies  ,  rotting  /  final moments etched upon their faces  &  there’s his father’s head  ,  rolling  ,  detached  ,  eyes open  ,  eyes open  ,  eyes   ------   in .  in  ,  in  ,  in   ------   you need to breathe  ,  dimitri .

                there’s air compacted into his lungs  ,  lips parted yet refusing to permit the exit of breath  ,  or words  ,  or  coherency  ;  thoughts shrouded in a single moment  ,  fingers shaking ‘round the shaft of his lance .  what was he doing  /  where is he  /  a battlefield  ,  but   /  he’s supposed to be in  duscur  ,  their carriages   [ overturned ]   and his family  [ burning  ,  screaming ]   and  /  where’s glenn ?  where’s patricia  ,  where’s his father  ,  where’s   ------   [ STATIC  /  BUZZING  /  IT’S JUST YOU  ,  BOY  ,  &  THE CORPSES YOU FAILED TO SAVE ]   ------   &  his arms are swinging down  ,  again and again and again  ,  impalement of a body long since having stopped its movement and it doesn’t matter  ,  he doesn’t see it  ,  isn’t here  /  but there .  desperate and confused and  oh goddess where are you when your children beg for you through the thickness of their own blood ?

“ dimitri . ”

                familiar  ,  comforting  /  not enough to draw him back but enough for it to register as  something  in the back of his mind  ,  something  ,  someone  ,  some  body  ,  alive and speaking  /  alive and  there  and   ------

“ dimitri  ,  stop  ;  you have to  stop . ”

                stop .  stop what ?  stop breathing  /  moving  /  thinking  /  why does everything smell of blood and ashes and why is he alone and she says to  stop  and he doesn’t know who  ‘ she ’  is but he wants to  /  he wants   ------

                there are hands on his face  ,  warm palms against his cheeks and it’s sudden  ,  the way his arms come to a screeching halt  ,  lance slipping from his hands to clatter soundlessly upon the grass at his feet as arms fall to his side in a lame sort of manner .  she .  her .  steady  ,  while he  trembles  in her grasp and the fire begins to fade away from the edges of his vision  ,  head turning  ,  sight adjusting  ;  byleth .  professor .  he opens his mouth to speak and finds he no longer recalls how .

                “ it’s okay now . ”    she says  ,  soft and reassuring  /  a whisper to the terrified child he keeps buried in his heart whose grave was dug up  &  dismantled this very afternoon .  he will have to rebuild  /  dig anew  ,  he knows .  but right now ,    “ just breathe .  you’re safe now  ,  everyone is safe .  so rest  ,  dimitri  ;  breathe . ”    right now  ,  he breathes .  it begins as a gasp  ,  lungs desperate for air they’ve been denied and the exhale  ,  the release  ,  is as shaky as he is but he manages  ;  he breathes .  in  ,  out .  in  ,  out .  in  ,  out .

                byleth does not move away and he does not want her to regardless  ;  unsteady hands reaching  ,  grabbing  /  arms wrapping ‘round her frame as he brings her close  /  stains her attire with the blood clinging to his clothes    (  he’ll apologize  ,  later  ;  when he is here  ,  when he can realize it  )    and buries his face in the blue of her hair .  in  ,  out .  in  ,  out .  in  ,  out .

                “ i’m here .  i won’t leave . ”    and he believes her .  he believes her  ,  and he trusts her  /  deceptively delicate limbs return the embrace  ,  gentle hands pressed against the muscle of his back .  she’s here  /  he isn’t alone .

in  ,  out .  in  ,  out .

unprompted // @inexalt

☀️ — He’d been staring at his plate with a lack of hunger that was particularly uncharacteristic of him. A young man, normally wolfing down any food in sight, leaving morsels on his plate for his sister to steal. Thinking to himself, he almost misses his sister’s questions, only stirred to attention by her fork stabbing into one of his potatoes. Hand moves to stop her only to drop down unceremoniously again. He wasn’t actually going to eat it. 

Part of him wants to show concern for a student apparently threatening her, but considering how UNCONCERNED his sister appeared, he decides not to comment. 

“The Golden Deer are certainly…COLORFUL.” He slowly slides his plate over to his sister with soft scratching sound of china on wood. “No one has threatened me, but Lorenz is incredibly concerned that I’ve never been in a tea party, and Hilda keeps trying to explain why she missed her homework every day.” 

          ❛ ... is there a reason for that stare ? ❜

                HE DOESN’T THINK OFTEN OF HIS OWN HEIGHT     whether it be as a general concept or in comparison against that of another      (   beyond the occasional thought  ,  at least  ,  of whether or not his   father   had grown so tall   /   he felt giant when dimitri existed a mere child   &   it sits uncomfortably to know he shall never have the chance to learn whether that was perception or reality   )      but there are times when he is forced to remember that he   towers   above most others     ━━━━━     his wife among them .   it is difficult at times to think that she resides near a   full foot   shorter than himself when her grandeur is so   larger than life  ,  the woman who saved a continent   /   the goddess incarnate  ,  salvation pooled in the cup of her palms and to her lambs did she offer   sustenance .   mighty though she may be  ,  even in   heels   does she fail to come up much further than his   chin   and perhaps it is rude   /   blasphemous  ,  even  ,  to   chuckle   in the face of divinity but he cannot help it as he glances down at her and her   pout  ,  and it’s worth it  ,  he thinks  ,  this mild sin of his .

holy though she may be  ,  that hardly stops her from being   adorable  in his eyes .

❛     would i ?   and what service would that be  ,  i wonder ?     ❜               he asks as if he does not   know   ,  faux innocence in his expression as he looks down upon her  ,  struggling to hide the   amused smile   that threatens to spread itself o’er his visage .   she wants a kiss  ,  of course   &   he certainly faces no objections to such a thing but  ...  it is   entertaining   to play dumb  ,  if only for a moment  ,  to see the way her pout only   grows   in pseudo frustration  ,  chin tilting upward in an act of both indigence and vain attempt at closing at least   some   of the distance between them .  

“   i believe you can guess .   though if you don’t   want to  ...  i suppose i may as well take my leave .   i would   hate   to bother   his majesty  with something so   trivial  ,  after all .   ”     she replies  ,  something   thoughtful   settling itself into her speech mid - statement and he cannot help the genuine   laugh   that falls from his lips as she begins to turn  ,  slow and deliberate  ,  playing pretend   at having simply   given up   in her quest for affection .   and who is he to deny her  ,  really  ,  the love of his life   /   the woman who   saved him   in so many ways  ,  who keeps his heart in the space between her teeth and has found ways to speak around it  ,  ivories never so much as denting the surface .  who would he be  ,  but so   cruel   and   unfair   ;   he could never  ,  not to her .

and so he isn’t  ,  reaches a hand out to gently snag her shoulder and turn her back ‘round towards him and it’s fluid  ,  practiced  ,  the way his arm wraps around her waist to pull her   close   and his back bends with the act of leaning down closer  ,  a warm smile etching itself upon his face .               ❛     there is nothing trivial to be found if the matter at hand involves you .     ❜               and he means that  ,  of course  ,  whole - heartedly   ;   free hand lifts to cup her face and he is   gentle   in the way his lips press against her own  ,  chaste and adoring and his heart flutters within his chest  ,  a bird stretching its wings   /   hymns are merely words strung together and sung aloud but in the sensation of their lips moving against one another’s he thinks  :   they would taste like this   ,  like her .

holy and forgiving and safe   /   and safe   /   and safe .