#ingridbgalatea

Mercedes as Snowhite. Ingrid as her prince. 

My submission for @fe3hstoryzine. Skill at the time wasn't worth the composition of this piece but it's still very dear to me as Ingrid wlw pieces are so scarce. 

Bernie has had a hard time following exactly what was happening.

Azura had started to perform again but this time it felt...different. Bernie couldn’t place exactly what it was about it, but it felt like something rushed over her as Azura’s voice filled their cell.

And it didn’t seem constrained to their cell either. The...thing that kept watching them, he seemed to react strangely to it. Stiffening. Staring. Bernie hated when he came to check on them but this felt so much worse.

Lorenz...did something she couldn’t quite see, but Bernie did notice Ingrid shifting over to block him. For a split second, there was hope. Excitement. 

It...wobbled a bit as she noticed the monster moving again. He didn’t approach them like Bernie thought he would. He didn’t storm into their cell and attack Azura. He left instead, maybe after something more important, and Bernie let out a sigh.

And then the first burst of something rushed into their cell 

Bernie let out a terrified shriek as the first gush of...something shot past her neck from where she was leaning against the wall. She quickly scrambled away.

A mist quickly began to fill up their cell. “O-oh no! What are we-” Bernie coughed.

She squinted as her eyes began to water, looking over at her friends. Her head hurt. Whatever this gas was, it was clearly meant to take them down. Bernie struggled and gasped as her throat tickled, forcing her to cough again and again.

Her hands fell to the floor as she tried to hold herself up. Her arms shook under the weight.

She tried to lift her head to look at her friends. Everything was blurry. Bernie couldn’t tell if it was her eyes watering or...or...

Bernie fell over, and with a crack, her head the floor.

smoochies for all!

When Ingrid approaches her booth with a request, Flayn feels her heart threatening to jump out of her chest.

"Hello, Ingrid! I take it you want a kiss from me as well?"

The saint masks her immense nervousness with a small smile. There was something about the Galatea noble that made her feel strange, perhaps a little tingly. Her stomach, a pit of nerves as she readies herself to kiss her on the cheek. Flayn stands up, leans forward, and cups Ingrid's face with gentle yet quivering hands. She must do this quickly, before she dies of heart attack.

"Alright, I shall go now!"

She announces, closing her eyes tightly and planting a kiss onto Ingrid's… cheeks?

Soft. Her skin is soft and warm. Flayn's lips find themselves lingering for a beat longer, savoring the touch. Was the student's face always this smooth and cushion-like? Emerald eyes flutter open to take a look and discover, to the saint's great horror, that she had missed her target. By a lot.

Whenever Flayn fantasizes getting her first proper kiss, she had always imagined a romantic scene; a sunset view on the ocean, waves tickling their feet as they shared heartbeats… then, they lean together and their lips meet happily, a show of their love and devotion to one another.

She was not expecting it to be with Ingrid Brandl Galatea, nor was she expecting it to happen in a kissing booth.

Flayn almost collapses from shock.

She pulls away quickly so as to remedy the situation, but it is too late for her, she fears. Her face buries itself into her hands, green hair draping over her like a curtain of shame. She had kissed Ingrid. On the lips. Using her lips. They both made contact through their lips, mutually. Their faces collided, via their lips. Flayn kissed a girl on her lips, using her own lips. They had kissed on the lips.

"Ah… I- I am.. ah…"

Her brain struggles to form coherent thoughts as the memory of her first official kiss ever sits in her mind. Cheeks look closer to red than beige in color as humiliation takes over her body. She slumps back into her chair, head bowed down so as to not look at her.

"I am so sorry… I am so sorry… Oh my Goddess, I am so sorry… I am so sorry… I am so sorry…"

          guardian moon’s morning sun shines down, casting all of garreg mach in the brilliance of its cold light. if not for the temperature, it would be a pleasant day — cloudless, bereft of the wind chill that turns winters in faerghus from frigid to fatal. much farther south than their centuries-old homesteads, the northern natives greet the slow-rising sun at the edge of the monastery pond, newly solid from the previous night’s deep freeze. dressed in furs of customary blue, felix balances the ice pick in the crook of his arm against his shoulder and blows heat across the cracking skin of his palms before pulling on his gloves. he might be from the kingdom, but the fraldarius lands’ coastal territory soothes the infamous boreal bite with seasonal warmth that blows in southwest from the goddess stream. continental dry air like this is still an adjustment.

          this hadn’t been how he’d intended to spend the day. his morning routine of training had been cut short by an interruption from the other three, come to seek him out to help them carve chunks of ice from the pond. it’d sounded pointless, and he hadn’t been surprised to hear that it had been sylvain’s idea to gather all of them. but one way or another, he was here despite his protests — how that always seemed to happen, ever since they’d been kids, would likely remain a consistent mystery.

          colorless refractions in misty white criss-cross the pond’s solid surface where hairline cracks have already begun to form in the ice. the opaque dullness feels abandoned and dusty, like an old mirror, trapping the normally ebbing motion of the pond water in stasis. according to the bare instructions from the guards, completing this task most efficiently would require at least one person to take a more dangerous position balancing atop the ice, while others worked around the edge from the shoreline.

                              he knows which one he doesn’t prefer. 

          but knowing the others... he puffs a long-suffering sigh through his nose. audible. weary before they started. ❝ let’s just get this over with. ❞

Ingrid Brandl Galatea has been dropped and is now available!

“Race?” 

Sumia knew it wasn’t fair to play favorites, but she couldn’t help but be endeared to some students, especially the ones who made her remember what she and her friends were like when they were younger. Ingrid’s commitment, patience, grace... It reminded Sumia of another dear friend. 

“Let’s see who could go faster, Cordy!”

But it would be a disservice to both of them to compare. Ingrid had her own light, her own brightness that shone through when she flew across the rolling sky. It was amazing to behold. When Sumia saw Ingrid, she saw beauty. Bravery. Hope. 

But for the most part? She saw a girl. 

“Haha! I don’t care if they call you a genius. You’re still my best friend! I’ll beat you one day... Probably? Definitely... Maybe. 

Grinning, Sumia offered Ingrid a playful nudge. 

[Grants +1 Riding, Flying, or Heavy Armor]

The Valley of Torment is a name earned.

It is unbearably hot, in direct contrast to the frigid winds and snow that presently permeate the rest of the region. The summer sun at its worst is nothing compared to this; Lloyd’s grimace is thinly veiled as the swordsman picks at his coat. Heat and dark clothing do not mix very well; clings to him like a second skin due to sweat, only serving to amplify his discomfort—and they’re to spend however long it takes to reach the opposite end of the valley enduring it.

Never mind that once they’ve made it through, too hot will become too cold once more. Doubtless their group will need to stop and adjust—but that’s a problem to be dealt with when they get there.

Lloyd wonders why they have to go through the valley in the first place. Are there really no alternative routes they could take to cross into Faerghus? That over the course of centuries, no other roads were cut through the mountains separating the Kingdom and Alliance? It is no wonder, then, that merchants from the latter typically enter the former’s territory by ship instead.

“Sir!” A knight from his assigned unit approaches him; the man looks as if he’s on the verge of wilting in the unrelenting heat. “Everything is secure for transport. We’re ready to depart at your command.”

“Good. Tell the others to keep formation around the wagon once we start moving. I doubt we’ll run into trouble along the way, but better safe than sorry.” As much as they can be when they’re a fairly small group and only moderately armed for battle, at least. “...And drink some water while you’re at it. You don’t want to faint out here.”

The knight is dismissed to do as told, and Lloyd turns his attention to the three students who’d asked to come along. “We’ll keep several paces ahead of them, to make sure the road stays clear. Any objections?”

Munday symbols

Is it cliche to say everyone? Probably.

Okay, so outside of charas in the group, top 3 aside from those I’ve mentioned before:

Ranulf. Don’t @ me, I like cat bois sldkgjdslfk

Ephraim, I just really like his character and I’d love to see one/write with one.

Sonya, the purple mom we need.