#shevalry

    mercedes scurries over with the haste of a mother carrying a tray of food to the child she’s doting on. what she brings to ingrid isn’t food, though. she is clutching a brown paper bag to her chest, and when she catches up to ingrid she slips her hand inside it. when she pulls out the contents, ingrid could be forgiven for wanting to run away. it’s a teal, silken ribbon, and mercedes doesn’t wait for a response before she’s reaching for ingrid’s hand and tugging her in the direction of the dormitories. 

    “come with me!” 

19: Forceful Kiss

    forget tactics, history and politics. economics could be forgotten to time, social politics ignored. what mercedes has learned above all things, is that the blue lions house is that for which its residents hate themselves. 

    prince dimitri, now a king with so much blood on his hands he could paint a cathedral’s roof crimson leads the charge, his hatred taking on the form of an entirely different personality. felix’s takes the form of a ghost that looks like him and haunts his steps, stands in front of him and muddies the form of his face, makes him look like his brother. and ingrid? ingrid has had a future pressed upon her that defies the very taste of her bones, and somewhere along the line she has been taught to hate that she wants something different. 

    and mercedes herself? oh, she hates control, the mere concept that she should take control of something for herself. that is what has left her so demure, so quiet, so accepting of the self-deprecation so rife within her classmates. 

    but now, now it has been several years, and in that time mercedes has become a mother to children, a warrior to war, and a priestess to words that mean nothing but for who speaks them. she has patience no longer for pain expressed in such a way that damages the speaker. not when she knows better. 

    that’s why she silences ingrid with a kiss. in the moment their lips press together, all of that flutters away from her mind while she picks apart the tastes. there’s honey there, as well as blood and bitterness. 

    “i’ll hear no more of that,” mercedes says softly. her eyes are not on ingrid’s, turned away as though relinquishing shame to the goddess is a pitiful thing by itself. “one day i hope you’ll come to love yourself as much as i love you, but until then, i’ll wait.” 

@shevalry​​ has written a fan letter.

Name: “Ingrid Brandl Galatea.” Age: “22!” Do you like to cuddle?: “Huh, I won’t say no to a good cuddle.” Can we make-out?: Ingrid starts choking on her drink— A night in or dinner out?: “Both sound like they’d be a good time! But maybe if we stay in… I won’t feel pressured to look like a girl.“  Ice cream or chocolate covered strawberries?: Pouts. "Aw… Can we have both?” What makes you a good Valentine?: “I’ll protect you no matter what.” Would you cook for me?: “I’d sure try!” Would you let me cook for you?: “You know I’ll eat anything, Dorothea. Sure!”

     there’s a small pull at her brows as she reaches her hands for ingrid’s. ❝ sweetie, you’re allowed to look any way you want no matter where, ❞ she says firmly, a frown resting on her lips. ❝ and i’ll scare off anyone who says otherwise. if they so much as give you a look, i’ll be right there to challenge them back and they won’t be so keen to sit on their high horses afterwards. this protecting you talk about goes both ways, you know. ❞

Sothis looked between the stack of books that had once been settled in her arms, and Ingrid, who stood before her, all apologetic, and pursed her lips. If it wasn’t enough to be Byleth’s errand boy, now she had to spend extra time picking things up. But, she was not one to hold a grudge, so she perked right up and waved a hand. “Do not worry! I should have been more careful with where I was going.” And should not have been carrying a stack of books that, while in her arms, was taller than she was. But whatever.