bluestmoons

[bluestmoons]

#( the rising of. ) eric. #( the snarfblat player. ) eric.

[bluestmoons]

@livedtough for larry

“O— oh—-...”

A strangled noise falls from Eric as his body collides, horribly, with that of a person that had been passing him, oppositely. Really, this past, well, while, Eric’s been preoccupied — not that he hasn’t always been — head up in the clouds, Carlotta would cluck, were she here.

This was important, he was told. This experience, this work; this was necessary for the country, and important for him, as a man, too; but, gosh, the whole idea of fighting in some war, giving away his life to violence, was a little... well... He was wrestling with it, alright? It may’ve been a bit since he’d entered the corps, but he was still struggling with the thought that this is where he was meant to be. Behind a gun, on the ground. Thrown into a—...

... Wait! He’d just knocked into someone, hadn’t he?

He refocuses; there, now covered in the gruel he’d grabbed from the mess hall, was a superior. He grimaces, cringes visibly. They have one of those stoic-looking faces, too...

“... Geez...”

The harshest curse he’d utter.

“I, uh... s—sorry, sir... I’ll, uh...” He picks up a napkin from his tray and starts dabbing at his superior’s shirt. “Let me just...”

#( the rising of. ) eric. #( the light of. ) eric. #livedtough #livedtough: larry #( v. crossfire. ) eric. #[ ha ha <3 what am i doing <3 ]

[bluestmoons]

Hi guys; bear with me as I relaunch this blog and wash the dust off, it’s going to take a bit but I want to get writing with my friend right now so I’m going to start writing despite things being a little. Y’know. Coughs. Dusty.

#( out of dreams. )

[bluestmoons]

@fangsjustice​

   Today was the first day Lloyd could move again, after the death he’d nearly died on Leonie’s kitchen table. Not content to sit still, even after nearly leaving this world, he’d gone to stand in the chilling evening with Alexei, look out over their farmland. Maybe he’d just wanted a few moments to clear his head, but hadn’t been able to escape Alexei’s friendly chatter — a problem Leonie all too frequently dealt with ( not that she’d ever, of course, minded ). 

  As her son and the love of her life spoke in the fields, she rode out to do her perimeter checks, and that is where she found them. Long, dark hair, curled around snow — long clothes that still seemed thin for this weather — a pallid feature to their face. Her heart had caught in her throat, and she’d only been relieved when she thought she saw the flutter of eyes beneath eyelids. 

   They awoke some time on the ride. Leonie only noticed when she’d gone to dismount, and they stared at her, laid over her saddle. “Come on, now, darling,” she’d soothed, helping them down — and, questionless, silent, they followed her into her home. 

   A blanket was draped at their back, a cup of tea set out for them. They stared at it like it was a foreign thing, unmoving. It was then, fortune should have it, that the door opened, and in walked— 

   “Lloyd. We have a visitor. I found them in the snow. Oh! I didn’t get your name, did I, dear?” 

#fangsjustice #fangsjustice: lloyd #( the rising of. ) leonie. #( the light of. ) leonie. #[ GOES FERAL GOES FERAL GOES FERAL GOES FER— ]

[bluestmoons]

#( the rising of. ) serra. #( the chaotic cleric. ) serra. #( queue moon. )

[bluestmoons]

wingsofilia​:

As if being flooded with scouting reports and details on some other mission weren’t enough, it seems that someone higher up the chain of command was not content with Fiora’s workload. Why else would she be suddenly asked to play at being some sort of camp morale officer? That wasn’t the exact job title, but it sure sounded that way. Supposedly there was cause to check in on some of the more unruly people within the ranks, and who best to crack that whip? Then again, was Fiora really the best choice for such a task? 

While the work grated on her, the pegasus knight was not about to turn it down. It was her duty to serve, after all. It seemed like a turn of good luck when she noticed the pink-haired cleric along her now-routine walk through the army camp. Well, now she would quickly get a sense of if she was cut out for this kind of business.

“Er-hmm!” Fiora cleared her throat to announce her arrival, before approaching her mark. In contrast to her rather stern and abrupt opening, the Ilian’s bow was rather refined and proper. Her words, too, were meant more as a probe than an accusation. “Lady Serra. How are you these days? I hope you haven’t been too rough with the new recruits. Have you?”

Starter for @bluestmoons​ (Serra)​​​

   Really, in truth, Serra liked Fiora. She was proper, enough — polite — a lady, even though she’d dirty herself with warfare, would gladly prance her way into danger, would it be. The two didn’t know each other well, but what Serra did know, she liked, well enough. A bow. Calling her lady. Fiora was respectable, enough! 

   She had to remind herself of that, now, because anger was burning through her, a wildfire sparked by an innocent question.

   “Rough? Me? I’m never rough! I’m a delicate lady, you know! I don’t have it in me to be rough!” 

   Wherever was Fiora getting her information from? Surely, she should know this! Wasn’t it clear how delicate and gentle she was? 

   “What about you? You haven’t been cruel to them, have you? Besides— from my point of view, you essentially are a new recruit!” 

#wingsofilia #wingsofilia: fiora #[ I’M SO SORRY FOR HER JLKFDJLKA ] #( the rising of. ) serra. #( the light of. ) serra. #( v. lyndis' legion. ) serra. #( queue moon. )

[bluestmoons]

for the palette challenge fire emblem's serra in #3 please? :)

I haven’t actually played the game she’s from but I use her all the time in FE Heroes so I’ve been meaning to draw her!

#( the rising of. ) serra. #( the chaotic cleric. ) serra. #( queue moon. )

[bluestmoons]

  A baby was the last thing the abbey in Etruria needed. Newborn, red from cold, swaddled in a blanket of blue — the man who brought her was a traveler, who said he found her on a nearby mountain range. He’d been caring for her until he could bring her here, but he could do so no longer. He’d been calling her Serra, after where he found her, he said.

  So Serra she was dubbed, and so she grew up, in a poor little convent.

  A parting gift was left with her — a gold coin necklace, fastened around her. The nuns let her keep it when they couldn’t get anyone to buy it off them, so poor their village was.

  Serra was the sort of toddler that wanted help with everything she did — she wanted people to watch her, to see her do things, to cheer her on. The sisters never had any time for her, what with watching other kids and their duties, and she was often told brusquely, “You’re old enough to do this on your own, aren’t you?” These are her first memories — angry tears as she sits in the corner of a room, fists clenched, wanting desperately for someone to hold her or play with her.

  The other kids, too, wanted for attention, and thus they were a rather unruly bunch, not good at listening to boundaries and not good at showing healthy affection for one another. Serra grew up being yelled at, stomped on, her hair pulled, her body thrown around. She decided early on she liked none of the other children, and they often thought she was annoying, in return.

  As often as she could, Serra would explore the monastery. She met a great deal of people this way, and saw how certain people were treated better than others. She wanted it, whatever it was — strode up to a one such man once and asked him, quite squarely, why people were nice to him.

  A sister came and dragged her away, and shrieked, “Are you kidding? How dare you talk to someone like him like that?”

  “Why’s he so special?”

  “Well, he’s a duke, Serra!”

  Serra didn’t know what that meant. The next day, she asked the kindly old man who attended sessions what a duke was.

  The man explained to her the hierarchy, and how people could be born into honor. She was fascinated, and wanted it.

  “You know,” he said, “your name, Sara, means princess, actually.”

  Her eyes lit up — could it really be? Could she be a forgotten princess?

  “Well, I don’t know about that. I’ve not heard of any princesses going missing.”

  She’d sulked then, but that night, had a vivid dream of overhearing the sisters discussing how Serra had been placed in the abbey for her own protection; her parents, after all, were counts, and there’d been a great dispute over status and succession of titles. Upon waking, she couldn’t quite tell if that had happened or was a dream, but she decided to believe in it. It made her special, too, like that duke she’d seen.

  For the next few years, Serra was confident in the fact that her family would come to rescue her from the abbey. Every night she believed she’d wake to their smiling faces. She shot around the convent as much as was allowed ( if Mother Superior caught her, she’d be hit and sent back to the room ), and waited, patiently, desperately, to be discovered. Sometime during this, she saw a few young ladies with pigtails, and decided it must be the fashionable thing, so she started wearing her hair up similarly, too! Now she even looked beautiful, for when her family returned.

  She was around 12 when the restlessness began to overcome her diligent spirit, and she wondered — what if they never came for her? What would her life be? Would she have to get married to some dirty townsboy and live the rest of her life here, in Etruria, never adventuring further or doing anything significant with her life? Or become a nun, here, like the rest of the sisters? Each option was horrible in different ways, and alluring in different ways. It wasn’t until she met her first cleric that Serra ever thought there may be something different.

  The woman was beautiful, refined. She came to pray at church and Serra, ever curious and inquisitive, came to ask her a million questions about who she was. The woman told her she was a cleric, and healed a cut on the back of her arm. Serra was amazed by the power, and amazed that anyone ( according to her ) with high enough faith in Saint Elimine could wield these powers. It immediately became her goal — to harness her own abilities, and use them for good, like this cleric did.

  Serra asked the nuns to teach her how to read the holy scriptures on her own. They’d taught the children about Saint Elimine, of course, and though Serra could make out a few words for herself, she had great difficulty actually reading through passages without any assistance. To this request, they obliged. And so began the training montage — Serra praying, and studying, and standing over the other kids in the room with her hands outstretched, trying to visualize what healing would look like, feel like, be like.

  It wasn’t until another cleric visited that she had her first chance to test it out. She asked if she could use their staff, and after a significant amount of begging, they acquiesced. She used it to heal a small wound on one of the kids that lived in the abbey with her. The cleric was so amazed by her, they gave her their staff, proclaiming they had more and they didn’t need it.

  After that, Serra took to the streets, healing people in the village. She made enough money to buy clothing of her own, and she modeled her clothing after the one person that’d always been there for her — Saint Elimine. Who was more beloved and respected than Saint Elimine? Who could turn her away, when she dressed so wonderfully?

  The nuns found her a job in Ostia, and gleefully, Serra went. House Ostia was beautiful — she had her own room, alone — everything was perfect, better than she ever could’ve imagined. They even had beautiful jewelry that she saved up for and bought! There was nothing like this where she grew up! She hung her necklace from when she was young on her belt, and marveled at how beautiful and fashionable she was, here.

  She had escaped her old home. By taking pieces of other people, she’d made a full, coherent-enough self. She was able to be something, rather than rot away in that convent, forever.

  And that’s how Serra’s life started. Truly started, really. How she came to be, and how she escaped her childhood.

  At least… she’d thought she’d escaped it. But was she really confident in this self she’d built? Was there not some piece of her that was still the child who got hit for singing or laughing, who watched other children die due to negligence, who blamed herself for the death of a boy meant to be sleeping next to her who froze to death when she hogged the blankets in her sleep?

  Well… perhaps there’s still some things she has to go through. But that can wait another day, surely.

  Can’t it?

#( out of dreams. ) #( the rising of. ) serra. #( the light of. ) serra. #( the gravity of. ) serra.

[bluestmoons]

cavaliant​: 

Well! Seemed like he’d wound her up even more. Not that he’d been particularly trying to avoid doing so. Sometimes it was fun to play with the easily-wound. The line between jests and sincerity was a delicate rope to walk, one of his favourite pastimes in fact - and the flippant delivery of a completely truthful remark was enough to make most people start to doubt.

“Oh? What would my punishment be, then? Purely hypothetically of course. I don’t make a habit of getting on my superiors’ bad sides if I can help it.”

   How dare he! Asking what his punishment would be… as if he wanted to weigh whether or not the rules were really worth following! She pouted severely, not at all pleased with the turn of events that’d landed her here. It was a good thought… what would his punishment be, if she would not hurt him?

   “Well, I’d— I’d abandon you, of course! You wouldn’t have the protection of my company, and you’d be just out there, a betrayer of both the Fangs and us! Surely someone with as many enemies as you couldn’t easily get by… Or— or maybe I have something even worse in store for you! You’ll just have to hope you never find out, won’t you?” Yes, that sounded strong enough… yes, great job, Serra! 

#[ JLFDJLKA you’re so so good!!! <3 #also i’m sorry for serra being a baby JLKFAJKL ] #( the rising of. ) serra. #( the light of. ) serra. #( v. lyndis' legion. ) serra. #cavaliant #cavaliant: legault #( queue moon. )

[bluestmoons]

FE hero’s is gonna have a healers gauntlet soon so I’m expecting you all to make right choice.

#( the rising of. ) serra. #( the chaotic cleric. ) serra. #( queue moon. )

[bluestmoons]

prettyboywarrior​: 

It was… Certainly not the response he expected. He was braced to be yelled at, truth is the praise was a little embarassing. After a moment to gather his thoughts, he gave a nod. “Prying the bags free was the first thing I did. Least I got the job done.”

   “Indeed!” So he was a do-gooder, then? Just like her! Each of them using their abilities to the help of those around one another... just like Saint Elimine would want! “We should team up, then! You, protecting and me, healing! We’d be like the perfect pair, don’t you agree?” 

#prettyboywarrior #( the rising of. ) serra. #( v. bnha. ) serra. #( the light of. ) serra. #a rain logged killer #( queue moon. )

[bluestmoons]

  Anyway I don’t care what anyone else thinks, I’m right about Serra knowing that she’s annoying and gets on people’s nerves and I’m proven right because of Serra’s support with Oswin

#( the gravity of. ) serra. #( out of dreams. ) #( the chaotic cleric. ) serra. #( the rising of. ) serra. #( queue moon. )

[bluestmoons]

  Serra may not be as confrontational with pretty women as I originally thought, and here are my little thoughts on this.

  Serra is very, very confrontational when it comes to Lucius, who she first believes is a woman, which spurred my belief that she’d be confrontational when it comes to other “pretty women”. But this is not the case for Lyn — someone that Serra admits, in one of her support conversations, is “just gorgeous”. You may think, Serena! Serra was in the middle of battle when they met, so perhaps Lyn is the outlier. To which I’d say: That’s what I thought at first, too! But when the battle ends and the dust settles, despite the fact that Serra had quipped that it was Lyn’s fault they’re in the battle in the first place, Serra is very kind, biding her adieu and even telling her to “take care”. And of course, we can’t forget how, as soon as Serra finds out that Lyn’s nobility, she immediately changes her course and decides to join the team, after all — certainly not the actions of someone who is competing with another woman.

  We don’t get to see Serra talk too much to women — the only support conversation she has with a woman is Florina, but despite Serra being…….. Serra……… she’s rather kind to Florina, too. In fact, the only time she’s downright rude is when she’s rude to Lucius.

  So, if Serra’s not rude to Lucius because she thinks he’s a woman, why is she rude to Lucius?

  You have to understand: in her eyes, Lucius was not just a woman. Lucius was

a beautiful woman

another cleric

  In fact, it seems Lucius’ perceived crime was not simply being pretty — it was replacing her. For a child that had no identity or firm place of her own, her found identity in being a beautiful, fragile cleric was all she had. And then Lucius — shy, beautiful, perceived as a cleric — threatened to take that away. In her eyes, anyway. She wished not to be outshined, or forgotten, and it stirred evil, angry feelings, causing her to be so cruel to poor Lucius.

  This, of course, changes everything. Now that I know she’s maybe not so awful with pretty women ( though she may hold little a contempt, as a treat ), it means she may even see the possibility of them being romantic partners, too. But… we’ll sit on that one and cross that bridge if we ( ever ) get to it.  

#( out of dreams. ) #( the rising of. ) serra. #( the chaotic cleric. ) serra. #( the gravity of. ) serra. #[ >:)c ] #[ to echo my tags on my other blog: #serena i hear you say #this support was lucius was meant to be ‘he he lucius looks like a girl ha ha’ #to which i say: unfunny #and shut up <3 ]

[bluestmoons]

wellplightedarchived: ( @wellfated​ )

Lucifer wished he held his tongue. But that was the funny thing about regret, wasn’t it? You usually couldn’t take it back - no matter how bad it was. He can feel a headache coming on. His eyes were already filled with guilt and a roiling shame. She was just a kid. She didn’t deserve his acerbic tongue,

“Look,” he began, a sigh already tumbling out. “I didn’t mean… how can I put it?” He frowned even harder, eyes darting to the already closed wound. “I’m sorry for what I said, and thank you. Your healing magic is commendable. I shan’t be surprised if you surpass your predecessors.” 

“Lady Serra? Nice name. You can call me Lucifer.”

   “W— well... I suppose I’ll have to forgive you, as you’re so earnest... but you’d do well to be more— polite, after this!” Her voice was still shaking, as she doled out pretend punishment, but he was lucky — despite posturing otherwise, Serra had always been quick to forgive. 

   ... Usually. Maybe that praise helped loosen the knot in her stomach, anyhow. 

   “Lucifer... that’s a pretty name! It’s nice to meet you.” A shimmering simper, all pleasantries at meeting him, officially. “How did you come into that injury? Did you get into a fight?” 

#wellfated #wellfated: lucifer #( the rising of. ) serra. #( the light of. ) serra. #( queue moon. )

[bluestmoons]

Correct!

#( the rising of. ) serra. #( the chaotic cleric. ) serra.

[bluestmoons]

galdrgraced​: 

“How does my rank have anything to do with what I am?” His eyes flashed. “The things I do, the things I say - those are what make me what I am, not something as insignificant as my birth. Those who are lords or kings deserve nothing from merely being born into such a position.”

His hands curled into fists. “You beorc are always so shallow. Always measuring everything by the mere accidents of status or riches. A king is nothing unless he proves himself to be worthy of the title. A pirate may be far greater than any noble depending on how they decide to treat those who depend on them. The greatest king I know was also a pirate and the greatest beorc I have ever met was a mercenary. Why should I care to what role they or I were born???”

   “Y-yes, well...” In truth, Serra was a bit chastised by him — though she took it well, one finger itching at her cheek, face embarrassed and flustered. She should really be outraged about all of this, shouldn’t she? But all she could muster up was a weak protest. “I— I’m not— shallow! I don’t... disagree with what you said...” Ah, was that why she was folding in, now? Someone older than her speaking harshly to her... did it remind her of where she was born? “But— what you are, it— it has an influence on you, surely. Just like how you were raised has an influence on you. It’s just— just a piece of you... an important piece! I’ve always thought so, anyway...” That’s why it was so hard, not knowing... It was much easier to believe she was the daughter of counts than to face the reality that she would never, ever know. 

#[ CRYING #SO SHOCKED SHE DIDN’T YELL BACK AT HIM TBH... ] #galdrgraced #( the rising of. ) serra. #( the light of. ) serra.

[bluestmoons]

People will kill you over time, and how they’ll kill you is with tiny, harmless phrases, like ‘be realistic.

Dylan Moran (via quotemadness)

#( the rising of. ) serra. #( the chaotic cleric. ) serra.