Tessera
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saoirse | krongrid’s strongest soldier

@aphrodykey.bsky.social

lesbian | she/her | 25 writer and losergirl enthusiast @edelgardfancam on twitter, @rheagardian on tumblr, DashingViridian on ao3 free palestine

149 Posts91 Follower295 Folgt
anna 😊🤗@dogsithea.bsky.social · 2w ago

I’m kind of nervous like I could complete 3h with my eyes closed. I know every tea party answer by heart. I know the right answer to every monastery question. I have every map memorized. Now I have to learn to please a whole new woman after seven years. What if I’m bad!!

rex@stergeon.bsky.social · 3w ago

wip wednesday edelgrid sittin in a tree. well just ingrid actually. subtitle: “everything about you is actually about me and yes that includes you dying”

The fractured limb upon which the Faerghan general is impaled is tragically within reach of the forest floor, yet just too high off the ground for her to stand. The strain of such a wound would see her death in minutes, if not the gravity of it; it's fortunate indeed that Edelgard has found her so quickly, but Galatea has never known what's good for her. The fool lifts the lance she's clung to harder than her own sense, just so Edelgard can push it aside. "Surrender," Edelgard says, as greeting. "Never," Galatea rasps back. Her spit is hot on Edelgard's cheek, but Edelgard's blood runs hotter, and her mask is practiced and perfect. "You don't need to die this way, Ingrid." She steps closer, dangerously close, not that Galatea could do anything even if she could reach. "Surrender," she says again. "Please." Galatea's dying dog pants and stares. She's a pretty girl, even like this, fighting for words and for breath, dead leaves in her flaxen hair, face bloodied with scratches, her left arm snagged on a high bough and obviously broken at the shoulder. Edelgard always liked that she didn't feel inclined to use makeup, and those knightly affectations of hers, while rooted in an embarrassing grandiose inferiority, did have their charms. She certainly will make a lovely martyr. With a fall like that, her pelvis is likely broken as well, though the more pressing issue is the branch through the thick meat of her vulnerable inner thigh. Every time she twitches, red heat spills down her calves to puddle below her dangling boots."No," is all Galatea says in the end; it's likely all she can say. It's a shame, but Edelgard's throat is burning from hours of exertion and shouting orders, and it's pleasant to not have to say anything for once. This kind of privacy is a luxury as well, and one they're guaranteed for now — if any Kingdom soldiers saw where their general fell and came for her, they'd meet Hubert and Ferdinand's battalions at the perimeter of the copse. Edelgard opts to pay her gratitude forward, pulling the canteen from her waist and extending it to the bloodied hound pinned up before her. "Open your mouth." Her mouth is open, but it's the principle of the thing, and there's some sad inspiration in watching her fight to close it. There's another thrill in the look Galatea gets in her eyes when Edelgard lifts her axe, and a better one in the ugly sound she makes when Aymr's spines find the ground below her feet. "Stand there," Edelgard commands, pointing at the blade. Survival wins out against stubbornness, as it will. Galatea's once-white boot scrabbles for a brace point among Aymr's wicked teeth, and she whimpers pitiably when her tearing flesh finds relief. "Open your mouth," Edelgard says again, and Galatea's jaws snap shut. There isn't time for this — Edelgard's wasted too much on this dying girl already, but the principle, the point, the pleasure — It's simply the right thing to do.Of course the girl bites, and of course she bites hard, but Edelgard's gloves are armored and Galatea has little need for molars now anyway. She chokes, and the mist of blood and lukewarm liquid splashing on Edelgard's hot, hot face provides something of a relief. Edelgard presses that gray tongue down with a thumb so she can pour the liquid directly into her throat, which she massages with her free hand, forcing it down. "Drink," she orders, to give her the choice. Good dog that she is, Galatea obeys, abandoning her pathetic efforts to push Edelgard back, accepting the gift she's being offered. Her right arm must be broken, too — that, or Edelgard's bloodrush is stronger than she'd thought. Galatea swallows once, twice, then hangs there and coughs when Edelgard pulls the canteen away. Edelgard takes a sip, tastes her on the rim, looks at the blood and spit drooling from Galatea's slim pink lips and kills her impulse, glancing up at her eyes instead. Green — Edelgard will remember that. Green, flecked with gold, red-streaked and blueing with the tears that brim and then spill over with her next ragged breath. "Why," Galatea asks then, like someone who could never be a knight. Edelgard hates her for it and so many other things, but it's easy to take pity on a trapped and helpless creature, a wounded animal, a child on the verge of death, and if she sees something in those green eyes, something of hers that she wants back, wants to keep, who could tell her no?