TO LEAD.

independent robin from fire emblem.

[cohrode-archive]

NOTHING BUT CINDERS.

independent leon of fire emblem:if/fates.

[grimaed-archive]

LIKE THIS POST FOR A STARTER!!! 

[tikiwiki-blog]

   It was the start of a long night for many. Passing through canyons neglected by nature certainly proved to be daunting on it’’s own - yet it seemed insufficient to fate. As their group pressed on through the treacherous terrain, Risen had fallen upon them, practically spilling from the derelict rock walls.     No lives were lost, but the event were quite nerve-wrecking, bringing the morale to a sudden slump. Though, of all people aside from Chrom himself, Tiki was aware of who had suffered the deepest blow of all.     She stood there, outside that person’s tent. Rumors and whispers of sympathetic concern had traveled throughout the army, eventually reaching Tiki’s ears; their tactician was plagued by horrid nightmares. When the Manakete first caught wind of this rumor, she grew somewhat concerned - though she respected his privacy and refused to pry. After all, it was what she would have preferred, herself.    However…recent events left and unsettling feeling churning within the pits of her stomach. She could hardly imagine the pain that Robin was enduring after such a close encounter with disaster. So, it was then that she felt the need to intervene. There was no doubt that he was downtrodden by guilt and - perhaps - a lack of confidence.     For the sake of the world which her dearest ones sought to protect so long ago - she could not allow such a curable risk to affect their mission.     Just as well, she could hardly stand by and watch such a familiar soul become illl with torment. 

    ❛ Robin, ❜ she spoke softly into the flaps of his tent, to avoid startling the man                                ❛ may I borrow a few moments of your time? ❜

[grimaed-archive]

     “ Hm... perhaps if we were to take this route instead... maybe we might be able to get to the nearest town faster? It would certainly save our sore feet some trouble -- or... maybe this one...? Mm..... no, that path’s a bit treacherous -- “

As idle thoughts take on the form of empty whispers, Robin’s turning a page in his journal -- eyeing at the map spread across his desk as an index finger runs along the crinkled lines of the paper. Brown orbs flick back and forth, gears whirring in his sleep deprived mind. It was unnecessary, really, for Robin to exert himself so much to the point of stressing over the smallest things. However, this was only method for Robin to cope with his lack of sleep: endless work.

Robin particularly didn’t mind it -- not in the slightest. Busying himself didn’t make him feel exerted. It’s something he’s grown so used to -- it’s like second nature to the tactician. Stressing over nothing also serves as a distraction of events that took place that same day. He knows he shouldn’t dwell on it too much, but naturally -- Robin couldn’t help but fret over the small things. Had he not sent Chrom to his rescue in the sudden ambush, little Ricken would have been at the receiving end of the killing blow one of the Risen soldiers had in store for him. 

The very memory strikes him then, and the impact of it nearly robs him of his breath. His movements come to a sudden halt, wincing as it begins to plague his mind. He nearly got somebody killed. Robin’s putting down the book -- propping his elbows upon the mahogany desk as his hands run through his hair. ‘I’ll never get anything done, at this rate... If I already can’t sleep, I can’t lose my ability to work either. Gods... ugh --’

However, Robin’s thoughts don’t linger for too long, because he hears someone call for his name. Blinking, the tactician’s turning in his seat to stare at the entrance of his tent for a moment. He’s trying to remember who that voice belonged to, and it’s when she whispers again that Robin realizes that the person before his tent was none other than Tiki. Robin breathes out with air he didn’t realize he was holding in, pushing his chair back in order to shuffle his feet quietly over to the entrance. Managing to stiffle a yawn, Robin’s pushing back the flap of his tent to greet Tiki with a smile.

     “ Sorry for the wait, Tiki -- but yes, you can take the time you need. I don’t mind.          I was only thinking about which... oh -- I didn’t wake you did I? “

[reunionvow-blog]

 i need the gods above and i need them now

[knightingaleforce]

captain and tactician

[amixoffics]

the blood will always                               stain                                        my hands

and no matter how much i                  clean                         them the      blood              still                    remains                               under                                       my s   k   i   n

[dragonbledd-deactivated20160411]

❛  ━━━━━━━ a  fervor  vivid  and  pulsing  . a  tale  of  almosts  and  could - have - beens. hands grasping and clenching. RETURN , RETURN , FILL IN THE ABSENCE . holds shackling and retaining. STAY , STAY , DON’T LEAVE . you are the moon. with your rise the tides shift. they called you pillar. they called you missing piece. you are a girl sculpted to be pawn / leader , chiseled to bend / break , fashioned to be a blade concealed . almost one , could - have - been the other . your heart however is too passionate of an organ to be stone . your eyes light up with ideals too massive for their glassy eyes to see . crossroads demand resolution however , and you will be prodded to choose. ( a revelation or two will alter your path of black and white. a grey girl with grey decisions. perhaps a new path must be forged apart from almosts. a never may be in demand ).

[notefoot-blog]

he looks at him with FEAR.

❝ YOU– ❞ he wrenches out, sword in the same manner. he swings without the force to cut, and how DARE he allow himself to be caught off guard. but his eyes could pierce; they dart about at their rivaling features, which are surprisingly soft and without malice, but that’s what they ALL thought. he holds the blade at the other’s neck, and with grima’s hesitation akin to his own, he makes out: 

❝ you’ve finally come to die? ❞ 

[grimaed-archive]

      “ Come to die...? What... What are you talking about? “

Robin remains completely still, the blade’s steel cold against his clammy like skin. The shock and outrage that would normally come with such a sudden course of action doesn’t, because he’s well aware of what could happen -- had he acted irrationally. Robin swallows thickly, his throat feeling constricted and tight. He exhales shakily, and attempts to reason.

     “ I’m... not sure what this is about -- but... if... we have met before...         I’m afraid -- uh, afraid to say that I wouldn’t... remember. “

[grimaed-archive]

@arabxsque

     “ What she did wasn’t easy at all. “

There isn’t much else to say when it comes to Emmeryn, her sacrifice still weighing heavy in the hearts of the Shepherds -- a personal Atlas in Robin’s heart. They plan to march at dawn, in order to see to it that the very sacrifice wouldn’t be in vain, which is where both he and Olivia stand now -- packing their weapons and items. However, Robin’s come to a halt -- shaky hands hovering over the hilt of his silver sword. His lip curls, taut -- forming a frown. Robin barely wills his hand to stop shaking, only to press his now clenched fingers along the blade. 

He knows what he’s saying was probably uncalled for and very unneeded while their grief is still fresh. However, Robin finds Olivia to be easy to talk to, despite the fact that she was still a new face to him -- a new person to commit to his already tarnished memory. The tactician closes his eyes then, a somber smile spreading across his visage. 

     “ I can’t help but think -- ...think that maybe I could’ve done something better with my plan. But every time I try, nothing can ever come to thought. I... hm... I just wish Emmeryn were still here is all, really -- she was a good woman, and death came for her far too soon. “

[grimaed-archive]

It's way past your bedtime

Send me, “its way past your bedtime” for your muse to walk in at 3:37 in the morning to find my muse isn’t asleep. ( not accepting )

Chrom’s sudden discovery of the overbearing tactician shouldn’t really come as a surprise to him anymore, but Robin’s still whirring around all the same, with wide eyes like that of a child caught doing something rotten. He blinks – staring at the prince, who takes his place standing in the door way with a stern expression. The weight of his presence comes crashing down all at once, and Robin turns back around, gazing upon the piles of parchments scattered out across his desk. Shakily do his hands hover over these papers, and Robin finally wonders for a single moment if he really is losing some of his sanity. 

When he looks back at all the scribbles notes, none of them make sense – these fragmented thoughts jotted with haste, or sometimes intricately written out with the most legible handwriting possible. Robin’s breathing is uneven, shallow with arising panic that settles uncomfortably in his gut. However, he forces himself to regain composure. 

He can’t show these to anyone, especially not with Chrom standing there. 

                                                                                                            He absolutely can’t. 

That single thought is what drives him to organize the sheets of paper. Robin’s scrambling about when he does this, the legs of his chair screeching against the floor when he pushes it back to stand. In the midst of it all, one piece forces him to pause for one moment – reading a particular bit of his chicken scratch on the worn texture of the paper. Robin’s brows furrow together, his teeth clenching with… uncertainty? Fear?

                                 I REALLY AM THE FELL DRAGON

Robin’s mind comes to a sudden halt, and he’s lowering his hands that both hold the now crinkled and scrunched up sheets of paper. With that sudden stop lasting longer than he’d like, it takes the tactician moment. A single moment, just to properly soak in the question. Robin stays quiet, completely still. Finally, Robin’s giving Chrom a response – only to answer himself in the midst of his inner turmoil.

     “ I… suppose I can’t argue with that – “

[cremise-blog]

“ I’VE BEEN DEAD FOR A WHILE NOW. “

                                                                                independent natsuno from the shiki series

[michellekpoems]

Self-destruction is an all encompassing sickness that seeps into every vein of your body, spreading into your relationships and into your mind. It finds your darkest secrets and uses them as weapons, you are defenseless. How do you fight yourself? How do you love yourself? How do you save yourself? I still do not have the answers.

Michelle K., Empty Hands. (via michellekpoems)

[24914x]

hmm

[grimaed-archive]

HEY Y’ALL!!! 

THE NAME’S PAM AND I LOVE DYING AND BEING KILLED!!!

I LIKE TO SIIIIIIIIIING..... DANCE..... AND KAAAAAAAAAAZZZZZZZZZZZOOOOOO!!!

*FIRE EMBLEM THEME BLASTING IN A SYMPHONY OF KAZOOS*

[prayerchilddd-deactivated201602]

      Their hand comes up to fiddle with the cloth of their coat, a nervous habit. They would not step back, the shepherds didn’t allow them into the ranks because they were meek. A fighter and a tactician who chose the shepherds and was chosen by the shepherds. Glancing downwards, the matching branding that decorated the both of them a constant reminder of their origins and their purpose. Was this man who they might be one day— someone who gave into Grima? Their hand clenched then, twisting into the fabric, surely even they had a choice in their fate. Though they had been born for this purpose, generations preceding them, encountering the fell dragon himself struck fear in them. A chill lighting along their skin just at the sound of his voice.

      “One doesn’t have to desire the world consequently, so I don’t desire you,” despite the weight of their words, it is spoken softly. 

[grimaed-archive]

     “ But what good is a world in the hands of vacuous believers? You don’t need the desire to wrought the changes of mankind -- you need the power, the will -- all which I’ve carefully sown into your now racing heart, my liege. “

Despair’s chin inclines, his sneer ever-growing -- immorality seeping through the words said. These words were his prophecy -- an undeniable truth; anyone can hold a wish in their heart, but the true test was the will to carry out their so desired deed. Grima takes a step forward, approaching Salwa with an unspoken, yet implemented authority. They were his to claim -- his prize token needed in order to enrapture timelines to come in the desolate affliction of darkness. He thinks nothing of their words, because all babbles of protest wouldn’t matter in the end. Glowing crimson settle upon his fear-stricken marionette, and a clammy hand outstretches itself -- snatching to grasp at their chin with that of a god’s wrath. He examines -- observes the sharp outline of their jaw with idle interest. The fell dragon hums, watching how they tremble in their presence. Ruin’s tongue speaks once again.

     “ You do well, to fear a god such as myself But there’s no need for it, when it comes to you and me -- because we are one and the same, Salwa. Accept this fate, for it’s yours to keep -- ‘for good and all’. “

[grimaed-archive]

Chrom approaches the tactician and proceeds to wrap his arms around his torso from behind. He wears a grin, resting his chin upon Robin's shoulder. "It's been quite sometime since I've gotten to hold you like this."

The sudden interaction derives a small jolt from the tactician, eyes fluttering wide open in the fleeting moment. It doesn’t take long, however, before all the once tensed muscles relax when he feels the very familiar caress of fingers gently pressing into the cloth just above his abdomen, and Robin’s wasting no time in offering a tender smile. Lashes obscure his vision as he gazes down -- cheeks deepening in color as his bashfulness gets the best of him. 

It’s been quite sometime since I’ve gotten to hold you like this.

That he knows, unfortunately so. Robin’s smile falters a bit, because he can’t help the unpleasant memories to follow suit after Chrom says what he says. A sigh is emitted, and Robin cranes his neck a bit to properly look at his commander.

     “ Wouldn’t that be because time is fleeting right before us with this ongoing war? It surely doesn’t seem to take too kindly of you smothering me with affection, my dear prince. “

His smile returns, gentle and patient -- just as it’s always been. Robin’s gaze lingers for a moment, as though he were pondering about something, before he’s shifting his position. Robin turns around to wrap an arm around the expanse of Chrom’s shoulders -- his other arm tucking into Chrom’s side. Robin peers up at the prince with that smile plastered onto his visage, head canting to the side as he huffs a bit; his voice is now more quiet -- endearment shimmering in hazel irises.

     “ I’m only joking. I really do appreciate these moments as well. “

His expression contorts into that of something more private -- intimate. His words weren’t meant for anyone else, and they carry into the still air surrounding them both. Robin’s heaving another sigh, only this time his expression is holding an unnameable warmth -- bitter sweet tone accompanied with an airy, elusive grin.

     “ Hopefully, the war can’t take this from us as well.        Now, ah... -- wouldn’t that be unpleasant? “

[grimaed-archive]

ily and we are gay