Game Changer & Make Some Noise
Claire Keane
macklin celebrini has autism
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Xuebing Du
Sweet Seals For You, Always
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"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
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if i look back, i am lost
Love Begins
EXPECTATIONS
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Andulka
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@velocrux-blog
hello this is an independent conrad of fire emblem echoes: shadows of valentia blog ! wow that was a mouthful. anyways. i super love conrad and i went on a brief hiatus but i’m back and ready to kick things into gear ! please give this a hot like or reblog and i’ll check you out!
hello i’m back ! sorry i went to AX and went off the grid for 3 months but hey!! it happens... go ahead n like this for a starter :D
hey i won’t be super active this week because im going to anim.e e.xpo with @violescant & @cashdive ! the past week has been spent in Stressful Preparation but I’m finally loaded up and ready to take off tomorrow morning! i’ll be back later guys i hope u all have a wonderful week !
IM GOING TO AX W @violescant AND @velocrux AND IM LOSIN MY SHIT
you know, conrad probably holds more resentment towards Lima IV than celica does? obviously this is just my headcanon so it’s based off of my opinion and interpretation so it doesn’t make it CORRECT but back when i did write celica, i felt that she always had some place in her heart where she couldn’t bear to let go of the fact that her father might’ve one day changed? she kind of clung to a false illusion or hope of and for him despite being resentful that she never had a father. i don’t think she ever wanted to admit to herself that he never loved her.
conrad on the other hand, while having spent more time beneath their father, never held him to a shred of forgiveness. of course, he spent the beginning of his life caring about him, living under the impression that conrad loved lima, but later on in his life he realized that was but a conditioned way of thinking he had whilst being manipulated by him and all of his other family (excluding his mother, liprica, and celica). conrad, probably when he about 14 or 15, began to harbor very ill feelings towards his father. of course the ill feelings toward his other half siblings began at a much earlier age, they manifested into anger when he was nearing 12 years old. as he became angry at his father, he still did hold onto some notion for awhile that perhaps he was redeemable (feelings which later returned after lima’s death... honestly i dont remember when in the story he died i’d have to replay and it doesnt say on the wiki so im like hmm but i’ll get there eventually) anyways, there was always some part of conrad that i think wanted to see his father again, at least to just. tell him how he’s felt all these years, all of these pent up emotions, but it was just a fleeting wish, nothing he’d ever act on. in the face of his father, he’d often succumb to silence and service.
well needless to say, conrad holds a lot of contempt for their father and will probably never find it in himself to forgive him ? he lied and used and abused his mother, liprica, himself, and celica and... while conrad might have accepted it better were it only he who was targeted, he will never let go of the hurt that his loved ones were put through because of king lima iv.
Dear Empire, I am confused each time I wake inside you.
[…]
You wear a different face to each atrocity. You are un-unified and tangled. Are you just gluttony? Are you civilization’s slow grenade?
I am confused each time I’m swallowed by your doors.
— Jesús Castillo, from “Untitled,” published in Poem-a-Day
. / / dicyde.
` @knightvail.
he’d long admired the masked knight, grandiose donned with arcane poise – stalwart atop his steed and rich with charisma. presence alone draped a blanket of reliance and kamui clung to the corners and wrapped it around himself proudly. some may find reluctance in his trust with a man whose name remains unheard. kamui never faulted their suspicions. there’s always fairness in hesitance, there’s always right to questioning your leader’s decisions as your fate lies in their path. he’s noted these considerations plenty, scribbled and pressed liked stickers onto his mental board of yellow sticky notes and mismatched thumbtacks that homed only few memos, others clung by adhesive. he cared about each word that was inked and sought after a road that met a mutual destination. amidst the corkscrews, the obstacles, the ever many jagged bumps, he paved a way for peace – and peace can only begin with trust.
acceptance carries its plenty weight of faults, but in that he found greater gratification than allowing dubious needles prick his faith. and if the enigmatic knight wished to be unseen, so be it, shall he grant his aid.
that all being said, when kamui found him bare faced and without mount, it felt inappropriate, as if he had meandered far from the trail. he reflexively flinched away with a hand sheltering his eyes.
` a-ah! i’m– so sorry! if you’d like, i can pretend i didnt see anything– ’
DAYS CHASE WEEKS THAT FOLLOW MONTHS WITH the moments spent alongside an acquaintance on the battlefield. never revealing, perpetually elusive. the charade is like a dance -- some otherworldly act that others might revel in, some instinctive move that drains him of life & breathes exhaustion. he sits on his lonesome, the ticking seconds spinning into minutes that fold into hours. he’s been here for some time, stuck in some contemplative haze, soul left disheartened, unsure of whether this path would bring him what he yearned for. the realization that he’s begun to care for people who know not his own name begins to sting at his heart. he knows this doubt will result in inevitable failure, but in this moment, he cannot brush it away were it nothing.
his forehead is held in his right hand, ungloved, as he pinches at his nose. eyes are closed, captured in some daze of nonexistence, stress clouding his vision, his thoughts, his will. he’s lost to reality entirely until there is a shift behind him. unexpected noise sends a surging lightning bolt down his spine. he flinches accidentally & feels embarrassed by the obvious act of vulnerability. expectations led him not to another’s approach.
he sighs, defeated, heart-dropped, & riddled with some vexing weight atop his chest of which he cannot rid himself.
❝ -- ? oh. lord kamui . . . you can open your eyes. ❞
his voice is tired as he speaks, strangely genuine, a tone unknown to others here.
❝ was there something you needed . . . ? ❞
Goooooo Conraaaddd….!
. / / ajhast.
eyes are trained to the man’s form , piquing the mage’s interest . they hum softly , fingers tugging at the fabric of their cape . ❛ hm . . . are you supposed to be some knight in shining armor ? that’s rather pitiful . ❜ tharja muses aloud . ❛ most people might like that , but i’m not ‘ most people ’ - so stay out of my way already . we may be on the same team but i won’t hesitate to wound you if you stand between me and my enemies . ❜ ( @knightvail )
❝ i seek no value in the barren beliefs of lowly fools. ❞
OFFENSE MIGHT LAY, STILL, A CLAIM TO HIS TONGUE were he not careful before making his previous statement. something within him stirs, whirling within his heart, aching in a familiar turmoil of anxious dread. he stands as his soul is wounded for taking things so personally ; he stands as his mask stakes a lance to the ground in bitter disapproval. duality plays his soul like bass with melody.
his lance hits the ground before he speaks. you can still see the way he hurts, in grim reminiscence, by the way his frown drags to his lowermost face & how his fists clench tight into themselves. he would not stand to be ridiculed any longer.
❝ nor do i of you. ❞
we were two foolish kings; our hearts were at war.
. / / misillusions.
he couldn’t describe what drew him to the stranger. perhaps the similarities he saw : solitude, hiding oneself’s emotion behind that of a mask. beneath his own laid an emotionless face ; the slight glare from his eye peeking outward … a curious sensation that would remind him of his younger, naive self.
against his empty judgement does he creep closer toward the other … no sense in cloaking his presence, as he had not planned to do so for much longer.
‘ doesn’t seem safe to be wandering alone. ’ he finally calls, standing mere feet behind the other. his tone is somewhat demeaning, yet strong. ‘ — — not up to any trouble, i’d hope. ’
/ @knightvail
AS IF AN ICICLE WERE RUNNING DOWN HIS BACK, he shivers at the fear that comes with threatened safety. fight or flight -- senses gained when the mind dips into a realm of anxiety’s pleasure. his entire body tenses, the stranger undetected, unfamiliar still. there is a grimace that pulls lips’ corners as if the devil had caught them on a hook & reeled them to his grip.
he cannot find it within himself, firstly, to speak. there is nothing he manages to convey through the threatened silence of altered confusion. he turns, robotic, like a man who has been crafted into the perfect soldier ; a hollow corpse given movement ingrained so deeply into his core. about - face. he stares at the other, two masks of distrust & distaste waging war with false security.
❝ my safety matters not. i am up to nothing of your concern, stranger. ❞
Monday Duality
send me ‘ hc ‘ + a word and i’ll write a headcanon about it regarding my character.
Beloved Zofia
` i find it hard to be myself. ’
ONESELF – SYNONYMOUS WITH A SILHOUETTE OF LOOKING GLASS’ REFLECTION. he knows the definition like he knows his own self ; tattered & torn, understood & haunted. he looks to her with a sight that is barely that, a vision that is blurred with darkness, only traces of light meeting face with irises. he cannot distinguish her features, so he relies on voice alone. to be oneself is an art unmastered, an art feared by many, & shunned by others. there is sympathy, empathy, that swells his chest when he hears her words. remain unchanged. remain unmoving.
it is hard – that much, he is entirely aware of.
there are bells ringing, echoing from a church in a village nearby. their noises are dulled with distance, but the wind fills their ears. he waits for it to settle as they stand in some defeated silence. it’s unusual that he might find himself actively involved, participating in a conversation with someone who has not seen the clouds of smoke that billow through his thoughts. he sits, nervousness pooling inside of him, but face is steeled. nothing can hurt him here. he moves one finger idly, unnoticeably, to feel the cloth of his gloves shift against his hand.
he cannot even show her the face that cowers beneath a mask of self desertion.
❝ if you offer yourself no chance, there is no gain to your strife. ❞
something in him yearns to speak a language of harsh understanding. something that breathes fire & scorches the soul. he wishes to speak unto her what he wishes to hear, himself. yet, even still, fear is a plague that has corrupted his soul with tainted fingers. he will offer what more he can.
❝ you cannot live your life in a selfish cowardice.
no one will recognize you, even in your death. ❞
HYPOCRISY -- synonymous with the devil’s tongue, a serpent draped atop shoulders’ pair.
TELL ME WHAT IT’S LIKE TO CONQUER ; TELL ME WHAT IT’S LIKE TO BURN.
independent seliph of fe4 ; written by pam.
