#Chrom Sharp

[real-fire-emblem-takes]

Robin's teeth automatically change to razor sharp fangs when in battle or... in the mood, and she bites Chrom's mark to both assert her authority as the top in their relationship and also to try and convince Chrom to put on a damn sleeve

.

[coralhoneyrose]

Pairing: Chrom/F!Robin

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Mutual Pining, Getting Together, Friends to Lovers, Feelings Realization, Misunderstandings, Demisexual!Chrom

Preview:

Silence greets Robin’s declaration. Seven stunned faces stare back at her, the footnotes of their expressions spelling out everything from disbelief to awed fear and fury. Adrenaline punches through her veins with every haphazard heartbeat.

“What, don’t you recognize the symbols on my coat?” Robin snaps. “If you truly consider yourself Grima’s faithful, then show some deference!”

At her feet, Chrom heaves in a sharp breath and nearly nicks his throat on her blade. Robin adjusts her grip on the sword pommel, trying desperately to steady her hands so she won’t hurt him more than she already has. She forbids herself from wondering what he’s thinking.

“Is it true?” one of the Grimleal—a willowy woman—asks in a hushed tone. “The vizier spoke of a new hierophant, but—”

A man steps forward from among them, his face cratered with age. His pupils are dark pinpricks against the wide whites of his eyes; their leery glare matched only by the eye embroidered on his skull cap.

“A coat, sacred as its imagery is, is imitable,” he rasps. “If you are truly our hierophant, show us some proof of your identity that cannot be mimicked so easily.”

Moment of truth…

Nerves juddering, Robin catches the cuff of her glove between her teeth, tearing it from her hand. “Will this suffice?” she sneers.

[ro-botany]

An Attempt at a Semi-Realistic Analysis of Thoron Stab Wounds

Yes, I already made a post about this recently. But in my reply to Ana's musing about the subject of the thoron blade, I largely assumed fire-like behaviour from an electric spell, and it's been itching my brain all day. So let's go over it again:

What would be the effect of getting stabbed with a bolt of electricity? What would that look like if we offered like five more centimeters of realism to this setting?

If you don't read the full post, my conclusions are basically:

If we treat a thoron bolt like a live wire, then even if it's a relatively weak source of electricity, with that entry placement it's instantly arresting breath, causing severe convulsions, and probably killing him in record time.

I don't care that Chrom has the power of god and anime on his side. There is no way in hell he's speaking or controlling his own movements in this moment.

The best interpretation of the thoron blade stabbing is the interpretation that makes the story feel best to YOU. Ignore me and my math if it doesn't spark (hah) any joy or interest for you.

Content warning: Detailed discussion of electrical shock and burns, and descriptions of such.

Classification of Energy Blades

I generally consider the thoron blade to be a subtype of a broader class of fictional weapons I call energy blades. These are your lightsabers, your halo fireblades, things like that.

Most of these weapons tend to behave like sources of pure heat, and most can have their behaviour modelled like a Hot Knife. The weapon is treated as though it has a physical component -- a sharp blade at its center that handles most of the actual cutting or stabbing -- and the fire/plasma/heat is treated as a secondary effect of the weapon. Narratively this is often the more balanced choice, because it means the weapon puts out a reduced amount of heat energy, which means damage is (mostly) contained to the initial wound site and its immediate surroundings. This is how you get instant cauterization weapons.

The other option is the Literal Flame model, which assumes pure heat energy with no physical cutting component. This is rarely, if ever, used in fiction, because it is overpowered. It works a lot like the acetylene torch analogue I used in my reblog of Ana's post. In short, for a volume of heat energy to be capable of "cutting" flesh, it's effectively vaporizing/instantly melting that flesh. That means it's putting out a LOT of energy. For a heat-based weapon, that means massive amounts of burning around the wound site, penetrating way deeper into the surrounding tissue than you expect, and the sheer heat of the air around the weapon causing widespread surface burns.

But the problem with using heat-based models in this instance is that Thoron is not a pure heat-source. Thoron is electricity, and electricity behaves very differently from pure heat. So if our aim is semi-realism, we ought to model it like electricity.

The Behaviour of Electricity

Fictional electric magic -- thoron included -- rarely behaves like real electricity. So, for our purposes, rather than an actual arc of electrical energy, let's model a thoron blade as a source of electricity.

Validar, through Robin, has effectively jammed a live wire directly through Chrom's lung and kidney. What does that do? To talk about that, we need to talk about how electric shocks work.

For electrical current to flow, you need a circuit. For a body to complete a circuit, it needs to contact two points with different voltage levels. A bird sitting on a high voltage wire has two feet touching points of the same voltage, so, voltage difference 0, the bird is safe. Chrom, however, has a live wire stuck through his kidney and feet on the ground; he's forming a circuit between a high voltage wire and the low voltage ground. Big voltage difference, big problem.

Once you get past the outer layer of skin, two things happen when a person is shocked. One, human bodies use electricity to move and to send nerve signals, so any muscles getting shocked will tense up. And two, humans do conduct electricity but don't do it well, which means there's a lot of heat being generated, which means the tissue getting shocked is also getting burned.

The majority of an electrical current will follow the path of least resistance. In this case, that means the shock initially goes from the impalement site, down through the legs, and out the feet. But electricity follows ALL available paths in some amount, so its not one straight line through the body, it does wider damage than that.

So What's The Damage?

Time to do some math!

(I am not an electrician or a doctor; please bear with me)

To my understanding, injury from electricity is a function of current and duration.

According to my sources, the amount of shock current someone experiences can be estimated using Ohm's law. To do this we need to know the voltage we're dealing with... so we're going to have to fudge some numbers here, since we can't actually measure the voltage of fictional magic spells.

Given thoron is a third tier lightning spell I'm going to say it's powerful, but not anywhere near lightning-from-the-sky powerful. I'll ballpark it around the voltage of... well, an electric chair, of the persuasion that kills you. Best I can tell, that means 2000 volts. You could probably reasonably go higher, but this feels intuitive to me.

My sources also tell me that the average internal resistance of the human body, with no skin in the way, is 1000 ohms. Just an average, not accounting for the different resistances of different tissue types and fluids.

So! To get the strength of the shock current Chrom's getting:

I = V/R = 2000 volts / 1000 ohms = 2 amps.

2 amps of current. Chrom is experiencing approximately 2 amps of steady current over 22 seconds.

I know that 2 amps doesn't seem like a big number. I need you to understand, dear reader, that currents that injure and kill humans are measured in milliamps. I need you to understand the sheer magnitude of how bad this is.

0.03 amps of current causes muscle contractions strong enough that you can't let go of the thing shocking you.

0.15 amps is enough to stop your heart, if the current goes through your heart -- which means death. It's enough to stop your breathing if the current goes through your lungs/diaphragm. It's enough to cause your limbs to tense so hard you are physically thrown.

Much more current than that, or current for more than fractions of a second, and you start talking severe burns.

I need you to understand that we have just directed 2000 milliamps of current through most of Chrom's internal organs for 22 entire gods-damned seconds.

Did I pull that voltage completely out of my ass? Yes. But Chrom is getting shocked directly in the organs for 22 fucking seconds so there is literally no voltage we can pick that isn't completely fucking him over. The exact number is just a question of how singed we want him at the end.

I know he has dragon heritage and general anime dude resilience on his side. I know this. But I cannot stress enough the degree to which that is not helping him here. In fact, things like the mild super strength like he has PROBABLY WOULD MAKE IT WORSE because your muscles contract way harder than you normally can contract them when they're being shocked!

No, Really, What's The Damage?

Best as I can tell, based on my limited understanding of electricity and its effects, here's roughly what happens to Chrom upon getting stabbed by the thoron blade when we pretend like this setting is a smidge more realistic than it actually is.

If you do not want to read graphic descriptions of injury this is your final warning to bail out of this post.

The instant the blade impales him, all the muscles from the bolt to his toes constrict. He instantly stops breathing. His legs and abdomen convulse so hard it throws him away from Robin.

He lands on the ground, and now the current isn't just going through his legs; it's going through any part of him that touches the ground, and that, in the end, is what's lethal.

His entire body locks up. Muscles pull as tight as they can go. He's convulsing on the ground, like a seizure, only worse. The skin around the bolt bubbles and chars. It smells like meat burning.

There's a sound like wood snapping as the force of his own writhing muscles fractures his bones.

He doesn't speak. He doesn't even scream.

It's bloodless and quiet. Twenty two seconds is a long time.

If Chrom was lucky, he died quickly. Heat turning blood to jelly, a lick of current stopping the heart, pain so great his brain knocks out of its own accord to spare him.

If being a son of Naga "helped" at all, gave him any resilience past what is human, it only means he was conscious a few seconds longer. Just enough time to be aware of the loss of control and the razor-sharp fire of nerve pain that erases all thought. With luck, not enough time to consciously realise he's dying, or whose fault it is.

Twenty two seconds is a long time.

The exit wounds on his back, on his limbs, on his head, sear, then bubble, then char in places. The damage around the bolt bubbles and blackens out and out and out. Don't think about what that looks like on the inside. The smell of burning flesh is thick enough to choke on.

He's still convulsing and burning long, long past the point of death. It only stops when the bolt fades.

In Conclusion:

The only thing saving us all from trauma around this cutscene is the T for Teen rating.

Validar could you pick literally any other execution method because holy hell. Robin carries a sword. Why didn't you just use THE SWORD, VALIDAR.

If you choose to model the thoron blade as a Hot Knife, or as a Literal Pinpoint Flame, or as either of those with a secondary mild electric shock effect, those are all extremely good options for how to handle this event. They offer an experience closer to canon with a highly variable level of injury severity. Singe the man to your taste, allow last words or don't, pick your level of blood and bad smells, those do it all.

Live Wire, as described in too much detail in this post, may be a marginally more realistic model if you want to treat thoron as a straight up source of electricity. Live Wire is also probably the most horrifying option of the bunch, and the one that offers everybody involved the least closure, which has it's own narrative value.

In the end, this is naught but applying a little too much realism and math to anime video game, because I find that fun. If this doesn't work for you throw it out. Pick whatever interpretation makes the best narrative for YOU. If you are like me and are fascinated by the most horrifying option, welcome, we can feel terrible about this together now.

Electricity is terrifying, never touch an outlet, rest in charred little pieces Chrom, goodnight everybody.

[litlunacy]

Which Fire Emblem games have you played and any thoughts on them you want to share?

It's been a hot minute since I actually picked up a FE game, but I played Awakening, Fates (all 3 routes), Shadows of Valentia and Three Houses.

Tbh Valentia is the only one that really didn't do it for me (Alm & Celica were pretty boring as protags and most of the backup cast was also fairly meh. I was really only invested in Leon, Python & Saber). I did beat it, but only once. The lack of alternative pairing options and therefore character endings just didn't make it feel worth it a second time.

Robin is my favorite protagonist, I love their sharp mind and often sharp tongue and fem!Robin's habit of just throwing things at people in her supports (mostly Chrom & Lon'qu, but still). Honestly, the whole Awakening team has this delightful level of unhinged that makes me adore all of them.

And I truly had no idea that Fates is like, super hated on until recently? I played all 3 routes multiple times, cried my eyes out whenever I had to put down a 'sibling', and honestly really enjoyed it even when the story was a bit clunky in places.

I only played 3H twice, first on the Golden Deer route and second on the Blue Lions. I tried to play Black Eagles after, but I just couldn't do it after getting so attached to the other teams. It really was mostly a case of 'Edelgard is right, I know she's right, the church is absolutely the problem, but did we really have to start a war that kills so many of our friends?' I think I could probably do it now if I picked it up again, but my mental state (and tbh maturity, I was barely out of high school) was very not in the place for it at the time.

Overall very fun games; I love the battle mechanics, I love how colorful the characters always are, and they are games that really defined a lot of my teen years. Very fond of them.

[eldritchlittleblackdragon]

WIP Wednesday, From my Upcoming FE Awakening Fanfic (Chrom/F!OC)

Hello everyone! I haven't done one of these in a while, but I wanted to share something I've got cooking behind the scene. This is part of a chapter for an upcoming fic, tentatively titled I Find My Faith in You.

The fic is centered around the relationship of Chrom and a non-Robin OC named Meri, whose a manakete. (But is initially pretending to be human in this current scene where she first meets Chrom.) While things start off with Meri being a bit skeptical of Chrom, they will eventually develop a romantic relationship. The story starts a year prior to Awakening, but eventually catches up to the start of the game and goes from there.

The monsterfucker in me thinks it would be very cool if Chrom could have a dragon wife and Lucina could be a manakete.

Warnings: Blood, Violence

Word Count: 1,535

She could hear the screaming outside more clearly now. The scent of smoke was in the air, and not the pleasant kind. There was absolutely no doubt in her mind now, examining the corpse of the man who tried to break into her shop.

  This was a bandit raid. And the realization turned her blood to ice.

  “Daw,” Meri’s voice was sharp, “I need you to get someone safe. Is there a place you can go?”

  Daw got shakily to his feet, his gaze snapping to hers in attempt to avoid the gruesome scene on the floor.

  “I think so. The church maybe, it’s more fortified than the other buildings in the village, yeah? I think if I can make it there, I should be relatively safe. I suspect some other folks will think the same. There’s also Old Marsden’s cellar, I suppose-”

  “Make your way to whichever is easiest for you. Try not to be seen,” Meri cut him off as she stood abruptly. “I’ll come look for you later.”

  Daw’s eyes widened, “Wait, Miss Meri, what about you? Don’t tell me you’re going out there to fight them!”

  She once again swept the spell tome into her arms, carrying it with her as she made her way to the window, studying the best place to cross through while avoiding the jagged shards of glass that still clung to the frame. She spotted a gap, and hopped through.

  “I know how to fight, should I have to. And right now, we’re under attack. I think that more than qualifies.”

  Meri attempted to take a steadying breath, to prevent herself from shaking with rage.

  This is my home. These people are my friends and neighbors. I will not cower and run as their lives are plundered, their possessions put to the torch. As they are tormented and put to the sword.

  No. I won’t allow it!

  “Miss Meri-”

  “Daw-” She hissed. Seeing his expression, she softened her tone, imploring him. “Please don’t argue with me. Go. I want my apprentice to be safe.”

  Daw hesitated for a moment. But then, he gave her a nod.

  “Aye, Miss.” After a brief pause, she heard him softly add something more. “Naga watch over you.”

  And then, he slunk back towards the back of the shop, no doubt planning to go through the back entrance. Good, thought Meri. He’ll be safer going that way.

  As for herself, she doubted Naga was watching over her. But Daw’s sentiment wasn’t lost on her. She would be careful.

Meri spotted a couple of men turning down the street, coming towards her. It didn’t take long for them to see her in kind. One drew a sword, while the other toyed with an axe.

  “Oi, you! Stay right where you are, little lady.”

  “We won’t hurt you are long as you’re willing to cooperate-”

  My intruder’s comrades. Meri flipped open her tome, quickly reciting a spell as she made a sweeping gesture, first to the left, and then the right.

  “Storm’s breath take you!”

  A strong gale buffeted the two bandits, blowing them apart and sending them into the hard stone of the buildings around them with a loud crack. One slumped down to the ground, the other just staggering back to his feet.

  “You little witch-”

  Meri didn’t let him finish, quickly loosing another gust on him that knocked him into the wall once more. Then he, too, slumped to the ground in a heap like his fellow.

  Good riddance. Now, I just need to-

  “Behind you!”

  “Huh!?” Meri nearly jumped as she whirled around at the sound of someone’s voice. But before she could identify it, another bandit was practically on top of her. He swung down with on her with a hammer, giving her barely any time to react. Meri attempted to leap from the arc of the hammer’s path, and while she managed to dodge, it came at the price of losing her footing. She fell down on her back, letting on an involuntary yelp.

  “Now I’ve got you!” The bandit attempted to wind up his attack again. “Now make this easier on me, darling, and hold still…”

  Certainly not who she heard before.

  Shit! Move! Move!

  The hammer started to come down. But then the arc was interrupted by the flash of blue and white. Meri heard metal grinding against metal. It took her a second to process it, but then she realized someone had shielded her from the attack and was now engaging her would be assailant. Meri looked up to see a fluttering white cape, a head of deep blue hair, the blade of a sword.

  “You won’t be laying on hand on her,” said the stranger. It was him she heard before, she realized.

  Meri struggled to her feet, scrambling out from behind her protector to try and take a shot to disable his opponent.

  She hurled another wind spell, the rush of air knocking the bandit off balance and breaking the standoff. The opening was clear, and her rescuer took it, cutting him down. The bandit crumpled to the ground, a pool of blood beginning to gather underneath him.

  And that was the last of them. At least where she was. She could still hear the cacophony of terror elsewhere, and the smoke was easier to spot as the sun was rising higher in the sky. It wasn’t over yet.

  Even so, Meri closed her eyes briefly, letting out a sigh of relief. That was too close for her liking. She was supposed to be attempting caution.

  “You alright?”

  “I’m fine,” she responded automatically to the query, “Thank you, I would have been in serious trouble if you hadn’t come along.” Her eyes blinked open, and when she got a look at the stranger who had come to her aide, she was caught off guard.

  Now that she saw him from the front, the first thing that grabbed her attention were his clothes. It was clear from the quality of the material and patterning that the man in front of her was a noble of some kind. But the asymmetric design of his garments and the lack of a sleeve on one sie had her a bit… puzzled.

  Then again, it wasn’t like she kept up with the fashion trends of the upper crust anywhere she went.

  “It’s no trouble,” said the nobleman. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

  The next thing she noticed was that he had a kind face. A rather handsome face too, she supposed, but the fact his expression was so disarming to her was what really drew her attention. She’d met very few people who could have that kind of effect on a person, let alone her.

  She felt her inner defenses start to gear up. She had a general distrust of nobility. But, anyone with that kind of charm in her experience was someone to be wary of.

  But he had helped her. For now, he was an ally. Someone she could trust at least circumstantially.

  “It hurt a bit when I fell over but I’m no worse for wear,” she answered, “I don’t believe we’ve met. May I ask your name?”

  “Good.” The nobleman seemed assured enough by her answer, although he still held some compassionate concern in his gaze. But then he blinked, as though just realizing she asked him a question. “Chrom. I’m Captain of the Shepherds. We were patrolling through this area when someone from the village ran to us calling for help.”

  Meri subconsciously raised an eyebrow at the introduction. He looks rather young to be a captain. Then again, if he’s a noble… “The Shepherds? You’ll have to forgive me. I’ve lived here for quite a while but I’ve never heard of them before. Are they some sort of special guard or military unit?”

  “We’re more of a militia of sorts. We travel Ylisse rendering aide where we can.” Chrom’s gaze shifted towards the pillars of smoke. “I’m sorry, but I need to move.”

  Alright, here’s the part where he tells me to go find somewhere safe to hide while he runs off to go save the day. She would preempt him on that. “I can handle myself in a fight. If we work together we can cover each other and work to quell these bandits. What say you?”

  She gave him an anticipatory look, expecting him to reject the idea. But, that isn’t what happened.

  “You don’t need to convince me you’re a capable mage. I saw you take care of those two bandits earlier before, and you recovered quickly and managed to help me with the one who tried to attack you,” said Chrom. “We’ll gladly take the help. But stay close. It’s dangerous for someone like you to fight in close quarters.”

  Meri took a moment to process the answer, having been thrown off her script. But she quickly regained her bearings, and nodded. “Of course. I’ll follow behind.”

  “Let’s go, then-” Chrom paused. “Er. You’ll have to forgive me, I never asked your name.”

  “It’s Meri, Captain,” she replied. “I’m the apothecary in these parts. I’m sure we’ll have time for pleasantries later.”

  “Meri. Alright. Come then.”

[asexxxualerotica]

Jaerik's wishlist snippet 4C: "Exalt Chrom may have pardoned you, but as his tactician, you're a liability I can't have running around." Robin remarks, Using Jaerik for his magical experiments.

The only response Jaerik could give was a sharp, gasping moan as her body arched across the desk, her hands gripping the edge with a white-knuckled hold. She wasn't the only one holding on so tight, as every gasp encouraged the white-haired tactician behind her to tighten his grasp on the back of her neck—making her vision flash with dark spots that threatened to swallow her whole—while his other hand held firm to her hip, holding her up for him.

She had come here hoping to finally walk free. The Exalt had given her the pardon she needed to be on her way, but Robin was the one who could remove the magic-inhibiting choker around her neck—the one still around her neck, otherwise she would've blinked out of existence before any of this had started, and been well on her way to fleeing this kingdom to never be seen again.

After all, if this was the way they'd be treating her, she didn't want to stay any longer than necessary!

But her collar was still in place and still very much engaged, which meant the lusty and busty changeling could do little more than moan as she was pressed down against the research table, her eyes slowly rolling back as all sense of self began to flicker and die. The darkness swarming around her as the tactician held her down and continued his rough assault, ensuring that she would be staying here with him for many, many months to come.

[soulcluster]

Emmeryn is quite good at keeping her pain under wraps; even Chrom and Lissa, who have seen her at her worst, are still two who she wishes to protect from knowing just how deep the trauma of their youth runs. Her shoulder aches as she awakens from a dream of stones flying her way, beating sharp edges into her flesh, blood dripping into her eyes. Never has she held their anger against them, knowing why it is they lash out, yet it seems she will never truly forget.

She slips into a silk robe and fastens it around her to cover her nightdress, and begins a slow trek through the halls. It is still esrly enough in the evening that some guards are still gambling before their shift change, and the sounds of laughter soothe her heart. The world is not quiet.

However, as her bare feet pad near soundlessly against the floors, her movement must have caught a very particular man's attention. "Peace, Frederick," she says with a smile and a gentle laugh before he has the chance to fall into step beside her. "I need only stretch my legs a bit." That isn't entirely a lie, albeit not entirely the truth, either.

(a little bit pre-game maybe? 👉👈)

It is not uncommon to find Frederick patrolling the halls of the castle even as the moon waxes through the star-studded sky. His is a tireless, often thankless job, but one he enjoys, one he finds fulfillment in, in much the same way he used to find purpose in caring for his many siblings. Now, though, it is the royal family he cares for as ardently he would his own flesh and blood.

The faint echo of bare feet on the tile catches his attention through the still night. He turns and sees her, Emmeryn, her beauty a vision in the moonlight, and her words soft and serene.

"Your grace." Frederick executes a perfect bow. The two have known each other since childhood but he's ingrained the mannerisms of a knight too deeply to shrug them off entirely. Yet he doesn't keep the mantle. Instead, he pulls out a muffler (where did it come from? who knew) and approaches.

"You'll grow cold like this, my lady." Its woven from blue cloth, the same as the royal family's crest, and stitched with the same design as the crest that manifests on them. "Please, allow me."

And don't think he hasn't noticed her without shoes...that will be addressed next, if he has any say in the matter.

[driftingjazzbard]

@convxction from this

Children were children, noble or not, though frankly she was generally better with them than this. The child version of the Exalt seemed determined to judge her quite harshly. Why only her was a mystery, he didn't seem to follow the dancers this way.

She sighs, then turns on the child.

"First of all, if you want to know about me, you ought to speak up. I notice you're able to talk to Chrom but apparently glaring at me is all you can do. Second, I wouldn't be here if I couldn't hold my own. I'm not here to drain resources. Third, an army needs more than brute strength. A sharp mind can outmaneuver a sword at times, no matter how strong the arm that wields it, and the patience to gather information and then speak can prevent one from making an embarrassing mistake."

Like this one went unspoken.

[iturbide]

Do you have any opinion on Engage's King Morion?

I'll be honest, I absolutely LOVE Morion. He's one of those fascinating cases that demonstrates a sharp dichotomy of character. On the one hand, he is somewhat similar to Chrom's father, disdaining Elusia's worship of Sombron and making repeated incursions into their territory; but on the other, he's an incredibly kind and caring father, warm and affectionate toward his beloved sons and earnestly welcoming to the Divine Dragon when they come calling. I love seeing these kinds of characters who showcase some of the complexity of the human condition, able to be at once caring and merciless, prejudiced and kind. It's honestly a shame that we don't see him again after Chapter 10, because I would have loved to get to know him better.

[jasperlion]

Is Alm ready for Fallen Chrom to attack him? He should be. Watch out, saint king he is coming. [ :3 ] @convxction

[ Evil! Evil!! ]

It's overall a good day. The chill is settling nicely, decor is going up not just in the castle, but in surrounding towns and villages. A good time as any to go out for a walk and perhaps to help some folks in need. And that is, of course, what Alm had found himself doing through the course of the day. And, as every day, it must come to an end — preferably before the sun is down and it's far harder to find his way back to the castle under use of the Order.

It's quite picturesque, really, and he finds his mind wandering as he returns. From dirt to stone, his destination is soon within sight. Perhaps he will be able to find the time to spend with friends he may run into, after all! This lifts his spirits even more so, and he hums to himself. Just a little longer to go.

His only warning is the sound of charging hooves crashing against the stone path and a sinking feeling that someone's gaze bores a hole on his back. Alm jumps to his left, avoiding the horse's charge, but it does not spare him entirely from the blade that swings down brutally and nicking his right arm. Rolling on the grass and stumbling to his feet, his eyes search for his attacker as his left hand reaches for Falchion. The horse has veered off the path, turned to face him along with his rider.

"...Chrom?"

It's hard to believe his eyes — a man he considers a friend astride of a black horse, armor seeping in blood-red and a deep blue, a dark and hateful aura surrounding him like miasma. Yes, he looked just like Chrom, but his heart sinks at the thought of what he truly sees. A man lost to wrath, to something sinister.

He raises his right hand anyway in a plead at surrender, despite the pain it brings. "Hey, now, this is no time to be joking around with sharp objects..." The menacing blade in question eerily pulsed with something somewhat familiar... "How about you put that down and give me a ride back to the castle, eh?"

Worth a shot to try and diffuse the situation. It's worked before...! Sometimes. He really should not be using his friendship a certain Celica as a bar to how well one could communicate with someone under a certain Influence, but it felt wrong not to try.

[theofficersacademy]

Altena Caeda Phina Niles Nanna Marianne Lloyd Larcei Ashe Chrom

WEEK ONE - August 4th - August 10th -

Tag: #SVNabata2023

One second you're minding your business (or busy poking your nose into everyone else's), and the next?

You hear a roar that shakes the boat beneath your feet. Next, there's the flap of wings, but you can't see beyond the creature's silhouette for the storm clouds overhead obscuring the sky from view.

Finally, without warning, a sharp tail larger than the width of your boat slams down and rends the boat in half. Before you can catch a glimpse of your assailant, lightning further splinters the ship. The final barrage is a maelstrom of ice, jagged points growing and tearing to pieces what's left of your boat.

Everything went sideways so fast. You grab hold of what (or who) you can before the sea claims you all, in her kind embrace leading you to the blissful dark of unconsciousness. . .

What you know

You've washed up on beaches of pearly white. Looking at the sun, it looks to be late afternoon. It's easier to determine where you are by thinking of where you are not: it's not cold (Ilia), there aren't a whole whack of mountains (Lycia, Bern, the Western Isles), it isn't a desert (Nabata) (... though... you can see them in the distance if you squint, you think), and it isn't oceans of vast plains that lie before you (Sacae).

You've made shore on the coast of Etruria, it would seem. Peaceful forests dot the area beyond the shoreline.

Additionally, it would appear you're missing some of your allies.

Consider what your muses might know about this region of Elibe.

You're missing much of what you had planned on arriving with. Unlucky.

All spells must be cast with physical staves/tomes. Your itinerary had included a stop at an armoury initially but that seems a ways off now.

What to do

You hear a scream! It's a cry for help. Sounds like someone's under attack.

Do you investigate or do you pick at what's left of your ship strewn up and down the beach in hopes of reuniting with your belongings?

Sunday afternoon (PST) will see more information headed your way.

Ping Mod Key for questions or additional info, but do feel free to get creative! Explore. Interact with your fellows. Not everything will come down to the roll of a d20.

[fictionaladoptionpolls]

Nowi

(Nervous Chrom and Stahl courtesy of Katie Tiedrich. Not in the sense that I asked permission, just in the sense that I want to point you in her direction.)

Age: >1,000

Home: Itinerant (Fire Emblem Awakening)

Blood type: Dragon

Likes: Helping people, friends, witches

Dislikes: Snakes, solitude, shirts

Skill: Odd Rhythm

Nowi’s past is…mysterious. She was separated from her family at some point; judging by her attempts to play house, she was too young to remember much about them. At some point, she was sold to a…circus? who forced her to transform and perform tricks. Anyways, she runs away, pursued by the circus, an evil cult, and a kind-hearted mercenary who sucks at explaining himself; this ends with the cultists defeated, Nowi and the mercenary recruited by a prince, and the circus having long since fled the scene.

At second glance, Nowi is basically a child who happens to be roughly a hundred times as old as she acts. (Your first glance will be interrupted by rolling your eyes at her outfit.) She’s generally childish, impulsive, and short-sighted. Unlike most of the manakete in this bracket, she’s also aggressively extroverted, and not just because Awakening characters have support conversations between most characters of the same generation; Nowi initiates most of her supports, generally by either striking up a random conversation with someone she fought alongside occasionally or asking them to play with her.

However, Nowi’s cheerful surface hides some actual depth. To start with, the fact that her cheerfulness doesn’t come naturally to her; it’s an attitude she’s consciously adopted to avoid falling into depression due to living eternally in a world where everyone around her dies like mayflies. Some of her supports also show that she can think ahead and come up with clever plans; she just generally chooses not to.

Speaking personally, Nowi draws a variety of paternal feelings from my heart. Unfortunately, the strongest is “Where do you think you’re going dressed like that, young lady?” Nowi is literally the poster child for sexualized thousand-year-old lolis in anime, and that’s kind of an elephant in the room. I see what Intelligent Systems was going for; it contrasts with Nah’s conservative outfit, which barely exposes any skin beneath her chin. But I wish they’d found some other axis on which to contrast their outfits…

Elephant aside, what does Tumblr think of Nowi?

nowi is so funny actually

A Twitter request, people seem to like shipping robin with dragon ladies shsh

Nowi is the type who just. Loves biting her friends. Her teeth are razor sharp but she is careful (how hard she bites can also depend on the recipient and what she knows they're comfortable/okay with too) … She bites Henry. Henry bites back.

(I’m pretty sure that one is just a headcanon, but it’s a funny headcanon.)

[slider-xx]

A Blazing Bromance: Chrom and Robin's Dynamic in Fire Emblem Awakening

Grab your swords and summon your strategic prowess because we're diving headfirst into the enchanting world of Fire Emblem Awakening! We will explore the captivating dynamic between the stalwart prince, Chrom, and the enigmatic tactician, Robin. Together, they embark on a journey that not only shapes the fate of the kingdom but also ignites a “bromance” for the ages. Get ready for epic battles, heartfelt moments, and a friendship that sets the world ablaze!

Chrom: The Valiant Prince with a Noble Heart

Chrom, the charismatic and courageous prince of Ylisse. With his striking blue hair and unwavering sense of justice, Chrom embodies the classic hero archetype. He fights for his kingdom and his friends, exuding a magnetic presence that draws allies to his cause. Chrom's strong leadership and unwavering loyalty set the stage for a captivating character dynamic.

Robin: The Mysterious Tactician with a Twist

Enter Robin, the tactician shrouded in mystery. As the player's avatar, Robin quickly becomes Chrom's closest confidante and trusted advisor. With a sharp mind and strategic prowess, Robin brings a unique perspective to the battlefield. Their identity, appearance, and even gender can be customized, allowing players to personalize their experience and deepen their connection to the character.

The Dynamic Duo: Comrades-in-Arms and Friends for Life

Chrom and Robin's relationship is the beating heart of Fire Emblem Awakening. From their first encounter, their bond evolves from a professional alliance to a genuine friendship. Their camaraderie is a delightful blend of banter, trust, and unwavering support. Whether it's engaging in epic battles or sharing quiet moments of reflection, Chrom and Robin's interactions bring levity, depth, and emotional resonance to the game.

Unbreakable Trust: The Power of Brotherhood

As the story unfolds, Chrom and Robin face countless trials and tribulations together. Their shared experiences solidify their bond, showcasing the unbreakable trust they have in each other. They rely on one another not only on the battlefield but also during moments of personal turmoil, providing emotional support and guidance. Their unwavering loyalty and dedication to each other become a shining example of the power of true friendship.

Fire Emblem Awakening's Chrom and Robin create a bond that exemplifies the power of friendship, trust, and camaraderie. As Chrom leads his kingdom with unwavering resolve, Robin stands by his side as a reliable companion and strategic advisor. Together, they face the challenges of war, celebrate victories, and navigate the complexities of their own identities. Their dynamic not only drives the game's narrative but also resonates with players, reminding us of the strength that comes from genuine connections. So, grab your Nintendo 3DS, prepare for epic battles, and witness the bromance that sets Fire Emblem Awakening ablaze!

[eilzie-fics]

Of Embers & Ashes, pt. 1 | Fire Emblem Awakening

Robin X Cordelia.

Rating: T

Angst, Character-focused, Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 2,856

Cordelia has always been good at many things, including hiding her feelings and pretending that loss and hurt are a part of her armor. But what will she do when her attention and care start to be drawn to somebody she never expected?

The paragon knight that many knew by the name of Cordelia of Ylisse had always been good at holding her poise.

That was what the others admired about her, wasn’t it? That even in the worst of the Valmese war, with blood soaked into the tattered ends of her uniform and the ache in her shoulder screaming each time she drew her lance, she had never once shown the brittle cracks that had formed beneath her polished surface. Even when the wind howled across the plains after one battle to the next, dragging the smoke of ruined warships and broken promises with it, she had smiled gently—almost distantly—when she was asked if she was holding up fine.

Hold her figure straight, keep her calm, and shoulder each duty with honor and responsibility. That was how life had surely taught her to operate, Robin had once remarked.

It had been an offhand joke he had spluttered between wakefulness and fatigue. One of those days during the end of the Valmese campaign, she supposed. He had been staggering from both exhaustion and re-opened wounds, and she had insisted on walking him to his tent after the last war meeting. She wondered if it had been then she had known: that her care for the Grand Master went more beyond mere respect and mutual trust.

From then on, she started noticing: in the small cracks of routine, in the moments between missions and strategy meetings, how Robin would tap his quill against his lower lip while puzzling over tactics he had never tried before, how he would glance at far off corners of the room he was in whenever he was thinking to himself...

...And at how his voice would soften whenever he was speaking to her--as if she was made of glass and not steel, as if he could see the strain she was hiding beneath her pride and rank--before returning to the clipped tones of command.

She hated herself for noticing these things.

After all, Cordelia had told herself once, long ago, that she had no room left in her heart for this kind of care and affection... That whatever tender, foolish longing had bloomed there before--before Ylisse, before Chrom, before the sharp grief of unrequitedness had nestled like iron in her chest--it had burned out. There had been no room for another, not because of the lack of prospect, but because she had not considered herself strong enough to withstand another heartbreak.

But Robin had not asked to be noticed. He had simply stood beside her, shoulder to shoulder, quietly listening when she offered advice, laughing when she said something unintentionally dry, trusting her judgment, and saw the person 'Cordelia' when others still struggled to see past her armor.

So, she did the only thing she knew how when confronted by these feelings: she pulled back.

With every warm exchange, every shared memory of danger survived, every slow breath of nightfall where their silences had grown companionable, she had begun stepping away. She walked straighter whenever he was near; she chose her words more carefully; smiled less easily, answered curtly—politely, of course—and she watched his brow furrow in confusion every time she danced away, in something that flickered between hurt and calculation, and she did not dare say why. If love was something that could break you once, then surely it could break you again. She knew for sure that this time, she might not survive the pieces.

Still, fate was a cruel mistress.

Maybe it was irk, maybe it was concern, but Robin had asked her to stay after one evening briefing. He had not been mean, he had not used any harsh words... In his characteristically gentle way that still managed to feel more like an interview rather than an interrogation, he asked her why she had grown cold toward him.

For a while, all that Cordelia could do was to stand still. The lanterns in in the war tent had yet to wane, but they cast long shadows over his figure anyway.

“You’ve been distant,” Robin said, no accusation in it, but neither was it gentle. “I would ask if I had offended your pride anyhow, My Lady, but I think after the Valmese campaign, we Shepherds are past our titles. So I will ask simply: did I do something wrong?”

His tone was too careful, too real, and that made it worse.

Cordelia opened her mouth, but the words were tangled and knotted on her tongue. She wanted to lie, say something polite. Bluff away with something dismissive. Any kind of elegant excuse would be perfect to preserve the distance she needed to keep her heart intact.

When she tried speaking, though, all she could hear in her own silence was the edge of desperation behind his question. She saw the way he looked at her—confused, not hurt exactly but trying to understand—and suddenly everything just broke within her.

“No, I—I haven’t—” she started, but her voice gave out halfway, and she didn’t understand why the heat behind her eyes was rising, why her lungs felt like they were pushing up into her throat.

Robin stepped forward instinctively, brow drawn in alarm, his hand almost reaching toward her before hesitating. “Then why? You look at me like I’ve done something terrible, like I'm a plague you should avoid or be careful of.”

And that—that—was undid broke her.

Tears rose before she could think. Stupid, humiliating, unexpected tears that caught her off-guard even more than him, and she quickly shook her head, half-wild, breath hitching as she turned and ran. Not fast enough, not far enough. She just needed to be away.

Robin did not sit idly. He caught up with her near the armory’s side wall, where she had crouched down and pressed her palm to her eyes, trying to push the emotion--was there a name to this cocktail of confusion, sadness, desperation, and yearning?--away by force.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and it wasn’t a demand, wasn’t an accusation. It was a gentle, genuine apology, and what it did was it simply lodged another arrow in her chest. “I didn’t mean to make you upset. Cordelia, please.”

She looked up sharply, blinking through the haze of shame and whatever this...thing that she was feeling, trying to find the words to push him away again, to make this easier for both of them, but they wouldn't come. Words and logic refused her.

“I never meant to hurt... or baffle you,” she whispered finally, the words cracked and absurd. “I never did. That’s why I—” Her voice almost lost its pitch, and she could not think through: truth just came out rolling off her tongue: “That’s why I had to stop.”

Robin looked at her for a long moment, saying nothing.

The quiet stretched, but it was not the kind she could hide in anymore.

She wiped her eyes with the gloved heel of her hand, still trembling from the force of feelings she had buried too deeply. And then, in a voice that barely resembled her own—soft, like a child’s, half-lost—she whispered:

“Can I… like you?”

Her eyes were too red, her throat aching with the weight of all that she was feeling—but for once, she let it show.

A stupid, hopeful decision. Or, perhaps, just a tired one, borne of fragile yearning that clashed with the knowledge that she had nowhere else to run.

Not from herself, at least.

Robin blinked slowly. Once, then twice, as understanding dawned in his blue eyes.

Time felt as if it had slowed to a dying man's crawl in the moments that passed. Robin had stayed silent, eyes unreadable, and all Cordelia could feel was the damp grass beneath her, the smell of canvas and leather in the air. Her armor suddenly felt constricting, pressing cold against her flesh and her knees where she had curled in on herself with fists balled in the hem of her skirt.

The words she had just flung out--"Can I like you?"--was now hanging in the air like something she couldn't take back. It had been a coward's confession: not bold enough to be honest, not distant enough to protect her bleeding heart and fractured pride. At the thought, she bit her lip hard, too hard, wishing it could stop the tremble as the silence between them stretched.

I always ruin things like this.

I always do.

She remembered how her voice had cracked weakly; shame came afresh when she thought again how she must have looked like to him: with tears spilling out, like a child asking if they could be given permission to have what they wanted. Pathetic.

First, she had avoided him... Then, she had cried hot tears in front of him. And now she was sitting here, with her back partially to him, too afraid to even look at his figure. What am I doing? she thought, fingers digging into her gloved palms. Why do I always run first, and break apart second?

Robin, though, did not speak. Yet. He had not moved any closer either. Cordelia heard a rustle of his clothes, and saw from the corner of her eyes that he had settled nearby, in a distance not so close that would make her feel cornered, not so far that she would feel abandoned. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded steady, too steady for warmth or pity to color its rhythm.

"Loving someone like me is a risk," he said. "A person who woke up in a field without a name, without a past... I'm someone who might not remember anything real tomorrow. I might become a person who will simply forget everything again and disappear in the next breath."

Cordelia almost flinched at his words, not from the truth of it, but from the way Robin had seemed to accept it as if it was a fair bargain.

"Letting myself love that someone back..." Robin continued, in a softer tone now, like the words were not for her but for himself, "...that is also a risk."

For several heavy heartbeats, they just sat there, with Robin staring into the trees beyond the outcrop, and Cordelia staring at the stillness of him. Robin was sitting with his elbows on his knees, his cloak, draped on his shoulders unbuttoned, made it seem like he was on the verge of being swallowed by the darkness.

"I may not be who I seem," Robin finally said. "The possibilities of me hurting the people who have placed their trust in me, even those whom I care about, without meaning to, are always there. The possibilities of my unknown past catching up to me also exist. Those are the things that even I cannot predict."

Too big of a risk. Too much of the unknown. She understood that feeling. She may not share his lack of memories and fears, but looking back at her own journey, she could see how treading into a certain thing like loving another person--a real, breathing human--rather than an idealized image of a hero, was a scary prospect.

Robin gave out a soft scoff, craning his neck upward to the dark sky above. "And yet, when I look at people like you... people who still try... fighters who carry all this weight and choose not to complain..." He smiled, almost bitter and sad. "I find myself admiring you lot. Well, you in particular. You run away because you don't care, but because you care too much. I wish I could be as brave."

Cordelia's heart clenched, and she quickly had to look away again, afraid that if their eyes met, she would break all over again. This was, after all, not a rejection that she had expected. Somehow, despite how messy she was, how selfish, how inconsistent, he saw something in her worth naming.

This was not a carefully written poem sealed in a perfumed envelope that had become the staple of noble courtship. She had received several of those during her service. This was something more raw. Simpler. Truer.

Her chest felt tight, her ribs pressing around the mess she had tried to swallow back down since the moment she had said those words aloud. It had mixed now with something sweeter, something lighter... the knowledge and assurance that that he saw her not simply as a knight who was bound to duty, not as the paragon others praised her as, but merely as a woman who was too afraid to want something for herself.

She hugged herself and exhaled. There were still so much she could not say... but Robin was staying. So... maybe, just maybe, she didn't have to say it all at once. Not if he was willing to sit there and share this fragile, quiet thing with her.

Cordelia sat up straighter, slowly, with fingers still twisting in her skirt, with eyes that were still unable to meet his for more than a second, and said, "You talk about risks..."

Her voice had trembled low despite her effort to steady it. It earned her a glance from Robin. He waited until she could speak again, and speak again she tried.

"In my eyes... you're the one who has been walking into risks every day."

Robin's brow furrowed a little bit, perhaps not expecting this kind of reply.

"You have no past," she said. "No memories. No family or land to your name. You have nothing to fall back on. I have met people and recruits who had more than you, and they looked scared. Or bitter. Or... just lost." Cordelia swallowed hard, eyes darting to the grass beneath. "But you are not. Or if you were, you hardly let it show and choose to fight anyway. You fight for people who didn't know you, a nation that does not belong to you. And that--"

Her voice was on the brink of breaking again, but this time, she forced the words out. Let him see. Let him hear.

"That's what made me... look at you. That strength... It made me want to believe that I could also do the same. That I could also strive for something beyond my grasp. That I could... still try and feel something."

There was a silence then. Robin didn't speak. He didn't shift. He just looked at her with something in his expression that was akin to surprise, yet with a substance that was more fragile now surfacing in his blue orbs. A kind of slow, dawning realization were reflected in his eyes--the kind that had a tinge of sadness to it. Cordelia knew what it was: the unraveling of someone who was not used to being seen for the effort and ugliness beneath their perfect mask.

She did not know how to respond to that. She could not bear to look at him, and yet she had to. And when she did, she saw not the clever tactician, or the confident Grand Master who kept the army afloat, but just a man who had been trying his hardest not to break apart under invisible pressure. Quiet, unmoored, struck still by words he had not braced for.

And maybe that was what made her chest ache worse than her shame. She had been the one who had faltered and run away, but now, here in this quiet, he was the one who looked like the world had taken away the ground beneath his feet.

She wanted to reach out. She wanted to ease that sadness, to say that she could see the person of Robin beneath the tactician's cloak and mantle. She wanted to offer back something, even if it was the smallest piece of what he had freely given to her.

But her hands and limbs would not obey her command. Like a petulant youngling who had entered service just because of mere obligation, all she could do was to sit there, aching with the desire to cross the space between them.

Robin then breathed slowly. And smiled.

It was not the polite smile he wore to war meetings and briefings. It was just the kind of smile that came from something sinking in--something he might not have expected to hope for until he found it.

"Thank you," he said.

Two simple words. The sincerest two words she had ever heard from him.

And then, with quiet resolve strengthening his gaze, he extended a hand toward her. It was not a demand, but an offering, she realized.

"Can I..." he said, then hesitated just for a moment to make Cordelia's heart stutter, "hold on to your feelings as I go forward to take this risk?"

She stared at the hand for a second too long. Not because she doubted his words or his intentions... But because she had never been invited into something like this before--something uncertain, something fragile, full of the unknown, yet also full of choice.

And maybe, that was what made this real.

Cordelia's fingers were trembling when she lifted her hand in a slow, deliberate motion. When they touched his, all she could whisper back was, "I will take it. If you're with me."

[nobilisseoblige]

[ CHAMPAGNE ] - Taken from the Viscount's personal collection, 70 of Adrestia's best bottles are provided. The bartenders are under strict orders not to offer any student more than one glass.

"May I ask for a toast from one of Adrestia's elite?" Thrasir asked, her false smile fixed upon her face. She offered him a glass of the champagne as she spoke. "I hear this one was a good year. According to the bartender, at least. So perhaps a toast to the continued prosperity of Fodlán, despite the wretched weather."

Not that she cared for the weather. She'd been in worse. And now it was time for drinks. Or something whatever nobles did. Her memories from Veronica were a little hazy. She wasn't particularly focused on them. All she needed was enough of the noble learnedness to get through the night.

Particularly with another noble, especially one from Fodlán itself. The only way he would recognise her would be if he somehow miraculously knew Veronica (as Chrom had...) and call her such, but if she expected that near impossibility, then she wouldn't be surprised this time.

※ toa ball 2025 | second half

for a moment, Ferdinand’s eyes fell not to the glass, but to the gloved hand offering it—graceful, deliberate. she wore her smile like lacquer, carefully applied and just as difficult to read. he accepted the flute with a courteous nod, the flicker of candlelight tracing golden arcs along the rim.

“only one glass per student,” he murmured with a slight lift of his brow, more amused than accusatory. “then it is a good thing you caught me before my allotment was claimed.”

he raised the glass but did not yet drink, amber eyes narrowing with a mix of scrutiny and fascination. “a toast, then,” he echoed, “to prosperity, and the sharpness it takes to smile through a storm.” his glass clinked gently against hers, the gesture polite but not hollow. he drank, but sparingly.

she was striking in a way that did not quite match the atmosphere—like a thunderhead at sea. Ferdinand studied her, not rudely, but with the curiosity afforded to mysteries. she carried the air of someone used to wielding more than words.

“you speak well,” he noted. “with a confidence I suspect is no stranger to court. forgive me, but... i do not believe we’ve been introduced.”

his voice dipped, warm and inquisitive. “may I have your name?”

[madefate]

🕯️ forrrr marianne to claude, edelgard to manuela and hanneman, and/or henry to chrom! choose as many or as few as you want XD / @heartwilled

❝ I don't ... understand Claude. He's not like anyone I know - he smiles like Hilda, he has Rafael's resilience ... but comparisons feel useless. How does he still have the will to continue in a world that scorns him ? It must be so daunting, to be so clever - and to be so ... unapologetically himself. I'm afraid I could never live up to the model he sets - and I don't know ... if I want to. Or if I do, and I'm frightened by it ... ❞

❝ I long suspected Manuela as putting on an act, using guile to lull those around her into a false sense of security. And there's a cleverness in her, a sharpness, that I'm sure comes from a lifetime of dealing with pests and the politics of fame. But she's not the threat I'd imagined at the outset ; her relationship with Dorothea might also be advantageous, if Dorothea chooses to - ... but, I suppose, that is not something I'll count on or take for granted.

❝ Hanneman is everything wrong with this wretched world - though clearly not as wrong as Rhea and her cadre. His fascination with crests is revolting, to say the least, and it's all the more the shame that he wastes his brilliant mind perpetuating a system like this. Perhaps one day he'll see the error of his ways - maybe I can even use his research to greater ends - but that's only an idle thought that I don't have time to entertain. ❞

❝ Y'know, it's totally wild that that's the exalt's brother ! She's so ... soft, like flower petals. Chrom's way more willing to make people bleed - a lot more exciting that way if you ask me ! He's too loud for the crows, but it's never boring watching him train anyway. Wonder what he'll do when the bad guys get less bad and he has to start killing all the people Gangrel's convinced to follow him, like Mustafa. I hope he doesn't cry - what a waste that would be, when I've chosen to fight by his side. ❞