i sleep and i forget

or in other words: choice specs, tera fire, near full up eruption ... doing chip damage.

porygon2: wow what a nice summer breeze

what do you hate so much it awakens you? what do you believe in so much it sends you to sleep with the arms that light up the memories? (come and sleep again, be released from the endless chains of rebirth) (come now, awaken, raise your voices with the joy and despair)

-well that's just because it uses the word awaken and obviously that primes a certain response-

enjoy the pain, be convicted, as my desire no need to be a paragon, let rebellion be my name how can one be called "alive?" i rewrite— (i— chose every path rationally, did not intend to flee every scene has been rehearsed in my mind, i've seen keeping many unknown stories relishing this real trembling this ending turns into the reality)

'oh this is just the version of events where they're setting up for their own demise after going back to the past, huh, "flashback, almost forgot we're in one,"-' but anyway this is just a very specific scenario surely-

wine on me, let's drink the taste of fate: loneliness, good flavor for warriors (wine on me, let's drink the taste of souls: mourning for the kids never play offshore)

Stop, says the hierophant, mildly. Do not look for him in me. You’ll only hurt yourself if you try. 

Why would it hurt me, asks Chrom, challenging, to know that the man I trust most still lives?

A curl of amusement, sharp. Because handling broken glass tends to cut, prince. A pause, considering. Ah, but. Would you prefer it regardless? To know that I am still Robin, that I am- a hand pressed over the heart, dramatic, demonstrative, eyes wide and guileless- the same, somewhere deep down? That the man you know still exists? Eyes gold, innocent, naive to what he truly is? The hierophant paces, one-two, stepping to the exalt’s side as he begins to circle the clearing, thoughtful, head cocked like the bird of his namesake as he presses his eyes closed for a long moment. Would you be reassured by knowing that the man who so steadfastly stands by your side, who's spent many a sleepless night with you in the strategy tents is the same monster that haunts your daughter’s nightmares and tore the world to pieces?

You’re- False start, stop. There’s a blockage in his throat that he won’t let on exists as Chrom swallows past it, keeping his tone steady with the practiced ease of a general at war. You’re doing this on purpose, he says. You’re trying to scare me, to force me to back down and take it back, and before the man in front of him can take that as his answer and cut him off Chrom barrels on, but that means I’m right—

And if you are? What does that earn you? Robin grins, gentle and sweet as he spins on his heel, the corners of his mouth pulling back and baring teeth. His arms splay out, inviting embrace or to be run through as his eyes glitter. His tone is light, none of the knowing, mocking amusement borne from certainty that Plegia's hierophant so often possessed to be found in his voice. Were it not for the words he speaks— The knowledge that kind, self-sacrificing Robin is the one who will end the world, and do so of his own volition? Ah, but of course, we are one and the same— does this make you feel better, Chrom?

No? And now he laughs, cruelty lacing the sound. Good. Make sure you keep that division between us. It will be better for you in the end. He leans in, raises a finger to Chrom’s lips, an intimate echo of a lover’s hush.