#acieral

     “Ooo, I spot a captain. ”

PRESENCE NOTED, a carefree grin placed among the soft lips. Henri found a hidden pleasure in unsettling this man, and this man alone. Such a serious yet gentle prince, yet oh there were times not even Chrom could hold his own. INTENSITY WAS AT A LOW, yet the slightest malicious comment or dark bit of his past might throw the other off. 

with sunlight

              darkness has a taste to it, musky and heavy on her throat,              chewing away at vocal cords and pressing down, crushing              her larynx and leaving her incapable of breathing; relishing              in it, rajya holds the dark close to her nose, taking in its for-              bidden warmth, she doesn’t want it to retract its claws. the               sting would come when it did, so she lets it stay, in the pro-              cess of its wound. darkness pulls slowly, and she does not               accept the bright sun, pressing against open cuts.

             however, the sun does not simply press her like a flower, and             though she does not find six slits in her side when she wakes,             sunshine’s blue eyes, pulling her up and close and she knows             why gods come in pairs; he cannot eclipse her, but she cannot             darken him. “ there are better places, ” the sun says, “ to take              a nap than the ground, y’know. ” his smile greets her, as an old             friend

with grassy hills 

            he spun her around, her bare feet cut up by sharp grass blades,            and she does not care; his hands are soft upon hers, and both of            their arms are bared to each other, a cloak thrown on the ground            and him dressed down to sparring clothes, though the gloves are           in the same pile as a purple cloak. they dance for no other purpose           than to dance, to pull her close and whisper in her ears, sweet no-           things of her beauty and grace, and for her to grip against him and           murmur her own sweetness into him, letting the words be absorbed.

          it’s not a proposal in the traditional sense, but the kiss on his cheek          is something like always, chrom’s reciprocation seems to seal the           deal.

with bed covers

          heavy covers wrap around them both, the sounds of a party dying          down wafting up into their room; he has enveloped her in his own           darkness, his own light too, and she has shared her share of sec-          rets. he kissed her on the nose, and she is not surprised when he          whispers in her ears, “ for my lovely wife… ”

          she hums in response, and it takes her just a moment to decide;           the drop of light from the window takes his face and contorts it to          something somehow softer; lips upon lips, and she finally responds,          “ to my gorgeous husband. ”

with sorrow

          cloak pulled tighter upon her shoulders -- it feels foreign, now, to          have the garment so tightly knitted around her. it does nothing for          her crying, for her sniffling and dreading, does little to conceal such          broken hearted imagery. an arm tugs her closer, his pallid face too          close for her liking.

                                 “ you don’t have to do it, you know. ”                                          “ but i do. i really do. ”              “ you think you have to, but you have no obligation to die like a martyr. ”                              “ this has nothing to do with martyrdom. ”                                               “ but doesn’t it? ”

         they didn’t speak again until the next morning, when she looked at him         with a glare like daggers and her tears cut through him.

with children

          she has died and come back and perhaps that is the only miracle they          need, but their blessings pile up at their feet; a beautiful daughter with           her mother’s wit and bravery, an infant son with all the time to grow into          himself, and a home that will never be taken from them ( he promises,          this place will always be home; she tells him that promises are unnecessary. ) 

i could? maybe hop in on here or robin idk

. @acieral​ liked for a starter!

“Hold it steady. Hold it steady." Cynthia mumbled, the blade quivering in her hands. It felt so...different from a lance. Less elegant in some ways, certainly heavier - although she did admit it felt a bit more heroic. She just hoped that her father wouldn't notice she'd borrowed his training sword for this. 

Ever since she'd practiced using her sister's Falchion, something had been itching in the back of her head - she could have sworn that she'd hit that log. She must have just missed, surely, and that was what they'd laughed it off as - except she'd gone back and it was split in two. Perfectly.

It disturbed her, kept her up at night. The realization that she could use it had broken some mental wall, made her realize that maybe one day she was meant to use it. Maybe her sister was going to die. 

She didn't even know how to use a sword in the first place. So she decided to learn, and...she wasn't doing great. "Again! Hya-"

The practice sword slipped from her grip and spiraled towards the side of the arena, causing the girl to pale as it smashed through a window and embedded itself with a thud in one of the tables inside. It quivered comedically as she burst into the room to reclaim it, pausing when she saw who else was here. 

Emmeryn had to fight not to cry. Pulling her brother into a tight, close hug, she sniffled and desperately fought to keep herself together. All of this had happened too fast. Chrom had found out about the stonings. He’d gotta so angry and stopped talking, then all of his sleeves were gone--

“Chrom... You’re too good,” she whispered, petting his hair. He was thirteen now, and getting too big to be babied. But she couldn’t help it. He was still her little brother.

And in this moment, he clung to her too, tightly pressing his hands flat against her back.

“I won’t let them... I promise, Emm. Never again,” her mutter fiercely into her shoulder. “You deserve so much better--”

It really was all work and no play for the Shepherd’s, now Ylisse’s, fair leader. Even when he should be chowing down, not being hounded by snooty advisers, even in the barracks. 

Gaius’ nose crinkled into a grimace, his eyes thinning into a slight squint. 

Even for what he could only hazard a guess will be a few minutes of peace from his advisers, at most, anyone could see the tension release from the royal’s shoulders. He exhaled, as if he was holding in his breathe the entire time. Perhaps that wasn’t too far off.

Though Chrom had a moment to relax, the stress certainly didn’t escape from his face. Gaius looked briefly to the brand of the exalt tattooed perfectly onto the other’s shoulder before speaking up.