#【 visions from across the battlefield ⁎ ooc 】

[freedomarrow]

Headcanons: Leonardo's Heritage

I've been thinking a lot about these things recently, and finally decided to catalogue all of my ideas into a whole post. I've already contradicted myself once on this due to not having my headcanons properly sorted out, so :wahoorat: let's get this bread.

As a disclaimer, all of this is my personal thoughts. Aside from "Leonardo's mother died when he was little and his father & brother died during the Mad King's War", none of this is actually said in the game or dev notes. This is 100% my wheelhouse.

---

Full title: Commander Leonardo von Elessar, Duke Valory

Age: 17 (during the events of Radiant Dawn) → 18 (current)

Timeline:

Begnion Year 631: Leonardo is born. It has been 4 years since Ashnard's ascension to the throne of Daein.

634: Leonardo's mother dies from illness.

641: After receiving some initial education privately at home, Leonardo begins to attend Daein's top military school. He studies combat, strategy, leadership and everything else he will need, with focus on fighting the "sub-humans". From the beginning, he displays a special talent for archery.

644: Ashnard's preparations for war enter the final stage. Leonardo's father and brother are called to service. Leonardo usually lives at the boarding school during this time, but occasionally returns home, where he is taken care of by servants.

645-646: The Mad King's War begins and the events of Path of Radiance take place. In the end, Daein loses the war. Ashnard is killed, and together with him, Leonardo's father and brother. Soon after, as part of Daein's subjugation, the Begnion Occupational Army raids and destroys Leonardo's school, with everyone rounded up to be sent to a prison camp. Leonardo and a few others try to escape, but only he makes it out. He meets Edward, who saves his life. Some time later they run into Nolan, and then Micaiah and Sothe, and the Dawn Brigade is formed. During this time, Leonardo is unable to manage the family lands and doesn't know what's happening over there.

648: The events of Radiant Dawn take place.

Post-Radiant Dawn: Leonardo participates in reconstructing and rebuilding the Daein army, but does not yet feel knowledgeable and experienced enough to take command. Once the situation stabilizes enough for him to leave for a period of time, he travels abroad to Fódlan to complete his education. Having reconnected with some of his family's servants and retainers, he leaves them in charge of his family's lands.

---

FAMILY

Father: Otto von Elessar, duke Valory. A Paladin serving directly under Bryce of the Four Riders, and one of Ashnard's "most elite, handpicked soldiers", to quote the man directly. Proficient in spearmanship and archery. He will have been one of the lance-wielding Paladins killed by the player during the final chapter of Path of Radiance.

Mother: Juna Lorette, noblewoman from Nevassa. Her marriage with Otto was arranged, but genuine love between the two blossomed as well. Died of illness (in my personal headcanon, tuberculosis) when Leonardo was three years old, leaving her husband grief-stricken. Leonardo has only very few vague and unclear memories of her.

Siblings: - Michel von Elessar, older brother serving in the same force as his father. He was 11 years older than Leonardo, making him 24 at the time of his death. He will have been one of the bow-wielding Paladins killed by the player during the final chapter of Path of Radiance. - There was also at least one stillbirth before Leonardo was born.

Other: Leonardo did have some uncles, aunts, cousins etc. in the other noble Houses and families. However, he was not particularly close with most of them, and the majority of them perished either during the Mad King's War, or later as the Begnion Occupational Army was taking over - after all, removing a country's nobility is an important step in eradicating a nation. No one has attempted to make contact with Leonardo since the end of the fighting, and so he believes himself to be alone.

---

NOTABLE SERVANTS

Marion Tavang: Head retainer in the service of House Elessar. Handles all sorts of affairs, helps with the managements of the family's lands, and also played a role in Leonardo's earliest education when he was little, teaching him to read and count. Referred to by Leonardo as "Mr. Tavang" and in turn refers to him affectionately as "Young One", as opposed to the usual "Young Master" used by everyone else. Mr. Tavang has managed to survive all the wars in hiding and reconnected with Leonardo afterwards. At the moment he has fully returned to his work. Leonardo is in constant contact with him - if he's seen sending a letter home, it's probably to Mr. Tavang. (For his appearance, think... kind of like a white-haired Hanneman in a more formal attire. He would have Sage as his class.)

Daria Corvet: A servant to House Elessar, predominantly responsible for cooking for the family, but also helped raise Leonardo in his mother's absence. Leonardo thinks of her as something of an adoptive grandma, and she is also very attached to him. Also survived the wars and was sought out by Mr. Tavang afterwards, and gladly came back to work. Eagerly awaits Leonardo's return home. (For her appearance, basically think Cassita from Fates.)

---

VALORY

A province just to the west of Nevassa itself. Within its borders are both fields and a forest. The people living there grew oats and rye, held animals, hunted in the forest and gathered wood to make a living. While Daein overall is not particularly fertile, this area wasn't too bad.

The relationship between the Elessars and the people living on their lands has always been generally positive, with the dukes refraining from harsh rule or high taxes and doing a good job protecting their people from bandits.

The Elessar manor is located a half-mark from Nevassa.

During Begnion's occupation, as almost all men were put in prison camps, there were nowhere near hands to work, the fields were left to lie fallow; only now have the people been able to return to them. The family manor has suffered damage, with most of its valuables and riches stolen and either used to finance the Begnion Occupational Army or confiscated by the Senators.

After the war, Leonardo does not regain everything that was stolen, because life isn't fair like that of course, but a portion of the family belongings and fortune is restored - though he donated some of the latter to the reconstruction efforts immediately. As it stands, the Elessar manor is being renovated, the fields are being revived, and people in the area are picking their lives back up.

LEONARDO'S CURRENT STATUS & STANDING

As Leonardo never officially renounced his title, he is formally the Duke of Valory. Whether or not he will keep the title, he has still not fully decided.

On the one hand, he doesn't feel like he's prepared and suitable for this responsibility, he quite frankly doesn't know just how attached he feels to these lands anymore, and also staying means he will eventually be pressured into finding a wife and continuing his line.

On the other, he does feel a sense of responsibility for the people who live there, knowing that they survived the war in hopes that someone would return to take care of them, and at the moment, with the help of Mr. Tavang, he appears to be handling it okay, even while studying abroad. He is also aware that, should he want and need help from the Queen, Micaiah would not hesitate to be there for him - though he also believes he shouldn't trouble her with his affairs.

For the time being, he continues to hold the title as the last remaining member of the Elessar family. Once his education is complete (read: should I ever drop him), he will return home and that will most likely be when he makes his final decisions, taking full control of his life.

[darklordofthesimp]

Reconcile (John Price x Reader)

Anything Verse

Summary: When a Task Force 141 sniper is rushed into your surgery at the end of your shift, you know you're in for a rough night.

A/N: OOOH a Price fic?? In the Anything Verse?? Wish me luck. I'm so sorry if he's OOC I know nothing.

Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Description of Injury, Allusion to PTSD, Swearing.

The day you met Captain John Price was not a good day. It had been one of the worst shifts of your career, actually.

"Get them straight into surgery!" 

You were no stranger to the horrors of war. Every twisted wound, every deformed face, every tragic passing of a young soldier reminded you of why you enlisted. 

"Vitals are dropping!" 

You remembered the trolley squeaking as you rushed a twisted, limp body to surgery. The shouts of your nurses all worked in tandem to inform you of the signs that this soldier was dying before you. 

"Birdy!" 

You recognised the callsign, horror prodding at your lungs. Forcing down your realization, you focused on the man screaming behind you. He was larger than life, bounding down the hallway after your team. He bellowed the callsign again, his voice desperate as it climbed over the chattering of your medics, begging for a response. 

The body on the bed said nothing. 

"They're critical!" 

The body on the bed barely breathed. 

As you disappeared into the surgical ward, your heart held captive by anxiety, you risked a glance over your shoulder. 

The man's eyes were bloodshot, wild in a way that only love could cause. There was a soldier who held a firm hand to his chest, reminding him that 'Birdy' was going somewhere he couldn't follow. 

His gaze followed the trolley until the doors closed on him. 

John Price had been watching on with the eyes of a man that was already mourning. 

____

Twelve hours. 

Twelve hours spent trying to save a life because of miscommunication

The team had been swapped out on the sixth hour of surgery, your secondary group scrubbing in at around 0100 hours. You didn't take the break. 

Your hands shook as you pushed the doors open, emerging from the surgical ward like you'd just crawled off the battlefield. Your knees were weak, barely holding your body up as you trekked down the hall. 

Images of the crumpled sniper flashed across your vision like a stop motion film, reminding you that although you'd saved their life- this wasn't the end of their struggle. Your heart bled for them, bled for the person that they would have to become to survive this. 

"How are they?" The words attacked you from the side, throwing you off balance as you flinched away. Trying to catch yourself, your arms flailed and a gasp ripped from your throat. You were dizzy, exhausted and low on all forms of fuel, you were definitely going to hit the deck like a sack of shit. 

"Jesus-" A pair of rough hands shot out to grip your shoulders, pulling you upright and steadying you on your feet. You raked in a breath, tilting your head up to glare at the culprit. 

It was the man from earlier. 

"You fuckin' serious?" You tried to straighten up as you growled the words but there was no venom behind them. You didn't have the energy for that, and as you looked into the haunted eyes before you, you knew that he didn't have it either. 

"Sorry." It was muttered as an afterthought, bloodshot eyes barely focused on your features, as though he was looking at you but not actually seeing. "Is Birdy okay?" 

You sighed deeply, scrubbing at your eyes with the heel of your palms. If you rubbed hard enough maybe you could chase away the crippling exhaustion. 

"Yeah," you rasped. "Someone really did a number on 'em though." 

The man's face grew stormy at the words, his jaw clenching. You knew then that there had been no justice for the sniper, that their assaulter had escaped the clutches of the infamous 141. 

"I want the report." The man stated simply, his tone carrying the familiar weight of authority. 

You raised an eyebrow. 

"Are you Birdy's chain-of-command?" You queried, crossing your arms over your chest. 

"Captain John Price," he nodded. 

John Price. 

He was something of a legend within the unit, the forefront of Task Force 141- the leader. You would have been in awe had he not looked like a pathetic shell of the man he should have been. 

Your eyes trailed his figure, stopping at his hands with a startled gasp. 

"Whose blood is that?" You stepped forward, suddenly on alert. You dragged your gaze over his shocked features, analyzing for injury and wounding. 

"Bit of mine," he rasped, eyes wide as he took in the state of his skin, "...mostly Birdy's."

You could have left him there. Your shift had been over 15 hours ago and you were planning on going home and stuffing your gob with whatever you could get your hands on. 

The Captain wasn't your responsibility. 

But the broken man before you was.

"Come with me," you murmured softly, taking a step towards the door. Price didn't move, that thousand yard stare drifting over the entrance to the surgical ward. His body might have been here but his mind was far away. 

You'd seen it millions of times, yet every instance still rips on your heart. 

Gently, you wrapped your fingers around his wrist. Cerulean eyes snapped to meet yours, wide and hard. He gripped your offending limb with his free hand and your heart hammered in your chest. The Captain was fresh from war, blood smeared across his jaw and dried under his nails, he was unpredictable. 

Your hand trembled in his but you didn't loosen your grip. 

John Price was a large man, broad shoulders and a presence that demanded your attention. He was a combatant, he'd been through hell and back and willingly made the journey thousands of times. 

When you dealt with soldiers like this, there was always a security detail to protect you in case they snapped. It was common, it was understood- survival instincts and adrenaline doesn't just disappear overnight. 

But you were alone. 

And Price's grip tightened. 

"John," you whispered, trying to keep your voice steady but failing. The words wobbled and your body tremored but your gaze remained consistent. Your eyes appealed and pleaded, fixated on the bright blue of his own. "John, let me help you." 

His eyes flickered down to see where he held your hand. 

Then he released a breath. 

"I'm so sorry," Price murmured, broken and small. 

You offered a genuine smile, breath settling as relief flooded your chest. "You're okay, John. Come with me."

You told yourself to say his name often, reminding him of who he was and where he was. It was your job to ground him, to patch him up- body and mind. His grip on your hand loosened but he didn't let go completely, his shaky inhale telling you that he was overwhelmed. 

He wasn't used to being rattled.

Captain Price wasnt supposed to ever get rattled. 

John followed you into your office, letting go of your hand to close the door behind him instinctively. Your heart skipped a beat at the sudden isolation, you weren't meant to be alone with a volatile patient. When he turned to face you, he raised a brow at your hesitance. 

"Would you prefer I kept the door open, Doc?"  

You swallowed thickly, controlling your breathing as best as you could. 

"It's not a problem," you lied. 

There was a soft snort, the first sign of humor you'd seen in him. John opened the door back up,  resting it gently against the stopper as he offered you a meaningful glance.

"For my ease of mind," he joked dryly. 

Your lips twitched upward and you ducked your head.

 "Thanks," you whispered quickly before clearing your throat. "And they call me Saint. Not Doc."

"Saint," John trialed the word on his tongue. "Fitting."

You rolled your eyes light-heartedly before gesturing to the tap and basin at the back. "Clean up a little while I prep."

The Captain offered you a nod, sobering as he moved to the sink to scrub the blood off his hands. You prepared your equipment, pretending not to notice the way his body shook as scraped the blood off his skin. 

He was there for longer than he needed to be but you didn't push. You wouldn't rush him, there was nothing more important than letting him watch the crimson stained water disappear down that drain. The way he stared at his hands, those unsoiled palms raised upright, it had you thinking that he could still see his sniper's blood tattooed across his fingers. 

When John finally sat down, his face was drawn and solemn. You took in a sharp breath, taking the anti-bacterial wipe and approaching the Captain slowly until you were inches away. 

His gaze lifted to watch you through his lashes, the scent of gunpowder, sweat and blood rolling off of him in waves. You were used to it, it was a smell that you'd gotten used to over the years. 

"I'm going to wipe the blood from your face and sanitize your wounds," you stated clearly, breath trembling as his attention fell to your lips. 

John said nothing for a long moment, leaving you inches from him, praying to God that he wasn't going to snap. 

"Yeah," he finally rasped. 

You set to work, ignoring the way his eyes followed you emptily. You wished there was emotion  behind it, you wished you could say that he was leering, but the Captain was watching you work as one would watch a plain car go by: no thoughts, simply caught by the movement. 

Thousands of conversation starters fought for use, they begged to be spoken out into the small space between you. All of them fell short, nothing could drown the silence of his grief. 

"Will Birdy recover?"

You were startled by the question, fingers brushing against the heat of his skin as you flinched.  His eyes were glued to yours. They waited hungrily for a response, watching carefully for any indiscretions that could give away a lie. 

"Yes." You replied simply, moving to continue your work. 

"Saint." The Captain's fingers reached upward to grip your wrist gently, lowering your hand from his face. You took in a sharp breath, eyes narrowing. "That's not what I was asking."

The look John gave you was intent and revealing, stripping the veil from your answer. You were bare for him to see, inches away with no room to hide from his gaze. His hand was hot against your skin, burning every square inch that he held. 

You knew what Price was truly asking. You knew that you'd hadn't answered the question he was offering, hidden behind smoke and mirrors. 

Will Birdy forgive me? 

You sucked in a breath, bringing a hand to softly rest against his shoulder. 

"Yes," you said again.

 Only, this time, you lied. 

[powerful-niya]

— (вєиєαтн тнє ¢яσωи.)

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚hαppч nαruhínα mσnth єvєrчσnє!

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚𝙳𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟸𝟹: 𝙵𝚘𝚛𝚋𝚒𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚗 𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎 + 𝚆𝚊𝚛 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎 - (𝙽𝙷𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚑𝟸𝟹)

Link To Oneshot Below ↴

Wattpad|AO3

Pairing˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚Naruhina

Synopsis˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡Night after night, General Naruto grapples with nightmares from the battlefield, haunted by the specter of war and its horrors. Luckily, Queen Hinata has a special knack for soothing him, knowing just how to ease his mind and make him feel all better.

Content Tags˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Alternate Universe - Medieval • Angst • Dark •  Dark Themes • December 3 • December 23 • Empire • Evil Queen • Forbidden • Forbidden Love • Heavy Angst • Historical AU • Historical Eras • Heavy Angst • Hurt & Comfort • Mature Themes • NHmonth • Nhmonth23 • OOC • Power Differences AU • Queen • Queen X General • Royalty AU • Secrecy • Secret Lovers • Sexist Beliefs Mentions • Slight Feminist Beliefs Mentions • Tryst • War • Wartime AU • War General • War And Love • 2023

NSFW Tags˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚  Body Worship • Cock Worship • Codominance • Claiming • Cunnilingus • Deepthroating • Dirty Talk • Desperation • Explicit • Face Grinding • Facesitting • Fellato • Femdom • Freaky • Free Use • Frottage • Hands Kink • Kinky • Lingerie • Masturbation • Multiple Orgasms • Oral Sex • Overstimulation • Panties • Praise Kink • Power Play • Pussy Worship • Rough Sex • Scars • Scent Kink • Scratching • Sideways Sex • Size Difference Kink • Somnophilia • Spooning Sex Position •  Squirting • Sweat Kink • Vaginal Sex • Unprotected Sex • 2023

Overall Word Count˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚17.6k

Tumblr Post: Word Count˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚1.7k

Preview ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

Hinata Hyūga goes by many names as ruler. 

But many hailed her as the formidable Ice Queen. 

During the medieval era, centuries ago, the world was ruled by brutal principles of survival—conquer or be conquered, kill or be killed. 

In this unforgiving world, the stakes were high, leaving no room for mistakes or hesitation. Any sign of weakness was quickly snuffed out, often resulting in a quick and merciless death. 

Strength was the ultimate arbiter of one's fate. 

Compassion was a dangerous liability, and only those with a ruthless disposition had any hope of thriving.

Ambition fueled every action, every scheme, and every grand vision. 

Alliances were fragile, easily shattered by the ever-present threat of betrayal, making loyalty a rare but precious commodity.

It was a harsh world where the only true currency that held value was power.

And Hinata Hyūga possessed a wealth of it. 

Immense power. 

But it was never enough.

The entirety of Hinata's reign was defined by her unwavering ambition, an insatiable hunger for more and more power. 

That same drive, that relentless desire to rise above all others, coursed through her veins, a legacy that had been passed down through generations of greatness in the esteemed Hyūga royal lineage.

As ruler, her father had been great, as had his father before him, and so on and so forth. 

And now….

Hinata, too, embodied that same greatness.

She was a force of nature, a cold-hearted bitch that struck fear into the hearts of all who came across her, hell, even to those who just heard about her conquests. 

She conquered kingdoms with absolutely no problem, extending her empire far and wide without fail or mercy. 

Her strategic brilliance and unrelenting pursuit of power earned her a reputation as a ruler who tolerated no resistance—a reputation Hinata flaunted proudly, with her tits thrust forward and her head held high.

Kingdoms fell like dominos in her path, their banners absorbed into the ever-growing tapestry of her empire, each now bearing the emblem of the Hyūga dynasty.

When her army marched forth, destruction was only promised. 

Fields were left behind strewn with the fallen.

Streets ran red with blood.

Kingdoms and cities fell to ruin.

Kings were overthrown.

Her enemies' subjects subdued, their cries of defiance silenced by the swift and merciless hand of the Hyūga army. 

Rebellions arose in kingdoms far and wide in Hinata's name.

Seeds were sown, alliances were made, thus, the Hyūga dynasty expanded. 

That is how it always should go in Hinata's eyes. 

To Hinata, it was all simply a game, one of laughs and fucking giggles to her. 

It came easy to her. 

Being queen. 

Being a leader. 

Being a conqueror.  

She navigated a world dominated by men like it was child's play, effortlessly assuming the role of a leader just as well as any man.

She moved with a grace and precision that earned her respect and fear in equal measure, solidifying her place as a dominant force that won't rest till all bowed before her.

But Hinata was more than just that.

She wasn't merely a monarch defined by the clash of swords; not just a woman born from a lineage of blood and conquest.

She wasn't just a fearsome ruler capable of instilling terror with just a glance, who gets what she wants with just a command. 

Not in the slightest. 

Hinata stood as an ethereal beauty, her presence a whispered legend that traversed kingdoms both far and wide. 

She was no ordinary mortal, not just any woman; she was one that embodied grace and refinement, a living manifestation of elegance that inspired awe in all who gazed upon her.

Her eyes, lavender in hue and pupil-less—an unique trait shared only among the Hyūgas���held a depth that spoke of wisdom beyond her years. 

Her smile had the power to illuminate even the darkest of chambers, and her beauty was a force to be reckoned with—a weapon wielded with the allure of a siren, capable of captivating even the most hardened of hearts. 

"Fools." She would always sneer. 

Whispers reverberated her name, ensuring that she remained the focal point of every conversation.

From the grand halls of courtiers to the bustling camps of warriors and the humble villages of common folk, all tongues wagged about her. 

Even amongst her own people who proudly carried the Hyūga banner, discussions about her were rife—whether they had caught a mere glimpse of her, heard tales of her exploits, or were merely fueled by rumors.

Everyone wanted her. 

But they always wanted something from her. 

Courtiers lusted after her in hopes of being crowned as kings.

Warriors vied for her favor, yearning for a chance to spend just a night with her.

And a simple commoner, bless their hearts, sought her out with a wish to be freed from the chains of poverty and misfortune.

But no.

No one can have her. 

Hinata remained untouched. 

A closed-off fortress, one might even describe. 

Hinata was a woman of independence, resolute in her choice to rule alone, free from the influence of any man.

A queen who answered to no one.

A queen that bowed down to no one…

only to herself.

Alone, untouched by love's embrace, her sole ambition was to reign supreme, a quest that consumed her every waking thought. 

That's all that mattered to her. 

And she was content with that…

well…

at least on the surface. 

Because amidst the blood-soaked battlefields and the cold stone walls of her fortress, Hinata harbored a secret. 

A forbidden secret. 

It was a love that went against everything she believed in and stood for, challenging her vow to shun love from her heart entirely.

It was a love that persistently gnawed at the corners of her mind, fueling an insatiable desire to savor its forbidden sweetness with every passing moment, be it day or night.

It was a love that dwelled within her that threatened to unravel the carefully constructed facade she presented to the world, a delicate balance that teetered on the edge of collapse.

A love that was for…

Naruto Uzumaki.

Her most loyal and courageous general.

He was the only man who possessed the power of thawing the heart of the Ice Queen, of kindling her flame.

He, and only he, was the one Hinata longed for, the sole object of her burning desire.

Naruto was many things: a jack of all trades, a wild card, a man truly one of a kind.

Hinata knew that from the first moment she laid eyes on him. 

With his unwavering loyalty and unparalleled skill in warfare, he stood by her side as her most trusted advisor and also the leader of her formidable army.

He was the very man who guided the Hyūga troops into battle.

Without fear.

Without hesitation.

Without mercy. 

Just like his queen. 

The battlefield was his domain, a territory Naruto claimed without hesitation, fearlessly commanding the front lines better than any man. 

He led with a ferocity that mirrored his queen's, rushing into battle, ready to slaughter anyone who stood on the other side. It didn't matter who his enemies were; nobles, seasoned warriors, or mere foot soldiers—none were spared from his wrath.

He cut through the lot of them like it was nothing, happily killing in Hinata's name.

And each time, the result was the same; each battle's end unchanged. 

Naruto emerged victorious. 

Time and time again. 

Naruto stood as the driving force behind every triumph that echoed throughout the current Hyūga dynasty, a harbinger of inevitable victory for the Hyūga forces.

A man who single-handedly instilled fear on the battlefields and beyond.

Many called him the warrior of warriors.

Others referred to him as the bearer of grim gifts.

For it was he who had happily made it a tradition to present his queen with the grisly spoils of war upon her throne after every battle—the severed heads of her enemies.

A morbid treat, but one that he knew delighted his queen like none other. 

Naruto's loyalty to Hinata extended beyond mere duty; it was a deep-seated commitment, ingrained in every fiber of his being.

Every step he took was for her.

Every thought was consumed by her.

Every decision he made was for her. 

And every battle won was for her. 

Naruto sought nothing. 

He sought nothing in return from his queen.  

He harbored no desire for the benefits her status as queen or her unparalleled beauty could bestow upon him.

His loyalty was unconditional, dedicated solely to her and her cause. Naruto existed solely to ensure her success, to safeguard her sovereignty, and to defend her at any expense.

And Hinata appreciated his devotion beyond measure. 

No one could rival the bond shared between them, a connection forged in the fires of battle and sealed with the blood of their enemies.

To commemorate their victories, they would eagerly retreat to the comfort of their bed chambers, to hide from the world within the embrace of one another's arms. There, Hinata would shed her gowns, and Naruto, his armor, and fuck like there was no tomorrow, relishing in the sweet sensation of their naked bodies pressing against each other. 

And in those tender moments they spent together, they were allowed the freedom to shed their masks, baring their souls freely to one another. Then, naked and safe within the confines of their bedrooms, they revealed a side of themselves never before seen from the outside world. 

Naruto let go of his stoic mask and revealed his softer side.

Hinata shed her icy exterior and allowed herself to be vulnerable.

She showed Naruto the depths of her passion, allowed him to be more than just her sword, teaching him how to cherish the moments stolen from the chaos of their conquests. 

Amidst it all, only their stolen glances and kisses were the traces of their hidden affair.

Only their bedroom walls knew of the profound love they had for one another.

They understood the risks. 

As queen and general, they were aware of the potential havoc that could be wrought if their forbidden relationship were to be exposed to the world.

They were aware of how their love had the potential to jeopardize the solid foundations of the empire they had worked tirelessly to build.

War and love was usually a precarious balance, after all. 

But for them, it worked.

Risk or not…

Forbidden or not, they were happy. 

Continue Reading On Wattpad Or AO3.

And so, together, they ruled with ice and fire, their love a force that could not be conquered, even by the mightiest of empires.

— (⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☾ 𝐍𝐚𝐫𝐮𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐚 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 ☽₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆)

[longer-than-i-should-admit]

Okay but what if Solas gets freed earlier than the big bad final fight (like we speculate) and he uses his Dread Wolf form in occasional pinches of combat?

And what if he has a moment where he has to deliberately choose his commitment to Rook like he had to do with the Inquisitor? (I'll utilize mine for this case.)

Walk with me. (Spoilery drabble under the cut. Probably OOC tbh.)

They're in a darkspawn infested spot. The objective was to get something. They got it, but now they're retreating back to the eluvian because there are far too many blighted things for them to feasibly fight against—it has infested the place, and Davrin being the only one resistant to it does not accommodate the very real threat of the others possibly being tainted.

So Solas, as one with the most experience of command, calls for a retreat. The rest of the Veilguard have stumbled either through or to the eluvian, watching anxiously as the rest forfeit their hard-won ground to safely draw back to his position as he covers for them.

Rook does not agree.

"It is suicide to stay here!" Solas shouts at her from across the battlefield, his spells as percussive and punctuated as if the Fade was popping through the Veil at his summons. It makes her hair stand on end, raises frissons under her clothes, and the pressure in her ears reminds her of the air tensing before a lightning strike. "We must go!"

"We've almost got them pushed back!" she retorts, all the way on the other side. The steppe is the highest point in the mountainside, and she has been blasting off the darkspawn with shockwaves of arcane energy thus far. "We could recover other things from the ruins!"

"It is not worth it if lives are lost in the process!" Solas snarls, and Rook glances over her shoulder at him with arched brows.

In the middle of the fray, overwhelmed by the surge of darkspawn scuttling over the cliff face like swarming insects, Emmrich stumbles and falls with a yelp.

Rook struggles to concentrate between two points of focus. She is in the middle of her own combat, but her first instinct is to run to the necromancer's side. He's still casting, keeping the infected off of him, but they give no room for him to get back to his feet.

Solas moves, so quickly that Rook did not catch it. Magic surges, tingles on the back of her tongue, and in a flash the Dread Wolf falls into a sprint across the ground glistening with ichor and smattered with decaying flesh and rotting guts.

Rook blasts through the wave clambering to drag her down and watches, slack-jawed, as the great black wolf lunges over Emmrich with a snarl, standing squarely over him with enough room to spare the tall human to right himself and flee to the eluvian unharmed.

Fen'Harel's mighty jaws snap around darkspawn left and right, shaking them to shatter their bones and flinging the battered corpses like rag dolls. Soon enough his teeth are stained with inky, corrupted blood, bits of viscera wedged between his frothing gums, and his six lyrium-blue eyes meet Rook's, resolute and unflinching.

In that moment, Rook knows he will leave her there to save the rest.

A hurlock grabs her ankle. It is half disintegrated by her magic, yet it's still going, still gurgling, still strong enough to yank her foot out from under her. She lands roughly on her back and the air rushes out of her lungs in a pained whoosh, stunning her. Her vision blurs and swims. The steady drain of her mana had already weakened her, in addition to her wounds, but she had bashed her head on the ground, too.

The hurlock intends to bring her down the cliffside with it, she knows. She grits her teeth against the pain and vertigo and bashes the heel of her boot against its face, sending it careening off the edge. Her heart leaps when she rolls over to scramble back up onto her hands and knees and realizes—too late—how close it had dragged her.

Her legs drop out into open air. Her belly scrapes against the slickened stone. Her fingertips dig into the gravel, a biting anchor sure to leave her own blood behind. Her nails might not survive the weight of her entire body hanging on the precipice of a fathomless drop. When she peers down past her shoulder, eyes rounding, and there is nothing but mist and insurmountable depth.

She barely hears her cry of alarm over the sound of her own heart pounding in her ears. She does not recognize her own voice. She certainly does not anticipate calling out to the bane of her existence as a means to preserve it. "Solas!"

The wind is deafening, rushing past her as though it, too, flees the darkspawn she could sense clawing their way up the mountainside by the dread building in the base of her throat. The wolf had turned to deal with another cluster of darkspawn, but his ears angled towards her before his great head whipped around to spot her where she fell.

Her grip slips. She skids further down in a heart-lurching, precious, hands-breadth of distance. Her shoulders ache with the strain. Her chin drags the edge of the jagged stone. She cannot get a foothold with how the rock curves away from the ledge. She thinks she hears someone hollering her name, somewhere behind the wolf. One of her companions, or multiple—she isn't sure. She can see nothing save the glow of his eyes and the whites rimming them as he stares at her.

"Harellan!" she screams. The insult turned barb turned nickname seems the least fitting thing to use to entreat the man whom she had treated with such utter disdain and irreverence for the first portion of their acquaintance. But it is who he proved himself to be: a rebel with a cause. A man who stops at nothing to do what he feels is right.

One who does not flinch at the idea of sacrifice in favor of victory.

Rook's grip fails her. She scrabbles for purchase to no avail. The stone arches away from her, it seems, and she falls.

She does not see how deep the gouges the Dread Wolf's claws score into the stone when he launches into a sprint aided by his magic, frost fringing the ends of his pelt. She does not see the full stride of his legs stretching and hauling the ground closer to project himself into a lightning-quick gallop across the steppe. She does not see him nearly careen clean off the side of the mountain, barely skidding to a halt in time—back feet digging into the skittering gravel—as his upper half lunges over the edge. She does not see the massive maw of teeth engulf her because she has already squeezed her eyes shut in hopes that she won't know when the ground reaches her.

But the ear-ringing snap of his jowls jolts her out of her shock. If she had died, she could expect it to be dark. Maybe even warm. But wet?

Rook gasps as she's clamped tight in the mouth of the great black wolf. Her orientation becomes muddled, then—she has no concept of what direction is up, where he's going, or even what's going on around them. Any sounds are muffled. She thinks she hears the roar of a beast too big for them to handle in their current state of exhaustion. Her heart hammers against the inside of her ribs, and the rumble that surrounds her sets her nerves alight with prey instinct.

Fen'Harel runs. He leaps. He lands, and it is a jarring, uncoordinated crash into the ground—hopefully across the relatively safe bounds of the eluvian.

"Solas! Where's Rook?"

"Did you catch her? Is she—"

"Did you eat her?"

To answer the clamor of questions ringing in her ears, the wolf's mouth opens. She slides out and collapses on the ground in a gruesome heap of bodily fluids and remains.

"Remind me never to ask you for help again," she croaks. She reaches up and swipes the saliva off her eyelids so she can glare up at the Dread Wolf staring down at her in turn, every last eye trained solely on her. She thinks he is assessing her for damage.

His fur shimmers and she watches, disoriented, as the man reemerges from the shape of the wolf. His armor is battered and his shoulders sag from what is likely too prolonged of a mana drain, but he seems no worse for wear. She is momentarily distracted from him as her companions cluster around her and pull her into a seated position, their hands as busy as their mouths as they fret and curse and express their relief all at once in a raucous cacophony.

Her eyes snap back over to Solas struts promptly over to a hedge, yanks off one of his gauntlets, and proceeds to press a couple fingertips into his mouth and—presumably—onto the back of his tongue. He then wretches into the unsuspecting foliage.

The others fall abruptly silent, stricken and perplexed.

"I feel like I should take this as an insult," Rook remarks, scowling. "Surely I don't taste that bad."

Solas' eyes are red-rimmed and watery when he straightens, and if it weren't for that he would look as composed and dignified as ever. He snatches a potion from his belt and gargles it thoroughly, swishes it around his mouth, then spits it out. He swipes the back of his hand against his lips and scowls at her. "Forgive me if I would rather not be tainted by those blasted creatures!" he snaps, thoroughly rankled.

She knows it's not simply from how terrible darkspawn must taste.

She is proven correct when he stalks back over and kneels before her, the tension in his frame wound so tight she wonders how close he is to snapping his own spine. "Disrobe."

The others part like water at his demanding tone with varying levels of skepticism and disquiet, brooking no argument. But Rook is nothing if not contrary—she opens her mouth to protest, but Solas only lets out a terse, angry sound and reaches for the buckles on her armor.

"Stop!" she growls, slapping his hand away. She swears she sees the vein in his temple throb as he rears back as though she offended him. "What are you talking about?"

"Your clothes have been contaminated," he explains harshly. "The taint binds to organic materials. Being as that you were thoroughly inundated in blighted essence since you were too stubborn to fall back when I said to and relied upon an unfavorable means of rescue, we cannot risk you becoming infected!" He gestures to her clothes. "We will have to burn them. That goes for the rest, as well. I am certain Davrin already knows this."

"It's not exactly something you can wash out," the warden agrees.

"Oh, you have got to be joking!" Rook scoffs. "This is not the first time we've faced off against those bastards! What makes it so different this go around?"

"Your wounds, Fenalan!" Solas snarls. The intensity of his conviction as well as the rattled, unsettled tinge straining his voice makes her clamp her jaw shut. "If any ichor enters your bloodstream, you are doomed! You already tread upon death's door in your obstinance, but now you risk falling victim to something far worse!"

She frowns at him. She has a few scratches here and there, nothing so severe as to warrant such a reaction. She had been battered far worse before, endured wounds much more likely to do her in than hese. Something else had caused Solas to go overboard.

Her mind recalls the memory she had walked here in the Crossroads. The agent in Ghilan'nain's laboratory. The set of Solas' jaw when he had accepted the inevitability of his duty. He could not save her. There was no cure. He had no other option save to put her out of her misery before she truly suffered with the invented abomination.

The same fraught, wild glint in the eyes of his younger image peer directly into her own now. He is angry, yes, undeniably. But he is afraid, too. He does not want to make a sacrifice this day, she thinks.

Her hands shake as she begins to work the buckles loose. The others seem to take that as a sign to follow suit, removing the pieces of their armor that could be salvaged while piling the rest away from the vegetation encroaching upon the old paths winding around the network of mirrors. The metals could be decontaminated. The fabrics crackle and stink when Solas lights them with a curt snap of his hands. They are reduced to ash in seconds from the intensity of his ire, and he contorts the fabric of the Veil to crush that into powder that drifts, inert and harmless, off the ledge of the island in the wind.

The others group loosely together and head toward the Caretaker's dock when Rook tips her head towards it, helping each other along if they were weak or disoriented. No one had suffered grave injuries, thankfully, upon careful inspection. Most of the ichor had stained the outermost layers, so not all of it had to be destroyed, fortunately.

It was tough business, dealing with a mutated double blight.

Rook hung back a moment, waiting for Solas to turn away from the singed, blackened space below his feet. He is still drawn as tense as a bowstring, and does not move until she steps close enough to touch his arm. He pivots away from her hand and his gaze is cold on her.

"Ir abelas," she says. "I did not mean to worry you."

If Solas is taken aback by her admission, he does not convey it. But his shoulders loosen, just slightly. "That mistake almost cost your life, Rook," he says grimly.

"I know. I will endeavor to keep my head next time." She gestures towards the others, their low conversations carried by the breeze despite their distance. "Let's go wash all this shit off, yes?"

Solas looses a heavy exhale. They began to walk together.

"'Ma serannas," she tells him. "I did not think you would save me."

His stride falters briefly, then slows to accommodate her attention. The furrow between his brows eases into incredulity. "Why?"

Perhaps she expected him to confirm that it had not been his intention, that he had only done so because she was somewhat necessary to their mission's success, in the end. That he seems shocked she would even ask unroots her perception of him slightly.

"I rejected your orders," she says simply. "I got carried away. You had every right to leave me behind, but you didn't."

"I did not." Solas studied her for a moment, pensive. "I would not allow you to perish if I have a say in it, Fenalan," he offers after a moment. It is careful. It is measured. Yet she still notices the lack of bite to the words he normally wields when speaking to her. She had cultivated that response, she supposes, with how often she had exchanged verbal jabs with him in the beginning.

"Even if I don't understand your motivations," Rook sighs, "I thank you nevertheless." She swallows. "Ir abelas."

"Tel'abelas, ean'din. I am pleased to see you still live."

"Despite the perpetual headache I pose?"

"Despite that." Solas shakes his head. "I...do not think poorly of you. I would not see you fall into danger unnecessarily. That you can be so reckless and negligent of your own well-being at times is...disconcerting."

Rook cast him a side-eye. "Pot meet kettle. You stop throwing yourself on the line for the rest of us and I'll do the same."

The god of lies, treachery, and rebellion huffed what could have been a laugh. And Rook wonders if Varric would have any light to shed upon why the Dread Wolf was so protective of his unwitting pack, if he would ever admit to such a concept.

[rivalry-trope-enjoyer]

Kaeya x GN! reader: Fake Dating AU

*Started a new series of the Genshin Impact boys as different romance tropes in one-shot form, starting with Kaeya! The list will go on soon and I plan for Diluc to be next. Disclaimer: May be a little bit OOC since this is my first time writing Kaeya. 

The Kaeya as far as you had known has always been a sweet talker that wooed all the people of Mondstadt with a mysterious and alluring charm. You, too, had fallen victim to his hand. 

Unfortunately, being a traveler with no permanent place to stay in all of Teyvat, it was customary to take someone like Kaeya with you on such adventures. You didn’t hate his company; he always loved to crack jokes even if it came with a flirtatious anecdote at the end. He had even already established sweet nicknames for you and even went as far as playfully calling you “sweetheart” or “dove” from time to time. 

Spending time with him casually already seemed like a nightmare for your poor heart, and commissions and tasks were the exact same story. 

This time around you were sent on an errand to take care of some Fatui agents with Kaeya around Mondstadt, the two most capable, arguably, of sneaking around when it came to the Knights of Favonius. 

Around this time relations with diplomats have soured from the incidents that had happened in Liyue, and a lot of secretive moves are needed to take care of the root of the Fatui in Mondstadt. 

The both of you have decided to embark on your journey, in which Kaeya had the faintest of ideas that he had under his sleeves on how to get through with the Fatui. 

Upon arrival you both decide to approach them, careful with how you act and greeted them politely. 

“What is your business with the Fatui?” they grab a blade under their coats as their masked faces pointed to you both.

Kaeya casually approached them and snaked his arm around your waist, pulling your closer causing you to blush instantaneously. 

“I apologize for the intrusion, but my significant other had run a shop in Mondstadt, we sell sunsettias and apples that we farm in springvale and we have gone bankrupt from the unfair trade system of this entire nation!” Kaeya had played his part well, a little too well to make you realize how much he had been acting around you. 

He had shocked you initially with his actions, and you had thought of it to be selfish to hold onto him like this a little longer and to just pretend. 

You slowly embraced him back, which caused Kaeya to flinch initially, but tightened the grip he had on you like a warm embrace. 

“He’s right,” you stated in a sullen tone. “My husband and I, we cannot make an honest living from this, and we had heard around that your code involved economics, so we hope that we can trust you to, even out the scales a bit,” you instantly lowered your head at them with respect and tugged at Kaeya to do the same.

Waiting for a response your heart tensed up ever so slightly, but when you heard a gruff “Fine” coming from the Fatui, your heart soared in excitement. 

“We will avenge your little fruit stand at dawn tomorrow. Mondstadt’s knights will know terror,” she muttered before walking away and signaled for the rest of the Fatui to do the same. 

Kaeya had immediately let go of you and the strong winds of Mondstadt had struck you ice cold. He gave you a flirtatious smile as he held your chin with his index finger and thumb close to your lip.

“You did a great job playing my significant other there, sweetheart,” he continued to call you these playful names that made your heart twinge in confusion and embarrassment.

Realizing his skills when it came to acting, you wondered if the affection that he gave you from time to time as well as this very moment was all a ruse. 

Giving him a sullen face you slowly pulled his hand away from your chin, backing away from him and walking back to the headquarters.

“Hm? What seems to be the matter? Nothing Captain Kaeya can’t fix,” he ran to stand next to you, but you looked away from him, terrified of what he could do next to you. 

“It’s nothing, Kaeya,” you wave him off. “Nothing you can do about it, anyways...,” you mutter the last line to yourself that he had barely heard with his own ears. 

It was difficult for Kaeya to help you in such a depressed state that he had, and thought going about it by giving you space. After what had happened in the past, he preferred for you to have your moments before he’d butt in himself. 

He distracted the thoughts by letting the Knights of Favonius know about the incident and prepare for a raid at dawn. However, when leaving Jean and Lisa had noticed something drastically different about Kaeya’s behavior; a worried look on his face. 

Dismissing it as part of the Fatui’s attack, he had never really felt total fear towards them and knew how easily he could take a couple of their members head on. However, he found himself checking up on you and did not dare step in the bar he loved, knowing that because of his actions he would be the last thing that you would want to see. 

In the mean time you spent a lot of time at the tavern, letting the bard’s music and lively atmosphere drown out your overthinking thoughts, as you waited till the next morning until you had to face the mysterious Kaeya yet again. 

With a sword ready in hand and the other guards at the front of the headquarters, you watched the Fatui approach and soon became no match for the Knights of Favonius, countering the surprise raid with ease.

At first your swordsmanship kept you protected, but upon seeing Kaeya in a distance, you fumbled consistently. Forcing yourself to get back up in battle, he looked back at you, too. Worrying for your safety, a feeling that you would have last expected from him. 

As you took on more of the Fatui agents than you can handle, one had crept up behind you, and aimed a blade towards your throat. 

Fortunately, Kaeya was quick enough to act and knocked down the Fatui with a couple of blows, aiming a sword at their neck. 

“Y/N! Quit slacking off you could have died there,” his normal cunning attitude and mocking remarks seemed to have lessened tenfold.

“What, are you acting about caring about my wellbeing now?” you were fueld with anger as you let it out on the enemy attacking, knocking them out in a similar fashion with swords clashing the blades of the Fatui. 

“Well-” Kaeya parried the shots being thrown at him. “-If you consider me hiding what I’ve felt for so long acting, then I must be the most talented actor in-” he was cut off by quick attacks from the enemy. “-all of Teyvat!”

You were shocked at your statement, and in the heart of battle, yours filled with adrenaline from Kaeya’s words. “Wait-” you continued to battle those in front of you, swiftly putting them out of their misery with quick blows to free room to talk to Kaeya. “-Wait, why now?” you panted out with tire. 

He let out a cocky laugh as he took on more of the agents. “Doesn’t matter when. Doesn’t matter if you thought I was faking it before. What matters is-” he grunted out of pain when he was forcefully hit at his side. “-That I got the message across, right?”

After hours of relentless battle he finally doubled down and the Fatui had retreated, leaving you with minor injuries but Kaeya taking on more than needed. 

Sitting at his side on the battlefield, you grabbed medicine that was strapped to your waist. “Lift up your shirt,” you disregarded what he had said earlier in fear for his wellbeing. 

“Are you sure you don’t need that medicine yourself, Y/N? You’re face is awfully red,” he outstretched a shaky hand to cup your face with a wry smile, his eye shimmering as he stared at you.

Your heart thumped rapidly when combining his previous words of confession and his present actions now. You froze in time to Kaeya’s cold touch and let him be in your company this time around.

“Shut it, Captain Kaeya,” you took out the medicine and poured it over his toned chest, hands shaking from the flustered feeling you had throughout.

“Ouch, who knew that someone without a cryo vision could be so cold to a person with one?” he winced at the stinging medicine covering his wound, and in return you held his hand cupping your face.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered to him. “It’ll only hurt a for a little bit longer before it heals, if it actually hurts at all,” you stubbornly let out. 

He let out another weak laugh. “I wish I was faking it this pain this time around, Y/N, but everything I’ve said on this battlefield is the truth.”

You were silent at this point, working diligently to bandage his wound.

“Holding you had felt like I cradled the world in my arms, even if it was a temporary moment, dear,” his fingers tapped gently on your cheek. “Even if the idea of us being wed was fake, the feeling that significant others would have for each other felt real to me.”

You smiled at his notion, staring into his glimmering eye with the weak smile and face caked in scars and dirt. 

Holding him close to you, you could not help but smile back.

“And you promise that you aren’t faking it this time?” you asked.

He laughed again, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles gently. “I promise what I feel is real, Y/N, and I’d love to show you for whatever days in Teyvat we have left.” 

And in that moment, that fog of mystery unveiled Kaeya’s true nature and colors in front of you in a moment of vulnerability, one you wanted to cherish every moment and label as real. 

-------------------------------

[fanficsforheartandsoul]

In Her Arms | Ahsoka Tano x Fem!Reader | Star Wars

Notes: Lol I said only 1k per request but well... I got too invested xD I hope this is somewhat what you wanted :) Their relationship is rather platonic here, although it is implied both Ahsoka and the Reader are in love with each other, I hope that’s fine too.

Fandoms: Star Wars, The Clone Wars

Warnings: Slight Self-Consciousness, Angst, Mention of Death, Slight OOC, Fluff

Summary: Y/N has a hard time dealing with the war and the problems that come with it, but Ahsoka, with whom she had a fall-out, approaches her and helps. 

Word Count: 2′334

Taglist: @jessigurl-design

If you want to be tagged in my stories send me a pm with the fandom/character name! Or comment on the fic :)

Masterlist

Being a Jedi was hard. Being 17 was hard too. 

Especially in times of war, where one saw more death and blood than a person should ever see. 

But she knew nothing else. 

Her padawan training began with the war, although that wasn't something she had liked. And she struggled because of it. 

Y/N couldn't handle the cries of her injured friends, the blood-curling screams when someone got shot, the stern and lifeless look in the eyes of the clones when they knew they had lost that one fight. 

Y/N struggled. 

And the worst part of it all was that her friends, who also went through the same horrible things, seemingly did not as much as she did. Of course, she wouldn't want anyone to go through the recurring nightmares, insomnia, and the exhausting days she had to experience in the last few weeks. 

But the fact that she seemed to be the only one who had such troubles adapting to life in war made her feel somewhat broken. 

She needed to be fixed. 

But her insecurities did not let her seek out the help she needed. 

Master is busy with the clones and battle strategies. The council... She doubted that the council would bother with her little anxiety attack. And her friends, especially a certain Togruta... She couldn't tell them either. After all, they were not that close anymore. 

The times of giggles, pranks, and late-night ghost stories were over. 

They would also not understand, because they were able to function well on the battlefield, unlike her. 

How many times did she drop her lightsaber in the middle of a battle already?! 

A loud groan escaped her lips, and she closed the datapad and leaned back in her seat. She ran her hands over her face and sighed. 

Once again, could she not find a better method to meditate. The archives were as vast as the sea on Kamino, but in her desperate times, there seemed to be no book that could help her. 

Y/N removed her card from the computer and then stood up. White dots swirled over her vision for a moment, her head felt dizzy, and she froze. What was that? She clenched her jaw. 

No, I'm fine. She told herself. 

But it was a lie. And she wasn't the only one who knew it.

-

"Why do I always have to do the things you don't want to do?"

"Because you are my padawan."

Anakin's laughing face made her scowl, but she wasn't that bothered with him sending her to the Archives of the temple. Mainly because she was able to see a dear friend of hers that she hadn't seen in a long time. 

In the last few days of research, Ahsoka had caught glimpses of Y/N, with whom she had shared a room and sometimes even a bed when she was part of the Clawmouse Clan. 

The girl was only slightly older than her, and they had been best friends when they had learned everything a youngling needed to know. 

Them becoming padawans changed their relationship, though, and they saw each other less and less. 

Ahsoka didn't really know why because they never addressed it, but she was sure it had something to do with her being Anakin's, The Chosen One's padawan. And the war obviously. 

Y/N's Master was also a Jedi Guardian, like Anakin himself, and they both fought at the frontlines of the war. 

When Ahsoka first heard about it, she was concerned about her friend's safety. 

Y/N L/N was never a person who she saw fighting against droids. 

Y/N was heartwarming, a little shy and quirky, but kind and more selfless than anyone she had ever met. Her place was not between dying clones and short-circuiting droids. 

Ahsoka had always believed that her dear friend would choose the route of becoming a Jedi Consular, a Healer, to be exact. Her gentleness and sunny attitude had seemed perfect for that path. But the war probably thwarted her plans. 

She wasn't sure, but she could imagine that the pressure of her peers accepting the guidance of a Jedi Guardian made her do the same, not that she thought Y/N's Master had been a bad choice. He was just a little too stern, a little too demanding, in her opinion. 

But what right did she have to say something? 

They were not that close anymore, and that fact hurt Ahsoka more than all the pain she had gone through during her time as a soldier.

"Hey, hey, if you really don't want to go, I'll take care of it. No need to make such a face, Snips." 

She snapped out of her thoughts, and Anakin observed her with a slightly guilty expression. 

"No, it's fine. Gonna go now, bye." 

Before her Master could say anything else, she already left the room. 

-

She arrived a few minutes later in the Archives, greeted Jocasta Nu, and then let her eyes roam across the giant halls. 

A familiar force presence flickered in the back, and Ahsoka determinedly walked over there. But with every step she took, her confidence faltered a little. 

We haven't talked in a while, what am I even going to tell her? "Hey Y/N, I miss you greatly and would love to talk about our time as younglings and maybe sleep in the same bed again and caress your hair", yeah of course. 

She abruptly stopped when another thought crossed her mind, and a blush swept across her face. 

Stop it! 

She shook her head to concentrate when she suddenly felt a wave of dread coming from the corner where her friend stayed. 

It hit Ahsoka like a brick, and her embarrassing thoughts stopped immediately. 

What...? 

Worry bubbled in her chest, the Togruta slowly walked closer to Y/N's location, and when she glanced around a shelf, she saw the girl hunched over a datapad. 

Ahsoka was momentarily distracted by the unkempt hair when Y/N groaned. 

It wasn't a "shit-I-don't-want-to-do-this"-groan, it was more like "I'm-exhausted-to-death"-one. 

She contemplated whether to step out of her hiding place and address the girl when she sighed again and then stood up. 

Ahsoka only watched as Y/N suddenly tensed and froze. Her breath shook, and the Togruta could see her shake hands before they clenched to fists and her friend hurried out of the library. 

Ahsoka stood unmoving behind the shelf, her eyes blinking slowly, her breath taken from the alarming anxiety in Y/N's force presence. 

She needed to research for their next planetary mission in the Outer Rim but when she caught a glimpse of the storm brooding in her beloved friend's mind, she could not disregard it. 

She followed the girl, her feet driven by her worries.

-

"Y/N?"

A soft knock on her door made the girl jump. What..? 

"Ahsoka?" 

Her voice clearly showed her surprise. 

The Togruta's response sounded a little awkward, but she ignored it, too busy calming her pounding heart. 

"Y-Yeah... Do you - uhh, have a moment to talk?" 

Talk? Talk about what? Does she... Has she realized..?! 

Panic emerged and clawed at her mind, it momentarily distracted her, and before she could even answer, her hand had already pressed the button to open the door to her room. 

She came face to face with Ahsoka, her former best friend now slightly taller than her in height. 

Y/N rubbed her eyes tiredly. Maybe, the Togruta before her was just her imagination? 

But the force presence of her friend was wrapping itself around her. 

Ahsoka looked formidable with her new robes. They complimented her skin tone and the blue of her montrals. 

Y/N forced herself to look Ahsoka in the eyes and smile, although it felt fake and probably also looked unnatural. 

"Hi", she greeted her weakly. 

"Can I come in?" 

They acted very awkwardly as if they hadn't bathed together before and talked about the cutest younglings in their classes. But how could they not? Their friendship had changed. 

Instead of answering, Y/N backed out off the door frame, and Ahsoka entered her room. 

She closed the door and then watched anxiously as the Togruta's eyes scanned everything as if to take a holographic photo. 

She realized that she once again hadn't made the bed, because she had been too tired to do it, and it had seemed like a bother. Then there were the various books about meditating. They stacked next to her cot and towered over her nightstand. 

Her spare clothes laid scattered across the floor, and the robe from last week still hadn't been washed. The brown bloodstains looked unsightly on the beige robe. 

She sighed inwardly. That's not how she wanted to present herself especially not to Ahso - a hand suddenly grabbed hers. When Y/N looked up, her eyes meet blue. 

"Were you hurt? Did you get injured?!" 

She blinked. 

"Wha-What?" 

Ahsoka's face was suddenly way too close to hers, and she breathed in shakily. The Togruta's eyes were unwavering.

"There's blood on your robes." 

Oh. She saw them. 

Her mouth was too dry for her to speak, so she only shook her head. 

No, she wasn't injured, that blood belonged to a clone. She was fine.

"But you are hurting." 

These words resounded way louder in her head than they were actually said. 

Ahsoka's tone was soft. It was neither a question nor an accusation. Only a statement. 

It was true. 

The fact that her friend, whom she had not seen in a long time, could guess her emotional state with just a glance shook her to her core. 

Silence reigned over them, her friend waited for her to speak, but she couldn't. 

Y/N breathed out slowly, and she freed herself from the Togrutas grip, her hands now holding herself as if she would break if she didn't. 

She gasped for air before she squeezed out from her lips: 

"I'm- I'm just so tired." 

Her eyes avoided Ahsoka's, and she faltered. 

Her knees suddenly felt too weak, she stumbled, but before she could fall, two warm hands grabbed her and brought her into Ahsoka's arms. 

Her whole weight was supported by the other girl, and they sank to the floor. 

Y/N was tense at first. When was the last time she had such close contact with anyone, especially Ahsoka? It must have been years. 

That thought, the warmth from the embrace of the Togruta, and her desperation caused her eyes to water. In a matter of seconds, tears rushed across her cheeks, and she soaked Ahsoka's shirt. 

A sob escaped her lips, and the other padawan pressed her closer to herself. 

"I got you, Y/N. You hear me? You're not alone." 

-

That her heart wasn't pounding loudly would be a lie. 

Such close physical contact with the person she liked caused butterflies to explode in her chest, but the Togruta ignored them, her concern for her friend too deep to abuse that moment of intimacy. 

She had a general idea of what Y/N meant with being tired. 

She knew how exhausting the war was, and also wanted it to finally come to an end. 

But for her it was different. She had Anakin and Obi-Wan as pillars. They were her emotional support, and she could always talk with them about her worries. 

It hurt Ahsoka to admit it, but it seemed like Y/N did not see her as that kind of support for her. 

She knew the girl was always kind to others, sometimes too kind, and too selfless. Maybe she believed that she would inconvenience others if she told them about her worries. 

Her grip tightened around the waist of her friend, and she bit her lips. 

Please no. 

Was she really that kind of a bad friend? How could she not notice? 

Guilt panged in her chest, and she ran her fingers through Y/N's hair. Her shirt got wetter and wetter, and with every teardrop, her determination grew. 

"Y/N?", she asked carefully. 

The girl in her arms shifted, and Y/N looked up at her, her eyes and cheeks red, clearly embarrassed. 

"I'm sorry", she croaked, Ahsoka wanted to hold her against her chest again, but she stopped herself and whispered: 

"You can tell me everything you know? I'm always here for you. You can take your time, but please don't shut me out. I want to know how you feel. I want you to be happy, okay?" 

Her voice slightly trembled when she said the last part and her eyes began to sting. 

The girl's eyes turned round and then, Ahsoka could watch it like slow-motion, the corner of her lips lifted, and she presented one of her signature smiles. Slightly weaker, slightly less happy, but still giving hope as always. 

"Okay. I'll... I'll tell you... But not right now. I'm... I feel like I’m able to sleep now. I had trouble doing it for a few weeks now, and I- I just get these nightmares and..." 

A worried expression swept across Y/N's face again and Ahsoka grabbed her cheeks. She stared at her with wide eyes. “You said tomorrow, right? It’ll be fine if we talk about it tomorrow. No need to stress now.” She smiled to reassure her. Ahsoka breathed out slowly and then muttered:

"If you want some emotional support...", her face burned when she said that, "should I stay with you?"

The padawan bit her lips and then nodded shyly. 

Ahsoka blessed the force, and they stood up together and moved to Y/N's bed. 

Her friend slipped under the covers, ignoring the fact that she still wore her outer robes and lifted the covers welcomingly for her. Ahsoka took her boots off and joined her. 

Two arms slung around her, and her heart sped up again when Y/N snuggled closer to her. 

She laid still for a while, tense, with a fast heartbeat, but with a small grin on her lips. 

"Y/N?" 

Maybe she could tell her friend one day. How much she liked her. So much that it would break her if the other was unhappy and suffering. Y/N’s happiness meant the world for her.

Instead of a response, she heard a soft snore coming from her chest, and Ahsoka smiled. 

If she could ease her friend's worries, she would gladly be a body pillow for the rest of her life. 

She pressed a light kiss on Y/N's hair. 

"May tomorrow be a better day for you, because I’ll help you." 

[avi-stella]

i don’t really have a title for this orz

A/N: Hello!! I’m really sorry if this is OOC but I wrote everything in one go after catching up with recent developments in feh, and I was really inspired!! I hope this turned out ok!!

[[more under cut for length + my response]]

———————

She cannot count on one hand the times she has pondered death and its implications, but now that it was bared before her, she only wished she had more time to come to terms with it herself.

In this world, it was Alice who knelt opposite the Askran siblings, a scythe curved almost tenderly around her throat. Her hood had fallen in the chaos, her expression pained and breaths ragged. Breidablik skittered to a halt by Alfonse’s knees, having been flung as far as possible before her capture, but it was the last thing on the prince’s mind as his focus was directed towards the bearer of the scythe. Behind him, Sharena herself looked ready to lunge forward, had it not been for Commander Anna’s firm arm around her shoulder. It had taken them a few moments to realize the ambush, after Alice had roughly shoved Alfonse out of harm’s way.

“Weak,” Hel murmured softly. “As humans are wont to be.” She leaned forward and mindfully tucked a strand of matted locks behind Alice’s ear, to which the Summoner instinctively flinched. The touch of Death was a sharp contrast in temperature, a cold that was more biting than even Nifl’s highest icecaps. Rather, it seemed to absorb any and all heat, the numbing sensation creeping slowly throughout her body. Against her will, she began to shiver.

“What is it you want?” Alfonse asked lowly. It took all his willpower to not raise his voice. To scream, to beg, or to curse, he did not know. “Is it Breidablik’s power you seek?”

Hel laughed gently, much like a mother would to humor her children. “That flimsy little relic? I have no need for such a trinket, Prince. Not when my influence stretches across the expanse of existence. Why, your Order has even been kind enough to deliver Heroes right to my doorstep.”

At those words, Alice’s breath hitched. Her composure surrendered, trembling fingers lay clasped against her chest, as if to brace against the pervading chill. A gnawing sensation grew in her stomach as her previous shortcomings rose to her mind, unbidden. Countless bodies splayed against the battlefield, allies and enemies alike. Countless revivals and countless apologies that spilled from her lips like the tears away from prying eyes. Nights where she could never rest until combat strategies were perfected, days when she drifted through the halls like a specter for fear of being berated for one reason or another. The guilt of denying company, of stunting camaraderie when she wished to be alone, but when it was Alfonse, she could never send him away because she was weak and foolish—

The cacophony in her mind grew louder, bringing her head to her hands, and she allowed herself to weep silently. At the very least, she thought in consolation, Askr would not be deprived of their future king.

Alfonse could do nothing but look on with a desperate air as Alice’s frame quivered from her efforts to contain her emotions. She appeared so tiny and fragile in her state, hair and robes fluttering askew, and he longed to bring her into his arms, to console her. He managed to drag himself a bit forward before he was stopped by the scythe descending closer to the Summoner’s neck, a warning he would do well to heed. Sharena inhaled sharply in response, the sound muffled by her hands over her mouth, and Commander Anna’s jaw was visibly hardened.

“Your Summoner is mine now, Order of Heroes,” Hel stated calmly, “but worry not, for I am Death Sovereign, and death does not discriminate. She will be judged fairly, perhaps even in her favor for her self-sacrifice.”

Somewhere, beyond the ringing in his ears, Alfonse could barely register Sharena’s screams and the Commander’s orders to fall back. All he could perceive in his narrowed vision was Hel’s formidable stature over Alice’s unsuspecting form. With a softened voice, verging on the cusp of melancholy, the last words of Death Sovereign echoed as her blade was brought down.

“Be grateful for her martyrdom, Prince Alfonse. See to it that her intentions were not in vain.”

Aaaahhhhh, oh my god, this is so good? You captured Alice's character wonderfully, especially with the whole insecurities she has about her failures in battles. It's so very on point! Oof, I love this so much. ;;;;;

Thank you! <3

[freedomarrow]

WHAT MAKES A PERSONALITY

A template for analyzing features of a personality beyond listing adjectives.

SELF-CONCEPT

View of Self: Used to be extremely poor - being treated as a worm and less than human by those in power rubs off on you after a while. Nowadays, still has very low self-esteem, continuing to see himself as no one special or significant, just a Daein archer who alone cannot do all that much. However, he will do his very best and he is not alone.

View of Others: Depending on who it is, may range all the way from family, through allies and acquaintances, all the way down to someone who seeks to abuse and destroy him and those he holds dear for their own personal gain or for simple amusement. Leonardo is very stiff in the beginning when meeting someone, struggling to open up to new people, due to viewing them with a degree of suspicion that he is not even fully aware of.

View of World: Once again, used to be extremely bad - a cruel place where the weak are defeated and trampled upon by the strong and he is too powerless to do anything about it and help anyone. Nowadays is a bit better - the world is, also, a place full of wonders and there do exist good people if one is lucky enough to run into them - but he would still have more bad than good things to say about it.

Motivations & Goals: To serve Daein, save it and help it become better than it used to be. To ensure his friends - his family - remain safe.

What they Value Most: His homeland, and the Dawn Brigade - those he calls family.

EMOTIONAL REACTIONS

Reaction to Stress: Being someone who was regularly in danger and had to act quickly, a stressed Leonardo enters a state of extreme focus, swiftly analyzing the situation from all angles to come up with the best possible solutions. The same applies to a battle situation - he is always ready to either fight or flee, depending on what is considered safer and more beneficial. The exhaustion related to stress and anxiety does not catch up with him until after the fact.

Reaction to Fear: Very similar to stress. A bit less analysis and a bit more fight or flight response. Doesn’t usually show much outwardly due to his emotions being rather suppressed, but may need to let it out afterwards - either by having a cry on his own (which he will inwardly berate himself for as a show of weakness), or a hug session with Edward, where they both hold each other and enjoy the sensation that they are alive.

Reaction to Success: Relief more than anything else. In terms of combat situations, he has no love for it, so he is just glad to see it over and done with and all his friends alive at the end. In other situations, he does not celebrate much, being immediately ready to move on to the next task. If other Dawn Brigade members are present, they may convince him to let up a little, and then he will pause, apologize for his stiffness, and enjoy the success with others.

Reaction to Failure: In the days of Dawn Brigade, failure would usually mean death, which - though he fears - he was always prepared for. He meets failure generally with resignation and acceptance of his future fate, seeing it as the natural result of his shortcomings. He does not really worry about himself, only about those he cherishes.

DEVELOPMENT

Ideal Self: Someone who can contribute to the betterment and prosperity of Daein. Someone who can look after himself and his friends. Someone who maybe, just maybe, actually means something. Someone who would receive Lughnasadh for his ability, not because he was friends with Micaiah (which he continues to see as the reason why he was given the bow, regardless of what anyone else tries to tell him).

Areas of Growth: Confidence in himself and his skill. Becoming a bit more of a leader and a bit less of a follower. Moving past his past.

Barriers to Growth: Reliance on the Dawn Brigade, especially Micaiah and Edward, to make decisions for him. Lack of not only self-confidence, but also a sense of his and his life’s worth. The voice in his head that keeps telling him he should have died together with everyone else the day his school was destroyed, and that he is a traitor by simply being alive.

[freedomarrow]

ooc; Leonardo thread tracking

As far as I know at least, Leonardo is now 100% caught up on his replies, so here is his currently active thread list as of February 16, 2023. If I missed a reply or a starter that I owe you, by all means do let me know! Also please do not hesitate to inform me if you’d like to drop a thread. Love you, stay awesome <3

Interception (with Leif @diadic; MS Succession; Authority +1)

Superhero (with Elincia @amitieos; MS Succession; Riding +1)

Horsing Around (with Edain @ulirblood; MS Anniversary 2022; Riding +1; probably pending closer)

Hey Listen (with Leanne @allegreta; MS Anniversary 2022; Reason +1)

Damn This Baby Got Hands (with Eir @asphuxia; MS Anniversary 2022; Flying +1)

Never Use a Messy Recipe (with Micaiah @frauleindermorgen; MS Anniversary 2022; Authority +1)

Long-Lost Meeting (with Pelleas @pirrhyc; MS Anniversary 2022; Heavy Armor +1)

Leonardo I’m About to Do Something Wicked (Cry) (with Dimitri @blaydiud; MS Anniversary 2022; Bow +1)

Reunion Long Awaited (with Edward @justices-blade; MS Wonderland)

Now You Too Can Be the 3-13 Archer (with Edward; MS Racketeering; Bow +1)

Help I Don’t Even Know What a “Katti” Is (with Hubert @crimsonvassalage; MS Racketeering; Authority +1)

My Good Friend Micaiah (Derogatory) (with Kurthnaga @goldoandragonprince; MS Racketeering)

[freedomarrow]

ooc; separator post, tag dump & intro

(Commission by Aster/ZefirArt)

Heeeey! After almost two years, the boy is back in town. Along with Merric and Roy, Leonardo is now part of my muse roster that I intend to keep unchanged for a longer period of time.

If you aren’t familiar with the guy, I would highly recommend reading his profile page. Leonardo’s backstory was never actually put into Radiant Dawn itself, but rather it exists only in the dev notes and Tellius Recollection, and as a result it’s 100% possible to have played the game and not know his story.

I will be writing Leonardo as having returned to the Academy after traveling back to Daein for a while, though this probably won’t come into play too often. At any rate, he knows his way around the place. The only muses still present in TOA that he may know are Hector, Cynthia and Alfonse (and my own Merric), and my current idea is to write him as already familiar with these people when relevant; their muns are of course welcome to let me know if they’d rather start from square one between Leonardo and their muses.

Leonardo very vaguely recalls the events of Lock & Key as some sort of distant nightmare that he tries not to think too much about.

Looking forward to writing him again, and I hope you enjoy his presence in TOA!

[freedomarrow]

Headcanons: Leonardo & the whole racism thing

I’ve had some thoughts about this for a while and decided to finally put them together. After all, Leonardo comes from Daein - probably the most bigoted country of Tellius. (Probably because, well, one has to agree that Begnion comes damn close, though their racism against the laguz is expressed in a somewhat different manner. But that’s not relevant for now.) However, during his adventures, he is forced into close contact with the laguz all the time - as allies and enemies alike. And since, well, he’s a Radiant Dawn exclusive character who doesn’t get much in terms of dialogue and development, the question of whether or not Leonardo is prejudiced against the laguz, and how he feels about the issue in general, is mostly mine to answer.

So, let’s go! Some Radiant Dawn spoilers under the cut.

     1. Daein

So, as I mentioned, Daein is a country whose hatred for the laguz is well known. While King Ashnard’s ambitions and reasons behind his attack on Crimea were different in reality, many in the Daein army seem to believe that the invasion was “sanctions for that nation choosing to ally itself with those evil and treacherous sub-humans”, to directly cite general Kasatai in Path of Radiance - and they have no problem with that, treating it as a perfectly valid reason. Even so much as to utter the word “laguz” is a crime in Daein.

Shiharam: To gain the trust of the king, we've become cruel and heartless. First hunting and executing the laguz...And now flooding the lands these people call home? Haar: General Shiharam... If someone hears you use the word laguz in this country, you'll be branded a traitor. Shiharam: Hmm...you're right as always. To live in this land, where laguz prejudice is so virulent, we've had to seal away everything we know and teach our children to hate all sub-humans. All that just to survive here.

Looking at Radiant Dawn, just about nothing has changed in the two years since the end of the Mad King’s War. Which makes sense - nothing really had a reason to change, considering the events of Path of Radiance. Ike is no hero to Daein, after all; sure, Ashnard wasn’t perhaps particularly beloved, but he was their ruler, a rightful one in the eyes of those who did not know how and why he came to power. So to lose him to Crimea and Ike - the allies of the “stinky sub-humans” - could not have possibly helped their attitude towards the shapeshifters.

The bigotry is still very much present in Daein during the events of RD and remains part of the propaganda and their army’s driving force, as illustrated by gems such as this quote by the boss of 3-11:

Goran: I cannot believe this! It's an army of sub-humans and beorc. It must be true that this apostle is a fake. The true apostle would never join forces with those filthy creatures!

… Which, if you know anything about Sanaki and the truth behind her actions and her situation, is so tragically misinformed that it’s almost hilarious.

And then, finally, we have this little bit from 3-6.

Micaiah: Well, with a few exceptions, the soldiers are excited about hunting down the laguz... They've been promised a large bounty for each one they kill. It's certainly raised morale.

Naturally, the Daein army as a whole does not know the truth of the blood contract that has forced their country into this war, but it doesn’t matter. They get it sold under the mask of a sub-human hunt and that’s all they need to allow themselves to be manipulated. The Begnion Senate doesn’t even have to try very hard.

In short, Daein is as prejudiced as it once was. The question now is, where does that leave Leonardo and his friends?

     2. Leonardo

First off, let’s look at the base conversations where the circumstances in question are mentioned by the guy, because there isn’t much. First, a conversation before chapter 3-6 (which is essentially a laguz hunt), where Leonardo receives his personal weapon.

Micaiah: Leonardo, King Pelleas asked me to present you with this bow. This is Lughnasadh. It’s been stored away in the vaults of Daein, waiting for someone worthy enough. It’s more powerful than the purest silver bow. Leonardo: It’s beautiful… Honestly, this bow is beyond my skill. It was crafted for better hands than mine. I guess… I guess we really have to win now, don’t we? Micaiah: Yes, I suppose we do. Leonardo: Don’t look so sad, Micaiah. You’re not responsible for this war. We’re doing the best we can hope to do. But I’m fighting for Daein. The circumstances may change, but my feelings never will.

And then, a fragment of his chat with Edward before 3-13.

Leonardo: Say, Edward. We’ve been fighting really hard for quite a while now, haven’t we? Edward: Yeah, I guess so. The war of emancipation, the war against the Laguz Alliance, and now against the apostle’s army. One after another, just like that. Leonardo: The world can’t always be like this. These wars seem so pointless. All I want is to be able to live in Daein, peacefully and in freedom.

Outside of a hypothetical situation where he is supported with a laguz royal, these are really the only conversations where Leonardo talks about the laguz in any manner at all. The military conflict against the shapeshifters is mentioned by him in a completely neutral manner - he is discussing the current situation and nothing else.

These quotes tell us two things:

Unlike most Daein soldiers, who refer to the laguz as “sub-humans” or “the beasts”, Leonardo - like most playable characters - does use the term “laguz”. It was mentioned earlier that doing so was seen as treachery in Path of Radiance; here its usage might be acceptable either because he’s just using the name of their army (which is something Micaiah also does and no one in the Daein army will question the Maiden of Dawn), he’s in a private conversation with his best friend, and/or perhaps using the word “laguz” was particularly punishable during the days of King Ashnard.

Unlike the Daein troops who treat the war as a sub-human hunt, Leonardo perceives the situation as a real war and he wants no part of this. However, there’s no information about whether or not he and Edward know about the blood contract. He might not, and even if he does, it doesn’t change anything; he is in it for his friends and his country.

Leonardo never once slips up with the term “sub-human” and the prospect of hunting them is not attractive to him. This would point towards him not being prejudiced against the laguz. Which is interesting to say the least, considering he is also a former military school student, and we learned… quite a lot about what that’s like from Jill in Path of Radiance.

Jill: ...You have to understand...I...I didn't know anything. I was born and raised in the Talrega region of Daein. It's a very remote area. My father was a soldier, and I grew up thinking that I, too, would one day be a soldier. A soldier to make my father proud. My life was simple... I questioned nothing. Doubted nothing. Ike: ... Jill: Do you know the first thing we're taught in Daein schools? Sub-humans are evil. Sub-humans are the enemy. Sub-humans must be eradicated. The army stages periodic sub-human hunts. We'd find refugees from Begnion hiding in our mountains and forests... Ike: You participated? Jill: You don't get it! That's just how things are in Daein! No one taught me the word laguz! No one taught me that sub-humans could be... could be like this. No one cared.

Leonardo’s father and brother are in King Ashnard’s army, and both of them eventually perish in his name. At the time this conversation takes place, Leonardo would most likely have still been in school, learning these very things that Jill speaks of. And with him being in a military school in particular… it’s not impossible that it actually organized the hunts she mentions. If that is the case, then his age is likely the only thing that prevented him from having to participate in one of those before his school was destroyed by Begnion. Jill is around 17 in PoR; Leonardo would be 13-14 during the events of that game. If he never saw one of those, he probably wasn’t far off.

As I already said, outside of these quotes, Leonardo only ever mentions a laguz in any fashion if he is set to have a support with one. RD supports are largely generic, so they’re not the best source to go off of when it comes to analyzing someone’s feelings towards another character or some matter of importance. However, it may be worth mentioning that, like several characters, Leonardo does have some slightly unique lines if he is supporting a laguz royal. These have him check on them (“Hello, Hawk King. I heard you cry out earlier and came over to check on you”), offer assistance in a more timid manner than he does with most other characters, as shown by him hesitating a bit (“Hawk King… Um, could I possibly team up with you? I think you may find my bow useful”), and finally express his wish for their safety and a desire to learn from them (“Hawk King, please, never leave me… I still have so much to learn from you, like how to be strong…”). So naturally, he isn’t prejudiced at that point and especially not against a ruler.

Already starting in part 1, he can support Volug if forced to spend enough time near him, meaning he’ll know Volug isn’t a simple dog even before the latter is allowed to untransform and also treat him in a completely neutral manner. Neither he nor anyone else in the Dawn Brigade show negativity towards Nailah, Rafiel, Vika or Muarim, either.

     3. Personal conclusions & headcanons

So, where does that leave Leonardo as far as I’m concerned? Here’s my current ideas.

Leonardo is not prejudiced against the laguz from the start, in spite of his Daein military school background. Perhaps this has to do with him being a noble and thus being a bit more informed and educated, but he is more aware of the truth behind the shapeshifters. I do not believe that his father and brother went to war out of hatred towards the laguz, either. It’s more that they were simply obligated to do so - we know from PoR that the Daein army was a harsh place to be at that time. I don’t think they would have left a 12-year-old Leonardo alone and gone to risk their lives if they didn’t have to. They simply would have been branded traitors had they refused.

Leonardo sure was taught well about how to kill the bird laguz in particular, though. His education did largely involve combat against the “sub-humans”. And considering the events of Radiant Dawn, the fact that TOA Janaff doesn’t seem to hate him came to Leonardo as a bit of a shock.

He never participated in a “sub-human hunt” due to being too young. Had the school survived long enough, he would have had no choice - I do not believe that taking part in those was optional. He is not in the slightest interested in the idea personally, however.

Leonardo finds Daein’s hatred towards the laguz senseless.

Over time, he builds up a lot of respect and understanding for the laguz, and becomes inspired by them.

I think that’s it for the time being! Hope I made sense lol, it is past midnight as I’m finishing this post. More to come in the future :3

[freedomarrow]

magnolia :   describe your muse’s relationship with nature   &   the natural world .

To Leonardo, nature is a safe haven and a second home.

Whenever they were pursued by the Begnion Occupational Army and had to lay low, the forests and fields would be where they went. Leonardo is used to having no roof above his head aside from the tree crowns and sleeping on nothing other than gathered leaves. And over time, he has to admit that he found himself enjoying it; for the woods offered the most freedom the Dawn Brigade could ever have. The soldiers would not pursue them into the forest - and even if they did, they easily got lost and retreated or got picked off from hiding, thus also making nature an ally.

There, he and his family didn't have to keep their voices down or worry about every step they took, and Leonardo eventually grew fond of sparring sessions by the river and chatting long into the night.

This naturally resulted in him developing good survival skills, too; he knows how to make fire, find drinkable water, tell beneficial herbs from poisonous plants or hunt animals that make for a good meal.

The calm evenings in the forest, with Nolan chopping wood, Micaiah and Sothe tending to the fire and preparing food, and him and Edward training, talking and fixing their weapons, are the most genuine, fond memories from a dark and desperate time in his life, and they were some of the rare occasions when a serene smile would appear on his face.

[freedomarrow]

angelica :   where does your muse draw inspiration in life ?what motivates them ?

The simplest answer would be his country and family - by which, of course, we understand the Dawn Brigade, as his blood family is, well... all dead at this point.

Leonardo does not have much else going for him, really. He has little to no sense of self-worth (being treated like an animal or a throwaway pawn as often and for as long as he was kinda stays with you), and almost nothing of what he does is for his own sake. Even if he thought and said that he was doing this or that for himself, those he holds dear would still be present somewhere in the back of his thoughts, because these values are synonymous to him at this point.

Still, in spite of how ingrained this thought process is for him, it is wholeheartedly genuine on his part, and not something he believes in only because he knows nothing else. He loves Daein. It has its bad moments and it's a mess, but he loves it nevertheless, it's his home. And the Dawn Brigade are people he cherishes more than anything else in the world, and he would not exchange them for anything.

[freedomarrow]

6?

@thefetchingfletcher

Munday Styles and Preferences

6. Is there a correlation between the muses you like to pick up? Something in particular that draws you to a character and makes you want to write them?

I have two main groups of favorite characters: Soft Magic Boy and Soft Usually Blond Archer (feat. Wolt and Ashe), and my muses - Merric and Leonardo - represent both of those groups. There is something I particularly like about male characters who are not necessarily physically strong; they have a different definition of strength and draw said strength from different sources. They’re also compassionate, kind, and in many situations reserved and quiet. I think, or at least I’ve been told, that those traits match me as well, so I suppose I could say that I like writing characters I have personality in common with.

[freedomarrow]

Are you confident in sending memes, liking for starters, etc.? Is there anything you’d like your followers to know about your anxiety?

@forlornwyvernrider

Munday Styles and Preferences

17. Are you confident in sending memes, liking for starters, etc.? Is there anything you’d like your followers to know about your anxiety?

The main anxiety I have is that I live in eternal fear of being perceived as annoying or an attention hog; I’ll offer my muses when someone looks for some activity for theirs but I have this constant thought of “even though Merric or Leonardo probably aren’t the characters they’d wanna interact with”; this paranoia that my muse is a last resort sorta option, for when there’s no one better or more interesting to talk to.

It’s mostly related to anxiety and paranoid thoughts I’ve had for years sdfjghslg I always have a lingering fear that everyone just pretends to be my friend and actually hates me behind my back. It’s gotten better over the years, but I still struggle with it sometimes. For example, if I wait for someone’s reply for a couple weeks. I’m 100% aware that people have lives and other things to do; but at some point I will usually have at least a brief moment where I will worry that they’re taking a longer time because they actually don’t want to RP with me.

[freedomarrow]

SEASONAL AESTHETICS.

bold what applies to your muse / repost, don’t reblog!

𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑. a chill right down to the bones. tobogganing. teeth chattering. sleeping all day. sitting by the fireplace. spending time with family. layered clothing. seeing another’s breath. loving the cold. a state of inactivity. cold hands. blistering winds shaking the closed windows. a bookcase full of brand new books and all of the time in the world to read them. cable knit socks. a bitter remark. a log cabin in the middle of nowhere. hating the cold. full-length windows to peer out of. pale skin. deep conversations. watching the snow fall. sharp edges. hot cocoa. smelling every candle in the store. a wild snow storm. melancholy. lighting candles around the bathtub. snow globes. expressing yourself but never finding quite the right words. the softest blankets. liking, but not loving something or someone.

𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. the smell after it rains. being in control of yourself. a soft breeze blowing through your hair. lightning when it strikes. cherry blossoms. bright mornings. the first sign of hope. the relief of finding something you lost. paris in the spring. birds chirping. the art of growing. a kiss on the cheek. the clap of thunder. a tornado in the valley. smiling at a stranger. planning. saccharine pinks. making promises. trying something new. hugs when you need them the most. a bee sting. sitting on the steps of the met. coming inside drenched from the thunderstorm. picnics on a red checkered blanket in the new sun. that feeling you get when you put on a good dress. a long hike. rushing when you can take your time. going to the gym at ungodly hours. excitement for what’s coming. becoming yourself. rain boots.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑. lanterns lit around a campfire. seeing the sunrise like it’s the first time again and again. melting ice cream. the warmth of the sun rays on your skin. fireworks. the feeling of never wanting something to end. beach days. the lone blow up floaty left in the pool. drifting with the warm nights breeze and nothing else. music blasting at 3am. palm trees on sunset boulevard. longer days and shorter nights. wanderlust. night spent staring at the stars. sand castles. road trips. blood orange sunsets. leaving the laundry to hang outside. flowers in bloom. sneaking out of your room late at night. pure contentment. barefoot in the sand. the street lights coming on. the sound of the ocean in the seashells. freshly squeezed lemonade. loose clothing. a cannonball into the pool. sunflowers. the hazy pink before dawn. relaxation.

𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋. the leaves changing colors. a heavy backpack. the smell of old books. eating until you’re stuffed. deep, dark woods. the silence in loudness. abandoned houses. ripped jeans. crunching leaves beneath feet. feeling like you’ve been somewhere before. sitting at a bay window. having endless amount of homework. charcoal drawings. screaming into a pillow as loud as you can. pumpkin patches. creaky floorboards. accepting that some things have to change. museums. small talk. being ignored. procrastinating. a door slamming shut. going to bed early. baking pies. the fear of walking alone in the dark. feeling completely and terribly lost. a twig snapping. crisp, cool days. belly laughter after crying. converse. foggy mornings at the shoreline. writing a daily entry in a journal. a lonely day.

tagging: any and all!