king with two crowns

INDIE MULTI-MUSE BLOG with a focus on Claude von Riegan of Fire Emblem: Three Houses Mun is 25+ / Minors DNI / Unaffiliated to any group

[failnaughtt]

𝗳𝗮𝗶𝗹𝗻𝗮𝘂𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘁 ... a fire emblem three houses roleplay blog with a focus on claude von riegan. est 9 may 2026. written by joan. she/her. 25+. themes featuring dead dove: do not eat on warfare, genocide, and medieval brutality.

[foldeux]

Ignorance is nowhere seen as a virtue. In fact, it more so lives as sin of omission, where context doesn’t seem to live in existential thoughts and, maybe, in a certain noble’s head. Dorothea almost laughs.

“Must I spell it out?” Despite being in the sheer prime of their lives, most students didn’t like to take notice of the inevitable: at their age, it is no more than a midsummer sunset desire to explore – her hand raises from its position on his shoulder and rests before her mouth, obscuring the chuckle that dances from her throat to her lips. “Let’s put it this way,” she starts, “There are certain things that should be kept between two clandestine lovers.”

And is that an enigmatic method to express her idea? Perhaps, but she is not about to lower her head in shame for mentioning the unmentionable, and at a ball, surrounded by students, staff, and clergy alike! 

Dorothea feels her smile twitch downward when he withdraws from their dance; it may have been a secondary distraction, however elegant, but to a girl that enraptures her existence in the symphonic melodies of an orchestral crescendo, it comes as momentary disillusionment.

“Well, I certainly can be a nice girl.” She muses, narrow shoulders raising in faux nonchalance. The soles of her boots planted a reasonable distance apart, Dorothea raises her hand in a pledge, five fingers held together and a serious, albeit weak, countenance. “I solemnly swear I will not throw myself at every noble I come across. How does that sound? A little more lady-like?”

It doesn’t come across as genuine. Rather, her words are laced with a certain venom, sarcasm at its deadliest in the hands of a teenage girl. Still, she exhales and shakes her head.

“I’m very sorry to hear that he tried to do that, but I wasn’t so invested that I knew his personality – I didn’t even know his name until you said it.” Again, in a gesture of an amicable interest, she teeters forwards onto her toes and steps beside him, hand over his shoulder and elbow at the small of his back. “Like I said, I believe you misunderstood my intentions: I only wanted him for one night.”

[failnaughtt]

He stares at her like she’d just tried to be funny with a joke that fell short. In Almyra, propriety was different. If you wanted to sleep with someone, most people would just walk up to their man, or woman, of choice and say it, never afraid of having to be judged. Virginity wasn't seen as something worthy of keeping. The first is the same as the second as the third. And although Claude is (unapologetically) still a virgin at his age, it had been a choice. His mannerisms never truly made him feel like he'd fit in in Almyra, but nevertheless, it was the culture he'd grown up in.

So he looks at her funny, unfazed. "That is a lot of words to confess that you simply want to get laid." It is very odd, in the first place, to meet a woman in Fodlan who isn't afraid of speaking her mind. He'd thought Fodlan's daughters were more like Marianne - sheltered and beloved - and needed knights in shining armour to jump to their defence. The tension leaves his shoulders once he realizes how much Dorothea had been in control. He laughs, something genuine. Now he just feels silly. He'd embarrassed himself in front of one of the monastery's most sought-after women.

But then he thinks back, about how he wouldn't be here dancing with her and having this conversation if he hadn't taken that first step, and realizes: it's not so bad.

"Well, sorry I ruined your night." He rubs the back of his neck. "How about I make it up to you? Let me take you somewhere. You won't regret it."

He watches as she raises an eyebrow, and that's all the confirmation he needs. He offers his arm with a theatrical flourish - remembering the lessons his grandfather had taught him - more Fodlan than Almyra, but he's learned to blend in, and leads her past the glowing windows of the monastery, past the stables, past the last torch on the outskirts of camp, until the only light comes from the moon straining through the canopy. The forest floor is damp with moss, and the air smells of earth and pine.

Then the trees part, just a little, and there she is.

Farangis - white as fresh snow, scales catching silver in the dark, wings folded like a cathedral's arches. The wyvern turns her great head, one amber eye blinking slowly at the newcomer, and lets out a low, rumbling croon that vibrates through the ground.

Claude grins, wide and unguarded. "Dorothea, meet Farangis. She lives here now." He gestures vaguely at the clearing, at the cliffside beyond where a shallow cave gapes open. "I mean it. She picked this spot last spring, and I'm not about to argue with a creature that could bite my head off faster than I can talk my way out of it. So she stays. I visit when I can." He steps forward, running a hand along her snout, and Farangis leans into the touch like an overgrown cat. "She's picky about people. But hey, I think she likes you."

He glances back at Dorothea, moonlight catching the mischief in his eyes. "See? Told you. No regrets."

[failnaughtt]

One thing I'll always be grateful for is that Claude's speech is casual for the most part. I used to write a muse who would use vocabs that have gone extinct since the 18th century and I would have three dictionary websites and google translate pulled out and worked 2 hours on one reply. 2026 Joan is not about that life anymore.

[failnaughtt]

One of the portrayals I try to do seriously is making a distinction between academy!Claude and war!Claude. For me, war!Claude is mostly very serious even though he tries to keep the "Golden Deer Spirit" afloat as to not cause his members unnecessary stress, but even he struggles with it. Imo this is also one of his biggest foil. He babies his members too much and tried to take upon most of the burden on himself and resolve issues alone in secrecy while he tells everyone else that there is nothing to worry about. Reaching out for help, to him, is a huge step towards trust territory that he's never tread upon before. But that's where his core character development with most characters are.

Meanwhile, academy!Claude is significantly more childish and is mostly a troll. He's carefree in interacting with people around the monastery, although occasionally the two facedness of the deeper part of his character slips out, it's very rarely done. In this phase, he perceives friendships more naively in the sense that he considers most friendships he makes an eternal bond, even those that were one-sided. Watching his friends die or kill each other wore him down over over the 5-year period.

In some cases, war!Claude might disagree with his younger self, academy!Claude, so the portrayal switches depending on how old Claude is during interactions. Personally, I always thought the academy phase plays a very important role in Claude's life as that 1 year in the academy determines where Claude's loyalty lies once the war phase happens.

[obsmiechujek]

Dimitri will believe anything you tell him if you're confident enough

[obsmiechujek]

RIP Dimitri you would not survive the 2026 heat waves

[failnaughtt]

This makes me laugh because we know Claude is EXCELLENT at remembering names and faces. But he's actively suppressing remembering Balthus because he can smell something is up from afar the moment Balthus acts like they're besties when they met for the first time.

[failnaughtt]

I've been out of state for the past 3 days and living in reversed timezones so I was busy being tired and sleep deprived 😔

[azurebeast]

Felix didn't volunteer himself, fully expecting Sylvain to do the mature thing and offer to play mule—never mind. Of course the idiot chose now, of all times, to be unreasonable. The usually impassive expression on Felix's face darkened as he fixed Sylvain with the most venomous glare he could muster. Honestly, Sylvain was twice his stature, saddling Felix with the burden for such a frivolous reason was utterly absurd. Be that as it may, he wasn't cruel enough to waste time bickering with the buffoon while Claude was injured and in all likelihood, thoroughly miserable.

That didn't mean, however, he couldn't be petty. So, before deciding to take on the virtue of offering Claude his aid, he raised his elbow and drove a punishing blow into Sylvain's ribs. A crooked, self satisfied smirk slipped onto his lips when his friend cried out and clutched at his side.

Serves him right.

With playtime over, or divine retribution, as Felix preferred to call it, he turned his attention to the pitiful looking Alliance leader, hobbling on unsteady legs like a wounded doe.

“Let's get this over with.” Through a breath of exasperation, he crouched, resting his hands behind his back to receive Claude and support his weight as he climbed on. When the stockier man wound his arms around Felix's clavicle, Felix slipped his own beneath Claude's legs, lifting him from the ground in one swift motion.

With no willingness of his own, he was struck by a sudden bout of nostalgia, recalling simpler times when he had done this very same thing for Dimitri or Ingrid. The memory was intrusive, and though it wasn't an unhappy one, it left him frowning sullenly, a bittersweet weight settling in the pit of his stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment, as though the action alone could blot it from his mind's eye.

Now wasn't the time for sentimentally, though he supposed it was only natural after cheating death. Then again, perhaps they hadn't cheated death at all. Had they been any slower in clearing a path for themselves, or lingered beneath the more towering structures, the outcome might have been very different. It hadn't been fortune that had seen them through, but their combined speed and efficiency.

They eventually began making their way through the devastated city, their trek slow but constant. There was some conversation shared between them to break the monotony, but it didn't take long for it to taper off, the three of them too exhausted to maintain anything meaningful for long.

At the halfway mark of their trek, a soldier mounted on a steed appeared in the distance, silhouetted by the fading light of the sun's descent. Sylvain immediately took a defensive position in front of them, while Claude, to his credit, and Felix's amusement, readied his bow from atop Felix's back. Then, another shadowy figure glided through the air beside the soldier, and Felix quickly realized it was a wyvern. A very large one at that.

Felix lamented internally. There were very few enemies on the battlefield that could perturb him, but he absolutely hated those disgusting, scaly beasts. As a child, they had been the very source of his nightmares, and though he was far beyond that now, the sight of them still managed to make the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He wouldn't say he feared them, but seeing one was akin to spotting a large, hairy spider: nothing particularly traumatising, but enough to evoke disgust and instinctive wariness all the same.

[failnaughtt]

During moments like this, Sylvain and Felix, to his surprise, didn't look as tensed as Claude remembered when he gazes from afar. Something about their interaction is strangely light-hearted, whimsical, and untainted. It makes him recall the times when his friendship with Dimitri was exactly just like that - a countless number of late nights of swiping food from the kitchen and leaving some of them outside Dimitri's room, to make sure he knew whenever Claude left his room to look for food, and to stifle his laughter the following day, when the kitchen chief demands students own up, or give up, the thief. It'd caught him by surprise when Dimitri lied for him, or at least, he'd been sure that Dimitri pretended not to know who had done it.

Claude slips his arm around Felix's neck. He tries to get up on his good leg, knowing that he's heavier than he looks, all bundled up in thick cloth and cotton paddings. If he had to admit it to himself, he was surprised that Felix didn't just leave him there and left to fetch for help. That didn't sound like a completely unreasonable thing to do either, it'd just delay getting back. But still, he's amused to find that the swordsman didn't habour an iceberg as large as his reputation professed.

-

If Claude was asked who he'd considered his childhood friend, he would only say one name: Farangis, the name of his wyern. She's his pride and joy, his closest kin. He takes pleasure in showing her off to others. And so the instant Farangis descends from the skie with Leonie on her back, Claude's eyes brightens at the sight of his beloved daughter and member of the Golden Deer.

"Leonie! You're here." He beams, as if he's just returned from a vacation rather than a death's claws. "Well, that saves us the trouble of looking for you. You see, I'm almost out of commission." It's the most light-hearted joke he could muster right now, though Sylvain's healing magic had done some small miracles on his injuries. He doubts Felix would consent to pack-muling him if he was bleeding all over the place. "And, of course, " he adds in Almyran: "My beloved Farangis, you found me, of course you did. I am wounded, sadly, cannot walk so good right now… but do not worry, this friend of mine, he is taking me back to camp. You will give us a lift, yes? I knew I could count on you."

Farangis grunts, which seem frightening for whoever doesn't know her, but it's a friendly sound. She lowers herself and allows Leonie to hop off of her back to help Felix with Claude, but then Farangis leans in again, forwards, her large emerald eyes fixated on the raven-haired stranger.

Hmph.

A long, pink tongue slithers out of her jaws as she licks the stranger on his face.

The gesture draws out a laugh from Claude. "Felix," He says, barely containing his grin, "I think she likes you. You should be honoured. She doesn't do that for just anyone."

[tourfilm]

living under a rock is so fun i love watching a movie that’s been famous for decades and being like wow this is so good.. did you guys know about this

[failnaughtt]

me with free will and after isolde taught me how to use magic poser: idk what to do with all these power.

anyway this is claude's dream. this is all i managed to sketch during my lunch break.

[foldeux]

Utter disaster.

Her smile must have faltered, the sharp gleam in her eyes dulled – what more could have caused such an outstanding disturbance to a sheep pretending to be a wolf, teeth filed into sharp points and claws grown from cloven hooves? The first thing she does is stare. Bewilderment snakes ‘round her throat, silencing countless, useless questions and the childish wish to break away. Instead, she falls into the hand placed in hers and places the other on his shoulders: what a strange boy.

“Oh, dear,” she lowers her chin and shakes her head, “I fear you misunderstand, claude.” Her character is drawn with every interaction with a potential suitor, a blank canvas to paint with the broad brushstrokes of another’s utmost desires, but to wear her beating heart on her sleeve was too dangerous – so, at the peak of her fame and beauty, why must she temper her own cravings? How trite.

“I don’t consider him a true suitor, nor will I ever.” Raising her gaze, evergreen meets evergreen, and she chuckles, lowering her voice to a whisper. “There are things a girl wants more than money.”

But, in truth, did she? Here she is, moving her feet in time with a handsome noble – the heir to House Riegan, to be considered indefinitely – and yet, Dorothea stays her hand. Far more than she dares to let on, the situation is more amusing than it is romantic. A noble, her savior from another noble. The girls at the Mittelfrank Opera must hear about this, scrawled in the flowery descriptors within her neat penmanship.

“Should I thank you for such kind words? It’s not every day a common girl like me gets to hear she’s ‘not so terrible,’ from someone like you.” A twinge of sarcasm winds into her words but she remains with a pleasant smile, minding the step of her shoes across the marble floor as the two sway with the orchestral strings. “If you’re interested in courting me, just say so – I’m not much of a biter.”

But there is the implication that she does, regardless.

[failnaughtt]

Dorothea wasn't as much of a closed book as she thought she was. Watching the muscles on her face twitch, the curve on her cheek and the lines fraying her forehead - clearly, she wasn't happy about being saved. Even though, for Claude, he can't say that he regretted it. "I misunderstood? Look at yourself!" A look of disbelief. The audacity! For her to make such a bold claim when she looked ready to skewer him into ribbons with her claws for botching her chance at becoming a Duchness.

At that moment, the crowd twirls their partners. He relents his grip on her waist for a moment and does the same. In a flash, that look of frustration was gone when she rotates into his arms again.

"Well then, enlighten me what else could a girl want." Other than to survive, of course. The woes of all commoners with a cheapskate baron or a greedy lord. Sometimes, that's not even the case. The true culprit were the ones at the top or the system itself who protects these very people. It's something he intends to disassemble once he is Leader of Leicester, which is why he's in Fodlan in the very first place.

Dorothea's proposition drags his thoughts back to where they were: in the middle of the dance floor among hundreds of students, and Claude couldn't help but makes a bewildered face at the thought of ulterior motives behind his actions.

Fodlans and their strange societal customs indeed.

The astonishment did more than make Claude's mask of suaveness crack. His feet stop on their own accord despite the music still playing at the forefront of the hall. "That's not- That's not what I was going for." Almost too quickly, his hand leaves hers as he withdraws a step back to place it on the back of his neck. "I just think that you're not bad, Dorothea. You might even be a nice girl."

He withheld a full compliment for the sole reason that they didn't know each other very well.

"So make sure you do some research on the people you want to court around here next time, alright? Don't just go throwing yourself at anyone. Some of them might be nice now, but they'll show their true colours once they've won your heart." His heart sank a little at the admittance, hearing his own voice in his head, it sounded like he was speaking from experience rather than observation. "Just like that guy, Bertrand," he adds, saying a little too much, "he tried to poison my wyern."

[failnaughtt]

Fi/re Em/blem: For/tunes Wea/ve please please please please make that one Alucard clone character appeal to @fateddreamer so I can rp her grandpa from Three Houses.

[failnaughtt]

geez, I'm sorry 🙄

[azurebeast]

Dust clouds obscured his vision, the force of the mysterious impact still thundering through his ears. His legs wavered beneath him, a sudden wave of vertigo threatening to send him sprawling. Driving the tip of his sword into the earth, he leaned heavily upon it, his head hanging as he fought to steady both his laboured breathing and senses. The devastation surrounding him was staggering. Buildings had been reduced to heaps of shattered stone and clay, while Adrestian soldiers writhed amidst the rubble, their armour slick with blood as they struggled to free themselves from the fallen debris that had buried them.

Felix tightened his grip around the hilt of his sword, his gaze sweeping desperately across the wreckage in search of his allies, holding onto the hope that they had survived. He counted himself fortunate to still be standing. He was no man of faith, but by the grace of the goddess, he was shocked to somehow emerge from the catastrophe without so much as a scratch.

After a few moments the strength gradually returned to his legs. The relentless ringing in his ears faded to a dull hum, no longer feeling as though on the precipice of keeling over to vomit. Raising his head, Felix slowly pulled his sword free from the earth and turned his attention to the path where he had last seen Claude and Sylvain. He had been pursuing a mage after overhearing them receive correspondence from Cornelia. Naturally Felix had given chase, determined to capture the man before he could slip away and wring whatever information he possessed. His impulsive decision hadn't t gone unnoticed, with Sylvain immediately falling in behind him with Claude in tow.

Together, they had carved a path through the mage's personal guard. For a time it had almost seemed they might succeed, but as the battle raged on, the soldiers had begun to fan out, reinforcements flooding in from elsewhere on the battlefield to shield the fleeing mage. The three of them had been forced apart amidst the chaos, each swallowed by a different pocket of fighting.

Then something like thunder had split the air, and the scene had evaporated.

The memory returned in fractured pieces. Someone had shoved him violently aside, and then the world had gone blank. Though he'd somehow managed to keep his footing through both the impact and the force of the shove, everything after that had dissolved into darkness.

He needed to find them. Claude. Sylvain.

And Leonie. He had lost sight of her even earlier in the fighting.

Then a few short moments later, as if his prayers had been overheard, Sylvain's voice rose above the howl of the wind.

Felix forced his unsteady legs into motion, sprinting toward the sound. He rounded the corner of a collapsed building and came face to face with the man. The knot that had been previously tightening in his chest eased at the sight of the redhead’s stupid face, and Felix released a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.

Neither of them wasted time on words. After a swift glance to confirm the other was uninjured, they immediately set off in search of Claude. They retraced the ground where they had last fought together, now no little more than a graveyard of shattered rock. Cupping their hands around their mouths, they repeatedly called Claude's name, each shout swallowed by the wind before fading into an oppressive silence.

Minutes dragged by. With every unanswered call, the hope in their voices diminished.

Just as Felix was beginning to resign himself to the possibility that Claude had died, a faint voice reached him from below. He flinched, instinctively looking around before realising the sound had come from his feet. His gaze dropped to the rubble, where the end of a boot protruded from beneath a slab of broken stone.

"Sylvain! He's here! Quickly!" As Felix shouted, he was already digging with frantic determination, tearing away chunks of masonry one after another, his breathing growing increasingly ragged as he forced his body beyond its limits. His muscles screamed in protest, but he ignored them, heaving aside anything he could lift.

Then at last, he uncovered one of Claude's hands through his efforts. Felix seized it instinctively, giving it a brief, reassuring squeeze before releasing it to continue clearing the debris. "We've almost got you," he said, his voice firm enough to border on a command, though tempered enough to betray his concern. "Hang in there."

By the time Sylvain reached him, the two of them worked with impressive efficiency, each anticipating the other's movements as they stripped away the remaining rubble. Within minutes, they had freed Claude, only to wince at the sight that greeted them.

A lance had pierced straight through Claude's leg, pinning him in place.

"I'll heal him while you pull it out," Sylvain said, already weaving a healing spell around the wound.

Felix gave a terse nod. Waiting until the magic had dulled the worst of the damage, he braced himself, gripped the handle with both hands, and tore it free in one swift motion.

Only then did something else catch his eye.

A gemstone glinting upon Claude's finger.

Felix's eyes lingered on it for only a second before recognition dawned.

It was Dimitri's prayer ring.

His mouth parted in surprise, but he quickly schooled his expression. However many questions that discovery raised, he possessed enough sense to know that now was hardly the time to ask how Claude had come to acquire it.

[failnaughtt]

Claude von Riegan has never been one to throw his life away, and he certainly doesn't intend to start now. The instant the rubble above him shifted, his sharp eyes snapped wide - dry, unblinking, calculating. His mind raced not with fear, but with odds: would any of those stones hold, or would one slip and send him crashing back to square one? He was too close to freedom to let gravity have the final say.

Then Felix's head appeared around the corner, and the swordsman let out a breath so heavy it almost sounded relieved.

There you are, Claude thought, the corner of his mouth twitching despite everything. He opened his mouth to offer some witty remark - something about Felix's impeccable timing or how touching it was to see him worried - but what came out instead was a ragged, "H-Here. I'm here..."

Strange. He'd been so certain the pain was starting to fade. But now that someone was actually here to see him, it all came rushing back with vengeance. He couldn't help grimacing with his face, catching Sylvain's attention.

"I'll heal him while you pull it out," he hears Sylvain say.

He tensed, jaw locking, as the healing spell pulled at torn flesh and knitted it back together in that sharp, searing way that always hurt more than it should. The tear was deep. He'd felt that much. And sure enough, as the green light faded, Claude glanced down at the angry, puckered line forming across his side and let out a breathy, humourless laugh.

Well. Add that to the collection.

At the very least, he hopes Dimitri will find a scar as large as that attractive to look at.

A breathy laugh escapes him as he shifts, testing his weight against the ground. His legs gave an unhelpful, trembling reminder that they were very much not on board with the whole 'evacuation' plan.

"Afraid I'm not exactly at my fighting weight right now," he said, tilting his head up at the two of them with that familiar, crooked grin, the one that always made it hard to tell if he was joking or scheming. "So unless one of you fine gentlemen feels like playing pack mule today..."

He let the suggestion hang in the air, light and teasing, as if he were proposing a friendly wager rather than admitting he couldn't take another step.

"...I might need a lift."

Sylvain is the first to make a face. Claude was about to give him the credit of not saying what he is thinking until Sylvain blurts out:

"Not a chance. I don't carry men." A roguish grin tugged at his lips as he added, utterly unrepentant, "These arms are reserved for delicate flowers: ladies and pretty boys who actually appreciate the experience."

Claude nearly chokes on his saliva. Fine, he's not delicate then. Not pretty either. But aren't you a skilled liar? He thinks of the real reason Sylvain refuses to carry him on his back, and that is because he is not enthusiastic about suffering Dimitri's wrath. He knew that his friend has an unfounded jealousy. Claude has never questioned it, and even if he were, there were a thousand other things he would like to question Dimitri about rather than his strange jealousy. But come on, he silently sighs, now isn't the time to be fearful of getting on Dimitri's nerves.

[failnaughtt]

I got tired of work and worked on this for 10 minutes. Best 10 minutes of my day.

[iamanewvagina101]

what r ur kinks

I'm consumed by grief