#lukas emblem

[simikae]

miss dancer lady….

[xbuster]

[serennes-art]

emblemcon day 3 comms!

[drowzydruzy-art]

having a bit of a pykas moment. show a tiny shred of decency to a guy in the cold and he comes for ur throat smh

[pythons-bow]

What are they thinking about??

[luce-speaks]

cross stitch lukas is complete!!

the art is his map sprite from @sacredechoes with slight modifications to reduce the color palette <3

guess who’s up next?

[valmeme]

baron and arcanist

[real-fire-emblem-takes]

@ lukas can't cook confession

my friend tried the lukas cheesecake and hated it which means there's only two possible conclusions: either they just really hate cheesecake or the recipe is canonically accurate and it tastes like shit

m

[mogonv]

the rgb march (2018)

[good-beanswrites]

Fe Aspec Week Day 1: Coming Out

WOO It's aspec week time!! 💜💚 To no one's surprise I'm starting off with Lukas :3 I know we have the wonderful support convo when he and Python sort of come out to each other, but I was always curious about the loose ends that it brings up -- how he comes out to/is treated by his family, the woman he's left behind, his fellow nobles, etc. This drabble doesn't really answer any of those questions sadfsadf but it's coming from that thought 😂

Father,

I am writing to you now, so soon after my previous letter, as there is something I have yet to confess. It may be difficult for you to hear, but

The sentence stops abruptly, a small dab of ink at the corner of the ‘t’ where the pen had rested a moment in contemplation.

A man sits back at his at a desk. His candle illuminates the page, displaying a few brief lines at the top. He dips his pen in ink time and time again, but the page remains mostly empty. 

At first, the man believes his problem to be a lack of words. No title exists for men like him. He’s well-educated and well-connected in the army; he has an extensive vocabulary for how the upper and lower class categorizes its people. Whether it’s a scholar’s dull terminology, vulgar common language insults, or the carefully chosen phrasing of a gossiper, none of the usual descriptors fit him. All he has are the distantly connected criticisms he’d heard his whole life: “heartless,” “cold,” “detached.” 

When the candle burns lower, however, he realizes the real issue. He has far too many words.

Where would he even start? Should he describe his contentment with his life here? How not one of his fellows ever brought up the lack of a woman at his arm, or how dinners with the King and Queen themselves were filled with pleasantries that never touched on his romantic endeavors? Whatever his father had been preparing for, it had never come.

Or should he begin earlier, when he was first accepted by this group of people? He wasn’t sure if he could properly convey all that he experienced on that fateful night, speaking softly with the unit’s archer – a man he’d come to call one of his truest friends. The man had heard for the first time in his life that there were others like him. He heard that they were content. They were whole.

He could go back further and describe the moment that the realization first hit him. How his father had been right in a sense. Just as he said, one day when the man was grown, he would be in the arms of another, and everything about himself would suddenly make sense. There was only one difference. He’d been forced to bury that clarity, since it wasn’t the same kind that everyone else came to.

Or should he start even further back? He could recount all little hints that haunted him across his youth. His dreams for the future never quite aligned with those of his peers. Nothing ever seemed to align. His choice of stories to read, of games to play, of jokes to make. He wouldn’t ever claim he was mistreated as a child, but everyone would agree that the signs had appeared even then.

The man sighs. Where is the beginning, when one has always been this way? 

The clock strikes on the hour. It is late, and he will need to be at his sharpest tomorrow for drills and meetings. He has no more time to fret over words about his past. 

The man tries a new method, and wonders what his friends may write about him. He can’t resist a dry smile. He knows that he can never, under any circumstance, allow them to exchange any correspondence with his family. 

But the exercise gives him an idea.

He writes out a single statement. Then he blows out the candle and heads to his bed. 

there is nothing broken about me.

Cordially,

Lukas

[justrudyart]

my favorite fire emblem rarepair, pykas my beloved 🫶🏻

[nerdyoatmealart]

After trying so many times for literal years, I was finally able to get Lukas’s hair to look right! I really struggle to draw short hair sometimes, which occasionally hinders which characters I can draw.

The bad news is that I did forget some of the details on his outfit. I don’t know if I was too excited about his hair, or if I was too focused on making other parts look right. Now I know what to keep an eye out for next time I draw him, though.

I drew him eating a slice of cake, because of his fondness for sweets.

[choenpalm]

remember when shadows of valentia came out and everybody fell in love w lukas. this ones for the lukas girlies who still remember

[gcastelini]

Lukas!

[drowzydruzy-art]

@good-beans 's short fic about forsyth trying to capture a portrait of lukas was so tooth-rottingly sweet that i felt compelled to try to do a portrait of his charming, awkward little sincere smile myself

(u should read it here)

[pythons-bow]

Deliverance Cafe AU part 2