#but that has more to do with the book and the magic than vani being pretty

[neversetyoufree]

Hey! In your recent post about Noè and asexuality, you mentioned there being more evidence displaying that Vanitas finds Noè attractive than vice versa. As soon as I read it, I found myself agreeing but when I stopped to think about it I couldn't recall a panel that really suggests that, off the top of my head. This also isn't a view I have seen a lot of other vnc fans talk about so I'd really appreciate if you could expand on it / unpack it a bit more. Anyway, love your blog!

[Image Description: An anonymous tumblr ask. It reads: "Hi! I have just recently found your Tumblr blog and have been loving all your analyses. I only found out about the vnc manga a few months ago and some of your posts have been so useful in explaining some deeper themes/subtext that I was confused about. I was reading your ace Noé post and saw that you mentioned that there is more canon evidence that supports Vanitas finding Noé attractive than the other way around. I was hoping you could expand on this?" End ID.]

First of all, thank you both so much for your kind words! It makes me so genuinely happy to hear that y'all like what I post.

And for anyone curious, here's the ace Noé post that both anons mention.

Now as for your question, that's kind of a difficult one. I said that there's more evidence for Vanitas being attracted to Noé than vice versa (in terms of traditional physical attraction, not blood stuff), and I do stand by that. However, Noé has shown pretty much no physical attraction to Vanitas in non-blood contexts, and more than zero doesn't necessarily mean a lot. This whole post is going to be tiny details and subtext, because "Vanitas is attracted to Noé" is definitely not a major or certain thing.

That said, I do think you can make an argument for the idea.

For starters, let's go with the classic Vanoé bait panel: Vanitas's reaction to Noé's excitement over Paris.

Vanitas is at his most performative in the early chapters of VnC, and though he does sometimes act borderline flirtatious (like when he gets up in Noé's personal space to poke him in the chest), I'm not inclined to give those moments actual weight. It's all too much a part of Vanitas's act to be good evidence for real feelings of attraction.

However, in this particular scene, that argument doesn't hold. Vanitas will play up his flirty persona in order to change the subject when he gets uncomfortable, but there's no reason for him to do that here. There's no need for him to change the subject, and Noé's not paying him any attention. His expression here is just his genuine reaction, not part of a performance made to influence Noé, and it's such a fond reaction!

Vanitas has only just met Noé, but here he is so softly entertained by Noé's glee. It speaks to an immediate draw to and enjoyment of Noé on Vanitas's part, and that doesn't have to mean romantic attraction, but it certainly fits well with that argument. Noé is extremely cute here, and Vanitas likes that about him. Make of that what you will.

Even more than that scene, though I think the most explicit moment of Vanitas's attraction is one of his reactions in the bell tower.

In the middle of Noé's speech to Vanitas in chapter 11, he smiles at him properly for the first time. This is also when we the audience first see Noé smile for the outside of a flashback, so you know that that moment is important both for Noé and to Mochijun. And it also makes quite an impact on Vanitas.

Noé tells Vanitas that he wants to stick with him and see out his "salvation" mission, and then there's an extra beat, a panel for just Noé's smile, and only then do we see Vanitas's reaction to all this.

He's so struck! Noé has a huge effect on Vanitas in this moment, even before he's finished his whole speech. His words have a big part of it, of course they do, but the way the page is paced (with an extra, albeit cropped panel for that smile) makes me think that Noé's appearance itself is also pretty key for provoking that reaction. If the way Noé looks while smiling didn't need extra emphasis, Mochijun could've given him the smile in the panel above these where he's speaking, rather than give it its own shot.

Noé looks at Vanitas like this for the first time, and Vanitas's eyes go wide with awe. Because Noé is a goddamned vision. It's even more apparent in the animated version, because the animators weren't bound by paneling constraints and could show us Noé's whole face.

I have had irl lesbian friends tell me how attractive they find Noé in this moment lmao. He's just pretty. So I don't think it's unreasonable to say that Vanitas, in this moment, is affected by how pretty Noé is. Absolutely anyone would be.

It isn't irrefutable proof that he's in love with or generally lusting after the guy, but it is a good argument for a moment of appearance-based attraction, which is something we haven't really seen from Noé toward Vanitas. (We've had Noé staring at him in awe when he does his Book stuff, but never an "oh shit he's hot" moment like this one).

There might be other small moments as well, but these are just the two big ones that I can remember with out combing back through the manga in detail. And though there's no certainty here, these are a pair of scenes that can be read as Vanitas being very struck by Noé's appearance in a way that I don't think we've gotten in reverse.

Any positive number is still more than zero, lmao.

#the only moment I can think where Noé really gets Struck by Vanitas's appearance is that panel of him staring up in awe in Gévaudan #but that has more to do with the book and the magic than vani being pretty #and honestly Noé not showing attraction in the traditional way despite his Thing about Vanitas just feels right #it's another facet of his big aspec energy #oh and also. y'all should let me know if you think of any more oh no he's hot moments that I missed #vnc #vanitas no carte #the case study of vanitas #vanoé #the vanoé agenda #vanitas my beloved #english major hours #ask #anon #I think this is the first time I've gotten two anons asking about the exact same topic #ID in alt text

[elia-de-silentio]

RECAP ON LUNA

This time, I want to talk about one of the most mysterious characters in The Case Study of Vanitas: Vanitas of the Blue Moon, more recently known as Luna.

So, only a few days till next chapter ... will I be able to squeeze in another recap?

The legend of Vanitas of the Blue Moon is the very first thing we learn. A very straightforward story: a kid is born with a characteristic they have no control over, but it's still hated by others; and is thereby exiled and sent to die. In the face of such cruelty, the victim turns villain, and creates a magic book that will allow them to exact vengeance upon those who mistreated them.

As I said, a straightforward story. Almost suspiciously so.

But the next things we learn about Vanitas are not exactly flattering, either. Our Vanitas, who for practicality (laziness) purposes will therefore be known as Vany, claims that he wants to avenge himself of something Vanitas did him, and to do so, he inherited their name and book to completely subvert their purpose. And he reacts quite angrily at the idea that he 'respects' Vanitas in any shape or form.

Moreover, Vanitas left on him a 'Mark of Possession', that imbued the human with a portion of their power, which allows him to use the Book. Vany shows the mark to everyone at a ball, and causes a panic. So far, Vanitas' reputation has been pretty terrifying.

But then, chapter 17 rolls in. And we seen Vanitas in a very different light: someone who would raid the laboratory of a mad scientist, only to take pity on two children imprisoned there, free them and taking care of them, to the point that Misha refers to him as 'Father'. (Even if what little is seen of their appearence looks pretty feminine. And Vany calls them a woman. Maybe they were transgender, and Vany, being the mysoginistic ass that he is, happily ignored their chosen pronouns? In absence of other information, I use 'them' to be on the side of caution).

And later Vanitas' appearences are similar: they are depicted as a teacher, someone who is willing to let their protegès in with the secrets of their Book.

Then, Gevaudan Arc. In the attempt to cure Chloè, Vany must use his Mark of Possession. Which gives quite a lot of new information.

First of all, Vanitas' True Name: Luna. It means literally Moon in Latin (and derivated languages such as Spanish and Italian). And that's quite a relief, since Vanitas literally means 'emptiness', 'worthlessness', and to be named like that, you've got to have some shitty parents.

'Vanitas' was likely a derogatory name they received in a later moment ... or maybe the 'regular name', such as Amelia for 'Florifel', in which case the shitty parents theory still stands. We don't know much about how vampires are given their regular and true names.

By the way, that implies Vany didn't truly hate them: that syllabe he muttered when he was feverish in chapter 27 wasn't Lou as originally translated, but 'Lu'(na). So, despite the hatred for vampires he had when he was younger, despite keeping the distance, despite his proclaims of vengeance, he didn't hate them. Then why does he save vampires?

Again: the Mark will 'rewrite' him. We do not know what does this exactly mean: Luna's personality will replace his own? Or will he become something else entirely?

In any case, it seems that its use is reserved for emergencies and not 'regular' cures, given how far it has spread in this one instance. But of course, given the direction that the story seems to be taking, it's likely that Vany will be forced to use it again and again.

Lastly, it means that it is a pretty uncommon mark: Vany has another one, by Jeanne, and it doesn't seem to bother him in any similar way.

And later in chapter 43, after his little ... uh, rendez-vous? with Jeanne, we have another flashback. Which, instead of depicting Luna as someone who would give their pupil a mark that will 'rewrite' him, depicts them as someone who gives loving, sensitive advice, showing understanding to a kid pretty hostile towards them. Also, they seem to anticipate that they will be 'gone', which leads us to ...

This. Misha finally says out loud that Vany killed Luna. But he himself doesn't know why.

Also, the kid is equipped with another Book of Vanitas, unmentioned by the original story, but that he seems to be using in a very similar way to which it was originally told.

By the way, Vanitas must have been dead by quite a while now. Vany inherited also their cute little hourglass charm, that he wear as a hearring; in Dante's flashback, when he seems a few years younger than now, he's already wearing it.

All in all, the resulting picture is of a very ambiguous figure. A victim of prejudice turnes vengeful monster, or a savior of tortured children? An abusive parental figure who would give a dangerous mark toa kid, or a kindly mentor, who would teach both magic and emotions?

Personally, I wonder how much 'consent' was involved both in their marking of Vany and his killing of them. Did Vany agree to get the Mark? Did Luna want to be killed, since she was anticipating to be outlived by the kids even if vampires live longer than humans? How meaningful was exactly this 'consent', if there was? Vany is eighteen now, and as mentioned, he looks a bit younger in the flashbacks. How old was he, exactly, when he was marked and killed his parental figure?

I think this ambiguity is reflected in the two Books of Vanitas. The original tale was incorrect: there is not only one terrifying grimoire, but there are two, one that gets used to harm vampires and another used to cure them. I would also like to point out that, despite sharing some key characteristics (those mentioned in the tale), there are actually a few design differences between the Books. So, it's possible that their content is also different. But why making something that could be used to cure vampires, if Luna hated them all so much? And why giving the two books to their two pupils - maybe they were meant to work together, instead of abandoning and fighting each other?

Again, I'm too much of a coward cautious individual to make theories that could be jossed, especially with the next chapter and possible answers so close. But still, I hope this recap can be useful to someone.

Thank you for reading!

#vnc #vanitas no carte #vnc meta #the case study of vanitas #vnc vanitas #vnc luna #vnc spoilers #elia's recaps

[dicedungeons-and-dragons]

Scales

Note: As most of you know my campaign has well as truly taken over my life and I’ve been writing little (and not so little) stories based around it. And I’ve decided to post them from time to time, they’re going to be tagged ‘cotd fics’ if you want to blacklist them, I’m also sticking them under a ‘read more’ but I know they glitch a lot so sorry if it doesn’t take. Here’s a little one because I’ve been plagued by the fact that dragon bloodline sorcerers canonically have scales. 

His mother noticed when he was five. 

She found little patches of pebbled skin on his shoulders, along his elbows and knees, and running along his spine. The skin wasn’t red, or itchy, or like any rash she’d seen but she’d been worried and taken him to the local physician anyway. The older man hadn’t known what to make of the tough little bumps either and had given them a special lotion. Waylan got in the habit of putting it on the patches every night and morning, but the pebbled skin never went away. 

***

His father takes notice of it when he’s nine. 

His mother has been dead for eleven months and things are different now. There’s no more music constantly drifting through their home, his father works longer hours, and Waylan is silently expected to care for himself. The expectation is distant. His father doesn’t call him a burden, doesn’t scoff or roll his eyes when he asks for something, but he makes a point of showing Waylan how things are done in the house and where things are so that he doesn’t have to ask for them again. So Waylan learns how to make and tend fires around the house, for warmth and cooking, how to do his laundry, and eventually, where the first-aid kit is. 

He burns his hand on the fire poker, not having realized that he’d left it resting too close to the roaring flame he’d brought to life. His father heard his scream from across the house and he’d come running. The sharp red line already had two blisters bubbling up inside of it and his father had picked him up and taken him straight to the bathroom, setting him on the edge of the tub before rooting around in the small dresser that sat beside the door. He’d put a thick cream on the raw skin, wrapped it, and warned Waylan to be more careful. 

When he’d taken the bandages off a few days later the blisters were gone, but a distinct line of that pebbled skin had risen in their place. 

***

Waylan figures it out when he’s fourteen. 

After his hands catch fire, after he can suddenly hold a piece of wire and talk to someone over a hundred feet away, after he realizes he has magic. And once he realizes it he starts to research, finding scant moments to slip away from his father when they’re in Creta so that he can buy as many books as his bag can hold about the arcane. And when they’re home he reads. He learns about the different sources people have for their abilities. There are people who use words and songs to pull their magic from the strings of the universe, people who through their own means and study are able to learn the craft like a science, people who draw power from the natural world, and people who are just born with arcane magic. Though his mother had taught him to play piano when he was still little he doubts his fumblings there are the source of the fire he can feel burning under his skin. So he figures he must have just been born like this. 

And there are plenty of records of other born sorcerers. There are some who can’t contain their magic and strange, sometimes destructive, things happen around them. But he understands what Sabroth and Dojhan say when they speak draconic and he’s never been taught. And he thinks that maybe he should be more surprised to find out that there’s dragon blood somewhere in his family line. But he’s more relieved just to find some answers. He reads the chapter on mages with dragon blood four times that night. And when he goes to bed he traces his fingers lightly over the raised rough skin along his shoulders and the backs of his forearms. 

Scales. Thin and flesh colored, not the metallic (or dare he think, chromatic) color of his ancestor, but another remnant of them. Something left behind to protect him. 

He stops using the strange lotions from his childhood. 

***

Gadreel doesn’t notice them until after they start to date. 

That’s not a surprise really. The protective patches blend in with his skin, they’re pretty nondescript until they’re felt. Gad’s fingers twitch where they’re curled around his hips, his calloused fingers taking note of the unexpected tough texture. 

“Scales,” Waylan mutters against his throat. He wants to try and press himself closer into Gad’s lap, but he’s still unsure and off balance. The stump of his arm aches and it would really kill the mood if he fell over because he couldn’t catch himself. 

“Scales?” 

“Dragon blood.” He says in draconic, nipping sharply along the edge of his jaw. He taught Gadreel the tongue he’d been given by birthright. “Now fuck me.” Waylan adds in the orcish Gad had taught him. 

He doesn’t comment on the patches of scales he finds as he runs his hands along the rest of his body. 

***

Ray finds out shortly after. 

She is their resident healer, though both Lugh and Vani can make due in a pinch, and he is the resident torture victim. He’s got a lot of healing to do. Ray chatters away at him when he seeks her out to take a look at his arm. She healed a lot of the damaged, closed the bone over the marrow and stopped the bleeding when they’d found him. But the damage to the muscles and nerves required a check-up. So he lets her chatter and waits patiently as she finishes unwrapping the bandages to get a better look. 

“Oh,” he doesn’t look at her or at the rough stump of his arm. His stomach twists and sinks. That wasn’t a bad sound necessarily, but he doesn’t like the idea that she’s surprised by some new development with the injury. “Does this always happen when you’re hurt?” Teeth clenched, he finally glances down at the stump. 

The scales are thicker, thicker then he’s ever seen them anywhere on his body, almost as defined as Dojhan’s. They’re an unhappy, flushed raw color where they’re swelling around the stitches Ray’s supposed to be removing. 

“Never been hurt like this before.” He grunts in response. Ray mulls that over for a second. He wonders what inane thing she’ll come up with this time and half wants to yank away from her touch. He’s not half bad with a medical kit himself, he could probably take care of this on his own the slow way. 

But instead Ray just says, “Tell me if anything hurts.” And starts trimming away the black thread. When she checks the bandages on his chest as well they find a similar line of rough thick scales. 

***

He notices after a few more months of traveling with the party that the scales don’t go back to the way they were before. 

The ones around the stump of his left arm are still thick and rigid, a protective insulation against the potential discomfort of his mechanical prosthetic when he manages to procure one. As are the ones tracing the wound left by Gadreel’s axe. But he starts to notice the scales growing thicker in other places. Along his other arm, down the front of his chest and thighs, spider webbing out from the slash the Crimson Sign left across the hollow of his throat. The more they fight, the more his magic grows, the more scales he feels on his skin. They’re still invisible save for the pink tinged ones that line his scars, but Waylan can’t help but note the changes. 

The scales are for protection and the gods know he could use as much as he can get traveling with this lot. And when he leaves them, leaves Gadreel, only a few days after the winter solstice to travel to one of the most isolated and dangerous places in the world, he's grateful to carry that protection on his skin.

***

He tells Corzaren. 

They’re in the ruined castle, and after weeks he’s finally persuaded the undead creature to remove his armor. Seeing what two hundred years of decay has done to the knight is strange, but in a different way than he’d expected it to be. Waylan had known that Corzaren would be nightmarish. But the skeleton in front of him with red coal bright pinpricks of light burning in its eye sockets isn’t frightening really. Though he wonders if he’d feel differently if he didn’t know Corzaren as well as he does. 

“Can I?” He raises his flesh hand. 

“Of course.” Corzaren leans forward, still far taller than him even without his thick armored boots and helmet, and lets Waylan carefully cup his fingers over the bones of his face. It is strange to see the mandible part and hear the words slip out with no assistance from lips or tongue. The bones are rough under his fingers and the heavy thrum of necrotic energy that keeps the knight’s soul bound and animating his corpse makes Waylan’s hand start to go cold and numb after a few moments. 

“Can you feel this?” He asks, drops his fingers down to the creature’s neck so he can carefully touch the interlocking pieces of his spine. 

“Vaguely. I mostly note the pressure. I imagine I feel your touch as much as you can feel this.” He reaches out and runs his fingers along the metal arm. And the magic and machinery that keep the prosthetic going does transmit some of that sensation to him. Mainly a whisper of pressure, and a slight twinge that he suspects is the arm’s magic reacting to Corzaren’s necrotic energies. But no registration of texture or temperature. 

“Do you want me to stop?” 

“I am content being as close to you as I am able.” That makes his heart do a funny thing behind his ribs so Waylan just settles for tracing careful fingers along the thin bones of Corzaren’s instead. They feel brittle, like even he could break them without much effort, but when he does press a little more roughly he finds them solid as steel under his hand. Corzaren doesn’t even acknowledge the attempt, and to be honest Waylan wouldn’t have even tried if he thought for a second he’d actually do the other man harm. 

When Corzaren’s touch moves from his prosthetic to his cheek he doesn’t say anything, just leans in to the touch slightly as he continues his inspection of the knight’s skeleton. There’s no flesh left on him, and Waylan’s a little grateful for that. He thinks this would be a lot more unpleasant if Cor looked like some of the bodies mouldering away on the lawn. Instead the old bones are clean, and scarred. A deep gouge in his rib here, a nick along his vertebrae there, and notably a crack, long and thin a few centimeters from his sternum on the left side of his ribcage. When Way’s fingers hesitate there Corzaren says, 

“When Westly finished the ritual he asked me to fall on his blade. He was too far gone to sever his own soul from his body, but if I was willing then he could sever mine. Spare me the fate that was coming for everyone in the castle.” 

“And avenge him and his mother?” 

“No, Westly was a kind man, I don’t think revenge would have ever crossed his mind.” 

Waylan doesn’t say anything when Crozaren’s fingers drop to his throat. He’s not wearing his necklace, and the pale pink scar smiles along his throat. “Same person who did almost all the rest of it.” Is all he offers in explanation. He hasn’t told Corzaren about the Sign yet. He’ll get around to it eventually. He doesn’t flinch as the thin bones run over the scar, but they make a loud rough sound in the quiet room despite the soft touch. The undead creature pauses and then does it again, as if he doesn’t know quite what to make of the discordant and unfamiliar sound. “I grow scales over my deepest scars.” 

“Were you anyone else I would think that was a metaphor.” 

“Good thing I’m not then.”

***

Terran knows he has scales after the first five minutes they speak. 

Which is fair, he supposes, considering the man is a real dragon and an old one at that. He’s been around long enough to have seen other sorcerers. 

(“Do you have any kids?” He asked one day when the thought crossed his mind. 

“Absolutely not.” The other had replied with such an air of disgust Waylan couldn’t be sure it wasn’t intentionally exaggerated as a joke. “I have far more important things to do than contend with offspring or run around spreading my seed like a base animal, unlike some.”) 

Waylan doesn’t realize how nice it is not to have to explain himself until he suddenly doesn’t have to. When they start sleeping together and Terran’s hands find the patch of scales running along his sternum, Waylan's mouth automatically opens to speak. But Terran doesn’t hesitate, just scrapes the whisper of claws between the interlocking pattern before continuing on. He doesn’t even blink. And the thing is Waylan never thought he was particularly self-conscious about the patches, but having them treated as if they are no more interesting than any other piece of skin loosens a coil of tension that he hadn’t even realized was taut in him. Terran neither pays them special attention nor ignores them. And that bland acceptance is something Waylan didn’t even know he wanted. 

Over the course of the next few months that treatment has Waylan not thinking about them as if they’re anything strange or special either. It’s just his skin. Not his skin and the patches of scales. It’s all just him, and it’s no more worth acknowledgement than his eyelashes or fingernails. 

So maybe that’s why he’s so confused when Terran starts muttering, voice low and angry, one rare sunny afternoon as they’re laying tangled in a pile of furs together. He feels the dragon’s fingers on his spine, pressing and pulling at his skin, it’s not painful, but the skin is still tight. The draconic letters he’d had Terran carve into his skin finished healing a few weeks ago, but it’s still tender. 

“What’s got your tail in a twist?” He mumbles into the cradle of his flesh arm, reaching back with the metal one to push Terran’s probing fingers away. “If you wrote it wrong I’m going to kill you.” 

“Oh no pet, it’s worse than branding you incorrectly.” He hisses, smacking Waylan’s hand away in response and putting his fingers back on his skin. “You’re marked correctly, and I’m afraid I’m debating the merits of killing you.” 

A few months ago a statement like that would have actually frightened him. Now, “If you’re going to break up with me at least wait until Corzaren comes back so he can sooth my heartbreak.” 

Terran swats him on the ass. “I’m being quite serious, brat.” 

“Sure, why are you dumping me?” 

“Because your scales are coming in.” Terran half snarls. 

And that does give him pause. “My scales? You’ve already seen my scales.” 

“Not these,” to accentuate his point he grinds his thumbs along the inner curve of his shoulder blades. Waylan makes a surprised sound in the back of his throat, the scales there must have gotten more pronounced because Terran puts a fair amount of pressure when he touches them and they ache as he draws his hand back. 

“Ow.” 

“Suck it up I have bigger problems.” 

“You know what, you’re a jackass, I’m dumping you.” He makes precisely no move to extract himself from the furs and go find his scattered clothes. 

“Your wing plates are starting to grow.” Terran finally says. 

“What?” 

“They serve as a place for you to focus your magic and manifest your wings once you’re able to sustain that kind of power.” Waylan considers this for a moment. He knew that sorcerers like him could eventually learn how to create wings and fly, he didn’t know there would be a physical change to accompany the magical one. 

“Okay, so why are you mad?” 

“Because your skin is pink.” 

“Yes. Sorry I can’t be as sallow and pale as you.” 

Terran pinches the back of his neck this time and Way yelps. “You are my blood,” he hisses in draconic. “And we do not come in pink.” 

Ah. So that's it. “So you’re saying you won’t love me anymore if we clash colors?” 

“I should have known from your affinity with fire.” He laments. “But with your eyes and hair I had hoped. A metallic would be better than--” He lets out a string of curses, mostly in draconic, but Waylan thinks he hears the rough incomprehensible sounds of abyssal thrown in as well. 

“Would you rather I be green?” Like you. 

“That was never a possibility, pet,” Terran finally says, huffing out a sigh before pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. “You’re far too terrible at manipulation and subterfuge for starters.” He doesn’t bother taking it as an insult. “But really? Couldn’t you have been gold? Brass even?” 

“I can’t control my blood.” 

“Have you tried?” They’re quiet for a few minutes. And eventually Terran’s hands return to his shoulder blades and he runs his fingers over the scales again and again. 

“When do you think I’ll be able to fly?” Waylan finally asks. 

“I’m not sure, it’ll depend on how quickly you develop your gifts. But I think you’ll enjoy it.” He makes a soft sound of agreement in the back of his throat. “It will be torture to fly that slowly, but when you can perhaps I can teach you a thing or two.” 

“You’re going to still want to be seen with me if I am red?” 

“I suppose, and if I change my mind swatting you out of the sky will be a very efficient way of solving that problem.” Waylan huffs, but doesn’t say anything. After all, Terran doesn’t stop pressing soft reverent touches to the forming wing plates. 

He’s twenty-one when he learns he’s going to have true scales and the wings to match. And he’s greatly looking forward to showing them off. 

#call of the divine #cotd fics #waylan #dnd fic #dnd character #ray #corzaren #terran #oc: waylan #oc: corzaren #oc: terran #oc: gadreel #my writing

[loki-godofmischief-myking]

Love Is For The Foolish (2)

Loki x Asgardian!Reader

The story of Loki, god of mischief, and a dark seamstress. The chapter fic for Love Makes Fools Of Us All

<== Previous | Next ==>

Chapter 2: Indebted

In the solace of your shop, after hours, you looked down at the black gem that hung from the long silver chain around your neck. Black Hematite from Vanaheim. Over the past several months you had begun to learn what it was and only scratched the surface of its purpose. By now you wished to know what purposes it served you.

You could care less about how it is formed, where it is sourced, the various styles and qualities of the stone itself. For some reason, Loki kept insisting you learn all about Hematite from conception. In a way, you knew he was right.

If you had learned anything from the dark prince is that everything he ever did was calculated. That was something you were in the midsts of experiencing. The price for his knowledge was a pending matter.

"Nothing now but one day I will ask you to do something for me. Without question, you will comply.”

His words exhausted you, they echoed your mind. Perhaps foreshadowing your impending doom. No matter, a deal was a deal.

Looking down at the fabric patterns you had cut earlier in the day brought excitement. With a bit of thread and your skilled hand, these lifeless pieces would come together as one. They would become something of value. What was once mundane mixed media would become a prized possession. Something to behold and adorn.

Your smile gave way as you finally became at ease.

Even if it was late you decided to burn the midnight oil with this one. Grabbing a small stool you went to your vast collection of thread. Spools of the thin fiber lined a small section of wall to the very top. Tonight you were in need of one that was out of reach. Stubborn as always, you tried to reach it without the help of an aide or tool.

That was until you recalled your crystal. If it really had relations with magic, dark or the like, then perhaps you possessed some sort of seidr. The thought strongly urged you to pull the crystal out of your dress and tightly grasp it in your palm. Do I dare?

Loki silently appeared in your shop at the exact moment you decided to find out. “What is my dark enchantress invoking at such an hour?”

Startled you jumped nearly falling had it not been for the shelves on the wall. Your quick reflexes managed to knock off a few spools of thread allowing you to hold onto one of the empty spaces. “Have you gone mad!” The altercation sent your heart racing.

Adrenaline coursed your veins allowing you to skip formalities. After the initial shock, you stepped down to the ground floor with a deadly glare.

Loki relished in your reaction. “Did you honestly think closing your eyes would somehow help you?”

“If you must know, your highness, all the books I’ve read about magic and seidr say the person must concentrate. I happen to concentrate better when my eyes are closed.” You were a very visual person. Your eyes did all the thinking for you, the only way to silently think was to close your eyes and envision with your mind.

“Ah,” Loki approached you with a knowing smile. “So my little enchantress has been doing some reading of her own.”

“I am neither little nor YOURS,” you stressed the last part.

Using common deduction Loki correctly picked out the spool of thread you had intended. With little effort, he retrieved it for you effectively proving you were, in fact, lacking in stature compared to him. “Should I prove the rest of my statement?”

His tone was dark, most likely in thanks to the countless nights he had been spending with you instead of bedding maidens. “Again, your advances are hardly to my taste.”

“What is your taste Lady Y/N?”

“A loyal, honest man with interest in a monogamous relationship that isn’t easily sated. A man who doesn’t wish to bed every woman that offers herself to him.” Of course, these were all the opposite characteristics of Loki. Although you commended him for abstaining from his sexual desires most nights to help you with your research into your crystal. There were days, like today, when he would suddenly send word for you to not appear at his door. Those were the days he would give in to his temptations. “Someone with a lot more self-control than you have.”

Loki eyed you as you went back to your work station. He was fond of the sheer black material of your nightgown that did little to keep him from imagining what lay underneath. Although he admitted to an attraction towards you Loki had kept himself from acting.

“Believe me, love...” Loki walked over to you tilting your head up to meet your eyes.

There was something about you... By all means, you were attractive, intelligent, and stood your ground in a battle of wits against him. What started as playful flirting was quickly turning into something more. 

But he had yet to find out why you possessed that crystal. 

“...I am very much in control.” If not I would have you on your knees by now.

“I am pleased to hear it, Prince Loki.“ You could not deny your physical attraction to the dark prince. He was handsome but that wasn’t all that mattered to you. More than anything you admired his intelligence. Although he was known to be a liar, to an extent he was honest. “Now may I ask what you are doing here? Did you not ask for the night so you could attend to some unfortunate maiden?”

Loki smirked sensing a hint of resentment. “If you wish to occupy my room all you have to do is ask.”

“Tempting,” you sarcastically remarked with a roll of your eyes. A hint of a smile remained as your hands began working the thread through the machine and needle.

“I was actually looking through the familial archives.” Loki leaned against the table with crossed arms.  “How well do you know your lineage?”

The smile faded. “No one has ever asked about that... I’m afraid I don’t know much at all.”

“What about your parents?”

“I’d rather not talk about them.”

“I know you were raised by a familiar after your mother’s passing but your father-”

“I don’t ever want to talk about that man!” You didn't mean to cut him off but your resentment for the man who abandoned your mother was your whole motivation in life. The reason you did not trust men stemmed from his disappearance when your mother was expecting you. “Sorry,” you sighed, “I don’t possess the compassion necessary to refer to that man as my father.”

Loki forgave your outburst under the circumstances although he did not understand why you were so upset. “Did he not die during the battle of Jotunheim before your birth?”

“What?” your head quickly turned towards the prince. “My father wasn’t a warrior.” You shook your head at the thought. When you were old enough to comprehend the woman who raised you explained how your mother died during childbirth. How you had nearly died in the womb when your mother succumbed to stress after your father decided to run off with another woman in another realm. 

Loki waited on your every word hoping it would be useful in explaining the origins of the hematite.

“He was a good for nothing man who left my mother for another woman in...”

The wide-eyed expression spoke volumes of your sudden realization. “Vanaheim?” he suggested to which you nodded.

“I no longer understand...” you muttered to yourself.

“Perhaps the archives have the answers,” Loki suggested. The archives, of course, were not accessible to just anyone. Even he did not have full access to them but you did not know that. “It could be related to the reason you were bestowed with the crystal in the first place.”

There were moments where you thought he was far more interested in the answers than you. 

You stood to question his intentions. 

The thought of him simply wanting to help you only crossed your mind momentarily. Enough for you to be left in awe of the Prince. “I’ve been meaning to ask why you are helping me. I know I am expected to honor a favor of yours in the future as reckoning but this feels like a lot of effort on your part.”

Loki stilled for a moment as if thinking of a response. “The greater the effort, the greater the reward.”

Of course. You didn’t know why you had been holding your breath. It was obvious he was interested in his own gain. “You truly are a calculating individual Prince Loki, but nonetheless I appreciate your honesty.”

Loki’s own playful attitude fell. How was it that you readily believed him when he spoke of his ill intentions but never when he complimented or made advances towards you? 

“I thought you would be much more worried about being indebted to me.”

“I am just as surprised as you are, your highness.” For a while, you stared ahead at your work devoid of emotion.

Loki thought it was his presence that bothered you and offered to leave. “When I have concluded my search I’ll come looking for you.”

You did not respond.

Concerned he asked, “Are you alright?”

You shook your head suddenly feeling a lack of motivation. “My craft always brings me joy. When I make a dress I catch myself smiling unintentionally. When all my attention is given to the fabric I find my creations far exceed my own expectations. Now I’m afraid my mind is elsewhere at the moment.” Suddenly you didn’t know who you were. “My whole existence is in question.”

Loki placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. It was never his intention to see you like this. “I won’t be long,” he promised. 

“Mother I’ve been curious after our last trip to Vanaheim. Have any Vanir called Asgard home in the past?”

Queen Frigga looked fondly onto her son as she drank afternoon tea with him in her beloved garden. “Of course, the Vanir are the sister race to the Aesir many have come and gone in the past. You, my son, are already aware of this basic knowledge.”

Loki nodded, his mother knew him well. “Presently, are there any Vanir in Asgard?”

Frigga stilled for a moment wondering if Loki had already gotten to you. She had heard then saw you two interacting just outside the palace once before. “Only one, although she is not entirely Vanir. You two have met, correct?”

“She does not know of her heritage.” He wondered how it was possible. Perhaps it was intentionally being withheld. The only ones who could orchestrate such a thing were the queen and king. “I wish to see the archives.”

Frigga held his hand with a sigh. She would do anything for Loki, “Only if she requests it and grants you permission to look into her past.”

“She has given it.”

Queen Frigga nodded, now that you were being guided by Loki it would be much easier to confront you with your origins. “Very well, have her come to the palace.”

Loki was confused as to why his mother wanted you to come.

“I must assure it is her own will.”

“Do you not trust me?”

Frigga smiled, “This has nothing to do with you Loki, do not go making trouble where there is none. I simply wish to discuss with the young lady.”

“Very well,” Loki sighed. “I will extend your invitation to her.” He excused himself after finishing his tea.

When he got to his rooms he found Sigyn waiting for him in front of the door. She looked cross but he was not alarmed. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit Lady Sigyn?”

Her usually soft features hardened as she glared at the prince, “I am no fool Prince Loki!”

-end-

A/N: This one is a bit short but I’ll make up for it next time ^^

Tag List: @drakesfiance

#loki x reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki x asgardian!reader #loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson x you #loki laufeyson x y/n #loki odinson x reader #loki odinson x you #loki odinson x y/n #loki scenarios #loki imagines #loki fan fiction #loki fanfic #thor #mcu #marvel scenarios #marvel imagines #marvel fan fiction #loki #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #Love Is For The Foolish

[cursivescrawl]

Discovery

Rating: PG Category: Elementals Summary:  This is why Feline Team’s leader hates waking up to silence from the house and news from Virtue Team.  It’s never a good sign.

The Fire base is silent when Flash wakes.

That's worrying.  Usually he drifts into consciousness on the wings of twilight, hearing the muted tired chatter of Darkfires outside his locked door.  But now there's just absolute silence.

Flash rolls over, unwilling to get up just yet, and reaches out to his team with silent, sleepy greetings.

Lake nudges him away.  Lake is trying to decipher some old text for the Water Library, which is pretty normal for him at this hour.  Zephyr is still asleep, and Flash catches glimpses of his dreams – arrows, wings, the murmuring of a breeze.  Jag reaches out and meets him halfway.

Something's wrong.

You feel it too?  Flash raises himself to see the glowing LED display of his bedside clock. Five-thirty in the afternoon.  Earlier than he usually wakes, but that's alright.

Instead of responding in words, Jag opens his mind, letting Flash see the Earth base.  Everyone's silent there, too.  There's not even the flare of magic or the clash of swords from the training room.  It's like everyone's preparing for an important funeral.

Did something happen to the Holders while we were asleep? Flash sits up properly and drags his hand over his face, wincing as his fingers brush scar tissue.  Zey.  Wake up.

Fuck off, Zephyr responds eloquently. Jag pokes him.

Zeyyyyyyyyyyy~

Go away.

Zey, stop it, Lake sighs, finally setting down his book and translation notes.  Zephyr grumbles, but makes an effort to pull himself from sleep.  Lake continues.

The Library is louder than normal.  I think something happened to Gemstone, but everyone shuts up when they get close to me, so I can't overhear anything useful.

Gemstone Team?  It's about time for them to get back from their first mission, Flash knows.  Did something go wrong?

Oh, and Flash, says Lake.  Grace wanted to see you in Jen's room.

Great, Flash grumbles, and lets his team feel him dramatically flop back down into bed.  Just what I needed.  An early meeting with the Champion.

It's afternoon, Zephyr points out, just awake enough to make fun of a teammate.  Flash shoves him.

Shut it.

Jag's amusement filters through the connection with Lake's exasperation. Flash stretches, yawns, and gets up properly this time, dressing hastily before reaching for his cloak.

Fine. I'm going.  Hopefully nothing's happened to the Holders.

Silent agreement from all sides.  Zephyr goes to seek out the Wind Champion, a cheery girl named Vani.  Flash checks the mirror as he swings his enchanted black cloak around his shoulders.  He grimaces at his own reflection, checking the scarring on the side of his face, then shadows it with his cowl and ghosts from his room and down the hall.

Jen's door, as always, is locked.  Flash takes barely a moment to pick the familiar mechanism.

Good luck, says Jag.  Flash pulls his cowl more securely over his face.

Thanks, I think.

Zephyr laughs.  Flash opens Jen's door just enough to slip into her room.

The Holder lies on her bed, unmoving, just as she's been for the past few weeks.  Flash can see the tracery of flames underneath her pale skin.

So there's no change.

Grace sits by Jen's bed, head propped in one hand.  Flash keeps his steps silent as he moves over behind her.

“Boo.”

She jumps.  Flash grins.  Lake, silently in the back of his mind, sighs.

“Panther.” Grace yawns.  “You're awake.”

“Jen isn't.”  Flash sinks down on the edge of his Holder's bed.  Grace looks scandalized.

“Show some respect!”

“She's unconscious,” Flash points out.  “And I'm her second-in-command. Why should I bow and scrape?”

Grace huffs.

Ask her what's going on, Zephyr urges.  Jag's fond exasperation makes Flash love them both even more.

Impatient, he teases them.  “Grace?”

She looks up at him, inquisitive.  Zephyr finally manages to corner Vani.

“Did something happen today?”

Grace sighs, her gaze returning to Jen's still body.  Something definitely happened.  There have been very, very few times that Flash has seen the Fire Champion look this defeated.

“Gemstone Team came back.”

Flash waits.  Grace's hand goes to the tangle of woven bracelets on her left wrist, clutching at them.

“They betrayed the Nation.”

Shock. Disbelief.  Flash keeps his body impassive and his face smooth through long years of training.  His teammates are no less stunned, he sees after a quick check – Lake shaken from his normal coldness, Jag stumbling over the threshold of a door and nearly tripping his former apprentice Audrey, Zephyr stammering midway through a sentence.

What? Jag finally snaps.

“How did that happen?” Flash asks instantly, driven by Jag's impulse. He wishes he'd bitten his tongue.  His voice almost cracks.

Gemstone Team, though, traitors?  It hardly seems likely.  Flash knows them, knows their leader Jagev.  They're the most righteous and pragmatic apprentices of their generation.  How could they be disloyal?

Unless... A thought trembles on the edge of Lake's mind.  Flash finishes it for him.

Unless Virtue Team didn't know what Gemstone was actually supposed to do.

A cold pit of dread settles in Flash's stomach, echoed by his teammates.

“They murdered their Charge in cold blood,” says Grace quietly.  “And then tried to blame the Holders' coma on him as justification.  My team and I stripped them of their warrior status.  They're banished now.”

Flash bends his head to shadow his face more and shuts his eyes, trying to quell the overwhelming emotion rocking through his team connection.  Shock.  Rage.  Fear. Horror.  Bitterness towards the Champions for causing this, towards themselves for not preventing it.

As always, it's Lake's quiet reassurance that cuts through the maelstrom, a spear through the sea.

Banished, he repeats. Banished.  There's still a chance.

“Flash?” Grace asks.  Flash takes a deep breath and opens his eyes to Grace's concerned, tired face.

“What have you done?” he whispers.

She recoils in shock.  Then her face sets into those hard lines of stubborn, proud resolve that Flash knows all too well.

“What we had to,” she replies.

There's no use arguing with an unrepentant Champion.  Zephyr reaches out silently, carrying his own silent burden.

Vani doesn't know Gemstone's secret either.  Looks like the Champions were all kept in the dark on this.

There's a pun there, in the irony of a Daytime team like Virtue being kept in the dark, but Flash doesn't want to think about that.

If the Holders didn't tell them, Lake muses, always the thoughtful one, who are we to go against their judgment?

Do you still trust they've planned all this out? Irritation laces Zephyr's skepticism.  Jag silently agree.

If they have, I'd rather not mess it up.  You know the Holders. They're... secretive at best. Flash turns to the comatose Jen, watching the fire flow through the traceries of her veins.  Jag mirrors his stance at the bedside of Earth Holder Scylla.  There's no Champion there to stop him from reaching out and tracing the almost stone-like flesh of her arm.

Audrey interrupts him.  Jag turns, closing himself off from his teammates partially to talk with her.

When they're awake, Zephyr snaps, but Lake's silent support of Flash quiets him.  After a few moments of consideration, Jag adds his agreement, and Zephyr submits to his team's will.

Flash turns back to Grace.  She's staring into the middle distance, probably in deep conversation with her teammates.  He waits.

In a few moments, she takes a deep breath and her eyes refocus on the Holder.

“You're hiding something,” she accuses.  “Vani just talked to Zey.  He's acting weird.  What's up?”

Flash just shrugs.  “I'm a Darkfire,” he says by way of explanation.  “We're always hiding something.”

She's suspicious.  Flash stands and shakes his cloak back into position over his body, then pats her shoulder.

“Go to bed, Courage.”

Grace yawns at him, an expression of exasperation as much as exhaustion.  “Don't fuck things up, Panther.”

He smiles just wide enough for a flash of teeth under his hood.  She leans forward to press Jen's warm hand once, then leaves.  Flash closes his eyes.

Audrey says Raptor Team helped Gemstone find shelter, Jag says, opening his mind once more. He still stands by Scylla's bedside, but Audrey is gone.  They're holed up in the Sanctum in Phoenix.

Clever.  Lake's grudging approval washes over Flash, directed for Jag.  Using an unused Daytime Sanctum as protection. You've trained her well.

They're all trained well, says Flash, thinking fondly of his own former apprentice.  What role did Alyss play in Gemstone's safety​?

C'mon, let's go, he prompts his team.  We can't reverse Virtue's verdict.  But we should make sure Gemstone is alive.

We're not interfering?  For all his initial reluctance, Jag seems willing to go now, clasping his own cloak around his throat and pulling up the hood.  Flash checks that his knives are where they're supposed to be.

We don't know enough about this to interfere. Lake is drinking something.  Flash reaches out in curiosity, then wishes he hadn't.  The sweet taste of tea diffuses over his tongue and makes him gag.  The Holders said to trust Gemstone's instincts.  We should follow their instructions.

Nobody disagrees this time, not even Zephyr.

Flash settles a ward over Jen's comatose body, and turns, reaching for Lake and letting himself be pulled to his teammate's side.  The world seems to shimmer and fade around him before there's cool air brushing his face and Lake's steady hand on his shoulder, both of them standing in the chill night outside the Water base.

So, find Gemstone.  Make sure they're relatively safe, Jag repeats.  Flash helps Lake pull Jag to them, and he appears in a shimmer of brown-green, his cloak covering wide shoulders and a strong body.  Zephyr's wings flash overhead, then the last member of Feline Team is with them, landing catlike and folding his great bronze wings and shaking windswept hair from his eyes.

“And other than that, we won't interfere,” Flash says firmly.  “We won't let them out of our sight, but we'll just watch.”

Lake nods.  Zephyr is busy fumbling with the fastenings of his cloak, positioning it over the quiver at his hip as to not impede his movement, and only responds in a flash of silent acknowledgment.  Jag crosses his arms.

“And after that?”

Flash hesitates.  It's Lake that responds.

“Keep watching until something happens.”  He smiles.  “We're good at that, aren't we?”

There's no hesitation in the agreement that sweeps them all.  Flash's hand falls to the hilt of his knife and he draws it, preparing to cut into the Aethir, settling the location of the Phoenix Sanctum in his mind and preparing to create the portal.

“Besides,” he says, almost as an afterthought.  “We can't let the first Twilight Team in five hundred years just die.”

#elementals #panther #lynx #cougar #courage #generosity #sagittarius #scorpio #owl #ocelot

[burmecianblackmage]

Freyr Tyr Skadrson (Goes by “Sceada” only for multiple reasons)

Appearance -

Gender: Male

Race: Burmecian

Height: 6′5′’

Eye Color: Sapphire Blue

Hair Color: Dark Brown

The Facts -

Name Day: February 4th

Occupation: Scholar of Ancient Scripts and Civilizations, Black Mage, occassionally Performer

Sexual identification: Heterosexual

Romantic identification: Shows Polyamorous tendencies, but isn’t sure yet.

Alignment: Neutral Good

Criminal History: Exiled from Burmecia for supposed “High Treason”, several minor thefts of food

Relationship Status: Somewhat complicated, in a relationship with Maria @artemisxbow​ but questioning his own motivations following a visit to a Goddess of Love @thislovelylady​

Sweet on: @artemisxbow​, @dancing-dagger​, @containyourmainposure​, @nymphaxea​ to an extent and also @atieflingwarlock​

Favorites –

Favorite food: Isn’t picky about food, but seems to like cheese a lot, plus some lightly sweet breads

Favorite drink: Various flavors and blends of Tea.

Favorite artist: Most of his favorite songs and art pieces are from people long since lost to legend, he does however consider the clothes a certain Miqo’te makes art too, so among the living it’d be Vhaso’a @thevermiliongaelicatte​

Favorite scent: Rain, Lemon Grass, WIld Roses

Favorite person people: Pretty much all his friends, including the ones he is sweet on. Since they weren’t mentioned above, Lady Freya Crescent @burmecias-protector​ and Vani Lightpetal @not-a-rogue​

Randoms –

Ten facts about your muse:

⚫ If you ask him, he will tell you that he is in his twenties, and leave it at that. Not that this would be incorrect, seeing how he is 23 years old, but he dislikes being too specific on his age for some reason.

⚫ At the age of 8, he was exiled from his home nation of Burmecia under the false accusation of High Treason, and branded with blood red ink on his left lower arm. While no one truly could prove such a thing, rumors were persistent that this was the result of the machinations from his mother, Skadi Skadrson, who deemed him unworthy to be her son any longer once it became apparent he lacked what it took to become a reputable Dragon Knight like her.

⚫ This banishment is also the reason why he does not use his birthname anymore. Not only does Burmecian law strip him of his name, he also discarded it out of spite. After all, his mother had chosen this name in expectation of him becoming a worthy heir to her name and restore glory to her house that had fallen from nobility due to her father’s doings. When in need of a surname, Sceada however still uses the family name Skadrson, mostly because he could not think of another when prompted once.

⚫ Following being tossed away like this as a child, he lived on the streets without a name and had to steal in order to survive. During that time, a fellow street urchin abused his trust and used him to get more food without the risk of being beaten up, letting the young Burmecian take the blows. This only ended when the plan backfired once and the human boy tried to get rid of him, resolving to killing “Mousey” off - the attempt failed, and the little Burmecian ended up killing the other in self-defense.

⚫ Not only due to this incident, Sceada is to this day still haunted by nightmares, though they have become less frequent in recent years. It helps immensely if someone he trusts holds him during his sleep and gives him the feeling of being safe.

⚫ After being found by a professor from the Academy in Daguerreo, the boy adopted the name of Sceada and started studying magic, staying at the Academy from age 9 to 17. He lacks the talent to cast curative spells, finding them inaccessible to him much to his dismay, but has become renowned for his fine control of Black Magic. His signature element is ice, and his control with it goes so far that he can form an intricate crystalline rose with it - a popular gift for women he likes.

⚫ Due to a terrible accident during his childhood, his legs are full of scars and rather weak, leaving him a slow runner and unable to jump well - a trait very uncharacteristic for Burmecians.

⚫ Due to the constant abuse in his early childhood and being an outsider all his life, he has come to subconsciously see himself as worth less than others. This especially shows in situations of great danger where he will not really hesitate to put his life on the line - especially if it is to protect a loved one. This has caused him a number of near-death experiences, including one where he was swallowed by a Marlboro and blew it up from the inside.

⚫ While he knows who his mother is, Sceada never knew his father, and neither does anyone in Burmecia. His mother used the mystery of his birth to the fullest, blackmailing several nobles of Burmecia by claiming he was theirs, and that she had proof. Using the fear of being exposed as insurrance that they would not seek help, she used this tactic multiple times and gained many favors, securing her ascent up the ranks. Rumors claim that she even targetted the King himself...

⚫ Sceada has abandonment issues and is quick to value kindness from others, leaving him to get attached to people a bit too quickly. This has caused him to believe that he fell in love with multiple people, a fact that’s recently been put into question by a Goddess of Love, doubting his motivations for loving others. He is currently unsure where he stands and desperate to prevent those he cares for from being hurt, but finds his actions anything but helpful. He intends to go on a journey sometime soon during which he hopes to learn more about himself and find an answer to whether he truly loves those he does or if he only believes so because they make him feel worth something.

Bonus: Unbeknownst to him, Sceada is actually not a full or pure Burmecian. His father is, much to his mother’s dismay and shame, a Nu Mou by the name of Ma’Chymes, who is an accomplished but rather ruthless Alchemist. Ma’Chymes used an experimental potion in an attempt to get Skadi pregnant, who herself was believed to be infertile. Due to her leaving soon after, he does not know that his attempt at Interspecies Breeding did, in fact, succeed and is thus unaware of having a son. This parental ancestry is by the way also the reason why Sceada can use magic, a feat no other Burmecian has ever accomplished.

Five Things -

5 Things they like:

Rain

Tea

Reading, especially books about magic or old civilizations

The people he values in his life

Traveling

5 Things they dislike:

Hunger, due to memories of being near starvation as a child

Airships, curtesy of a fear of heights.

Marlboros. So so much.

Having to wear socks of shoes

Dry heat

5 Good habits:

Very eloquent and studious, has a way with words

Polite and kindhearted

Whenever he can, buys food for homeless children

Very kind to children and never one to disappoint them, often ending up performing his magic for their amusement

Always one to stand up for fellow non-humans when they are being bullied or looked down upon

5 Bad Habits:

Very easy to fluster and sometimes easily swayed by feminine charms

Suppresses his anger constantly, creating an unhealthy habit that may one day come back to haunt him

Orders drinks sometimes despite being fully aware that he does not take well to alcohol at all.

Does not actively steal food himself anymore now that he can afford it, but will nonetheless always turn a blind eye to anyone who does so

Very quick to look down on himself as well as putting his life on the line

5 Personality types they gravitate toward:

Confident and Determined

Kind and Caring

Talented and Studious

Witty and Humorous

Self.doubting and Insecure

5 Personality types they avoid:

Abusive and Manipulating

Cruel and Sadistic

Mean towards children and the weak

Ignorant and Prejudiced

Faint-hearted and Cowardly

5 Fears:

Being abandoned

Losing a loved one

Injuring someone he cares about

Killing another out of instinct and without rational intent (i.e. self-defense, protecting another, etc.)

Failing other’s expectations.

Tagged by: Saw it here [x] by @foxlike-ffxiv​ and took the liberty~

Tagging: Anyone who fancies doing so~

#RequestsHeeded #Muse Info

[not-a-rogue]

Tagged by: @burmecianblackmage <3

[COPY AND PASTE DON’T REBLOG]

name: Vani Lightpetal nickname(s): Van (the only acceptable one), Shorty, Squirt, Quarterling, age:  36 species:  Halfling

|| personal ||

religious belief:  Tymora is the only goddess she would tilt her head to, Lady Luck herself.Even then she doesn’t worship her, she simply gives her a nod of thanks should she ever find herself getting out of some kind of sticky situation (a halfling will always attribute their uncanny luck to the god of luck) sins:  lust / greed / gluttony / sloth / pride / envy / wrath virtues: chastity / charity / diligence / humility / kindness / patience / justice primary goals in life:  living long enough to see her theatre built I guess? Long time goals, however, she has none. Up until recently, Vani has wanted little more than to see the world burn. Up until recently, she had no one she wanted to keep around. It is likely that her long term goals may become known to her now that she does. languages known: Common tongue, Halfling, broken Elvish and Thieves Cant (secret rogue language) secrets: Fucking EVERYTHING. More or less, she literally won’t tell people anything and even if she does there is a high chance she is telling a lie. Not even Donny knows everything about the halfling and he, as I have stated before, is someone she considers family. quirks: Leg swinging (no matter the company, if she is sitting on something that stops her feet from touching the floor, her legs will swing),  is never seen with her hair up, an unhealthy obsession with carrots, likes only giant scaley monsters -- calls them cute, savvies:  Sneaking, killing, singing, cooking, music, lying, intimidating, cool acrobatic shit, archery, penis stabbing. lock picking, evading shit/dodging,

|| physical ||

height: 2′6″ (76.2 cm) weight:  90lbd (6.4st) scars/birthmarks: Small puncture wound scars across nose and left cheek, Large gash like scar across left palm, Long scar running from right shoulder to just under left breast, small scar on left shoulder. She also has freckles. abilities/powers: Pin point accuracy archery, dab hand with daggers and rapiers. Pin point accuracy when throwing daggers also. Can use magic, limited ability, however. Uses her music to cast spells. Casts mostly illusions. restrictions:  Height -- it’s hard being 2′6″

|| favorites ||

favourite drink:  Wine favourite pizza topping:  “What is Pizza?“ likely some kind of white meat, chicken if I had to be honest. favourite colour:  Blue favourite music genre: Anything (Bard reasons) favourite book genre: Horror favourite movie genre: Horror favourite season:  Spring favourite butt type: Doesn’t know, mostly isn’t interested favourite swear word: Fuck favourite scent:  Fresh bread favourite quote:  “I am inclined to satisfy the claims of my own ideals rather than the expectations of others.“ (a.k.a: I do what I want)

|| fun stuff ||

bottom or top: Neither or at least wouldn’t know sings in the shower:  Doesn’t have a shower, will always sing in the bath, however likes bad puns:  No, will likely stab morality:  lawful / neutral / chaotic / good / evil build: slender / scrawny / bony / fit / athletic / herculean / baby-fat / pudgy / obese /other favourite food:  Carrots theme music: Ninja by Machinae Supremacy their opinion on the mun: “She's... Good to me. Doesn’t want to see me die and goes to great lengths to prevent it, I guess -- even if she does roll poorly at times...”

tagging: Anyone tbh

#;;headcanon #dash games #thanks you for tagging me!! <333

[wikis-cosplay]

1,2,4,5, 6 for the oc asks! :)

This was long sorry.

1. Your first OC ever?

Most of my early OCs are the original versions of OCs I have now (like Kay, Rick, Zack, Wolfie, etc.) that are now way better developed, then there are the really just copies of other characters I like (one was basically the main character from Inkheart with virtually nothing changed) and the obligatory Mary Sue (though I don’t remember her being likable? Overpowered, but not likable so not sure where she falls) The clones were scrapped, but the Mary Sue has basically been broken into about 20 other better and less overpowered character, though still not very likable at times. If you ever see a giant list of all my OCs you’ll notice the pattern of girls who will fight you and win that was made from her.

The first OC I posted about online on DA was Vani Vienna who does fall under the character that is cringy, but that I have better developed recently. She was an OC for an IB rp, but since then I have cut out the messed up art gallery and it is more of a slice of life about college students.

Here is some of 5 year old art of Vani that makes me realize that I have improved when it comes to art. NOBODY USE THESE TO TRY FINDING MY DA ACCOUNT, IT ONLY STILL EXISTS BECAUSE I FORGOT THE PASSWORD.

2. Do you have a personal favorite among your OCs?

(THIS IS LONG SORRY)

Depends on the week, right now Snow and Des are my favorites since they are fun to develop and brainstorm for. They are basically the human equivalent of “I need an adult!” “You are an adult” “I need an adulter adult!”

More details on these two is they in their world you have two magic communities, the one run basically by the magic government that moves around and mixes these groups of magic user to ensure magic stays hidden and nonhumans don’t cause shit and the one that really just have normal lives and occasionally makes sure magic doesn’t cause issues. (they still have to listen to the magic gov since they’ve made the laws and stuff, but the relationship is tense due to long histories and troubling motives and they technically have their own leaders) Des and Snow are the leader and co leader respectfully of the East American section of the latter of those two and they got the job in the worst way possible.

The previous leader died due to an accident and his son that was supposed to take over decided he didn’t want to. Snow was offered the job of the leader as he was co leader for the previous guy as well but turned it down due to reasons he won’t explain. Then Snow found out the leader of the Scandinavian group just left and offered her the job without checking why she left. (which he really should have) So Des arrives and while she is not bad at the job, she literally understands nothing about the area she is in charge of. (which is fair, since she lived in Denmark for most of her life, but not great considering her job)  Snow was supposed to help her adjust but he seems to perpetually to be distracted by something.

Also a lot of people would like to know why she left her previous job so quickly, but they will admit that Des is doing a relatively good job considering and trying to get herself caught up.  So things aren’t too bad, but it was not a good way to start twith the people she is in charge of.

Another fun thing about these two is they both have messed up families. But Snow recognizes that that was not normal and Des does not. So while Snow is doing his best to not mess up and be a good person, Des doesn’t because she doesn’t realize that is not ok. So while Snow is sucky in his professional life, but really good in his private life, Des is great in her professional life, but then a somewhat pathetic toxic mess of a person in her private life.

Surprisingly they get on, though.

4. A character you rarely talk about?

So many, I really only talk about the settlement and clan stories on my writing blog and in the tags of this blog so there are so many characters I don’t talk about. It’s easier to list stories than characters and here are some of them described badly:

Me using the concept of the movie The Lobster, but changing everything else cause most of that concept is stupid (Jokingly called The Loveshack)

Breaking Bad but with magic

Steampunk Lebian Sherlock Holmes fighting the system

College au of diverse fairy tales (Trans Cinderella is the most sensible version of the story)

Magical Girls dealing with teenage angst and occasionally attempted murder

Teen superhero realize they are adopted and then everything goes to hell

The one time I decided to figure out what 50 shade even was and accidently created an entire story about what a health S&M relation should because I was trying to prove a point about it isn’t hard

That time I did the above a second time (Not sure what I’m going to do with these stories)

Magic Lawyers who are reincarnated assassins (there is not that much difference between the two)

Me literally making  a story about a utopia cause I was sick of all the dystopian stories

Becoming an adult is hard (where Vani is from)

A video game about punching your depression

House md, but about mental illness and magic (is better than it sounds, I swear)

Two beings that represent the opposite of the world and occasionally get born as human and mess shit up

and more

I also accidently created a cyborg that was possibly kidnapped and made to end the world but won’t say anything about that and mostly just talks about memes and homicide by accident last week.

I have a bunch of OCs over many genres.

5. If you could make only one of your OCs popular/known, who would it be?

Ughhh, I don’t really like the idea of one character getting really popular since the characters around this one character might get ignored and then I feel like a big part of that one character would get ignored. (I’ve seen it happen to games, animes, books and tv series and I would like that to not happen to my )

6. Two OCs of yours that look alike despite not being related?

The MC from “A video game about punching your depression” and Des, which is weird because they have nothing to do with each other. Though they could exist in the same world, but I’m not sure if the timeline works