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greyvvardenfell · 3 years

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[ 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐄 ] My muse laces their fingers with yours || Amalia Sydgarden x @atypicalacademic‘s Sybilla Livsdottir

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“This is stupid!”

Amalia threw the carefully folded card to the floor and stomped away to the decanter of golden whiskey sitting on the end table next to her chaise. She poured herself a full glass and downed it in one gulp, still fuming.

“How dare he? How fucking dare he!”

Sybilla recrossed her legs and stifled a yawn. The only thing to do for Mali’s tantrums was wait them out.

“He can’t come here. He just can’t! This is my city, not his! You have to make him stop!”

Sybilla rolled her eyes. “Like it or not, your brother—”

“Half-brother!”

“—half-brother is a visiting dignitary. He has every right to request an audience here.”

“No. He. Doesn’t!” Amalia launched her glass at the far wall, scattering it into glass shards.

“You’re worse than Lucio,” Sybilla observed dryly.

Amalia’s jaw dropped. “You’re so mean to me!”

“Only because you’re my big, tough girl, and I know you can take it.” Sybilla swept to her feet and crossed the room to fold Amalia into a hug. She struggled only for a moment before burying her face in Sybilla’s elegant suit collar and hugging her back.

“Don’t let him come here, Sybbie. I don’t want him to come here,” Amalia mumbled.

“I know you don’t.”

“What if he—?” The rest of the sentence hung unspoken in the perfumed air of Amalia’s dressing room. What if tries to finish what he started? What if he tries to kill me again? What if he succeeds this time?

“I will do everything in my power to keep you safe.” Sybilla’s arms tightened around her.

Amalia snuggled closer. “You better.”

After a moment, Sybilla broke the embrace and took Amalia’s hand, interweaving her gloved fingers with Mali’s pale ones. A large diamond, Sybilla’s most recent gift, glittered in the lamplight. “Do you still have the mirror?”

“Of course I do. Like I would let anyone else even touch it.”

Sybilla smiled. “Good. I want you to look into it tonight.”

“What for?”

“Because you are Amalia Grace Sydgarden, Princess of Naigenkyst,” Sybilla said, stroking her ice-blonde hair with her other hand. “My little swan. My diamond, my dewdrop. And no one will hurt you while I draw breath.”

#sorry this is so short i was trying to pad it out but it wanted to stay this length :/#trash child having emotions? it's more likely than you'd think #i'd hate to be owyn sydgarden just sayin #i'd stay home if i were you bud #i'm so rusty writing in third person loooooooooooooool #amalia sydgården #sybilla livsdottir #rey writes things

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atypicalacademic · 2 years

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Something Just Like This

The Arcana; Pre-Canon

Title from

Basically I've had this idea ever since that paid scene in Lucio's route. Featuring Scourgeling era! Sybilla and Lucio.

Words: 2k

Warnings: blood, references to neglect, starvation.

Sybilla Livsdottir x Lucio

He still laughed like a boy, loud and proud and gleeful, echoing through the forsaken cave when she caught his wrist and called him in. But he wasn’t a boy anymore, Sybilla was told, nor yet a man- two summers away from his eighteenth. It all changed at Morga’s whim, really- as did everything else.

He was boy when she wanted him cowed, no longer a child when she wanted him bold, heir when she wanted him displayed to another chieftain as she would a fine pelt.

By Vlaganog, there was nothing in this cold world Morga couldn’t take if she wanted to. Nothing but this cave at midnight, a limping musk bear stalking its perimeter, the name he called her- Lillie- and the way he laughed at the secret they shared.

“Hush, Montag!” She hissed, leading him through the space she’d carved for herself. It was pitch dark, the night outside low and rumbling with beasts. “You’ll bring the bear in.”

“So?” Montag drawled, swinging his longsword, still heady from the hunt. He’d grown taller over the summer past, cut his golden hair short. “I’ll show it what I’ve got.”

Sybilla rolled her eyes, but he wasn’t wrong. She was the better tracker by far, but whatever was stupid enough to come charging at Montag always ended up in ribbons at his feet. He had a laugh for that too, though less like a boy, the kind she’d learnt can chill an opponent’s blood enough to turn them into prey.

They never turned back, even with her eyes open, even as they lay dead, buried beneath the snow. Even if they lived, rolling out from under him at the training field, wincing at his cocky smirk of triumph.

He never laughed at her that way. Nor she at him.

“Well, I’ve got something to show you.” She said impatiently, ducking beneath the icicles bearing down from the cave’s surface. She knew these caverns like the back of her hand.

It was Montag who’d brought her here, all those years ago, when he was small enough that his terror hadn’t hardened into pride, when she was small enough that Ana still lay Sybilla by the fireside, and waited for her to die.

At first, it had been a refuge- somewhere to put down the vice-tight agony that enveloped her body whenever her magic had flared uncontrollably. Montag turned it into a playground, then a meeting-place- it was a kingdom now, where her and her voices dwelled- where Montag was neither boy nor man nor heir, and Sybilla was no witch, bound to no promise, beholden to no threat.

The cave’s voice had been a whisper then, at the back of her mind, no louder or more significant than her stomach rumbling, than the snow as it pooled about her feet, or the other voices she heard in her sleep- a muted lullaby she’d forced herself to forget, a child crying, high and hungry, again, again, again till it went silent.

Now, it was a tether, threading through the rock, pulling at her feet and hair, whispering encouragements as it had when she’d first begun to practice her magic, hidden from her clan, safe, for once, for a few stolen hours.

“Do you hear it?”

Montag frowned, cocking his head. “What?”

She smiled to herself. She only ever smiled here, in the dark. “Wait and see.”

She pressed a hand against the rock, the healed scars on her palms calling to its crevices. She could hear it breathing, and its low, hungry snarl. She understood. She spoke hunger better than she spoke Scourge.

You’ve returned, my little falcon.

“Uh, Lillie?” Montag shifted.

Sybilla turned around, touched a finger to her lips. He opened his mouth to protest, but fell silent, his silver eyes darting about in search of a threat.

Have you come to feed me?

“I have.” She whispered. She unsheathed the dagger she strapped to her waist, held up her hand to stop Montag as he lurched forward.

What do you have to offer?

She heard its longing crawl through her veins, lifting into the night air in a sigh.

I smell another morsel. Is he for me?

“No!” Her fingers clenched around the dagger, as the cave heaved another tragic sigh. More for more. It reminded her. If you have need for more, little falcon-

Blood for a summoning, teeth for fortitude. Skin for stealth, and a heart- she suppressed a shudder, feeling another wave of the cave’s hunger washing over her. A heart for sanctuary.

“No.” She repeated, through gritted teeth. “You can’t have him.”

“Lillie, what-“

Fine, then. It sounded almost petulant. What shall I have?

She ran the dagger across her forearm, slicing her skin. Her blood poured into the starving stone, and the darkness around her shivered, breath bated. It wound around the voice, binding it, pressing it closer to her skin. The cave hissed in relish, its satiation creeping up her spine, sealing into the cut.

What is your wish, little falcon?

“Light.” Her voice echoed- light, light, light. Strong, clear, it raised goosebumps at the back of Montag’s neck. He tensed, waiting for a fight. “I ask for light.”

There was a moment, taut and charged as the woods on a moonless night, and then there was light.

Warm, golden light, almost liquid in its intensity, flooded from where her blood met the stone. It bathed her in its glow, sharp enough that she had to shield her eyes, and radiated outward, brighter than the weak sun that graced the tundra at summertime, brighter than the fire that spiraled at their stronghold, than the beacons they held aloft as they stalked through the night in search of villages to raze and pillage to keep their winters warm. It was bright enough that it had a sound, ringing through Montag’s ears, making his head spin until it didn’t.

Then it split, into strands of gold as fine as Montag’s hair, spilling color as it weaved through the cave- snow-white, blood-red, then more, as it reflected off crystals of ice in tiny, iridescent rainbows.

It was like the night outside had never existed at all, like she had reached to the sky and pulled the sun down like a cloak.

Satisfied, Sybilla stepped back.

“You did that?” Montag spread his arms, his smile wide enough to touch at the edge of the light, his eyes so bright she could see herself in them. “How’d you do that?”

“Magic.”

When he gave her that look, gleaming like a blade’s sharp edge, his hunter’s gaze all softened with wonder- it chipped at something in her, something like the loathing she fed herself to numb the hunger.

It made her want to look away, knowing it’ll make the anger worse when she left this cave- her skin tingling with magic- how dare they keep her away from this? How dare they make her suffer when she could’ve been strong instead?

“It feels-“ Montag touched a strand of light at his shoulder, followed its path down his arm. He lifted his palms to it, callused already, skin that knew war as child’s play. “Feels like a hug, Lillie.”

Sybilla blinked. “Yeah?” She kicked a pebble at her feet. “What’s a hug feel like?”

Montag cast around, frowning. “I don’t-“

For a beat, they looked at each other, silver eyes meeting pale green. And then his arms were around her, her head pressed against soft fur and the scent of blood. Her first, wild, instinct was to struggle, but his gloved hand settled uncertainly at the back of her head, softly, like he didn’t mean it to hurt.

It didn’t hurt. Clumsy, his arms not quite not knowing what to do, but not careless, either- not like he usually was. Her alarm ebbed away like poison from a wound, replaced with something- need, but different; it didn’t feel like starving, it didn’t feel like knives. But it ached, too, just as it ached to find a scrap of meat after days of nothing but smoke and ice-water.

It was a silly thought, a silly, impossible, useless thought; but she could live like this. She could live like this, and it wouldn’t hurt. She wouldn’t hate it.

Sybilla held her breath, her heart lodged somewhere near the stupid lump in her throat. What could she do with a touch that didn’t bruise? She didn’t know when or why the tears came, but Montag didn’t seem to have noticed at all. She laid her hands over his chest, loosely gripping the fur and fabric. He was still beaming when she lifted her face to look at him. “Like that?” He said, almost to himself, if his voice hadn’t always carried so. “Like that!”

Like that. Montag didn’t let her go, tilting his head just so he could feel more of the magic’s rush, meeting where her fingers were curled at his chest.

He could see her better in the light, see things he’s sure he’d have noticed if he he’d seen them before; like how many freckles she had, sprinkled across her nose and cheek, all over her face, so dark against her pale skin. Or how her hair, pulled back from her face in a braid so tight he wondered if it wouldn’t hurt her head, was the color of the frozen lake he liked to run by when he woke up. And how her eyes were like a snow leopard’s- he’d only seen one before- and only when he ducked away from it- green and glowing in the dark.

He liked his own face, sure enough, stole every chance to linger by the riverside to see it before he was dragged away by the ear; but hers was- like that.

A branch cracked outside, the unmistakeable sound of purposeful boot-steps, a low growl he was sure was his own name.

They startled apart, and Sybilla extinguished the magic with a whisper and a snap of her fingers. Night returned to the cave like it’d never left, but she found she had to catch her breath again, as though she’d been running for a mile.

“Shit,” Montag shook the snow from his boots, laughing. “We need to go.”

She took off , quick as a deer, beating him to it. “Race you!”

“Hey!”

For the first time in sixteen years, she couldn’t stop smiling.

“Was it love?” Haider looked up from a pot of boiling coffee at the fire. (The kind that didn’t make his stomach turn- he’d declared, as opposed to whatever abomination his mentor was capable of brewing.)

Sybilla stared at him blankly, forcing her gaze away from the horizon. It was a clear, moonlit night outside the tent, though the breeze was a little strangled by all her wards. She’d made good progress, even with the kid in tow, and the circuitious route they took past Karanassos, and soon enough, Lucio would-

“Sybilla.” Haider called her attention back, setting the cups down.

She took a sip of the brew, and wasn’t surprised that he was right. About the coffee, anyway. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean, this friend of yours, in Vesuvia. You said he gave you something you can’t put a price on, and that’s why you help him now.” She knew she shouldn’t have told him, but at the time, she’d deemed it better than dropping her more-than-passing acquaintance with the infamous Count Lucio all at once. “I’ve been thinking about it.” Of course he was.

Sybilla regarded her apprentice over her cup. Haider was almost seventeen, alarmingly sweet, worryingly earnest, already stronger in magic than most green magicians she’d known for decades.

The magicians she’d introduced him to had nothing but praise for him, and a word of warning- that he was the kind of healer who’d get himself killed. Two years on the road, and the fresh air seemed to have done him good. He wasn’t crying himself to sleep every single night like he used to.

He was also nosy as hell, and singularly incapable of dropping a subject.

“So,” He tucked his dark hair behind his ear self-consciously, shit-eating grin in place. “Was it love?”

She scoffed. Love? “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Well, what else can it be?”

“What about courage?” She asked him, lifting a brow. “What about hope? Can you put a price on those?”

“Huh.” Haider frowned thoughtfully, and he brightened, dimpling. “Then he must be a very good man.”

She laughed. “Oh, you have no idea.”

#the arcana #sybilla livsdottir #haider wazim #babey boy babey #otp: my homeland #sybilla and morga have an...antagonistic relationship regardless of lucio ajshdb #theres so much bad blood between them #count lucio

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atypicalacademic · 3 years

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Hopping on this picrew train with my main arcana gang 💕

Haider, Zurkhi, Balam, Sybilla, Kadambari and Nurlan 😘💕

#nose piercings are a trend in this house #i do not apologize #haider wazim #balam maitreya #sybilla livsdottir #nurlan #zurkhi #kadambari naayagi

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atypicalacademic · 2 years

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Something's....off about the Count's abjurer. (dollmaker)

#sybilla livsdottir #sorry about the eyes babe there were no options #courtier syb au go brr

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atypicalacademic · 2 years

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🥃 for Haider, Balam, and Sybilla with an extra 🍷 for Haidi please!

🥃: If your OC was in this universe, what would be their favourite show/book/band/social media platform?

Haider: would probably have like, one of those calming silent recipe channels; I think he'd just like YouTube in general, to have something in the background while he works or paints. As such I think he's more of a podcast person than anything else, like I can see him enjoying Welcome To Night Vale, for one. If he's feeling nostalgic, he puts on old Bengali songs.

Balam: Eclectic, her tastes range from the likes of Murakami's Norwegian Woods to the likes of Jeet Thayil's Necropolis. She collects Stuff like a magpie, and doesn't really like to pin down her interests to one thing. Whether it's a sports documentary about a sport she's never played and never will, or ska music she's heard like, Once at a bar, if she digs it, she gets into it.

Sybilla: Horror in all forms; I can actually see her really liking everything from those grainy paranormal activity movies to something like The Magnus Archives. Modern AU Syb was also a huge ABBA fan back in the day, possibly still is. Blasting Dancing Queen at full volume is her idea of self-care.

🍷: What's one of your OC's pet peeves concerning food?

Haider's too much of a darling to criticize someone else's cooking but like, undercooked rice makes him very sad. He also on principle can tell when establishments are trying to cut corners when it comes to food so that makes him angry as well.

#haider wazim #balam maitreya #sybilla livsdottir #literally tho syb has very billboard tastes in music #shes a pop girl through and through

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atypicalacademic · 2 years

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All my arcana babies looked exceedingly cute in this picrew so; Balam, Nurlan, Zurkhi, Haider, Kadambari and Sybilla ❤️

#the arcana #couldnt change eye colors but look! babies!!#nurlan stealing the show as per usual #balam maitreya #nurlan #haider wazim #kadambari naayagi #zurkhi #sybilla livsdottir

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atypicalacademic · 2 years

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26 + 27 for Haider, Sybilla, and Balam!

26. What does your character’s home look like? Personal taste?

Haider: Tidy, warm, well-lit and crowded with houseplants. Home is Haider's sanctuary, it's his source of strength. He's always adding little touches to it- embroidering a new pillowcase, carving a new wooden jar for his spices (the kitchen cabinets are packed, btw), adding flourishes to the handpainted murals on the walls- they're the favorite fauna and flora of everyone he loves. The house he grew up in before his parents died, by the Catclaw desert, he repurposed into a studio- most of his full-fledged paintings are there, but he has some favorites at his own house in Vesuvia too. And sketchbooks galore.

Sybilla: She doesn't really put down roots, but she does like her luxury. Syb has a bunch of plush suites bought up and down nearly ever major city she frequents. When she doesn't live in them, she doesn't spare them too much thought, and since she doesn't take permanent residence, till much later, in Venterre, there aren't a lot of personal touches to them. Think plush fur rugs and deep green silk sheets, chandeliers and high ceilings, and many ostentatious lamps. But when she's living there with one of her sugar babies, she subtly redecorates it to cater to their comfort. Lucio's the one person allowed to do it for her in return.

Balam: A mess, really. Technically, she lives with Portia at her cottage (or at the Palace with Nahara, ofc), but she does have her lil haunt in the city and it's a mess. Balam doesn't actually buy a lot of stuff As Furniture, so it's more just a jumble of pillows and carpets strewn across the floor. She actually likes sitting on the floor to work, so it does sort of fit. It's still very colorful, because Balam's very fond of color, if only disjointed enough to be rather trippy. The one thing she does like collecting deliberately are pretty painted ashtrays. Contrast this with her sister's immaculate apartment in the Heart District tbh. Thangam never visits Balam there, it'd spike the poor girl's blood pressure and she's only 19.

27. How do they relate to their appearance? How do they wear their clothing? Style? Quality?

Haider: Sticks to one style that works, really. His kurta/sherwani-pyjama, pretty scarves and jewelry has never failed him, and they're versatile enough for any occasion. You can never see him without the henna painted up to his elbows, or the anklets, at least. He's very picky about his fabrics too, be it simple cotton or silk- the man likes his embroidery, he likes his brocade. Haidi likes the way he looks, and dressing up is a routine that grounds him. He certainly enjoys the attention his good looks get him, too, even if he's tongue tied and blushing more than half the time.

Sybilla: Tailored suits, hats and gloves- usually, though not always, in colors like olive green and deep red. She likes to dress more to show off/ intimidate, rather than to look pretty, I guess. Syb likes to present herself as a certain kind of aloof, which she does- when she was younger, and her persecution complex was at its worst, she did a lot of things to disguise herself- like dye her silver hair in many colors, mostly travel with her face hidden- things like that. Even her tattoos are layer of that secrecy- a layer of protection against vulnerability, as it were. Even now, that she doesn't hide, the shininess is it's own mask, it's own security. She doesn't wear a lot of makeup though, she thinks it's a bother. Sybilla's prideful, and confident, but she's not vain in the slightest. I honestly don't think she thinks of herself as particularly beautiful. Growing up, she was a starved, hunted child, and she wanted to be strong way more than she wanted to beautiful. So even now, it's always a pleasant but bewildering surprise when someone sees her as such.

Balam: She never wears anything normally. If it's a sari she'd secure it with tens of dupattas and drape it in ways it's definitely not meant to be draped in- if it's a shirt, it's usually cut up in some asymmetric way. Her anklets are usually mismatched, her bangles are never evenly distributed. She never goes anywhere without her kohl, but by the end of the day, she's smudged it so much she looks like an adorable raccoon. Although she still dresses very East Prakran, usually in a blouse and a wrap-around, she loads up with so many shawls that you can't tell where the outfit starts and ends. It's mostly held together in such a flimsy fashion because she likes showing skin very much. She's also definitely not a dress-for-the-occasion person; time and place is a tyranny her style does not care to accomodate for. I don't think Balam gives a lot of Thought to her physical body unless she needs to (sometimes even then). And enough gays flock to her that she's rather pleased with her attractiveness.

#ty dani <3 #balam maitreya #haider wazim #sybilla livsdottir

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atypicalacademic · 2 years

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Run

Words: 606

Warnings: none

Sybilla Livsdottir x Sun Bai from @asras3rdeye because they decided they wanted to be briefly perceived.

“I hear you had a quarrel,” Sybilla paused at the vanity, lifting her gaze from her nails. “With the Milovan Ambassador here.”

Firelight flickered and hissed in the silence, painting a shadow over the thick drapes pulled shut over the windows. She wished he’d speak up, instead of fiddling with his glasses from where he was curled snugly against the headboard, so she could listen to something, anything other than the snow swirling outside.

Of a… professional nature. How do you know?

She smiled like a cat. “He asked for my assistance.”

Sun Bai kicked the covers aside, leaning in over steepled palms. His long hair flowed like water down his bare shoulders. “With..?”

“With you, of course.” She pulled her velvet gloves back over the pale, scarred skin of her arms. She felt him shift, a touch too eager to be suspicion, a tilt of his head to signal his attention. “He wanted you gone.” Sybilla murmured.

Bai exhaled.

What did you tell him?

“What do you think?” She laughed, missing the warmth of the covers, of his hot, reverent breath against her skin. These meetings and partings were always always teetered at the edge of wistfulness, at the edge of everything, even here, in this near-nameless Ataptran township, it’s near-nameless suite where they’d taken refuge from the snow. She preferred it that way.

Rolling off the bed, Bai padded over the plush rug to situate himself beside her, perching his hands on her knees.

“He’s dead.” She told him.

I know.

Sybilla raised an eyebrow.

“My people were after him.” Bai plucked at a silver falcon embroidered onto her pocket, peering up at her through his glasses. “When they told me someone beat them to the job-“

“You didn’t think it was me?”

A pause. “No.” He confessed. “I didn’t think you had reason to.”

She threaded her fingers through his hair. Beneath her gloves, her hands still thrummed with magic, cold and strong. “It seems I did.” She whispered, and he lifted himself to his knees to kiss her, only to have her hold him back, her dropping her palms to his chest. “If you must know,” She leaned away playfully, “He called me a name I didn’t like.”

“Ah.” A small smile tugged at his lips. “Then I should be careful not to offend you.”

Sybilla chuckled, finally tipping his chin up to kiss him, only once, only barely. “You are.” She guided his hand to the emerald pendant glittering at her open collar. “And I like your gifts more.”

She let him go, shaking her head almost ruefully. “I suppose I’m too much of a Southerner, Sun Bai, to not look out for my-“ She bit her lip. For my own. It wouldn’t do.

You’ve never mentioned the South before.

“Naturally.” Her pale green eyes drifted to the window, and back. “There’s nothing to say.”

“In any case,” She stood up, briskly pulling her coat snug around herself. “I thought I should let you know.”

He hummed, almost non-committal, reaching to briefly grasp at her fingertips. “You’re leaving.”

“So are you.”

He said nothing, only kissed the back of her palm, and let her go.

She could feel his eyes on her as she whistled for her falcon, and walked away, as she always did, without goodbyes or promises. She wondered when she would see him next, which hurried note she would follow, which interchangeable city it would take them, this game she was fond of as she was of him.

Just as she shut the door behind her, his silence followed her like the wind’s whisper, a kiss.

Thank you.

#the arcana #sun bai #sybilla livsdottir #coco look i come bearing a gift #theres nothing sybilla loves more than giving mixed signals #especially to one who appreciates them #and neither of them stick around for long enough to have a full conversation which is wonderful

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atypicalacademic · 2 years

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D - Haidi

S - Nurlan, Balam, Sybilla

R - Sybilla

V - Zurkhi

Q - Rio

Coco!! ❤️🥰

D : DATE. what is your muse’s ideal date? where / who with / etc?

Haider's a homebody, but he certainly loves whisking his partners away to his studio in the Catclaw desert. It's a quiet spot, and he's very at peace there, content to cook for and paint and dote on and spoil his love in every single way. Also comes with midnight swims in the nearest oasis, and if one is up to it, some looking about for rare desert plants to take back home for his remedies.

S : SWEETHEART. did your muse have a childhood sweetheart?

Nurlan: Yes, her first wife. Aida and her grew up together, they knew each other since they were seven, and they were inseparable until Aida died of the plague. There's always a part of Nurlan that's deeply in love with her, and it's something she simply lives with.

Balam: Oh, absolutely. Her first love, as it were, was a young mermaid off the backwaters in her hometown. It didn't end well, however, especially when Balam left her home to join the navy, and Sharanya was sworn to protect the backwaters. There was no just no compromise to be had, and both of them were young and stupid and thought the other was being selfish, and that was that.

Sybilla: Lucio, though I don't think they were Together in the official sense of the word. Fate and demon deals intervened before they could confess their feelings for each other, but the feelings were definitely there, and they never really went away.

R : ROMANCE. is your muse a romantic or a cynic?

Oh, Sybilla wishes she were more of a cynic. She doesn't really do attachments, and definitely doesn't love easily, but when she does, she's there is nothing, absolutely nothing she would not do, no rule she won't break, no amount of murder and sacrifice she won't commit for the person she loves. I think that's why she's on her guard so much against attachments, and that's a very Romantic, you-and-me-forever view to take. Because she knows she's not as detached as she wants to be, and her self preservation instincts scare her away from it.

V : VALENTINE. how does your muse feel about valentine’s day?

Zurkhi: Definitely goes off about the commodification of love or wtv, if we're talking about a modern au, but also is a giant sap deeply in love with the idea of love, so he's not going to let Valentine's Day pass by without a few surprises for his partner, or at least without getting all misty eyed about how fortunate he is to find love.

Q : QUESTION. would your muse ask the big question or expect their partner to?

When he was with Aodh, it's Rio who proposed to them. He's definitely someone who prefers and prizes stability, so it just felt like the natural progression to their relationship. But after they died, he's also just. Done with marraige, never wants to do it again because it brings up too much grief. Nurlan feels the same.

#thank you 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰#i am always in the mood to go off about them 😌#balam maitreya #haider wazim #zurkhi #sybilla livsdottir #nurlan #orion meriden

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atypicalacademic · 3 years

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Made my Arcana main six in this rom-com dollmaker uwu

Balam and Portia, Orion and Nurlan, Nadia and Zurkhi, Haider and Asra, Lucio and Sybilla, and Muriel and Kadambari 💞

#adhdb now gtg make balams entire polycule #also lucio and sybilla are the Same Height i couldn't in good conscience make her shorter #i feel like she'd strangle me if i did #balam maitreya #nurlan #zurkhi #haider wazim #sybilla livsdottir #kadambari naayagi #lov they #the arcana

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atypicalacademic · 3 years

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👤 , 💀 & 💓 all for balam, haidi and sybilla, pretty please? 😚✨

👤 - what's the origin behind their name? [either within or outside of their lore]

Balam means "strength", which is pretty on the nose for what her patron arcana is. She chose that name soon when she came to Vesuvia, after the last big falling out with her parents. The name they called her was Thejas, which meant glory and radiance. "Strength" was better. "Strength", she could do. "Strength" was human, and maybe she could be human. Maitreya was the name of her grandparent- both Balam and her sister were given that in their names as was customary. It means "Harmony," and Strength and Harmony are pretty much Balam's brand. The family name Edayil, she dropped as soon as she cut off ties with her family. Thangam kept it, however.

Haider means "brave", and Wazim is a patronymic, of course. His father named him that because "it's a handsome name", and I mean yeah, look at him. I think it fits because to be kind the way he is,, to choose to be kind over and over again in a world that dealt him loss and cruelty, is incredibly brave. He gets hurt for it, hell, he even dies for it, but he's so stubbornly gentle, stubbornly kind, because he musters the courage for it, every time.

Sybilla- "Prophetess"- Her mother before her was also a magician, and just like Sybilla herself, she was threatened by the Scourge into never using her gift, no matter how powerless it rendered her. Even though Liv died far before Sybilla could even remember her, she knew that her daughter had magic in her- I think the name was hope, and a kind of threat- the Prophetess heralds change, and maybe this was the last magician the Scourge can keep under the thumb. When they tried, they soon found out they'd made their last mistake.

💀 - what do you dislike about them/what would you dislike about them, if they were a real person?

Balam can be way too competitive, incredibly fixated on Winning and Being Right over like, actual concerns. The perfectionism gets pretty grating if you work with her, and she's really, really volatile, strangely touchy about things you never see coming. Still a darling though.

Haider's martyr complex. Like- calm down, you're not a better person for being so righteously self-sacrificing. The self-righteousness too. Part of having an identity so wrapped up in being a Good Person is the black and white thinking he really needs to work on.

Sybilla- Um. The pathological lying, the refusal to take accountability, the constant denial, the evasion, the running away when what she needs to do is face what's happened and own up to it, the selfishness with which she approached the Plague which is pretty much to only extend her help when Lucio was directly affected? The need for power at almost any cost? I'd probably add the series of cold-blooded murders too, but who am I kidding? I like that about her.

💓 - what's something small that holds great significance to them? why?

Balam: She loses things all the time bless her- but she's rarely seen without her lion's head brooch; it's a crest from her hometown in East Prakra, and the one thing from home she could look at post memory loss without getting Memory Loss Headache. You wouldn't tell though, with how much she keeps dropping the thing everywhere.

Haider: A lot of things- Zainaba's sandal-colored scarf, her books, his father's paints- but those are givens. He's really attached to this one sketchbook he has- it's very old, the pages are filled, and his artistic style's grown since then, but he remembers the comfort it gave him when he first had to hit the road with Sybilla, and he remembers the boy he was then and how far he's come. It's almost like a map of his own survival.

Sybilla- The white rose clip- a hair ornament that was Lucio's first gift to her after his coronation. It was his first Stated just-because gift and she's never been given a just-because gift before, and it's such a Lucio thing, so she treasures it. For reasons. Undisclosed reasons.

#as usual this got long #love u #balam maitreya #sybilla livsdottir #haider wazim

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