#Altansarnai

[lorspolairepeluche]

love thinking about the suspects’ future kids (tho some of ‘em are current as of dawntrail/7.x patch cycle). the “my dad could beat up your dad” debates are epic.

Altan (older daughter of Oday and Thybé and Hien): I mean, my dad has literally beat up your dad in the past and totally could again.

Filia (Thancred and Zieh’to’s daughter): My dad has a gun.

Altan: My dad has my baba.

Venat (Ressaunt’s oldest child): My dad could beat up all your dads.

Altan and Filia: Yeah that’s true.

[visitor-to-the-villains-world]

Venus Altansarnai

Grade: Senior / Class B (No. 9)

Birthday: 2.8

Height: 6'2 . 188cm

Age: 18

Dominant Hand: Left

Homeland: Scalding Sands

Club: Science Club

Best Subject: Alchemy

Hobbies: Gaming

Pet Peeves: Gacha games

Favorite Food: Spicy anything

Least Favorite Food: Coffee

Talent: Baby girl mindset

Family: Unnamed father and mother

Voiced by: Michael Tatum

When first meeting Venus most are confused why he wasn't placed in Pomfiore. With his beauty surely he'd thrive in the dorm. And yet the moment he opens his mouth you understand why he's been placed in Ignihyde.

[thatliminal-wanderer]

Pink Cat Girl ID Pack

Requested by Anon

Names

Abby, Afra, Almog, Altansarnai, Amaranth, Annagul, Aphrodite, Bellarose, Bengal, Blush, Briallen, Carnation, Cerise, Cherry, Coral, Coralie, Coraline, Doja, Donda, Faviola, Feleena, Feline, Fleur, Fuchsia, Gulabi, Gulrukh, Gülizar, Havana, Ichigo, Kalika, Kalyca, Kamala, Kat, Kitty, Kolab, Kopal, Koralia, Kulap, Lilac, Lokelani, Lotus, Marjani, Marzhan, Mau, Mauve, Mist, Ogin, Peninna, Primrose, Quahah, Raisa, Rosa, Rosalie, Rosalind, Rose, Rouge, Ruby, Savannah, Shoshana, Tiffany, Vardah, Vidhruma, Warda, Wurud

Pronouns

baby/babys, blush/blushs, bubble/bubblegum/bubblegums, candy/candys, cat/cats, cherry/cherries, coral/corals, cotton/cottons, feline/felines, fla/flamingo/flamingos, fuchsia/fuchsias, fur/furs, girl/girls, gum/gums, kitten/kittens, mag/magenta/magentas, meow/meows, mew/mews, nya/nyans, pastel/pastels, paw/paws, pig/pigs, pink/pinks, prr/prrs, punch/punchs, rose/rose, rouge/rouges, salmon/salmons, taffy/taffys, tulip/tulips, whisker/whiskers, 🌷/🌷s, 🌸/🌸s, 🎀/🎀s, 🐱/🐱s, 🐽/🐽s, 🚺/🚺s, 🦩/🦩s, 🩰/🩰s, 🩷/🩷s, 🪷/🪷s

Titles

A Cat Girl Adorned in Pink, A Coral Colored Cat,A Kitty of Pink, A Pink Kitty, The Cat Girl of Pink Hues, The Cat with a Girlish Pink, The Cute Pink Kitty, The Girl Who’s Cat Ears and Tails are Pink, The One With A Pink Kitty Nose, The Pink Cat-like Girl, The Pink Meow, [prn] Who Purrs Pink Hues, [prn] With The Pink Ears and Tail

Genders

Aestheticatgirlic, Catearpersproutial/Catearsproutial, Catgirlcutie, Catgirldarling, Catgirlgender, Catgirlthing, Cutecatesque, Glitterkittyic, Luckycatgirl, Pinkcatgender, Pinkgender, Pinkheartsmeowic, Pinkinjection, Pinkribbon, Refecatgirlcomfic, Sillycatgirlic

Other mogai

Aldercatgirl, Alderretraclawic, Assigned Cat at Birth/ACatAB / Assigned Kitty at Birth/AKitAB, Cat Omninoun, Catalius, Catperspesque, Catstelic, Catvesi, Felivior, Kemidernic, Pink Diffiden, Pink Omninoun

[bestworstcase]

Does/Will tdt Cinder practice Khime?

no. although hellebore’s crossing itself is a very mixed community—like a third or so of its full-time population are fauni, many of whom practice khimerism—so cinder is a lot more familiar with what khimancy is than the average human. (one of the people in her contact list in burnt roses ch1 is a turnskin.) which isn’t to say she knows very much in detail, ’cause it’s a closed tradition, but she could define it accurately.

this is also why she recognizes the white fang safety mark on roin’s truck in ch5, since sable rescued her from the glass unicorn situation she’s grown up in an environment where it’s safe for fauni and specifically khimeric culture to just exist openly around their human neighbors. which translates into knowing how to signal that she’s a Safe Person.

lonán is a practicing khimancer (albeit one with no formal training); roscoe march and raymond altansarnai are as well (both formally trained); rue has khime for religious rite-of-passage reason, but she’s secular and not really interested in pursuing the art itself. the other fauni students in the spring class (bella marshal, garth saille, scar tybalt) don’t have khime. roscoe is REALLY GOOD bc he learned from his mom, who’s a turnskin.

cinder’s religious Situation is smth called strigism by like. religious scholars. it doesn’t have a name though, the people who practice it just refer to it as ‘our way’ or similar turns of phrase—it originated in the vitrine peninsula (where hellebore’s crossing is) and is more or less only practiced there.

and then oak is a kairoist—which is the dominant religion in anima, although a plurality of mistral’s urban population are draconites in some form, kairoism is Much Older (as in, predates ozma’s first reincarnation by a couple thousand years). [pyrrha is not in burnt roses because she is eleven but kairoism is conceptually just an elaborate riff on the mantra she uses to unlock jaune’s aura in canon, to give a sense of the vibe]

gretchen’s religion is folk draconism (<- the brother-cult) pejoratively called sanctimony by normative draconites because it is WILDLY HERETICAL and revolves around worship of various ‘saints,’ largely regional folk heroes syncretized into draconism as sacred heroes who inherited or otherwise obtained slivers of divine power after the dragon-brothers, who became mortal through the act of creating the world, died. (WILDLY. HERETICAL.) (fretting abt folk draconism keeps ozpin up at night.)

larkspur and rani both grew up reform draconites (<- aka the lucent church. reforms happened under king osiander and mainly involved imposing a separation between the valean aristocracy and the church and pushing a much greater theological emphasis on peace and inclusion. this got him briefly excommunicated but proved so popular with the common people that the church had to walk that back to save face. orthodox draconism is the radiant church. the vermeils were the only noble family to support the reforms and that was partly a political move to empower themselves over rivals and partly because the winter maiden at the time was a vermeil.)

filemot is an indifferent madagian (<- worship of the four maidens) which means he attends services on the equinoxes and solstices and that’s basically it.

and sacnicte practices ixtuan ancestor worship, which is very funny for her for reasons that we’ll get to Later. :)

[heirbane]

Gaius: pronounces "Altansarnai" with ease

Also Gaius: mishears Alta when she says "Hau" and inadvertently names his own son "Howl"

[nymfaia-archive]

Alta's parents were ... a pair. It was probably the most accurate way to describe the both of them.

Odgerel was a man with more bark than bite - not that one would hear him bark much, either. Towering over the vast majority of the men in the Hotgo tribe, he seemed most fit among their hunting ranks, if only for sheer presence alone.

Od was not a hunting sort of man. He tended to the sick and wounded when it would help and prayed to their gods when he wasn't certain it would. He was soft spoken and careful, and was one of the tribe's best arrow fletchers: his hands were large and unwieldy, but precise. When things needed repairing, he was often the one to do it.

Narantsetseg was, usually, the one causing the need for repair. While Od was the calm before the storm, Naran was decidedly the storm itself. While the Steppe, as a whole, were mostly nomadic, Naran took the concept to its breaking point, following the wind as if it had secrets just for her. She explored the desert; she went far beyond what is now the yawning chasm caused by Dalamud's fall.

No one minded that she left. After all, it meant she had stories to share on her return. And share she did.

When she became with child, the news was given to Od moments before she saddled up a Yol, laughing deliriously at his star struck expression.

She did not return for three months. And then she did, staying just long enough for the moon to change face, and then she was gone once more.

Naran came and went as easily as the weather changed, and Od did little to stop her. Well - at least until she returned the night their child born.

"I didn't know if I'd make it back in one piece," she chortled. "But I wanted to tell them about the stars, and got carried away."

"For the love of the Mother," Od had replied, thin and exasperated, "you could have simply shown them in another moon or two."

"It's not going to be another moon," she said. "It may not be another sun, either."

(It was not, and Od laid beside her, babe on his chest, dutifully telling their child about the sun, the moon, and all the fables in between. It was a girl, and they named her Altansarnai.)

[prettygoodnames]

could i get some gender neutral or fem names relating to the color pink and/or roses?

Afra

Meaning: whitish red

Origin: Arabic

Altansarnai

Meaning: golden rose

Origin: Mongolian

Gol

Meaning: flower, rose

Origin: Persian

Alternate spelling: Gul

Golnaz

Meaning: delightful rose

Origin: Persian

Golshan

Meaning: rose garden

Origin: Persian

Pembe

Meaning: pink

Origin: Turkish

Primrose

Meaning: primrose

Origin: English

Raisa

Meaning: rose

Origin: Yiddish

Rhoda

Meaning: rose

Origin: Greek

Rhosyn

Meaning: rose

Origin: Welsh

[likemosaic]

@aurouze : "I just want to go home." / to the exarch! prompt : baldur’s gate 3.

"an understandable sentiment. i must confess that norvrandt has no place quite like the azim steppe. nonetheless, i feel you will find some community with the souls who do make their home here, in time." though he wishes for nothing more than to grant alta's wish and return her home, it is the charge of destiny that sits upon her shoulders and which will not allow her to fly back to her nest. the exarch makes note to make her feel comfortable here--at least, as comfortable as one can be on another planet entire. he dislikes making her feel as if her request has been dismissed outright.

"there is plenty for you to explore here. though it may not be quite like what you are used to on the source, you are always welcome to call the crystarium your home." a home which required a decade of preparation, yet still feels a touch unfinished, now that the other is here. he feels as if there are a thousand little details that have gone unnoticed until their arrival: an unevenly placed torch, an unclean floor. too late to amend them now, yet he feels the regret of the imperfections keenly. if it were possible, alta's room would lay open to the stars she is so fond of watching, roof peeled back to show her the sky--yet the glaring sky prevents it, and the exarch had thought that she would not want to be disturbed at her rest by the ever-present sun. a tall window instead, that can be closed at will.

soon, he hopes. he prays. if altansarnai can do what he believes she can, the exarch will rip the ceiling out of her room himself.

"there are those you must miss. perhaps you will feel more at ease once you have seen your friends once again," he suggests pleasantly, "i daresay they have made themselves comfortable here."

[talenlee]

USP-09: September's Custom Cards

New Post has been published on PRESS.exe: USP-09: September's Custom Cards

Do you remember?

Do you remember those ancient stirrings, things in the vast, the great shadows cast along us?

Do you remember what it was like to look at the rolling ocean, and recognise your own smallness? The way that the strongest person you knew was probably still nothing compared to the ferocious power of storms and nature and the horrors of our own fears?

Warning: Wizards employees, this post contains unsolicited designs of custom magic cards.

The theme of September was twenty one.

Eh, see, now that’s a little more odd than the other months, isn’t it?

Every card in this month’s collection in some way references or creates the number 21. There are a lot of ways to do that; 2/1 creatures do it, things that grant +2/+1, those are obvious. And if you know that hint, then it’s easy to look at cards that straight up just mention 21; making a creature a 21/21, milling twenty one cards, that kinda thing. But also, if you want to get to 21, you can get there with multiplying 7 by 3 (hence 7/3 creatures, or dealing 7 damage to three targets).

There’s this idea in Man Play & Games of reasons people play, and it gets expanded later by Astrid Ensslin to include the idea of rhythmos: That sometimes, people play games because the intricate, smooth interaction of rules themselves is inherently interesting. I really like that and I think it forms a big part of how these cards got designed; like there’s my Thalia style card designs, where a ‘fair’ 2-mana artifact or land can be a 2/1 legendary creature in a ‘fair’ world (and there are three of those in this month!). But there are other cards as well, which are about me considering specific wording options, like the way we have the tech ‘whenever a player attacks you,’ and how that leaves a hole open for ‘planeswalkers you control.’ These are all things that I find interesting and that means this particular month of designs is just stuff I find intriguing.

And now, this far through the year, a bunch of things that have been introduced are paying off, or you’re seeing names in the flavour text that you’ve already seen before now, right? Like hey, get a load of that – remember Altansarnai? She had a Command!

And well, let’s talk about Altansarnai! Because of all the factional groupings in the setting, there’s no clear ‘green white’ grouping; green white is just people who have some memories of the forests, some connection to the land, but some other connection holding them together. While the Barren Crawlers crept the Scourged lands and tried to find people who were enraged at the Palace boats, on every level, they could find people who wanted restoration more than they wanted justice.

And those are the people who Altansarnai is caring for.

There’s a belief, especially amongst the refugees, in the memory of what they had. There’s a vision that the forests can be restored, that maybe the vast, spilling hydras bursting up out of the ground are a sign that something is wrong, not that nature heals through destruction. And they’re not entirely wrong. Altansarnai is a Satyr, who seeing the devotion that the Barrens people had to this idea, was struck by the story shaped around a knight. And so, the easiest way to tell a story was to live it. A reckless, joyful satyr took up a sword, and told those around her that she had learned a lesson from the moon – because that’s a good story.

It is entirely made up, but that doesn’t matter. It doesn’t have to be true to be real.

Ganbaatar is the hatred of the Palace itself, given a frame, as it seeks to find some way, any way to rid itself of Gansukh. There’s something wrong, a burr in the eye of the nature of death in this world, and with the Usurper in place, that irritation has formed a pearl. Is Ganbaatar there to become the new attendant when Gansukh is destroyed? Perhaps. But maybe they’re a side effect, something created out of that drive, and without Gansukh, it might just… dissolve.

Finally, there’s Eloi. Eloi is a researcher who went to the Ice Palace – you know, that city sized building carved in an iceberg that sprung up out of the water – who wants to delve into why the ice is so magically strange, and also why all the wizards and artists who come to the iceberg wind up turning all a little weird in the head. You can’t go live in the Ice Palace just by being interested, though, so you have to have some art you contribute; Eloi’s contribution is attenuated lenses, which they do with bright, shining crystals that they just happen to also be able to use to look closely at things.

This was a month where a lot of cards wound up landing because they represented effects I decided in the set skeleton I wanted, like utility effects, ‘draftable’ commons and niche effects that you should try to fit in a set to make sure you can represent mechanics you don’t necessarily think of off the top of your head. Like, you know, recurrent rare-level life gain:

There’s always a concern when you design game items that you’re designing them for entirely cute reasons. This is definitely a game item I think of as cute because its primary job is to express the number 21 in a way that is a reasonable amount of life to gain on a one-mana spell. This card, if you cast it naturally every time you draw it, gains you 1+2+3+4+5+6 life, and if you’re the kind of dork who knows stories about how Gauss annoyed his teachers, you’ll realise that’s 3*7 again, or 21.

In a 20 life, 60-card 4-ofs deck, Yet Hope Endures does present a weird thing, though, where every card after the first is just one mana for 6 life with no recursion (and the recursion is one of the reasons to want it). Compare to Chaplain's Blessing.

And if you know that the sum of all numbers up to 6 is 21, you’ll probably notice that 21 can also be made out of a 6, a 7 and an 8. That means this card, which is absolutely big dumb splashy effects, a secret 21 card.

Oh and it’s also one of those ‘hey, look, the Vast is a terrifying place‘ cards!

The Usurper’s Palace (USP) is a collection of Custom Magic cards made with the general structure of a commander draft set. The cards are posted, one per day with different themes every month, to the Custom Magic subreddit, on my Mastodon and Cohost. Follow along for more!

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

#2023CustomMagicCards #CustomMagicCards #UsurperSPalace

[sherriearts]

Altan Sarnai. His name is supposed to be Altansarnai but his adopted mother split it s it's both is first and last name. (Bad sketch)

I also learned to shade with read because 😍😍😍

[handy-dandy-monster-candy]

Damhan and Altan, part two

Rating: SFW Pairing: Male Wereshark x Trans Male Werebear x Male reader

Had to go back and edit the first one because--surprise!--there’s polyamory. Who knew? Not me!

xxx

My legs weren’t broken, and that was about the extent of the good news. It meant that we didn’t need to figure out the logistics of me moving around when I got out of the hospital, since a wheelchair would hurt and crutches would have been a nightmare. Still, I had three broken ribs and a couple hairline fractures to my spine, so I walked out of the place like I was Frankenstein’s monster from a black and white movie.

Damhan was there at the front of the hospital when I came out, straddling a motorcycle and gesturing for me to get on. I hesitated for a variety of reasons, not least of which because my body felt like I’d been abused like bongos in a Donkey Kong soundtrack; a ride on a motorbike did not seem appealing at the moment. For another, I barely knew the man except for the few days I’d been an inpatient in the hospital, where he’d done nothing but make a nuisance of himself to the staff by demanding better treatment for me and going back and forth between visiting me and his bear friend in jail.

Still, it was a free ride, and it would probably be easier to puke over the side of a motorcycle than it would be to throw up in a taxi. I hauled myself onto the bike behind Damhan, wincing all the while, and then mumbled my address to the wereshark I’d be trusting with my life. To be fair, he made sure I wore a helmet and hauled my arms around his torso, so I was relatively sure I’d at least die copping a good feel of the muscles that damn near shredded his shirt. The ride home was uneventful, but I was so dizzy on the cocktail of antibiotics, pain medication, and the antivenin regimen keeping me from turning into a were that I mostly kept my eyes shut and my face tucked in against Damhan’s shoulder.

“Hey.”

I twitched my head up from where I’d been burrowed, squinting at the contrast in light between my hiding place and the world at large. I hadn’t noticed that we’d stopped until Damhan’s voice rumbled its way into my head like distant thunder, coaxing me from his shoulder to see that he’d turned his head to look back at me.

“You okay?” Damhan asked, voice as gentle as when I first heard it through the daze of my post-surgery drugs, and I felt the something inside me that liked this impossible man twitch and greedily gather more strength.

“I’m a goner,” I said, and buried my face into his shirt.

Damhan laughed—a sound both rough and smooth as melted butter—and I felt him shake his head. “You’re fine,” he replied, “just banged up and bruised, is all. You good to get off this bike, or am I gonna have to carry you?”

“We’re sorry,” I mumbled against his shoulder, “your call could not be completed as dialed. Please hang up and try your call agai—oh, shit!” I squeaked as I found myself being hefted from the motorcycle as though I weighed little more than a sack of potatoes, clutching at Damhan and hissing as I pulled at my bruised stitches. “Warn a guy!”

“I did,” Damhan pointed out, reaching his hand into my back pocket—the noise I made when his hand cupped my ass was incomprehensible garbage—and fishing out my house keys.

“That wasn’t a warning, that was a threat,” I groused, though I was all too happy to let myself be carried up the stairs to my apartment rather than have to navigate them myself. Damhan laughed and set me down in front of my door as delicate as a teacup, watching me slide my key into the lock and twist.

“Damn,” said Damhan as he stepped inside behind me, lifting his brows. “You live like this?”

“Oh, shut up,” I muttered, kicking an empty pizza box back into the pile by the door and making my way to my kitchen to open my fridge. There was probably something sentient in the takeout container I peered into, and I probably shouldn’t have any beers until I was off my meds, so I was stuck with nursing a juice box and thumbing through my takeaway menus for something appetising.

“You trying to grow shrooms under your couch?” Damhan asked, taking a tour of my apartment and poking at things with something between morbid curiosity, wonder, and probably a little fear. “I was in the hospital,” I snapped, picking up my phone and scrolling through my contacts before I settled on my favourite Thai place. A good helping of tom yum goong would either kill or cure me, so I was determined to phone one in. “For like a week,” Damhan scoffed, then jumped as something small and furry squeaked and scurried out from under a cardboard box he’d prodded with his boot. Damhan laughed again at my shocked expression, and it wasn’t a pleasant one. “Oh, hell no. You’re not stayin’ in this dump eatin’ gods know what when you’re recoverin’ from a godsdamn werebear attack. Pack your shit. We’re leavin’.”

“What?” I meeped. “I’m not going anywhere!” I was mistaken. My apologies to the audience.

Damhan’s place was almost uncannily suited to him, exposed brickwork lending an oldschool sort of charm to the apartment while the pipes running naked along the ceiling and walls boasted hanging plants and star-shaped fairy lights that softened the rough edges. Damhan himself was in his element the moment that he stepped into the apartment, and in no time at all I’d been bundled up on his comfy, squashy couch while he made me something to eat in his kitchen.

He whistled and sang as he worked, voice a beautiful, almost rasping baritone that trickled into bass with all the grace of a cat. I couldn’t have matched him if I tried, but I enjoyed watching him dance and shimmy through his kitchen as he chopped and fried, and it seemed like no time at all before he was being presented with a steaming bowl of beef and veggie stir fry on rice. I looked up at Damhan incredulously as I thanked him, and he flashed a sharp-toothed grin at me.

“What?” he prompted, sitting down beside me with his own helping. “Didn’t think I could cook?”

“No, I just… Well, yeah,” I admitted, though I was interrupted from embarrassing myself further when there was a knock at the door.

Damhan’s head jerked up and his eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring as though scenting the air around him. “Aw, hell,” he muttered, setting his plate down on the coffee table and getting up from the couch where he’d settled beside me. As I watched, he slipped something out of one of his pockets and flicked it open to reveal a wicked-looking blade, heading for the door. He looked through the peephole and swore under his breath, undoing the locks and wrenching his door open hard enough that I heard a tiny squeak of fright from the other side, not unlike the mouse that Damhan had nearly stepped on back at my place.

“What the fuck gave you the idea that this would be okay?” Damhan snapped at the person outside the door, and I struggled onto my feet in order to get a better view.

What I saw was a bunch of flowers with legs that squirmed uncomfortably in place, and as I watched, I heard a very small voice say, “I-I didn’t get to visit him in hospital, so I—”

“—thought that you’d come visit him at my place?” Damhan sighed and put his knife away, scraping a hand through his auburn hair to push it away from his face. “That’s not why I texted you, Altan.”

“I-I know,” the one called Altan said, the flowers quivering slightly in their grasp. I realised that the little thing was shaking hard enough to make them rustle, and I felt my stomach twist.

“Hey, Damhan, lighten up,” I called, wincing as I shambled on over. “What’s going on?”

Damhan looked at me like I was about to bite his face off, then grimaced and stepped forward to take the flowers from the person standing at the door. What he revealed was a petite, curvy young thing in a sweater-dress and cable-knit socks that came up to the middle of their plump thighs, with a cute little glittery eye patch over their left eye. The right one widened at the sight of me so much that I could see it was a beautiful caramel colour almost the same colour as their skin, flecked through with green. Damhan gestured between me and the flower-person, introducing me by name.

“This is my buddy, Altan,” he huffed. “He’s the werebear who attacked you last week.”

My eyes bulged. “This tiny thing is the giant fucking bear who almost killed me?”

All at once, Altan burst into tears.

Damhan sighed and placed the big vase of flowers on the table by the door, reaching out to take hold of Altan’s elbow and gently lead him inside so that he could close the door at last. “C’mon, Al,” he rumbled, clearly uncomfortable with this display of emotion. “Don’t cry. C’mon. Nobody’s mad at you.”

“I d-didn’t mean t-to,” Altan mewed, barely being able to speak through his soft, hiccuping sobs. “I s-swear I didn’t! I was just… s-so upset with my sire, and I never g-get angry, but the full moon was so c-close, and I-I… I don’t remember any of it! I would never have t-touched you otherwise, I give you my w-word!”

“Whoa, ho, hold on, wait a minute, gimme a second,” I stammered, holding up my hands. “Look, kid, I didn’t press charges because Damhan said you were in sicko mode, but he’s right. What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I w-wanted to apologise,” said Altan, looking up at me with possibly the most effective puppy dog eye I’d ever seen in my life. He sagged under the weight of my incredulity, and I felt as though I’d punted a starving kitten into a raging river.

“Okay,” I found myself saying, wetting my lips with a nervous flicker of my tongue. “Alright. Uh. Apology accepted, I guess. Thanks for the flowers?”

Altan’s lips trembled, and he sniffled as Damhan nipped away to the kitchen. “I-I would have given them to you sooner, but…”

“Yeah, no, I get it,” I said, and even managed to smile at the young man in front of me.

Damhan came back with a napkin and took Altan’s chin in his hand, carefully wiping the tears from Altan’s cheeks and looking down into his eye. “You good?” he murmured, and Altan nodded.

“I’m sorry,” Altan whispered up at Damhan, leaning into the man’s touch as Damhan absently swept his thumb over the soft swell of Altan’s cheek; for a moment, there was such electricity in the air between them that I had to look away.

“I, uh. Should I leave?” I asked, and just like that, the tension was broken. The pair broke apart from one another, Damhan clearing his throat and Altan flushing prettily as he shied away.

“No,” said Damhan, firmly enough that I didn’t bother trying to say otherwise. “You’re my guest, and you’re stayin’. Plus, your place is a trash heap.”

“Hey,” I said, stung, but my moral high ground was a ditch, so I let it be.

Somehow, we all ended up on the couch watching some movie or another, and as Damhan slipped an arm around either of us, he looked my way, a question in his eyes.

I considered the situation.

During dinner, it had come out that the reason for Altan’s berserker state that night had been a run-in with the werebear who’d turned him—an unrepentant old bastard with a mean streak a mile wide. He’d said some truly heinous things to both Altan and Damhan, but it was the latter that had made Altan see red, and it took some serious manhandling on Damhan’s part to get the werebear where he’d been when I first stumbled onto them.

Otherwise, it seemed, Altan wouldn’t even hurt a fly. The guy had brought me flowers, for fuck’s sake, and the way he blushed when he looked me in the eye made something in my stomach flutter. It wasn’t the meet-cute that you’d expect, but he was a good guy, at the end of the day. It just sucked that we’d had to maim each other to get to that point. The way I saw it, though, we were even; he’d torn me up to hell and back, and he would always be missing an eye because of me. It wasn’t ideal, but it was what it was.

So I nodded at Damhan; whatever was happening, I wanted it to happen, and I wasn’t about to back out now.

Damhan grinned at me in the dimness and leaned in to kiss me hard enough that he left me breathless, sharp teeth nibbling delicately at my lip. “Knew I liked you,” he whispered, drawing Altan onto his lap in one fluid motion that left the man squeaking with surprise.

Altan turned a rosy pink under our combined scrutiny, squirming on his perch on Damhan’s thighs and lowering his gaze. As I watched, Damhan lifted the man’s chin with one crooked finger and leaned in to kiss him soundly, until Altan’s dainty hands clutched at Damhan’s shirt and tugged for mercy. I heard the sharp intake of breath from Altan as Damhan dropped a casual hand on his thigh, squeezing gently.

“You don’t mind?” Altan asked me, anxiously setting his hand on Damhan’s as though ready to pull it off if I so much as breathed at them wrong.

I grinned. “Nope. Though I’ll have to ask you both to lighten up on the friskiness until I’m ready to join you…”

Damhan snorted, his other hand—large and warm and sure—sliding onto my thigh as well. “Deal,” he said, and kissed me again.

[mappingway]

LEVEL 80 WHITE MAGE STAVE ; EUSEBEIA.

EUSEBEIA ; the word has fallen out of use and knowledge, a virtue lost by history. It was written of in books and manuscripts from times past on the First, conveying holiness, reverence, and sometimes, fear. ( x )

  Carved from one of Lakeland’s many lilac-toned trees, Eusebeia is an homage to Alta’s journey through the First. It has grown and evolved as her travels sent her across the shard, and was originally a simple, wooden stave. Her previous cane was not properly attuned to the First’s elemental spirits and struggled to amplify her spells, being torn away from it’s home spirits and aether. Swiftly after she was pulled to the First was this weapon carved.

   As a White Mage’s cane carries a spell and manifests energy sometimes through the user’s own aether, it comes as no surprise that, as the light began to corrupt it’s owner, did tendrils of the unending sun begin to trickle down into her stave. While the curls of marble and gold filigree climb up and down the entire branch, it is the most tainted by it where she often wields the weapon.

   The Crystal was not bestowed upon the stave until after her return to the Source. While the shard from the tower is not as complete or full as G’raha’s own, the homage to their connection is unmistakable. While she may give some floaty, sentimental reason behind it’s addition, it’s actually quite practical, or so G’raha would say. Since the Crystal itself has seen both the First and the Source, it attunes itself to both shard’s aether and elements with ease, allowing Alta to wield the weapon with it’s intended strength no matter what shard she may be on. It acts as a beacon to the elemental spirits in both places when they otherwise may not be able to find her, should she use other staves.

   (Alta has no real leanings in the science or logical reasoning behind the addition: it’s a sign of her promise to the Crystal Exarch, that she would take him on her journey, no matter where she ends up. While she is aware the shard of Crystal itself does not belong to him, the sentiment - and promise - is still there, should he or G’raha ever worry of her loyalty to it.)

[visitor-to-the-villains-world]

Venus Altansarnai

Venus Info Card

Fics:

Headcanons:

Goblin

Venus and Floyd

Idia, Ortho, and Venus

Science Club

Rage

Crocs Squad

Hair

[randomfallout4posts]

Random TES Headcanons that I made up part 2

After meeting Sofie at Windhelm, the Imperial Quartet barged into the Palace of Kings to yell at Ulfric, and were promptly thrown out. They are not welcome back. Andor brought Sofie to Solstheim and Aeta’s parents adopted her.

Tatiana’s niece Oriana is adopted and the only Nibenese in the family. Oriana’s parents are Minerva (Tatiana’s sister) and Minerva’s wife.

While coming off as rude, Sarnai doesn’t really mean it, she’s just been alone for a really long time and has a hard time interacting with people.

Although Andromeda only has one aunt, her grandmother had a lot of siblings, who had a lot of kids, so Andromeda has a pretty big family.

Since her mother ran off with her father, a man of low social status, any chance of Andromeda having any kind of political power on Aldmeris was completely thrown out the window. Because of this, she spent a lot of time studying or doing organizational work for her family. She was sent to Skyrim to be Ancano’s assistant (aka secretary).

Corentin likes to sketch in his journal. He’s not very good at drawing people but likes to draw things from nature like flowers or animals.

[vera-simik]

As my exams are almost over, it's time for another lady in armor. Last time it was "Witcher AU" Lena, this time I felt the need to take one of my older characters and redesign her a bit (ok, ok, maybe more than "a bit").

I created this character when I was about 12 or 13 years old, and to be honest - her design back then was pretty ridiculous. But if you want to see some pictures of her back from the 2010s, feel free to let me know. 

This young woman is a warrior, and I still have to decide what weapon she'll be using. Her older version fought with a sword, but now I imagine her more often with a bow. She's also highborn, and her clothes indicate it (kind of).

The inspiration behind her current design: medieval Mongolian armor.

[galla-xiv]

My purple loving Xaela gal <3