#charmblooded

[hosannan]

circling the nighttime sun

charmblooded asked: Perhaps it's not strictly traditional, but Diarmuid can't help himself. When Nanna finds herself unengaged in anything - he'd hate to interrupt! - he approaches her, sunshine to sunshine, magnified in her presence. "Nanna!" he calls, just barely curbing himself from waving eagerly. "I know this may seem odd, but - would you share a dance with me?" She is his dear sister. They are together scattered light.

"Diarmuid...!" She had been observing him for a long while, touching base with others as she cradled a crackling heart. He seemed to wait until the ebb of a wave before stepping in, as though sensitive to the wiles of her conversations. Her smile burst open, palms ready to cup his hand in hers. He works so much—too much—and in a way she found increasingly relatable. Perhaps it was in their blood that they rippled and flowed, passing a handful of stars as the tide pulled around others. He was even more meticulous than her, and she wanted him closer because of it. Because she felt like she understood it, wordlessly. This giving, careful heart.

"Never odd...! In fact," She brought an index up between them. "It's what I've been looking forward to the most!" Crow feet crinkles touch the edge of her eyes. She is overcome.

He twinkles. He rises. Even if the lights go out, she finds him dappling her vision.

"Dear brother, I am for you as you are for me. A hello, and a song perched on my lips." Nanna's gentle pat pressed them both forward. Her gown swooped to one side, as it hugged at his legs. "Let's go, shall we...?"

@charmblooded

[swiftscion]

Diarmuid has arrived just in time, it seems.

With the return of an alum and her strange... "photo-artifex", excitement for the upcoming ball seems to be rising with the tide. When he stands watch in hallways, students' chatter reaches him - in the knights' barracks, too, people talk about dates and dances with an excited reverence. Their whispers are hardly hushed, and their excitement is contagious. A ball!

He is not the perfect-courtly prince he'd like to be, but he can't deny the allure of a ball. Would it be odd to go alone? This, he is unsure of, but he does not have to go alone.

It is late when he finds her. Against a fountain, her hair shimmers near-silver in the moonlight, liquid mercury. A soft smile is on his face as he takes a seat on the marble edge, the spray of water against his back.

"Larcei," he says, bearing her name like a gift, familiar-fond and near giddy. "I was wondering if you'd like to go to the ball with me?"

There is little uncertainty in his tone. He has known her and she has known him just like they've known the passing of years. The smile he gives her is a reliable-old thing, shined clear without a hint of rust.

"As friends, of course! Oh, but if you already have someone you're going with, I don't want to impose. You'll have to tell me about them, though, if that's the case!"

He folds his hands in his lap and waits, then, watching her face like a memory, taking her in as if she holds the world.

(Maybe she does.)

She wonders if she should take a quick dunk.

Larcei’s day has been a long one. It began with the rise of the early sun, and blazed on through her training, errands, and buzzing around her mother after class had ended. She poured her heart into everything she did, and for that reason, she has decided to take a break by nightfall. 

Her arms are propped against the fountain, head held back in its warmth and slight-sweatiness. As her eyes begin to wander, they land on the surface of the water. Only stars glimmer in the reflection. It looks so… Cool. So refreshing. A small deliberation goes on in her mind, and she decides that on the count of three she’d treat herself to a splash. One, two-

‘Larcei,’

Fire toasts her cheeks as she turns to meet the sound of her own name. For a moment, she believes it to be one of her professors. Probably here to scold her for acting like such a child, and rightfully so. But Diarmuid’s familiar features draw a breath out of her, and with it she exhales much of her embarrassment. “Yo,” she greets, with a small wave–trying to act all cool-like. 

He goes on, and she listens. But the mention of the ball brings back her discomfort. Her face begins to flare, fingers squeezing into a fist by her side. Is that… All she is to him? Are they not friends–have they not ever been friends? Has Diarmuid only ever seen him as a girl–a potential suitress waiting to be wed? Is he no better than the last guy that tried something like this?

(And seriously, could he have not picked a more romantic setting?)

But just as she is about to open her mouth to speak, he offers the rest. Her heart stills. The last few seconds have been a rollercoaster for her, so when she speaks her voice sounds rocky, like she had nearly gotten the wind knocked out of her, “Oh, that? I’m… Shocked you even heard about it. ‘Never pinned you as the kind to care about dancin’, y’know?” 

She tries a laugh, but even that comes out awkwardly. “Sure, Diarmuid,” she finally just spits, knowing at her core that she wants and trusts him to take her. Anyone she grew up with shouldn’t even have to ask, actually. “I’ll come with. As long as you’re by my side though, I’ll make sure you have fun. Got it?” 

Speaking sets things back into place for her. She wears a smile, and unfolds his arms by the wrist. The Sun is then whisked away by the Star, off to go to bed, off to endure the many preparations for their next meeting. They'll need matching suits and a plan of action and for Diarmuid to know how crazy the last few balls have been. But their conversation fades into the background.

The whole while, Larcei subtly shakes her head at herself. Who was she kidding? The guy’s got his head on straighter than most. If anyone is sensible enough to not make stupid mistakes in the name of love…

…Strangely, it’d be him.

[luminousrider]

[Grannvale]

"I know it's a bit odd for us," comes a voice of honeysuckle and good-mornings, still as bright and clear as when the night started. "But I was wondering if you would do me the honor of sharing this dance with me?"

Diarmuid extends his hand with a twinkle in his eye. He's ever-so-slightly bowed, but he's looking up at her, optimistic that she'll accept. Hopeful. Either way.

"I'll take no offense if you'd rather not!"

She pauses for a moment and blinks as she looks at his extended hand. It isn't really that surprising that he approaches her. He's always been friendly to her. To everyone, really. But she is surprised with just how many times she's been asked to dance this evening.

Altena takes his hand and takes a step closer to him. Even if she's happy to be part of the background typically, it's kind of nice to be sought out.

"Let's dance then."

It's becoming less and less odd each time they speak to each other.

[ladyleonster]

@charmblooded

It's hard not to stare when he is so so Nordion. The genes in that family are quite strong. He looks just like his sister. Like his mother. It makes her smile when she looks at him.

She realizes she is probably making things awkward and kicks off her shoes to cross the distance in the sand between them. With the sun setting, it's cool against the bottom of her feet.

"Sorry for being a little weird," she laughs awkwardly, kicking at the surf as it laps against her ankles. "You just, you really remind me of her, you know? You and your sister both."

The only BS I need is beach and sandals!

Happyland Week 1: Central Island

[hosannan]

It does not take asking around and prodding at strangers for him to find his sister.

It's far easier than that - far easier than their first meeting, an overdue reunion drawn out by a warring world - and he may, if asked, chalk it up to that idealized thought of family. Of course he would find her. There is no other answer. Like a lighthouse in a storm, he follows familiar flaxen hair as it flows down the hall.

"Nanna!" Diarmuid erupts like a crashing wave - he heralds her with a raised hand, and walks purposely closer, opening his arms for a hug.

"I've missed you terribly. How have you been?"

It's been a year, now. I missed you.

He was, for all he was worth, her light at the end of the tunnel. It was not fragile, but steady, pressed into the earth like a pulse—the kind she was left following since she was born. She gathered from the day that he arrived that her mother had never found him, and worse yet, that he had never known of her love. In her mother's stead, she stood in his light and thought she would love him, could love him. To no surprise, she did. So many years were spent echoing her own thoughts, burying her own roses, with no one to understand her as closely as the hallowed out tree she would whisper her secrets to. That is, until he came rushing in, knees buckling, hair slicked back in waves of dressed flax.

"...Diarmuid!"

Her shock immediately cocktailed with delight, sparking a sort of relief that could only render in his company. Wrapping herself tightly around his chest, she thought to be clever, to be bright, to be something or another. Instead, her heart spilled over, reminded that he was going to see through it all anyway. "As I've missed you...!" Her voice muffled in his shirt, before parted gently to let him breath. "I've been well!"

"..." The letters. She ought to ask about the letters. "I want to ask..." Pulling a strand of hair behind her ear, she mused about all the strange correspondence issues they had been having since they arrived. In fact, much of her own brother's letters were lost in the transitory mist, between sea and time. "Just... how long has it been since we've seen each other?"

"I don't want to assume... but..."

"I'm afraid of missing more of you." She admitted, bowing her head in earnest. "We've already lost a lot of time between us, have we not?"

[luminousrider]

[ longing ] - like a flicker, a sidelong gaze too long-lasting to be a mistake. He watches her with his heart-bearing-sleeve, eyes too open, heart too full. He doesn't speak, because it is too quick-shattered, to give voice to such trembling things as fondness for the unfamiliar, but he does watch. When she passes, when she blends with the crowd. Longing, wistful, fond.

There is a moment where she considers stopping and greeting him. Scenarios are run through her mind as she mentally practices how it might go.

She could just give him a simple 'hello' but what if he expects the conversation to continue? What else would they talk about? She could bring up the weather but it feels too impersonal. They'd fought side by side in a war. Even if they aren't close, they're closer than weather talk. 'How are you' risks him asking her the same.

In the end, she keeps her eyes ahead and continues going forward. If he had wanted to speak with her, to reach out to her, he would have. It isn't her place to intrude.

[corvuschriisti]

welcome 2 my twisted mind (aka housekeeping & updates)

hi everyone i finally made a mun page for this blog. it includes shipping / ask memes / post formatting / etc.

i'm going to be focusing on closing up ball threads this month, but i will respond to other threads as well!

these are the threads i have in my drafts:

can you pretend you never saw my family guy death pose? ; @indevouement

Hey Man, Can You Grab That Thing on the Top Shelf? ; @swordsmanoftranquility

beorcs and their interesting fashion choices. ; @goldoanheart

owed starters for @pryings & @viridescent-lance

voted fódlan's 'hottest and messiest dream team' 6 months and counting ; @nagaficat

𝘮𝘦, 𝘮𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘪'𝘮 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧. ; @sayhwaet

until the darkness does recede. ; @fluxrspar

Look at this photograph every time I do it makes me laugh every time I do it makes me ; @nagaficat

i'm gonna cast this spell so we don't light on fire. what are we doing to our beautiful queens ; @losojos-decupido

𝙞'𝙢 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠 𝙜𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙚𝙜 𝙢𝙖𝙘𝙝 𝙢𝙖𝙮 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙗𝙚 𝙖𝙘𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙡𝙡. ; @ulircursed

p · e · e · r · s ; @pirrhyc

𝗶'𝘃𝗲 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗱 𝗮 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝘄𝗼 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂. ; @laslow

𝘨𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘰𝘢 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘷𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘤 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵. ; @goldoanheart

The Two Worst Men You've Ever Met Teach You How to Hold a Sword (They Don't Know How to Hold a Sword) @yukyunotabibito

It's the Gallagher Principle ; @sayhwaet

threads that i am waiting on:

if you give a raven a single coin that asshole is gonna demand 50 more ; @laslow

𝘱𝘦��𝘱𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥𝘴. ; @kingstalons

well, well! look what ashera dragged in. ; @thelightofcreation

remember that time you beheaded me? i sure don't ; @charmblooded

i hope quan signed your permission slip to go into the very normal and not at all dangerous mine ; @luminousrider

Ghouls Just Wanna Have Fun ; @swiftlance

taking my best friend out to a rat concert (concert performed by rats) ; @serenegaldr

wake up to bird calls… and the bird is naesala and the call is You're Getting Flung ; @pridelessdaydreamer

𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘦 ; @pryings

No Remorse and No Redemption ; @peerlessscowl

ermmmm if i forgot anyone let me know but i have one million threads so i will not be upset if you wanna drop it ! i will be focusing on closing up quite a few of these, so if anyone wants to pingpong / me to prioritize a thread also let me know!

[lordleonster]

"Ah..." Quan folds his rolecard quickly, unsure if the role is something that he can fall into easily. He is assigned to be the queen, unloved and unnoticed—with a second life under the limelight. "Diarmuid... Now where have I heard that name before..." He could have sworn one of his family members had mentioned that name before... Was it Altena? Leif?

"My name is Quan, by the by. Today I shall be Queen Q. I know I wrote the roles, but I certainly received a challenging one for myself."

He shines a faint smile, as to not appear too unhappy with his role. "And you're... the actor correct? Perhaps we've met under different circumstances. You in all your fame, and I, a masked opera singer in the evening."

@charmblooded

notoriety be thy maker { quan&diarmuid

( HAPPYLAND; week one )

[komori--shoma]

Number 6 and 8 ^^

6 - Favorite DL game so far?

I don't have any, but I watch some gameplays! I loved Lost Eden, but I actually liked every game.

8 - Nicknames for the diaboys?

I'm going to do it in spanish and English, because I want to-

Shuü: El sueñitos / Prince Charmblood-

Reiji: Piromaníaco / McFires

Laito: Laito Tangas Locas / Mr-I-Would-Fuck-You-If-You-Even-Fucking-Breath

Kanato: Anabelle

Ayato: El wey con complejos de Reina de Corazones / Bloody Mary Boy

Subaru: El Muros Locos / Edgy Boyo

Ruki: Maleficent but hot / Bookworm

Kou: La Divasa / The Talking Sun

Yuma: El Yumaconda / Farm Babe

Azusa: Bebé 🥺 / Love of my life 🥺

Carla: The True Daddy

Shin: Perrito Besho / Sassy Bitch

Kino: Sassy King

Yui: Angel 🥺

Seiji, Ritcher, KarlHeinz, Cordelia, Beatrix: Motherfucking Bitch-

Christa: (I don't have any for her :') )

[goldoanheart]

Right, so, about those monsters! It turns out they might be smarter than you are, because you can’t just walk up to them and start swinging, and they also look to have little interest in your cute traps and snares. You’re going to have to get creative about it, before the hunters become the hunted. [Grants Any Skill +1]

Kurthnaga fiddles with the piece of rope he holds in his hands. He doesn't want to do this. He doesn't want to make traps and hunt down the monsters in the woods. He doesn't want to have to hurt them. They may just be strange monsters, but Kurthnaga still didn't want to have to hurt them. Where was the line drawn anyway? Where was the line drawn between "monster" and Feral One?

He just didn't like it. He didn't like the idea of hunting to begin with. Let alone whatever these monsters were.

His hands tense around the rope, the threads starting to split apart with the strength of his grip. Hunting meant blood. Trapping meant blood. At least for the most part. Perhaps there were traps that didn't draw blood, but because the idea of hunting was almost equivalent with blood for Kurthnaga, his racing mind couldn't even begin to think of them.

Kurthnaga turns to one of his fellow hunters, trying to clear his throat of any nerves. Though his voice still comes out as a muffled squeak, so he couldn't really say he was successful at that.

"Um! Excuse me...! Do you... know of any more... ulp.... humane ways to trap these monsters? I would rather like to not hurt them if we can, or at the very least not make them... um... bleed..."

@charmblooded

And I Call This Masterpiece "Please Don't Bite Me"

Affluence | Any Skill +1

[charmblooded]

#charmblooded - diarmuid from fe4/5, loved by harrow.

about / interview / stats

portrayal notes under cut!

I write Diarmuid as trans male. This is a way to explore gender in Jugdral, and Jugdral-typical sexism may come up as a result.

I take some notes on how to write him from the Oosawa manga, due to how little I can get from the games. If FEH ever adds an alt of him, I will simply lose it if his characterization is vastly different.

Diarmuid is not coming to The Officers Academy with the intent to stay long term. This may - and likely will! - change, but for now, he's only planning to stay briefly due to political turmoil in Agustria.

[stepbysstep]

"C'mon constructors, keep it up! Push on through, no stop no stop!"

Lene was excited to hear of the academy assigning people to get away from the encroaching cold in favor of an island getaway. Her reward for being so willing to come? A crummy job to build bridges the entire day. What a waste of salty, fresh air!

The work requires way too much heavy lifting for Lene to be of any use. So to be of proper assistance (and to circumvent any yapping from her boss), she does what she does best: dance. Her performances have the ability to uplift anyone under immense stress, and if lugging material under the hot sun isn't considered "stress," she wouldn't know what is.

At first, the busy men glanced for a split second only to turn away, probably too worried to stare extensively and risk a scolding. It takes some more time, when the new heads start feeling some real strain, for her dance to start doing its magic. Even when cloaked in dismal darks, Lene twirls and sings with such high energy that she motivates the exhausted crew.

Some merry cheers from the men is more than enough thanks for Lene. They were all in this mess together at this point, after all. As they move back to work, Lene continues her own efforts in another section of the construction site.

"C'mon constructor, keep it- Hey!"

The dancer cuts off her chant midway for the singular worker she was about to perform for. Not because she doesn't want to dance for this man, far from it actually. She can recognize that blonde top anywhere!

"Diarmuid! They tricked you into toiling away here too?"

@charmblooded

i have hired this dancer to stare at you

mission board: affluence (authority+1)

[stalwaria]

Hunting? She'd never really done it. Never had much of a reason to, with her upbringing. Let Father and Mother tell it, and hunting was little more than an activity for the commoners—nothing that nobles like them would ever have to dirty their hands with.

But monsters? She's got some experience with monsters.

"I don't know about the traps..." Etie quirks a brow, peering at the strange contraptions their client had supplied them with. "I'd much rather just take these baddies head on, you know? I've blasted through plenty of monsters with my arrows. I doubt this'll be any different."

Honestly?

She just didn't have the patience to sit around and wait.

@charmblooded

hunter and the hunted

mission board: affluence / any skill prompt.

[sharpscion]

charmblooded asked: The medical tent seems destinated to become a place of reunion. Scáthach sticks out far less than Ares - dark hair less vibrant, stature not-quite so intimidating - but he is far more familiar to Diarmuid than even his own family. It is as his hand peels away the tent flap as he spots the other's unmistakable visage. "Scáthach!" his voice peaks in surprise, a presence certainly less expected than his cousin - although he should've expected that both would be entranced by the promise of a mock battle. He raises a hand - an opening for a clasp of hands or a hug - and beams at the other, blue eyes tilted up, taking in that the other is hale and whole.

things were like to calm down now that the swordsman had been parted from his equally injured teammates. the hustle and bustle of healers and helpers alike had slowed drastically around him now that he had been tended to. the burns had left permanent damage, but at the very least, they didn't hurt anymore. maybe now that he was resting on something slightly more comfortable than the ground, he could get some true rest. dim eyes intake their last details before embracing the darkness for a well deserved nap.

just like always, it seemed, sleep would not be so easily found, as the light outside the tent came flooding in. it spelled the entrance of a new loser, or even another healer in need of more supplies, either way he tries not to pay it too much mind. it isn't until his name is called that he glances to that direction, shock clear on his features.

he hadn't seen the man since the end of the war, and even then, scáthach had never said goodbye. even his farewells to shannan and seliph had been brief at best, but it was better nobody knew where he was heading. even if he would miss them, even if a piece of him stayed with them, it was better this way. there was no more attachment, no more obligation... if they met now, under new circumstances, would they be friends for real this time? he hoped so... even as he looked at that goofy smile, he realized how badly he'd missed it.

"Diarmuid!" the greeting is mimicked this time, and he groans to life to meet the other face to face. though he had been healed, they had advised him against excessive movements for the moment, but that mattered little now. their hands meet for the first time in ages, one tightly grasped around the other, before scáthach brings him in for a hug. they had greeted each other like this often back home, he remembered larcei once 'barfing' at their... bromance she called it.

"it's good to see you here, dia. i wish I were in better condition to meet you, but i just got my ass handed to me." it was embarrassing to be sure, but diarmuid had watched him get swept off his feet more times than he could count. perks(?) of growing up together, scáthach supposed, but at least the feeling was mutual. "what brought you all the way here, i wonder?"

@charmblooded

✶ — › 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖 ‹ — ✶

ASK: UNPROMPTED ✧˚ · . NOT ACCEPTING

[yukyunotabibito]

ME HIT ROCK! Come one, come all, to test your might at Fodlan’s annual rock-smashing competition! The catch? This year, the armory has kindly lent participants a wide selection of armored gloves to bash through boulders with. Pick a set, and get to punching! Whoever can break the biggest and sturdiest rock wins! [Grants Gauntlets +1]

Nasir studies the rock with intent and sharp fascination. The man running this competition once again tries to coax him into taking a pair of gaunlets, and Nasir once again waves him off.

"Sir please, you're going to hurt yourself," He begs, trying to shove the gauntlets into Nasir's hands and Nasir is half tempted to tell him to just piss off and leave him alone. But he has more self respect than that, so he simply politely places a hand on the man's shoulder and directs him towards another patron of the competition.

"You are going to go over there," He whispers into the man's ear, "And you are going to give those gauntlets to that fine young man over there. Now I can't tell you why I don't need them, but all you need to know is that they are not required for me to be able to shatter this rock into two; got it?" The man nods, warily and all but runs away from the dragon.

Pleased that he is no longer bothering him, Nasir returns to his own rock. He places one hand behind his back, and lifts the other in a solid chop, slamming through most of the rock with one simple move. Certainly not the best he could have done, but he was far from a dragon inclined towards strength anyway. A few students, standing nearby, burst out into applause, mummering quietly amongst themselves in awe.

"It's not truly that impressive; is it?" He asks to no one in particular. Nasir hopes to the goddess that no one asks questions. Question about why he was able to do such a thing so cleanly, how he was able to do it. He wasn't really in a mood to be inclined to reveal things about himself today.

@charmblooded

Rock Was Magma Before It Was Cool

Recovery | Gauntlet +1

[inserviceto]

He...supposed Diarmuid had a point. If he had been found unsuitable, he likely would not still be in the employ of the church. The Knights of Seiros operated on a much less personal scale than Harken was used to; both in Tuscana and Pherae, while there had always been a fighting force of knights, they were rather small compared to Garreg Mach.

"That is...an optimistic outlook to have. I shall try to keep it in mind, until I am given reason to believe otherwise."

Until he is formally dismissed, Harken would always strive to do what he could. Even if he thought his efforts could always be improved in some way, or were lesser than what others had to offer, he would still do what he could to serve.

Less formally than this...It was an interesting response, and not entirely what Harken was expecting.

"I see. Well, the knights here at Garreg Mach operate under the church. Where the church believes we will do the most good, that is where we go," Harken begins to explain, "Most often, we remain here; we guard and patrol the monastery and the town. We aid in various missions -- some of which the students at the academy also take part in -- which can sometimes bring us outside of Garreg Mach and into the borders of the Adrestrian Empire, the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus and the Leicester Alliance."

"We are primarily a military force, whether defending the monastery or going out to help quell issues across Fodlan. But, if you feel you have enough experience with a certain subject, I know there are a few knights that also help with some of the academy classes, if that interests you."

it's my first day at knight school