I - am a librarian.

It’s official, I’ve move to tarnishedpeonies. I made the mistake of having this as my primary on Tumblr, and it’s felt stifling since the real world and what happens in it has escalated. I’ve needed somewhere I can express myself on my primary without it being ‘out of character’, and will have that moving forward.

Will I ever RP from a side blog? Yeah, once I’ve figured out what I want to play. WoW lost it’s flavor for me, and the pandemic has been a critical hit to my creativity. I’m all ears, just lost and trying to get my bearings back.

The amount of work in these blogs is immense, so I’m leaving them for archival purposes, but won’t be responding here.

The Feast of the Moon was an ancient tradition in Faerûn, celebrated lavishly in the city of Waterdeep with feasting tables marking High Road way, and the market cleared for other festivities; all the temples were performing rituals appropriate to their gods, worshipers coming and going between celebrations and solemn prayer.

Some places were closed to facilitate the celebration, or rather, facilitate those who wanted to participate but might otherwise have duties to attend. It was one of the few yearly celebrations Vira would attend; everyone had dead, fallen to consider on such a sacred night; and everyone celebrated their ancestors in a unique and interesting way!

The mage had shown up in her festival finery, blue silk pinched and sewn to resemble dragon scales in the bodice, and left to flow freely through her sleeves and skirts like an embodiment of flight. The Heralds had not begun yet, and she roamed, looking over the goods in the few fixed stalls open at the market, close (too close) to the dance.

Her first mistake was looking away long enough to make eye contact (what a nice blue). Her second mistake was not tearing her gaze away immediately (shouldn’t I be shopping?). Her third was walking over, challenging the gaze between her and this golden haired stranger. “You can’t see the stalls from the lane,” she chided.

Although, she could not hide surprise that this one was not in Waterdeep for the festivities. “Fortune. Does she not favor the bold, or some such?” It was something she had heard. “It’s a festival. When else will I wear this dress?” Her posture shifted proudly, showing off the intricate work...really, the question might be, when else would she be out to wear this dress?

❤ : Where on their body is your muse most sensitive? ✿ : Has your muse ever had sex before? ☜ : Does your muse like to top? ☞ : Does your muse like to bottom? ∀ : Your muse’s favorite position? ☺ : How often does your muse masturbate? ☂ : How long does it take your muse to hit climax, usually? ✌ : Is your muse good with their hands? ♡ : Does your muse have any birthmarks or scars they get embarrassed about others seeing? Á : Is your muse loud in bed? ⚔ : Does your muse have any specific kinks? ☌ : Would/does your muse have any special piercings anywhere? Would they get some? ♥ : Does your muse like to cuddle after sex? Anything else for aftercare?

The Feast of the Moon was an ancient tradition in Faerûn, celebrated lavishly in the city of Waterdeep with feasting tables marking High Road way, and the market cleared for other festivities; all the temples were performing rituals appropriate to their gods, worshipers coming and going between celebrations and solemn prayer.

Some places were closed to facilitate the celebration, or rather, facilitate those who wanted to participate but might otherwise have duties to attend. It was one of the few yearly celebrations Vira would attend; everyone had dead, fallen to consider on such a sacred night; and everyone celebrated their ancestors in a unique and interesting way!

The mage had shown up in her festival finery, blue silk pinched and sewn to resemble dragon scales in the bodice, and left to flow freely through her sleeves and skirts like an embodiment of flight. The Heralds had not begun yet, and she roamed, looking over the goods in the few fixed stalls open at the market, close (too close) to the dance.

Her first mistake was looking away long enough to make eye contact (what a nice blue). Her second mistake was not tearing her gaze away immediately (shouldn’t I be shopping?). Her third was walking over, challenging the gaze between her and this golden haired stranger. “You can’t see the stalls from the lane,” she chided.

Send 🎃 to dance with my muse at the festivities

Send 👻 to join my muse in remembering the fallen and the dead

Open: Muse skillset symbol meme

[ Questions for @bluescalearchivist ! ]

🎨 Art. Viragosa is much more adept at appreciating art, theorizing meaning and purpose, dissecting technique and color spectrum than actually creating art herself. She’s much more likely to follow a how-to: paint by numbers, lace making patterns, cross-stitch with instructions, something along those lines. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t love art, though!

🍀 Luck. Hit or miss! Sometimes she absolutely gets the best cut, and other days she’s tripping over her own lace trims…

🔮 Magic. Viragosa is the - Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart of the college. Which, sounds really cool, until you remember how much difficulty Mozart had adjusting to normal societal expectations and keeping their lives on track. Admittedly Viragosa is much more organized, but…well, there’s a reason she’s been regaled to the library and is not a teacher.

🔎 Investigating. This honestly depends on how important the investigation is to Viragosa, personally. If it’s a matter of great import, like finding a lost volume on the intricacies of abjurative magic? She is so there.If this is about finding your lost pantyhose after a wild night in the tavern? Might have a little more time getting her to pay attention…

Dina Belenko on Instagram