#fatewoven

[theredconqueror]

A different kind of shock strikes him now as Lucanis provides him the answer, like an icy water plunge. An answer that defies logic. Why would Lucanis get him such a thing, when his words had indicated that he wanted the other a world away? That they might never be what they had once been, blurring the boundaries between right and wrong? Had it been meant to accompany the apology, perhaps? But which had perhaps seemed to pale compared the offering of a knife upon a throat? "Oh, Lucanis..." He is sorry now, for those frost-filled days, and time wasted, when instead he might have had the other in his arms. In this moment, he is tuned into Spite, unconscious of even doing so, but how could he not be? The three of them all blend together, melding body and emotion, and for a moment he almost thinks the demon-desperate thought is his own, but it isn't. It should embarrass him, how another is party to his weakness here, as Spite is not Lucanis, and yet... he's found a fondness for the spirit, unique from his thoughts for the assassin. A momentary glance grazes over, as he can barely bear to keep himself from looking at Lucanis for long, but it is enough to say: you are remembered, too, and; thank you. The demon had not cautioned Lucanis away from him. He thinks, even... that the spirit might have been encouraging, a kindness he doesn't deserve. But such solid thoughts are lost as he melts into Lucanis, who somehow seems surprised that he is touched by the gift. Is it born from the misunderstanding that he is a man who could have everything? It might be true, but it does not change the fact that so few think of him, and even less that might give him something. The only gift he has in his room is Varric's mirror, and suffice to say, there shall be no further ones from the dwarf. A low sound rumbles in his throat as confirmation that he does so appreciate it. He mouths back the words: I promise, but does not dare take a kiss from the other. It tortures him to hold back and wait, but he does. It is difficult to imagine Lucanis aching for him, like a candle that kept burning out in a winter's storm. "You don't need forgiveness for that..." He absolves him of this sin. With him, it will never be a sin... Mercifully, Lucanis finally kisses him, and only then does he press back, with a fiery fervor, as he had thought the assassin would deny him and chastise him for his impatience. But Lucanis does not reject him: he gives. He has to catch his breath and swallow down his golden pride that threatens to crawl up his throat and clamp his mouth shut. Instead he repeats the word thrice like a prayer, as if it will save him, and it does, as he is granted the mortal's lips upon his again, and again, and again. But the word damns him just as much, as the cool metal in his fingertips anchors him to the memory where he last spilled everything: how it began with a knife and finished with the beginning of the end of the world — dragons with eyes and wicked hearts. He is panting, catching his breath, like a man drowning and trying to lift his head above the water as he chokes on that word of weakness. His skin feels on fire and that no amount of water can douse it. He is trying to pretend to have a first life for a second time, but he knows that is impossible. He keeps close, one hand on the other's heart, the other holding the makeshift dragon. His sharp teeth hunger for answers, logic, that stable ground only words can bring him. "When did you know...?" He asks, perhaps selfish to pry, and unsure if even Lucanis can answer, if he can pinpoint the moment of want. "Why didn't you say anything?" They are here in this moment because he had reached out, with a hand, with a gesture as clear as day, of intent. And what if he hadn't? Would Lucanis have burned in secret? Until when?

It's not so much he wants to kiss Valrys again and again; more than that, these human desires fanned by an infernal, damning urge, he wants to relearn vocabulary words from the shape of the other's mouth as even his lungs turn impatient, longing to close in and breathe the same air again. Something in his chest settles at the immediate confirmation — one so easily granted as if, perish the thought, Valrys could barely deny him anything — and Lucanis revels in the invitation to observe, categorizing the minute shifts of an expression that's grown ever more dear to him over the moons. Surprise leads to an appearance that appears closer to gutted, strung open from chest to gut with everything spilling out, more exposed than he's ever seen the mage.

When? The answer comes in a forthcoming manner, unable, in turn, to deny the man any honesty in such intimate quarters. "When you first told me to leave." Voice a low murmur, recalling the long weeks of terse silence, the days filled with a numbing chill, he adds, quieter, "I was out for the week's supplies, and saw it." Didn't think twice, Spite fills in, equally fond, and perhaps even fonder as its attention sits on Rook with what might resemble satisfaction.

[ Our senses hunger for TOUCH. Desperate. In the way rivers empty themselves over waterfalls. ]

A faint noise gets caught in the back of his throat, and Lucanis melts against the embrace after only a moment's hesitation — the glimpse of the other's smile enough to put to rest any reservations. Somewhere in the world, the moonlight slants, a blade of grass experiences its first rain. In here, the aquarium's glow casts them silver, and he basks in the warmth found within Valrys, his welcoming hit, every word dipped in sincerity sweeter than honey. "You do?" Love, what an odd phrase to choose for something simple as a gift, but he deigns not to chase for more, content with what he's attained; by what's already in his arms. "Promise me it's not the last time," he whispers, lips brushing against the other's as he mouths the words. The motion tender, he admires Valrys' jaw with a firm glide, hands slowly moving to cup the back of his head, to keep him close while slowly pulling him ever closer, wanting for a lucid, lurid moment for the rib cage to split open if only for the world to see how steadily his heart plays a staccato tune. All because of: "Forgive me. I believe I've been aching for your touch for longer than I've thought possible." As if desire is a shame. As if there's nowhere else to put this burgeoning, festooning emotion that threatens to overtake everything he's known for all his life. And Lucanis kisses him sweetly, heart humming with the need to grow a garden somewhere. Plant a tree. Watch the stars until they turn into sunrises by his side.

Beg and begin, both have the same origin. "Ask me again," he murmurs, kissing back each and every time Valrys speaks. Please, please, please. What a fragile, wonderful thing. How frightening it is, to be overcome so wholly by a feeling he thought himself incapable of ever expressing.

[mocksfate]

@fatewoven asked: ✎ jo and emm? :* / drawing your/our muses.

the necromancer (emmrich) and the cooler necromancer (johanna)

[orxna]

" that's a lot of blood. " / from fen!

Blood Prompts || Accepting || @fatewoven

There is, in fact, a rather substantial amount of blood in the kitchen, mostly within the heavy washing basin but some splattered on the floor and more flowing from it's source. Orana stands, her expression almost offended as she holds a rag in her left hand, soaking up the annoying substance as she glares at a bloody knife upon the floor. Suds and water pool on the ground less offensively but still too messy for Orana's taste.

"It was stupid," She huffs, finally moving again to carefully lift the bloodied kitchen knife with her free hand and place it on the counter next to the washing tub, "Who puts knives in the washing tub. Papa would never allow that in his kitchen."

[grtivas]

Your passion and love for your Rook is always a fun highlight on the dash D! The characterization and quirks that are explored in each interaction adds so much further depth that it's easy to picture them from childhood to now existing so fittingly in the universe! And not to mention your gifs!!! A gift each time. Thank you for sharing your talents with the rpc <3

beep beep how’s my portrayal ?

this is so so sweet of you!! and means so much coming from you. your writing is always so perfectly coherent and to such a high standard, and i can tell you know your muses extremely well. thank you so much!!

[winterfromtevinter]

stop smiling at me like that. / from femme fatale

╰ ⋄⋆⋅✧ ⸻ ⧽ @fatewoven inquired | 𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒

She tries her best to quell the incriminating expression. Truly, she does. The corners of her mouth straighten for a moment, curve downward into a rather false frown, before she can no longer help herself. The smile dimples her face again, wide enough to thin her lips.

Oh well, the jig is up. "Smiling like what?" her voice high and tight with suppressed laughter. She can cheat at cards just fine, lie in the face of a dozen people in a row to keep them off her tail. But there's something disarming about being here, amongst allies who are all quickly becoming friends. Lucanis, who is becoming...something, to her. She isn't sure of the shape of it yet, so for now she enjoys any company he'll spare her.

Generously, she'll allow herself to enjoy the furrow between his brows and his clever eyes studying her. A guilty pleasure to make the day a little sweeter.

"You really should blame Andy. It was her idea," she caves. It's too funny not to. "You'll see, it's nothing bad. Just...a new friend that has been relocated."

[tarlasdahl]

the pair crouched low behind a jagged outcropping of rock, overlooking a secluded venatori sanctum nestled in the dense wilds of arlathan forest. they'd stumbled upon the ambush by sheer dumb luck, taking an alternative route than they usually did to return to the veil jumpers camp.

❝   i am, uh, usually not this lucky.   ❞

rook stifled a snort behind a clenched fist, least he giveaway their position, ❝ well, don't jinx it now! ❞ he whispered once he'd composed himself. he swept the area, reaching out with his magic to feel for trap or alarm wards, his magic brushed against something, but it didn't feel hostile or dangerous. a silent spectator just beyond the veil.

❝ what're you thinking? we could double back and avoid them altogether. ❞ rook proposed, though he would rather not leave a camp of venatori settled in the forest for some other unsuspecting veil jumper to stumble across. // @fatewoven ; lucanis , dragon age : absolution sentence starters .

[inevestigator]

@fatewoven wanted a starter (for lucanis!)

“ i’m starting to think you have a little too much time on your hands. ”

[lcgacyofages]

Sequestered in the kitchen far more than usual the past day, the strong aromatics of ginger and honey clings to his presence as Lucanis seeks out the warden during the oddest hours of the not-quite-night of this pocket in the fade. Following the scent of the blight, pulsing-dark, then steel, and finally the thin layer of ozone, his target greets his arrival with an open warmth that yet feels odd, misplaced though not unwelcome. "Try these." Instruction without pretense, a plate of something saturated in sticky-sweet syrup, topped with thin strips of ginger, is presented alongside the expected coffee. "A family recipe. My mother's specialty for celebrations." Yakgwa, he explains, tone softer, and leans into Ogden's space to take a piece for himself. Smiling, reminded of rare, uncomplicated nostalgia-worn days, he reaches over to dab at a particularly stubborn streak of honey clinging to the other's whiskers, touch lingering for a breath longer than necessary. "Shouldn't we commemorate one more year of survival? It's worth praise."

🎊It's Ogden's Birthday 🎊

Sleep was something which came and went. Dreams being twisted and morphed into something else. The sound droning on in his head. Some days it was better, other days it was worse. Tonight, it had decidedly become worse. Perhaps due to the day it was and some of the soured memories of youth. How often he'd seen others excited for such a day, whereas his was pointedly another annoyance, another day his parents moved him on as a piece on their board.

Ogden had found solace in by the bookshelf in the rotunda of the Lighthouse, fingers trailing over the spines of the books. A way he would escape from his parents' pressures and expectations in his youth.

The sound of light footsteps drew his attention. He could think of one person who walked with such careful steps naturally who would be up tonight. It was strange how quickly his tension and unease unwound when an assassin lurked near.

"Lucanis," he greeted, warmth in his voice and in his smile. He was quick to tell him to try what he had made. Ogden worried, for a moment, his taste wouldn't behave and he didn't want to not be able to properly taste what Lucanis made. But he picked one up, being able to smell it. That was a good sign.

"For celebrations...?" He repeated, realizing he had...

He'd made them especially for him. Paired with coffee. Because of what the day was. Ogden bowed his head, a smile deepening and eyes feeling a little bit moist. Lucanis had made a family recipe. Just for him. Just for his birthday.

He took a bite out of it, savoring the blend of honey and ginger paired with the coffee to wash it down, glad it was able to cut through his taste. He was surprised when Lucanis reached out and instinctively sucked in a breath at his touch and how it lingered.

He took a small step closer, looking down at him with gentle warmth and affection.

"I think so," he said. "Despite everything going on...I've found a few very good things this year...One of them especially good."

[abanbas]

@fatewoven asked:

Angelica and Sunflower!

❥     𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒    [   𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙳 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙼𝙿𝚃𝚂    ]   . angelica :   where does your muse draw inspiration in life ?what motivates them ? Sire draws inspiration from the fact that he was born a girl who was never a girl or a boy. He draws inspiration from just doing thing when you want to, with no particular thought of morality but your OWN moral code. Sometimes you need to steal to eat, then fucking steal. Sometimes you want to scream, then scream do it scream. Take up space and take it up proudly and never falter. Sire is very aware of all his social differences from others, all the cultural differences from others. Rivain is not some haven, it has bigots and people who want to hurt the most oppressed too. Sire had to deal with A LOT growing up. Sire is a mess, he doesn't know what he wants in life, he's getting older, he's not married nor does he have kids and to top it all off, he has to help a bunch of other barely functioning adults with their trauma too. He strives in Chaos, its almost like he chases it just to keep his mind off of his own fragile ego. Hm isn't that funny <3 sunflower :   what brings your muse the most joy in life ? Stripping completely naked, laying in the water and letting the fade take him. When he was younger he'd blow a bubble so big around his head and just sink to bottom. uncaring about the fish nipping at him in the shallow waters. He feels completely at peace and one with magic when hes completely consumed in water.

[venombloom]

Yunieeeee. Your writing for Daisy makes her such a believable and grounded character in the world. The sheer amount of thought put into every one of her actions and demeanor is amazing, and I love learning more and more through these tidbits. You capture the grim reality of Crows, but also add such an interesting angle of perseverance for her that I root for her each time she's on the dash <3

KIWIIIIII!!!!

You're going to have me crying in the club (my cubicle)!! But really this is such a sweet and encouraging message! Truly I can't fathom the words to express how much I really appreciate this ask. Daisy is such a character I hadn't expected to really stick with nor for anyone to be interested in, especially considering she's not quite the usual character I write. I do have to thank you for indulging me and my ideas as well as writing with me because that has helped me flesh her out more than I would have thought. You are an absolute gem! 💜🧡 and thank you so so much for everything!

[theodosiani]

❛ am i to risk my life to win the chance to live? ❜ / to frauke from emm <3

Phantom of the Opera Prompts || Accepting || @fatewoven

"That's sort of what life is, Professor." Frauke shrugs, though a smile remains on her face. Her hands move as she begins to speak, "I'm not saying it's wrong to stay in the necropolis, you're a wonderful Professor and an asset to the Mourn Watch's future but there's just as much joy out here to be found too!"

Her grin is wide, gesturing out towards the the wide encompassing forest of Arlathan. Her curls bounce with her enthusiasm, practically a skip in her step though she falters slightly when her feet stumble over a branch. Her laugh is bright as she steadies herself, "The tradeoff is a wider variety of danger than your standard Watcher ever deals with but I think it's worth it."

She reaches out, reaching up to give Emmrich a gentle pat on the shoulder, "And you'll just have to make that decision for yourself."

[theredconqueror]

❛ i don’t want to have the world’s attention. yours is enough. ❜ / luc (@fatewoven)

His clothes are black as night, bearing no trace of the gold of his home country, nor any gleam of moonlight silver. He looks like a walking blackhole, void of pretense or charm, though some might argue otherwise. He traverses through the Crossroads, pensive and quiet, apart from when he'd prodded, though he does well enough to keep up conversation to ensure the journey to the eluvian to Treviso is not done in dour silence. He wouldn't have come if he hadn't been asked to. He forgets what he said exactly, perhaps that there were going to be enough people there already, and that he'd only be an unnecessary nuisance. It's not that he was trying to get out of it so much as he was wondering about the optics of it all as it concerned Lucanis. And then of course, the assassin just had to go say something like that... "You know that you have it," he answers, not able to bear to deny the other a moment of softness considering the circumstances. In another day, he'd make the other struggle to get such an answer. "But are you sure it's a good idea for me to come?" He asks, the murky-eyed stare trying to convey all that doesn't come out in words where it concerns the other's city.

[theharellan]

"When the world is due to end, by your hand, by your wisdom and your will, not everyone is going to be happy about it. Even in a dying, ailing world the end is rarely welcome wholly." A broken spirit once gentle and wise been aeons ago, and those are the traits Emmrich seeks out in conversation. One need not look far to find the briefest glimpses of sorrow and hope scattered around the world, the pattern visible as any constellation to discover — the proof that guides his cadence to preserve a diction void of accusation when addressing Solas. "It is much easier to destroy than create. Though I must ask what you intend to preserve should you walk this path to the very end."

Rook spars at him with words that incite his pride, provoke defense, build walls within him until he sits within a smaller cell than the one that surrounds him.

Emmrich's disarm. They do not placate, yet neither do they accuse. He finds within them a space, if not to grow, then to exist.

"And it is impossible to create without destruction. They are not so far apart in nature, as you well know." It has been months since he last put brush to canvas, but he conjures the feeling of crushing petals into pigment, rending sand and water into plaster. "Roots feast upon the decaying earth, the newborn babe makes a wound of its mother's womb- I was a fool to see my designs for the Veil as exception, but I walk the path I am now on with open eyes, Professor.

"In some manner of speech, I seek to preserve nothing, for no facet of life will continue as it was. In a greater sense: life and choice, wherever possible. This world has deprived my people and others' enough of both."

@fatewoven

[assectations]

@fatewoven: ❝ you caught the eye of a young woman in that last village ❞ | inquisition party banter.

"Oh— ?" An ephemereal flicker of false surprise, punctuated by the barest hint of teeth in a grin that wouldn't otherwise exist. "What makes you say that?" His fellow Crow's casual observation brings a welcome momentary reprieve from the bottleneck of the day. And, at large, a spot of levity in the unforgiving tedium between each cresting wave of action. Tracking Antaam was a passion project as much as it was an open contract, crow feed tailored to the veteran as much as the opportunist. They spend antivan goods like a spendthift parted with their andris in the casino, and when oil on canvas and gilt can no longer settle the balance — they pay in lives instead. His umbrage at that had been what'd gotten him in trouble in the first place, but he'd never been more unapologetic. Sliding his hood from his head, the elf loosens the tie holding auburn strands in a thick but practical braid, and combs out the lingering ache from his scalp. He knows which woman he means. Pretty thing, with eyes the colour of polished amber, walking the fine line of thinly veiled interest, with a dancers practiced grace. Something he's no stranger to, in varying degrees of authencity.

"She could've been looking at you, you know. Taash tells quite the tales."

[mocksfate]

@fatewoven asked: [ Approval ] + Emmrich shares a bottle of vintage taken from a tomb with Abrielle! / approval system.

" oh, bijou! you didn't have to! " a cheeky wave of her hand. he sure didn't, but the gesture is more than appreciated. while no wine will ever top her favorite orlesian reds, she's become rather fond of the nevarran textures (and company.) " wait, i'm going to get us a pair of glasses ─ " abrielle stops dead in her tracks, however, to ask a most important question. " ─ who did it belong to, anyway? i can't imagine anyone, dead or alive, willing to detach themselves from that bottle. "

[ abrielle 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬. ]

[winterfromtevinter]

[ WOUND ] / fretting wife noises

╰ ⋄⋆⋅✧ ⸻ ⧽ @fatewoven inquired | 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒

[ WOUND ]:          upon noticing a recent injury on the receiver’s person, the sender carefully moves closer, running a thumb (or hand) across the wound in a gentle, troubled manner.

Burns, bad burns, are always an ugly healing process. Neve's had just enough of them ( fire magic is deadly, but so many Tevinter mages prefer blood magic ) to know that this one is going to give her all sorts of trouble. Neve's healing is only rudimentary even after years of getting herself into dangerous situations. Mending a layer or two of skin is easy enough work for children, and about the extent of what she's capable of. Lowering fevers, easing some aches, knowledge of herbs enough to settle the stomach; nothing that would earn her any accolades.

Thankfully, her ice had done well enough to soothe the wound while they fled the melee. Long enough to let her limp her way back to her quarters, hand clasped firmly to her side. In the confusion no one had looked at her twice. Her scream had been mostly masked by the war cries of the Antaam.

She's glad for that. There are more pressing matters to be dealt with. She's handled worse on her own.

That won't make this pleasant. The first order of business is to get out of her leathers and assess the extent of the damage. She's up and walking, so that's always a good sign. Money could probably be safely bet that she has other injuries too that she isn't feeling. Pain's funny like that.

Her fingers clumsily work at the ties on her uninjured side. Slow, tedious, painful work. Neve's tongue is thick in her mouth and her blood pounds dully in her skull. Maker, is that smell her skin? Ugly curses pour unabashedly out. Only a second had the fire licked her, and still this much pain.

Her distraction is to her detriment. She doesn't hear the door, or the call of her name.