#hemerasiae

[de11amorte]

[bolyde]

Lucanis is a chest enjoyer with regards to his significant others.

He likes to admire bare chests! He likes to place his kisses in the divot of his lover's collarbone! He rests his head there to listen to their heartbeat and know that both he and his lover yet live.

He also likes to admire the back/shoulders of his significant others. He'll place kisses upon freckles, birthmarks, and moles.

And he is shameless about staring at times. He likes what he's seeing and is not ashamed of that.

@breathandshadow / @hemerasiae

[dracaeons]

“got this for you at market the other day. little pop-up vendor. practically calling your name.”

neve smiles sweetly and puts this hat on top of ashur’s head.

ashur doesn't get a chance to see what's even on the hat before it's atop his head, so he sweeps it off almost immediately, if only to read what's written on it — because he knows that there's no way neve would have picked something up at the market for him if there wasn't some kind of ulterior motive. not with that look on her face.

beneath the veil, he mouths the words slowly, and then grins, rolling his eyes.

" well-spotted. " no sense in being bothered by it; ashur doubts that neve would go out of her way to genuinely upset him, and anyway, this hardly makes the cut even if she was trying. he puts the hat back on. " shame this is the only place i can wear it. "

@hemerasiae ;)

[invelena]

do what you want. i’m leaving. — teia

“fine.”

viago breathes sharply, like the air just got knocked out from his lungs. he's familiar with it by now, the way things work between them—disagreements shifting into fights, slow apologies twisted over and over into mouthfuls of air until the other makes the first move, longing glances stolen with the favor of darkness. he thinks of the way hot sparks spring from razor-edged knives clanging together, how dangerous it is, the proof that something works.

a loose breath hangs at the edge of her voice, as if, expecting herself to have more to say, she was surprised to find only silence at the far end of her words. it pulls viago's stare from the low-burning logs in the fireplace where it's found shelter, petulantly, like something blunt elbowing in his ribs to gain his attention. he won't give her the satisfaction to be the last to show a flashing need to make it right, and as his jaw draws tight with resolve, he gulps his words down in one breath. they'd rehearsed this script before.

it will be a night of restless sulking.

viago turns, leaning over the fireplace. the increasing warmth of that nearness sear the half-undone silver buttons of his waistcoat into his skin, thinly protected by the only layer of his dark shirt. it pulls him like the worry of a threat, a stern reminder not to glance over his shoulder, at teia's long, flowing curls cascading over the soft curve of her shoulders. he knows it well. he could see it with his eyes closed.

when teia leaves the room he slumps in a velvet-lined armchair, exhaling the curse he'd been holding.

baldur's gate 3.

[extravagantliar]

there is no need to tell anyone that. — josephine

"I don't see the point in this, Ruffles." He states, rather indignantly - almost childishly. "I am not built for dancing, I have two left feet - shouldn't someone like - Dorian be here?"

"Master Tethras, this is for the good of the Inquisition, please - there is no need to tell anyone that" Josephine reminds - again.

There is no need to tell anyone that — yet he opens his mouth again, asking wholeheartedly if they should disclose his status as a lapsed everything and furthest from the list of names invited to the Winter Palace and its parlay. "Should I really be going, known smut peddler and tax evader?" That's half a point; he never wishes to harm the image of his inquisitor.

Yet he asks all the same, rolling on the balls of his feet as the Iron Bull laughs and Cullen clears his throat - something about the Inquistor needing to know how to dance with all kinds of people and those three being summoned up from the trenches.

So he asks another question, shrugging, "If this is a recon mission, why are we all in dance lessons?"

"Once again, Master Tethras, this is a delicate situation," one punctuated with a reminder, "We will need to act smoothly and efficiently."

"Like cattle." He states, half flourishing and half prostrating as if he knows they are being led like rams to slaughter. That even makes Cullen snort in a way that surprises Varric. 

It carries on the three of them as the Inquisitor is led around them like a prize, and Varric fights rolling his eyes of all things; Bull says something smart - smarter than him about how they should divide and conquer in a different way - using the unexpected as the expected. Bull makes a good point, leaving those men of various sizes feeling more than small under Josephine’s ire and her words. Those words drift into a melody not quite something he can place, but the hand in his is warm, and a laugh behind him belongs to a friend rather than a foe when he missteps for what may be the thousandth time. He steps, not on the inquisitor's foot, but something nearly like it. 

“Thank you, Master Tethras,” Josephine states somewhere between sets, and he is more than happy to bow out; the lessons his mother imparted to him never bubble forward, and Bull ends up being the best dancer of the lot. She reminds them again, and he sighs, somewhere relieved and somewhat disheartened by the exchange all at once.  It doesn’t matter, he thinks as he skulks out of the lesson, ducking under those around him. He was the paragon of what not to do. They all danced anyways.

[hoboblaidd]

@hemerasiae - crescentia

“I know you,” Solas said unceremoniously.

In that split second their eyes had met at the ritual site, as he felt the world gasp with the return of its gods, he’d recognized her. Of course, he’d had a dossier on ‘Rook’ since Crescentia had joined Varric on his futile quest a year ago. But to see her again after so long. There hadn’t been time to process anything beyond his last, desperate gamble of escape. He'd sent her crashing back into stone, spilling her blood and binding them together before the yawning chasm of the Fade pulled him within. 

So yes. He knew who Crescentia was, both during the Inquisition years and now, and he knew painfully well who held her dearest in her heart. 

This prison of regret he’d built lobbed its first volley as it twisted ethereal stone into the shape of his greatest regret. Stone eyes, lifeless and vacant, stared down at him from an impossible distance. It wore its hair as Dhavi had that night in Crestwood. Its hands clasped before its breast just as Dhavi's had been when she’d begged him not to -

“I never knew you to be a foolish child,” he spat, trying to wrest control of this situation back from his own cascading emotions. “But I suppose this is yet more proof that I do not know everything.”

The muted shadows loomed over Crescentia’s - over Rook’s face as she looked up at him. When he had last seen her she had been so much younger. She’d stared at him across his desk in the rotunda with wide-eyed curiosity and a mischievous gleam in her eyes that he’d been terribly fond of. Now, she was only a little older than Dhavi - than the Inquisitor had been when they’d first met.

‘Cres’, the old nickname whispered in the stifling air of the prison, and the shadows grew longer.

The only outward sign he gave of that recognition was a cold sneer, equal parts disappointment and disdain. Though he could not help but wonder if Crescentia - Rook realized that the front of her tattered cloak was still stained with the memory of Varric’s blood.

The stone effigy of a familiar crossbow shattered beneath his feet. Solas stepped over it without looking down.

“Tell me, Rook,” he continued, as unrelenting as the regrets suffocating this prison. “Are you pleased with what you’ve accomplished today? You have done what no mortal has ever been capable of, after all - ushered in the annihilation of your own world.”

At once, his path out of this came into stark focus. The regrets which smothered him could be inverted. The prison could be made to hold someone other than him. The plan he’d worked so tirelessly to achieve would wait for him on the other side of his cage. And all he would have to do is sacrifice the wide-eyed, smiling girl who’d sat across from his desk at Skyhold. 

Or, he could let it be. Give his help honestly without tearing her down. Guide and mentor, as he'd done then, without destroying her in the process. Give up his - give up everything. To spare one person who had once meant something to him.

"You may have nearly destroyed this world," Solas decided, though in truth, the decision had been made before he'd finished considering the kinder, gentler alternative, "but at least, you did not do it well. That should give us some time, provided you listen."

[intothewildsea]

@hemerasiae liked for a starter (for neve).

"You should be more careful," Niamh chided, carefully placing her hand over a cut on Neve's arm. She was teasing, just a little, and she gave the detective a smile. "I won't always be here to patch you up." Her hand lit up with a soft blue glow as she healed the injury with magic.

"There." She pulled her hand back and inspected the spot. "Not even a scar." It was easier to heal smaller injuries with magic so that they could save their supplies for larger ones.

[theharellan]

"How are you finding Skyhold?"

The question is chased by the draining of tea from a teapot. Steam rises from the spout's open mouth, Solas's nose already curling at the aroma.

His gaze drifts from his task to the young woman across from him, a mage just barely past girlhood- of an age with Sera, if he is to be any judge. She sits calmly, or at least, absent of the marked panic some of the former Circle mages demonstrated when first introduced. As though apostacy were a disease one might catch.

Moving a full mug towards her, his eyes sweep next to the creature whose talons are currently clenched in the back of the chair she inhabits. Its black eyes, unblinking, watch him in return. Such a creature, once, might have been held in suspicion. The evanuris each possessed a favoured animal, and Falon'Din had been no exception. Each pair of eyes in the twilight was suspect in the days of Elvhenan, such that even innocent owls found themselves on the end of rebel arrows.

No more, he thinks, with a relief that twists inside him. Zazikel was centuries slain, and Falon'Din at last reacquainted with death.

He leans as he pours a second cup, seeming to address both parties as he adds, "Are you being treated well?"

@hemerasiae

[afraidofchange]

a desperate kiss as if they are convinced they’ll slip through each other’s fingers  — neve & ilona

@hemerasiae | kisses for Ilona.

"Neve...wait."

Ilona calls out after the other woman, stopping in her tracks; even with her back turned, she can see the way Neve's shoulders shake, and the way her arm moves, bringing a hand up to cover her mouth. They stand ten feet apart, and ever so cautiously, Ilona takes a few steps forward. This is the first moment they've had alone since she'd been pulled out of the Fade - a hell, in its own right, one that Ilona fears she may never fully understand as one who has never dreamed before. She tries not to think on it for too long.

"I know what's at stake," She begins, carefully choosing her words; what would normally pass for a joke, she dares not mention. Not now. Not after everything. "And I know what we've lost... who we've lost," For a moment, her voice wavers; Harding's sacrifice had been her own choice, made not in vain, but the loss of Lucanis was because of her own decision.

"But you..."

Thoughts of the future, thoughts of after - little guarantee can be given for what Elgar'nan might yet have in store for them - but fighting until the end is necessary if they're to save the rest of the world from certain death.

"You didn't give up waitin' on me," Closing the distance between them, Ilona first raises her hand to the small of Neve's back, slowly moving around to stand before her. Despite the difference in stature, she doesn't break eye contact. "I want an after with you, Neve Gallus, whatever it might look like. I thought I was gonna be stuck in the Fade forever, but now... now I'm here. And I'm not goin' anywhere."

Ilona looks to the way tears stained on Neve's cheeks, deep brown eyes still glistening in the light of the hearth. It makes her heart ache. Calloused hands reach up to cup her face, thumbs just reaching to brush away tears beneath them. Her own throat feels tight all of a sudden, exhaling a shaky breath; it threatens to spill over if she were to speak again, but she manages a quiet, low "Come here", drawing Neve downward. She stands up on her toes to meet her halfway in a kiss, still keeping her hands cupped around her lover's face. In turn, Neve's arms quickly wrap around broad shoulders, nails raking along bare skin. But as it deepens into something desperate, Ilona's fingers slide into Neve's hair, against the back of her head, drawing them even closer, body to body, heart to heart.

Even as her calves begin to burn from the effort, she refuses to break apart. Not now, not ever.

[de11amorte]

❝ ... mierda. ❞ partially covers his face with one palm, letting out a sigh.

↳ @hemerasiae 𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐃

[bolyde]

Teia ( @hallagold) is able to get Lucanis to slip his mask so easily. She is like family to him, and their closeness does make him an easy target for her needling and teasing.

She can rile him up only in that way a little sibling can. Knowing the exact buttons to press to get him ranting.

[wispwatched]

@hemerasiae asked: "you... brought this here for me?"

💬🐉 — Ingvar blinks a bit dumbly at her for a moment before his brain catches up. "Well, yeah." the older man simply says, shrugging a bit as he sets the plate down on her desk. "You uh," he gestures at the food, the smell of khachapuri wafting through her little office space. "-- you mentioned you liked it, and you didn't come for dinner. So," he splays a scarred hand almost theatrically, smiling now.

You'd never guess this man was as old as he was with how he acts sometimes.

"Voila. Or... whatever... I think that's what they say in Orlais." He mutters but quickly brushes it aside, meeting her gaze again. Albeit perhaps a tad softer- more concerned.

"You've been skipping out on meals lately." He rumbles quietly, leaning against the side of her desk. They'd both had a bit of a rough go, here. Especially after the dragons... so.. he gets it, he thinks. Still, there's a silent invitation for further understanding – an unspoken question of her well-being without quite putting it to words.

[winterfromtevinter]

[ PLAY ]:          while sitting together, the sender absently lifts the receiver’s hand, idly running their fingertips across the lines of their palms, mapping out every inch of their hand with slow, lazy touches. - bellara

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

Neve drowses in downy comfort. The blanket gathered beneath her head is soft, almost threadbare. Rich notes of sandalwood cling to the fabric, amber-warmth and magic-petrichor. Familiar, but in this half-waking state she struggles to place it. Either way she likes it, and burrows her face further against it.

Her hand is warm. There's fingers tracing her skin with the kiss of a butterfly's wing. Fingers curl against her palm, almost ticklishly so. The line that bisects her palm horizontally is dutifully traced, then the ones that mark joints. How curious.

She breathes deeply, stirring further into wakefulness. The moment she does, her mind begins to go. She rarely gets a break when she's awake. Quiet moments like this are fewer and farther between, in the thick of things as they are now. She should be enjoying to the fullest.

But the gods are relentless. They are certainly not resting. Between the Antamm and Venatori they control legion. Always on the move, willing to die for distant promises of power. Even with the Eluvian network functioning there are simply too many places to be. There's only so thinly they can spread themselves. Eight of them to stem the tide. The water rises high and Rook can't even swim.

Neve huffs in frustration. There she goes again. Ruminating when they're supposed to be taking a rare afternoon to themselves. It's her curse: to be chewing stubbornly on the same thoughts. Letting herself travel down the same well-trod roads. She could twist herself in spirals forever if she let herself.

She opens her eyes and is greeted by the ancient beauty of Arlathan forest. Maybe it's the magic, likely because she's spent most of her life in a city, but Neve's sure she's never seen anything as alive as this place feels. The air thrums magic-heavy around them. The ground is home to a million crawling, burrowing things. A cry of some bird that she can't identify sounds out. It feels like even her understanding of the word green is inadequately matched to Arlathan's splendor. There is a richness here that cannot be replicated by words alone.

It matches Bellara. Neve wonders if she's grown up here. On the wings of that thought her eyes trace down to where her hand is gently held aloft. Ah, there is the culprit.

"Can't imagine my hand is that fascinating, Bel." To show that she means to give no censure, Neve catches Bellara's wandering hand with her own. She corrects the alignment so they are palm to palm. Bellara's hand is slimmer than hers, but Neve's fingers are longer. "My own fault for falling asleep and leaving you to entertain yourself."

[hoboblaidd]

cancelled for stressing josephine tf out. ❌🚫

I'm sorry, Josephine, he actually liked you.

[mercysought]

“what, and twiddle my thumbs while you work yourself to death?” neve for rook

   "Wait, I feel I just got dropped into an opposite world." Orla turns to Neve with a raised brow, her arms move in front of her body in a poor man's copy of Neve's body language. Truthfully, Orla needed at least a couple of more weeks of observation before she could really nail the nuances, for now, it would likely just come across as - she hoped - a funny interpretation. Gloved hands point at Neve, her brows arch "I'm pretty sure I've told you those exact words before."

And it would make sense, if there was anyone in that whole lighthouse that worked themselves to death - her name started with a N and ended with an E. Not that Orla was any slouch, but there was not being a slouch when you had a god biting at your mental enclosure - figuratively speaking - and two elven gods were running around because you fucked up versus having a lifestyle of working yourself to death. They were not the same.

Hazel eyes narrow as she turns to walk through the eluvian; every time she did, it felt like being dropped under a waterfall. It made no sense and yet Orla could swear it just made her feel cold. And when they were inside? Well, she could breathe but it didn't stop her from thinking how disorientated she still felt. She had been told by Bellara and Neve how the Crossroads had these most beautiful tones, at least some of the areas.

The only real colour she had seen was the black from the blood of the corrupted darkspawn or red, on the occasional Antaam that seemed to have gotten lost. The rest was kinda just headache inducing "You can't use my words against me, Gallus."

warrior of darkness // accepting // @hemerasiae

[nobroth]

Leliana - @hemerasiae

     “Do you regret leaving it behind? Lothering.”

Alistair shifts uneasily from foot to foot as he watches Leliana there by the fire. She’d invited him to watch her cook, though he can’t think of why. She’s not doing anything different from what he’s doing. 

Maybe she just wanted company. 

     “Do you think about the people? Was there anyone there you… miss?”