#scvcnofswords

[thedaschosen]

PROMPTS FOR GESTURES AND MOVEMENT  / ACCEPTING /  @scvcnofswords  asked :  shrug and salute from harrow to illia

( ⌺ ) // GOLDEN EYES OBSERVE EACH FACE BEFORE HER. she's met with understanding -- some sharp with seriousness, other's warm. then, there was harrow. giving a rather exaggerated and humorous shrug before a quick salute of respect. a light huff escapes her, grinning back a laugh with a dip of her head.

" harrow ... what am i going to do with you. " she smiles fondly in a whisper -- knowing the other was perfectly capable to handle the mission at hand. they would all be split up for now, but would reconvene further ahead. if all goes to plan -- this would all go smoothly. but when has that ever happened ?

[immortalmuses]

@scvcnofswords sent: ‘ all time ever does is pass and all i ever do is remember . ’ (regin to the iron bull)

ㅤㅤㅤThe Iron Bull uncurls the mountainous slope of his back, straightening up from where he's hunched over the grinding wheel with his axe in hand. He hums acknowledgement to Regin's words, tilting his head to better consider her with his good eye.

ㅤㅤㅤ"... We had ways of handling that under the Qun, y'know..." Bull says, absently testing the edge of his axeblade with the pad of his thumb, "If one of us couldn't leave the past where it belonged, we'd... submit ourselves for re-education."

ㅤㅤㅤHe'd done it, perhaps more than once. The Qunari has a hard time remembering, sometimes. Swinging his freshly sharpened weapon in a practice arc, The Iron Bull asks, "What's brought this on, Boss? Something in your past distracting you from our delightfully apocalyptic present?"

[circlefled]

'what stands out about my portrayal' - honestly just the sort of sheer artistry to how you write; you paint pictures with the internal dialogue that's honestly so engaging and lovely to read, and it strikes so viscerally. every emotion you put your characters through reads in a way that you can channel that feeling, and really experience the moods and scenes you're bringing to life

What is something about my portrayal[s] that sticks out?

gonna be honest here i've re-read this one a few times and every time it makes me smile so big. I'm glad you enjoy reading all of the spirals i give this man because they're a joy to write.

[berthindeath]

@scvcnofswords asked:

Regin's already there, when Gwen returns. Honestly, how she always knows things- always has such perfect timing- she's never told, but she's sitting in Gwen's room when the necromancer enters in- rises to tug the other woman to sit with her. She doesn't say anything- but she does pick up a brush from the table, and start carefully running it through Gwen's hair, picking out any leaves or debris that had been caught in it from the other woman's excursions, and carefully-so very gently- undoing any tangles. The blonde storm-mage doesn't say anything for a long few moments- but she does reach and squeeze Gwen's shoulder gently, and begin to quietly hum, after murmuring. "If you want to talk, I'm happy to listen. But if you just want to exist- that's fine too. Door's locked." You don't have to be strong, indomitable Rook. It's just us. When she's finished detangling, she takes a small bottle from the table as well- a hair oil, smelling like cherries and cinnamon and cedar- and runs it through the strands, before carefully beginning to braid, starting at one of Gwen's temples, and working her way around- joining it to a matching braid she creates on one side, before starting again slightly lower with the same process, and then another, thick braid with the rest of the length. She ties off each braid with a silver metal piece, glinting in the light of the aquarium and sconces. When her hair is done, Regin tugs, gently, so she can hook her chin over Gwen's shoulder, wrapping her arms around the other woman from behind in an embrace. "I've got you."

It's silent, the entirety of this moment. To be loved is to be seen and with Regin, there is no escaping the radiance of her affection. Their friendship had been a surprise, Harding having introduced them purely out of desperation, as a means to turn the tides of this conflict. But what bore of it was a companionship unlike one she's ever had. While she loves her companions, they've become like a family of sorts to her, her bond with the elven woman is something else entirely. One forged so swiftly, yet so strongly, that they've already reached an unspoken understanding with one another.

She needed her now. And here she sits as if she'd manifested her into being. It left her throat dry, her eyes burning almost immediately before sinking onto the lounge chaise at her side.

The attention that's paid to her is foreign; the way Regin's delicate fingers sift through the tangled mess that had been her hair, an act of care that has her heart thudding in her chest and her eyes swelling with tears she begs not to shed. Exhaustion lives in her bones, unable to remember the last time she truly slept for more than a few hours at a time.

She is tired. But not just from the burdens of her calling.

The other woman's words finally hit her ears, permission granted to just be. To exist. To feel. And it's in that moment that a tear slips free, trailing down the swell of her cheek as it sinks beneath her curve of her chin. She still does not weep, it is not felt in the entirety of her body but the veneer has cracked. The oil's fragrance stirs her senses and she can feel herself to start to choke up. Fingers ever so gently slip perse strands into a braid, but Gwendolyn is overwhelmed. The care, the gentle quiet of existence, it has her chest jumping, her chin trembling as she finally just lets go.

" I may lose him, Regin. " She whispers painfully, finally. Expressing something she's held in her chest so tightly ever since the ambition had left his lips. How she'd kept it in her heart, not showing just how terrified it made her. Who is she to tell him the direction of his path? To tell him that it frightens her at what would become of them if he were to go through with it. Could she wipe the horrors clean? Could she forget the flesh torn rot of the hand that rendered her flesh sullied? To replace it with his that would be kinder, despite the unbearable likeness?

Lichdom.

She feels the arms that weave around her, the comfort of her touch as she feels her chin fall to her shoulder. She feels safe here, for once as her hands lift to grasp at Regin's arm closest to her so that she might rest her chin against her arm. Her heart breaks, and breaks, and breaks as she leans forward, taking Regin with her as she lets out a weak cry.

" Am I a selfish thing? "

[abanbas]

@scvcnofswords asked: "I fear the past melancholy is returning."

NOSFERATU (2024) directed by ROBERT EGGERS.

Sitting down next to them, Sire as per usual, took his sweet herbs and began packing them into his pipe. " Melancholy is forever, just like all feelings, we just cycle through whatever ones help are brains get it." He lit the pipe with his pinky before shaking his hand, as if he'd actually get burned. "That's the wonderful thing about things. They all pass, new things come and old things stay just how you left them, like a rock needing turning."

They lay a hand on Harrow's shoulder before smiling, puffing smoke butterflies into the air, leaning back on his palm to see them better. "But right now, you feel it right?" He turns to them, furrowing his brow. " So then, tell me...What's the old melancholy telling you?"

[prophetries]

"Forgive me. Everything I say sounds so childish," @scvcnofswords // nosferatu

“ idealism is not a crime. ”  once, she might have thought differently, when the wound left by solas was still raw and bleeding. but now evelyn reaches across the gap between them, her remaining hand finding harrow's where it lay on the table in front of them.   “ there is nothing to forgive. ”

[resonantnature]

"i'm not lucky, and I know i wasn't chosen." (regin to vinelle)

the sympathetic smile she offers is faint, thinking on her own experiences since taking on the moniker 'rook'. she feels similarly; she is grateful for the people she's come to know, but burdened by their number, terrified by the weight of the impossible. ' i truly understand the sentiment, ' she murmurs, looking down. ' some lust for glory and titles, but they don't comprehend what it means to wear it. '

[fadewalking]

🌟💯☀️

Positivity meme- @scvcnofswords 🌟 ― i love how you portray your muse(s) 💯 ― your headcanon posts are always on point ☀️ ― your posts always bring me joy

uhmmm right back at you btw!! (also i've got a reply queued for u heheh)

[oakthcrn]

"Kings die, queens fade, but the spider’s web of politics endures." (from Regin Lavellan)

𝐑𝐎𝐘𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒.

accepting @scvcnofswords

𝑨 𝑭𝑹𝑶𝑾𝑵 𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑴𝑬𝑫 𝑶𝑵 𝑳𝑨𝑹𝑲'𝑺 𝑭𝑹𝑬𝑪𝑲𝑳𝑬𝑫 𝑭𝑨𝑪𝑬. A resigned sigh escaped her as she nodded in agreement. 

❝ 𝐓𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐭, 𝐈𝐧𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐫. 𝐍𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐓𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐨. ❞ She said, there was resentment in her voice, though she tried to hide it. 

❝ 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐬, 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐞𝐛𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. 𝐚𝐡 𝐚𝐝𝐦𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐡 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭.  ❞

[thedaschosen]

MAKING DEMANDS  / ACCEPTING /  @scvcnofswords  asked :  go rest. i'm not asking. (Regin to Taran)

( ⌺ ) // HEAVING BREATHS ACHE AT HIS LUNGS, a sheen of exhaust filming at his skin. brows furrow, calloused hands tightening across wrapped leather across the hilt of his spellblade in determination -- " no ... i can continue -- " i'm not asking. her sternness hits him with a blink of surprise, a rare tone that was used with him. there's a temptation to argue -- stubbornness at the tip of his tongue as lips part, brows briefly knitting together with confusion. " ... alright. " he subsides -- shoulders drop in defeat, clipping the hilt to his belt as the already flickering magical blade disappears from existence. feet drag across grass, moving to slump upon a tree stump. muscles scream and burn -- letting a hand swipe back loose black locks with a sigh. hands meet as forearms balance upon his knees-- rubbing at his palm, new pink rimmed blisters already beginning to form.

" i can't seem to balance my focus ... " he admits, frustration narrowing at his eyes as he stares harshly at his palms. his reluctance to learn the basics of casting since he was thrown into ostwick beginning to catch up with him. he had never thought about the intricacies of magic before the inquisition -- always casting out of survival than precision. but he was grateful to have a great teacher beside him.

[luctumvigilantes]

@scvcnofswords || LIKED for a STARTER for Reign

Watching sunrises from the main gates of the Necropolis at ground level had always been a favorite start to any morning; the silhouettes of the grand spires and decorative mausoleums against the bright pinks and soft yellows of first light simply captivating. Teamed with a hot cup of tea, his wisp companion and a pile of missives that he had missed from the day before and you've created Atris' average morning.

This very morn dawning before his eyes, however, was not his average morning.

Tall silhouettes of buildings basked in the tears of mourning had been replaced by trees that far exceeded his age; their lush green could scarce be seen in the low light of the morn and yet their ever imposing stature loomed regardless. Booted feet continued forward, not on the stone walkways that they were used to but instead through grass and mud alike; his legs rather filthy from recent scuffles 'pon uneven terrain.

Being dispatched from the Necropolis was a rarity indeed, and though Atris did enjoy seeing parts of the wider world, there was something about the pull of home that just kept him going, that continually called him regardless of where he was. Even now, as he begun his way homeward on foot did he think of everything he had missed during his excursion to seek out and alleviate the affects of a haunting on a small village - and his heart sank at how much he had truly missed usual habits.

Exhausted, he sits briefly 'pon the fallen expanse of a tree trunk and judging by its age and how it flaked beneath the touch of his fingers he assumed it had been there quite some time. It offered a momentary comfort, alleviates some of the aches within his legs, but it also gives him pause - a moment long enough to listen to the beauty of wildlife surrounding, life that he seldom experienced when home.

Eyes follow the flicking ears of a doe just beyond a line of foliage ahead, his first time seeing such a beauteous and exquisite creature; he holds his breath, keeps himself extremely still but the animal startles regardless and flees, new company appearing as if walking idly through the trail.

"You... don't happen to know which direction is, uh... a town or somewhere to stay." He was far too tired to try and continue his trek and, frankly, he was entirely lost. "I don't particularly fancy another night sleeping under a tree, as lovely as they are."

[chaos--mode]

Ren can absolutely not manage to keep a straight face once the spells and daggers stop flying. she's usually not quite this jovial when she's dragged along into the Hossberg Wetlands. too wet and muggy and uncomfortable warm, in a way that she does not like.

but right now Rook is covered nearly head to toe in muck and, well. maybe she's just a little bit childish, because it's funny, all right, leave her alone!

@scvcnofswords, for their part, does not look pleased with the situation. ❝ just don't tell them you saw me, because this is embarrassing. ❞

she bites the inside of her cheek in an effort to stifle the worst of her grin. it doesn't really work. she reaches up to try and help them clear a bit of the sludge from their face. at arm's length, of course ; Ren definitely doesn't want to get any of it on her. not more than she has to, at least.

❝ you got knocked on your ass mid-fight, ❞ Ren offers, a weak olive branch considering she's still barely managing to keep her laughter to herself. ❝ that's not really embarrassing, is it? ❞

she supposes it's less that Rook got blasted 20 or so feet, and more that they landed right in the deepest part of the mud swamp they'd been fighting right next to.

&. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬. ( currently accepting! )

[myrdr]

"Don't talk. Just keep quiet and... let me think." (Harrow)

illario resists the urge to bite that hand that is currently covering his mouth. instead, he squints at harrow before attempting to maneuver himself within the tight space to give them more room. an impossible task. somehow, he's managed to accomplish even less space with his efforts. " if they find us, i'm dead. " he whispers with a muffled voice, his patience waning. " and you're dead by association. "

[abanbas]

WHAT DOES YOUR HEART LOOK LIKE?

a cage with iron locks

You are an enigma. You take care to remain that way. You aim to keep people guessing; your motives are uncertain even to yourself. What is it you truly want? You’ll never know if you keep your heart locked away like that. You deserve to be known, truly and fully. Stop being afraid of what you might find if you open your heart up to self-reflection. Stop thinking that no one will love you the moment they understand you. You are more than the facade you put on.

stolen from @dinnanshiral

tagging: @berthindeath @rookfang /@paterfang @fina1act @scvcnofswords (harrow) (@starlyht (sol) and anyone else who wants to do it!!

[fadewalking]

❝ words are easy, like the wind; faithful friends are hard to find. ❞ (from Regin)

Dragon Age Starters // @scvcnofswords

He had not expected her to clock his approach, what with her back turned in his direction. A faint smile tugged at his lips. Her perception was impressive, but more so were her philosophic musings. He came forward, meeting her where she stood against the battlement railings.

"Winds are not always easy," he pointed out, hands clasped behind his back. "They can be turbulent, unrelenting. As can the sting of friendship betrayed."

His gaze drifted to the courtyard below. Early evening at Skyhold was alive with movement: the bustle of food and drink, the solemn duty of tending to the sick and injured. He studied the scene in silence, letting the hum of activity fill the space between them as thoughts of the future flitted through his mind, none lingering long—not now, not with a friend.

“It is why I have often preferred the company of Spirits,” he added finally. "The habit to betray is one typically championed by mortals." Typically.

[abanbas]

Sire narrows before baring his own larger canines to her. " This is why you only have animals as friends isn't it?" He scoffs before following her gesture anyways. Sire has met his fair share of "cold hard veterans" and they act the same when met with any sort of warmth. " I will go this way, but NOT because you told me to. Because I don't want your horrid personality to rub off on me." They stuck their tongue out, uncaring of the very visible irritation she held for him.

As he walked, Sire blew a bubble out of his mouth, before it dropping frozen in his hand. He began to artfully swish it around on his hands, causing it to glow with a picture. "Nobody likes to have any fun around here, always uptight..." He says to himself, his bare feet curling into the grasslands. "It's like the blight crawled right up her ass and pitched a damn tent really."

Sire stopped, the bubble turned crystal vibrating as he spied their culprits but nothing to give an exact location. " Hmm..." A manicured finger tapped their chin before turning back. He might have disliked the warden already for her prickly attitude but she was a better tracker than him, having so many animals at her service. "Oh Warden~" Sire peaked from behind a tree, the crystal out in front of him. " I think you'd like to see this."

"Wrong animal," she says flatly, unimpressed. She only moves to keep him in her peripheral, uncaring of how close he gets. She doesn't say he's not helping because he's activating her fight-or-flight. Doesn't say she leans far more towards fight. If they can't read it in her, that's their problem.

But stop making her envision jamming her dragonbone blade into a soft palate.

Right now she really wishes there was a darkspawn to kill. A convenient ogre. An emissary. She doesn't like concern. They don't know her. Falsity, traps, barbed wire.

Everything while working is serious. It's only play when you know you're somewhere safe, and this isn't that. They aren't that.

She stares at him, flatly, and then looks down at the cat at her ankles, hackles raised much like her own feel. "Ghi'myelan," she says, softer, voice gentle in a manner that's nearly whiplash to every word prior. The cat sniffs at her, perturbed, before loping away; past the qunari, pausing to taste the air.

Nothing will sneak up on them, at least. She stares once more at Rook, jaw tight, and then gestures in the opposite direction.