#mossweaving

[expiredmorality-moved]

At the edge of a knife; @mossweaving

❰❰ CHIN ❱❱ sender tilts the receiver’s chin with their weapon

Self indulgent ask; accepting!

Concern should have been one of the emotions that coursed through the drow as Astarion had a blade at his chin, though he couldn’t stop the rising smirk that had coated scarred lips as his eyes angled lower, meeting the elf head on.

“Do you need me to bend my knees? Make this easier for you?” He asked, evidently entertained by the predicament he had found himself in.

He was mildly impressed by it, really. Though he figured at some point it was to be expected; after all, it wasn’t as though the pair were the bestest of friends.

With little regard for his own livelihood, he leaned forward, just enough to feel the pinch of the blade more firmly against hued flesh. The move wasn’t the most sane, but he found a spark of amusement in the situation, along with a budding curiosity peeking at the edge of a carefully constructed mask.

Why wouldn’t he be?

Of course there was the matter of the fact it was Astarion who had gotten him into this position, but that was neither here nor there, for now, anyways. “What is it you want exactly? I mean, I’m aware this is your usual means of greeting, but I thought we were past that.”

[blightbloom]

"not to alarm you, but someone's watching you." from astarion? c:

sayén rainbane does not startle or look up, her fingers still carefully braiding a stem of clover into the chain of daisies in her lap. her voice is a soft, considering hum.　“ is it a squirrel? ”　there is a pause, her head tilting just slightly as she selects the next flower to be weaved into the headpiece.　“ they do that sometimes, they’re very curious little guys. ”

only then does she lift her gaze, not to scan the shadows for a threat, but to meet the pale elf’s eyes with placid curiosity.　“ is it a new someone? or a familiar one? if they are just watching, they are polite enough. everyone enjoys a spectacle. ”　she returns her attention to her flower crown, her tone shifting to one of mild, practical concern. it would be so fun to meet someone new.　“ should i offer them a crown? this one i’m making is for you. ”

　　　　　⊱ ۫ ׅ ♡ ༘ ✧˚ ⋆｡˚❀ prompts ：「 accepting 」

[taleswritten]

@mossweaving sent

❛ you’ve found cruelty to be an effective tool. ❜ from gale to astarion! c:

There is silence and a narrow of crimson eyes as Gale points out the obvious. It's not a secret and everyone around this camp knows that Astarion can be cruel so what is this wizard getting at?

What exactly is happening here? Is this some horrible attempt to get him to understand he's not alone? The mere thought has Astarion scoffing. No, he is alone. There is no one he can count on more than he can count on himself.

"Do you have a point or would you like to stand there and merely point out the obvious?"

[theatreofmind]

💚💙♥️ - for the munday meme!

Meme / Accepting!

... 💚 whose writing speaks the most to me

I'd have to say @wrldofhassle / @fleshsin, whose writing I feel I immediately clicked with, and who I just in general vibe with a lot. Our styles match pretty well I'd say, which also really helps. In general CJ is such an amazing writer to interact with and I always enjoy it when I do

... 💙 whose creativity i envy

@stgzr hands down, Donk has such fun, built out lore and an extremely good understanding of the genres that he writes. It's so clear how much care has gone into Rex, and how built out the world is that Rex inhabits. Also @outofthiisworld who also has some absolutely incredible lore and also has drawn all of their icons??? Like holy crap that is amazing

... ♥️ what i like the most about my own writing

I love how distinct my characters are despite how many of them I write. I think I've done a good job giving them each their own unique voice and mannerisms. I'm also always so thrilled when people note this about my writing

[intothewildsea]

@mossweaving (hanzo)

It felt like an endless dream.

An expansive sea of darkness surrounding her. Cradling her. No sight, no sound, no smell - just silence. Blessed silence. Floating in the inky black.

Outside of the tank, machines beeped steadily. The air smelled of disinfect, like a hospital might, sterile and unwelcoming. Under the low lights, every surface shone white, with splashes of color. A yellow sticky note. A pink pen. A vial of vibrant red blood, ready to be tested.

In the middle of the room was the tank. A large tube with tinted glass, though if you stood close enough and peered inside you could make out the floating figure hooked up to a breathing apparatus and other tubes. They were the only breathing thing in the room. It was late and the staff had gone home for the night.

Inside the tube, her fingers twitched.

[olvanya]

“you don’t avert your gaze. most would.” from astarion hi hi hi

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘   𝐅𝐈𝐁𝐄𝐑   𝐎𝐅   𝐇𝐄𝐑   𝐁𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆   𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃   𝐓𝐎   𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐋   𝐔𝐍𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐘   𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃.   𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆   𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑   𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃   𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆   𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘   𝐀𝐓   𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐄   𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐒𝐌.   niveous   orbs   sail   across   vantablack   seas   to   survey   their   newfound   target.   wariness   drives   instinct   to   creep   one   hand   behind   her   shoulder.   identity   of   prey   disregarded,   categorizing   him   by   species:   undeath.   heresy.   twin   phalanges   move   deftly   to   scissor   grip   an   arrow.

❝    is   that   so.    ❞     mocking   curiosity   bespoke   dry   disinterest.   focus   hones   in   on   his blade   drenched   in   shadow-cursed   blood.

𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜

[elfbled]

The Shadow-Cursed Lands pressed in from every direction, the darkness clinging like damp silk. Even the torches they carried seemed reluctant to burn here, their light thin and wary.

Gale stood just beyond the ring of firelight, hands raised as a soft, controlled spell shimmered between his palms. The glow was gentle but insistent, holding the shadows at bay. "Still alive?" Astarion's voice drifted from behind him, smooth as ever, though quieter than usual. The spawn stepped closer, the darkness parting reluctantly around him. His usual swagger was muted here, replaced by something sharper, more alert. He peered at the spell, red eyes reflecting its light.

"You do realize,' he said lightly, "that if your magic falters, we'll all be swallowed by cursed shadows and die screaming. But no pressure." The shadows stirred at the edge of the light, as if listening.

@mossweaving

[fearinfected]

it was real. it seemed so real. - shakily throwing my richie at you c:

🌼 * ― 𝑻𝑹𝑨𝑼𝑴𝑨 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻𝑺.

He knew, probably better than anyone except the other Losers, how really fucking awful the nightmares could be. He'd managed to go most of his life waking up in a cold sweat, unable to remember what was causing his heart to ricochet in his chest except blurred shapes and that unending fear, but now that he had full recollection of what had started them, all he saw was IT.

It was a dumb hope that maybe they'd stop after the thing had been defeated, but how could you tell your brain to stop being afraid of the one thing that had haunted you for almost thirty years?

So, staying over at Richie's place for the night, the sound of muffled resistance from the next room didn't surprise him in the least. He couldn't leave him in there. All he could do was knock lightly on the man's door, let himself in, gingerly lay a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, its me. You're okay, Rich. Come on, man, wake up."