#mu writes

[muwitch]

Amatus,

Not sure if I deserve the right to call you this once more. Not sure how to even start this letter: should I cut right to the chase? Should I pour out my thoughts the way they jump through my mind’s eye? A kaleido. I wish the words came easier, to give meaning to them the way you would appreciate it, but…

We’re going to Tearstone Island. There’s no time.

Once I made a grave for you in the deepest part of my soul. Sometimes it feels like you are still lying there: maybe you are, since the blight in your veins has slowed but is not gone. You’d tell me it’s not my fault, but so many things are. Unhappy coincidences. Unspoken words. Unkept promises. They are mine to carry and see through. And one more on top, sworn on blood at the edge of your bed.

We always needled each other about who’d pass over to the Fade first out of recklessness, remember? We are moving out tomorrow and I am scribbling this abomination of both apology and declaration in haste.

I am sorry, if I fail my promise one last time by not coming back.

I love you. With all that is left light in me, which feels so sparse in times like these.

Now this sounds like I am writing a will.

Let me reclaim a bit of eloquence and dignity by repeating your words. Everything we are, what we did, what is before us still, once started with nothing but a dream. A dream of better Tevinter, better Minrathous, that spun like a thread into a tapestry. A dream of connection we shared and are still, of understanding. A dream of a future where our cause wins and we live long enough to see it. The one where we don’t, but it happens nonetheless. The dream of slow change, of calmer days, of sunsets over the Dock Town narrow roofs and Nessum spires.

In all these futures I am for once in my life truly praying for, you are not alone and alive.

Selfish, I know. Always have been.

- Lucius

Art by @ervanjarvi on bluesky

[redhexagon7]

Here is how one can tell it is not a day like any other: Angie's dress and veil are freshly washed and cleaned, for once without a speck of dirt.

Her hair is lovingly combed (Donna would always comb Angie's hair, if the doll would let her. Nowadays she insists on Ingrid doing it and, well. Ingrid's coordination has improved but it still leaves much to be desired). While Angie's flower crown often gets dried out or knocked askew, today it is neither of these things.

The flowers are all bright and vibrant - yellows and blues and reds - neatly interwoven and fitting perfectly on Angie's head.

There's a faint blush on her cheeks, courtesy of Donna's steady hand and make-up ordered from the Duke.

She looks like a bride on her wedding day. And today, she is.

[muwitch]

WIP WHENEVER

thank you @weaveandwood and @flo59-art who tagged me at 2 different WIP games but I am merging them by power bestowed on me from the Black Divine idk

I am finally sharing an ACTUAL WIP (I translated really quick) as I started working on my pre-canon lucashur/ashurook thing ;A;

pray for me yall

also I am sweating bc never did I ever write Dorians POV so bear with me

The object of his efforts was found exactly where expected, with a glass of wine: every member of the now disbanded Lucerni was mourning today. Some were grieving loudly, some not, some found it important to be with people, and some were grieving alone. Phoebe Mercar was one of those. Her petite figure stood out in the restless darkness of the streets, the faint cold light of the magical lanterns illuminating her weary face. The esteemed senator now resembled a restless spirit descended from the Fade. “You would make an excellent match for a necromancer, my dear.” Phoebe turned to him slightly, which any other decent mage would have considered the height of disrespect. Thank the Maker, Dorian did not consider himself decent enough to fit the term. “What gave me away?” she sighed. “I'm sure my undead company is even worse than the usual one.” “You're so hard on yourself. You'd make quite a pretty skeleton.” “Maybe now I will, at least sooner than expected. After all, we're now…” Phoebe paused, taking a confident sip. The silence in itself spoke volumes: they had all been at the session today, albeit in different chambers of the Senate. “Don't take on too much,” Dorian remarked in that uncharacteristically wise manner he picked up recently, politely allowing the lady to pause. “It won't be long before the first wrinkles appear. However, I share your dudgeon.” “Dudgeon is such a weak word.”

np tagging @rin-hanarin @proffbon @woundedsoul12 @jukkaricity @silent-words @sparklingarsonic @elzuniawhy @rookinthecrownest @pinkvbay also my beloved @fassina @plethomacademia and @feniksido if you feel like it ily just so you know

[muwitch]

WIP Thursday

I was kindly tagged by @silent-words and wow, I am actually doing it on Thursday wjdiowjd A short blurb for yall bc I have been stuck on planning stage and wasn't writing too much tbh

Phoebe bruised easily, he’d come to know in the subsequent months, marks blue and purple hidden piously under layers of formal attire, but there still for him to re-discover. She had a whole drawer full of elaborate concoctions brewed to help the hickeys and bites dissipate, available, but chose to wear the stains of teeth and lips just as she wore any other fancy dress.  Or, maybe, there was a whole other reason.  Tarquin didn’t like where that thought was leading him.

np tagging: @rin-hanarin @proffbon @elzuniawhy @sparklingarsonic @silent-words @jukkaricity @pinkvbay @woundedsoul12 @grrrasya

[muwitch]

WIP Thursday Friday

tagged by @elzuniawhy and I had to scribble one of ashurooks real quick for you instead of Tarquin

“You grew up here. It’s whole other story.” The voice is not muffled anymore. Pensive and almost solemn. Ashur can feel him slump a little where their backs connect - the only thing that remains material, a curtain between half-hearted truths and lies disguised as jokes. “Minrathous digests everyone.” Ashur twists the stick of his grilled fish, because he has to do something with his hands. Make himself think of words of consolation, not sure if needed. Was he ever?   “Part of other national…peculiarities.” Luc laughs - but the sound of it salted with sea air and smoke of the chimneys below. Silence grows like deathroot, losing comfort and seclusion the rooftops provide them. Ashur is half-sure he said something he shouldn’t, as if he had bet on the wrong dog again. That careful walking on glass he grew so tired of. “When they brought me here, I knew nothing of the Imperium except legends and lessons from home.” Luc’s voice rings quietly, familiar, serious notes of it hiding something deeper than just the fact of him being from Rivain. Voices of his sisters rise in cruel, polite laughter in his head: a halfbreed.  “The city met me…differently. If at all.” He chuckles, falls quiet, fidgets with his food - from the sound of it - as if there’s not a period in this conversation, but a comma. Something dancing on the tip of his tongue, ready to spill out in some sort of tirade that is never uttered. Ashur knows the weight unspoken all too well. Yet Luc sighs, nudges with his elbow, making the plate of Ashur’s armor clank in something close to protest. “You might deny it all you want, but you’re no stranger here.” “Are you?” “Do I really need to give you an answer?”

np tagging: @rin-hanarin @proffbon @sparklingarsonic @silent-words @jukkaricity @pinkvbay @woundedsoul12

[muwitch]

Six Sentence Saturday

i was unexpectedly tagged by @elzuniawhy and it's sunday but who cares??

[looks like i gonna spoil everything before i even write it but alas]

“Where is Maevaris Tilani?” The figures on the opposite side of the table stirred: beads clinked on someone's mask, a cough followed suit. The question fell between them like a sword, cut through the dusty air of the small, stuffy apartment at the very end of the Gilded Quarter. In the cramped semi-darkness of the room, the newcomers regarded each other sceptically: each of them had sacrificed the luxury of daylight and publicity from the moment those who carried the light officially ceased to exist. Who could blame them? Ashur narrowed his eyes, glancing briefly at the only dark window: No one, in truth.

tagging my beloveds as usual: @rin-hanarin @proffbon @jukkaricity @woundedsoul12 @rookinthecrownest @weaveandwood @silent-words

and whoever is looking at a sign to you know

[muwitch]

Five Sentence Friday

me. it's me i want to play @woundedsoul12 bc idk get me out of the writers block

taggin... ay idk whomst lets say @smoreofbabylon @rin-hanarin @proffbon @silent-words and @plethomacademia/@suntamer if you feel like it!

idk thought about annoying everyone with viperook again but then changed my mind

It’s about the bite. “Your face scrunches funnily so,” the danger is a thin veil over the measured flow of her voice - a fucking politician - and she exhales on a major note, lips curling upward. “Like a watch hound-” That’s it. Tarquin slams her against the wall without any consideration of how much force he actually uses. His nostrils flare, lips pursued into a thin, furious seam.

[muwitch]

Last Line Tag

tagged by beloved @weaveandwood and np passing on: @rin-hanarin @proffbon @elzuniawhy (you can't escape me) @flo59-art @jukkaricity and @bramblebeau hehe

aaannd here they are, the infamous zoo

"Maevaris wouldn't want arguments between us," he continued, already noticing mouths opening to interrupt. Then extended his hand in warning, slowly sweeping it around the group. "You are all here for the future of Tevinter, for which each had chosen to fight." No one could argue with that. The rest of Lucerni exchanged sullen glances. Kyra drew deep breath to start protesting. Someone's staff clanked menacingly. A chuckle rang from the far corner of the room. A tall, shifting shadow detached itself from the wall somewhere in the periphery of his vision, and then a voice—slightly hoarse and mocking—reached Ashur: "Judging by the way you were squabbling just about now, well, the future of our glorious Imperium is anything but enviable."