For the flower ask game; Monkshood, Rosemary, and Myrtle?
Language of Flowers (Rook Questions)
Monkshood: Does Rook ever think about their own death?
As an Antivan Crow, death is part of Deanna’s everyday life. She’s thought about her own a few times but she doesn’t dwell on it much. She fully believes she’s expendable, she’s seen it happen so many times. Talons, Crows, even fledglings would be killed and another person would take their place. That’s why she was ready to put her life on the line at Weisshaupt and why she was ready to do whatever it takes to save Thedas.
Mrytle: How does Rook’s life (and potentially their partner’s life) change if they have children and/or get married?
(i haven’t decided if my rook has kids or not so i’ll only answer in regards to her marriage!)
Deanna’s life changes quite drastically when she marries Lucanis. Not only does she officially join House Dellamorte but she becomes wife of the First Talon. During her life as a De Riva, she always assumed she’d never become a famous crow, that she would never be a Talon (even though Viago had always intended for her to take over his seat, she never that would ever happen.) She misses living in the shadows, having anonymity. But she eventually learns to accept it and stands happily at Lucanis’ side. I imagine that her life would be in danger from attacks from the other Houses. If they ever wanted to threaten Lucanis or even try to take over, she’d be the perfect bait. But after everyone saw Lucanis take down Illario in the opera house, the other leaders are too afraid to cross the Demon of Vyrantium. Not to mention the fact that both Lucanis and Deanna have killed literal gods. In terms of Lucanis’ life changing, he couldn’t be more happier to be Deanna’s husband. Their love for each other only gets stronger with every single day. She makes life easier for him too, becoming First Talon takes a toll on him at first but with Deanna at his side, he learns to believe in himself and together they do great things for the Crows.
Rosemary: What is Rook’s earliest memory?
(um i kinda went crazy and ended up writing a little drabble of a memory from my rook’s backstory as an answer to this so it’s under the read more alskdkd it’s nothing amazing and i wrote it literally this morning…. i hope it’s okay!! i haven’t posted any of my writing for a whole year so thank you for asking these and giving me inspiration!! slight tw for abuse/violence but nothing too graphic)
🐦⬛🗡️
She had patted down the bundles of hay into a makeshift pillow and pulled the ragged sheet over her, the closest she’d get to having a blanket. She thought back to the time she had crept into one of the many guest rooms and crawled under the bedsheets. How soft and luxurious it felt across her skin, how she could still recall the fragrance of the washed linen, how the mattress felt so firm and yet so comfortable underneath her. These were luxuries that were never meant for her, luxuries that she would never have.
That overpowering scent of lavender and jasmine still clung to her nose if she thought hard enough. It almost worked to hide the strong damp smell of the horses and any other substances that were lingering inside the stables.
Her eyes were closed but she couldn’t sleep, not when the Master’s voice reverberated across the courtyard. He was inside the mansion, shouting so loudly it was as if all of Orlais could hear. He was seemingly moving from room to room in a fit of pure rage, looking for something. Or someone. This was not the first time she had heard him like this. But it was to be the last.
A door opened and her Master’s voice was now clear as he stepped outside. Something had truly vexed him this evening, though Deanna knew it didn’t take much to anger him. But this was different, his voice was seething with rage but there was a twinge of fear. Whatever it was that had occurred, he was desperate and afraid.
Another voice caught Deanna’s attention. Mama. She was pleading with the Master, begging him not to hurt her daughter as she had done countless times before.
Deanna’s hand instinctively reached up and touched her face where the Master had last left his mark. The tips of her fingers had only brushed the skin of her cheek yet she still winced as the pain tingled from that light touch. There was no doubt that she would have a bright and colourful bruise tomorrow, she would need to check her reflection in the water of the courtyard’s fountain to be sure.
She closed her eyes tighter, knowing that her Master was looking for her once again and that it would only be a matter of time before he found her.
But her mother’s voice grew louder, screaming for him to stop. She told him to drop the knife, to pull himself together for the Maker’s sake. Then there was a strange sound, something similar to the noises that came from the kitchen when the butcher had delivered fresh meat. There was a heavy thud and her mother’s voice stopped.
It was quiet. Too quiet. Something was not right. Deanna had heard her mother being beaten many times before, she had heard her mother crying and pleading to their Master until he grew tired or when he had had enough. Then he would leave her whimpering on the ground, bruised and bloodied. She would always get back up and come find Deanna to reassure her that everything was going to be okay. But this silence… she had never heard it like this before.
She sat upright, eyes wide as if that would help with hearing things clearer. She waited for any sound of her mother, any sound at all. Then she heard it. Footsteps. A soft squelch. And then a new voice.
“The Crows send their regards.”
There was another thud, different from the sound before. As if someone had dropped a large sack to the ground, placing it down deliberately. Deanna clutched tightly at the sheet around her as the footsteps drew closer.
She knew her mother’s footsteps, she even knew the Master’s stomping feet. But these were unlike any she had heard before. These were gentle yet clear. As if they wanted to be heard, as if they wanted to let Deanna know they were coming.
The side door to the stable opened and the figure stepped in. He looked around for a moment, until he found what he was looking for. He stood before Deanna, holding a small yet sharp dagger in one hand, wiping away some kind of red substance off the blade with a silk handkerchief. Once he was satisfied that it was clean, he folded the cloth away and sheathed his dagger.
Deanna stared up at the human. She had seen him before, earlier that same week. He had been hiding up on the rooftops, watching. Waiting.
The first few times she caught him, he hid himself away as quickly as he had appeared. But yesterday when she had caught him again, he stayed perfectly still until she was the one who had to turn and look away. No one believed her when she spoke of the strange man, not even Mama.
Now here he was, right in front of her. His clothes were strange, she had never seen so many clasps, so many belts. Then she noticed what was attached to them, all his daggers and small vials filled with bright green liquid. Yet despite his frightening appearance, when she looked up at him with her emerald eyes, she felt… safe. She knew he was not going to hurt her.
He wasn’t a young boy but not yet a man either. He was somewhere in between, the signs of an early attempt at a moustache upon his upper lip. But there was wisdom in his dark eyes, in the line of his sharp jaw. He had experienced more in life than Deanna could ever possibly imagine. He took a step forward and spoke in a strong, strange accent.
“Your mother is dead. And I have fulfilled my contract. Your life here is over.”
He did not sound Orlesian, nor Fereldan like her Mama. But there was still so much of the world Deanna didn’t know about, so much she had always yearned to see.
He held out a gloved hand. She stood up, letting the sheet fall and revealing the rags she wore as her nightdress. How scruffy she must’ve looked, with dirt smudged across her face, stray pieces of straw stuck in her light auburn hair and her elven ears poking through. She reached her small hand up to his and took it.
Deanna was too young to truly understand what he was talking about. But something inside her knew that she was meant to go with him.
He said nothing as he pulled her close and lifted her up into his arms. He carried her with great ease, the small creature that she was.
The rest of the night was a blur, she could remember nothing about the journey to Antiva except for one thing. The feeling of being held in the strange human’s arms. How he let her sleep with her head rested upon his chest. And how, for the very first time in her little life, she finally felt safe.
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Is it okay for someone to reblog your old Rook Intro Hour posts? I just got the game a couple weeks ago and have....so many Rook OCs already and I uh, would like to get involved in the community! Also just like, your posts are awesome and I love the positivity you share and spread throughout cause I really love Veilguard and it's nice to see others do too 😊
Hello, welcome! I’m so glad you’re enjoying the game!!
Yes, you can always play RIH, whenever you want! I will try to get to everything and rb you!
And thanks 💕! Just trying to make the DA fandom a fun/positive place to be!
sepia - you think you're soooo funny don't you? well you are
cider - we're not very close but i appreciate your presence
burgundy - i'm in love with you /platonic
asdkf aw boo!! you're such a sweetie, thank you ;v; <3 ahh i know it's been like, a long time since we've really talked since i left the rpc. i appreciate your presence as well and ur always welcome to hmu even if i'm slow!! i love u too bubs <3333
moss - your taste in fictional characters is questionable but i respect it
OK FAIR BUT WHICH GUY IS THIS IN REFERENCE TO LOLLL. it's rahool isn't it,,,, /lh
HI I'M SO GLAD TO SEE ANOTHER PERSON WHO LIKES KAIGAKU AND ALSO I LOVE YOUR ART ITS SO GOOD!!
OMGG THANK YOU SOO MUCH ! It makes me so happy !
And yeah ! I really like Kaigaku, I think he's such an interesting character, and it's sad that he's so hated. Even as an anime-only I can tell he had a lot of wasted potential, if only he had met the right people and hadn't been so unlucky.
I'm really glad that you like my art, thank you so much !
what’s a fic that changed the way you see a certain character?
smut, angst, fluff, or crack?
a detail you’re really proud of putting in one of your fics
do you pay more attention to colors, lighting, or smells when adding detail?
do you make playlists for certain fics you write?
fic writer's ask meme | @kanawolf
5. what’s a fic that changed the way you see a certain character?
ertrunkener_Wassergeist's Born Into the Wilds. Nyx is not one of my favorite characters. I'm neutral about him. His cocky demeanor and comebacks make me want to gag sometimes. Granted, it's a cover-up for his trauma and depression. On the other hand, his undying loyalty for hearth and home strikes me as him being a blowhard. He seems to be a bit of a romantic too, for how he acted around Luna during the movie. I do find him more likeable when he's being a serious mission leader. I don't mind him until he opens his mouth.
In Born Into the Wilds, Geist portrays Nyx as a little more humble than what he was in the movie. He's more of the reluctant leader. It's when he opens his mouth that he gets himself into situations he didn't want, but he'll do it to please his people. I have never read that fic and thought Nyx was too cocky.
11. smut, angst, fluff, or crack?
Angst. I prefer story, and it's not much of a story when everyone's happy. I seem to only write for angry characters.
18. a detail you’re really proud of putting in one of your fics
I know most people write fic to escape the real world and its problems, but I often try to incorporate real world issues in my fics. I don't have a full understanding of the real world issue, but I don't think it's possible for one person to have a full understanding. Besides, I'm applying it into a fantasy world, so it's going to appear different than its real-world counterpart.
The issue I'm most proud of incorporating would be illegal immigration, based off the one tiny detail regarding Lucis's strict immigration policy (which was never explained exactly what the policy was). I think I did a shoddy job of it by taking a lot of shortcuts (narrator was sickly child and had large gaps in her memory for the entire journey across the world), but it wasn't the focus of the story, just a interesting detail that added another complication in the characters' lives. It added additional friction between characters, which led to more conflicts.
19. do you pay more attention to colors, lighting, or smells when adding detail?
I never thought of it before. I'd say smell because it's what I can remember most of my fics. The smells the characters experience. I don't recall playing with colors or lighting.
23. do you make playlists for certain fics you write?
I do! I make them on Spotify and listen to them when I'm trying to get into the zone, or after I've finished writing for the day. I wait until the end of the fic to post it in the Author's Notes, because I think even the playlist will give some plot points away. Sadly, I won't finish most of my fics, so I'll never reveal most of the playlists.
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Her hand finds his, through the storming rain, splintered eyes see clearly as she leads him into the hut they've claimed as a have from prying, vengeful eyes, and just as a violent weather. Threading her fingers with his, she rests her other hand on his hip and, near instinctively, leads them into a simple waltz. "You know...if it weren't for the mutated fishers outside, this would be a remarkably peaceful and delightful moment. Dancing in the rain...it's something I used to wish for, especially when I was younger." The chuckle that follows is soft but genuine, and though it is drowned by rain, her entire being seems to soften, as if the laugh was the last breath she'd been holding in case of danger.
Slowing to a sway, a hesitant expression blooms. Her hand on his hip drifts, featherlight, upwards over his chest before finally settling to cup his cheek. "You told me once that anything I needed from you, I would need only ask for it." Leaning forward, she locks eyes with him, the words murmured, "I ask, in this, that you forgive me, should this be an overstep," and her eyes flutter shut as her lips brush over his, hesitant and featherlight, before she pulls him in for a soft, but proper kiss.
[ kiss + soft ] your muse pulling mine into a tender kiss.
@a-bottomless-curse | KAYDEN.
He knows that this is not the place nor the time for such sentiments, but circumstances have left them wanting of the luxury to choose a location far better suited. Try as he might, he can help but follow her lead just as she's led him into the questionable sanctuary that the hut afforded; all the security he needed was her hand in his as she guided him step by step in this dance, graceful in spite of the sopping wet of their clothes. "My apologies that we couldn't afford the chance for a better opportunity to indulge in this comfort." And he affords her a small smile, knowing that Kayden cared little for customs necessary in courting.
It is why her next move isn't that much of a surprise. Her intent made clear even before her touch found its final destination on his cheek, fingertips scratching the bristle of his beard and holding him in place. There's a certain weight that lies in chest as she leans forward, a heat that runs through him as the extent of her feelings are revealed and his hand tightens its grip in hers when their lips meet. What she probably meant to keep chaste is overrun by a flood of emotion that has been building up ever since she first held his hand and wished nothing more than for them to look out for one another. In that moment, Simon wished nothing more than to repay her kindness, her affection in any way she might appreciate; his free hand snaked around her to press her against him, the damp of their clothes squelching together as he deepened the kiss. He's wholly into the moment, cataloging the feel of Kayden against him: her warmth and scent with only the faintest regard of the danger that lurked just beyond the ramshackle of the hut they called their retreat.
Finally, inevitably, the moment comes to an end. His hands are still on her but their lips separate, the only evidence present being the color in their cheeks and the sheen on spit on his lips. "Is it truly accurate to call it an overstep when I have left the doors wide open and called you in by name?"
◈ @kanawolf asked: ❛ what is a gift your muse is hoping to receive? (for both!) ❜
— anri
Time and company. :’) I realise that sounds cheesy, but by all rights Anri should have died as a child – she was incredibly lucky to escape Saint Aldrich, to flee the Cathedral of the Deep. With each death after undeath, Anri loses a little piece of herself, but she has never forgotten the other children. Life is a gift her friends were denied. Outside of her quest to slay the man-eater, nothing matters more to Anri than her companions. That means her now-deceased mentor, Horace, and anyone else who shares the road with her. Whether it is for hours or years, she does not underestimate the value of a person’s time and attention. If we are talking strictly tangible gifts, then anything that appeals to her sentimental nature would be warmly received. A wildflower picked in her name would suffice, as would a pebble from a place they explored together. For something less entrenched in memory and meaning, more plain hair pins wouldn’t go amiss.
— ciaran
While not ostentatious, Ciaran absolutely has a taste for the well-made – vastly preferring quality to quantity – and she is not afraid of indulging in her wants and desires. The assassin is presumably well compensated for her services to Lord Gwyn and, coupled with her independence, this all goes to say that she wants for very little. There is nothing she seeks outside of those rare connections that allow her to be more herself than weapon, but if a tangible gift must be given something high quality and / or practical would serve best. A masterfully wrought blade (preferably functional and beautiful) or a garment fitted to her unusually small form would appeal.
— maria
Since you sent this ask, Maria has become one of my main muses, so I figured I should include her too! I answered this question for her here but neglected to mention that Maria has a penchant for hardwearing, practical, aesthetically pleasing footwear. As with Ciaran, it’s a case of quality over quantity, but she absolutely has several pairs of very beautiful, calf-hugging leather boots – she would absolutely welcome further additions to her small collection.
