#Rookanis drabble

[amoaliquis]

Senka : "I'll tell you the tale of a charming rogue who stole the heart of a hapless hero."

I've seen a few takes where some interpret Rook's phrasing to mean that they consider themselves hapless.

Cool, cool.

Allow me to divert sharply here: Senka doesn't. Consider herself hapless, I mean.

She knows Lucanis loves to read romances. (She notes every little thing this man does. It is a habit borne of being a Crow. You can't be a good assassin without a focused mind and a meticulous attention to details.) Thus, in this moment she is weaving their love story for him via the "comfort" of her voice using verbiage she knows those books rely on.

Perhaps one day, Sen will even write their tale down in one of those fancy leather journals she came across on the desk in the Wolf's Den.

Solas won't mind. Not that she cares if he does.

Dellamorte and de Riva ... their story in her handwriting, the stark contrasts of black ink on cream parchment... something with a ridiculous title like: "Piccola Morte". [She's not a writer. She's a fucking assassin.]

But it IS something she winds up doing.

For him.

Years later...

"Piccola Morte" By Senka de Riva Dellamorte

Randy Dowager - Four and a half knives deftly sheathed out of five.

Solas finds a signed copy in the Lighthouse years later. To the Dread Wolf... He and Lavellan stay up all night reading it.

Senka understood the assignment.

[kindlyfeline]

thursday bangers! (on a friday shhh)

i was tagged by the wonderful @woundedsoul12 in their new tag game 🤩

write a lil blurb/drabble inspired by this lyric:

"I wonder if your therapist knows everything about me." (the last of the real ones by fall out boy)

this is based somewhere in/around my veilguard modern college au 📚✏️ (and rookanis bc i simply cannot stop thinking about them) also i fear i took the prompt extremely literally lmfaoooo autism

tagging: @trash-nerd @skullypettibone @operative-arrow @flowersforthemachines + @lucaanis (but no pressure of course!)

Sat in the bland, cream room furnished with a brown sofa and desk, Lucanis felt his mind going numb. He had never understood why Caterina sent he and Illario to therapy. The exact same therapist, by the way. How did she manage to stay impartial? He didn't dislike her. Jenny, the Therapist. Jenny, with the blunt ginger bob and beady eyes behind thick rimmed glasses. In fact, she was quite warm and softly spoken. She never frowned, except in contemplation perhaps. Lucanis just thought it was a waste of time. What was talking going to do? Was he supposed to tell Jenny every single deep, dark, humiliating thought he ever had? Every belief he held about his family, his parents? Tell her about Spite?! To what end? Tsk. The worst was when she asked about the people he cared for; Illario, Caterina, any friends - of which he had zero. That is... until recently. He was a few weeks into the second and final year of college, and he had been talking about his subjects when he mentioned a new girl who'd started in his psychology class: Rook. Jenny eyed him as he quickly, awkwardly changed the topic of conversation. Her thin lips twitched into a half smile and he knew she’d latched on to something. "Tell me more about this 'Rook'. Is this a new friend?" she asked softly. He pictured her in his mind, because he couldn’t not picture her. Maya Rook, sat beside him in class. A mess of deep chestnut curls, usually half pulled up, paired with enchanting hazel eyes… For the first time in any of his sessions so far, Lucanis blushed.

[girlwithadragonheart]

hey i’m obsessed with lucanis (and spite) as well! I’m wondering if you would be interested in a mourn watcher elf rook x lucanis and have it be the week (or weeks i can’t remember) of rook being trapped in solas’ regret prison. i feel like spite would be pissed and confused as to why rook is missing! thank you and best wishes :)))

Lights Out

Pairing: GN!Rook x Lucanis (x Spite)

Summary: Rook is gone. Lucanis is grieving. Spite is restless.

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: Really depressing shit, spoilers obviously

A/N: I’m sorry this isn’t longer! I felt like dragging it out too much takes away from the visceral gut punch it is.

DATV Masterlist

Death was all Lucanis had ever known.

It clung to him like a shadow, a constant presence in his life as a Crow. It was his trade, his art, and his curse. The blood he spilled lined his pockets but left scars on his soul, marks he carried with him even when he tried to move beyond the life he once embraced. But death had always been something controlled. Until now.

Rook was gone. You were gone.

He stood in the doorway to your room, once petrified by the thought of how it reflected the Ossuary, now only drawn to what was left of your presence. His hands flexed at his sides, his chest feeling hollow.

The night was heavy with silence, the Lighthouse mourning the loss of its leader. Spite stirred uneasily in the recesses of his mind, his voice a low growl that rippled with confusion. “Where. Is. Rook?” The demon hissed, each word sharp as one of his daggers.

Lucanis didn’t respond immediately. He had no answer, and the truth stung worse than any wound.

Spite pressed on, his voice gaining a harsh edge. “Where. Is. Rook?!”

Lucanis could feel Spite’s frustration growing as he was ignored. Your absence was a gaping void, a wound that bled frustration and fear and loss. There was nothing he could do. The Fade was something so far out of his understanding, even with the demon possessing him. Still, he’d spent days searching, combing every lead, every thread of information he could grasp, only to find himself standing here, fists clenched in futile rage.

“Lucanis!” Spite snarled.

All he heard was you screaming his name as you were pulled into the Fade. He relived that moment every time he closed his eyes. What could he have done different? You had survived against impossible odds, and he had gotten his second shot at Ghilan’nain, somehow killing her. That high was quickly dashed as he watched your wide eyes, saw you reaching for him, screaming for him as you were dragged out of his reach.

“They’re gone, Spite,” Lucanis whispered, barely audible. 

“Where?” He demanded, pushing against the boundaries of Lucanis’s mind as though searching for you.

“I don’t know,” Lucanis’s voice was ragged as he huffed, taking a step further into your room and closing the door behind him. He ran a hand through his already-mussed hair. “They’re gone,” he repeated.

The faint scent of Nevarran spices drifted around the room, and the lingering smell of your oils. The things you had on a day to day basis haunted him. The Nevarran urns around the room and hastily scribbled notes on Elven architecture and the runes you’d found during the group’s travels. 

Lucanis didn’t have the heart to go any further in the room, his back pressed firmly against the door. His chest was tight, and he was finding it almost impossible to breathe, but all he wanted was to drink in your scent as long as it lingered. It was all he had left of you.

He had fought his way through countless battles, defied impossible odds, endured the Ossuary, and survived Ghilan’nain’s wrath, but none of it mattered now. The one light in his life had been extinguished. Every breath hit him like a blow to the chest, the tangible reminder of your presence that made his breath hitch. Every object in this room screamed your name, echoing in the silence that now filled the space.

Lucanis pressed harder back against the door, his legs threatening to give way beneath him. He forced himself forward, gripping the edge of the chaise lounge as he sat down heavily. His head fell into his hands as the weight of his grief threatened to crush him. He had dared to hope. After years of blood and shadows, he had begun to believe he could have something more---someone more. And now, that hope lay in ruins.

Spite stirred uneasily in the recesses of his mind, his presence a simmering heat that was neither comforting nor intrusive. The demon was quiet at first, an uncharacteristic stillness that only deepened the ache in Lucanis’s chest.

The room seemed to shrink around him, the walls pressing closer as the grief threatened to suffocate him. He reached out, almost without thinking, and picked up one of the notes you had left on the desk. The parchment was worn, the ink smudged in places, but your handwriting was unmistakable. His thumb traced the curves of your letters, his hands trembling as he clutched the note like a lifeline.

“You were my freedom,” he whispered hoarsely, his voice barely audible. Tears blurred his vision, spilling over to streak down his face. “The only thing that made all of this worth it.”

Spite’s presence shifted, his usual arrogance subdued by something almost… mournful. “Rook…” the demon murmured, his voice a low growl that trembled at the edges.

Lucanis’s grip on the note tightened, his teeth clenched as guilt and rage swirled within him. “I failed them,” he hissed,his voice trembling with self-loathing. “I should have done more. I should have saved them.”

Spite didn’t argue. Lucanis wasn’t sure he was listening at all. The demon was restless, his silence heavy, a shared grief that settled over them both. “Rook.” Spite said again, pushing against Lucanis’s skull. He wouldn’t settle. He couldn’t. Spite wouldn’t stop moving, stop searching, looking through Lucanis, looking through the room, searching for his Rook.

“Spite…” Lucanis said wearily. “Spite, they’re gone,” he repeated, his voice cracking.

“Rook!” Spite pounded against Lucanis’s mind, screaming as though it would do anything to bring you back.

“Spite, enough!” Lucanis yelled finally, hands tangling in his hair. “Rook is gone! Gone! The one good thing---” His voice broke, and he couldn’t finish. The anguish in his chest was too much, a wound that refused to heal.

Lucanis pressed the note against his chest, his shoulders shaking as he fought to contain the sobs threatening to escape. For a long moment, he simply sat there, the silence of the room broken only by his ragged breaths. The scent of you lingered, faint but persistent, wrapping around him like a ghostly embrace.

Spite shifted again, his presence like a smoldering ember in the back of Lucanis’s mind. “Lucanis…” the demon growled quietly.

Lucanis’s hands stilled, his breath catching. “I know…” he whispered. “I know.”

You were gone.

And he didn’t know if you could come back.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: I'm not crying, you're crying ;-;

Let me know if you want to be on the Lucanis Tag List <3

Tag List: @cirillabelle

[xhollowfaerie]

Toque

a/n: ok I caved,, here is more of the little fragments of Lucanis smut I've written when playing datv a couple of months ago, enjoy <3 REALLY gotta work on my uni essays now oopsie (runs back into my gooncave)

tags: nsfw, demi4demi Rookanis, inexperienced Rookanis, fingering

"L-Lucanis..." She shivered under his touch, timidly grasping the fabric of his shirt. Rook was embarrassed by how exposed her cleavage was in her nightgown; they were so close, her chest spilled onto his. He felt the heaviness, the warmth - Maker, it drove him insane.

His lips on her neck made her squirm, hands trembling as her long, manicured nails moved up to his face, ghosting over it... 

"M-Mhh-! I-I'm- I'm sorry, I-!"

She lifted his face, feeling her thighs tremble. If he kept rubbing his facial hair over the sensitive skin of her neck like that, on top of the kissing, his leg between hers... she was shocked she had managed not to cum.

Siren eyes started up at him breathlessly. Flushed. Wanting. But, scared, just like him. 

"I-I'm..."

Her nail traced over his lip, scraping right below his chin ever so slightly.

She wanted to ride him so badly.

"I-I... I don't want to disappoint you. I've... never..." 

She glanced away, letting out a trembling breath. Even knowing his eyes were glued to her was making her heart flutter.

-

His fingers tentatively slid in deeper, trying to steady himself. He had the skill to kill with the flick of a dagger; he could slow his own heartbeat to hit his mark. His fingers were trained, honed. Dexterous. He was a calculated killer. Lucanis didn't leave things to chance. He was surprised to even find himself able to get nervous; only ever with Rook. 

Caterina taught him that emotions were a weakness. That any hesitation meant failure.

But… he wasn't a Crow, not right now.

He was just hopelessly in love and inexperienced, overthinking every motion, every breath.

However, Rook’s whine of pleasure reassured him easily. She trembled in his arms and held onto the back of his neck, scraping it ever so slightly with her nails.

Well, just as much as it egged him on, it also caused panic to coarse through him.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked in a low voice against her ear. His face lit on fire when he felt her walls tighten around his fingers. What would that feel like around…

“N-No” Rook mewled, glancing into his eyes. Lust’s coy smirk behind Lucanis widened in satisfaction.

“P-Please… more. You're… so good with your fingers” she whimpered; her head rolled back as she arched with a loud cry, feeling him slide in deeper still, twisting them gently inside her.

Good. He was sure she was enjoying it.

Now he could really focus.

“Your wish is my command.”

[sternentreue]

Everyone talks about Lucanis' big baby cow eyes and his regular meal duty but has anyone ever thought of hungry snack raccoon Rook shooting absolutely lethal puppy eyes at Lucanis to beg him for a snack at odd hours? (It's working.)

[treviso-nights]

✨ lucanis dellamorte core ✨

warm, stubbly cheeks. the scent of coffee and cakes. rough hands. onyx wings streaked through with violet. daggers in every glove and boot. spice market dates. late night walks under the twinkling lights of treviso. sparkling trays of poison just in case. a lilting accent in the dark. trim, sleek hipbones. mugs of liquid chocolate for when you cry. zipline races in the summer air. the glow of amethyst when spite feels lonely. cinnamon, cardamom, cloves, and chili powder. the taste of expensive coffee on your tongue. an assassin's head in your lap.

[gingervitus]

Best Left Unsaid: a Rookanis Drabble

Inspired by @mythals-whore's post today about Rook overcooking pasta and getting banished.

I'm not good at writing generic Rook because I love my dingus LoF Rook Ella too much but I couldn't get this out of my head, so here have this thing I did.

Rook is desperate for… something.

Anything really.

It really isn't until after she and Taash have one too many drinks with Isabela down at the Hilt. Her head has been swimming with good Rivaini rum. Top shelf shit. Forehead pressed against the bar, she listened to her boss berate her choice in romantic interest. “C’mon, Rook! With an ass like that, you could be doing leagues better.” All she could do was groan. Her feet were multiplying as she stares down at them. “How bout that tasty warden? The one with his tits out all the time!” While she wasn't watching, she could just picture Isabela with a drink in one hand while she pushed her chest up with the other. “I mean, don't get me wrong. The guy's fucking loaded, but is that really worth all the headache... and the fucking old bat on top of that?”

Of course it was. He was. He still is. She's completely hopeless when it comes to him, and Isabela honed in on that. A shark in bloody waters. “Damn it, Rook!” She couldn't lift her head to look at Isabela. In part because she was very drunk, but also there was a shame in the revelation they both seemed to be having at a fucking bar “What did I tell you about keeping your nose clean with this one? But here we are.” Her face had never burned so hot before. She wasn't sure if she was going to cry or laugh or vomit. Maybe all three. “A fucking murderer for hire? Really?” Assassin, she had corrected when she finally found her voice, because as she had learned murderers were hobbyists. “Fucking Crow is what he is, and you're bloody in love with him. Unbelievable.”

And now she stands hauntingly sober over a simmering pot of water cooking delicately handmade pasta because she's a fool who fell in love with the human equivalent of an affectionate street cat. A broken little bird who just so happens to be very invested in a sauce, but she can't be sure exactly what type of sauce it is. She really isn't able to even recall what he chopped up ingredients wise to put in it. Just that she had been mesmerized by his forearms as he worked. And that she commented about the hair he pulled back away from his face. And that he smiled when she approached, having been able to tell that the steps belonged to her. “Are you watching the pasta?” he asks without looking up at her, stirring his sauce dutifully.

Her eyes snap back down to the pot in front of her. “Of course,” she reassures him with a wave of her hand. “Don’t you worry.”

“That's good because I could have sworn you were not watching the pot at all,” he counters. The corners of his eyes crease with the smirk that crosses his face. “It seemed that you were only looking at me."

“What an odd thing to say because I am nothing if not giving my full attention to this wonderful pasta,” she replies quickly, but her face has to be betraying her. Maybe she can play off that the flush is from the steam of the water. “How very dare you accuse me of neglecting my culinary duties.”

This time a real smile touches his lips. Not anything crazy. No teeth involved. But it's an honest little grin no less. For her. “You think I do not notice,” he adds as he rests the wooden spoon along the rim of the pan. His eyes shift toward her, and her heart hammers inside her chest. “But I do.” Is he… flirting with her? A breath catches in her throat. Their eyes hold a mutual gaze that crackles with a feeling she can't quite name. Maker help her, she wants nothing more than to��� “Rook, how long has the pasta been floating that way?”

She glances down at the pot of rolling water. “Oh… I don't know,” she admits. It's the truth. Really, she hadn't wanted to help with dinner. That was the excuse to spend the extra time with him. As of late, she's wanted nothing more than to simply be near him. “A while?”

Nostrils flare. The corners of his lips fall from the glorious little grin she's been gifted. “Mierda,” he mutters, snatching up the spoon. He attempts to lift one noodle from the water, but the long strand easily fell apart and back into the water. Mush.

They stand in silence for a moment. He doesn't move, simply stands with the spoon over the pot of still hot water. “Lucanis, I am so sorry,” she sputters. “I didn't realize–”

“Rook.”

“I should have–”

Suddenly, there is a hand on either side of her face, which stops any coherent thought from entering her brain. He stares at her hard, brows furrowed. There are hairline scars there she's never noticed because she's never been this still and close to him: one on the edge of his left eyebrow and one over his lips. She finds herself wondering about the stories behind them. Hearing more tales of his adventures. Pressing her lips against them.

When their stance finally hits him, his eyes twitch as if they want to go as wide as hers are, but instead, they slide shut as he inhales deeply through his nose. “It is… okay,” he says. She doesn't believe him. “But you should get out of my kitchen.”

“I… uh…” Her brain is a puddle. His hands are warm against her burning face. She would be content to melt into the floor if it meant they could stay like this. “Okay.”

“Thank you.”

His hands fall from her face, and as she leaves the dining hall, she touches where his hands had been, still in disbelief.

That night, she will find a steaming cup of tea in front of her seat at the table. 

A new blend that's picked up from the markets in Treviso. 

One that he thinks she will like. 

One that is purchased without her presence but because he thinks of her often. 

“You are wonderful at many things, pasta is not one of them.”

She loves the tea, and they both smile, most things remaining unsaid for the time being.

[dags-over-caravans]

A Word with Friends

Avarice - excessive or insatiable desire for wealth or gain : greediness, cupidity

Hosted by @hedwigoprah

Thank you @woundedsoul12 and @chaosherald for the tag ins 💕 and if I find the original post that got me thinking about how Rook can’t identify the scent in the Crossroads, I will tag them in, too.

Inspired by the Scent of Home banter in game, this is a Rook who grew up with Lucanis in Treviso and has been pining since day one. She’s certain that her feelings are unrequited - these two have spent the last 15 years estranged - and so what she smells at Elvhenan’s Haven in the Crossroads doesn’t give her the same warm and fuzzies as the rest of the squad.

The scene (and the sentiment) fits within my Purple Haze (Rookanis) slow burn, immediately after You tell yourself it’s raining … 😉

Cupidity

The rest are in full agreement: the bewitching aroma of Elvhenan’s Haven evokes for each of them the feeling of home — but Rook (privately) disagrees.

To Rook, the effusive, heady scent that bulldozes her is instead the scent of her own avarice.

Because Emmrich and Davrin and Lucanis all smell the incense of their youths — the camphor and the campfire and the coffee (respectively) of their best-loved places. And Harding smells her mother’s love, and Neve the city she mothers, washed clean.

But Rook?

Rook smells the dust of the long-forgotten attic; she smells old books and polished marble and crisp, moon-heavy Trevisan midnights. She smells cioccolata and coffee, vetiver and cedar, leather and steel and the ozone tang of the lightning strike.

And these are not the smells of Villa de Riva.

No. These are all Lucanis.

And so, she pretends to the others that she can’t-quite-place the scent that has her yearning, that wields her shame; she worries her flush deepens every time she smells it.

Because what is greed? — what is cupidity? — if not the selfish act of making a home where one is unwanted, where one doesn’t belong.

[vorchagirl]

May I be mean and request No. 2 from the microstory List for Sage and Reyes?

"Kash!"

She heard Lucanis call her name as she stormed down the hallway, her vision blurred by tears. The sound of his footsteps on the thick carpets grew louder, and she increased her speed and ignored him, too angry and upset to face him right now.

"Kashandra! Rook! Stop!" He caught her by the arm, turning her to face him. "Let me explain!"

Kash ripped herself out of his hold and stumbled back a step, desperate to keep distance between them. Being near him hurt too much right now. She had thought Lucanis and Viago were people she could count on, and that Lucanis was the one person who wouldn't lie to her. But he was no different to his grandmother - happily stringing her along like a puppet.

"I don't want to talk to you right now!" she snapped and kept her gaze on the floor, horrified as the tears spilled over and rolled down her cheeks. "I need some time to think. I need to-"

"You need to listen to me - I would never lie to you!" His voice had an edge of desperation to it that sent a surge of pleasure through Kash. "You mean too much to me, and I lo-"

"This was a mistake!" she snapped, cutting off whatever he had been about to say. "We were a mistake. You're not who I thought you were, and I need some space." Kash turned away from him, ignoring the small sound of pain he let out. "Don't follow me, Lucanis. I can't stand the sight of you right now."

(Hope you liked it! And yes, you can expect this scene in a future chapter of Untouchable!) (Oops sorry @leysendris I responded to the wrong ask! XD I'll write yours next! I'm sssssoooorrrryyyyy!!!)

[jenn2d2]

WIP Wednesday (3/12/25)

Keeping accountable and sharing what's rolling around in my brain.

Tagged from @serensama - thank you! Most of the folks I'd tag look like they are already, so if you want to, consider yourself tagged as well!

This is a bit of a bonus scene I'm writing that takes place after The Philosopher Contract (which should have a new chapter tomorrow if everyone will behave, or not, as is their nature.) In Antiva, Rook (Carina) de Riva together in their rooms at the Dellamorte estate, about a year after game.

Rook and Lucanis gossip about Illario.

"Mierde," Lucanis rolled his eyes. "I'm probably going to regret knowing, aren't I?"

"You're gonna regret it more if you find out in Bellara's serials. Or if Caterina gets wind of it first."

"Illario's not sleeping with Elek is he? I expressly told him not to do that. The two of them smirking at each other all the time is more than any of us can handle," Lucanis gave a bit of a huff, but there was a hint of a smile around the edges of his mouth. "Besides, it would piss of Neve, and she might just freeze him to death."

"He might still piss Neve off, but that's not gonna be why."

"Mae?" Lucanis looked at her with wide eyes. "Please tell me he did not say anything inappropriate to Maevaris Tilani? Or Ashur? Tarquin might actually kill him."

"No, none of that," Rook laughed at how increasingly nonplussed he was as his guesses got wilder and potentially more catastrophic.

"NOT THE ARCHON, Rook, I beg you," his eyes boggled. "Please tell me he hasn't been flirting with THE ARCHON."

"What? NO! Maker's breath, Lucanis," Rook roared with laughter, startling the kitten in her lap.

[amoaliquis]

OC Ask Game : Day Six

This kind of turned into the OC x LI drabble about their hair and how Garrus, Solas, Lucanis, and Hancock react to it. Damn. I'm a sap. Sorta.

6. How do they wear their hair? Do they care a lot about how their hair looks?

Jane Shepard : Jane wears her hair in a long, layered bob. She gives two shits about the style, but she is proud of her hair color. [Especially considering her twin John wound up with brown hair.]

[She toys with the idea of changing the style every once in a while. No matter what Jane decides, Garrus loves to card his hands through the red mass, rubbing the strands between two talon-tipped fingers in wonderous affection. He's very, very partial to her human hair and freckles. She, in turn, revels in it.]

Asena Lavellan : Long, deep red hair that she has grown out in the eight years since disbanding the Inquisition. Asena usually wears it in a ponytail for practical reasons, but will indulge in elaborate elven hairstyles upon occasion. She is partial to her hair, keeps it long, and takes care of it.

[Solas loves to twirl it around his fingers whenever they have moments of indulgent relaxation... and enjoys washing it for her when they bathe. Once they finally mangage to tear themselves away from bathing one another, he nestles her between his legs, gently brushing out the damp tangles while placing soft kisses along the back of her neck. This is one ritual that he will never relent upon.]

Senka de Riva : Black hair kept in an asymmetrical bob that is shaved underneath and on all sides. Her hair makes a statement and she proudly showcases it. Thus, Sen IS invested in her hair.

[Lucanis cannot imagine her any other way. Nor would he. He loves that she trusts him enough to let him help her shave it. It's a deeply held intimacy between the two. On nights when she has trouble falling asleep (which is more often than not) Lucanis knows that the feel of his fingertips rubbing the shaved side of her head lulls her into a light sleep.]

Brenna : Dark brown hair kept in an asymmetrical bob that is shaved underneath and on all sides. Her hair is naturally very thick, so this keeps a decent amount of weight off of her head. It also helps to keep her body temperature cooler. As a female merc, there is the whole subtle "don't fuck with me" vibe it tends to project. Not that it always works, but damned if it doesn't make her feel more confident.

[Brenna and Hancock go back and forth over her debate to grow it out a bit longer. She worries it could be a hinderance or a weakness that would be exploited in her line of work. Either way, Hancock supports his Sunshine and always will. His one request? Please just keep it long enough so that there's enough for him to grab onto and pull. Brenna always smirks when he tosses out that one stipulation. She figures by now John should know better. As if she would EVER cut it so short that it would prohibit him from getting a handfull.]

[Fun fact: Senka and Brenna have the hairstyle I myself sport.]

[basedonconjecture]

Writing Challenge Weekend

the challenge is here & thank you to @thedissonantverses for hosting and giving me an excuse to put my insomnia to good use bc why sleep when I could write a very self-indulgent (and rough) drabble? The presence of texture is there if you squint but the touch part is there djdjsjsksjd

Selora woke slowly, her eyes still weary despite what meager hours of sleep she'd managed to catch. Crusted at the corners, she rubbed at them gently, squinting into the dim. It was the heat that had dragged her unwillingly into wakefulness, unable to ignore it any longer.

On the cusp of their first summer since the occupation had ended, already the Antivan sun baked the streets outside the Cantori Diamond. She could tell it was nearly noon by the slant of light through the crack in the drawn curtains. The room was stifling with all the heat of the morning trapped inside.

Sweat made the worn linen bedclothes cling to her naked back, her skin sticky with it, tendrils of hair scratching at her nape—made worse by the heavy arm slung across her middle anchoring her to the bed. She longed to move, to sweep the tangle of curls from her neck, and stretch the stiffness from her limbs; but she wouldn't dare yet, lest she disturb the sleeping man clinging to her side. Not even for the promise of a cool breeze would she have traded places with anyone just then.

She turned her head a little to look at him, both assassin and demon quiet for the moment, his breath fanning against her shoulder. With his head pillowed atop his other arm, the usual tension in his face was gone, relaxed by sleep. Her eyes traced the lines of him first: the bend in his nose to the the rise of his cheekbone, to the angle of his jaw, obscured by his beard, but which her hands had memorized the shape of. Of their own accord, her fingers brushed lightly over the dark hair there. He stirred as she did and she held her breath until he stilled.

Biting down on her lip, she watched him a moment longer before growing bold enough to touch him again. Her fingers feathered across his forehead, smoothed by worryless rest, sweeping away the silky jet hair that had fallen across it. She ran a fingertip along one of his brows from bridge to tapered end, counting the tiny scars that marred it. She counted, too, the freckles and the lines around his eyes—and as many of his fine, dark lashes as she could before she gave up, the number unknowable.

Her hand lingered at his temple for a moment before she rested it against his cheek. He turned his head an inch, pressing his lips to her palm. She'd known he was awake, his breathing too careful as he'd indulged her, and she fought a smile. His breath was hot against the warmth of her hand, the moist drag of his mouth against her skin as he murmured something into it reminding her of why she'd woken in the first place.

[snips2112]

Writing Warm Up

Hi friends!

I have some time off for the next few weeks, which means writing time. I have a few longer projects I'm working on right now, but I wanted to offset that with some fun, shorter pieces, and I thought what better way to do that than an interactive drabble series!

For the next 5 days (starting today) I will be posting a poll with a pairing and multiple prompt options. These may be fluffy, angsty, or anything in between! If you see it on your dash, please vote for whichever prompt you like best, and I will write a drabble the next day for that pairing based on the prompt with the most votes.

I'm hoping this will be fun, interactive and get my creative juices flowing! Thank you in advance to everyone who participates, because I definitely need the motivation :)

~ Snips2112 <3

[xhollowfaerie]

Sabor

a/n: hey I just met you and this is crazy, here's this really random snippet of Lucanis eating Rook out for the first time, please enjoy (maybe?)

tags: nsfw, demi4demi Rookanis, inexperienced Rookanis, oral sex (or well the first 1% of it lol)

Rook whimpered as Lucanis drank the image of her wetness in, looking away with her arms crossed over her face in embarrassment.

She shivered as his hot breath reached her, not enough time in between that and a first tentative kiss on her clit for her to brace herself for the sensation. She squirmed, shaking as he held her by the hips, encouraged by her reaction to press his lips to her again, this time letting his maleable tongue gently run across before closing his mouth around it in a gentle, sucking kiss.

Rook choked out a loud moan of his name, reflexively trying to close her legs and gently push his head back. He furrowed his eyebrows as he retreated, lovingly stroking her thighs, which only made her shivers worse. Her glistening wetness on his beard was almost too much to bear, paired with the pure infatuation and genuine concern in his puppy brown eyes.

"Have I done something wrong, mi am-" "Please, please don't stop."

Her voice was so needy, Spite stirred in delight inside his chest; delight and... something else, growing harder and harder to suppress.

"But-" "I'm so sorry, Vhenan! I-I can't help it, i-it feels too good, my body doesn't know how to react, I-I've never felt anything like this...!"

She flushed every shade of red as she slowly parted her legs for him again, biting her lip and looking away. "Y-You can always... h-hold me down, i-if I move too much. Please... keep going... te quiero, Lucanis."

Spite growled in his ear. The Crow agreed, posessively tightening his grip on her thighs at the maddening sound of Antivan rolling off her tongue.

"As you wish, mi vida. Te quiero mas."

[sternentreue]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you for the tag @saessenach!! 🩷

Tagging @blightedcrow and @pixiedurango! As always, no pressure, but I'm always happy to see some WIPs!

I am going to break the rules and post an art WIP (yay?)!

Bonus:

“Sooo... heart-shaped churros. For everyone?” Rook grinned playfully and hopped onto the table in his usual nonchalant manner. He let his bare feet dangle, toes curling happily as he took a bite of the sweet pastry. The others had already retired to their rooms for the evening - or rather, they had taken the not-so-subtle hint and left quickly after dinner, giggling and exchanging knowing looks - leaving only Rook and Lucanis to clean up. “It was an experiment. Straight shapes are easy. I wanted to try something new.” Lucanis shrugged as he put the dish towel away, but the casual statement did nothing to hide the nervous quiver in his voice and the slight blush that was visible even in the dim orange light of the fireplace. “I’d say you did quite well. You should try new things more often.” It might have seemed like playful banter to an outsider, but they both knew what Rook was trying to say, and it was just the encouragement Lucanis needed. He gathered all his courage and slowly stepped into Rook’s personal space between his dangling legs. The elf didn’t seem to mind, judging by his growing smile and the way he tugged at Lucanis’ waistcoat to pull him closer. “I can try, for you. And you’ve got sugar on your face.”

[treviso-nights]

✨ rookanis drabble/mini-fic about gifts & acts of service :') ✨ ✨ read on AO3 ✨

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At first, it began with coffee.

Specifically, coffees, plural. Just the way Rook liked it, with enough milk and sugar to kickstart them into their morning routine. The coffees would appear wherever the Crow thought Rook would look first upon awakening—beside the candles in their meditation room, then on the ground beside the couch. Later, the coffees would migrate to the ledge bordering the aquarium, so Rook could not in fact, miss them. Eventually, Rook took to leaving the empty mugs on the desk beside the dresser, so the Crow would see this and stop worrying about his gifts not being received.

When the Crow decided morning coffee was no longer enough, he took to sharpening Rook’s daggers whenever time and sticky fingers would allow. These, too, were lovingly placed beside the morning mugs of coffee, the room’s lowlight launching mysterious, irregular glints of light against the wall. When Rook attempted to tell the Crow that it was fine, that they’d service their own weapons (and thank you very much), the Crow had half-heartedly cursed at them before pushing another mug of something hot and sweet into their calloused hands.

Then came the poison. (And their corresponding anti-venoms. Just in case.) The Crow took particular care to place these a further distance away on the desk, not desiring to see Rook sleepily, and in spite of all their Antivan Crow training, mix a lethal dose into their morning mug. Truth be told, Rook had been neglecting their poison studies, so these occurrences were especially welcome—as was the new, uniform collection of tiny vials. Glass-made, of course, for easy shattering, with a peculiar sigil stamped into each of the curved bodies. Crow wings, spread from side to side.

A second mug soon joined the first, appearing each morning in tandem. “I’ve noticed you don’t eat breakfast,” the Crow said during a sparring match. Rook, explaining that they get stomach aches from eating too soon after getting up for the day, had only been able to feel sheepish when the Crow glared their way. “Fine,” he’d grumbled. The mugs of bone broth began appearing the day after, complementing Rook’s proclivity for a sweetened breakfast coffee blend. Knowing that the Crow was just trying to take care of them, Rook made sure to drain the broth too, painting the wooden desk in a fresh maze of mug rings which spoke of sustenance and love.

It all came to a head when Rook got sick. A fever—nothing more worrisome than the muscle aches and full-body sweat often associated with such. Rook, stirring in the haze of this illness, lifted their head off the futon in their meditation chamber to see if the Crow had delivered more coffee, daggers, poisons, and bone broth, because tradition now mattered. But it was the Crow himself they did not expect delivered, kneeling beside the futon. “What are you doing?” Rook hissed, scowling as the Crow lightly dappled the sweat from their brow. “Dellamortes don’t kneel! Not for me.” The Crow only smiled when Rook attempted to shove him away, batting their hands back with one of his own. “If you insist on throwing a tantrum, then it’s my responsibility to point out that Rooks do not tell Dellamortes what to do,” he grumbled happily, returning to his work. And what was there to say beyond ‘thank you’? Beyond ‘thank you for all of it, and thank you for you, too?’ So, Rook did. And then Rook slept, the Crow’s tender hands on her face like a flowered beak.

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