#emmrook drabble

[alderaanplacesss]

When she reaches, it is his ornately adorned hand that finds her. He clasps with an ironclad strength that surprises Rook, and she all but trips through the tear.

On the other side, Rook doesn’t even look up because Emmrich is finally holding her again. Life is so fragile, and she had been so foolish, and Varric is dead. There’s chatter - familiar voices - but they’re all muffled as she sobs into his chest.

“Oh darling, I’ve got you,” the professor pets her hair when he feels her tears. “You’re here now.” And his voice cracks.

Rook tries to steady her breath. The familiar scent of Emmrich’s clothes soothe her, despite the pit in her stomach. After a few deep inhales, she tilts her wet face up to him. He smiles with sad eyes and beautiful creases, caressing her cheek.

“I thought I’d lost you.” The waver in his tone makes her hug tighter. “I’m so sorry for what I said, I just…”

He was shaking his head, trailing off to keep from crying. Rook had never felt such a confusing swell of hurt and relief; her heart ached against him.

“Emmrich - “

Emmrich, I let our friends be murdered. Kidnapped. We’ve barely scraped by again. Emmrich, I am losing my mind. I have probably lost this battle. I -

“I love you.”

[hedwigoprah]

What kind of datv fic writer would I be if I didn't write about Rook drowning

Soft fluff below the cut and technically, a kiss 3.5k words

The trek back to the eluvian made her question exactly why she chose to fight in leathers that covered every inch. There were pesky practical reasons like protection from poison blades, or having a barrier between her and fire. But today it felt like she was baking from the inside out, feeling very much like what she imagined a loaf of bread might feel like in a brick oven.

She swiped at her forehead again before noticing Taash studying her openly.

"What?" Veryl flicked her wrist to rid her hand of the liquid she collected from her face.

"You Mourn Watch ever been to the ocean?" Taash asked, slowing to a full stop. Veryl was going to die before they even got to the eluvian, she just knew it. Varric would have to take back over, he wouldn't have a choice, they'd have to bury her right there in the sand mostly because she thought she might melt into it.

Swallowing against a cottony mouth, Veryl turned to look where Taash nodded their head, the beach lay only a few yards from them. The water created little tide pools, encroaching on the hot sand and ebbing away at the shifting surface. The waves themselves repeatedly crashed across the shoreline, beckoning her into it's embrace. It was a soothing sound, a siren call she tried hard to refuse. It had followed them the entire time they were here, unwilling to be ignored.

"Um, no?" It sounded more like a question than an answer. Veryl tried to toss the question to Emmrich instead, "what about you, Prof- Emmrich?" Gracious, Bellara's habit was rubbing off on her.

"Nevarra has a few lakes that I've had the pleasure of experiencing, but never an ocean." Emmrich came to stand next to them and observe the sparkling blue water that went on for an unfathomable amount miles.

"Alright, come on you two." Taash wasted no time in stepping outside their little line, their long legs carried them across the space. They were already placing the crate on the ground and removing armor while Veryl processed what was happening.

"Taash, I'm not sure—" Emmrich started to protest before turning to Veryl with a pleading look for guidance.

Personally, Veryl would be happy for any kind of relief from the way she stuck to her leathers. She looked from Taash, back to Emmrich and finally shrugged her shoulders.

"Could be nice?" Veryl didn't give him time to say anything else before she was running across the sand, shedding the weight of the items she had relieved Taash of, and pulling at the buttons that kept her leathers to the point of choking.

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[mojo-bro-tho]

In the deepest part of night, voices always run high. A Warden’s mind is never fully clear, never fully still. Always tattering seams at the edges of the brain or gnawing maws scrapping around the interior of their skulls. And it’s never consistent either.

At first it’s debilitating and insomnia inducing. The fear of sleeping becomes commonplace. Many younger Wardens try to keep themselves awake for as long as possible just to avoid it. That only gets worse the younger the Warden is.

Then, as time marches on, they get used to it. Some claim they can block it out entirely but what they really mean to say is that they smother their own dreams. Buried beneath heaps of grey matter and exhaustion. That’s as good as it gets.

And finally, they get older. Their own blood a slow moving poison that muddies the senses. Sleep is… easier. But that only unlocks a new fear. It’s nice to sleep again. It’s not the Calling, not yet, but it’s closer now. They’re afraid to go to sleep because it feels good again and when they wake up they’re even more afraid because they wished they hadn’t woken up.

Warden Thorne can fight it most times for whatever constitutes as night in the Fade. They don’t tell Davrin, because if they told Davrin then well, he’d know what it means. Rook doesn’t want that. They don’t want to see that look of knowing in someone’s eyes and have themselves become a reminder of what’s on the horizon.

So Rook will seek a different comfort. Knocking softly on the wooden door and mere moments later being greeted to the smell of a fire, fresh aftershave, and leather. Emmrich peers down at them, confused but not unwelcoming. Rook was not normally up so early, he thought to himself. In truth, no one was besides himself.

They looked tired. Still dressed in their night clothes that perhaps reveals a tad more skin than what he was expecting from them. Of course, he wouldn’t say anything as it’s improper to make those sorts of comments. Not like he’s against the sight either, you’d have to be a fool to not enjoy the sight of them like this.

“Bad dreams, my dear?” He asked, voice slightly lower than he usually kept it on account of not having used it much yet that day.

“Something like that.” Rook didn’t like to lie.

“I was just about to retrieve Manfred and have him make my morning tea. Would you care to join me?”

It was a polite request. Emmrich would never turn down the opportunity to spend more time with Rook, least of all when they looked so softened by the early morning. They smiled in a way that nestled against Emmrich’s heart. Only to then see a glimmer of something else to twist it.

“Maybe after.” Rook’s whispered. The question of ‘after what?’ only lasted for a few seconds.

Rook’s lips found Emmrich’s, entirely devoid of any barriers of modesty. It was a fervent, hungry clash that despite it taking him by surprise he was able to swiftly match it in intensity. No one was around for him to worry about keeping up appearances. So Emmrich swept them inside by the small of Rook’s waist.

The heat of their body seared into Emmrich’s hand even through the night clothes. And he clung to it as though to seep the life out of Rook. Warm, alive, vibrant, if only he could siphon it to meet them half way.

Little did he know that Rook felt something quite similar boiling under the surface. That need for a comma rather than a period, or an ellipses, more likely an exclamation point that always came at the end. They wanted what Emmrich had. Continuation. If only they could bottle up Emmrich’s experience and cram it directly into their singing bloodstream.

Both starved for touch and a lapse in reality that could be temporarily soothed by the screech of a desk being misused. Scars didn’t bother Emmrich and a few wrinkles were never unwelcomed by Rook. There was still enough life in both of them to enjoy this carnal craving.

The tattered seams became the shift and strain of clothing being wrenched away. A gnawing maw replaced lips stuck between teeth, pressed into the neck. Voices melted into hums of approval. Grunts and moans and commands that could make them forget and force them to listen.

Now that was a calling that Warden Rook could get behind.

[rgdragonei]

Something that's gotten me thinking down the proverbial rabbit hole is the thought that Emmrich worries so much about not living long enough to spend all the time he wishes he could with Rook simply because he's older than them. I love that trope. I love the lovesick angst that he feels, and I love the comfort Rook's presence gives him.

But sometimes I think about his life experience. What would his life have been like if he had met Rook at a younger age? Would he appreciate them the way he does now? The romantic in me likes to think that their meeting was serendipitous, fated in the stars, and that every lover, every unrequited affection, every sleepless night imagining the person who would lie in his bed, who would love him like he'd love in return; each one of those experiences left their mark on his life, molding him into the man that he is when he meets Rook.

I like to think that the man we meet in the necropolis, who has called us “Dearest” and “Darling”, has grown into his later years appreciative of the journey he took to get to us. That his Odyssey is worth savoring purely for the reward of finding home.

[velvet-apricots]

I was encouraged to write a drabble of this idea I had here

Summary: Lucanis can tell that Rook has a thing for Emmrich. Emmrich, however, seems to be very unaware of her attraction. That is until Spite speaks up.

It was happening again.

He had been talking to Emmrich again. For as bizarre as Lucanis found the concepts of raising the dead, the man was good to talk to. It was refreshing to have another to help with Spite, to have a calm firm hand that could get the demon to behave or stop pestering with questions that Lucanis could not answer, or could not answer in a satisfactory way.

That, and Spite just seemed to refuse to believe him out of… Well, spite.

“The moment I told him how soap was made, he insisted I take a bite.”

Emmrich tutted, leaning on his staff and directing his eyes to the demon as he hovered behind Lucanis’s shoulder. “Oh that would be most unpleasant, Spite. I assure you. The saponification process completely changes the composition of the animal fat. It tastes terrible.”

“How do you know?” Spite hissed.

Emmrich shrugged. “I have gotten soap in my mouth once or twice while bathing.”

And then, almost like clock work, Rook was suddenly there, slipping into the conversation. “What is saponification?” she asked, playing with her fingers as she gave Emmrich a little sweet smile, one she never gave to any of the rest of them. 

Rook liked hearing Emmrich talk. She liked seeing him move his hands. She liked looking at him. Her voice would get higher, and she would jut her hip out as she nervously fiddled with something, be it her fingers or her hair. It was very obvious that she was attracted to the older man, looking for any excuse to speak to him. It was like watching a love sick teenager.

And Emmrich seemed oblivious. Politefully so, but still very oblivious. Either that, or he was keeping up a professional decorum.

And so Lucanis now watched them: Emmrich explaining how saponification was the process of “cleaving esters into carboxylate salts and alcohols by the action of aqueous alkali”. Rook looking at Emmrich so intensely that she might as well be trying to undress him with her eyes. Staring at him from under her lashes with a little stupid grin, clearly not actually even hearing what he was saying.

Meirda, she is practically lusting over the man. How does Emmrich not see that? Lucanis thought, giving a humored smirk.

And then Spite spoke. He spoke and Lucanis wanted nothing more than to be struck down by the Maker himself.

“They should get a room. Together.”

Rook of course heard nothing. But Lucanis watched as Emmrich’s brows went up, watched as he turned to look at Spite, his ears and cheeks ever so slightly going pink as he gave a bewildered, open mouthed stare.

“I beg your pardon?” Emmrich asked.

Lucanis closed his eyes, cringing visibly from embarrassment. “Ignore him-”

“No! Do not ignore me! Take her to the bedroom! It’s what she wants!”

Emmrich took a scolding tone, face now going from pink to red.“Take her to-? Spite that is incredibly inappropriate.”

“What is Spite saying?” Rook asked, leaning back as both Lucanis and Emmrich turned sharply to her to say the same thing.

“Nothing.”

Emmrich ran his hand through his hair, looking very uncomfortable and now no longer able to look at Rook at all. “I think I will go make sure Manfred is not getting into any trouble” He mumbled, turning and quickly walking away. Rook followed him, switching from love sick to concerned leader.

Her concern would only make Emmrich feel even more uncomfortable.

“And I will throw myself into a cup of coffee, and possibly off the side of the courtyard.” Lucanis mumbled, turning in the opposite direction and quickly speed walking away. He would have to apologize-

“Do not apologize! I helped!” Spite protested, “He knows now!”

-Apologize to Emmrich.

[vizell]

Emmrich x F!LoF!Rook: #22 "What a silly thing to say."

Ok so this is all @lucianhuntress fault so all feedback can be directed straight to her thanks :> But in all honesty, yes... Spitting out some molded head canons. Bestie challenging herself with summer drabbles, and me who has always been too reluctant to attempt anything like this decided to give it a shot. Cause why not? What is the worst that can happen...?

“Come on, come on, place your wagers! And remember, never bet anything you aren’t prepared to lose!” 

The crowd around the arena goes wild as Isabela’s voice echoes and bounces through the round pit where Rook is starting her match against a gang of mercenaries. A tall necromancer, Emmrich Volkarin, is observing the fight while keeping his cheers to himself. He is confident in his date’s victory.

The date was a spontaneous request from Rook, asking the older man if he would like to accompany her to the Hall of Valor. She had a few errands to complete there after which she promised to buy him a drink. Emmrich, despite not being the biggest enjoyer of tropical weather, agreed to tag along. They had been getting closer as of late, and Rook had always willingly joined him at his round of the Memorial Gardens so it felt proper of him to accustom himself to her domain. 

After finishing Rook’s quests and getting their first round of drinks at the bar, it wasn’t even a half an hour until a group of mercenaries started to make a scene and challenge other patriots breaking the relaxing idyll. Before Emmrich even managed to properly get worried, his partner had downed her tankard, letting out a heavy sigh. “I will be right back,” she winked at him with a smile after which she sent the empty mug flying, nailing the loudest man straight into the face. The necromancer was about to reach for his staff, sure of a fight about to break when captain Isabela's voice boomed, ordering them to figure it out in the arena. “Might as well get a show and bets rolling.”

So here he was, watching his darling dancing from brute to brute, evading their blades skillfully. Clearly thriving in her element. The man couldn’t help but let out a delightful sigh. 

“First time seeing her in the pit?” A smug voice moved from behind the man to come stand next to him. “Those amateurs at least are for sure, as they clearly don’t know how screwed they are,” Isabela added with a laugh, leaning her hip against the barricade.

Emmrich nodded, turning his attention to the captain “Has her name been carved in its walls?” 

“Don’t know about the name, but she surely has smashed quite a few faces in them,” the woman barked a laugh.

A crowd let out a wave of boos that quickly turned into more cheers. Seems like someone tried to play dirty and it backfired. Emmrich, worried, looked down to the arena, to make sure that Rook was still in the game, just to see her be on her last opponent. It was only a minute later that she was the last one standing, pumping her fist in the air - victorious.

Isabela clicked her tongue, clearly not satisfied with the outcome. Emmrich, taken aback by it, glanced at her, eyebrows raised. “You bet against her?” 

“Maker, I clearly never learn,” she shook her head.

“How much would you have won?” he asked, half curious.

“Bookie promised 22 to 1. What can I say, go big or go home,” she shrugged.

“What about you, Emm? Did you bet against me?” Rook had made her way back to the highest level, joining her date again as promised. Her skin shining with sweat,  breath still uneven, and radiating pure joy of triumph. True a Lord of Fortune. 

“What a silly thing to say,” Emmrich’s eyes never left her form. “Only on you.”

[trashwithvariety]

Dragon Age: The Veilguard: Lighthouse Drabbles Pairing: Emmrich Volkarin & Francesca Ingellvar Rating: G Summary: some fluff/humor drabble for my Rook Francesca and Emmrich inspired by that "thanks dad" B99 cold open because I needed to write something light and fluffy Words: 2624

some sunsoaked day

Motes of dust floated softly through the still air, settling over scattered books in the quiet study. They danced in the sunlight stretching from the open balcony to the desk, where twin pens scratched across parchment in quiet harmony.

Emmrich sat at his desk, a student’s term paper spread before him, already marked with careful notes. A few former students had sent him drafts to review, and he had happily obliged, as he always did.

He looked up from his work, glancing over his glasses at the figure across from him. Rook was bent over one of the papers, diligently marking her way through it. She had volunteered to help, despite the weight she carried lately. It distracts me, she’d said. Keeps me grounded.

Now he watched her—long dark hair falling over her shoulders, silver strands slipping across her face as she leaned in close, eyes narrowed behind her spectacles. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, and he found something achingly familiar in the way she focused—like she was trying to will the world back into sense.

Her violet eyes flicked up, catching him watching her. A flicker of mischief sparked there as she slid the parchment away and raised a single, knowing brow.

“Something on your mind, Professor?” she asked, lips quirking into a half-smile.

His own smile echoed hers as he set aside his paper and pulled off his glasses. “Just how lovely you look in the sunlight,” he said, and then added, with deliberate fondness, “Professor.”

The blush that bloomed in her cheeks was reward enough. She pulled off her own glasses, mirroring him with a soft huff of amusement.

“Flatterer,” she replied.

read the rest on ao3!

[thequeenofthewinter]

When Emmrich turned to look at Iris, eyes tinged golden and blown wide in the sunlight, he saw it--eternity, the rest of his life stretched out before him all in one moment and summed up in a single glance. Did that make him a fool? Perhaps. But what he would not give to curl up in her arms, lie his head against her chest, and listen to her heart beat in the quiet of the dark just for him.

Is that why when she turned from him it hurt so much? Is that why when she entered a room he found he could not breathe? She had stolen what did not belong to her--secreted it away to a place only she knows, only she can touch.

Emmrich shook his head. No, that's not right.

His life had always been hers, only that he could not see it until now.

[sabreist]

Enough people liked this on the Emmrich server I'm in so I'll share it here. Dalish Rook with they/them pronouns, light EmmRook.

TW for implied animal torture/death (yes, it's THAT scene from "The Blood of Arlathan" quest). I kept the description vague because I personally can't stomach it either but still, this is your warning.

“We don’t have to watch,” says Neve, but Rook is already pushing past the packed crowd of Venatori.  Swiftly, and careful to let Neve maintain the lead, because she’s a human and a mage and Tevinter where they are an elf with blatantly obvious vallaslin, but she senses their urgency and keeps a pace so that they can avoid the massacre without drawing attention–

–but it’s not enough to mute the final blow or the blood-curdling cheers. Rook knows they will not sleep well for weeks, if not months, after this.

Once they’re on the other side, they stop and shut their eyes and clench their jaw.  Their feet are heavy, like the earth itself is gluing them to this spot unless they turn right back around and do… something.  But they can’t.  They can’t.  Their people need them.  There’s nothing they can do for the halla now, but their fingers twitch near the handle of their knife and there’s nothing that can mend the ache in their chest except–

A soft, warm jeweled hand snakes into theirs and squeezes.  Rook opens their eyes and sees Emmrich and with one glance he is reminding them gently but firmly everything that they are here to do and giving them the comfort that Emmrich cannot speak here and now.  Later, he promises.

Rook squeezes back, draws a deep breath, and finds the cracks in their heart mending.  The scars will remain, but for now: there is nothing they can do for the halla, but there is something they can do for their people.  That they must do for their people.  They turn back to Neve, who is eyeing them with carefully measured concern, and nod.

Then they press forward.

[starlightarchery]

↪ language of flowers - WISTERIA

submitted by @teamtakagi ↪  " Write a scene where Rook dances with their partner. "

Viridian has been perfectly content to hug the outskirts of the room for most of the night - alternating between brief conversations whenever he's approached, to nursing the same drink he was handed when he walked in. No discomfort, no avoidance; he just finds himself more inclined to watch than partake.

Which, it seems, Emmrich is not about to let stand - based on the pace he takes once he catches his partner's eye, oozing purpose with every stride.

His breath catches all over again as he watches the soft sway of Emmrich's chosen attire, catching the light with each step. Deep purples and brilliant greens over a loose ivory shirt, cinched high at the waist but otherwise left to flow freely over the dark trousers he'd chosen to wear beneath it all. Royal in all but name, gilded at the arms and neck, and the most captivating sight the Warden's ever laid eyes on.

"Do you plan to remain a wallflower all night, dearest?"

A small sip, feigning intent to hide his grin behind the rim of his glass. "No wallflowers here, love. Just enjoying the view."

And then, because he never can help himself, his free hand brushes the backs of his knuckles across Emmrich's jawline up to his temple in soft strokes - where they linger until the necromancer claims the hand. He places a kiss to Viridian's fingers, who bumps the pad of his thumb against Emmrich's bottom lip in kind and quickly finds himself wishing he could steal the Watcher's company entirely for himself. He's shared for so much of the night, after all.

Whether reading his mind or pure coincidence, Emmrich's smile follows right behind his silent whims. "We need only stay a bit longer," he voices, "if you wish to leave soon."

A twinge of guilt creeps in, and he gives their joined hands a small squeeze. "We'll stay as long as you want, love. I'm in no hurry."

Emmrich seems to get an idea then, eyes flashing with thought as Viridian raises a brow.

"Well, if that's the case - would you join me for a dance?"

Viridian's earlier confidence flickers a moment. Were this anyone else, it'd be an easy no. But it's not. It's Emmrich. His joy, his heart, his soul. Of course that doesn't stop the nervous chuckle that spills out of his lips before he can swallow it down.

"I'm uh, not that great a dancer, Emmrich."

"Can this be?" A quietly mischievous grin makes its way to Emmrich's lips and oh god - Viridian's about to lose this battle of wills embarrassingly fast. "Dragon fighter, god slayer, and yet deterred by the mere thought of a waltz?"

"Terrified," he exaggerates, knowing full well he's going to give up in about two seconds. Sure enough, he sets his glass on the nearby table before accepting the outstretched hand waiting for him. "But for you? I'll try and be brave."

Amusement crinkles in the corners of Emmrich's eyes as he guides them to the dancefloor. The deep mauve of Viridian's coat brightens under the lamplight, rich notes of purple and red and violet to compliment his partner's more cool-toned colors. Trimmed in brassy metallics and lined in cream, it's without a doubt one of the nicest things he's ever worn. Not quite his style, but he's been assured throughout the night - whether by direct word or prolonged stares - that the tailoring does wonders for his form (he owes Lucanis big time for helping him pull the attire together last minute).

When they reach the middle of the floor, Viridian lets Emmrich guide their stance and steps into a starting position. He remembers watching his fathers dance together - the way they fit and moved as one - and thinks he can emulate it well enough, so long as he finds the right pattern. That's usually the trick.

Mercifully, they start slow, mostly keeping in place until Viridian's footing is more sure of itself and they can move into a roaming pace. There's a learning curve, certainly, but Emmrich's grace more than makes up for any he lacks; even disguising his initial hesitance entirely. And before he knows it, they've found a sort of rhythm - nothing spectacular, or fast, but calm and gentle and perfect for the two of them.

"I believe someone may have exaggerated their supposed incompetence," Emmrich murmurs next to his ear, and Viridian lets his eyes briefly flutter shut at the sound.

When he opens them again, he's smiling. "Or," he begins to rebuttal, taking advantage of a brief moment of confidence to gently spin Emmrich out before drawing him close again (turns out fight movements are just as useful on the dance floor as a battleground, who knew?), "that someone just has a very good teacher."

He gets no small amount of satisfaction from the subtle pinks that bloom like watercolor across Emmrich's cheeks; the latter doesn't blush easily, and he could certainly blame it on the heat from the lamps or the exertion of the dance steps, but Viridian silently pockets the victory regardless.

Their steps slow even further in time with the change in music, Viridian's hand on the small of Emmrich's back guiding him closer until they're pressed together, chest to chest.

Emmrich lets his head fall against Viridian's shoulder, who in turn presses his cheek against the perfectly neat crown of gray and silver. They've slowed to more of a gentle shuffle, in tune with each other rather than the music itself. There could be a thousand people in the room, or no one at all, and Viridian doesn't think he'd notice either way. Or care. All that matters is this - this moment, this person, this peace.

And if it'll lead to more moments like this, then dance lessons have suddenly become the most important thing on his mind.

[theshotsheardacrossworlds]

We Need to Act Fast

A drabble from this list, featuring Maribel Ingellvar and Emmrich.

"We need to act fast." Maribel said as calmly as she could, watching in horror at the scene unfolding between Harding and the Titan's Shade.

And then undead and a monster for added excitement.

To think I thought my life in the Necropolis was boring!

Beside her, Emmrich nodded. "Indeed, darling. For Harding!"

Orb and dagger at the ready, she grinned despite herself.

For Harding!

[serstolas]

A single candle sat on the table in the library, the reflection of its flame dancing on the artifacts on the shelves. An empty wine glass and half a bottle of bad Tevinter wine sat beside it.

Rook sat in his customary chair, long black hair down from the tail he normally kept it in, his head in his hands.

Somewhere he heard the sound of bone on tile but he ignored it, sunk too far in his own misery.

Manfred's jeweled eyes watched Rook for several minutes before he turned and climbed the stairs, seeking Emmrich's quarters.

Rook heard the sound of footsteps some moments later. Long, gentle fingers caressed his head, gold rings cool against his forehead.

"Malcolm, darling, what troubles you?" Emmrich's voice was soft.

Rook let out a broken sob, unable to lift his head from his hands. As he shifted, a missive fluttered from his lap and to the ground. Emmrich bent down and picked it up, turning the letter over in his hands. The broken wax seal bore the emblem of the Grey Wardens. It was from Lavendale then; from Antoine and Evka in the aftermath of Weisshaupt. The necromancer read the words scrawled in Antoine's neat penmanship.

Emmrich placed the letter on the table next to the wine and the candle. He turned and pulled an unresisting Rook to his feet and into Emmrich's embrace. He felt the other man's tears soaking through his shirt as he held him.

"Oh, Malcolm, dearest, I am so very sorry," Emmrich whispered into Rook's hair.

[berthiindeath]

@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? "

[rook-knavery]

This wants an Emmrook Drabble series

Touch Prompt List

For anyone who needs it I thought i share this prompt list I have saved. I have no idea who made it. This prompt list had 55 different prompts all about touch. You can use this for anything you want. Drawing/writing/anything.

touching foreheads

running fingers through hair

hiding face in neck

caressing the other’s hand

feeling their pulse

patting the other’s head

holding hands

shielding the other one with their body

listening to the other’s heartbeat

spooning at night

laying their hand on the other’s neck

pushing a strand of hair behind their ear

nudging the other one

putting an arm around the other’s waist

hugging each other

massaging them

holding the other’s chin up

squishing the others cheek

high fiving

bandaging/stitching up an injury

kissing the other’s brow

falling asleep on the other’s shoulder

carrying the other one in their arms

whispering in their ear, lips touching the skin

stroking the other’s arm soothingly

kissing the top of their head

pulling the other one towards them

feeling for each other in the dark

tickling the other one

grabbing onto their arm

doing a pinky swear

caressing the other’s back

tasting their smile

washing the other’s body

kissing their bruises and scars

lifting the other one up

putting their head on the other’s chest

stroking their leg

leaning into the other’s side

patting them on the back

sitting close and knees touching

braiding the other’s hair

giving them a piggy-back ride

feeling their temperature

caressing the other’s cheek

holding the other’s jaw

touching their elbow to get their attention

dancing with each other

holding onto the other’s shoulders for support

putting a hand over the other’s mouth to shut them up

sitting on the other’s lap

gripping thigh

linking arms with each other

touching cheek to cheek

tracing the lines on the other’s hand

[velvet-apricots]

Consider this scenerio.

Lucanis and Emmrich are chatting, and Rook slides in to join the conversation. She's looking at Emmrich from under her lashes, smiling and utterly focused on him. It's so obvious that she is into him, but Emmrich seems politely oblivious.

Lucanis, however, notices, and he wonders how in the world could Emmrich not see it? She's practically undressing him with her eyes and then Spite speaks.

"They need a room. Together."

And then Emmrich, who can hear Spite, instantly turns back to Lucanis, brows up and mouth slightly open. "I beg your pardon?"

[emmg]

What's Good in the Fanfic Hood: DA Edition

(i also have a bg3 version coming up)

For no particular reason, and in no particular order, here's some good soup I need to share with the universe (aka tumblr). Very, very good fanfics right here

the interlude by @thessaralka >>GOOD SMUTTY SOLAVELLAN SMUT with a side of angst. Fade tongue, elf dick as an anxiety cure (her words not mine), just beautifully written shameless smut for the egg aficionados. And I'm not just saying this because I strong-armed her into writing this lol

A Breach of Decorum & Spill the Tea by kdriegantir >>> The sweetest Emmrook lil one shots. I was kicking my legs, twirling my hair, giggling like a school girl. Sooooooo cute

Flower in a Cage by @teamdilf >>> If you like some plot with your angst, this is it. I had soooo much fun reading this leading up to Veilguard. This is for my Elgar'nan girlies, even if technically he's not shipped with anyone here. But damn what a charming villain. I mean, we know now he's a massive bitch with an anger issue (and the bedroom-iest voice I've ever heard, like hot shit, ask me to sit on your lap daddy) but, eh, who cares, the fic is great lol

Rook, No. also by @teamdilf >>> I just caught up on this and it's soooo fun. Just Rook being a menace to society (in this case Solas is society.) The roommate scenario Solas never asked for while he cries internally about his wife

The whole Countdown to Veilguard series of drabbles by whoframedjessicarabbit >>> Just lovely, smutty, or not, Emmrook drabbles. Soooo fun to read

Suture by @heylittleriotact >>> ok so I JUST finished reading this, like maybe 10 minutes ago, and I have THOUGHTS. Because CUTE, so CUTE, how CUTE. Emmrook a la two awkward nerds. I'm waiting for my headache to pass to write a more coherant comment but in the meantime, big reccomend

I couldn't find some folks on tumblr, so just let me know and I'll tag you if you have an account

Thanks for tuning in, ta-ta