#got rook/lucanis/spite feelings today i guess

[beetlethebug]

lucanis mentions in one of his romance scenes that to him, rook's voice is a comfort. Spite has a tendency to label people based on their scents. what if that is like? the most comforting sense to spite? smell. imagine him collecting lots of things that smell like rook. spite taking over lucanis' body just to shove their face into one of harding's lavender plants because it reminds them of rook. a rook from rivain who smells of spices and salt and spite, after learning that getting those things in their eyes is not a good time, making a little sachet to bring to their nose instead. perking up in stalls and instinctively looking for rook when they catch hints of chocolate, because it's rook's favorite and smells like them.

lucanis, through spite, getting a newfound appreciation for scented candles. who has to tell spite that no, they cannot take rook's clothes from the laundry. no, even if they would smell good.

[chaosherald]

A Word with Friends

Avarice (Excessive or inordinate desire of gain; greed for wealth)

Hosted by @hedwigoprah

Thank you @woundedsoul12 for the tag! Friendly no pressure tags for @seaglassmelody @blackwall-my-tiny-husband @davrinsleftpectoral @jukkaricity @dags-over-caravans @kabsey @serstolas (and anyone else <3)

This was inspired by a post from @madamemortem, reblogged by and commented on by @void-bitten-ghost about the gooseberry pie conversation with Lucanis when he is romancing Neve and what the flip side of that might have looked like if he is romancing Rook. Thank you for the inspiration!

(In this house, we went the Rookanis route but we love and respect Neve Gallus and what she means to both Lucanis and Rook. 💕)

Market trips with Lucanis were generally an efficient affair. The man shopped with a purpose, a neatly annotated list, and an intimate knowledge of the Treviso market. Neve had agreed to go with him assuming today's endeavor would be brisk. A nice little break from her pile of notes. A chance to clear her head and stretch her legs and exchange sardonic observations with her friend.

Instead, she was stuck waiting while a master assassin agonized over his selection of produce, watching the sun climb higher in the sky and feeling every bit of the time that passed coming directly out of the work she needed to get done that afternoon.

Sideling up to Lucanis, Neve looped her arm through his. “Alright. You have been vacillating between different fruits for far too long. I know I'm not an authority on what meets your standards, but you're clearly in need of a second opinion. What are you stuck on?”

Lucanis grumbled, glancing at Neve before looking back at the paper in his hand. Following his gaze, Neve saw it wasn't one of his fastidiously planned lists, but a recipe. “Oh, trying something new are we?” she asked.

“Perhaps. I am second guessing myself.” Lucanis spoke quickly, like he needed to get the words out of his mouth before they ran off. “Does Rook like lemon?”

Neve blinked slowly. “Lemon?”

“In a sweet preparation. Like a pastry. I know this will go well with the tea she has been favoring, but I'm not sure…”

And now Lucanis was intentionally not meeting her eye. Evasive, tenser than usual. And Neve was pretty sure it wasn't the angle of the sun adding some color to his face. She grinned, shifting the arm still looped through his to elbow his side. “Oooh. You're planning something special for Rook. Well, isn't that a twist on the case we've all seen coming.”

Lucanis looked upward, seeking divine intervention or still avoiding her eyes. Probably both. “It's a foolish idea, I shouldn’t…”

“You should.” Neve interjected. 

Lucanis ignored her, folding up the recipe. “I shouldn't. It complicates things. It's…”

Neve plucked the recipe out of his hand, opening it and looking it over. “Clearly, it is the very soul of avarice, to want something nice, something a little selfish, for once in your life. Something Rook clearly wants too.”

Now he looked at her, eyes a little wider than normal. “Please tell me we haven't been that obvious.”

“Oh, you have, if one knows what they're looking for.” Neve patted him on the shoulder. “Moot point though. Taash and Harding got Rook talking last time they took her drinking at the Hilt. Half the Lords of Fortune know where she stands.”

“Mierda.”

“And lets see. Bellara told me keeping her mouth shut when she's around you two is causing her physical pain.” Neve started looking over lemons, placing some in their basket. “Davrin has assumed brotherly duties and teases Rook about the two of you whenever you aren't around. I also caught the tail end of Emmrich and Rook discussing the ethics of consent when two entities are sharing a body just the other day.”

Lucanis looked slightly mortified. He also replaced several of the lemons Neve had picked up with ones that met his ridiculous standards. “In this one thing, Spite is not part of the problem.”

“Fair. He has been pretty keen on Rook from the get go. I shouldn't be encouraging you though. We have a bet going. If you wait another month, I'll cut you in on my take.”

Lucanis looked at her, his expression slipping into the dangerously intense stare he used to intimidate targets and to make really sure he wasn't revealing actual feelings to anyone.

“Joking. Mostly.” Neve handed him back the recipe. “There's a baker in Docktown who makes Orlesian style pastries. Rook got one of the lemon ones last time we were there and said it was the kind of thing she used to buy in Nevarra when she had the chance. The tart’s a good choice.”

Lucanis looked at her a moment more then nodded, turning away to pay the vendor for the fruit. He gathered up their purchases and they both started walking back through the market.  When Lucanis spoke again he sounded almost calm, with just the tiniest hitch giving away his nerves. “Do you really think she'll like it?”

“Rook is a giant sap with a sweet tooth. She'll love it. Just make sure you actually talk to her after bringing out the baked goods. I'll discreetly clear the room for you two after dinner.”

“Thank you, Neve.”

“Sure. Least I can do. Just try not to get overly sentimental with each other in public once you figure things out. I like seeing my friends happy, but I have my limits on sap.”

Lucanis smiled slightly. “I don't think I have ever been accused of being overly sentimental.”

Neve rolled her eyes, but knew she wasn't entirely hiding her smile. “Only because most people don't pay attention.”

[erin-unknown]

Random WIP (or "Rate My Spite")

I was feeling very blah and uncreative after work today but decided to write something anyway! Shit, it's late 🫠 I wanted to push myself a bit to write a scene with Spite because the thought of writing for him has been intimidating me, so here we go. Hell, this is almost completely unedited.

Below the cut: A short scene with my Warden Rook, Dalgar Thorne, and Spite. Rook's freakishly realistic nightmares from his childhood have returned after Weisshaupt. Spite is concerned about something.

This is set after the Siege of Weisshaupt and Inner Demons. Emmrich (and Manfred!) also make an appearance.

Dalgar jerked awake, heart racing and hands blindly scrabbling for purchase, before dropping back into his body like a stone. His eyes felt full of sand when he opened them. He found himself still sitting upright in his room, as stressed and sore as before he drifted off, only now he was no longer alone.

Crouched by his outstretched feet, Spite had him pinned with his unwavering, violet gaze. Lucanis was barefoot, dressed in a pair of simple trousers and loose-fitting shirt, both made from the same silvery samite. He reminded himself not to stare down the collar of his shirt.

“Spite,” he said.

He – Spite, not Lucanis – simply scowled.

“Spite, was Lucanis sleeping?” Dalgar asked, venturing cautiously.

“NO. ROOK!” He barked. Hearing him force words from Lucanis’ throat made Dalgar wince a little.

“Well, not anymore Rook’s not,” he muttered and rolled his neck, stiff from hanging awkwardly while he’d dozed. How deeply had he slept? He had a vague recollection of tearing screams and crunching bones. The song was so loud –

“STOP! LISTENING.” Dalgar jumped in his skin.

“Maker’s breath.” He pulled his legs in and cracked his back with a quick and deliberate twist, then sagged forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Spite, you should take Lucanis back to the pantry. You’ve got to let him rest.”

“SPITE. MUST! STAY.” Spite-in-Lucanis’ shoulders tensed and he clenched his fists. Dalgar groaned, somewhere between exasperated and relieved that Spite’s days of trying to make a run for it seemed to be gone. He wasn’t sure what to do with this, though.

“No, I don’t think you do,” he replied. Spite scrunched his face up, looking skeptical.

“YES,” he said. “LURKING! STALKING.”

“Creepy.” Dalgar chuckled to himself and cast him a lopsided grin when suddenly, Spite leapt to his feet.

“THEY. ARE. CREEPING!” The spirit shouted in earnest.

“Whoa, sure they are. I’m sorry.” He held his hands up in capitulation. Something had him spooked, he guessed, but what could be lurking around the Lighthouse, he couldn’t fathom. Spite was worked up, now, pacing throughout the room frantically.

“THEY. CANNOT. TOUCH! WILL. NOT!”

Somehow, he was still getting louder.

Dalgar chased him around the room for a minute or two, Spite barking about something he couldn’t understand, while steering him clear of the glass wall on the far side of the room and keeping him out of the wardrobe in the corner.

“Alright, enough! Please,” he said after he’d cornered Spite near the door. Violet eyes looked him up and down, Lucanis’ mouth twisted into a grimace. “No one is going to touch you.”

“NOT! SPITE. ROOK!”

“Me?” Dalgar asked, incredulous.

Spite just growled in frustration.

“Okay then,” he said. “No one is going to touch me. I’m just sleeping. We’re in the Lighthouse.”

“DRIFTING. DREAM–”

There was a rapid knocking at the door and both Dalgar and Spite shut up and turned to stare.

“Rook?” Emmrich’s muffled voice broke the silence. Another, more urgent knock. “Rook, are you alright? There was shouting.”

“Uh, yeah! You can come in,” he replied, planting his hands on his hips with a sigh. “Just chatting with Spite, here.”

When Emmrich entered, forehead creased in concern, Dalgar could tell he’d been sleeping – or at least preparing to sleep; his hair was, miraculously, un-mussed but he was fully enveloped in a long burgundy dressing gown made of something luxurious and fine. The wide collar crossing over his breast was covered in scrolling pale green embroidery. Standing between Emmrich and Lucanis, he’d never been so relieved that he’d fallen asleep fully in his clothes instead of his favorite long underwear with the thrice-patched crotch.

“Forgive the intrusion, Rook, but Manfred came to me in such a fuss and practically dragged me into the hall,” he said, gesturing to Manfred just beyond the door with a richly decorated arm. He waved. Dalgar waved back. Spite hissed at them all. “We could hear Spite from the library. Is all well?”

The professor’s fine brows arched high on his forehead, looking both Dalgar and Spite over with a careful eye. Somehow, he felt a little chastised, like when he got caught sneaking snacks as a boy. He clapped a hand on the possessed man’s shoulder.

“Sorry to bother you both. We were just heading back to the pantry,” Dalgar said with a plastered-on grin. “Weren’t we?” Spite was boggling at the hand on his shoulder and said nothing.

“If I may ask, what started this?” Emmrich cast a glance around the room and settled on Spite, who didn’t answer.

Dalgar shrugged. “He was watching me sleep. Something’s upset him and he won’t leave me alone, so I’ll just go with him. Let Lucanis sleep in his own bed. Does that sound good, Spite?”

“GOOD.” Spite looked pleased, which was always sort of unsettling but in this case, something of a relief. Emmrich hummed and brought his steepled fingers to his lips.

“Spite, I’m sure you feel that you have excellent reason to be so concerned for Rook, but we really must address boundaries,” he said.

“It’s fine, it’s fine! I can sleep anywhere. Trust me.” Dalgar waved Emmrich off in hopes of heading off any arguments from Spite. At this point, he just wanted to get Lucanis back where he belonged and finally collapse on the couch just outside. Hopefully that would appease Spite.

Emmrich sighed. “Well, if you’re certain. We should still discuss this later.” He stepped over the threshold and began ushering Manfred back down the hall, when he stopped and turned. “Are you, perchance, still suffering from your nightmares, Rook?”

“I – well, sometimes,” he admitted.

“NO! ALWAYS.”

“Always, really?” Dalgar rolled his eyes. Spite bared his teeth.

Emmrich considered him for a moment.

“Come see me after dinner tomorrow. I’ll have a tincture ready for you that should hopefully alleviate the worst of it. We can also address that persistent stiffness in your neck and shoulders, if you would like.” Emmrich’s smile was small and quick, but his eyes were as kind as ever.

Dalgar blinked at him. “I would, thank you.”

“Wonderful, Manfred and I will start work in the morning,” he said, clasping his hands together. Manfred hissed in delight. “Good night, Rook.”

“Night.”

The professor bowed his head and disappeared into the library. Manfred gave a little wave, and ran after him. He would try not to set his hopes too high, he decided. But Emmrich was a skilled alchemist and a hundred times smarter than him, so what did he know?

Dalgar lingered in front of the open door until Spite’s fidgeting at his elbow dragged him from his thoughts.

“Let’s go, Spite.”

[tbc]

[bg3daydream]

I feel so out of place most of the time liing both Solavellan (with your regular apparently boring typical Lavellan) and DATV.

I know I just should take it with a smile and a "thank you for thinking my likes are evil" so as not to be throw with the "bad fans" but I'm so tired.

If I find a blog that posts Solavellan I have to go check if they post Veilguard hate so as not to follow (and usualy just block) so as not to have to see datv hate on my dash.

If I find a blog that posts datv then I know most times they hate solavellan but I don't block because with all the hate datv and people who likes it get, I don't feel like blocking datv blogs most times (though I had to, some, eventually, because at some point my dash was so full of hate for characters I liked that made me sad to log in), so everyday I have to scroll through "solavellans are what make the fandom shit" and "solavellans don't interact" anyway.

Then I'll find something positive and I'll have to pray they don't hate datv so I don't have to start again with this process.

I don't know why it's so hard to like several things and several characters at the same time.

There's like 3 blogs I know I follow who like several different characters and games, including Solas and Datv and thank god for them so I can have something positive in my dash.

Because most days I feel like not writing for da (and you don't have to come tell me that who cares, I know).

Solavellan got me writing again after years giving up and not finding anything to care for and then datv and the companions (and Rook, not going to lie, I love Rook), kept me writing.

I wish I were like I was young. I wish I weren't sad and tired all the time now. I wish spite (not the Dellamorte one, I think) was a motivator now.

I'd be writing so much out of spite now. I'd be writing rookanis and davrook and solavellan fics the same day. Hell I'd be writing fics of all of them at the same time in the sime place out of (S)spite. I'd be writing Lavellan and Rook having and orgy with Solas and Davrin and Lucanis (I'm not sure how I feel about getting Spite on board, sorry).

I know I sound like a hater. I guess I'm a bad fan. But I just feel so tired and sad today, and since datv came out I've always felt I don't even like things in the proper way it seems I have to. Just inadecuate in every way. (which is not surprising how the Rook of the fic I was writing before dash made me lost inspo feels).

I have 3/4 of the fandom blocked because I'm petty and yet datv hate gets in my dash somehow too, and also how I'm a bad fan because I like solavellan.

I'm sorry for being bad at everything I guess.

[i-had-bucky]

25, 30 for the Rook codex asks!

Ooh thank you for asking! Answers under a cut for length. This is Titus Mercar, my shadow dragon.

25. Notes taken by Rook when they were young/in training

Mixed the wrong ingredients again today. Exploded glass instead of lightning. Wish Father was home; he'd have helped patch me up. Mother locked me out of the house again.

-A note written in a shaky hand

Ashur got me a new set of lockpics for Satinalia! Mother confiscated the last set. Will have to keep this set hidden. He's off to the Chantry soon, says he won't be able to keep getting me out of trouble. Hah! He gets me into most of it. At least Mother will get that ridiculous marriage idea out of her head now.

-A journal page found, somehow, in the crossroads. The rest of the page is torn off, but it looks to have contained some sort of charcoal drawing.

Told Mother and Father that I'm a man. Mother didn't take it well. Think my ears are still ringing from the screaming. Father told her to go to her sister in the city to calm down. Don't think it'll work. But Father's going to help me pick a new name! He's commissioning me a new cloak with the new name embroidered in it.

-A note written hastily, the letters shaky, some of the ink blotched by what could have been tears.

Ashur sent a letter. Wants me to join the Shadow Dragons in Minrathous. Father's appeals to the Magisterium aren't enough. I need to do something. I hate to leave the twins to Mother's care, but I can't stomach it anymore. I can fight, so I will.

-A torn journal page found in the debris of the Shadow Dragons' shop, stained with blood.

30. A note/letter that Rook never sent

Lucanis,

The Caretaker asked if I wanted them to give you this if I didn't make it back. So I guess, if you're reading this, maybe we saved the world but not me. Part of me expects that, after Solas's prison and all the lives I've traded; part of me still isn't sure any of this is real. But you're here, curled against me. I can feel each breath as Spite plays with my free hand. He keeps trying to read this, but I don't want him to. I hope, selfishly, neither of you ever have to read this.

I'm stalling, I think. I don't really know what to say. How to tell you that you've changed my life. I've never met anyone like you, and I never expected...Anything like what we have. I'd stay up all night telling you stories for the rest of our lives if I could. I hope I can. I'm sorry if I can't.

I love you.

Rook.

-A letter filled with hope and love and grief and despair. The words become clear only after a sensation of falling from a great height without knowing if you'll land. At the bottom, beneath the name, is a charcoal sketch of a crow in flight. It is, somehow, two crows at once.

[cussundria-nerd-kneal]

"After realizing that getting one of those things in your eyes in not a good time"

🤣🤣🤣 That had me cracking up so fucking hard! Could you imagine the stinging was so bad and made Spite flip out so hard that it woke Lucanis up?? And how disoriented he'd be on why the fuck are my eyes on fire and his cursing wakes up the entire Lighthouse? And once he gets his eyes cleared out, demanding why the hell did Spite shove hot spices into his eyeballs - spiteful harming himself to get back at him? - Spite just says. "I. Miss. Rook. Spices smell. Like Rook! Wasn't supposed to hurt!! How Rook smell good and not have it hurt??"

And Lucanis, flushing and embarressed that Spite was indeed spot on with those spices smelling just like Rook's perfume, explains that shoving stuff that has a potent smell usually wont end well. 🤣

lucanis mentions in one of his romance scenes that to him, rook's voice is a comfort. Spite has a tendency to label people based on their scents. what if that is like? the most comforting sense to spite? smell. imagine him collecting lots of things that smell like rook. spite taking over lucanis' body just to shove their face into one of harding's lavender plants because it reminds them of rook. a rook from rivain who smells of spices and salt and spite, after learning that getting those things in their eyes is not a good time, making a little sachet to bring to their nose instead. perking up in stalls and instinctively looking for rook when they catch hints of chocolate, because it's rook's favorite and smells like them.

lucanis, through spite, getting a newfound appreciation for scented candles. who has to tell spite that no, they cannot take rook's clothes from the laundry. no, even if they would smell good.