thedasguarded

[thedasguarded]

The very fact that the act bore such trust and such meaning was what made Emmrich offer it. He didn't doubt it would be similar, in that sense, to Lucanis asking him for help removing the daggers he always saw strapped to the Crow's armor out in the field.

Lucanis' softspoken acceptance broadened Emmrich's smile, half-lidded eyes slightly creased at the corners while he watched. Narrowing the spread of his palm a little to make removal easier, his gaze trailed between the careful motions and the focus in the younger man's expression. Thus he saw the fresh flush blooming across the other's handsome face, so lovely it coaxed a brief tender kiss to Lucanis' cheek.

"It is a bit cleverly hidden. The bookcase to the left of the hearth is also a door; you pull the middle shelf's corner latch to open it." The other man's reason for asking was unmistakable, as well as thrilling and enticing and half a dozen more wonderful words. Emmrich combed his free hand's fingers through Lucanis' hair again, another unspoken reassurance. "There should be plenty of room for us, my dear. And everything needed, for whatever we choose to do."

Emmrich had a plethora of ideas, but didn't wish to overwhelm Lucanis by listing them all at once - especially given Spite's frequent eagerness for new experiences.

"That doesn't make it any less exciting," Emmrich replied in his own gentle lightness, both an indirect answer to Lucanis' question and a reassurance over it. He wasn't certain whether he wanted more for the other man's adoring, relaxed smile to be venerated in every art across Thedas, or hung only in the gallery of Emmrich's mind with pride of place.

He relished Lucanis' eagerness, though privately. A part of Emmrich still considered it a marvel that a remarkable person like Lucanis enjoyed and wanted him this much. It wasn't a matter of questioning whether the Crow's feelings were sincere, however, simply one of humbled devotion to such a gift. Emmrich poured a measure of that devotion into their kiss, while he felt the front of his shirt part wider with each unfastened button.

He hummed a sigh through his nose as Lucanis' hands met his skin, lashes fluttering at the feel of glove-softened calluses. Emmrich pressed into the other's roaming touch once more - then a small throaty noise slipped out when Lucanis' fingers nudged the slim hoops of twisted gold at his nipples. Emmrich gave a cheeky half-smile, eyebrows slightly raised. "And not only there." He left it at that hint for now; if they did go far enough this time to shed the rest of their clothes, he'd rather keep the details a pleasant surprise.

Low-lidded hazel eyes followed Lucanis' stare downward, to the framed beetle and the dark outlines of Emmrich's lower ribs twined with flowers. His gaze flicked back up to the younger man's face, and he chuckled, "Well, there hasn't been much opportunity for me to traipse about the Lighthouse half-naked. But I would love to show you all of them, if I can." Emmrich lowered one forearm from Lucanis' shoulder, offering it with the gentle chime of fine metal. "I'll need to remove my grave gold first. Would you like to help?"

[thedasguarded]

After the spell's ribbons of green dissipated, leaving only bloodstained leather and fabric as evidence of any wound, Emmrich nonetheless took one more moment to examine Rook by eye. No other cuts, no bruises either surface-level or deep enough to be from other bone fractures - a mercy, for both of them in different ways.

Emmrich appreciated seeing Rook take a long, full breath as well, to ensure the fractured rib had repaired.

"Of course, my friend." Getting his feet under him and holstering his staff on his back, he took hold of Rook's hand. "Slowly, remember. Your body's still contending with the stress." Emmrich's other palm lifted to support the younger man's forearm, near the elbow.

That hand's touch would transfer to Rook's shoulder as the Crow stood. Emmrich smiled, his hold gentle yet firm. "You may get hungry, once the adrenaline's gone. I could make something once we return to the Lighthouse, or we could find someplace here."

@thedasguarded cont.

it  was  not  like  him  to  lie,  but  it  was  like  him  to  belittle  himself,  so  this  is  exactly  what  rook  did.  though  he  had  hard  time  sitting  up  in  the  dirt  and  he  coughed  out  blood,  he  assured  the  worried  necromancer  that  he's  had  worse.  it  didn't  help  the  fractured  rib  and  the  internal  bleeding  he  was  sure  he  had.  the  good  part  was,  emmrich  would  and  did  agree  to  help  him,  so  he  only  had  to  sit  with  the  terrible  ache  for  a  few  seconds  more.

"thank  you...  professor,"  he  muttered  with  labor  as  emmrich  began  the  examination,  ended  it  quickly,  and  instead  began  a  healing  spell.

those  always  felt  weird.  roach  was  not  used  to  mages  and  their  capabilities  within  him.  crows  had  healers,  but  he  hardly  ever  went  out  of  pride  and  sometimes  not  being  able  to  afford  it.  emmrich's  magic  was  masterfully  warm  and  intricate  —  he  could  almost  feel  every  millimeter  of  his  tissues  being  put  back  together.

when  the  older  watcher  was  done,  rook  took  a  prolonged  breath.  "much  more  comfortable,  thank  you."  he  brushed  his  gloved  hand  where  the  wound  had  just  been.  nothing.  a  small  smile  appeared  on  his  mouth.  "can  you  help  me  up?"  he  hoped  his  feet  wouldn't  give  out.

[thedasguarded]

Veilguard Sketches bc currently obsessed with the character designs (esp Neve's) (if i have time I'll clean this one up)

[thedasguarded]

Sometimes a good day is just a good cup of tea.

[thedasguarded]

has me weak in the knees and everything

[thedasguarded]

Some Emmrich spam for today! If you wanna use feel free without any credits but a like would be appreciated!

Bonus because IK people want pictures of her and this was the only good one:

[thedasguarded]

In spite of it all however, some Crows cling on.

(there, they're ok now <3)

[thedasguarded]

Tarquin couldn't stop thinking back on their entire sparring session with this fully-realized lens. Every corrective touch or demonstrated hold, every murmured remark and encouragement, the way Ashur had looked above him and then beneath him, the push of the other's chest against his palm with every panting breath. Maker's balls, he'd fallen embarrassingly hard for this man.

It was his turn for a faint chuckle mingled with his breath after Ashur's compliment in response. Tarquin had practiced plenty of leg sweeps in his military days, so there was at least a basis to work from. Yet he found it difficult for his thoughts to stay on track, with the other man's soft low voice and the realization that neither of them had moved. If anything, Tarquin's lock of their legs had relaxed and he was basically sitting atop Ashur's hips. He also found... he didn't want to move, especially when there was no words or motions from Ashur to spur him.

"Anyone who says they're done learning hasn't mastered fuckall," Tarquin replied, similarly quiet, with a shrug of one shoulder. Approaching a move from a different perspective always had equal chances of improving or worsening it, and Ashur seemed to have a pretty good head for what would work.

The other's pause pressed weight into the air between them, as though some decision was being made. Show him more? Tarquin strove not to let his thoughts run away with the phrasing. What was most likely to be meant? Something important, too important to just be combat training, right? So either an intimate suggestion, or an allusion to something personal in a different way. ...The mask, maybe? Probably better to assume that than the other likelihood.

"I'm up for more." His tone carried an understanding about a deeper intent in the offer. "Sure you're not pushin' yourself?"

@thedasguarded continued from here

Unarmed sparring was good for both of them. When quarters got too close for blade or spells, they'd need a solid foundation to keep the advantage. Not to mention the honed control in pulling their punches, whether to conserve energy, make an opening, or detain someone without serious injury. They'd made for a good match, more than Tarquin had honestly expected. He hadn't thought most mages would bother learning their way around a bareknuckle scrap, so Ashur had caught him off-guard the first time they'd sparred. But now, more accustomed to each other, they could exchange ideas, refine them, and practice them. Ashur still surprised Tarquin on occasion with some of his suggestions, especially when those resulted in a clear improvement in a move's ease, speed, or efficacy. And to be honest, it was also nice to get to read more of Ashur's body language without as many layers in the way. Clad only in a wraparound tunic and loose trousers himself, Tarquin allowed himself a slanted, victorious grin as he hooked a leg around Ashur's and rolled to reverse their positions. His knees bracketed the other's waist, settling his weight there while one hand spread against the center of Ashur's chest, to brace himself and to keep the mage's upper torso in place. The press of their hips didn't fully register, until their eyes met. Tarquin just couldn't look away, more than usual. He wanted to watch those beautiful eyes soften, watch them light up, watch them darken with something far better than anger or sorrow. A part of him fleetingly wished they'd done this in even less clothing, so he might feel soft tawny skin against his own. Ashur still wore that bloody mask. Tarquin wanted to slip bare fingers beneath it, to learn the rest of that handsome face by touch alone if need be. He wanted to feel hidden lips against his own or any other part of him, even if he never saw them. But, he also wished he could see what Ashur's smile looked like... His free hand curled with the urge to move, smile ebbed softly from his face. All at once, he was reminded of where they were, and where his thoughts had wandered. When had he last felt this way about anyone? How long had these feelings been simmering? And why did they boil over now? Why right here, straddling Ashur for fuck's sake? Tarquin cleared his throat quietly, pressing parted lips shut while glancing aside then back again. He strove to ignore the flush beginning to burn in his cheeks, and the pressure from his pinning hand eased. "Guess you were right. The leg hook does make for better control."

Sparring with Tarquin had actually become a favorite past time of Ashur's. While it was practical, in being able to practice and learn maneuvers in a safe and controlled environment, it also gave the Viper an excuse to be around and near his fellow Shadow Dragon. And perhaps his favorite one too, which had to be obvious by now with how often Ashur chose to spend his free time from both his lives with Tarquin. Though, Tarquin did not know what Ashur's other life was, of course.

Part of him wondered if perhaps he could or should reveal his identity to Tarquin. It wasn't a matter of trust, of course. Ashur trusted the other man with his life, but he wasn't certain how Tarquin would react to discovering who truly was behind that mask.

So perhaps he looked a little foolish, in simple tunic and breeches with the mask still drawn across his face, held tight to his face with string tied behind his head over the short, black stubble of hair growing from Ashur's shorn head. The hat would have made the sparring awkward.

Well, more awkward than it had started to become. Ashur was indeed caught off guard when he'd had Tarquin on the ground, certain he was about to get the upper hand when he became decidedly distracted by how Tarquin looked flushed and panting beneath him. The image made his brain stop for just long enough to allow Tarquin to get the advantage with a hook to his leg and suddenly Ashur was looking up at him.

He wondered if he looked just as flushed. He knew he was panting. He silently thanked the Maker they had chosen a private training room where they would not be disturbed while they practiced. A soft chuckle was given between pants, a mask of the sudden nerves he felt like fire under his skin as he felt Tarquin's hand ease up off of him and found himself mourning the loss of pressure.

"You seem to be a natural with the technique." Ashur said, still trying to catch his breath and failing as he looked up at Tarquin and saw the way the other man looked over him, like he was trying to see through his mask. if only he knew how much Ashur wanted to show him.

"I'm glad I could show you something new, with your combat experience." Ashur said quietly, making no move to get out from under Tarquin, seemingly perfectly comfortable with the other man straddling him like that.

"I..." he paused just a moment, gathering the courage to say what he wanted, hoping that Tarquin would catch the meaning behind his words, and if not... at least he had a good day of sparring with his closest friend.

"I can always show you more... if it's something you're interested in..."

[thedasguarded]

Gif commissions open

[thedasguarded]

black and white movies should to be invented in Thedas because of him

[thedasguarded]

#dakiss25 - grey your warden

[thedasguarded]

okay, this screen HURTS me

HES SO SAD

[thedasguarded]

Hakiem's surprise in turn surprised Emmrich a little; he'd meant every word. To be sure, the younger man's unpredictability could be something of a gamble, but that was part of what Emmrich enjoyed about Hakiem's presence. He found it - found Hakiem as a whole - just as soothing as anyone more staid.

So when the younger Watcher insisted on lacking that quality, Emmrich gently yet silently shook his head. He didn't move as Hakiem shifted position, gaze fixed upon that striking face. Within his mind, Emmrich strove not to imagine the other leaning further over him, enough for palms to bracket chest and the distance between mouths to close. Now was not the time. He wasn't certain it ever would be.

Even so, Emmrich's smile did widen slightly at Hakiem's question. "I mean it truthfully when I say, the very reasons you've so kindly cited about my company. You inspire a clarity in my thoughts... and offer a welcome distraction from my less rational concerns. I find your presence invigorating, and calming for it, like an autumn breeze or early spring sunlight."

Oh dear. He hoped he hadn't given himself away. Maker, he might really be as poor at hiding his romantic feelings as his past partners had said.

When their eyes met, Emmrich could only hope none of his inward realization was apparent in them. While Hakiem's specialities had differed too much from his own for the younger man to be a student of his, Emmrich still worried his standing at the Necropolis and his professorship might be another barrier to any chance of reciprocation. As if the rest wasn't enough already.

That latter sentiment, then, was more of a surprise. Especially his? Well, Emmrich certainly knew what he wanted it to mean. Just as he knew that want might differ from the truth, and there was no sense in burdening Hakiem with it.

"I'm glad to be here," Emmrich assured. "Given how tumultuous everything has been, it's the least I can do to be any sort of grounding point. Just as you are for me."

He'd rather have Hakiem's focus remain on that latter addition, after all, than on what they were taking a break from. Even if it caused embarrassment, or made him stumble, Emmrich could take a bit of being laughed at for the sake of his dear friend's peace.

[thedasguarded]

Though Tarquin had truly meant the compliment, he also didn't think much about it. A man like Ashur had to have heard that phrase, or some variation, countless times by now. Hell, maybe the other was some kind of artist's model or something; not a serious guess at Ashur's identity, but a mildly amusing one, at least to Tarquin.

The guess was something to occupy his brain so that captivating stare wouldn't pull him too far into his own comfort. Because Ashur was indeed a comfort for him too. Probably far more understandable than the other way round, with the voice and the attitude and all that, but still something Tarquin wasn't sure how to admit. Even when he was fairly sure Ashur wouldn't take offense, showing that much of his underbelly just felt easier to avoid. What they had was good, even when they got teased about their bickering; he shouldn't risk it. Right?

Outwardly, Tarquin shrugged at Ashur's reasoning about the whole image thing. He didn't disagree; and more personally, he was glad the other's focus had landed there.

...And he just had to think that, right before Ashur proved it wrong.

At least Tarquin didn't splutter or choke on his wine. Taking a sip to give his brain time to work past the embarrassment, he then lightly insisted, "Nah, pretty's pretty. The mask just draws people's attention to 'em. Bet you've broken some hearts among Dock Town's painters and poets. Maybe Hightown's too." His ebbed smirk broadened with the latter tease.

Tarquin snickered into his glass. A measured sip drowned his ribbing about Ashur's attire before it could be spoken. How anyone could traipse around in all those layers, plus a serpent-themed hat and mask, without self-consciousness or overheating was a mystery. Still, it was the kind of mystery that Ashur - handsome bloody bastard - wore almost annoyingly well.

So if it wasn't contentment... 'Comfort' wasn't any better. Or more accurately, it didn't do Tarquin's stumbling heart any favors. And here Ashur was, shrugging with the words like the admission was... what, natural? Easy? As if complimenting Tarquin for something beyond his work somehow didn't feel like swallowing hot coals.

His stare dropped to follow that bared hand around the rim of Ashur's glass. A scholar's fingers, a mage's fingers, though he only knew the latter from the tough situations they'd endured in the past. Not without strength, given Ashur's skill with climbing, but more accustomed to the finer functions that spells and documents required. Would Ashur find anything 'comforting' about the calluses and smatter of little scars beneath Tarquin's gloves? Focus, idiot.

When Tarquin pulled his gaze back up, he found those damn pretty eyes already watching him. Fuck, his lips had parted; he shut his mouth abruptly, with a quiet clearing of his throat. And all that on top of Ashur's claim about having 'room to breathe' around Tarquin. Had his stupid gaping messed that up now? ...He hoped not. "Maybe," Tarquin replied after a subdued half-humored scoff. He looked away first, to examine what was left in his own glass. "An' maybe it's also the wine talking when I say I..." I want to be, I want to give you that, Maker's fucking mercy how do you find comfort in me?

"Everyone deserves that," Tarquin changed tack with a single small shake of his head, before those thoughts could come pouring out. "Even quiet pretty-eyed rebellion leaders who fuss over their image like a nesting hen." Easier to tease past a smirk, and let the sentiment's depth settle between the lines.

[thedasguarded]

Davrin 🤝 Fenris

Queer elven warriors of color who speak multiple languages and sound hot while doing it

[thedasguarded]

Gif commissions open

[thedasguarded]

pride 🌈 collab part 2 with @rookfeathers!!! 🧡💛💚💙💜 lineart: me

color/shading: rookfeathers