deathswing

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When the rest of the Veilguard retires to their respective rooms (or offices, in Neve's case), two of them remain curled upon the sofa in the firelight. Bellara wouldn't be able to pinpoint when it became a longstanding habit, but Lucanis no longer fights off sleep by himself at night. Now, it's a matter of Bellara's tea alongside Lucanis' coffee, a pile of books, and quiet discussion well into the small hours.

Shadows dance along Lucanis' features. They're unlike the darkness that accompanies Spite's sudden fronting. This is warm and companionable, soft in its own right. Lucanis is steeped in death, yet Bellara cannot imagine a gentler man. Her gaze traces along the crow's feet of his eyes openly.

@deathswing whispers "I shouldn't allow myself to get this close to you."

Bellara offers a little smile. "If I didn't want you to, you wouldn't be," she reassures. It's a simple answer. For all of her overthinking, Bellara thinks that Lucanis might be prone to it even more. His hand twitches in the direction of hers. Green light.

"I trust you," she murmurs, and slowly eases herself over his lap, a thigh on either side. His hair is sleek but coarse between her fingers while she threads through it in a calming gesture. She curves her hand around to cradle the side of his jaw and lightly scratches at the roughness of his face. "We'll stop as soon as you want to. I promise."

Their lips ease together tentatively. A degree of caution runs through them, but it's tinged with a sweet optimism that only increases as does their fervor. As much as Bellara would like to dive straight in, this thing that they have is new. Her mind catalogues each sensation: the warmth of his chapped lips, the bitter notes of espresso, how his breath catches when their lips part and move to return again.

Then she feels the firm slide of his hands upon her sides. Bellara resists the urge to smile against him--and instead gasps into the heat of his mouth when that same grip descends to the curve of her thigh possessive-like. Bellara throws caution to the wind and presses against Lucanis fully. While she takes, Lucanis freely gives, thoroughly exploring what is offered before him. When his lips start to descend the column of her throat, Bellara can only laugh.

And she thought she'd have to be gentle.

[deathswing]

the book of mother.

dialogue prompts from the book of mother by violaine huisman.

if only you knew how much i've done for you.

you sanctimonious little cunt.

deal with your own shit for once.

i'll love you like crazy for my whole life.

you don't know why you're crying?

well, how could i have known it was loaded?

is there an adult living here?

you're a living hell.

you've made a hell of a mess.

don't tell me you don't like ____.

one has to come down to earth, eventually.

the bigger the lie, the more plausible it is.

reality is always stranger than fiction.

the richer people are, the cheaper they are.

perhaps poetry can help a person live a little longer.

i can't help making a mess of things, everywhere i go.

if you want something done right, do it yourself.

the devil finds work for idle hands.

anybody can read books and quote from them like a moron.

restraint doesn't suit you. it's antithetical to your personality.

love and language: two things that inevitably fall short.

the truth of a life is the fiction that sustains it.

you always find something to criticize.

what's the harm? no one will find out.

i'm not in love. it's something else.

don't be a fool. you can't do anything in life without money.

i don't know what i've gotten myself into, or how i'm going to get out of it.

whatever breaks can be replaced.

you are nothing if not full of contradictions.

i can't stand seeing you like this.

you must think i'm a moron.

you lie like homer.

i feel like i'm drowning.

breathe. in through your nose, out through your mouth.

you don't realize how serious this is.

with all due respect, please fuck off.

'perfect' is the enemy of 'good'.

i'd like to have a choice.

we pulled it off. we got what we wanted.

just in case. you never know.

you don't even come home anymore.

you're going to fuck it all up. and for what?

i'm not sure i really know you.

i'm not at all strong anymore.

were you at the back of the line when god gave out brains?

it's over. ___ is gone.

what is it? what's wrong? talk to me.

it's a bit much, don't you think?

i never said i was a role model.

okay, what's next? we all go hang ourselves?

i've already mourned ___.

i don't know how to pray, just how to beg.

will you ever stop asking me to justify my every move?

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oomfie always supplying me with the most scrumptious meals (beautiful lucanis art)

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Unbroken

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What drew you to my blog initially, and what, so far, has made you stay?

Is it the mun’s muses, their writing style, their worldbuilding? Is it the mun themselves? All of the above? Let ‘em know!

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points. hey you, yes you. we should be affiliates or something

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Calm morning ☕

---

This picture has worn me out. High key is so hard for me to pull off.

[deathswing]

defeat hangs heavy over lucanis's head.

he's better than this — should be better than this. his blade never misses, always pointed, always sure. part of him knew slaying a god would not be so easy, even equipped with the might of the lyrium dagger, but this?

legs hanging off a ledge, he sighs. the lighthouse is full of little nooks and crannies, perfect for hiding away. this one, he's found just underneath the kitchen, a somewhat tight squeeze opening up into platform overseeing the vast endlessness of this pocket in the fade. his chambers, while safe, do not deter visitors, even if he makes it clear he doesn't want the company.

the same, sad eyes, every time. sad for him, for his failure, the pity and need to do something for him when he did not ask for it. they don't understand, not really. lucanis is glad for it, in truth; this sort of bone-deep regret and doubt is not something he would wish on anyone.

but, maker's breath. he wishes they would stop lingering on it, too. he does enough mourning and moping without anyone twisting the knife and driving it in deeper.

a soft little grunt echoes off the walls around him. lucanis half turns, watching a familiar head of raven black hair wiggle free and right into his newly claimed space. her earrings clink and jingle with every move, the fabric of her clothes rustling as she wrestles her way out of the crevasse and onto the platform proper.

oh, bellara. of course it would be her finding him.

lucanis sighs again. he braces himself for that same old speech, telling him he'll have another chance soon, telling him it's not yet the end of the world —

instead, bellara starts talking about dinner, of all things.

she sits herself down with a huff and a groan. rambles about this recipe she wants to try, how many steps it comes with, how she has not yet cooked with some of the ingredients it requires.

lucanis's heart gives a painful squeeze. she's trying so hard, for his sake. because she knows, surely, that he doesn't need more pity. that he needs to go back to the routines instead of dwelling on a mistake that cost them a valuable chance at ending the threat ahead of them.

wordlessly, he rises to a stand. cooking might not be the worst distraction. perhaps it's silly, to rely on it as much as he does, but it keeps his hands and mind occupied. he ought to have thought of it, himself.

"i'll gladly take a look," he finally says, cracking his knuckles idly. bellara gives him that adorable smile of hers, full of cheek and whimsy, and lucanis finds himself smiling back, an odd sort of warmth spreading through his chest.

he makes to leave, but then stops, and bends down to press the ghost of a kiss to the spot where her forehead meets her hairline. "thank you."

* @vorashvan // kisses.

[deathswing]

What drew you to my blog initially, and what, so far, has made you stay?

Is it the mun’s muses, their writing style, their worldbuilding? Is it the mun themselves? All of the above? Let ‘em know!

[deathswing]

𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐋 𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 / but the heart has its own memory and i have forgotten nothing. (albert camus)

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it is loving lucanis dellamorte hours lads

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I like to think that occasionally, Lucanis has a moment where he forgets how repressed he is and gets to fully indulge in his massive crush on Rook. Like they’re so professional all the time because they have a job to do and Rook is his boss but when he goes back to his pantry after dinner he lays on his cot and starts kicking his feet and twirling his busted ass mullet like a teenage girl because Rook looked at him. And little does he know Rook is doing the exact same thing on the other side of the Lighthouse

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lucanis 🤝 krem arts and crafts boys

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"Buy good strangling cords? In this economy?" Says the man that makes crazy money killing people, whose family owns a huge, luxurious villa with a guest house and an opera house, the favourite grandson of a prominent mafia boss.

Seriously, though. Employed, financially conscious, well-off king that buys his own groceries, cooks, knits, and makes his own killing tools to save on expenses? Love to see it.

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lucanis is always so expressive, especially his eyes. i'm love him

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lucanis compilation for @dellamortte 🤗💜