feelslikepants

[feelslikepants]

Happy thedas weekend!! I was very intrigued to see Lucanis/Bellara on your list, I'd love to see them with the lyric 'But the monsters turned out to be just trees.' from the Taylor Swift prompt list! (Are they out of the woods yet? 🤪)

I love your username! XD I have written a lot of these two this weekend (apparently it was their turn with my brain XD) so I hope you enjoy a little snippet of fluff for once!

Bellara Lutare/Lucanis Dellamorte, camping trips, cultural exchange, fluff

@caughtnyact | @thedasweekend

the woods are lovely, dark and deep

The idea of a camping trip to Arlathan seemed a good one, at first. Bellara had, after all, shown every enthusiam for his tours of the markets and cafés of his beloved Treviso, but he had never given her beloved forest as much time or attention as it deserved. A part of it, of course, was Rook’s refusal to take them out on the same missions for some time. Yearning doesn’t help me in a fight, she’d said, hypocritally, given that the rest of them had to put up with her flirting with Neve at every opportunity. Then again, he could not describe her as ‘yearning’ — she was, if nothing else, far more active in her pursuit of her detective than Lucanis had been for Bellara.

Not that his Bellara was not a treasure worthy of active pursuit, but she had decided he was worthy of her long before he could admit it to himself, and it was far easier for her to come up with excuses to join him in Treviso than it had been for him to contrive reasons to visit Arlathan. And when they had visited her home, there had always been something to show up his city-bred roots, whether it had been tumbling into a pit trap so obvious Bellara had forgotten to remind him of it, or failing to pay sufficient attention many rains of floating rocks that scattered the skies of the forest. The second, at least, he was fairly sure was not an experience common to all forests. Bellara had assured him of that, as she’d smoothed healing potion over his broken arm, her brow furrowed in tender concern.

“I swear, it’s not always like this! Or- okay, no, it’s like this a lot of the time, but there are amazing things too, I promise!”

“I believe you, bella,” he had replied, cupping her cheek in his uninjured hand. “At some point, you must show me them.”

Which had, of course, set her and Harding into a flurry of excited planning from which he had been roundly excluded.

“It’s meant to be a surprise!” she’d scolded, cheeks flushing pink, when she caught him eavesdropping on their scheming.

“I do not typically deal well with surprises!” he pleaded, and she’d folded her arms, immovable:

“You’ve dragged me into plenty. Let me treat you for a change.”

And it had been a treat, at least in the daylight, for all that her first response to seeing him that morning had been: “Are you sure you want to get those clothes dirty?”

He had thought he’d selected an appropriate combination of aesthetically pleasing and practical pieces, but then, both of them were, according to Harding, unforgivably hard on their clothes.

“How at risk will they be?” he replied, and she scrunched up her nose, considering:

“I guess it depends on how real the ground is today. But it’s usually more likely to get quicksand-y around a waxing gibbous moon, so we should be OK today, I think?”

It always amazed him, how she could keep such complex and varied information in her head, and yet ever sound like she doubted her own knowledge, especially in Arlathan. When he saw her in the woods, moving swift and graceful as a halla down paths he would never even have noticed, she truly did seem closer to spirit than mortal, ethereal and lovely, with an understanding of the forest it had taken her a lifetime to attain. She knew when to jump, when to run for cover, and when it was safe to simply stop and admire the beauty that surrounded them: the elegant arches of some long-fallen great hall, framing the setting sun that cast rainbow light around them in brilliant, crystalline sparkles.

“I told you it was beautiful here,” she said, and he replied: “I have never seen anything sweeter,” but they both knew he was looking at her.

And that was true, at least until the sun had set, but once it was dark… once it was dark, the forest was a different world altogether, one of creeping shadows and noises a little too close to human. He tried to relax, to trust in Bellara’s honed instincts, but when he heard something too close to a scream, he bolted upright, and scrabbled for his blades.

Bellara leant up on her elbow with a yawn. “Bad dream? Spite need something?”

“A scream.” He was already shrugging on his jacket and peering out into the dark, cursing his too-human eyes.

Smell nothing, Spite complained at his shoulder. Tricksy forest.

He felt her hand on his shoulder, tugging him gently back towards their bedroll. “A fox, vhenan. Come back to bed.”

A rushing like great wings above them sent him ducking for cover, feeling the shadow of the archdemon pass over them.

“And that’s the trees,” she said, still far too calm, far too patient.

An eerie, rasping rattle that echoed off the rocks.

“And- okay, I’m not sure what that was, but it shouldn’t be able to break through the wards. Spite says I have the best of any of the Veiljumpers, and Neve helped me tinker them to be a little more efficient against mortals as well as monsters.”

He stared at her, baffled by her confidence, her impossible calm. “How do you have so much faith that there is nothing terrible out there?”

She rolled a shoulder in a shrug, and pulled him back towards her until he lay with his head in her lap. “It’s not faith. It’s a job, just like one of your contracts. Or- I guess not really, given that if I do my job right, nobody dies at all, but- as long as you’re pretty sure you’ve got contingencies for most of the things that could go wrong, you don’t need to worry until you need them.”

“So if that sound turned out to be some unknown and terrible form of darkspawn?”

“I’ve dropped some little packages of eau de Assan around the edges of our campsite, and if that doesn’t put them off, I have a couple of firebombs Davrin leant me in my pack.”

“And if that was Elgar’nan and his archdemon flying over just now?”

“Well, I don’t think I could stop an archdemon in its tracks with anything I’ve got in my bag, but we’re under cover, and a forest fire would trip the wards well before we were in any real danger.”

“And if that scream was a hapless victim of the Venatori?”

She smirked, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. She smelled of woodsmoke and something green and herbal, and he wanted to bury his face in her neck and breathe nothing else forever.

“It’s lucky I have the leading cause of death for Venatori in my tent, isn’t it?”

He pulled her down to kiss her, then, partially because he could not resist, and partially because if she was wrong, it would be better to keep them both awake. Of course, he felt a bit of a fool come morning, when the monsters turned out to be just trees, but Bellara’s swollen lips and flushed cheeks told him that she did not mind.

[feelslikepants]

And I do think they should’ve brought Sandal back in Veilguard, because if he made the trick lyrium dagger, handed it over, and said “Enchantment!” I wouldn’t even bat an eye or consider it a deus ex machina moment. Like yeah of course he could make a perfect copy, and it would be so similar that it could trick Solas. It’s Sandal.

The plot hole would be that his copy would absolutely be capable of rending the Veil.

[feelslikepants]

Oof you write them and break my heart but in the best possible way, I love it.

Dadrunkwriting, Bellara/Lucanis. You're never gonna get it I'm a hazard to myself.

This was a really fun warm-up for tonight! I hope you enjoy it. <3

Bellara Lutare/Lucanis Dellamorte, yearning, depression, trauma

@dadrunkwriting | @amloveabledeathmo

i will only break your pretty things

Bellara Lutare has a mouth that is never silent, and hands that are never still, and a mind that whirs and flickers like one of her incredible artifacts. Bellara Lutare has a smile that could outshine the sun, and quick dark eyes that see far too much far too quickly, and a heart overflowing with love and hope and sweetness. Bellara Lutare is, in all her aspects, the kind of beauty who could never have bloomed in the shadows of the Crows, in the allies and canals of Lucanis’ beloved Treviso, in the grief-veiled halls of the Villa Dellamorte.

She is like nobody he has ever met before because she is so exactly the antithesis of everything he knows. There are no secrets to Bellara, and her scars and her shadows have little in common with his own. He is the Demon of Vyrantium, Caterina Dellamorte’s favourite grandson and perfect weapon. She is the fairest flower of Arlathan Forest, the last, most perfect remnant of the ancient Elvhenan she is ever-curious about.

He does not understand how someone like her — someone so formed of hope and sunlight and the sweetest intentions — can look at someone like him — half a corpse, kept walking by the living embodiment of his own spite — and even smile, let alone… He should not even think such things of her, that her invitations to cook together or borrow books from her endlessly-growing library of serials or drink together in the kitchen when the rest of the Lighthouse is asleep could mean anything more than friendship. Pity, even, for a broken man who’s last contract will be the death of a god. But it is very hard to believe her only calling is pity, in the radiant sunlight of her smile.

It is only when he meets Cyrian that he can acknowledge the truth that Bellara hides even from herself. The truth — the impossible, irresistable truth — is that Bellara Lutare does not notice when someone is broken, will never accept the fact that anyone has fallen beyond the reach of her grace, her kindness. She does not understand — or refuses to believe — that when she gathers the pieces of him, tries to reassemble him into a man she could love rather than a broken creature she can only pity, he will only cut her quick, clever hands to pieces. She thinks that, like Cyrian, he is someone she can reach, can save. She does not realise that he has fallen far beyond her reach. That if he takes her hand, he will drag her down with him. She does not realise, so he must keep his distance, and keep her safe. Even if it breaks what little heart he has left.

[feelslikepants]

You worked so hard and these are all AMAZING!

Bellara Week 2025 Master Post

First and foremost big thanks to @datvcompanionweeks for hosting and all of their hard work.

I had a ton of fun participating and wanted to post the full collection together.

Day 1: Elven Traditions/Magic - Eluvian Harmonic Resonance

An academic paper by Bellara Lutare

Day 2: Veiljumpers - I got this for you!

Bellara has a new artifact she's so excited about. Irelin less so.

Day 3: Grief/Comfort - Do you have any notes on how to handle a brother gone insane you can share?

Bellara reflects on what's happened to Cyrian, while exchanging notes with the only person who might fully understand. (Belcanis)

Day 4: Romance - Teach Me

Bellara and Lucanis love sharing serials. But she wants to recreate some scenes with him. (Belcanis. NSFW)

Day 5: Post Canon - Nicknames

Bellara wants a cute nickname for her boyfriend but when she can't think of one she goes to ask the one person who might know Lucanis better than her. Surely Illario will help!

Day 6: Archive - Conversations with a Ghost

Rook interviews solas to help Bellara unlock the power of the Archive. Rook must love her a lot to spend this much time with th dread wolf in his prison. (F/F Rook x Bellara)

Day 7: Free Day - In the Markets

Bellara has a new idea to try for her serial. Lucanis and Spite lend a hand. (Belcanis, Bellara x Spite. NSFW)

I had a great time and will be devoting some time to read and comment on all new fics in the next few weeks. 💜💜💜

[feelslikepants]

dust's bellara x lucanis masterlist

all artwork is SFW unless otherwise marked

dust and sunlight

keeper of knowledge (Bellara only)

photobooth (Bellara and Spite; Bellara/Lucanis)

birds of paradise AU: Lucanis florist comic (Lucanis only) be mine, valentine!

you can read me anything

wyvern sweater arc: knitting together Lucanis in the sweater (+ bonus fic by Rennastar!) Bellara in the sweater (+ bonus fic by Rennastar!)

fanart for Rennastar (NSFT, implied cockwarming)

like my work? you can tip me on ko-fi!

all my work is available for free for everyone. your tip goes towards my hosting costs and bubble tea (boba) to fuel me while I create <3

[feelslikepants]

@datvcompanionweeks Bellara Week 2025 Day 4: Friendship | Romance

okay, I didn't even hurt Bellara at all, and I only hurt Lucanis a little, so I'm not counting this as angst lol

12 million years ago I said I was going to write the scene of Bellara showing Lucanis how to take stuff apart that was implied by that one in-game banter. I have finally fulfilled this promise, hooray!

⚠️(mild, vague) DATV spoilers

--

Lucanis sits at Bellara's desk, looking at the spiky, octagonal box she's procured, and feelingly vaguely intimidated by its adversarial exterior.

Spite informs him he wants to fight it. And then eat it.

Lucanis firmly vetoes his suggestion, and looks to Bellara for guidance.

"Okay, so first we have to get it open," Bellara says, handing Lucanis a long, flat file, nicked and worn down from creative usage. "So you just need to shove that in the gap between the pieces here."

She indicates the opening, and he pushes the tool inside carefully.

"And then you just kind of push it against one side to apply pressure, and it should come open!"

After a moment it does, letting out a slight hissing noise.

"Great! So, then you just do that again in a few other places, and then we should be able to get to all the inside parts!"

Lucanis is more careful than he suspects he needs to be, judging by Bellara's antsy shifting at his shoulder, but he would prefer if this… thing didn't explode in his face.

Spite tells Lucanis that he would like to see an explosion very much. Soon.

The interior of the artifact is filled with a dizzying variety of tiny, gleaming pieces. It's obvious, even to him, that some of them are broken, with how they're scattered haphazardly amongst the others.

"Okay, this is the fun part!" Bellara says, eyes shining. She hands him a pair of small pliers, and grabs another pair for herself. "Wherever one of the pieces is slotted into the sides of the artifact, you can grab it with the pliers and kinda wiggle it back and forth, and it should come out!"

"And if it does not?" Lucanis asks, watching her pull at something that looks like a support with something too forceful to qualify as "wiggling".

"Well, then it might be fused to the casing, and we'll need something else to get it off. A saw, or something. We can do that later!"

"Bellara," he says, gingerly following her lead, "don't you want to be able to reassemble this, at some point?"

"Oh well, usually!" she confirms. She turns, and Lucanis narrowly dodges to avoid being hit by her hair. "But this one is really broken, so we're not going to be able to get it working, again. We're just stripping it for parts! I thought it might be a fun thing to try first, since you don't have to worry about breaking anything!"

"But if the pieces break, wouldn't they be unusable?"

"Well, maybe," she says, yanking a blue crystal out of its casing, "but it's not that big of a deal. We can reshape things, or make them into something else, or melt them down, even!"

She grabs his hand and moves it over to a section with some metal parts that look like they might have been structural supports, at some point.

"Don't think about it too much," she encourages. "Just start!"

He eyes her skeptically, but resolves to give it his best attempt.

It's more absorbing than he thought it would be. There are so many tiny pieces, most of them fitting together in intricate, orderly patterns; teasing them apart, organizing them into little piles based on what he thinks they might do is… satisfying, in a way. And the destruction— minor as it is— makes Spite happy.

As they work, more and more layers of mechanical parts are revealed, and Lucanis has the impression of looking into some tiny city. The repeated movements married with the concrete, achievable objective capture his focus; take his mind away from the things that he's been turning over and over, in recent days.

"When Cyrian died—" Bellara says, startling him out of the reverie, "I mean, when I thought he died— I took a lot of stuff apart. I kept going back to Irelin asking for whatever broken things people had found. I'd just sit in the forest for hours, pulling them open."

The sour thought of Illario returns to him, tangled and belligerent.

"Did it help?" he asks.

He tugs too hard on a delicate spiral structure. It breaks.

He pauses; breathes.

Carefully, he chastises himself.

Bellara reaches over with her pliers and pulls the whole piece away, revealing a tiny series of cogs beneath.

"A little," she says. "I really wanted to not think about him. I wanted to be distracted. And I was, for a while."

She stops, squinting down at some piece that Lucanis can't see. She removes her hairpin and shoves the end into the space, pulling it out with a tiny coil around it.

"But I started thinking about it again, eventually," she continues. "And it was really awful. It was just so… big, you know? I couldn't do anything. Thinking about it made my hands stop working."

Lucanis hums. Thinks of hours he has spent in front of half-sharpened knives, these past evenings.

"But then I started to pretend that—" she stops herself, looking over at him. "You can't make fun of me, okay?"

He nods. He would never.

"I started to pretend that all the little stuff I was taking out was a part of the big thing I was feeling. That the springs were my anger at him, or the little cogs were me missing him. And when I took those parts out, it was easier to look at each of them. And figure out what they were for— or, why I was feeling that. Does that make sense?"

She tilts her head at him, quizzically.

He nods. Feels words trapped in his throat, incorrectly formed.

"I'm not saying you're supposed to do that, or it has to work like that, for you," Bellara says quickly. "But it worked like that, for me. And it didn't fix it, but it helped, a little. So I just thought it might— it's stupid, I'm sorry—"

"Bellara," he stops her. "It's not. It's… not. Thank you."

She smiles at him. It reminds him of the sunlight filtering through the windows, high above them.

"You're welcome," she says, pushing her hair back behind her ear. "And if… I know you maybe don't want to talk about that stuff. But if you do. You can talk to me. I'll listen."

He touches the back of her hand, briefly.

"Thank you," he repeats, soft.

It's not enough. It's not what he means to say.

But she just smiles like she understands.

They go back to work, together.

[feelslikepants]

For Bellara week, my offering for day 5 is post-canon. Thanks to @datvcompanionweeks for the prompts!

Day 5: Post-canon, pre-wedding chat in Treviso. Lucanis/Bellara, 1600 words, PGish. Can be read here on AO3 or it's also under the cut.

Day 5: Post-Canon

“There, that looks sweet now, doesn’t it?”

There’s a slight tug on Bellara’s hair as Teia adjusts one of the blossoms tucked into her complicated hairstyle, then she leans back and stares at her reflection consideringly.

“Well,” Bellara says, “they’re more familiar and not as heavy as that thing.”

Teia picks up the jewel-encrusted diadem and twirls it in her hands. “You shine all by yourself. You don’t need more gems trying to take attention away from you.”

“If that’s what they’re doing, maybe I do need more then.”

“Come now, enjoy it for the day,” Teia laughs. “Here, let me put this away and get the other necklace. I think it would match much better if you’re going to have the flowers in your hair instead.”

Teia steps away from her and pauses at the door, glancing back. “I can have someone else come sit with you while I’m gone. Rook perhaps? Or Neve?”

“No, no, I’m good,” Bellara says, because everyone has been busy with a hundred last minute errands that keep popping up.

Teia glances around the room contemplatively but nods. “I’ll be back soon.”

Bellara tries to let out a breath and relax, but the stays keep her ribs constricted and back straight. She tries to squirm a little to get more comfortable but the gown is tailored and tied so tightly there’s no wiggle room at all.

A soft tapping sounds to her left, and Bellara manages to stand and moves carefully in the uncomfortable work of art to open the window. There’s no balcony in sight, just a thin ledge that Lucanis is somehow using to balance as he climbs in, perfectly handsome and unruffled in his own suit. 

“Wow,” she says, impressed. “You have to show me how you did that later. I bet I could use it in my next chapter when - wait. Why did you use the window?”

Lucanis is very obviously taking her in, eyes wide. He lifts one of her hands and brushes his mouth over her fingers, smiling softly at her in a way that makes her insides feel like goop. Instead of answering, he says, “You look lovely.”

“Thanks. You look really handsome too.” Bellara makes a face as the fabric-covered bones pinch into her side. “And more comfortable.”

“Bellara was. Prettier in the forest. Smelled like. More Bellara. Better. Now smells like other birds.”

“Spite,” Lucanis scolds, but Bellara grins.

“Thanks. My aunties worked hard on that dress.”

“You were beautiful in it,” Lucanis says fondly. For all the expense and ceremony in Antiva, she knows that he genuinely had enjoyed (and perhaps preferred) the five days of celebration they had months ago with her family’s clan. 

“You still didn’t answer why you came in through the window.”

“Ah, Teia wouldn’t let me in through the door, and I didn’t want you to find me at the end of the aisle with a knife in my side for trying to get past her so I waited until she left.”

Bellara thinks there’s a decent chance Teia knows anyway because she seems to know everything, but she doesn’t comment. She feels like she has barely been alone for the past week with everyone demanding her opinion except the one person she’s wanted the most, and she wants him to stay for as long as they can get away with.

“Right, you’re not supposed to see me in this beforehand,” she says. “I still don’t understand why.”

“It’s just tradition,” Lucanis answers. He leads her to sit again, adjusting the volume of diaphanous fabric for her that Bellara is worried that she’s going to rip (again - and she still feels bad about having to send Lace out to get the tailor yesterday). 

“Even though we’re already married?”

“I argued we didn’t need another wedding,” Lucanis points out. “You were the one who said it was fine.”

“I don’t think Caterina and Teia would have listened to me anyway if I said no,” she says, although she does remember that they both asked her at least (unlike apparently Lucanis) and explained why they thought it was important to have a wedding in Treviso as well.

“Bellara, you are the only one they would have listened to.”

“That’s not true,” she protests. “And anyway, I figured it was fair since we did my traditions first, so it doesn’t seem nice for you to use my words against me. Especially when I’m stuck with this digging into me.”

“My poor wife,” Lucanis says but he sounds amused at her expense. Despite that, he moves behind her, and she can feel him pulling at the ribbons which loosen around her sides just a little.

“That’s so much better,” Bellara sighs in instant relief at the small reprieve. “But Teia is definitely going to notice.”

“I’ll dodge when I see her,” Lucanis says, and he is careful as he steps back around to her front. “You’re worth a little danger.”

“Oh,” Bellara manages and was hoping that once they were married she’d be less flustered by him. 

Lucanis cups her cheek and she feels her face heat up as he bends down to press their mouths together. She can move a little easier, but it’s not enough for her to comfortably lean against him the way her body naturally inclines to do. She tries anyway, letting the stiff fabric and bone dig into her as she reaches toward him.

He eventually pulls back and thumbs across her lower lip, which does terrible things to Bellara’s breathing (and is nothing short of unfortunate in the already restrictive dress). 

“I suppose this is why I’m not supposed to see you - so I don’t ruin all of this hard work beforehand.”

“It’s been a lot,” Bellara acknowledges. “But it’s only one day, so it’s not too bad.”

The smear of color on his mouth from her own twists low in Bellara’s gut, and she hopes he leaves it there. She has been working hard to ignore how expensive the whole day has been, and she is never going to a tailor or jeweler again (no matter what Lucanis thinks) but the make up hasn’t been so bad. She thinks maybe she can try wearing it again in the future to see him kiss it off her. 

“We don’t have to stay the whole night,” Lucanis suggests. 

He finds the shoes Bellara had avoided putting on (both because she doesn’t like the heel and because she can’t actually bend over that far) and kneels in front of her. She shivers as his fingers brush over first one foot then the other, helping put them on for her.

“We don’t?”

“No. Teia said that we have to stay for the first dance, but that I can take you away any time after that if you seem overwhelmed.”

“Oh, got it! I can definitely do that,” Bellara says. She thinks that he’ll want to get away even more than she will based on the sheer number of times he’s attempted to cancel their Trevisan wedding, but she’s happy to cover for both of them. “Do you think it’s enough to just say I want to leave, or do you think I should faint or something?”

“Let’s save fainting for a back up plan,” Lucanis replies. He reaches for the opera length gloves that Bellara maintains are a stupid addition (especially since it requires her to have a second, larger ring to fit over them during the ceremony).

“I bet I could also do something to the lanterns I made,” Bellara muses to distract herself from the feeling of Lucanis’s fingers smoothing fabric up her arms. 

“Please don’t blow anything up,” Lucanis says quickly. “Not again.”

“It was really small, and I fixed it right away,” Bellara protests. “You’re not going to let that go, are you?”

“It keeps me on my toes at least,” Lucanis says and secures a bracelet around her wrist. His touch is warm even through the gloves. 

“I should leave before Teia comes back,” he adds, although he sounds reluctant. 

Bellara curls her hand around his and squeezes. “It’s almost time to start, right? So we’ll be back together soon and then we can leave before you know it.”

Lucanis tugs lightly on the neckline of her gown. “And then we can get you out of this, hm?”

“Yes, please.” Bellara knows he’s teasing her, but she’s been thinking about getting out of her dress since she was stuffed into it.

Lucanis’s mouth twitches like he’s holding back his laughter, and he helps her stand again. “I’ll be sure to perform my duty as your husband to undress you with the utmost care.”

“Next time we have to dress up for anything, you get to wear the corset,” Bellara grouses, although even as she says it, she thinks he might look good in one. She wonders if she can convince him to try it.

“I don’t want to know what you were just thinking,” he says and frowns. He leans forward to kiss her cheek swiftly, then puts a foot on the windowsill. “Close this after me?”

“I’m going to tell you later anyway,” Bellara promises because he usually ends up going along with her ideas.

She can’t quite bend enough out the window to see where he ends up but she watches as much of Lucanis’s progress as she can to write out in her next chapter. Once he’s out of her view entirely, she closes the window and waits for Teia to return so she can go marry her husband a second time.

[feelslikepants]

A little late, but still on the day for me! For Bellara week 2025, prompt romance from @datvcompanionweeks.

Lucanis takes Bellara to see Phantom of the Opera. Here on A03 but also under the cut, PG and 1064 words, Lucanis x Bellara.

Bellara feels awkward accompanying Lucanis to the Opera House. She re-wears the dress that Neve and Lace had helped her buy for the prior fancy date Lucanis had planned, but everything is still all so much more expensive than she’s used to. And in Treviso no less, where everyone looks at Lucanis first and then treats her so stiffly and formally when they see her hand linked with his; she doesn’t think anyone’s ever called her ma’am before.

She had been prepared to leave her books and journal and quill behind to try to focus, but Lucanis packed them all and insisted that she bring them anyway. There’s a candle left lit in their box for her at Lucanis’s request, and Lucanis reassures her that no one will bother her if she take notes but that he rather thought she would enjoy the story.

Bellara feels warm all over at his concern for her comfort, but she settles in after dragging in a third seat for Spite and is sure she can focus for a few hours (despite the Symphony Debacle as she calls it in her head). It’s all new and a little strange, the sort of place she never would have gone (or been allowed to go?) before, but she likes music and Lucanis has a fair idea of what kind of stories she enjoys.

Bellara does not open her journal once.

Her mind races with ideas and her fingers itch to take notes so she doesn’t forget any of them, but whenever her hand even starts to move toward her bag, there’s a new song or change in scenery or the actors looking at each other so intensely - and what if she looks down and misses something? She tries to etch each costume, each line of dialogue or song into her brain to review and examine later.

“Bellara? Are you ready to leave?”

She startles, twisting in her seat abruptly to face Lucanis. His eyebrows are drawn together, and he has the hand that shook her shoulder still held out, hovering uncertainly. Judging by the way that the theater is fully lit again, Bellara thinks she must have been sitting lost in her thoughts for longer than she realized.

“Sorry, sorry, it’s just - wow. That was amazing.” Bellara can’t hold back the squeak in her voice, and she reaches forward to grab Lucanis’s hand excitedly. 

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Lucanis replies, and his mouth twitches up in a smile.

“How could I not? It was so… romantic! But also creepy. Creepy romantic. Is that a thing?”

“Yes, that’s how it goes.”

“And I felt so bad for him, you know? There are lots of places that he could have lived other than the sewer - hey, wait, I thought they didn’t have sewers in Treviso? Or basements?”

“They don’t,” Lucanis confirms. “So maybe this is not set exactly in Treviso.”

Bellara’s shoulders slump - she didn’t exactly think they would find anything if they went exploring but… you never know. 

“Anyway, so that was a pretty mean thing to put him down there. And I don’t think he really needed the mask or anything, but he seemed fine with it. Like she didn’t notice anything wrong with it. Why couldn’t he just, you know, wear the mask outside?”

“Drama,” Lucanis suggests.

Bellara eyes him critically. In general, she finds him pretty handsome - she doesn’t think it’ll take anything away from him if his face is half-covered.

“It wouldn’t be hard to find a mask,” he says, like he can read her thoughts.

“I wasn’t,” Bellara protests but she gives up quickly at his raised eyebrow. “Okay, maybe I was.”

“I think people have written alternative endings where the noblewoman does end up with him if you want to try to find one. Or you can write your own, I suppose.”

“Oh no,” Bellara shakes her head. “I don’t want that. Just because I felt bad for him, doesn’t mean he wasn’t wrong with the murder and the stalking.”

“Then why would you want me to wear a mask?”

“Oh, I just think it would be, you know, hot.”

Lucanis opens his mouth but Spite cuts in to say, “Yes! I liked. The mask.”

“Of course you did.”

“Right?” Bellara enthuses. “You already look really good in capes.” 

“Well then,” Lucanis stands and tugs lightly on their still linked hands. Bellara realizes the theater is nearly empty and scrambles up after him. “So I see you don’t think love justifies everything he did.”

“I’m not even sure he was really in love with her. Just creepily obsessed,” Bellara muses, although she thinks his song in the beginning was so filled with longing, she wishes she had the lyrics to help inspire her writing.

“Perhaps,” Lucanis answers. “Then you prefer Raoul?”

“The childhood friendship to romance was the most romantic,” she gushes and has to let go of his hand so she can gesture to explain herself better. “The way they both remembered each other? His nickname for her? And then he went racing after her - it was so good!”

Bellara wonders briefly if there’s room in the story she’s writing to add that into the background of the assassin love interest, but she thinks she would have to go back and rewrite too much of it. Maybe she could start another story? Would writing two stories at once be too much though?

“This was a much better idea than the symphony, I see,” Lucanis says. “Then you would not be opposed to another date here sometime?” 

Bellara’s first impulse is to feel guilty and reassure him that she liked both dates he planned even if they did have to leave the symphony early, but her mind catches and stutters on the most important fact. “You mean we can come back?”

Lucanis blinks, a little unsure. “Of course, why wouldn’t we be able to?”

“Can we see this again?” she asks hopefully.

“There are other things we can see as well,” Lucanis starts, but he pauses, staring intently at her for a moment, then sighs. “Yes, we can see this again. As many times as you like.”

Bellara can’t contain her happy little wiggle and latches onto his arm again. She has the best boyfriend, and he will look so dashing in the mask that she’s pretty sure she can make herself for him.

[feelslikepants]

I love this so much, I had to read it again.

Do you have any notes on how to handle a brother gone insane you can share?

Bellara Week Day 3 - Grief / Comfort

Teen and Up, SFW

Bellara and Cyrian created careful rituals and rules. Ways to keep themselves safe every time they work. But as she grapples with what he’s become, she reaches out to the only other person who might understand how badly rituals with a brother can be twisted.

5+1 Prompt + Burgeoning Belcanis with letter writing

[feelslikepants]

Still can't get over how good this one is.

sweater weather [previously: 1, 2]

full image under cut

full size view please!

I tried a lot of new things with colouring and shading and I'm really happy with how it turned out

[feelslikepants]

Fic

Day 3 for Bellara week from @datvcompanionweeks prompt list, hurt / comfort.

On AO3 here but also under the cut (974 words, G, features Bellara thinking about Cyrian post-game, Spite and Lucanis try to help).

Missing Cyrian always hits her suddenly, unexpectedly.

One minute Bellara has three different, disconnected thoughts bouncing around in her head, and she wonders idly, almost casually, what Cyrian’s opinion would be; the next minute grief knifes through her so suddenly and painfully that she can’t breathe. 

But there’s no time to wallow in her emotions when her gods (false gods - false gods, she still has to stop and remind herself, still struggling to wrap her brain around that) are trying to destroy the world; she still sits with them, thinks about her brother, but there’s not entirely time to fall apart. Even after, there’s blight to worry about (half-dead but still everywhere), homes to rebuild, people to help, artifacts still breaking and buzzing and activating with leftover pockets of energy.

Strife was very definite when he told Bellara to take a vacation, though, so she’s in Treviso trying her hand at taking a break. Lucanis had a meeting that couldn’t be rescheduled, so she’s on her own in Villa Dellamorte, thinking that maybe she can surprise him with a late lunch when he’s done. The cook - one of the cooks? she’s not really sure how many people work there and why do they even need cooks? - leaves her the run of the kitchen to go lay down after Bellara attempts to insist on making something for the woman as well. 

She is digging through the pantry for another onion when she sees a spider skitter away from the sack, and suddenly it feels like her chest is cracking open from the force of an unexpected blow.

It’s stupid, she thinks, so stupid. It’s small and she’s fine with spiders; they’re so common in any case, there’s no reason for them to remind her of anything. Sure it was funny when Cyrian ran scared from them, but it’s not like it came up a lot. Really, it was only ever that bad the one time she told Taash about when Cyrian - when her brother -

Grief clogs her throat, and her chest judders with the force it takes her to inhale. Her eyes are hot and ache no matter how she tries to rub them to make them stop; the skin of her cheeks is itchy under the dampness. It feels like no longer than a few moments that Bellara is standing there alone with her tears, but suddenly there are arms pulling her into an embrace, the static-warm feeling of Spite’s wings sweeping around her.

“What happened? What’s wrong?”

Bellara tries to answer, but she’s not entirely sure Lucanis can make sense of the words that get garbled in between deep, heaving cries. He keeps her tucked close, cradling her head against his shoulder, and she can barely hear him through the cotton wool filling up her head. She eventually feels him press his mouth to her temple, and the vibration of him humming against her skin starts to cut through the fog. 

“Spider,” she eventually manages to choke out, and Lucanis makes a questioning noise against her that rumbles his whole chest.

“Spider,” she tries again. “I don’t - it was - but Cyrian -”

His arms tighten around her briefly, and she sinks into the comfort he’s offering her - abruptly he’s gone. She almost overbalances in his absence, hands grasping at nothing, and there’s a thunk behind her.

She turns slowly, and Lucanis’s eyes are limned magenta as he presents to her a dagger proudly, tip nearly splitting the poor arachnid in half.

“No more spider,” Spite says. “Help Bellara. No more crying.”

Lucanis blinks into himself again, and he looks momentarily stunned before he lets out a pained groan. “Spite.”

Bellara’s face twitches, and she raises her hands to cover her snort but she can’t contain herself from bursting into surprised laughter. It bubbles up from her gut, aching in an entirely different way, and her ribs struggle to expand enough to take full breaths. 

Lucanis stares at her bemusedly while he takes care of his dagger, and at the look on his face, she can’t help doubling over and cackling.

“Bellara?” he asks tentatively, once she starts to get herself under control. “Are you… all right?”

“Laughing is better than leaking,” Spite says decisively. 

“You’re right,” Bellara agrees. “Thank you Spite.”

A pleased growl emanates from Lucanis’s vocal cords, then he lets out a sigh, shoulders dropping slightly. He reaches forward, thumbing at the sticky skin under her eye.

“You seem as though you’re feeling a bit better.”

Bellara leans away from him and bats his hands away. “I’m all gross now!” 

“Never,” Lucanis says, but he takes her hand instead and leads her away from the onions. He finds a clean cloth to wet and carefully wipes her face for her, and the gesture lodges warmly in her chest. 

“Thank you,” Bellara says. “Did your meeting finish?”

Lucanis shrugs dismissively in a way that makes her suspicious as he answers, “It is now. Come, what upset you so much?”

“I just…” Bellara bites her lower lip, hesitant, but she knows he won’t judge her, that he was there when her world turned over again and then once more. “Sometimes I think about Cyrian. Or something little reminds me.”

“Ah,” Lucanis says as he folds her hands between her own. “And a spider reminded you of him somehow?”

“Well, he was scared of them.” Bellara squeezes her fingers with Lucanis’s and frowns. “It was easier when it was busy. Not as much time for it I guess.”

“It is… better to talk about it,” Lucanis says but the words sound strange in his mouth, a concept he’s trying out for her benefit, and it makes her smile a little. “You look like you were making something to eat. Let’s finish together, and you can tell me good stories about your brother.”

“Really?”

“Of course.”

[feelslikepants]

Re-dooting because I saw Manfred a skull on someone's dashboard at the store just now, and I want to write more funny Manfred but for now, have this one!

Needs Salt

600 words. Bellara, Manfred, Emmrich and Spite

Cooking and humor

“Spirits have no frame of reference for our figures of speech,” Emmrich said, his chuckle filling the kitchen as he approached the cooktop. He joined Bellara and Spite, still dabbing at the tears of laughter in his eyes.

[feelslikepants]

Fic

I wrote some little things for Bellara week! From @datvcompanionweeks prompt list.

The first chapter is her hanging out in the Fade with Spite/Lucanis, but the second day for family is her hanging out with Neve for my interpretation of family. :)

Link to them hanging out here but also the second chapter (600 words, rated G) is short enough that I put it under the cut.

Prompt: Family

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“Oh my gosh, are you kidding? Side-kick to the Neve Gallus? I’ve been waiting for this moment!”

“Bel,” Neve sighs.

“Right, right, sorry,” Bellara says. She tries to focus on the gear she is tightening, but her attention drifts again. “Hey, do you think they’ll mention me if they write this up in a newsheet?”

“Trust me, it’s not as exciting as you think,” Neve replies. She crouches down next to where Bellara is sprawled, apparently unconcerned with sitting on filthy ground in the middle of Dock Town in the drizzling rain. “If this doesn’t work, it’s okay, really.”

“No, I’ve almost got it,” Bellara protests. “Blood magic leaves lots of traces of ambient energy in the air. I found this in the Lighthouse, and I’m sure I can tune it to follow that trail specifically.”

“If you show me how to use it, you don’t have to stick around,” Neve tries again. “The few Venatori we’ve been able to track down have been desperate and all the more dangerous for it.”

“That’s even more reason for me to stay, isn’t it?”

“Bel,” Neve says and her whole demeanor softens. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” Bellara says cheerfully. “I’ve got to watch your back, don’t I?”

Bellara’s concentration sharpens on the elongated object in her lap as she alternates holding it up to check the ticking of the metronome on one end and making further adjustments with her wrench. Eventually she holds the rectangular box up in triumph and scrambles off the ground, and Neve follows her to stand.

“Done!” she announces. “Are you ready to try it out?”

“It’s not going to blow up on us, is it?”

“No! Well, I’m pretty sure not. I can definitely stop it in time if anything happens. Probably.”

“I guess those are the best odds I’ve had in a while. If you’re sure about coming, then let’s go.”

Bellara pauses and cradles the artifact to her chest. “You really don’t have any other clues?”

“No, you’re all it.”

“Thanks for trusting me with this then,” Bellara says quietly. “Really, anything I can do to help you… I guess I don’t always seem like the most reliable, but -”

“Hey,” Neve interrupts her firmly. “I don’t want to hear any of that. You are, I just.”

Neve cuts herself off, and the corners of her mouth pull down, gaze flicking away from Bellara briefly. Her voice is tentative when she continues, “I guess even now I have trouble remembering I can ask for help.”

“You don’t have to do things alone,” Bellara says quickly, earnestly. “I want to be there for you! Whenever you need something and even when you don’t. You’ve helped me so much all the time, and I want to return the favor.”

“It’s not a tit-for-tat, Bel.”

“No, no, I know that. I promise.” Bellara huffs and gestures vaguely with her arms still full of ticking artifact as if that will help her explain herself more clearly. “It’s more like - that’s what sisters do, right?”

“Right,” Neve says and her mouth quirks up. “It’s the same for me with you, you know. Sisters.”

She still has a blood mage to find and bring to justice but in this moment she feels her tension melting away into something light and tender that she doesn’t often let herself feel. Bellara’s whole face radiates a softness that makes her ache, and Neve clears her throat, a little embarrassed at her own reaction. 

“Right. Enough of that sappy stuff now, we’ve got a Venatori to find. Lead on, Bel.”

[feelslikepants]

Pet a cat first 🐈, go on a mission second 🗡️

[feelslikepants]

I just got the cutest commission from @negativesd09 ! Love their art!

[feelslikepants]

Hey!!! Happy dasweekend, may I prompt you "the knives in the kitchen are singing for blood, but we are at the crossroads, my little outlaw" for Bellara Lutare (either alone or with someone else). Hope you have fun!

This was such a delicious prompt, so I hope you enjoy some angsty Bellara/Lucanis/Spite...

Lucanis Dellamorte/Bellara Lutare/Spite, angst, yearning, spoilers for Through the Shadows, grief, mourning, canon divergence

@the-bear-and-his-sunbird | @thedasweekend

the knives in the kitchen are singing for blood

There are few things that Spite and Lucanis agree on, most of the time, but protecting Bellara? Protecting Bellara is always one of them. They are united in purpose as they race after her through the Crossroads, through the maze of ruins and portals and traps and eluvians that her treacherous brother has set in their path. They are united in anger as the memories of her bright, beautiful voice echo in their ears, trembling, pleading, begging to be heard by the one person who should have loved her most. They are united in bloodlust when they sink a blade into Cyrion Lutare’s lying throat, and let him bleed out before the sister who’s sweetness he did not deserve.

The disjuncture comes afterwards, when Spite is crowing victorious in his ears (“Made him pay! Made him suffer! Will never hurt her ever ever again!”) and Bellara’s face is grey and drawn with horror.

“You killed him!” Her voice hitches in a sob, in disbelief, for all that they all know what they came here to do. “Lucanis- Spite- I- I-”

Rook wraps a protective arm around her shoulders, brings her in for a protective embrace that has Spite snarling with jealousy, with want that Lucanis will not allow him to satisfy. This — the boy at his feet, the girl weeping into her friend’s shoulder, rather than his own — is why he cannot permit himself to touch her, however much his skin itches to know the softness and warmth of her own.

“I’m sorry, Bel,” she says, gently. “I don’t- I’m not sure we had another choice. He didn’t listen, before. He would’ve summoned Anaris whatever you said to him.”

“But at least I would have said it!” Her voice is muffled by Rook’s shoulder, but Lucanis knows well enough to understand the rage in her voice is aimed at him. “At least I would’ve tried everything I could- you couldn’t even give me that?” she demands, wheeling to glare at him from the circle of Rook’s arms.

Spite lurches to the surface of their mind and lunges for her then, captures the soft curves of her cheeks between hands curled to claws, and Lucanis is submerged in the ice-cold terror that he is going to hurt her-

But he only wipes the tears from her cheeks and licks them from his fingers, salt-sweet, bitter.

“Hurt you!” Spite growls. “Nobody hurts our Bellara! Sweetness and sharpness and sun-beneath-the-sea! Never sorrowful or sobbing!”

“You hurt me!” she snaps back, and Spite flinches from her words, coiling back in their shared mind with the wince of a kicked dog. He does not understand. Lucanis- Lucanis cannot make him understand, because despite his regret, his best intentions, he does not understand the wound he has inflicted on Bellara, or why killing Cyrion had, in the moment, felt like the only natural choice. The only possible choice. I love you, Vora’shivan, he’d said, but he’d hurt her anyway, taken her friends and transformed them into monsters, endangered her time and again for his own mysterious goals. That is not love- or, no. It is a familiar kind of love, the only kind of love Lucanis has ever known. It is not the kind of love that sweet, sharp-witted Bellara deserves.

He is not the man she deserves, demon or no demon, and perhaps it is better like this — a clean line drawn between them, painted in the crimson of her brother’s blood. When she avoids him, afterwards, it is almost a relief. It would be too much to sit in a kitchen filled with the bright trill of her voice, and to know that she is now (was always) forever beyond his reach.

Except-

Except, like the sun, Bellara creeps into his mind through the smallest of cracks. He sees a strange, half-wrecked device in the Crossroads, a new strange ripple of magic within the Fade, some strange Arlathan blossom with a heart of purest gold, and stores the memory away to share with her, only to feel the lash of Spite’s thwarted rage when he recalls that, of course, he cannot. This does not stop the demon’s constant, nagging wantwantwant. It would, perhaps, be easier if Spite’s demands did not echo in every beat of his own treacherous heart.

Like the sun, when she steps into the kitchen, it’s like all the cold in the world has burned away, and left no shadows for him to cling to.

“Bellara,” he says, and even now, her name tastes like honey in his mouth. Sunlight and sweetness, Spite eagerly agrees. “I can leave-”

“No,” she says. Her eyes are still dark with sorrow, her hair straggling from its bun, but her jaw is set, determined. “I came here to talk to you. You and- and Spite, if he’ll talk to me.”

Yesyesyes talk to Bellara pretty summer-sweet Bellara, make her understand, make her see-

“I am- not sure that is a good idea,” he says, awkwardly, and in the back of his mind, the demon howls.

“Please,” she says, and how can he refuse her, “I- I just need to understand-”

“There is nothing to understand,” he says, because it is, unfortunately, that simple. “He hurt you. He- we cannot abide you to be hurt. In this we were united. I am only sorry it carried us further than you would have preferred.”

“That’s just it.” She takes a step towards them, slow and deliberate, until she is within arm’s reach, until she can take his face in her hands and force him to look down at her. “I don’t think it was about protecting me at all, was it?”

“I thought- I wanted-” His thoughts are splintered, out of joint, Cyrion’s face flickering into Illario’s, their masks blurring and colliding until he- Spite cannot tell the difference between the two. “We wanted to spare you the pain of a brother’s betrayal. There are few fates crueller than playing judge and executioner to someone you- care for.”

“I could have survived it.”

“You should not have had to.”

She drops her hand from his cheek, then, turns to leave, and Spite itches in his fingertips to catch her wrist, to make her stay, but he resists, he resists.

She pauses in the doorway, haloed in the warm light of the dining room, and says: “I don’t know if it’ll mean anything, but- you shouldn’t have had to make that choice, either.”

It is not, perhaps, forgiveness, but maybe it is the closest he will ever come. He can accept such a fate, if it allows him to remain in the sunlight of her smile a little longer.

[feelslikepants]

I thought I was done with them, but somehow instead of more cute fluffy Lucanis/Bellara what came out was another chapter of Illario fucking Bellara for fun.

I'm using the link option on Tumblr but isn't hasn't been working right, but this is chapter 2 of an orlesian exit.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63463870/chapters/164555284