sigyn-briarrose

[sigyn-briarrose]

by Shade of Stars‬

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quick-ish pieces based on the crow's outfit concept art

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Used wonderful gif by @molinaesque !

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Please tell me how Emmrich would make love to Rook after them confessing their feelings <3

He starts slow. Now, he's waited, and yearned, and he wants nothing more than to push Rook against the nearest stable piece of furniture, but important things are savored. And Rook is most definitely worth savoring. Do you know what that does to a man? When his heart is suddenly outside of his body in human form. Every look a frenetic beat that says I'm here, I'm yours, you're not alone anymore.

His hands settle at Rook's waist. A firm squeeze, grounding for both of them, and he has to look at them for a moment, trace every feature that he memorized long before this.

For every one piece of clothing removed from Rook, he follows. Never would he allow them to be so vulnerable without him. The body is a cathedral of knowledge, and he intends to study Rook's with alacrity.

He's an experienced man as well as an anatomist, and he doesn't need to be inside of Rook to render their mind blank, fuzzy and full with only the thought of him, his voice, and how his fingers conduct them. And as an older man, one who has spent many lonely nights with only the thought of Rook's company, he wants to ensure that they are sufficiently satisfied before taking his own pleasure. He won't last.

But after, it's quite fair game. Rook may walk funny for a while, and people start to notice the bangles on their arms, and the marks on their neck. Of course, what they don't see is the imprint of Professor Volkarin's fingers at their hips.

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That one time Emmrich shaved his mustache and literally everyone was convinced he'd been replaced by a demon in disguise, including Lucanis and Spite, and he had to talk them all down from conducting a violent exorcism. Good times.

Also, happy

🎉 WIP WEDNESDAY 🍿

I'm currently working on the next pages of No Time To Apologize! I've gotten an extension on my deadline for my thesis chapter so I can actually have something resembling a work/life balance. Huzzah!

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this is the funniest god damn thing ive ever seen

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evanescence bring me to life and britney spears toxic are sisters to me

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Lucanis, prepping the Rookanis kid for the Wintersend festival: Now, before we go to the plaza, what's rule number one?

Cerinna: Stay close to you or Mamma.

Lucanis: Rule number two?

Cerinna: If I get lost, get to the rooftop.

Lucanis: If you need to run?

Cerinna: Fade-step first! Poison second.

Lucanis: The fastest way to the heart?

Cerinna: Between the fourth and fifth ribs.

Lucanis: And if they're too tall?

Cerinna: Go for the femoral artery!

Spite: YES! GOOOD!

Cerinna: Yay!! Can we get churros now?

Lucanis: One.

Spite: Hundred!

Rook, grabbing their coats and muttering to herself: 'Fall in love with the man in your pantry,' they said. 'It'll be fun,' they said.

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soft and sweet (⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝)

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I think I may never be sad ever again. There is a statue entitled "Farewell to Orpheus" on my college campus. It's been there since 1968, created by a Prof. Frederic Littman that use to work at the university. It sits in the middle of a fountain, and the fountain is often full of litter. I have taken it upon myself to clean the litter out when I see it (the skimmers only come by once a week at max). But because of my style of dress, this means that bystanders see a twenty-something on their hands and knees at the edge of the fountain, sleeves rolled up, trying not to splash dirty water on their slacks while their briefcase and suit coat sit nearby. This is fine, usually. But today was Saturday Market, which means the twenty or so people in the area suddenly became hundreds. So, obviously, somebody stopped to ask what I was doing. "This," I gestured at the statue, "is Eurydice. She was the wife of Orpheus, the greatest storyteller in Greece. And this litter is disrespectful." Then, on a whim, I squinted up at them. "Do you know the story of Orpheus and Eurydice?" "No," they replied, shifting slightly to sit.

"Would you like to?"

"Sure!"

So I told them. I told them the story as I know it- and I've had a bit of practice. Orpheus, child of a wishing star, favorite of the messenger god, who had a hard-working, wonderful wife, Eurydice; his harp that could lull beasts to passivity, coax song from nymphs, and move mountains before him; and the men who, while he dreamed and composed, came to steal Eurydice away. I told of how she ran, and the water splashed up on my clothes. But I didn't care. I told of how the adder in the field bit her heel, and she died. I told of the Underworld- how Orpheus charmed the riverman, pacified Cerberus with a lullaby, and melted the hearts of the wise judges. I laughed as I remarked how lucky he was that it was winter- for Persephone was moved by his song where Hades was not. She convinced Hades to let Orpheus prove he was worthy of taking Eurydice. I tugged my coat back on, and said how Orpheus had to play and sing all the way out of the Underworld, without ever looking back to see if his beloved wife followed. And I told how, when he stopped for breath, he thought he heard her stumble and fall, and turned to help her up- but it was too late. I told the story four times after that, to four different groups, each larger than the last. And I must have cast a glance at the statue, something that said "I'm sorry, I miss you--" because when I finished my second to last retelling, a young boy piped up, perhaps seven or eight, and asked me a question that has made my day, and potentially my life: "Are you Orpheus?" I told the tale of the grieving bard so well, so convincingly, that in the eyes of a child I was telling not a story, but a memory. And while I laughed in the moment, with everyone else, I wept with gratitude and joy when I came home. This is more than I deserve, and I think I may never be sad again.

Here is the aforementioned statue, by the way.

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Cozy moment between Emmrich and Luvia...

I don't know if I prefer this version or the previous one (the one I lost after my app crashed and that no one will ever see x_x), but I guess I like it, so...

The scene itself isn't very original but this is something I like to do irl.

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I loved writing Dorian PoV for the start of this chapter! I’ve never done Dorian PoV before so I listened to his Inquisition banter on repeat to get a feel for his voice - lol!

I also want to warn everyone who’s been reading this fic that I’ve now caught up with all my pre-written chapters. I’m working on the newest chapter literally right now but I’ve definitely slowed down compared to when I started this fic! I feel really bad but between work and other life stuff, I just can’t keep up the writing momentum that I’ve had for the last several months. 

Summary: Dorian, Lucanis, Neve and Emmrich arrive in Nessus and begin their search for Rook. Meanwhile, Rook faces some mortal peril and fights against the magebane poison to reclaim her magic.

Random Snippet:

“I’ve known Rook a long time now,” Dorian says, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “And I could tell she was… special from the moment I met her. It’s why I recruited her for the Dragons. It’s why I recommended her to Varric. She’s smart, resourceful. She’s resilient. She—she won’t be easily broken, Lucanis. Not by this. Not by the Venatori.”

Lucanis is nodding but Dorian doesn’t miss the slight quiver in his jaw, the growing dampness at the corners of his eyes. The hand not pressed against his knee curls into a white-knuckled fist and—

—oh.

“Maker.” Dorian’s voice is breathy with surprise. “You’re in love with her.”

And Lucanis flinches, turning quickly away with another cough then turning back with sad, sloping eyes. His mouth opens as if to speak, pauses, closes again.

Utterly and hopelessly, it would appear.

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Viago Week Day 7: Talon or King

@viagoweek

(with how big the file is, you might need to click on it for it to properly load on tumblr )

-repaint of a painting of King George V-

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We dont talk about Bruno Illario

(This took a bit to make, so nice comments or funny tags are appreciated 🥹)