#antivan sip sip

[afinickyguide]

episode 142: antivan sip-sip 🍍🥥🥃

[collegeoflore]

i’m sooo happy for my solas mutuals that you got so much juicy delicious tasty food but the fact that we went to antiva and i have not seen hide nor hair of one mrs josephine montilyet is enough to make me want to start biting everyone i see

[uriellactaea]

"They say Antivan coffee is an acquired taste, but it agreed with me right on the first sip." "... aren't you a De Riva, Rook?" "Just take the compliment." "Ah-- you don't taste so bad yourself."

[uhbambii]

Of Hushed Whispers

The glittering city of Treviso stretched out under the warm Antivan night, its cobblestone streets alive with the sound of music and laughter. The grand ballroom belonging to Dellamorte house was already packed with elegantly dressed figures, their masks gleaming under chandeliers that sparkled like captured starlight.

Rook adjusted her raven-black mask, her sharp eyes scanning the room. A surge of nerves threatened to unsettle her, though she did her best to bury it. Antiva’s crows were not known for their timidity, after all. Tonight, she was dressed in a sleek, dark red gown that clung to her frame, blending elegance with a touch of menace—appropriate for a crow, she thought.

“You clean up nicely, uccellina,” came a low, familiar voice behind her.

Rook turned to see Lucanis Dellamorte, his dark eyes glinting with mischief beneath a gold-lined mask. His midnight-black suit was impeccably tailored, the deep red accents along the lapel complementing the dark locs that framed his face. His gaze was sharp, but his smile was softer—dangerous, yet inviting.

“And you look entirely too comfortable,” Rook quipped, though she couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at her lips.

“Ah, comfort is confidence, no?” Lucanis stepped closer, offering his arm. “Come, dance with me. Let’s show these amateurs how it’s done.”

Rook raised a skeptical brow. “You think you can keep up?”

Lucanis chuckled, his tone dripping with playful arrogance. “Tesoro, I was born to lead.”

Without waiting for an answer, he led her onto the polished marble dance floor. The orchestra swelled, and the other masked dancers parted slightly to make way for the pair. Lucanis’s hand slid to Rook’s waist, guiding her as they began to move.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The music was a lively waltz, and Lucanis’s movements were fluid, confident. Rook found herself following his lead with ease, though she would never admit how much she enjoyed it.

“You’re good,” she said, trying to sound unimpressed, though her heart raced at the closeness between them.

“Good? Amore mio, I am magnifico,” Lucanis teased, leaning closer. His breath ghosted over her ear as he murmured, “And you—well, you’re dazzling tonight. It’s almost unfair to everyone else in this room.”

Rook felt heat rise to her cheeks but managed to roll her eyes. “Sweet talk won’t distract me, Amorino.”

“Distract you?” He smirked, spinning her expertly. “Why would I want to distract you when I can simply enjoy this moment, eh? You, in my arms, under the stars…”

“Under the chandeliers,” Rook corrected dryly, though her smile betrayed her.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Nearby, Teia and Viago observed the pair with mixed reactions. Teia sipped her wine and raised a brow at Viago. “Would you stop glaring holes into Lucanis?” she chided. “It’s unbecoming.”

Viago, whose dark eyes had been fixed on the dancing couple, scowled. His sharp features were framed by his usual untamed hair, and his black attire was as severe as his mood. “I’m not glaring.”

“You’re definitely glaring,” Teia replied. “Rook’s fine. She’s not some fledgling anymore.”

“She’s family,” Viago said curtly. “And Lucanis is—well, Lucanis.”

“Mm, fair point,” Teia said, hiding a smirk behind her glass. “But I think your sister can handle herself. And besides, she looks like she’s enjoying herself.”

Viago’s frown deepened as Lucanis whispered something to Rook, making her laugh softly.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The music slowed, shifting to a more intimate rhythm. Lucanis’s hand tightened slightly on Rook’s waist, pulling her closer. Their movements slowed, matching the sultry melody.

“You’re staring,” Rook said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Can you blame me?” Lucanis replied, his voice low and velvety. “You are… breathtaking.”

Rook felt her heart skip a beat. “You’re laying it on thick tonight, aren’t you?”

“Only because it’s true, bella mia,” he murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “And because I can’t stop thinking about how beautiful you look when you smile.”

Before she could reply, the music ended, and the room erupted in applause. Lucanis took a step back and bowed dramatically, earning a soft laugh from Rook. She shook her head, but the warmth in her chest was undeniable.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Later that night, Lucanis led Rook back to his villa on the outskirts of Treviso. The air was cool and fragrant with the scent of blooming jasmine. The rooftop terrace of the Dellamorte villa was a world unto itself, far above the golden lights of the city.

Lucanis led her up to a blanket he had laid out. The view was stunning-stars scattered across the velvety sky, the city lights twinkling below like fireflies.

"Thoughtful," Rook said, sitting down and leaning back on her hands.

Lucanis sat beside her, his shoulder brushing hers. "I have my moments."

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the quiet punctuated by the distant hum of the city. Eventually, Lucanis turned to her, his expression unusually soft.

"You know, Rook," Lucanis began, his tone softer now, "there's a saying about the stars."

"Oh?" She turned her head to look at him, curious.

He nodded, pointing upward. "They say the brightest ones are the souls of those destined to burn the fiercest in life. Dangerous, fiery, unforgettable."

She smirked. "Are you trying to say l'm a star?"

Lucanis smiled, his gaze shifting to something gentler. "No, uccellina. You're the whole night sky."

Rook stared at him for a moment, unsure whether to tease him or let the warmth of his words settle in her chest. She chose the latter, though she couldn't resist a small grin. “Smooth, Amorino. Very smooth.”

"What can I say? I'm a man of many talents." The playful glint returned to his eyes as he shifted closer, propping himself up on one arm.

Rook shook her head softly, then leaned closer. "You're not so bad yourself," she teased, her voice barely audible.

Lucanis chuckled, leaning in until their lips met in a slow, gentle kiss. His lips were warm and insistent, coaxing her into the moment.

Rook melted into him, her fingers threading into his dark hair as the kiss deepened, their surroundings fading into insignificance. When they finally broke apart, her cheeks were flushed, and she swatted his chest lightly.

"You're insufferable," she muttered, though there was no mistaking the affection in her tone.

"And you love it," he countered, stealing another kiss before she could reply. This one was quicker but just as meaningful, his lips lingering on hers before trailing to the corner of her mouth. "Ammettilo," he murmured against her skin, his voice low and teasing. "You'd be lost without me."

Rook arched an eyebrow, though her fingers stayed tangled in his hair. "Bold of you to assume."

"Not bold… truthful," he corrected, reclining back onto the blanket and tugging her down to rest against his chest. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, his voice turning serious, though there was still a playful edge to it. "I'm the perfect man for you, uccellina mia. Every touch, every kiss— it's all for you."

Rook smiled against his chest, her fingers tracing the outline of his shirt. "Then I suppose I should be grateful you've decided to share yourself with me."

Lucanis chuckled, his fingers gently brushing through her hair. "Cara mia, I'm not sharing— I'm giving my heart to you. And trust me, I'll be making sure you never forget that."

She lifted her head to meet his eyes, her gaze steady. "Oh? Is that a promise, Lucanis?"

He kissed her again, slow and deep, his voice barely a whisper as they broke apart. "Promise, amore. My heart is yours, now and always."

The stars above them seemed to shine a little brighter as they held each other close, the quiet moments between kisses full of promises, laughter, and the kind of love that burned as brightly as the night sky itself.

———————————————————————————

So this actually took me 4hrs. to write because I kept changing the ending 🥲

ANYWAYS, I’m turning crumbs to meals! Eat up!

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

[starlsen]

A Scar's Caress

Fem!Rook x Emmrich Volkarin ✶ Lots of fluff followed by smutty goodness ✶ NSFW ✶ 6.1k words

Read on AO3

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It had been quite some time since the whole team had been able to gather at the dining table to enjoy a good meal together. Tonight, Lucanis had insisted that everyone make themselves available, because it had been far too long since any of them had taken a real break – especially Rook. She’d be the last one to admit she needed to take it slow, but was never one to turn down a plate of Lucanis’ signature paella, particularly when washed down with a glass of Antivan Red.

“That was amazing, Lucanis.” Harding sighed as she sat back in her chair, hands on her stomach. “I’m stuffed.”

“I told you to save room for dessert,” Lucanis said indignantly, hands on his hips. “I baked a pie.”

“Oh,” Her cheeks flushed. “Right. I knew that.” Lucanis raised a brow and she smiled sheepishly. “I’m not that stuffed.”

Rook’s mouth turned up with amusement as she cleared away the last of the plates and grabbed another bottle of wine, setting about topping up everyone’s drinks. Conversation had flowed easily throughout dinner as she and her companions exchanged stories, cracked jokes and enjoyed just… being. She felt lighter than she had in a while, finally able to set everything aside and pretend for just a couple of hours that nothing outside of these walls existed. That the weight of the world didn’t rest on the shoulders of everyone in this room.

“Thank you, darling.” Emmrich said as she poured more wine into his goblet, offering her a dazzling smile as she did so. She returned the gesture, affectionately brushing her knuckle under his chin before turning her attention to Taash and Davrin who, by all accounts, were now engaging in a heated debate about scars.

“That's nothing,” Taash snorted. “It's kinda precious, actually.”

“Precious?” Davrin repeated incredulously. “You think a scar I got from taking down a hurlock is precious?” Taash shrugged.

“Sure. Why not?” Davrin baulked at dragon hunter, before turning to Rook for support as she topped up his wine.

“Are you hearing this?”

Rook snorted. “Yes.” Davrin waited, brows raised.

“And?” He pressed when Rook didn't elaborate, and she pressed her lips together in an effort to suppress her amusement, shrugging casually.

“I'm with Taash on this one.” Taash smirked, folding their arms across their chest, and sat back in their seat.

“Told ya.” They said, and Davrin sighed heavily.

“Why are we talking about Davrin’s adorable scar, anyway?” Rook asked, setting the bottle down and returning to her seat beside Emmrich. The Grey Warden rolled his eyes.

“It’s the story that counts.” Taash said, turning back to Davrin. “Yes, it’s very cool that you took down a hurlock with a bunch of cracked ribs, or whatever. But the scar itself is…” They paused.

“Kind of pretty?” Rook offered, much to Davrin’s chagrin, and Taash snorted.

“Alright,” He said flatly, turning pointedly towards Rook. “I think it's time we ask our fearless leader.” Her friends snickered at the nickname they'd started throwing around within the last couple of weeks, to which Rook rolled her eyes as she brought her goblet to her lips. “I bet you’ve got some adorable stories of your own.” She arched her brow as she sipped her wine, and considered him for a moment.

“I think we should hear from Emmrich next,” She said, offering the man at her side a sweet smile, to which he chuckled and sat back in his chair.

“Oh, I don’t know,” He clasped his hands together in that way that made Rook’s heart soar. “I’m quite sure my scars don’t come with stories to rival the excitement of any of yours.”

“I’m sure that’s not true, Professor.” Bellara said earnestly, her eyes shining. “All the things you’ve done in your career? I bet you have some amazing stories to share.”

“Well,” He mused. “There was an unfortunate mishap when I was a much younger, considerably less experienced necromancer.” He sighed, a note of nostalgia in his eyes. “You see, as members of the Mourn Watch, it is commonplace to raise skeletons in order to carry out work within the Grand Necropolis. And, being hungry for ambition and driven by my determination to prove my worth,” He balled his fists in front of himself to emphasise his words. “I attempted to raise a skeleton before I was ready.” Rook’s brows rose in surprise, though her lips curled into a smile.

“So what happened?” She asked, and he turned his gaze to her, smiling bashfully.

“Its coordination was frightfully misaligned.” He said, and Rook’s eyes widened as Emmrich placed a finger on his left pectoral, dragging a diagonal line across to his sternum. “Thankfully, I was able to get out of the way,” He paused and chuckled. “Well, mostly.”

“That’s a great story!” Bellara exclaimed. “I told you!”

“That’s so messed up.” Taash grumbled.

“Not bad.” Neve said, and Emmrich held his hands up.

“That’s it from me, I’m afraid.” Rook watched as he sat back in his chair and lifted his goblet to his lips, taking a sip of wine. His eyes met her own and her heart fluttered, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“That was pretty good,” Davrin said, pulling Rook’s attention away from Emmrich. “So I’m willing to bet, as a fellow necromancer, you have something good, too.” She shrugged nonchalantly, sitting back in her chair.

“I don’t know, almost getting axed by a skeleton sounds pretty hard to beat.” Emmrich tutted from her side and she flashed him a grin.

“Come on, Rook.” Lucanis said from across the table.

“Alright, alright,” She said, all eyes on her, and sighed. It wasn’t that she didn’t want them to know about her scars, necessarily; she supposed, more than anything, her hesitancy came from never having actually told another living soul about them. She’d never told anyone how she got them. Never let anyone see them.

“You don’t have to share, if you don’t want to.” Harding said, and Rook blinked, looking over to find her friend smiling, and tried not to think about the scar on her forehead – or how and why she got it, all those months ago.

“It’s okay,” Rook said and cleared her throat, sitting up a little straighter. “Much like my esteemed colleague here,” She gestured to Emmrich. “I also attempted magic far above my station when I was way too young and way too hot-headed to realise how stupid it was.” Emmrich scoffed, and their friends laughed. “No offence.” She added, touching his arm, to which he rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless.

“Alright.” Taash paused. “So… a spell went wrong, or what?”

“Something like that.”

“Where is it?” Davrin asked. “The scar, I mean.”

“Right here,” Rook said, pointing to her sternum. “All the way down to around… here.” She gestured down to below her knee. The table fell quiet, then, and she could feel Emmrich’s eyes burning into her. Taash let out a low whistle.

“Mierda,” Lucanis said quietly, and Rook shifted in her seat.

“Damn,” Davrin laughed, turning to Taash. “Now I see why you think mine are adorable.” Rook grinned as the others joined in his mirth.

“I stand by what I said.” Taash drawled, and laughter filled the dining table once more. “Who’s next?”

She was thankful for the diversion away from herself and knocked back the rest of her wine, all too aware of the man at her side, that his eyes were still fixed on her. She set down her cup and turned her attention to him to find him watching her thoughtfully, his brow slightly furrowed.

“What?” She asked, and he lowered his voice.

“I had no idea.” He said, glancing down at her body before bringing his gaze back to her own. “Darling, what happened?” She smiled, leaning in until her lips brushed the shell of his ear.

“Come to my room later and I’ll tell you,” She purred. “Maybe I’ll even show you.” She sat back in her chair and his brows shot up, eyes slightly wide, before clearing his throat and reaching for his wine once more. She flashed him a wicked grin and he chuckled, relaxing somewhat and shaking his head.

The truth was that while she’d dodged having to explain the details of the incident to her companions, she’d realised relatively quickly after meeting him that Emmrich was likely to be the only person she could share it with. He understood her in a way that nobody else could, and often seemed to know her better than she knew herself. And now, many months later, he was so much more than just a fellow necromancer, companion or friend. What they shared was… simply put, utterly magical, and they’d formed a bond that she knew could survive anything.

Not only that, but it had become increasingly difficult to ignore the way he made her feel, to ignore the all consuming desire that overwhelmed her senses whenever he was near – which was, incidentally, almost every single day. The alluring, dazzling and devastatingly charming gentleman had assured her they’d take things slow, to allow their relationship to progress organically; the only problem was that she wanted to take things further. Much, much further, and was confident that Emmrich was just as ready as she was.

There had been a handful of occasions in recent weeks in which she’d almost gone through with it, but as soon as it came to taking off her clothes, she’d freeze. She’d spent so much of her life hiding her scars that it felt alien to do otherwise. It had been almost a week since the last time she’d allowed herself to get carried away in the heat of the moment, driven by lust to throw caution to the wind; she’d been in his quarters and had become painfully aroused just listening to him read a passage from a book. She’d climbed into his lap, her kisses bruising and feverish, and he’d held her close and kissed her back with equal fervour, his broad hands roaming her body. Yes, Emmrich was definitely just as ready as she was.

And her scars were the only thing holding her back.

She’d remained wholly distracted for the rest of the evening, unable to think about anything other than getting Emmrich behind closed doors. And so, by the time they’d all decided to call it a night, she was all too happy to loop her arm through his and lead him away from the dining hall. She listened as he gushed over Lucanis’ skills in the kitchen, his appreciation for a delightful meal, and how exhilarating it was to share a story from his youth. As they reached the threshold of Emmrich’s quarters, he paused and turned to face her, a softness in his eyes as he took her hands in his own.

“Rook,” He said gently, and she hummed. “You know there is absolutely no pressure for our relationship to move forward, don’t you?” He ran his thumbs across her knuckles. “None whatsoever.” Gods, her heart ached with the affection she felt for him. She offered him a small smile and stepped into him, leaning up on the tips of her toes to press her lips to his. The kiss lingered for a few moments before she sank onto the balls of her feet and took a few steps backwards, towards her own quarters, letting go of his hands as she did so.

“Are you coming?” Is all she said, and after a moment, the corner of his lips turned up as he gestured for her to lead the way and followed in her stead. She tried to shake her nerves as she led him to her room, reminding herself how badly she wants, needs, this. She headed for the small meditation table before the expansive fish tank that filled the far wall, watching the candle flames flicker as Emmrich closed the doors behind them.

She listened to the steady, even stride of his approaching footsteps, and hovered a hand over the candles, the heat from the flames licking her fingertips. He was at her side, then, and she took another moment to admire the way the candles shone a fiery glow over her palm, the fish tank casting an icy blue hue across the back of her hand.

“I've never shared myself with anyone, not entirely.” She said into the peaceful calm of her room. “I've never known anyone that made me want to, y'know?” She pulled her hand away from the flames, turning to face where Emmrich stood, shoulders squared and hands clasped in front of himself, and nodded.

He was absolutely beautiful. The light of the fish tank cast his side in glorious aqua blue, his eyes appearing more green than hazel, contrasting with the warm shadows on his other side, candles all around them; and while dazzling was usually her go-to word to describe Emmrich, right now, it felt as though there were no words that would do him justice. His beauty, his kindness, his everything.

“But then I met you.” She said, and his eyes were so kind and earnest and caused an ache deep in her heart. “And those nights in the memorial gardens, you shared so much of yourself with me. Made me realise we were more alike than I ever realised.” His eyes dropped to the floor for just a moment, almost bashfully, the smallest smile tugging on his lips when he brought his gaze back to her own.

“You introduced me to your parents,” She continued. “You have no idea what that meant to me, Emmrich.” His eyes softened, chest rising as he took a deep breath and exhaled slowly through his nose. “You make me want to share everything with you.” He closed the space between them.

“If you are ready,” He said, tucking her long, lavender hair behind her pointed ears. “Then it would be an honour, my darling.” He brushed his knuckles along her jaw, and her throat tightened, her heart beating a little faster again. She leaned into his touch, lifting a hand to his chest, to the scar she now knew lay underneath. She glanced down at herself, then raised her chin to meet his gaze once more.

“I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours?” She hoped the playful tone in her words would take the edge off the nerves pooling in her gut, and Emmrich let out a breathy chuckle. He said nothing, at first; just smiled down at her, his eyes warm and safe and kind, always so kind. She raised her eyebrows just slightly, and then his lips were on her forehead in a gentle kiss.

“Very well.” He took a short step back from her as he unclipped the gold chain across his waistcoat, and Rook watched his fingers intently as they worked their way down, one button after the other. Watched as they pulled the waistcoat over his shoulders and set it down neatly on the chaise lounge. Watched as they unfastened his belt, the sound of leather sliding along soft calluses as it unwound from his hips. Watched as they slipped into luxurious red, unravelling the silken sash around his midriff. His usual gold cuff and leather glove were absent from his ensemble today, and she marvelled at how beautiful his hands really were; soft and warm and purposeful, bedecked in the finest jewellery.

She could watch those hands at work for an eternity.

As he unclasped the dainty skull pinning his collar together, she tugged at the bottom of his shirt, untucking it from his trousers, and his lips turned up slightly. Heat rose in her cheeks as he began unfastening the buttons of his shirt, slowly exposing his neck, clavicle, and sternum. She worked from the bottom until their fingers met, knuckles brushing, and she inhaled deeply through her nose as he slipped the shirt over his shoulders, revealing his broad chest, the gold bangles on his forearm chiming as he removed his shirt completely and dropped it on top of his other clothes.

Emmrich had always cut a very fine figure; his tailored clothes made no secret of his slender frame, but Rook hadn’t expected his shoulders, his chest, to be quite so broad. She followed the lines of his frame as it dipped in at his waist, his soft and slightly toned abdomen, and finally observed the scar running from his left pectoral to his sternum.

She brought her hands to his chest, tracing the line of the scar with her fingertips, and goosebumps flooded his skin under her featherlight touch. She hesitated for just a moment when he tensed, before he visibly relaxed and let out a breath. She could feel the heat crawling from her cheeks to the tips of her pointed ears as she touched him, her pulse racing, while he remained wholly still, hands once again clasped in his usual composure.

He was beautiful.

“Emmrich,” His name was barely above a whisper, and she finally looked up to meet his gaze, finding him watching her, a vulnerability in his eyes and something akin to uncertainty. She returned her attention to his chest and leaned in to press a soft, chaste kiss to his scar.

“I know that I am not exactly,” He paused, and she looked up at him. “Well, you know.” She tilted her head to the side and he huffed, his cheeks turning a delicate shade of pink as he averted his gaze. “I'm no Davrin or Lucanis, let's say.”

Her brows came together, then, and she reached for him, taking his cheek in her hand and gently bringing his gaze back to her own.

“Emmrich,” She said, taking one of his hands and lifting it to her chest. “Do you feel that?” He glanced down to where she was firmly holding his palm over her racing heart, his lips parting ever so slightly, and hazel met violet once more. She smiled.

“That's what you do to me.” She said, and he chuckled bashfully. Her smile widened to a toothy grin, and added, “Among other things.” Emmrich laughed heartily, then, the pink in his cheeks turning a little darker, and she giggled, feeling the familiar ache begin to stir between her legs.

“You are beautiful.” She said as their mirth eased, and his throat bobbed as she took his other hand to her chest, guiding his fingers to the buttons on her shirt. “I want you to see me, too.” She tugged the bottom of her shirt from where it had been tucked lazily into the waistband of her pants, before letting her arms return to her side.

“Are you sure, darling?” He asked, and she nodded, taking a breath to steady her racing heart. He held her gaze for a moment longer before leaning down to brush his lips over her temple, and began unfastening the buttons. She closed her eyes and leaned into his kiss, the flush in her cheeks deepening, and gazed up into gorgeous hazel when he pulled back.

Though her racing heart wasn't because of her desires for the man before her alone, or the anticipation of what she knew was going to happen tonight – no, her heart was racing because she was finally letting someone in. Because she finally felt safe enough, finally had the desire to be truly intimate with someone, finally wanted to show someone the reminder of just how close she had come to dying; a fact that had utterly terrified her and shamed her as a member of the Mourn Watch.

But after Emmrich had confided in her about his own fears, she’d realised she’d found a true companion in him. And now, bearing themselves to one another, she knew she’d found her twin flame, her soul’s calling, and at long last was ready. Truly ready.

His fingers had reached the bottom of her shirt and he paused. She nodded, and he slowly pushed her shirt over her shoulders and she let it fall to the floor, and his eyes dropped to her naked torso. Her heart was pounding by now, and Emmrich's lips parted, his eyes darting across the expanse of her scars. Her breaths came a little shorter, a little faster, and she inhaled deeply through her nose and let it out slowly, willing her heart to slow down, willing for him to say something.

He lifted his hands, and she held her breath as he gently brushed her hair back over her shoulders, letting the long, lavender locks cascade down her back, and stepped back slightly.

“It was lightning magic,” She said, and Emmrich glanced at her before returning his gaze to her abdomen. “I mean-” She snorted nervously and gestured to them. “Obviously.” He reached for her, trailing his fingers over the lines branching across her body, disappearing underneath her pants.

The magic had entered her body just below her hip, the lightning forking up and down as it surged and left scorched skin in its wake. Jagged lines spread up and around her ribs, across her abdomen to her sternum and breasts; it branched down her thigh, coiling itself around her leg to her shin. The scars remained a deep, dusky pink, though they had healed many years ago.

“Rook,” He said quietly, his brow pinched together. She took a breath.

“They run almost the entire length of my body,” She said, and with trembling fingers, reached for the button on her pants. He placed his hands over her own, halting her, and swallowed hard when he knelt before her; he unfastened the button, pulled down the zip, and carefully tugged them down her thighs. She held onto his shoulders as she lifted one leg at a time so he could remove her pants completely, leaving her clad only in her undergarments.

He remained on his knees, his eyes roaming her body as he asked, “What happened?”

“The magic was beyond my abilities at the time,” She said. “I was tired of being told I wasn’t ready, that I couldn’t do it. I was so sure they were wrong, that I could prove them wrong, so…” She sighed. “I performed the spell in my quarters and I couldn’t contain it. I struck myself by accident.” She paused as her voice wavered. “And, uh,” She cleared her throat, blinking away the tears in her eyes. “It almost killed me.”

Emmrich's eyes shot up, then, and she could feel his gaze burning into her as she focused on the candles across the room, willing herself to calm, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

“I was terrified.” She admitted. “And I couldn’t tell anyone because what good is a necromancer whose greatest fear is dying?” Emmrich sighed, and she looked down at him, his brows drawn and such sadness in his eyes. She brushed her knuckles along his cheek. “But then… I met you.”

“Darling,” He said gently, so agonisingly gently, as he leaned into her touch. “I had no idea.”

“Of course you didn't,” She said. “Nobody does. I've never…” She trailed off, and he tilted his head to the side.

“You've never told anyone?” He asked, and she shook her head.

“No,” She said, and his frown deepened slightly, before lowering his gaze once more to her scars. Then, he leaned in, and she inhaled sharply when he pressed a kiss to her abdomen.

“They are beautiful, Rook.” He said firmly, and placed another kiss on her hip. “You are beautiful.”

Her cheeks were blazing now, and she chuckled, threading her fingers through his hair.

“Oh, I don't know about that.” She said, and he looked up at her, his expression entirely too serious, and rose to his feet once more. She almost shrank back from the intensity of his gaze, and he took her face in his hands, cradling her jaw, his touch so tender she could have cried.

“I see you.” He said, and she swallowed hard as her throat tightened, tears threatening to fill her glistening eyes. “You are the most beautiful young woman I have ever laid my eyes upon,” He spoke so gently, so earnestly, and she sighed as she leaned into his touch.

“And,” He added, leaning in to brush his lips over hers. “There are none in this world more fortunate than I.”

She had never truly grasped what it could mean to be swept off her feet, but when his mouth met hers in a kiss so dizzying that it stole her breath and left her knees unsteady beneath her, she wondered if this was what it felt like. Her eyes slipped shut as she melted into him, chest-to-chest, their hearts beating wildly as one, hands cradling each other’s faces as though they couldn’t be close enough.

Lips fused in a slow, tender kiss, they moved back towards the chaise lounge. Rook reached blindly for the frame as Emmrich set a knee on the seat, sliding a hand down to her waist and around the small of her back as she found purchase at last and laid back, his body warm as he settled between her legs and leaned over her.

He trailed his lips along her jaw and down the length of her neck, his kisses gentle and unhurried and Gods, she was breathless as he reached her collarbone. The warmth of his breath left her skin tingling as his lips caressed her breast, then her sternum, and her heart all but soared out of her chest upon realising that he was slowly, and very deliberately, tracing the branches of her scars.

She couldn’t look away. Her chest rose and fell, watching as he took his time, eyes roaming across her skin, as though he was taking such care of where to place his lips next, worshipping her body with his mouth. She gently ran her fingers through his hair, sighing softly through parted lips as he kissed her stomach, then paused as he glanced down at her undergarments. His gaze met her own in silent question, his eyes softening when her answer came in the form of a single nod, and sat back on his knees as she lifted her hips to allow him to remove her underwear.

She blushed furiously when the corner of his mouth tugged into a deeply alluring smile, and he leaned down to press a kiss to her stomach, then her hip, before shifting further back on the seat and nuzzling the inside of her thigh with his nose, his lips barely brushing her skin, his eyes fixed on her own. By the Gods, the darkness in his lustful gaze sent a thrill running straight through her. He tucked his shoulders under her thighs, running his hands along her hips, and she gasped when he dipped between her legs and ran the flat of his tongue over her slit.

It was as though every nerve ending in her body was centred entirely within her sex, a feeling she could have only ever dreamed of; Emmrich worked his lips and tongue like a man starved, leaving her thighs trembling, chest tightening, toes curling. Every cell in her body was on fire, arousal pulsing through her, and she was breathless as she tipped her head back, her senses overwhelmed because his tongue, Gods, his tongue; warm and wet, gliding through her soaking folds, over and over, yes, yes-

“Emmrich,” She moaned, arching her back, and he slid a jewelled hand from her hip to her abdomen, his palm flat against her skin. She wasn’t going to last, not like this, the familiar feeling already beginning to swell deep within her core. She clutched his hand tightly, writhing against him, and cried out when he planted his mouth over her clit and began gently sucking, expertly rolling his tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves. He groaned into her sex, the sound vibrating through her as he gripped her fingers that were closed over his own. She ached for release, was ready to beg for it, when the pressure building between her legs erupted with a final sweep of his tongue and she gasped sharply, her mouth falling open, her entire body tensing and trembling as her orgasm sent lightning surging from her core.

He slowed his tongue to gentle rolls as she rode out her high, his eyes fixed on her writhing body, marvelling at the way she moved and how utterly breathtaking she truly was - especially like this. Her moans gave way to breathy whimpers as her grip on his hand slackened, and with a satisfied chuckle, he turned to press his lips to the inside of her thigh and shifted to lean his forearms either side of her hips. He watched her chest rise and fall as she caught her breath and, admittedly feeling a touch smug, couldn’t help the smile that stretched across his mouth at the sight of her flushed cheeks.

“Are you alright, darling?” He asked. It was all she could do to nod, because she was infinitely better than alright; she’d never been made to feel the way he made her feel, had never experienced pleasure quite like that before, and certainly never dreamed Emmrich could do that with his mouth. She hummed when she felt his lips on her hip, trailing kisses along the forked branches of her scars across her abdomen and breasts.

“Amazing,” She sighed, and he huffed a laugh before his lips found her neck once more as he settled between her legs. Feeling his hardness pressing against her, she let out a breath and guided his face back to hers, pulling him into an open-mouthed kiss. She moaned as she tasted herself on his tongue, running her hands down his chest and already feeling so dizzy with the way he was kissing her, his lips moving so easily, so expertly, with her own. Her fingers found the waistband of his trousers, and she pulled back from the kiss just slightly as she tugged at them.

“Take these off.” She whispered against his lips, and he nuzzled her nose with his own before nodding, brushing a chaste kiss to the corner of her mouth and making quick work of kicking off his boots and removing the last of his clothing. Butterflies swarmed in her stomach as their eyes met and he leaned over her once more, hooking an arm underneath her shoulder to slide his fingers along her neck, threading them in her hair, gripping her thigh around his waist with the other.

She cradled his jaw in her hands and stroked her thumbs across his cheeks, her heart racing and his eyes searched her own, seeking permission. She answered with a buck of her hips and he laughed breathlessly, the sound curling around her heart and spreading warmth through her chest. He turned into her hand to press a kiss to her palm, returning his gaze to hers for a moment before leaning his forehead against hers as he slowly pushed himself into her slick heat. She gasped, body tensing, her brows coming together as heat flooded to her cheeks because Gods, he felt amazing inside her.

His breath was hot on her lips as he waited, stroking her thigh with his thumb, hardly able to believe he was tangled up with her; Rook, the most courageous and dangerously breathtaking woman he’d ever known – and she wanted him. He pressed a sweet kiss to the tip of her nose, then her lips, and she relaxed, offering him a smile that could shatter the world as she nodded for him to keep going. Affection blossomed in his chest at the gesture, and he closed the space between them to press his lips to hers as he pulled his hips back and sank into her again, a low moan rumbling in the back of his throat.

And that sound drove her wild. She whimpered, parting her lips to kiss him again, and when his tongue swept in to caress her own, she moaned and wound her arms around his neck. He began rolling his hips into hers, his movements masterful, as though he'd spent an eternity making love to her. It felt so right. Their bodies fit together and moved perfectly, as one - and finally, for the first time in her life, Rook felt whole. Complete.

She broke the kiss to look into his eyes, her brow pinched and mouth open as she gasped with every delectable roll of his hips into hers. He'd never looked more beautiful than he did in that moment; pieces of his usually pristine hair hung over his forehead, his eyes dark with lust, cheeks flushed and lips swollen. A fire ignited within her, unfathomably powerful and burning exceptionally bright; she'd never felt this feeling before, but greeted it like a long lost piece of herself as she welcomed it - and Emmrich - into her heart.

“I love you,” She whispered, and something changed in his eyes, a recognition, an understanding, and he smiled; wide and bright and absolutely breathtaking.

He chuckled breathlessly and nuzzled her nose with his own as he said, “And I love you, my darling.”

She returned his smile, a joyous giggle escaping her lips, and gasped sharply when he thrust his hips into hers, harder now, and her eyes slipped shut as she tipped her head back and moaned. Emmrich buried his face in the crook of her neck, his moans low and deep, and she was sure it was the most beautiful and holy sound she'd ever heard. She wound her arms around his waist and up his back, her fingers digging into the skin below his shoulder blades, clinging desperately as a familiar feeling began coiling around her core, twisting and tightening and building and building, an intense pressure mounting, her entire body tensing and trembling.

“Emmrich,” She whimpered, and he removed his hand from where it had been buried in her hair to clutch the arm of the chaise lounge, gripping her thigh tightly with the other, practically growling into her neck as he drove his hips into her, harder, faster. She tightened around him, her mouth falling open and arched her back, the air forced from her lungs as her orgasm slammed into her with the staggering force of a hurricane. She gasped sharply into his shoulder, crying out and making a sound she was sure she'd never made before, and with that, Emmrich moaned loudly, his movements stuttering, thrusting hard and haphazardly as he came.

The pleasure was utterly blinding, her heart thundering and chest heaving, leaving her on the verge of feeling delirious. She pulled back to nudge his temple with her nose, words failing her, and he slowly lifted his face from her neck, eyes dazed and half-lidded. He glanced at her mouth before leaning down to kiss her, their breaths heavy as their lips parted and came together again, slowly and tenderly, as his hips slowed altogether.

She brought a hand from his back to cradle his cheek, and he pulled back just enough to find her gaze as she brushed her thumb over his top lip and smiled. He quickly returned the gesture, and she couldn’t help the giggle that followed, feeling utterly giddy for arguably the first time in her life. He chuckled, capturing her lips in a single, lingering kiss before pulling his hips back and all but collapsing on her chest.

She brushed his hair back as he closed his eyes, absentmindedly trailing his fingers up and down the length of her arm with a contented hum. She wasn’t sure how long they laid like that, tangled up in each other until their breaths became slow and even, their hearts beating as one; but after a short while, she looked down at him and smiled as she continued to smooth back his hair.

“The dishevelled look rather suits you, y'know.” She said after a few moments, and he snorted.

“Never.” He said with a sigh. “A gentleman is anything but.” Rook grinned.

“I had no idea gentlemen could fuck like that.” She quipped, and Emmrich barked a laugh, shifting to look up at her as he leaned his forearms either side of her hips.

“Darling, I can do much more than that.” He said, his voice dangerously low. She bit her lip, her smile bright and wicked.

“Oh?” He hummed. “Tell me more.” She said, and his tongue darted over his bottom lip before he raised a brow.

“I'd rather show you, my dear.” She laughed, patting his shoulder and closed her eyes, lying her head back.

“Give me a few minutes and I'll be good to go.” Her smile remained as he chuckled, and she felt his lips as he pressed a kiss to the scars between her breasts.

“I may need slightly longer to recover.” He mused. “But I will gladly do this again,” He kissed further down her abdomen. “And again,” Another kiss. “And again.” She hummed happily.

“Sounds good to me.”

[bubblingooze]

Showing up fashionably late to the party 🎉 because it’s what Illario would do! 🕺

It’s a lil Bellario bit I wrote just for this! I literally wrote it on my lunch break 🍽️ . Am I going to use Illario Appreciation Week to further the Bellario agenda? Yes, yes I am.

The cool page break is by @mothergootz :)

Bellario: It’s Going Swimmingly

Illario had a plan.

Midsummer had just arrived, and the hot Antivan sun was baking the city of Treviso like the King himself was waiting on his favorite buns.

Illario had his own favorite buns on his mind. Because Bellara didn’t own a swimsuit, and he wanted that to change.

He had grand plans of an elaborate summer vacation in a small nearby beach town with his beloved elven genius. He had already secured the use of Teia’s personal private beach cottage and a private tour of a nearby island said to house an untouched elven ruin.

He wanted it to be a surprise, because of the way Bellara’s eyes lit up when something surprised her. He fondly remembered last week when a kitten had popped out of a lidded basket at the market and she squealed. He hoped for a similar reaction.

But the town was too small to purchase a suitable swimsuit (Illario had standards to uphold) and Rook had informed him that the Dalish had no need for swimsuits; they simply swam without them. An enticing image to be sure, but not one he wanted to share with the small-town Antivans of Puerto Maia, who probably did not have the good taste to appreciate it.

No, he wanted to put Bellara in something so expensive that any small town racist squinting at her ears would keep their idiotic mouth shut out of fear. Really, it was the least he could do. Would do. Because he certainly wasn’t going to let anyone live if they actually squinted at her beautiful ears.

So then, the plan: Illario was drinking buddies with the current boyfriend of a local clothing designer that was well-known throughout Antiva, and in certain Orlesian circles with adequate fashion sense. This designer, Miguel Ruiz, was hosting a fashion show on behalf of House del Couture, one of the preeminent Antivan Merchant Prince houses known for their cutting-edge designs.

Illario would be taking Bellara to the fashion show this afternoon, hopefully purchasing anything she liked in secret, and taking the carriage to Puerto Maia in the morning. He really hoped she liked something at the show. He might have encouraged Miguel over multiple sessions of brandy to take inspiration from the Veilguard, and the Veil Jumpers specifically. He knew she liked the triangles motif, and he agreed it suited her.

With the groundwork laid, all that was left was for him to flawlessly execute it.

Illario’s heart hammered nervously as he idly pointed out a fashionable swimsuit he saw on their way to the fashion show on the beach. “Do you typically wear a one-piece or a two-piece? Or perhaps you keep one of each, so you can change your mind as often as you please?” He knew she didn't have a swimsuit.

“Oh, I don’t really need one at all. We just swim naked in the forest. You know, no extra money for frivolous things. It’s fine. It’s simple. I don’t know where I would keep one anyway.” She shrugged and sipped the beverage Illario handed her as they moved from the bar near the show entrance, to the seating area along the runway.

Illario’s chest dropped. He should have known his colíbri would be the most unpredictable part of the plan. He should have had Rook plant the idea of a swimsuit in her mind ahead of time. But it was too late now, he’d have to improvise.

He had hoped she would be excited by the idea, but she was dismissing it as logistically difficult instead. Still, he had time. They hadn’t even gone to the show yet.

“Oh, this is really good! What’s in this? It tastes like juice, is it really alcoholic?” Bellara’s face lit up as she sucked the fruity pink beverage through a delicately swirling glass straw, the height of summer luxury in Antiva.

“It is quite alcoholic, be careful in the sun Cariño. I can get you a chilled water whenever you need.” He purred, hoping some alcohol would bring her around to the idea of some frivolity, but not wanting to give her heat stroke before their trip.

“I’m surprised there are some other elves here! I feel like I don’t see too many elves in the market.” Bellara noted, smiling and nodding at an elven woman who returned her smile on her way to meet friends by the bar.

“Ah, you noticed, did you? Of course you would, brilliant bella. Antivans who work in the finer arts, especially the performing arts like fashion, opera, and music, are rather more open-minded than the merchants’ guild, I think. Elves and foreigners are more common amongst the creative classes than in the marketplace. Ah, look here are our seats, the show will start soon.” Illario gestured to two front-row seats.

“But there were no elves at all at the art auction you took me to last month!” Bellara protested, immediately spotting a break in the pattern Illario mentioned.

He nodded at her, always appreciative of her quick mind, “It is unfortunate that the Antivan nobility—all human except for a single elven House—has taken over much of the market for paintings and sculptures in Antiva. The performing arts are viewed as unsuitable for the noble class, and thus are left to the real professionals, which I, for one, am thankful for.” He waved to an acquaintance across the venue and flashed a smile.

She hummed and nodded as she absorbed the new information.

He found himself hoping she liked Antiva. Badly. He wanted her to like it enough to stay.

The unbidden thought raised the hairs on his neck and he found himself taking a rather undignified gulp of his chilled rosé in an attempt to clear his head of the dangerous thoughts.

Luckily, the ushers for the event announced the show would start shortly and the guests still milling about rushed to take their seats. Bellara nodded politely to the woman sat next to her, and then broke into a grin when she removed her large sun hat revealing her delicately pointed ears.

Bellara ooh’d and ahhh’d at the designs, and Illario was surprised that she seemed most enchanted by the Tevinter-inspired swimsuit that was itself enchanted so the pattern twinkled like stars.

She was thrilled when the triangle-covered Veil Jumper designs came down the runway, worn by beautiful tall elves strutting their way through the seated crowd. She was hitting Illario’s arm and pointing at them in her childlike excitement. Illario swallowed a laugh and pulled her arm down from pointing (they were in the front row after all, he didn’t want to distract the models) and kissed her temple, keeping an arm around her shoulders for the rest of the show.

After the show, when he went to get them more drinks, he also discreetly ordered four different designs in her size, the ones he had judged to have the best reactions. He paid for them to be delivered to him at Villa Dellamorte before the end of the night as well, chuckling when they warned him about the extra costs of rushing the deliveries.

When he returned, Bellara and Miguel were having an animated conversation about clothing enchantments while Illario’s drinking buddy Alejandro grinned at them. “Ay! Illario! We found her without you, she’s much too lovely to leave alone!” He teased.

“Surely then you’ve noticed that she’s incredibly sharp and rarely requires any assistance?” Illario countered, causing Alejandro to roll his eyes.

Illario winked at Bellara, “I am more than up to any task she does want assistance with, I assure you, and here you are Cielo, another Antivan sunset.” He handed her another fruity drink.

“You simply must let me borrow her for an afternoon Illario, she has the most interesting ideas for new clothing enchantments!” Miguel cooed.

Illario laughed, and Bellara clapped her hands and grinned “Definitely! I would love to.” She tittered excitedly with Miguel over their ideas for a new collection focused on elven enchantments.

On their way back to the Villa, Bellara and Illario held hands as they walked down the beach. Bellara chattered happily about the new enchantments she wanted to try and the cosmetic enchantments of the ancient elves she studied. Illario readily agreed to try out her idea for enchanted camouflage fabric when it was ready. She really is incredible, he thought to himself, in awe of her ideas, as usual.

Illario’s own grand plan was almost ready. But he hoped to get her a bit more excited about the idea of a swimsuit before he revealed his purchases and the true nature of the trip they were taking in the morning.

“So, do you think you could make room for a swimsuit in your closet now?” He said teasingly.

She bit her lip and sighed. “It’s not that I’m uninterested—” Illario’s heart began constricting as if she was crushing it with her gauntlet, “—it’s just that I genuinely don’t have a closet. I’m working with the Veil Jumpers, and the Shadow Dragons, and occasionally the Mourn Watch, and it just leaves me a bit… between bases. I’m always living out of a backpack.” She heaved a heavy sigh.

Illario rubbed her hand with his thumb. “…and you dislike this? Living from your backpack?” He asked carefully. His heart was galloping like a racehorse now. His carefully laid future plans and elaborately workshopped timeline for their relationship racing through his mind.

“It makes it hard to have ongoing projects! A swimsuit would be fun but I really miss tinkering on the same project—”

Illario nodded, interrupting her in his own excitement, “You need a workshop.”

“Yes!” Bellara exclaimed. “Maybe I should start using my old room in the lighthouse.” She added thoughtfully.

Illario’s stomach flipped like a fish in a net. It was time to take a bold leap, he decided. He saw an opportunity here to move his true plans forward. He took a deep breath.

“What if it was here?”

Bellara stopped walking and looked at him curiously as the Antivan sun sunk into the waves beside them.

“Here?” She said quietly, her big brown eyes growing wide with surprise. “In Antiva?” She asked.

He turned to face her and held both of her hands.

“Here, with me.” He said just as quietly as her, his eyebrows knitting together in what he feared was a desperate expression, but he felt powerless to contain it despite all his training.

“You could have a closet. With anything you want. Enchanted, or otherwise. I would build you a workshop at the Villa. I would—” he swallowed. It was time to abandon the plan. It was time for honesty. “I would build you anything you wanted Bellara, if I could stay near you.”

He reached up to hold her face in one hand and she leaned into his touch and smiled. “I think I would like that.” She said, smiling against his hand.

He pulled her into a firm hug and sighed in relief.

“That nervous, huh?” She teased him immediately.

He didn’t respond, he just held her close.

“We just need to survive this mission first.” She spoke into his broad chest.

Illario smiled, “Yes, of course, we leave in the morning. I suppose we should rest tonight.”

Bellara nuzzled into his chest and inhaled his cologne deeply, “Could I stay near you tonight too?” She asked hopefully.

He laughed happily, “Please do.”

He had forgotten the swimsuits entirely by the time they arrived.

[happy-beeeps]

In A Different World

Summary: during a mission that is nearly indulgent, you get a moment alone with Lucanis.

WC: 1.3K

Pairing: f!Rook x Lucanis

Warnings: alcohol use, me knowing nothing about DA lore

A/N: FIC FACTORY IS OPEN I CAN’T STOP THINKING ABOUT HIM I PROMISE IM WRITING SOMETHING FOR DIN SOON

“It’s kind of hard to believe that stuff like this still exists in Thedas after all we’ve seen.”

Emmrich nodded as he took in the scene, “This is grander than anything I’ve seen in a moment.”

The venue for this particular evening was an open air hall situated on the banks of the river running through Treviso. It was beautiful in the way all of Antivan architecture was, swirling masonry and flying buttresses. It was also swathed in warm golden light from the dozens of candles suspended from the ceiling and perched upon staircases. The art, the reason for the occasion, was displayed elegantly around the room, and the rich citizens of Antiva and beyond milled about, dancing and drinking while they opened their purses.

And when rich people drank, you did your best work.

Your art dealer contact had slipped you an invitation, and promised vast intel on both the Antaam and Venatori sympathizers. While few Antaam would actually be in attendance, you hoped, those that funded them would be. The plan was simple: you and Emmrich would go in, relatively unknown to the upper class of Treviso, posing as a wealthy couple looking to buy new art for their home. Lucanis would mill about, as expected of a Crow from House Dellamorte. You hadn’t seen him since you split at the Diamond, when Teia had whisked you away to find something more “presentable” to wear.

You had to admit, it felt nice to wear something like this again. The soft silk of Teia’s dress slipped comfortable along your body, and the plunging back and neckline allowed you to actually feel the air of Treviso, warm and sweet, across your skin.

Emmrich moved easily, looping a hand in yours and placing another firmly across your back. His dance posture was respectful and elegant, and admittedly less sensual than the way the other Antivan couples danced. Your mind drifted away to Lucanis, wondering where he was, if this was how he danced–

“Rook? I fear I’ve lost you.” Emmrich’s voice snapped you back to reality, concern and something knowing flickering across his eyes.

“Sorry Emmrich I’m,” your eyes scanned the crowd once more, looking for Lucanis’ form, “distracted.”

“That much is clear,” he laughed as he said it, alleviating any fears of his frustration on your lack of focus, “I have not seen Lucanis either.”

Your face flushed as you ducked your head, embarrassed to have been caught in your fantasy. “Fine, fine you got me,” you moved together in silence for a moment longer. “How are things with Strife?”

“Why, I, I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about!” But the blush on the man’s face said it all.

You had decided to split up, gather more intel as you roamed the room, looking at art and sipping wine. This had to be your favorite mission yet, apart from the fact that there had been minimal information to learn. You already knew about Gattlock, and had already located and destroyed most of the stash. You certainly already knew about Venatori involvement in Minrathous, and didn’t want to think about that particular involvement right now. Instead, you enjoyed the small reprieve and sipped the red wine in your hand, eyes following the crowd of dancers in front of you, oblivious to the world behind you.

That oblivion was where he worked best. Perhaps you were hoping he’d seek you out in the crowd, or perhaps you just got lucky.

“I don’t think I knew you had a tattoo here,” Lucanis’ voice was smooth, his fingers ghosting along the scrolling elvish designs trickling down your spine.

“Not many people do,” you sipped your wine and turned over your shoulder to peek at him from the corner of your eye. He wasn’t dressed much different than you normally see him, his Crow armor may have just been spruced up, but against all the grand splendor of the room, he nearly took your breath away.

“Could a lady be troubled for a dance?”

“You’d have to ask my husband,” you smirked, and he rolled his eyes.

“Your husband is currently out on the terrace writing a detailed sonnet about the river to show to Strife. I don’t think he’ll mind.” Lucanis’ hand reached for yours, and you warmed a bit at the touch. He reached for your glass and set it down on the ledge, guiding you to the center of the ballroom.

He moved around you so differently than Emmrich. Where Emmrich was formal movement and elegant posture, Lucanis’ hands pressed against the small of your back, cradling your body against his and swaying easily to the music, maneuvering you around the room with ease.

“Do all Crows know how to dance like this, or am I just lucky?”

“You’re just lucky,” he teased, before a fond small ghosted across his face. “Caterina and my mother taught us, me and Illario. When I was little I used to stand on my mother’s feet while she moved us around the villa.”

You can’t help but smile at the image of a young Lucanis balancing on the toes of a woman who can’t materialize in your mind. It makes you think of your own mother, lost in your memory alone.

“Haven’t heard anything of urgent use tonight,” you murmur, voice low as the music drifts into a sensual violin tango.

He tuts, before adjusting his form to press you even closer to him, “To be completely honest Rook, I don’t really care tonight.”

“Lucanis,”

“Let me enjoy a night with a beautiful woman in my arms and pretend that all of Thedas isn’t relying on us. For just a moment, let me pretend this is different.”

His words take you by surprise, and the flush across your cheeks grows to spread down your chest. You do your best to hide it, positioning yourself with your head flush against his chest. You stay like this for awhile, in silence, before you speak next. “How would you do it?”

“I’m sorry?”

“How would you woo me. If this was different.”

He pauses, quiet for a moment. “Well for starters, I wouldn’t be in Minrathous,”

“Lucanis,” and you’re sure he can hear your eyes roll

His chuckle shakes your frame. “I’d find you in Treviso. You’d be in the market, looking for intel on the Venatori. I’d buy you a cup of coffee, and we would sit on the river bank and talk for hours. Spite wouldn’t be there, so I wouldn’t have to listen to everything he had to say.”

“Does he have a lot to say?”

“About you?” His eyes widen and he laughs, “he’s… very colorful.” He thinks a moment longer, perhaps filtering through Spite’s response, and continues. “You’d come back, maybe I’d go to you. You’d bring me to Minrathous. Eventually you’d meet Teia and Viago. And Ilario, and Caterina.”

“So… not that different than how things shook out?”

His eyes are locked on yours instantly, as if he hasn’t even thought of it before. He says nothing at first before pressing you closer to him. “No, I suppose not so different.”

“Lucanis?”

“Vida?”

You pause, chewing your lip a bit. Offering a piece of yourself to him as best you can. “In this world, you wouldn’t call me Rook.”

“Really? What would I call you?”

Your name. Foreign on your tongue, dances across the whispered distance between you. You see him register it for a moment, and taste it on his lips. He says it back to you, and it feels warm and sweet on his tongue. Like he was meant to say it.

If you asked him, he’d say he was. Meant to say it, just like this, whispered to you in a dark ballroom with you pressed against his chest. Ignoring the end of the world.

[guacamolleee]

hihi! happy thedasweekend! perhaps thana/emmrich fooor "touching your lover's thigh under the table" from the physical intimacy list?

thank you for the prompt <3 i took uh great liberties on what "under the table" counts here lmfao. For @thedasweekend

Explicit. 613 words.

Emmrich had grown quite fond of Antivan opera in recent years — its dark intimacy, emotionally driven storytelling, and vocal expressiveness standing well above its spectacle-laden Orlesian cousin, pretty and flashy but prone to unfortunate grand dramaticisms in his humble opinion.

And while the Nevarra City Opera House was certainly no Dellamorte estate — there being a distinct lack of Crows in the audience and the only blood to be spilled this night would be Queen Madrigal’s on center stage — Emmrich dared hope Rook would enjoy it all the same.

Tucked in their private box on the balcony, a clear view of both the orchestra and the actresses — the aforementioned Queen Madrigal of Antiva and a dark-haired Witch from the wilds speaking a terrifying prophecy — they both sat back comfortably on the plush chairs, glasses of wine on the low table in front of them. Emmrich sipped at his, a lovely vintage, just as the Queen began bargaining with the Witch to spare her son's life, a mother's love and a queen's fear intertwined in the actress’ impressive falsetto.

Emmrich, enamored by the performance, almost failed to notice the warm hand pressing to his leg, fingers brushing back and forth across the line of his inner thigh, a flush burning his cheeks as it became bold. He stole a glance at Rook at the corner of his eye, still watching the performance, one gloved hand on her cheek, an almost perfect air of nonchalance as if her fingers weren't quickly climbing to his lap, and tugging at the buttons of his trousers.

“Dearest…” he quietly said when she managed to pop open the first button.

Without looking at him, she hushed him with a small hum. “I'm concentrating.” After a beat. “On the play.”

“On the play.”

“Uh-huh”

Another button popped open as Queen Madrigal returned to her castle only to find her beloved son deathly ill. The crowd gasped, Emmrich along with them as Rook wrapped a hot hand — when had she taken off her glove? — around him, pulling him free.

He was half-hard already when she began pumping him, sucking in a harsh breath as Rook stroked his cock to fullness with clever fingers. Emmrich only thanked the Maker that the railings on their box were high enough to hide Rook's plans for them.

Her thumb brushed on his cockhead, smearing the beads of precum gathering there across his shaft and easing the glide of her fingers. He responded eagerly to her touch, hips jerking toward her as he squirmed in his seat, finding it more and more difficult to pay attention to Queen Madrigal as Rook's fist stroked him in measured pumps.

The coil of arousal tightened in his belly, turning taut as he breathed heavily. “Darling, I'm almost there.”

Rook hummed in acknowledgement, stroking him faster, any pretense of watching the show falling away as she turned toward him.

Emmrich came and Rook quickly bent down and took him into the soft, wet heat of her mouth, swallowing around him and drinking her fill of him. His cries were swallowed by the loud gasps of the crowd as the Queen returned to the Witch.

Rook pulled away, a satisfied smirk on her face as she dabbed at the spend that clung to the edge of her lips. Emmrich, unable to help himself, pulled her in for a kiss — licking at the seam of her mouth and sucking her tongue.

Act One ended as Queen Madrigal's body was discovered, four steel swords running through her chest, a haunting reprise of the Witch's prophecy playing as Divine Theodosia I declared the beginning of the Steel Age.

They did not stay for Act Two.

[otakuashels]

Lines of Linen

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Category: F/M

Fandom: Dragon Age: The Veilguard (Video Game)

Relationship: Rook/Emmrich Volkarin

Characters: Emmrich Volkarin, Rook (Dragon Age)

Language: English

The steam rising from her cup curled in languid spirals, warping his silhouette like heat over Rivian sand The rich scent of Antivan coffee, earthy, bitter, laced with a hint of clove lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of old vellum and candlewax. Diligent. Elegant. Scholarly. Kind. Compassionate. Loving. Brilliant. Talented. Charming. Rook could have whispered those words like a litany and still not captured the whole of Emmrich Volkarin.

Renowned corpse-whisperer. The pride of the Mourn Watch. The Lich Lord’s favored. A man of secrets and brilliance, wrapped in layers of polish and poise. And yet... that polish only made her wonder what lay beneath.

He sat at his desk with the stillness of a portrait, long limbs folded like a marionette at rest, only his hand moving quill scratching across parchment with a soft, deliberate rhythm, the kind that could lull a person into reverie. Ink pooled in glass bottles, dark as spilled blood, and the scent of it metallic, sharpened the air. Stacks of correspondence loomed around him like small towers, each parchment whispering with the ghosts of unspoken replies.  

Even in this simple task, he was graceful: golden spectacles perched perfectly on the bridge of his nose, catching the glow of firelight; fingers holding the quill with the finesse of a maestro coaxing a melody from his instrument.

Across the room, Rook slouched into the plush embrace of a red-winged chair, its velvet worn soft beneath her fingers. She leaned sideways, legs draped over one armrest, her body curved like a cat’s. The coffee warmed her hands, seeping into her bones, and she clutched it like a dragon hoarding a sacred trove. The fire crackled low beside her, casting shifting amber light across the study, its warmth making the shadows dance against the walls.

Watching him like this, so unaware, so wholly absorbed was dangerous. He left her alone with her thoughts, and they were quick to turn treacherous.

 

Her mind drifted back to the other night. The way he had looked at her, eyes wide and unguarded, like storm clouds split to reveal the stars beneath. The trembling in his voice as he bared his soul, pulled open his chest, and offered her his still-beating heart. She had taken it greedily, gratefully, with a smile and a breath of relief. Yes. He did love her. That much was clear. And yet fear, her constant companion, had a talent for creeping in and unraveling certainty.  

 

It was cruelly poetic: they were two sides of the same coin. Emmrich feared he was too much, a flame too bright and consuming. And Rookshe feared she was little more than smoke, not enough to hold, to stay, to love.

 

Rook took another sip, though the coffee had gone lukewarm. It tasted faintly metallic now, bitter on her tongue, but she welcomed the discomfort. It kept her tethered, kept her from floating too far into the dark. Or maybe not far enough. Her eyes never left Emmrich, but her vision blurred around the edges, her mind slipping inward, downward.

 

Why does he love me?

 

The question came unbidden, sharp and barbed. Her throat tightened. She shifted in the chair, tried to shake it off, but the thought dug in, rooted deep. What did he see in her, really? Beside him, she felt like something half-formed. Sketched where he was refined, crooked where he was carved with care. He moved like poetry. She stumbled like a child's fingers at their new viola.

 

Maybe he mistook her chaos for charm. Maybe he saw only what he wanted to see, some tragic softness hidden beneath her snarling, sharp-edged armor. She had let him in, yes. Let him see parts of her no one else had. But what if that had been a mistake? What if, now that the mystery was gone, he’d start to see the truth? The selfishness. The spite. The hungry, aching need to be chosen over everything else. Even if he never said it, even if his touch remained tender, how long before he realized she wasn't worth the devotion he poured into her so effortlessly?

 

Her chest ached. She pressed the rim of the cup against her lips, not drinking, just holding it there, grounding herself in the warmth. The fire popped, startling her. Across the room, Emmrich didn’t even glance up. Of course he didn’t. He was working. Important things. Beautiful things. Things that made the world less broken.

 

And what do I do? She almost laughed. Short, silent, bitter. I sit. I watch. Until someone needed another tool. A problem to throw at another problem.

 

There were days she felt like a weapon forged for a war long over. She had sharpness, yes, but no direction. No purpose. Not like him. Not like the golden boy with ink-stained fingers and a spine made of quiet steel. He belonged to the world. And she... belonged nowhere. Or worse,only to him. And gods, wasn’t that pathetic?

 

She hated how much she needed him. Hated how her thoughts looped endlessly back to his smile, the soft cadence of his voice when he said her name. Like she was something sacred. Like she was worth it. And every time, a part of her recoiled, clawed at the inside of her ribs, screaming: He’ll see it. He’ll know. He’ll leave.

 

Because love, to her, had always been a temporary kindness. A borrowed coat on a cold night. You held it close, but you never stopped expecting the moment someone asked for it back.

 

And when he finally did, when Emmrich looked at her with that gentle, perfect face and realized she was hollow where it mattered, what then?

 

Rook swallowed hard, eyes stinging.

 

What will I be without him? She tilted the cup, letting the last of the coffee coat her tongue cold now, sour and thin. Her stomach turned. She set it down on the side table with more force than she meant to. The soft clink of ceramic on wood felt deafening in the quiet. Emmrich didn’t flinch. Of course he didn’t. He was still immersed in his letters, still calm, still whole.

 

She envied him. Gods, she envied him.

 

How did he make it look so easy? That gentleness, that confidence, that effortless grace. She had seen him walk through blood and grief with the same unshaken poise he brought to a ballroom. Meanwhile, her hands still trembled in the dark, reaching for something solid, something real. Something she could never quite hold on to.

 

She pulled her legs tighter to her chest, curling in on herself like a burned scrap of paper. Her arms wrapped around her shins, fingers digging into the fabric of her trousers, and she pressed her forehead to her knees.

 

She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t be with him.

 

She was a storm dressed in skin. She wrecked everything she touched. Her past was littered with people who’d loved her and learned better. How many had walked away whispering the same things? Too much. Too closed off. Too sharp. Too much need. Too much fear.

 

Too much and not enough.

 

The silence pressed in thick around her, a heavy, suffocating weight. She could hear the faint scratching of his quill, the flutter of paper being turned. It should have been comforting, but it only made her feel farther away.

 

He deserves peace. He deserves someone better.

 

She could feel it, this invisible divide between them. A gap that widened every time she doubted, every time she recoiled from the softness he offered. He gave so much. And what did she give him back? Anxiety. Need. Her fragile, coiled terror disguised as wit. Every time he told her he loved her, a part of her flinched like it was a cruel joke she hadn’t yet figured out the punchline to.

 

Her eyes burned.

 

She clenched her jaw, blinked hard, but it came anyway, the heat in her chest climbing up her throat, the tight ache behind her eyes breaking open like a dam.

 

A tear slipped free, trailing warm and slow, down her cheek. She didn’t move. Didn’t wipe it away. It was safer that way. To pretend she hadn’t noticed. If she moved, the mask might slip, and she wasn’t sure she could put it back on fast enough.

 

Another tear followed. Then another. And another.

 

Silent. Steady. Relentless.

 

She bit her lip until she tasted blood, head still bowed, hoping, praying he wouldn’t look up. That he wouldn’t see her like this. Not like this.  

 

She didn’t want him to know how close she was to breaking. Because if he did... he might finally realize she already was.

The sound of his quill scratching against parchment rang in her ears like a drumbeat, steady, rhythmic, far too calm for the storm inside her. She pressed her hands harder into her knees, as if she could force the tremors to stop. Her chest felt hollow, fragile, like a glass that might shatter if she breathed too hard.

 

She was empty. She was so empty. He was everything. His love, his devotion, his brilliance so full, so abundant. She had watched him offer his heart to her, wide open, as though it was a treasure to be shared. But how could she return it? How could she give him the depths of feeling he gave so easily? His love felt endless, vast as the ocean, and hers... hers was a mere ripple on the surface.

 

She could feel it in the way she responded to him. There were moments, so many moments when she felt his presence like a weight, a steady pull at her soul. He loved her, didn’t he? He had to. But could she love him the way he deserved? Could she ever be enough?

 

Her heart clenched, raw and tight, as the questions churned within her. She had accepted his love with relief, but now the fear was setting in, fear that she hadn’t earned it, that she couldn’t hold it. How could she? She wasn’t like him. She didn’t feel the world the way he did. Where he was fire, she was cold. Where he wore his emotions like armor, she kept hers locked away behind walls so high, so thick, she couldn’t even see the cracks in them. She couldn’t even tell if she had enough love left to give him. She could give him comfort, sure. She could offer affection, and those soft moments when their hands brushed, when their eyes met in shared silence. But was that love? Could it be?

 

What if she never felt enough of what he felt? What if she could never match the depth of his heart, never meet him halfway in the ocean of his feelings? What if, one day, he saw the distance between them for what it was, the empty spaces in her heart, the quiet void where love should have lived and decided it wasn’t enough? That she wasn’t enough.

 

Her fingers curled around the fabric of her trousers, nails biting into her skin. She wished she could feel it all, his passion, his devotion, the fire that seemed to burn in everything he did. But all she felt was a dull ache, a quiet longing for something she wasn’t sure she could give.

 

He deserves someone who can love him the way he needs. The thought hit her like a physical blow. Someone who can pour everything they have into him, without hesitation. Someone who can feel the way he feels. But not her. Not Rook. She wasn’t built that way. She was a quiet, measured thing, afraid of the depths of her own heart. Afraid to let it all spill out and drown them both.

 

Her breath hitched. She didn’t even know if he could hear the way her heart cracked under the weight of it all, or if he was just too lost in his own world to notice. She wanted to say something that would make him understand. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t even say the words to herself. I’m not enough. The thought repeated itself like a mantra, a bitter refrain that sank deep into her bones.

 

The tears that had been threatening finally broke free, quiet, uncontrolled. She let them fall, brushing against the curve of her cheek, falling into the hollow of her collarbone. She didn’t make a sound. She didn’t want him to hear. She couldn’t bear for him to know the truth.  Rook squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her fingers harder into her face, wishing the flood would stop. 

 

But it wouldn’t. The ache wouldn’t stop. The fear wouldn’t stop. Not until he saw her for what she was, someone too broken, too empty, too afraid to love him the way he deserved.

 

Emmrich had felt the shift in the air, the subtle change in Rook’s energy. The way her stillness deepened, how she pulled further into herself, curling like a wilted flower seeking shade. He’d seen the tears hadn't he? That slight shimmer in the corner of her eye as they caught the flicker of the firelight, the way she wiped them quickly as though she could erase them from existence.

 

He saw it. He always saw it.

 

But what could he say? What could he do?

 

It was different with her. She was never as easy to read as others. He had known her long enough to recognize the quiet battles she waged inside herself, the way she held her emotions close, like a treasure locked in a chest with no key. She had always been guarded more so than most people could even begin to understand. He had learned early on that there were parts of her that would remain a mystery, pieces of her heart that might never see the light of day.

 

But this... This was something else.

 

He didn’t know when the ache had started to build in his chest, a slow, quiet gnawing at the edges of his thoughts. When had it crossed the line from concern to something more visceral? When had it become impossible to ignore?

 

She had been so quiet, so withdrawn these past few days. And today, today it had settled in, thick and tangible between them. The air was different. The way she curled into herself, the way she clutched her knees as though holding onto something fragile. He had noticed the tremble in her hands, the way her breath hitched when she thought no one was looking.

 

He had felt her tears before they had even fallen. It wasn’t magic, or some arcane gift, it was just the quiet intimacy of being close to someone, of learning the subtle patterns of their being. She was unraveling, and he could feel it in his own bones.

 

But what could he do?

 

His quill slowed once more as he watched her from across the room. She hadn’t said a word, hadn’t looked at him, and yet, everything in him screamed to cross that room. To hold her. To tell her something, anything that would make the pain stop. But the words felt useless, hollow.

 

She didn’t want pity. He knew that.

 

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, fingers gripping the edge of the desk as he fought the urge to act. He wanted to reach out, to break the distance between them, but he had seen the walls she built. He had seen how she recoiled when anyone tried to pry too deeply, too soon. She needed space. He couldn’t force his way in.

 

Instead, he stayed silent. He let his quill scratch across the paper again, slow and methodical, the rhythm of it filling the silence between them. But he couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling that something, everything was slipping away from him.

 

He had always believed that if he was patient enough, she would let him in. Slowly, carefully, she would let her walls fall, and he would be there, waiting. But now... now he wondered if that was enough. If being patient, being gentle, would ever be enough to make her feel safe enough to open up to him.

 

The quiet in the room stretched long and painfully. Emmrich swallowed against the tightness in his throat. He wasn’t afraid of her silence, not in the way most people would be but it hurt him in a different way. It made him feel small, like he was failing her, like no matter how much he tried, it was never enough. That maybe there was a place inside her that he could never reach, a place too far for him to follow.

 

He could feel the weight of her pain pressing against him now, like a weight on his chest, suffocating him in ways he couldn’t understand. What was it that had caused this? What was it that made her feel like she couldn’t give him the love he offered so freely?

 

And then it hit him so softly, so quietly, it almost didn’t seem real.

 

She was afraid.

 

Rook had always been afraid of losing herself, of being too much, of not being enough. She was terrified that she couldn’t give him the love he deserved, and it broke him in ways he hadn’t been prepared for. He had thought he understood her, thought he could offer her a safe place to rest, a place to lean into him without fear. But now, in the quiet of her stillness, he saw it: she was holding herself back, keeping him at arm’s length because she feared her inability to match the depth of his heart.

 

He set the quill down. The scrape of ink against parchment stopped, leaving the air thick and fragile between them.

 

She needed him. But she needed more than his presence. She needed him to understand, truly understand, that he wasn’t asking her to be someone she wasn’t. She didn’t need to give him all of herself. She just needed to trust that what she had was enough. That she was enough.

 

But what could he say? What words could he offer that would untangle the knots inside her, the fears that held her so tightly?

 

Emmrich stood up slowly, his movements quiet, careful. He didn’t want to disturb the fragile space between them, but he couldn’t stand there any longer, watching her slowly unravel, wishing for something he couldn’t give.

 

He moved toward her, his steps silent on the worn wood floor. And still, she didn’t look at him. Not yet. But she didn’t pull away, either.

 

He stood beside her, close enough that she could feel his presence, but far enough to give her the space she so desperately craved. He could feel the warmth of her body in the air between them, the tremors in her shoulders, the faintest hint of her breath hitching as it left her lungs.

 

He didn’t say anything at first. He didn’t need to. He simply reached out slowly, cautiously and rested his hand on her shoulder, a quiet gesture, warm and steady.

 

And in that silence, with nothing but his touch between them, Emmrich hoped she could feel the unspoken promise that he wasn’t going anywhere. That he was here. That, despite everything, she was more than enough for him.

 

He didn’t know how much time passed before her sniffling faded into silence, before the tears were gone, wiped away by the back of her hand — dry knuckles, old battle scars. Rook the Grey Warden didn’t cry. Rook, leader of the Veilguard, didn’t cry. Rook the woman, well, she rarely cried. Only sometimes. And lately, only about him.

 

Neither of them knew who moved first. Her legs shifted, unfolding to make space. Or his, bending to kneel on the floor beside her. Her half-hearted protest about his knees was lost in the hush of his kiss to her cheekbone, the brush of lips across the bridge of her nose. The soft, dry press of his mouth against hers. No words were needed. He saw her. He knew her.

 

He was the kind who wanted to speak, to sob, to wear his heart in every trembling breath. To cry it out, sing it if he had to. Rook would let him. She’d hold him, anchor him, bear it all with quiet strength.

 

But she was different. She held herself close, her grief quieter, her emotions restrained, not absent. Never absent. She raged when she needed to. She wept with fury, fought like a tempest, laughed like thunder. Rook felt deeply, and she never shied from showing it.

 

Except when it came to love.

 

Her love was quiet. It lived in the unnoticed spaces: the way she corrected his step when he was too engrossed in an old tome to notice. The ever-ready hot water, the tea waiting in the morning. The food stall in Minrathous that somehow always got his dietary needs right. The sweets that appeared without fanfare on his desk. The new quills tucked into his satchel. The way she leaned more weight on her left leg when she was on top, sparing his aching hip the worst of the pressure.

 

She didn’t say it. She showed it. Quietly. Fiercely. No declarations, just the language of touch. Different, yes... but no less true.

With gentle fingers at his collar, Rook drew him down. A kiss to his mouth. Then another. And another. Her hands, soft but insistent, found his elbows and tugged until he rose from his knees. A small shift, a breath of motion and Emmrich was in his chair, her weight settling into his lap like something remembered.

The kiss, the caress, the warmth of her it all remained innocent. A conversation, not a seduction. A way of saying what words couldn’t bear to hold.

He saw the cracks in her, the small, splintered places she tried to hide. And he, foolish with love, gilded every fracture with devotion, pouring golden tenderness into her broken edges. He would mend her with adoration if he could.

Soon, her tears would dry, as though none of it had happened. And he would let himself believe it hadn’t.

Her fingers rested over his heart, not moving, not needing to. She wasn’t asking anything from him, not really. Just this: his presence, his patience, his quiet vow not to look away.

“Do you know,” she murmured, almost too quiet to catch, “that I’m trying?”

“I know,” he said, and kissed her temple. “So am I.”

Rook let out a shaky breath, her forehead pressing to his.

She didn’t break often. Not where others could see. But Emmrich had long since stopped believing that strength meant silence, or that she needed to carry all her ghosts alone. Her bravery was not in the hiding, it was in the choosing to stay, even when it hurt.

Later, she would shift, becoming the version of herself she preferred, the bold one, all smirks and mischief, enticing him up the stairs, clothes slipping from her in a teasing trail. He’d chase her, just to hear her laugh when he caught her, tangled together in their shared warmth.

That, too, was Rook. As real as this quiet moment.

He ached for her to see what he saw, that she was enough, more than enough. That he would never wish her different. But she would never quite believe it. And maybe that was all right. Maybe it had to be.

His love would spill into her, endlessly, until it filled every hollow, until there was no space left untouched by it. They hadn’t yet reached the edge of what she could hold, and he prayed they never would.

Until then, they would go on, beautifully, tragically, as they were. A little broken. A little brave. Clinging to each other in the quiet between storms.

And he would never want it any other way.

(Reblogs, likes and comments are always appreciated 😊 but not expected)

[xhollowfaerie]

If you like your coffee hot, let me be your coffee pot

You call the shots, babe, I just wanna be yours...

Rookanis fluff and longing, with a cherry of Spite on top. 💕

-

“Rook?”

The rich Antivan accent rang through the main hall, eliciting a raise of two mismatched orbs. A book sprawled open, floating in front of her as the pages seemed to turn of their own volition. The sound of his voice immediately attracted all of the elf's attention, and the book closed itself before taking refuge atop the coffee table.

“Oh…! Hi, Lucanis.”

Mierda. 

The way his name rolled off her tongue… he couldn't even imagine ever getting used to it.

“Smells like… rosemary and vanilla. Longing.”

He couldn't hold Spite back. However, he managed to elicit a giggle from the elf as her scarred hands ran through the ample length of her silken, roseate locks, slowly and soothingly.

“Yes, Spite. It's rosemary oil, great for your hair. The vanilla is the top note of my perfume. Teia gifted it to me, on our last trip to Treviso.”

Lucanis held Teia in high regards, saw her as family; they had both always been around Caterina; she was basically his teasing younger sister. 

Viago, well. He had come to see him as family too, especially as he grew closer to Teia. Old feelings had come to pass. Everything was neutral, calm. As it should be.

Except Teia already had Viago. Why must she keep flirting with Rook, too?

I could have gotten it for you.

‘Jealous’ Spite growled in his ear, and Lucanis thanked the Maker that he managed to suppress him from saying that out loud. He knew Teia’s little affections towards Rook were inoffensive, and mostly meant to irk him. 

The worst part was that Teia saw exactly how Lucanis had looked at Rook since the second she brought him back to Treviso, and that she continued to aggravate him in relation to the feelings that already tormented him day in and day out.

“I really like her, Teia. She’s like the sister I never had” Rook broke their silence once more, and slid across the couch so she could make space. Heat rushed to her face as she pondered for a moment, before continuing with a sheepish smile. “But don’t worry, you’ll always be my favourite Crow.”

Lucanis felt his stomach flip, and, unsure of what to do with whatever was fluttering inside of it, tried to gulp it down and clear his throat with an awkward chuckle.

You’ll always be my favourite Rook. 

“Rook! Is my! Favourite!” Spite barked happily, before Lucanis covered his face in shame. His canine dug into his bottom lip to the point of drawing blood, if only to stop the demon from revealing anymore compromising thoughts.

She laughed sweetly, glancing away. Rook tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and nervously fidgeted with her hands atop her lap.

“I’m glad” she breathed. She sounded… relieved? “Care to join? Sleep seems to be eluding me.”

A pile of books towered next to an aromatic porcelain cup, causing Lucanis’s nostrils to flare with anticipation. She bent towards the coffee table and revealed his purple cup from behind the pile, steaming and waiting.

“I… sorry, I made us both coffee out of habit. Seeing your cup next to mine feels oddly comforting. Here, before it gets cold.”

Something flooded through him, all the way to his fingertips. He tried to shake the feeling off as he approached her with soft steps. He hovered for a moment, unsure if he should sit next to her or across, but she had already invited him to join the free spot by her side, and it would be rude not to accept.

Of course. That's why.

‘Liar.’

“Gracias. Tasting Rook’s famous coffee is an offer I can never refuse.”

She grinned, and he couldn’t help the corners of his lips from tugging upwards, folding his arms as he took a sip. She did the same, before her lips let out a prolonged exhale. Lucanis shivered.

“Ahh. It’s getting there, but still nowhere near Pietra’s. I don’t think I could ever make something that perfect.”

“The profile is… whimsical. Cinnamon, nutmeg. Honey. The beans are slightly charred. And… Ah, yes. Cream, with the faintest hint of…”

Their eyes locked; he felt his breath cut off as he drank her expression in. They were close enough to notice the few freckles dotting her face, beneath her Vallaslin and scars, and the unnatural shine in her left eye. The back of his own itched ever so slightly. Her eyelashes curled beautifully around them, fluttering at him like the wings of a fairy.

“Lavender” he breathed, and her hand dared to slowly slide across the fabric of the couch, inching closer. 

Longing, Spite had said. As he felt his skin prickling from their vague proximity, all he could smell was rosemary. Not even the coffee could keep her from invading all of his senses.

Lucanis froze; he feared the aggressive pace at which his heart hammered against his ribs would be loud enough for her to hear. 

The way the two jewels gazed at him from beneath her lashes felt like he was being put under a spell. The itching got worse, and, as Kore’s sheer robe slid down her perfectly rounded shoulders, the Crow caught a glimpse of her chest, unable to tear his eyes away from the lace neckline of the pale pink chemise, shamefully following the curve of her generous cleavage. The elegance of its silk couldn’t outmatch that of her visage, of the intricate streaks of lightning that decorated her like the brush strokes of a painting, more exquisite than any of Viago’s prized possessions.

Suddenly, he pulled away and brought a hand up to his face, scrubbing his eyes painfully as he let out a groan of frustration.

“This cursed Fade… why so bad, all of a sudden…” he lamented to himself. Spite repeatedly kicked the couch.

‘ALWAYS! ALWAYS RUIN IT, LUCANIS! LONGING! SHE LONGS FOR YOU. FOR US. ARGH, STUPID, STUPID! Let Spite try, take care of Rook. I’ll show her. Desire. Mine. Yours.’

The assassin grit his teeth and directed a very colorful string of Spanish towards Spite under his breath before facing her again.

‘Pretty eye. Pretty color. Like a petal. Tell her. Rook, so pretty. Beautiful. Like a day of spring. TELL HER!’

“Enchanted” it finally dawned on him, with a little help from his usually (extremely) not helpful roommate.

“Your eye. That’s why… it made mine itch.”

A flicker of hurt flashed across her features, and he immediately regretted his words.

“Yes, it’s… They took-”

The table rumbled, and the entire stack of books threatened to fall over; she took a deep breath, inhaling the scent - of Lucanis - of their coffee, steadying her hands so her cup would stop clinking atop the frail porcelain plate.

“I… lost my eye, years ago. After I joined the Dragons, Viper suggested I could get one custom made. I wasn’t great at fighting, and it gave me a huge disadvantage. So I accepted. And… I thought I could use my magic to enchant it. I worked on it for weeks.”

She let out a small sigh, placing her cup down and bringing one hand to her face, to ghost under her artificial eye. “I still can’t see with it, not in the normal sense. But it sees traces of magic, of the Fade. And it moves naturally, so it’s not too obvious.”

When she glanced at him again, his eyes were haunted by a frightening intensity. She had seen him focused before, but… not like this. His stare was so sharp, she felt like gazing at him a moment too long could cut her.

She didn’t look away.

His eyes had done this before. In Vyrantium.

When they first met, Rook had lied. She had been lying to everyone, including herself, he suspected, for what he assumed had been months, if not years. That she was Dalish.

Not even Neve knew, from what Lucanis could tell; he would never push, but the hints were there. She was not the kind of mage he hunted down, crippled and interrogated, before slicing their throats without a spare thought.

He had noticed for a while that details of her stories wouldn’t add up. He had noticed how she always aided the poor, always comforted the disadvantaged, the forgotten. And most of all, he saw the look on her face every single time she killed Vints.

It was the same as what he saw in the mirror, every time he dared to look. 

That hunger for revenge.

‘We kill them, ALL OF THEM. Make them. Suffer.’ Spite hissed as he slithered around the couch, before tilting his head in front of Rook, reaching out to gently hold a single lock of her hair. 

‘So gentle. Like a flower.’

The Crow had never considered that his demon could ever be so careful with something as he watched Spite gingerly twirl streaks of pink between his digits.

‘We kill them. They. Hurt Rook.’

Yes, Lucanis thought instinctively, in a heartbeat. Even Spite was surprised at how quickly they agreed.

We’ll kill every single one. Until there’s nothing left. Until their blood flows like rivers.

“Lucanis?” 

He widened his eyes incredulously as a gentle warmth caressed his skin, the tips of her fingers brushing across his cheek. He had never felt such tenderness.

“Are you alright? Is it Spite? Don’t worry. I’m here. Nothing bad happened.”

He parted his lips to speak, but the words he longed to voice died in his throat, all he could do was panic and pull away, straightening his collar and taking a quick gulp of coffee to steady his mind.

“Lo siento. I do not mean to cause you distress” he hastily replied, watching her shyly retreat and mirror him as she reached for her coffee.

‘She cares for you. For us! Sweet. Lavender. Kiss her. I want. To. KISS. ROOK!’

Thankfully, her honeyed voice overlapped with Spite’s. “No, not at all. Quite the contrary. The cafe, and here, now…with you… I can finally relax” she murmured, smiling down into her cup as she cradled it between her palms.

They chatted idly, and Lucanis offered to listen to her reading her book, if only to calm Spite’s demands. She had flushed, but agreed, and lovingly recited a passage from Hard in Hightown.

He listened intently, until he felt his eyes sliding to a close. Their empty coffee cups rested together near her books. The purple cup casted a protective shadow over white and pink porcelain.

Kore watched him quietly; for how long, she couldn’t remember. She studied his features adoringly, the little moles on his face, the shape of his nose, the very faint wrinkles tailing his eyes, and the sinking shade of exhaustion beneath. Her smile turned into a small frown, and, without warning, she angled towards Spite, who had been sitting between them, doing his best to behave.

“Please. Let him rest?” she pleaded, and one of her hands reached out towards Lucanis. She almost touched him, almost... wistfully tracing the shape of his exhaustion in the air above his face.

“My Crow. He’s so tired.”

The purple humanoid shape that constituted Spite in her enchanted eye nodded begrudgingly, but gestured her hand away from Lucanis, snatching it instead. She couldn’t hear him, but she saw him mouthing a pessimistic ‘fine’. He couldn’t touch her, but he wanted to pretend to hug her hand to his chest, and she obliged.

Kore’s expression softened, leaning in to place a kiss on Spite’s forehead. His excitement almost woke Lucanis, but she placed a finger over her lips, gesturing him to stay quiet. 

“Thank you, Spite. We can keep reading if you want.”

If he had a tail, it would be wagging. He grinned from ear to ear and brought his knees to his chest as Rook’s whispers soothed Lucanis in his sleep, blissfully unaware that she had additionally enchanted her eye (with the help of the Caretaker and Emmrich). She had been able to vaguely see his plus one for quite a while.

[bitethedemon]

Daggers, Poison, and Shiny Things (Lucanis x Reader x Illario): Chapter 3

<-Last Chapter

Link to this fic on AO3

Tags: Slow burn, De Riva Reader, Eventual Smut, Messy Love Triangles

Fic summary: You lost everything in Rivain: your family, your home, and your hopes of ever becoming a seer. Treviso offered you revenge, but you were not prepared for the loneliness you would find amongst the Crows. The busiest assassin in Antiva became your only friend. That is, until he died and left you alone to pick up the pieces of yourself and his devastated cousin.

Imagine then, that your dead old flame shows up after a year, very much alive, with a very loud demon at his side and a hot new boss, while you have to explain that you are now dating his cousin. Don't you just hate it when that happens?

WARNING: NSFW Content, Toxic Relationships, Baby-trapping

“How do you work like this?” Viago asked and gestured to your worktable in the laboratory. “No order, ingredients thrown around, solution on the table. River…”

“Good morning to you too,” you mumbled. “There is order to my chaos.”

“A moronic thing to say,” Viago said and started sorting through your mess. “There is no order to chaos. That is why it is called chaos.”

He sighed and swore under his breath in Antivan as he began tidying up your workspace. It had been Viago’s laboratory once. He was a master poison-maker, the best the Crows had to offer, but now he left most of the grunt work to you. 

He looked at you out of the corner of his eye as he tidied up.

“What is you and Illario’s deal?” he asked.

You briefly looked up at him.

“I thought you didn’t care about my love life…”

“I don’t,” he said quickly. “But you are a de Riva. If something is going on, it will reflect badly on all of us. I would simply like to know in advance of the rumors.”

It was all bullshit, of course. Viago was big on gossip even though he acted like he was above it. His nose was solidly planted in everyone’s business.

“Why would you assume that whatever is going on is bad?” you asked. “What have you heard?”

“Nothing…” he said with a frown and a shrug.

He poured a healthy dose of various poisons into his morning coffee. He placed them in front of you afterwards. It was something he had urged you to do when you started working as a poison-maker. A little each day so that you could build up tolerance for your own poisons. You started measuring and pouring a little from each vial into your own cup.

“Although—”

There it was.

“I have seen him walking around slightly inebriated these last couple of days, and Teia swore she saw him flirting with someone a couple of days ago.”

You sighed deeply. Illario really was pissed at what you had said. 

“What do you want me to do about it?” you asked a bit too sharply.

“Well do something,” Viago said and sipped his coffee. “You will look like an idiot if people see him going behind your back. It is shameful.”

“He’s the idiot.”

“Okay, you are both idiots,” he said with a shrug. “Are you happy? Fix it.”

“He proposed to me,” you said calmly.

Viago choked violently on his coffee. He coughed and waved his finger around in the air to signify that he definitely had something to say about that once he was done dying.

“Don’t he dare,” he wheezed in a firm tone and coughed again. “Don’t you dare. I did not invest all this time in you for you to become a Dellamorte. Not that any of the families would approve. Is he—”

“I know,” you said. “I told him that too. I didn’t say yes, obviously. I’m not stupid…Don’t tell anyone.”

Viago opened his mouth to start ranting again before the door to the laboratory opened. It was Lucanis.

“This conversation isn’t over,” Viago said to you before grabbing his coffee and leaving.

He shut the door behind him. Lucanis looked from the door to you.

“Trouble?”

“When isn’t there?” you said with a sigh and then looked up at him with a smile. “Hi.”

He gave you a small smile and walked over to you. He placed a tin container on the table.

“I brought you food,” Lucanis said. “Couscous with mint and bell peppers.”

Your smile widened. It warmed your heart. You had missed his attempts at making Rivaini food dearly. It always tasted amazing, even though it had that distinct Antivan taste that he never quite managed to fix. Not that you ever had the heart to tell him.

“That’s so nice of you,” you said. “I haven’t had Rivaini food in ages, actually. How do you find time to cook when you’re doing…whatever it is you and your new allies are doing?”

He leaned on the edge of the table and looked at what you were doing.

“I don’t sleep,” he said with a shrug. “I try to do something productive with the time.”

You looked up at him. He did look like he had not slept in days. There were dark circles under his eyes.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” you asked with slight worry in your tone.

“Spite,” he said. “He takes over my body when I sleep. So, I don’t.”

You nodded and could not help looking at Spite. He looked as if he was simply listening in on the conversation, though he was observing you intensely. Lucanis cleared his throat in an awkward manner. You blinked and turned your attention back to him.

“Sorry,” you said and shook your head. “He’s difficult to ignore.”

“You are telling me,” Lucanis said with a tired smile.

He most likely wasn’t fond of you seeing him that way, or he was scared of how Spite might act if given too much attention. You decided to change the subject since he seemed uncomfortable.

“Why are you in Treviso?”

He tilted his head slightly.

“Illario didn’t tell you?” he asked.

You weren’t sure if you should tell him that you two were having trouble. Lucanis sure didn’t need more things to worry about, so you simply shook your head.

“He has some information for us,” Lucanis explained. “We are supposed to meet with him at Café Pietra.”

We. 'We', meaning him and Rook. They were just casually going to one of Lucanis’ favorite places in Treviso. That didn’t bother you in the least, obviously…

“Right…” you said quietly.

Then silence fell over both of you. You both just stood there for a moment. It was hard to put a finger on it, but everything was so just odd between the two of you. As if there was an invisible wall between you that hadn’t ever been there before. You hated it.

“Right,” you repeated and scratched your neck awkwardly.

You moved to one of the many bookshelves along the wall to pull out a book. It was one of those he had once given you. You looked through it and bookmarked two chapters with strips of paper before handing it over to him.

“Here,” you said. “You can borrow this. There are a few chapters on seer meditation and how to move out of trance after a possession. I don’t know…It might be helpful.”

He smiled when he recognized the book as one of the ones he gave you.

“Thank you.”

“Of course,” you said and smiled back at him.

“NO BOOK. Help. Us,” Spite hissed. “River is SAFE. Help Lucanis. FREE US!”

Lucanis’ eyes closed and his jaw clenched for a moment.

 “I…need to go. Good luck with Viago,” he said.

“NO!” Spite hissed in frustration.

You nodded and watched him leave in slight puzzlement. Free…us? You couldn’t stop wondering what Spite had meant by that. Something more was going on than just an unruly spirit.

You were tired. You had just closed down the laboratory and were on your way home. You heard close steps behind you and then an arm wrapped around your waist. You jumped slightly and turned to see Teia smiling up at you.

“River…” she said in a low, conspiratorial tone. “One of my fledgling’s just came back here from the bar down the street. The Sun.”

You knew of the Setting Sun, of course. It was Illario’s favorite spot to drink himself into a stupor. You already had a hunch were this was going.

“Yeah?”

“They saw Illario practically eating the face of some poor girl down there. It would just be a shame if you caught him red-handed.”

You felt a flare of anger in your stomach. Your jaw clenched and you looked at Teia.

“Thank you,” you said.

“Give him my best regards,” she said with a smile. “Don’t go easy on him.”

There were so many excuses. Illario could not quite figure out if he should play the victim card or the aggressive card. He was drunk, of course, so that did not help in the least. You had found him with the girl sitting on his lap. Now you were loudly arguing outside the bar.

“You are no different from everyone else,” he snapped at you. “You don’t love me. I am just the next best thing to him, isn’t that it?”

“If I wanted to be with Lucanis, you and I would not be together!” you yelled at him. “You have humiliated me. How stupid do you think I am, Illario?”

“I have humiliated you?” he hissed. “Do you think it is not humiliating to know that you will ever only see me in his shadow? That you will not even marry me?”

“I won't marry you because it is a ridiculous idea,” you snapped back. “Don’t you play the victim with me right now. You went behind my back.”

“As if you have only ever been upfront with me,” he said with a scoff. “Don’t you think I notice how you look at him? How you still pine after him? I hope I was a good replacement until the real thing came back.”

“Oh, shut up,” you gritted out in frustration.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” he said bitterly. “Hm? He still visits you as if nothing has happened. How do you think that makes me feel?”

“You weren’t a fucking replacement!” you snapped at him. “Lucanis and I are still friends, yes, but I love you. We needed each other at a moment in our lives when we both had nothing, and I am loyal to that. Which is why it hurts so much to see that you cannot pay the same respect to me.”

He sneered at you. He ran his hand over his face, shook his head, and sighed.

“It doesn’t matter…” he said with a bitter scoff. “You are going to leave me. Everyone does eventually. My parents, Lucanis, Caterina, and now you. It doesn’t matter what I do.”

He was playing dirty with his sad eyes and bitter tone. It pissed you off to no end. You groaned in frustration and kicked the wall behind you hard. Gods, you wanted to strangle him sometimes.

You closed your eyes, took a few deep breaths, and then looked at him.

You shouldn’t forgive him. You were better than that. Had you been back in your village in Rivain and had you two been married, he would have been shunned from the community for what he just did. You really shouldn’t…

You gave another frustrated groan and then walked up to him until you were in his face.

“If I ever catch you with another woman again, you will wish that I had left you now,” you growled at him. “You humiliate me like this again, Illario, and not even death will give you peace from my anger. Do you understand?”

It was clear in his eyes that he was torn between whether he should let you speak to him like that or if he should simply agree with you. He had not seen this side of you like this before and it clearly threw him for a loop. You were raised in a society where a man should feel honored if a woman like you looked at him twice. Illario grew up in a society that told him that everyone should bow and scrape around him.

He eventually gave you a curt nod and put his hands on your hips. You slapped his hands away.

“You reek of her,” you said with utter disdain.

You turned and walked home, leaving him there alone.

You had removed the key to your house from where it usually was hidden. You did not want to even look at him. You were tired and you were pissed off.

Of course, removing the key did nothing more but send a message that you did not want him there. Illario found a way inside anyway, to no surprise. It was late in the evening when you heard some commotion from your bedroom. You grabbed a knife from your kitchen before going upstairs.

You swung the door open and pointed the knife at him.

“No,” you said firmly and pointed to the window he had come from with the knife. “Go.”

He looked like he had somewhat sobered up since you had yelled at him a few hours ago. He was not impressed with the knife. He knew as well as you did that you had never been good with them. His expression said as much when he looked down at the knife and then smiled at you in slight amusement.

You raised a brow in challenge and slammed the knife down on the top of the drawer beside you. A flash of fire emerged from your hand instead. He frowned slightly then.

“Don’t be like that,” he said.

“I have nothing more to say to you tonight, Illario,” you said. “Leave. I am not playing this game with you.”

“I am not here to play games, love,” he said in an almost pleading tone. “I thought we agreed to put it to rest. You’re sorry, I’m sorry… I just wanted to see you. We’re fine, no?”

Gods, he could be so thickheaded sometimes. You glared at him.

“So let us move on,” he said and slowly walked towards you. “I’ve missed you...”

You did not extinguish the flame in your hand. His eyes flicked from it to you.

“We both know you won’t throw that.”

The flame grew bigger, and your fingers twitched. He took a small step back.

“What do you want me to do? Hm?” he said with a hint of frustration.

“What do I want?” you repeated his question in an irritated voice. “I want you to leave, Illario. Instead, you are here acting as if everything is completely fine. As if you wouldn’t have fucked that girl, had I not intervened.”

“River, amore,” he said in an exasperated voice as if what you were saying was unreasonable. “We talked about this. I was in a bad state of mind. It should never have happened. I told you.”

“I need time.”

He sighed and looked from the flame to your face again. You saw how he relaxed his body language, and you had been around enough assassins to know it was a ruse. You tensed and readied yourself to move away.

He got ahold of you before you could even flinch. He wrapped his arms around both of yours and forced your arms down, making you to extinguish the flame so as to not set fire to yourself. He turned you around and wrapped one arm loosely around your neck and the other tightly around your middle and arms.

“You are cute when you’re jealous,” he spoke into your ear. “Please, love. Don’t be like this.”

You gave a low, irritated groan at his words. It wasn’t his first time pissing you off and then trying to fix it with honeyed words like this. You just felt stupid that it always somehow worked on you.

He slowly kissed his way from your neck to your ear.

“It was hot when you yelled at me earlier,” he said and bit the lobe of your ear. “I’ve missed you so much…”

He pressed himself against your ass and you felt that familiar stir of arousal in your stomach. You cursed yourself for giving in so easily. He loosened his grip on you when he felt you becoming calmer. You turned around to face him.

“Never again,” you said firmly.

“Never…” he agreed.

You sighed. You leaned forward and kissed him. He smiled against your lips and began walking you backwards towards the bed.

He pushed you gently to sit on the bed and started unbuttoning his pants. You sighed internally but took the hint when he started running his hand through your hair. You really ought to bite it off, you morbidly thought to yourself as you started to kiss your way up his shaft, it would save you so many problems with this man.

His breath hitched when your lips closed around him. His grip on your hair tightened slightly when you did. His thumb ran gently over your ear.

“You are so beautiful like this,” he murmured. “Don’t stop.”

You didn’t. You took him as deep as you could go without gagging, eliciting a low groan from him.

You knew this little dance of yours, because you had done it so many times. Illario was a selfish lover. You didn’t particularly mind taking care of him like this, but it was slightly infuriating at times like these where he had been an asshole. Still, you liked making him feel good.

He pulled out of your mouth after a while and helped you out of your clothes. He grabbed your hips and turned you so that you were on all fours in front of him. He ran his fingers over your folds, teasing your clit for only a moment before one of his fingers entered you. You were already wet, which in Illario’s head meant that not much more foreplay was needed.

His fingers pressed into the soft flesh of your hips before he sank his cock into you with a groan. He leaned down to kiss your back. His hands moved from your sides to your chest to play with your tits. He began driving into you in a slow steady rhythm.

“You are mine, aren’t you?” he mumbled into your ear.

“Yes,” you moaned.

He groaned and his thrusts became quicker.

“And you won’t leave me,” he said breathlessly as he moved. “When I become First Talon, we will get married, and no one will be able to take you from me.”

You were used to Illario babbling nonsense when fucking you. You mostly tuned it out, but the First Talon thing was a new one. His thrusts became deeper and harder. He leaned down to whisper in your ear.

“You should have seen how he eye-fucked that elven girl the other day,” he hissed into your ear. “I doubt he ever flirted with you like that. He doesn’t deserve you. He never did.”

You bit the inside of your cheek and tried your hardest to ignore him. He was close. You knew it from the way he bit your neck and shoulders. Your hand went to your clit and you started rubbing it in circles. He fucked you harder, and with your own help, you managed to come half a second before he did.

Though this time, he did not pull out like he had done millions of times before. You panicked when he bottomed out and came deep inside you.

“Are you fucking stu—”

He grabbed you in a way that made sure you couldn’t move, and he pressed you facedown down into the mattress.

“I’m serious about this, River,” he growled into your ear. “I want you.”

You winced as the contents of the bottle violated your tastebuds and went down your throat. You had to make a potion that would ensure you did not get pregnant from Illario’s spontaneous desire for fatherhood. Everything was such a mess right now. What the fuck was up with him these days?

Viago entered at some point and started speaking at you: Something, something, remember to request new ingredients, something, something, five batches behind.

“Are you listening, River?”

“No,” you mumbled absentmindedly.

“I would ask if your ears were for decoration, but I have seen how they look and know that cannot be the case,” Viago chided harshly. “What is wrong with you?”

“So many things,” you mumbled tiredly and started noting down ingredients on a piece of paper. “I’m only three batches behind. I’ll get the remaining two done today.”

“Hey,” Viago said and snapped his fingers in front of your face to catch your attention. “You are not focused. What happens when we are not focused?”

“Mistakes.”

“Correct,” he said, and his tone softened slightly. “Is this because of Illario? Teia told me of his little…fling. I did tell you to do something.”

“We made up,” you said absentmindedly.

You could almost hear Viago roll his eyes across the room. As if he and Teia were any better...

You turned to face him. You needed to talk to someone. You had three someones: Illario, Lucanis, and Viago. One was the problem, the other was riddled with other problems, so there was just Viago left.

“He’s sure he’ll become First Talon,” you said. “Like dead sure. It’s weird.”

“Illario? First Talon?” Viago let out a rare laugh. “Are you serious?”

“It’s weird, don’t you think?” you said, putting the thoughts that had swirled around in your head since he first mentioned it into words. “I mean Caterina just died, his cousin just came back, and now he has mentioned it to me twice.”

“Why does he think that?” Viago asked. “We both know that if another Dellamorte were to take the place of First Talon after Caterina, it would not be Illario.”

“I didn’t ask,” you said with a shrug. “But it’s weird.”

“Someone says something like that, and you don’t think to ask?” Viago asked with a scoff. “He could be planning something.”

“Well, please do forgive me,” you said sarcastically. “Illario was in the middle of proposing the first time he said it, and the second time, he was inside me. It didn’t really seem like the time to bring it up.”

Viago’s face soured as if he had just taken a bite of something utterly disgusting. He raised his finger at you.

“Don’t ever say those words in that order to me ever again,” he said.

You smiled. Making Viago uncomfortable was one of the few joys in life. It was painfully easy.

“I will send someone to sniff around a bit,” he said. “Keep this between us for now, yes?”

You nodded.

[copper-wasp]

A Very Good Morning

Dragon Age: The Veilguard Emmrich Volkarin x Female Rook Rating: E Rook and Emmrich shirk their duties to spend a lazy morning together. I posted this a couple weeks ago on AO3 but wanted to add it here as well!

⬇️ Read below ⬇️

A soft kiss to Rook’s temple gently woke her, Emmrich’s voice soft as he called her name. 

“Good Morning, darling.” She opened her eyes, his face slowly unblurring as she adjusted to the light in the room.

“G’morn…morning,” she mumbled through a yawn, her body luxuriating in a long stretch of her muscles. 

“I must get going, but I brought you something to eat, it’s here on your nightstand. Do try not to forget about it, my dear,” Emmrich said, combing through her messy hair with his fingers. He needn’t have warned her, as the rich aroma of Antivan coffee had already filled her lungs.

“Lucanis finally sent more?” she commented, taking another deep breath.

“The post arrived just an hour ago.”

Turning to her side, she reached for the mug, her bare arm and shoulder emerging from beneath the blankets. The rest of her was bare as well, unable to muster the strength to find her nightclothes after the prior evening spent with her lover. 

“I’ll have to write him a letter,” Rook said, making a mental note to send back some blood oranges and chocolates.

She took a grateful sip of the coffee, sweetened exactly to her liking by a most thoughtful necromancer. The same necromancer who had now leaned down to kiss her bare shoulder, caressing the backs of his fingers over her smooth skin. His intentions were always transparent, and she felt a warm blush on her cheeks at the idea that her shoulder was enough to have Emmrich shirk his appointments.

“I thought you had to leave,” she teased, Emmrich’s lips moving towards her neck. “I wouldn’t want your colleagues to blame me for your tardiness.”

He prised the mug from her grasp and placed it back on the nightstand, just out of her reach.

“I will beg forgiveness if I must,” Emmrich said, beginning to unbutton his cuffs. “But I fear I cannot resist you when you present such a beautiful picture.”

Rook snorted, her brow furrowing. “Ah yes, with my hair a mess and sleep dust in my eyes, I’m sure you can’t get enough.” Emmrich paused in his garment removal, kneeling beside the bed to catch her gaze.

“You’re right,” he confirmed, “I am completely enamored of you, dearest.” She cupped his face, still in awe of his devotion and love, both of which she returned eagerly and without hesitation.

“Emmrich,” she whispered, drawing him close for a kiss, soft and slow, basking in the Nevarran morning glow. She felt his tongue entreat entry at the seam of her lips, eagerly allowing him to sample the coffee’s fragrant blend. A gentle moan and Emmrich pulled back, giving her one more teasing peck before he stood to remove the rest of his clothing in a tortuously slow manner. Rook took the opportunity to grab the mug of coffee once again and take another languid sip, her gaze taking a lazy trip over his body.

“I suggest you put that down, darling,” Emmrich said, pulling back the covers. “We wouldn’t want to stain the bedsheets.” She did as he asked, resting her hands on his shoulders after he moved atop her. 

“Such an attentive lover you are,” she teased, tilting her head to allow him to lavish her neck.

“I do try,” he commented, his free hand cupping her breast.

“And succeed,” Rook added, her eyes closing when she felt his lips close around her nipple, warm and wet. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders just a little at the feel of his teeth grazing over the hardened nub, before swapping to her other breast to provide it with the same treatment.

Emmrich’s lips continued down her body, Rook already knowing their destination. His hands lightly gripped her hips, mouth already kissing her mound while he settled between her thighs.

“Emmrich, you don’t have to- oh, Maker….” she breathed, words devolving into moans when his tongue parted her labia, pressing so sweetly against that precious spot of pleasure. He rightfully ignored her half-hearted plea, kissing and licking and sucking with gusto, the taste of her even richer than the coffee he’d sampled from her lips.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, only momentarily thinking about how badly she’d messed his coif before the thought was stolen by her climax.

“Wonderful work, darling,” Emmrich mumbled, licking up her slick. “Absolutely divine.”

Rook chuckled breathlessly, glancing down at her lover, his head resting on her thigh while looking very pleased with himself. He wiped the corners of his mouth, enjoying the last bit of her taste from his fingers as if it was a delicacy. Rook sat up, smoothing her hands over his hair in a futile attempt to smooth it over, giving him a crooked smile before giving up.

“Fret not, my dear,” Emmrich said, adjusting to kiss her, long and sweet. “I have plenty of combs.”

She laughed, caressing his cheek, so very in love. “Well, Professor, allow me to make it up to you regardless.” Rook guided him to lay on his back, swinging one leg over to straddle his hips. 

“I do adore having you like this,” he admitted, caressing down your sides to your waist, delicately enough for goosebumps to prick your skin. Rook leaned forward, his cock pressing delightfully against her belly, stiff and already leaking, Emmrich’s grip tightening on her waist. 

“Enjoying the view?” she asked, making sure he was watching before sinking slowly down onto him.

“The most beautiful one I’ve seen,” he agreed, matching her rhythm, always conscious of her pleasure as well as his own. His eyes roved over her body; the pulsing tendons in her neck, the pocket her clavicles created when she’d hunch her shoulders for a different angle, the way her breasts bounced as she rode him, all burned into his memory.

“So, so good, my darling,” Emmrich said with effort, gripping hard on her hips, directing her movements in that perfect way that had her back arching as she cried out in pure bliss. 

“Come here, love,” he encouraged, pulling her into an embrace, wanting to keep all her breathy sighs close. 

“Emmrich,” Rook whispered, her lips by his ear, teetering on the edge. He kissed down her neck, knowing exactly where to place a gentle bite to make her muscles tense so wonderfully around him. A gasping moan and she was lost to her pleasure, Emmrich fucking her through it until he couldn’t contain his own any longer. He spilled himself inside her warmth, nuzzling his nose against her neck to breathe in her scent, jasmine and amber musk and soap from yesterday’s bath. 

Emmrich pressed a few more kisses to her thrumming pulse, Rook’s breathing starting to slow. Regretfully, she lifted herself up, falling gently onto her side next to him, feeling so light and well-fucked. 

They lay together for a long moment, still pressing as much of their bodies together as they could. 

“You are so very late, Professor,” joked Rook, pressing a gentle kiss to his smiling mouth. 

“I think I’d better just reschedule,” Emmrich relented, “I’ll send Manfred to let them know.”

“Oh, good, I get to keep you all to myself, then?”

“I am all yours, darling.”

Thanks so much for reading! You can find my other works on AO3 here. I am also on bluesky - @copperwasp.bsky.social

[himluv]

Unexpected (i'll take it)

It's a snow day here in my corner of the Pacific Northwest, so, I present to you – An Update! In which, Lucanis and Embria return to Treviso.

Read it below, or over on AO3! Enjoy!

The evening was young when Davrin and Emmrich cleared the dining hall table of the team’s dishes. Bellara had cooked dinner, a simple but hearty dish of roast pheasant and vegetables, so Lucanis was in the rare position of having neither cooked nor being on dish duty. He was free for the evening, with energy to spare. And everyone else had left the room, giving them the semblance of privacy at the table.

“Rook,” he murmured, leaning toward her and reaching under the table to place his hand on her knee. He would never have been so daring even a week ago, but ever since the night he became First Talon there’d been a new sort of comfort between them. Touch was easier – still not easy, but it took less courage each and every time. His hands reached for her, without his permission, like flowers seeking the sun.

She hummed at him, eyes shining in the firelight. She had that sated look, the corners of her eyes relaxed and her smile slow and easy. Embria had enjoyed Bellara’s meal and now sipped her wine with contentment. 

“Come to Treviso with me,” he said. 

She chuckled at him. “What, now?”

His smile was slow and sensual. “The city comes alive at night.”

“Lucanis. Wants. Coffee!” Spite added. 

She laughed and Lucanis shrugged. 

“And I want coffee.”

“I thought you said it’s better when you make it?” Her cheeks were pink, a result of the wine and her good mood. 

“It is,” he said. “But it’s best at Café Pietra.”

She rolled her eyes, but he already saw her answer in the curve of her smile. “All right,” she said. “I could go for a cup of coffee.” Her eyes looked him over, slow and heated. “And maybe dessert?”

Her double meaning was clear to him and his stomach flipped in response. 

Flirting, Spite whispered. 

Lucanis let his hand wander up from her knee, his fingers brushing along her thigh. Even as his hand shook at his boldness, it was worth it to see Embria’s eyes darken with desire and watch her breath hitch. Maker, he wanted to make her look at him like that forever. 

“I think I know just the place.”

Lucanis led Rook through the market, slowly winding their way toward the stand he had in mind. He loved the markets, loved watching the mundane actions of buying and selling, of life playing out in little deals and secret smiles. It reminded him that there was a world beyond the Crows and it was worth protecting. 

It seemed Embria appreciated the markets as well. She smiled at merchants as she browsed their wares, and always thanked them when she stepped away, especially if she left empty handed. She lingered at the crystal merchant, listening to them describe some supposed mystical ability the stones contained. Her eyes gleamed as she considered the stones, and Lucanis couldn’t help himself. 

He leaned into her space, just behind and to her right, so his breath tickled her ear and neck. “See something you like?”

She suppressed a shudder, then shook her head. “Not here,” she said. She gave an apologetic smile to the merchant, who promised they would have something to catch her eye next time. Then she turned to him. “What next?”

He tilted his head toward the back of the market. “This way.” He led her to a stall at the far end of the market. The air was filled with the warm aroma of cinnamon and fried dough, and Embria smiled as she inhaled the delicious scent. 

“What is that?”

“You’ll see,” he said, then greeted the merchant. He ordered in Antivan, to prolong the mystery, then turned to hand Rook her dessert. “I present to you,” he said. “The churro.”

She laughed at his theatrics and took the pastry. “I thought you said you know how to make these?”

He blushed, pleased that she remembered his conversation with Harding. “I do,” he admitted. “But no one makes them like Carlotta.” He smiled at the woman behind the counter and her wrinkled cheeks went pink at his praise.

“You are too kind, señor,” she said. “It is good to have you back.”

“It is good to be back,” he said. Then he took Rook’s hand and led her toward the café. 

Embria bumped her shoulder against his. “She liked you,” she said. 

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Carlotta?” He snorted. “She’s old enough to be my grandmother.” And how different his life would be if she had been.

She grinned at him. “Old ladies love flirting with young people.”

Lucanis rolled his eyes and took a bite of his churro. It was just as good as he remembered, the dough light and airy, crunchy on the outside but soft in the middle. And Carlotta’s cinnamon sugar was perfectly balanced for just the right spice and sweetness. 

“Fenhedis!” Rook said as she finished her first bite. “You weren’t kidding – these are good!”

He was beginning to suspect that there wasn’t much Rook didn’t like, but he was glad she approved of his choice for tonight’s dessert. 

“You’ve used that word before,” he said. “Davrin disliked it when you said it.” He glanced at her and caught the blush on her cheeks. “What does it mean?”

“It’s an elven curse,” she said.

“I gathered that.”

“A… pretty dirty one.”

“Which is…?” He enjoyed her embarrassment. She was cute like this, her cheeks bright red, her skin aglow with lantern light, a smattering of cinnamon sugar glittering on her lips. Lucanis had a very sudden and visceral need to kiss her. To taste the churro on her tongue. 

Then she said, “It means wolf cock.” She glanced at him, and then away. “As in, the Dread Wolf’s–”

He recoiled. “Mierda,” he said, frowning in disgust. “For once, I agree with Davrin. You should break that habit.”

She scowled at him. “I know, but I’m running out of profanities!”

They both laughed at that. Quiet, peaceful laughter as they strolled toward Café Pietra hand-in-hand.

“Did you eat a lot of churros before...?”

“The Ossuary,” he said. “You can say it.”

Spite hissed at the mention of their prison, but even his anger wasn’t as sharp as it had once been.

"Okay, then." She squeezed his hand. “Did you eat a lot of churros before the Ossuary?”

He gave her a curious look.

She shrugged. “It’s just that the merchant said it was good to have you back. So, I thought maybe you were a regular customer of hers.”

“I was,” he said. “I frequented many of these stalls. I had an apartment at the edge of the market.”

“You did?” Her brow furrowed in thought. “I know you said you left the villa at eighteen, I guess I didn’t consider where you would have gone.”

He squeezed her hand. “I’ll take you by it on our way back from the café.”

She smiled at that. “Okay,” she said. Then took another bite of her churro. 

Across the city, the Chantry bell tower tolled out midnight. The café was busy this late in the night, and musicians played upbeat songs over the din of conversation. Most of the tables looked full, and Rook gave him a worried look. But, he shook his head as he spotted a server coming toward them.

“Señor Dellamorte,” the man said with a polite nod. “We have a discreet table at the west end, near the canal, if you’d prefer?”

“I would,” he said. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” the man said. He did not make eye contact with Lucanis, and kept his chin tucked in deference until they walked away. 

Lucanis sighed as they sat. 

“Something wrong?” Embria asked. 

He shook his head. “It seems news of my… promotion has reached the café.”

“And… that’s a bad thing?”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “We’ll see.”

They ordered their coffees – Andoral’s Breath for everyone, even Spite – and then settled in to enjoy the splendor of Treviso at night. Everywhere he looked, there was light. Lanterns over doorways, candles in windows, street lamps lining bridges and walkways. All of it reflected off the canals to give the city an almost jewel-like aura, glimmering and romantic. 

Lucanis had travelled to many cities to fulfill contracts. Not one ever captured his heart the way Treviso did. 

“Do you think they’re wondering why you ordered a drink for an empty chair?” She asked after a moment. She looked at the chair, even though Lucanis knew she couldn’t see Spite sitting in it.

He shrugged. “If they are, they won’t tell anyone. The Crows own this café.”

Spite took a deep breath over his coffee and groaned. Smells like… Lucanis.

“Just try it,” he said, as if coaxing a child to eat his vegetables.

“So,” Rook said. “Are you two okay now? Since, you gave Illario another chance, I mean.”

He shook his head. “That wasn’t our deal. We said we’d save Caterina, and we did.” He smiled at her. “Even I believe we did.” 

We still hurt. Him. HUMILIATED. Him. 

Lucanis sighed. “So, there’s peace. For the moment, at least.”

She smirked at him. “How is your grandmother doing?”

He frowned. “You’ve met her. She was hewn out of dragonbone. She’s pretending not to be upset by Illario’s betrayal and my possession.” He glanced at Spite, who watched him with a guarded look. “Which means, she’s making everyone else as miserable as possible. Except Teia. She likes Teia.”

Embria chuckled at that, but the humor didn’t quite reach her eyes. She was wary of his family, which he thought was reasonable. They’d hardly made the best first impression. “Are the other Talons okay with the whole… abomination thing?”

He looked at Spite. “Probably not. But they prefer me to Illario or the Venatori.” Lucanis smirked at her. “I suppose the Crows have had worse First Talons.” 

Rook looked at him, then at Spite’s chair and then back to him. “Is it weird that I’m enjoying getting coffee with you and Spite?”

He snorted at that. “It’s certainly isn’t normal.” He glanced at Spite, who was still sniffing warily at his coffee. 

The demon looked up at him. You. Try. It.

Lucanis sighed, then took a sip of his coffee. It was delicious, of course. Robust and bitter on the front, melting into something almost sweet by the finish. Not unlike this past year. He glanced at Embria, then a swell of emotion made him look away. 

“I don’t know what I thought it would be like. Getting out of the Ossuary. Getting my life back.” He certainly had never imagined a version of escape that ended with crystal grace eyes watching him with so much warmth. 

“You mean, you didn’t spend all that time dreaming about having coffee with your inner demon?” She was teasing him, trying to keep the evening light. 

But this was midnight in Treviso, where coffee was ample cause for heartfelt confessions. And he needed her to know how he felt. 

Lucanis stood and went to her side, looked down into those eyes he’d come to rely on, noted the freckles he longed to memorize on the bridge of her nose. He would look at her forever, if she would let him. 

“And with you,” he said. “But, here we are.” He smiled at her, and gave an awed shake of his head. “Whatever this is, I’ll take it.”

Spite watched them, then sniffed at his coffee again with a determined frown. Meanwhile, Embria smiled up at Lucanis and outshone every lantern in Treviso. Lucanis knew then, that his heart had found a new home. No matter how much he loved his city, it would never capture him so completely as Embria had. 

From now on, his heart would beat for her. 

[belle-noche]

Blood & Whiskey

So I blame @rookanisstuff and @ttrevelyan for hooking their claws into me with this Mafia Rookanis brain rot and I had to do it to em. So here's my take of a mafia AU. @rookanisstuff this is for you but also for me this has consumed me XD

Blood & Whiskey (A Rookanis Mafia AU)

 The air was thick with smoke as rain pelted against the cobbled streets of Treviso, times were hard, staying alive was harder. They had carved up the city like a christmas turkey, 8 families drawing lines in the sand that caused more bloodshed rather than preventing it. For decades, an uneasy peace had settled in the city-if you could call a state of Cold war peace. It was hard to finish when the two most prominent families often stood at opposite sides, and no one was looking for an all out war. 

The De Rivas and Dellamortes got along out of respect, over actual care for one another, a point driven in since childhood to Lucanis and Illario Dellamorte by their grandmother. The Raven sat on a street of neutral territory, where most families came to do deals, a jazz club where men and women could go without getting a bullet between the eyes.

Most days, anyway.

Lucanis adjusted his tie, gold pin catching light as he sipped a whiskey. His younger cousin, Illario was beside him, fingers drumming impatiently on the bar top. His eyes scanned the room like a predator. The Dellamorte boys were infamous throughout Antiva,especially Treviso. Lucanis was cold calculation, while Illario opted for his trigger happy impulses that kept Caterina Dellamorte in a perpetual state of damage control.

“You see that?” Illario nodded towards the door, “Trouble just walked in..” His voice takes a song like tone-amusement clear in his eyes. Lucanis followed his gaze as she walked into the bar like she owned it. Rook De Riva was all slender legs wrapped in Emerald silk that sang against olive skin. The dress was a statement, her brother draped everything in that shade of green, a clear point of loyalty and where hers layed.

She took a seat at the bar a few seats down from them, she ordered with quiet authority. “Vodka cranberry.” Her voice is deep, sultry, wrapped in false security that bellied the danger she possessed. Lucanis was moving before his brain caught up, he was sliding down the bar, drink in hand. “Well, well. Rook De Riva.” He greets, voice like velvet over gravel. She turns slowly, unbothered, her eyes appraising him from head to toe-silent minus the chewing gum she popped between her teeth, expression unreadable. “Only my friends get to call me Rook.” She says plainly.

Lucanis takes a deliberate sip of his drink, savors the burn. “We’re not friends?” He asks, a dangerous playfulness in his tone. Rook arches a brow at him, her eyes rack over him again, a different kind of interest flickering in her pupils. “We’re not gonna be friends.” there's a dangerous curve to her lips as it crawls into a smirk. She picks up her drink, sliding a tip across the deep wood. She takes a slow slip, eyes meeting his unflinchingly-before turning and disappearing into the crowd. Her perfume lingers, roses with a hint of gunpowder.

Lucnais watches her disappear into the crowd, a half smile on his face. “Isn’t she stunning?” he asks no one in particular, raising his glass back to his lips. “She certainly looks good walking away from you.” Clapping a hand onto Lucanis shoulder.

Two weeks later, their paths crossed again, she approached the bar with less grace than she usually applied, perhaps more comfortable within her own territory. “Whiskey. Neat.” She orders, dropping her small clutch against the wood before searching for a cigarette case. “Now miss, you know how Mr. Viago-” the boy, Vincent, was new, inexperienced within their world, and Rook didn’t have the patience to be gentle. “Do I look like a I need a fucking man to order my drink for me?” Antivan accent thick with irritation as she finally pulled out a silver case.

The bartender pales, and then turns to make her drink. A lighter is offered before she can reach for her own, she finds dark eyes staring back at her, amusement lingering in them, she takes the light without a word, sucking in a plume of smoke. His eyes track her hand as she pulls the cigarette from her lips, notices the blood under nails. “We have to stop meeting like this, cara mia.” 

Rook doesn’t react, “I wasn’t aware we were meeting at all, Dellamorte. Does my brother know you’re in his bar?” The casual mention of Viago, the head of her family-was not casual at all. “And yet, here we are.” He signals for another drink, “How is Viago these days? I feel like I haven’t seen him in so long, still paranoid as ever?” “Cautious.” Rook corrects immediately. “That tends to happen when he’s shot mid peace negotiations.” Rook’s eyes are steeled, clearly she was aware there was no love lost between Lucanis and Viago. 

“I wonder what else he’s told you.” Lucanis smiled, he’s borderline teasing her. “He’s told me everything I need to know.” her eyes hold a silent warning. “Especially about you Dellamortes.” Lucanis leans into her, a devil in his eyes. “And what did he tell you about me I wonder.” Voice quiet and flowing like silk. “That you’re as dangerous as you are charming.”

“Is that a compliment?” He holds her gaze, “It’s a fact, only a fool would pretend otherwise.” The band continued to play around them, the melody wrapping around the two of them like smoke. Lucanis looks at her, a glint in his eyes. “What do you say? Wanna dance?” He offers a hand to her. She studies him for a few beats before finishing her drink in one smooth motion, and wraps her coat back around herself. 

“I don’t dance anymore.” The smoke over her cigarette curling over her words, she doesn’t look back at him as she walks away, crowd parting like water before coming back together again. Lucanis watches her retreating figure, raising his glass to his lips. “That’s a shame.” he murmurs, taking a large sip. 

“Cause you’re dancing with me.”

[luzial]

Chapter 15 - Roots

With the identity of the Final Inquisitor now revealed to the world, Ellana Lavellan (an investigative journalist) and Solas (a history professor) team up again to dive deeper into the mysteries of the Dragon Age as well as a series of strange phenomena that have been reported across Thedas. (Sequel to Overgrown)

Solas x Lavellan || Modern AU || Read on AO3 || Read from the beginning

Excerpt:

After a round of drinks Solas was considerably calmer, though his tongue had loosened accordingly. "When we return to Lydes," he said, leaning forward over the table with the flat bottom of his glass perched only somewhat perilously in the palm of his hand, "there's a new restaurant that just opened a few weeks ago. Antivan. I'd love to take you there. They make a fantastic paella." "I remember. You told me about that place when you first tried it. Actually, I think you sent me a picture of that exact paella," Ellana laughed before taking another sip of her drink. "That's right," he nodded. He had done that. He knew it. Why was still talking, he wondered, as he continued.

[therivercrow]

Nice Little Things

I was tagged by both @pixiedurango and @antivan-sprig in this cute tag game from @akuma-misery.

I've loved seeing what other people chose for their Rooks - objects can tell you so much about a character.

Rules: Choose 10 objects that you will place in the room of your Rooks on the places intended for customization. These should be small objects that can be placed in the following places: 2 on the tables by the doors, 2 on the tables by the aquarium, 4 on the bookcases and 2 on the walls. Attach a photo of these objects and give a short description of why your Rooks chose them.

Answers for Alana de Riva under the cut:

Tables (2 items)

Elven Bass (in game item)

Much like Antivan Sprig's Lisel, Alana is a bass player. Viago wanted them to learn an instrument as part of their Crow training, in case they needed to go undercover as a musician for an assassination contract. After trying and getting frustrated with the more obvious choices of piano and violin, Teia gave Alana this elven bass that she got from a Dalish contact. Alana picked it up quickly and learned some traditional Antivan and elven tunes. They play it when they need to think, but have never performed with it in front of others.

Vanity Kit

Alana never goes anywhere without their makeup. They favour dramatic purple eyeshadow, smoky eyeliner, and dark black lips. It may not be subtle, it may not be traditionally beautiful, but it makes Alana feel like a badass Crow. For certain battles or contracts, they paint their face with streaks of black and purple, obscuring their features or shading their eyes even further. The kit also contains various perfumes from the Treviso market, another part of Alana's regular preparations to face the day.

Bookcases (4 items)

Novels and Serials

Borrowed from Bellara, mostly, though Alana has taken to buying their own whenever they pass through Minrathous. Reading "trashy" books helps them unwind after a long day. Alana enjoys sapphic romances and whodunnit mysteries. They can't stand books about assassins, though - they always get the details wrong.

Azure Crow Mask (in game item)

Given to Alana on the night they became a fully fledged Crow. This was a deeply significant moment in their life and they keep the mask on display as a reminder of who they are, even when the world seems spiralling out of their control.

Decanter of Antivan Brandy

With two glasses for sharing with a certain detective who may have reason to spend the evening in Alana's room. This is a rare vintage, which Alana stole from Viago's personal collection (after checking for poison of course). It is mellow and sweet, with hints of exotic fruit. A drink for sipping while telling stories long into the night.

Medical and Poison Kit

As a mage, Alana doesn't tend to use poisons as a weapon, but every de Riva fledgling received extensive poison training, to build up immunity and to know how to make antidotes out of common ingredients, as well as basic field medic training to tend to injuries on the job. Alana keeps a medical kit in a small case, in easy reach just in case they ever need it.

Walls (2 items)

Weapons Rack

Alana is meticulously organised. Keeping your weapons clean, polished, sharp and ready was drilled into them in their training. One wall features a number of mageknives, from the first basic blade they were given as a Crow through to ornate enchanted knives with jewels and crystals embedded in their hilts, and carved filigree running down their curving blades. You can tell the ones Alana uses in combat the most from their more worn handles and scuffed metal. Others are purely decorative, or taken as trophies from contracts.

Painting of the Drowned District

A reminder of where they came from - not the gilded spires of Treviso's wealthy core, painted in so many classical landscapes, but the humble poverty of the city's Drowned District, where dockhands and fishermen eke out a living on the edges of the city and the sea.

I chose Van Gogh's lesser-known "starry night" painting, Starry Night over the Rhone (1888) to represent this image. Alana is more drawn to impressionism and the emotional play of light and brushstrokes than the technical accuracy of the classical Antivan Masters.

Aquarium Tables (2 items)

Chess Board

Alana enjoys chess and played it with Viago a lot as a fledgling. He used it as a way of teaching Alana how to read their opponents, getting to know their strategies, their tells, their approach to battle. In the lighthouse, they play mostly with Emmrich who is something of a master, at least when Manfred isn't knocking the pieces off the board.

Vase of Lilacs

Alana keeps this in a position where they can see it when they are sitting on the sofa or meditating. The magic of the Fade keeps the flowers fresh for far longer than they would normally last.

Tagging: @robinsea for either Ivy or Sihu!