#dragon age drabble

[lucianhuntress]

Emmrich x Reader: 58. “Don't get used to it.”

This was super extra special bonus that I came up with in the morning late in the night. No actual Veilguard spoilers in it. Just inspired by the Mourn Watch Rook.

The hallways of the Necropolis hum eerily, reminding of the lingering presence of spirits even when they mischievously stay out of sight. Sometimes the temperature drops uncomfortably as you walk through the stoney corridors to the professor's study.

Professor Emmrich usually treats his pupils equally and you aren't supposed to be any different. However, your enthusiasm in the studies of necromancy has piqued his interest; not only are you excited to learn —you have also shown skill in the simple rituals and ceremonies you have done so far. Obviously you are nowhere near his level, but with his guidance you may reach the pinnacle of spiritual magics one day.

Normally he wouldn't even be so invested in additional tutoring, but the light glimmering in your eyes like a dozen gleeful spirits makes his heart flutter. Spirits enjoy your presence and apparently so does he. 

“Tea?” He asks, musing to himself as he eyes you across the small table while you unpack your bag; a book of reanimation, a quill and a bottle of ink. You are always ready to take notes and he is happy to delve deeper into the theories of magic with you.

He notices how you have filled the margins of your spell book and he knows the act is condemnable; so many books in the library are often found full of illegible scribbles. Instead he finds it cute; another little detail about you and he really shouldn't keep adding any more reasons to find you endearing. It is hardly appropriate to favor one student anyway, much less to actually have feelings for.

“Yes… please. Professor.” you smile at him warmly, causing his heart to flutter. Manfred saunters over to you with a tray and pours tea into a very fancily decorated cup. You inhale the soft scents of the tea, before taking a sip.

“Oh dear. I see Manfred used the finest tea I have,” Emmrich says in a disappointed manner while somehow managing to sound cheerful at the same time. His eternal cheerfulness is something that keeps impressing you even if you are knee deep in femurs, ribs and spines while chanting a spell and holding a candle.

“I-I’m sure I've never had anything like this before.” You stutter slightly as you stare at the cup wide-eyed. “It’s so good, professor!”

“It certainly has such a deep and robust flavor that I rarely dare to drink it myself.” Emmrich sighs and taps his thighs gently, as if to end the tea serving. “Don't get used to it— I think I have to hide the remaining leaves.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering something to himself.

You let out a delighted chuckle, feeling the warmth of the tea spreading across your body. Emmrich studies your expression with bemusement. “I shall treasure this cupful then.”

[mediumsizedwildcat]

ugh having one of those if i wanna read it i gotta write it ideas again.

Rook as Inquisitor. time travel stuffs. Rook has a name and backstory separate from DATV & DAI. time travel. canon typical violence. drabble.

— ☾ —

Varric was going to talk Solas down. He had to be successful because, well, they didn't have another plan to save the Maker-damned world. Also, Varric was by far the best liar Rook had ever met -he'd even managed to talk him into chasing an ancient elven god. If someone could sell the opposite of what their mark wants, it was Varric. At this point Rook assumed it wasn't simply a question of the world itself but also Varric's pride. And if all failed, he still had Bianca. Weird name for a crossbow but Rook didn't judge. Okay, he judged a little, but not because of the naming!

Solas destroyed Bianca. Varric argued, tried to sell him the opposite of what he was doing, and by now Rook was ninety percent sure the two had a thing during the Inquisition. Which was kind of a funny thought, considering how elfy Solas seemed to be. Certainly not one to go for non-elves. Maker knew Rook had seen enough people like that. It didn't take long until Rook had Solas down and the situation began to play out in his head. No chance he was backing down. They needed another option.

Somewhere in the back of his mind Rook noted that this ritual site was definitely not a safe place to be. Crumbling stone, demons, half-standing statues. Oh, that last one! Where had he seen that? He chanced a look and yes, there it was. Over there. He could make his way there. When he set for it, Harding and the detective stopped him, asked for his plan. Rook explained as good and fast as he could and they wouldn't let him leave alone. Alright. Whatever.

The magic was going crazy and he hadn't been afraid of magic for years, since he'd learned to properly harness and control his own, and so he picked Neve. Magical storm, two mages, it made sense. Harding may have been invulnerable to demons in her dreams, but real magic still affected her. As mages, they knew what they were dealing with.

Rook was right. The statue was held up by weak wooden beams and scaffolding. Once the support was gone, it fell. Even as Neve and him were running from it, toward Varric, Rook saw the power Solas held. Could feel it under his thick skin within his very bones. Surprised, but not weaker for it. Solas used his magic to catch the statue and threw it back into place. It was unlike anything Rook had ever seen before. As if it was nothing, Solas continued his ritual.

Varric stepped forward, reached for Solas’ arm, for the dagger. Once again, Rook knew how it would play out, saw the shift of their feet, how their bodies turned and twisted. On instinct, he threw himself between, yanked Varric back as Solas turned, forced his own magic into a protective spell–

Too late. Too late. The dagger pressed through his armor, pushed past his thick skin, and Rook could feel the spell fade from his hands. The world turned upside down, then everything went dark.

—

Screaming woke him. Maker, he hated losing control of his spells. A feminine voice called out, crying out for help, “Someone, help me!” Rook's instincts kicked in.

—

When Rook came to, there was someone near him. He kept his eyes closed, listened, felt. Magic. He dared a look, opening one eye as little as possible, and was greeted with the image of a bald elf holding his left hand. There was something else, something more. Magic. Soothing. Because magic could do that. Despite what he'd learned. Exhaustion washed over him, just a little longer.

Pain violently ripped him from his peaceful slumber. A door was thrown open, a sword directed at him, blade an open threat.

“Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now.”

[multi-fandom-imagine]

A Lucanis x reader where the reader gets severally injured by one of the false gods, which leads to an angry and worried mess of a man half bent of revenge and worry for the reader on surviving the night { she does! }

A/n: best boy 🥹

Lucanis felt sick as he held you close, you've lost so much blood, everything happened so fast. You had taken a blow meant for Harding and while they might have been able to take one of the false god's down none of that mattered to him. Not when he had the prospect of losing you.

Taash had taken you from him long ago, the Quin and Harding along with Bellara tending to your wounds.

His hands were still covered in your blood, his clothes covered in your blood. Everything was screaming at him to go out and slaughter the other god, for harming you.

Spite screaming at him to do something, to stop being such a coward.

You were hurt! How could he allow you to get hurt?!

What if he lost you? What would he do? He finally found love, finally found someone that understood him!

This was his fault, he should have been faster, stronger and now you were fighting for your life because he was not good enough. Gritting his teeth he slammed his fist against the wall.

"You should change?" Neve's voice broke his messy thoughts. "I highly doubt they wish to see you covered in their blood."

"She's awake!" Lucanis jumped to his feet, heart pounding in his chest.

"Change then go see her." Neve gave him a nod then turned her body away as she left his room.

The world was spinning, your mind still clouded. You weren't quite sure what happened but you did know you nearly died as Harding did her best to stay strong in front of you.

Bellara healed you, the best she could anyways but it was good enough.

"Mi amor!" Lucanis breathed a sigh of relief as he rushed to your side. His hand grasping yours as he brought it his lips. His eyes were bloodshot, hair a mess, clothes wrinkled but he didn't care as long as you were okay. "I thought I lost you." His voice was weak as he held your hand.

Fighting back a wince, you forced a smile as you placed your free hand on his cheek. "Not even a god could keep me from you."

Brushing a stray tear from his cheek, Lucanis rested his head against yours. "I will protect you, nothing will keep you from me." He whispered.

[girlwithadragonheart]

hey i’m obsessed with lucanis (and spite) as well! I’m wondering if you would be interested in a mourn watcher elf rook x lucanis and have it be the week (or weeks i can’t remember) of rook being trapped in solas’ regret prison. i feel like spite would be pissed and confused as to why rook is missing! thank you and best wishes :)))

Lights Out

Pairing: GN!Rook x Lucanis (x Spite)

Summary: Rook is gone. Lucanis is grieving. Spite is restless.

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: Really depressing shit, spoilers obviously

A/N: I’m sorry this isn’t longer! I felt like dragging it out too much takes away from the visceral gut punch it is.

DATV Masterlist

Death was all Lucanis had ever known.

It clung to him like a shadow, a constant presence in his life as a Crow. It was his trade, his art, and his curse. The blood he spilled lined his pockets but left scars on his soul, marks he carried with him even when he tried to move beyond the life he once embraced. But death had always been something controlled. Until now.

Rook was gone. You were gone.

He stood in the doorway to your room, once petrified by the thought of how it reflected the Ossuary, now only drawn to what was left of your presence. His hands flexed at his sides, his chest feeling hollow.

The night was heavy with silence, the Lighthouse mourning the loss of its leader. Spite stirred uneasily in the recesses of his mind, his voice a low growl that rippled with confusion. “Where. Is. Rook?” The demon hissed, each word sharp as one of his daggers.

Lucanis didn’t respond immediately. He had no answer, and the truth stung worse than any wound.

Spite pressed on, his voice gaining a harsh edge. “Where. Is. Rook?!”

Lucanis could feel Spite’s frustration growing as he was ignored. Your absence was a gaping void, a wound that bled frustration and fear and loss. There was nothing he could do. The Fade was something so far out of his understanding, even with the demon possessing him. Still, he’d spent days searching, combing every lead, every thread of information he could grasp, only to find himself standing here, fists clenched in futile rage.

“Lucanis!” Spite snarled.

All he heard was you screaming his name as you were pulled into the Fade. He relived that moment every time he closed his eyes. What could he have done different? You had survived against impossible odds, and he had gotten his second shot at Ghilan’nain, somehow killing her. That high was quickly dashed as he watched your wide eyes, saw you reaching for him, screaming for him as you were dragged out of his reach.

“They’re gone, Spite,” Lucanis whispered, barely audible. 

“Where?” He demanded, pushing against the boundaries of Lucanis’s mind as though searching for you.

“I don’t know,” Lucanis’s voice was ragged as he huffed, taking a step further into your room and closing the door behind him. He ran a hand through his already-mussed hair. “They’re gone,” he repeated.

The faint scent of Nevarran spices drifted around the room, and the lingering smell of your oils. The things you had on a day to day basis haunted him. The Nevarran urns around the room and hastily scribbled notes on Elven architecture and the runes you’d found during the group’s travels. 

Lucanis didn’t have the heart to go any further in the room, his back pressed firmly against the door. His chest was tight, and he was finding it almost impossible to breathe, but all he wanted was to drink in your scent as long as it lingered. It was all he had left of you.

He had fought his way through countless battles, defied impossible odds, endured the Ossuary, and survived Ghilan’nain’s wrath, but none of it mattered now. The one light in his life had been extinguished. Every breath hit him like a blow to the chest, the tangible reminder of your presence that made his breath hitch. Every object in this room screamed your name, echoing in the silence that now filled the space.

Lucanis pressed harder back against the door, his legs threatening to give way beneath him. He forced himself forward, gripping the edge of the chaise lounge as he sat down heavily. His head fell into his hands as the weight of his grief threatened to crush him. He had dared to hope. After years of blood and shadows, he had begun to believe he could have something more---someone more. And now, that hope lay in ruins.

Spite stirred uneasily in the recesses of his mind, his presence a simmering heat that was neither comforting nor intrusive. The demon was quiet at first, an uncharacteristic stillness that only deepened the ache in Lucanis’s chest.

The room seemed to shrink around him, the walls pressing closer as the grief threatened to suffocate him. He reached out, almost without thinking, and picked up one of the notes you had left on the desk. The parchment was worn, the ink smudged in places, but your handwriting was unmistakable. His thumb traced the curves of your letters, his hands trembling as he clutched the note like a lifeline.

“You were my freedom,” he whispered hoarsely, his voice barely audible. Tears blurred his vision, spilling over to streak down his face. “The only thing that made all of this worth it.”

Spite’s presence shifted, his usual arrogance subdued by something almost… mournful. “Rook…” the demon murmured, his voice a low growl that trembled at the edges.

Lucanis’s grip on the note tightened, his teeth clenched as guilt and rage swirled within him. “I failed them,” he hissed,his voice trembling with self-loathing. “I should have done more. I should have saved them.”

Spite didn’t argue. Lucanis wasn’t sure he was listening at all. The demon was restless, his silence heavy, a shared grief that settled over them both. “Rook.” Spite said again, pushing against Lucanis’s skull. He wouldn’t settle. He couldn’t. Spite wouldn’t stop moving, stop searching, looking through Lucanis, looking through the room, searching for his Rook.

“Spite…” Lucanis said wearily. “Spite, they’re gone,” he repeated, his voice cracking.

“Rook!” Spite pounded against Lucanis’s mind, screaming as though it would do anything to bring you back.

“Spite, enough!” Lucanis yelled finally, hands tangling in his hair. “Rook is gone! Gone! The one good thing---” His voice broke, and he couldn’t finish. The anguish in his chest was too much, a wound that refused to heal.

Lucanis pressed the note against his chest, his shoulders shaking as he fought to contain the sobs threatening to escape. For a long moment, he simply sat there, the silence of the room broken only by his ragged breaths. The scent of you lingered, faint but persistent, wrapping around him like a ghostly embrace.

Spite shifted again, his presence like a smoldering ember in the back of Lucanis’s mind. “Lucanis…” the demon growled quietly.

Lucanis’s hands stilled, his breath catching. “I know…” he whispered. “I know.”

You were gone.

And he didn’t know if you could come back.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: I'm not crying, you're crying ;-;

Let me know if you want to be on the Lucanis Tag List <3

Tag List: @cirillabelle

[witchybitchycrybaby]

Emmrich had meant to read tonight.

He settled on the couch, a book in his hand. But still, he couldn't focus on the words, the letters blurring into an amorphous mass. So instead, he put it away as he let himself drift in the quiet of the night.

And then you found him—like you did most of the time.

He could tell you were tired and drowsy after a whole day of working, your eyes half-lidded and your movements sluggish. You deserved a good night's sleep.

So when you climbed on top of him, draping yourself over him like a weighted blanket, there was no hesitation in Emmrich's mind. He embraced you in his arms—one hand resting on the small of your back, the other gently stroking your hair.

Soon, your breathing slowed, your body relaxed, becoming putty in his hands.

You were so soft. So warm. He kept you safe, tucked against him like you belonged there—with him. Like he also belonged there with you. Always with you.

He should have followed you to the land of dreams. He knew he should rest, knew he needed to. It would be so easy, after all, to close his eyes and get lost in this warm cocoon you've created.

But Emmrich didn't want to sleep.

For if he closed his eyes, he would have to leave this moment.

And he wasn't quite ready to fall into blissful unconsciousness. He wanted to hold you, to kiss you, to whisper soft, quiet words meant only for you, even if you didn't hear them.

So he pressed a gentle kiss to your temple and whispered, "I love you so much, my darling."

He should have met you earlier.

The thought haunted him more often than not nowadays. It crept into his brain and twisted inside of him, tightening around his heart until it ached.

You were young, that's true—but not in a way that made him ever doubt your feelings or think that you don't know your heart well enough. You were young in a way that weighted on him; you had so much life to live. And he didn't.

Emmrich was always concerned with his mortality, with time passing relentlessly. But with you, his time had never felt so finite.

He should have been young when you were. Should have had the chance to love you for longer, much longer. He wanted to fall asleep and wake up with you for so many mornings that he lost count. He wanted to see you happy, hear your laugh, trace the shape of your face with his fingers until it was burned into his memory.

He wanted years. Decades. A lifetime.

Emmrich wanted more time than he had the right to ask for.

He knew he was greedy. And that was alright, because all he wanted was to be the only one to love you, to give you it all.

He knew you deserved everything, every star in the sky and every ray of sunshine. You deserved unconditional love, a bottomless well of devotion.

And now he was running out of time. He knew it.

If he focused hard enough, he could almost see it. A future, not that distant, where he no longer existed, where he was no longer a part of your world. You'd carry on, of course. You'd be alright. Strong, bright, brilliant. But without him.

Would you find love again? he wondered. Would you search for it after him?

He wanted to be selfish and think that he'd be your endgame—that he'd be the one for you, that no one else would ever love you the way he did.

But then again, he wanted nothing more than for you to be happy. Wanted for you to love and be loved.

More than anything, though, he wanted time. More of it. All the time in the world.

Emmrich's arms tightened around you. He pressed another kiss to your temple, but this time he stayed like that a little longer, breathing the sweet scent of you.

You sighed in your sleep and shifted, pressing impossibly closer to him.

And so he stayed awake. Just a minute longer. Maybe two. Just to still feel you in his arms. Just to still be with you.

[lemonsprite]

How tf did the inquisitor and Cullen go from being freaky on his desk to his bedroom up that gigantic ladder????? Who in their right mind is making out all hot and heavy and then climbing a 20ft ladder straight up???? Total mood ruiner in my opinion 😒

[meowsgirldrawing]

Soft is a Need too (Spite x Rook Drabble I could NOT get out of my head)

Obviously Lucanis x Rook too, but I like to explore Spite and his constant need for Rook just as much as Lucanis does too.

Not proofread so apologies for any mistakes, I am but a wee human in this wee world.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Soft, subtle hands play into ‘his’ hair, twirling a strand around a finger so gently before letting it fall to the rest before carding through once more.

Spite couldn’t tell what need rang better- the need to close ‘his’ eyes or keep them on Rook as they read their novel peacefully from their other hand. 

He only gets so much time with them, and yes- while that time has for sure grown since Lucanis finally did something worthwhile and said how he felt towards Rook after their long-awaited return, he still itches for the times Lucanis finally lets himself rest and him take over. 

He’s been what Rook calls ‘Good’ and laid with them instead of trying to leave. But why would he leave now? Before, he was just bored. Now, he’s not bored anymore! Rook is! With him! Him!! Spite!

And with the way they giggle after a particular hair caress has him sighing in content and nuzzling into their stomach, he can tell they like it too. Not think like Lucanis does, Knows!

“You’re not falling asleep either, are you?” They tease lightly.

Spite glares up at them with fiery purple hues marking their face, “No. Can’t now.”

Their brow raises and a light smirk has him smirking fully back. “Oh?” Their tone has him tightening his arms around them better. Better for them not to leave. “And why’s that, hm?”

Spite nudges into the palm cupping his face, lightly nipping at it that has Rook booping his nose in response for his assault. 

It takes him another moment to realize the look set on him is one of expectation, not just playfulness with tender touches added in. 

It’s simple. “Can’t loose. Our Rook. Again.”

Rook’s hand holding his face pauses as does the one clasped with a book freezes, turning more stiff. 

They blink, then an odd look comes about their face. Spite doesn’t like it. 

They look worried and runs a more concerned felt hand through his hair. He practically purrs like those creatures he sees them constantly petting in Lucanis’s home town. 

“Spite…you know I’m not going anywhere again, right?”

“Yes. Because we kill. Whoever changes that.” His eyes flash momentarily, and he brings a hand to their face instead. Soft skin meets his hand followed by a sweet flutter of eyelashes as he cups around the side of their face. Gentle as Lucanis told him. Like he would ever hurt Rook. They are theirs! Theirs to protect! To fight with, to have fun with!

And finally feel soft with after so long of pain and hurt. 

All Spite knew since getting forced to share a body with the most stubborn human alive was pain. 

From being ripped from the fade and into the already tormented body itself, to the harsh experiments and trial and errors the mages did on him and Lucanis-just to see how ‘they’ reacted as host and demon, to sitting to the side as Lucanis curled into a sopping broken ball for months every night, frozen cold and having to listen to the irritating drip drip drip of the cell door. 

Spite felt the hunger, the aches, the burning anger and nagging sadness, and above all- the undeniable fear. 

Lucanis inadvertently made Spite feel it all, thus leading to his own want to leave, to go back to this ‘home’ Lucanis kept thinking about night and day. 

It all stopped the day Rook and her little team of misfits came into their life. With Rook leading the charge, they managed to get out and end up entirely into a new contract in return for helping them escape. 

It all stopped when Rook smiled and offered their assistance with anything the two needed. 

It all stopped when Lucanis got a flutter in his chest that grew and grew until the very sight of Rook had him blushing and Spite grinning. 

That was until that bastard mage, Solas as they called him, decided the brightest idea was to take their Rook. 

No more. 

Spite eyes them as they mark their book for later reading time and he starts sitting up further with glee when their arms stretch out to him. 

He’s a bit fast in globing them up in a hug only to have them laying across their large couch. He buries his face into their neck, smirking and chuckling as hands run up and down his back. It tickles. 

They settle into his favorite position at that point. Him laying on their chest, face nosing into their collarbone, and them holding them like how his wings hold them when keeping them safe. Away from the painful world. Away from mages and Solas. 

“Mine.” He presses a kiss into the bone underneath him. "Mine." They murmur it back just as easily. He smiles. 

He feels..safe..soft here. Lucanis thought it first but Spite couldn’t help but agree more the first time their hands touched them. 

The same hands that card his hair from his face to press light, fast kisses on his forehead. His nose. And he tilts up to meet their lips. They pinch him and they yelp as he does it back with a chuckle. Others would be scared of such a noise, but their hands are still on him, still giving him soft touches and loving caresses. 

He won’t sleep, he doesn’t need it nor wants it right now. He has his and Lucanis’s Rook and that's all he needs. 

That and their soft touch as always.

[yandere-sins]

Yandere!Lucanis who tries so hard not to let the "urges" get out of control. He's been fighting his inner demon so long, he thinks he got them perfectly wrapped up, even though he has to bury his nails in his palms until they draw blood just to be able to talk to you fairly normal.

Yandere!Spite who is absolutely not having it. Who the fuck is Lucanis to deprive Spite of being with you? Spite wants to talk to you, be seen by you, touch you—and he'll pull all the strings to get just that. Lucanis can't hold him back forever. Spite knows the way Lucanis holds himself back and if Spite just keeps chipping away at that resistance, he's sure he can get his way sooner rather than later.

In short, I am not that far yet with these two, but the thought had to come out after seeing Spite being a bit obsessed intrigued with Rook.

[treviso-nights]

"and don't even get me started on fenris" I would like to hear it

—and THEN there is fenris, who meets you by chance, and yet there is the sense that you are someone to trust, to depend on. he feels broken by his past, eventually confiding in you, saying, "it's a sickness, this hate. this dark growth inside me that i can't ever get rid of, and they put it there." and then he kisses you because you are the only thing in his world which does not feel like sickness, like hate, but in the end, it all becomes too much, and he pulls away.

or does he?

because he starts to wear a red sash around his wrist, in your name. and on his belt is now the amell crest; your crest; because you are his home, even if he can't bear to say the words out loud just yet. even so, he follows wherever you go, making sure that you're safe and protected from every conceivable evil. when you call for him, he is there; when your mother is taken from you, he is there, even if the words still do not come.

and finally, when they do come, it is because you have loosened the shackles around his very spirit; and it is only when he is in your arms does he realize that he is free, he is home, he has been home all along, and he tells you, "i felt like such a fool. i thought it better if you hated me—i deserved no less. but it isn't better. that night... i remember your touch as if it were yesterday. i should have asked for your forgiveness long ago. i hope you can forgive me now." and when you do, you do forgive him, he looks you square in the eyes and says, "nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you."

—and because he can't even bear the thought of it, he follows you right to the end, championing a cause he does not even believe in, for you; all of it is for you; because you have freed him, healed him, held him as he picked up the shattered pieces of himself. for you, he goes anywhere. for you, he declares, "nothing is going to keep me from you." and he means it. not mages, not meredith, not even certain death can part you now. after all, home is where the heart is, and you are nothing if not... his home.

(like i said... pathetic. and absolutely incredible.)

[rgdragonei]

Something that's gotten me thinking down the proverbial rabbit hole is the thought that Emmrich worries so much about not living long enough to spend all the time he wishes he could with Rook simply because he's older than them. I love that trope. I love the lovesick angst that he feels, and I love the comfort Rook's presence gives him.

But sometimes I think about his life experience. What would his life have been like if he had met Rook at a younger age? Would he appreciate them the way he does now? The romantic in me likes to think that their meeting was serendipitous, fated in the stars, and that every lover, every unrequited affection, every sleepless night imagining the person who would lie in his bed, who would love him like he'd love in return; each one of those experiences left their mark on his life, molding him into the man that he is when he meets Rook.

I like to think that the man we meet in the necropolis, who has called us “Dearest” and “Darling”, has grown into his later years appreciative of the journey he took to get to us. That his Odyssey is worth savoring purely for the reward of finding home.

[crypt-arcaneum]

It’s always bothered me a bit that Lucanis gets something for everyone but Rook when you spend some time with him so:

Grey Warden: “Rook, take this. A silverite dagger, it even has a Griffon engraved into the handle. I know you have your own weapons but doesn’t hurt to have a backup, especially with the darkspawn we have now.”

Veil Jumper: “Rook, here, a puzzle box! Looks like it’d fit right at home in Arlathan, do you think they solved it or are just selling it because they failed one too many times?”

Shadow Dragon: “Ah here, look, Rook. A bottle of agreggio pavali, just for you. Hopefully it’s a taste of home for you. A good year too, maybe we could crack it open when we get back to the Lighthouse.”

Lord of Fortune: “Can’t say if this tops some of your usual plunder but, here. This necklace looks like it suits you, the merchant said it had quite the story to go with it.”

Mourn Watch: “I can’t say I really know what would interest a necromancer here in the market. So I hope these bangles will suffice instead, they even have little skulls on them.”

Antivan Crow: “Now what kind of homecoming would this be for you if we just settled with coffee? Here, a ring, twist it like so and you have a compartment for hiding a lethal dose”

[lucianhuntress]

Varric x Reader: 6. “You’re a complete mess, but I don’t care.”

This is a bonus drabble not included in my original husbando list, but I promised @vizell some Varric to quench her thirst for Mr. Chest hair. I also modified the original prompt just slighty to sound like Varric, hehe.

Someone started celebrating the harvest season earlier than usual in the Skyhold and obviously you would end up as a victim for such an unforeseen trick. Sera was enjoying herself to the fullest when it came down to surprising people in the most unpleasant ways and yes, you were on her hitlist. 

As soon as you entered the Great Hall from your own private quarters, after just changing into a prettier outfit you had bought from Val Royeaux, your head was met with something chilly and sticky and it dripped down your neck and spine, dyeing your new dress bright red.

You could hear the mischievous cackle fading into the distance as Sera ran off, laughing maniacally and then, you could hear those gasps from guests in the Hall as they noticed your new fashion accessory made of… 

“Strawberry jam,” Varric stated, slight amusement in his tone as he eyed you from head to toes, “so that’s where it went.”

Unable to process the situation, you stare at the dwarf in paralysis. Should you scream angrily or find the situation amusing? Somehow you don’t have the energy for either of these options. “So much for this dress,” you sigh in defeat. It was such a rare chance to wear something pretty instead of battle armor or military uniform.

“You may be a complete mess, but honestly— I don’t care,” Varric continued with a sly wink and he pushed you back to the stairway to your quarters, away from curious eyes. At least he was gentleman enough to help you out there.

[vir-bellanaris]

With a harsh movement, Elgar'nan parried Lavellan's blow and wrapped his long fingers about the slender column of her neck. He dragged her forward, his putrid breath sickly hot against her face as his cold eyes appraised her.

With a terrible cry, Solas unleashed a torrent of energy on the wouldbe god. Solas' magic hit him square in the chest, the force of the Dread Wolf's anger knocking the wind from Elgar'nan's lungs. He released Lavellan, her body falling and to the ground where she twisted and rolled to her feet.

Solas now stood between her and Elgar'nan. The latter's gaze narrowed in shrewd understanding.

"What a fascinatingly lovely creature, even for a mistake." The blighted god leered from her to Solas. "Tell me, Fen'harel, do you feel more akin to god or wolf when you have her on her knees?"

Solas replied in a tone of deadly calm, though his anger rippled off him in palpable waves. "You're going to die today, Elgar'nan. All memory of you will disappear. Eradicated and forgotten. I will see to it."

I am toying with making a chapter...where Lavellan and Solas fight together with Rook and co against Elgar'nan...cause that should have happened in game ngl

The chapter happened

[scribeofmorpheus]

Egaads! Another Solavellan plot bunny has taken root in my head!

imagine a "where is my wife?!" Solas tearing his way out of the Fade prison to rescue Lavellan (extra angst points if he doesn't get to her in time)!

Rook is distraught, tired and angry, ranting: "The blight is taking over the South; Kirkwall has all but fallen; the Inquisition is scrambling without its leader--" And Solas seizes up, eyes going dark. "What has happened to the Inquisitor?" Rook is baffled that that was what Solas chose to focus on, a little rash in their line delivery: "The Inquisitor was kidnapped by Venatori forces loyal to Elgar'nan." Solas instantly shoves Rook from the mind-palace-Fade-prison and they immediately feel a quake in the Lighthouse, a booming noise ringing all around like Solas' mindblast in Trespasser!!!!!

Pls, if there's other solavellan writers out there with the time and not like 2000 wips in progess, give me your fics!!!

[rook-laidir]

I got really high and couldn’t stop thinking about this so enjoy some Neve/Rook/Rana smut under the cut

Rook’s soft whine was cut off by softer lips pressing insistently against their own. They could barely register the taste of elfroot as smoke was blown into their lungs again. They let out a weak cough as they leaned back against Rana’s chest. Neve pulled back with a smirk.

“You two are so cute together,” Rana murmured, a hand trailing up and down Rook’s naked body as the other hand pulled them flush against her clothed form.

“Aren’t we?” Neve joked in agreement with a soft laugh, passing Rana her pipe.

Rana took a hit, sighing softly as the herbs relaxed her. She held the pipe out to Rook, who could do little more than nod and lean in for another hit. Rook’s limbs were already practically useless, to say nothing of their brain. If Rana wasn’t holding them down, they were sure they’d float away.

“I might have to steal you for myself one of these days,” Rana husked in Rook’s ear, making the elf whine softly as blunt fingernails trailed up the inside of their thigh once more.

“Not a chance,” Neve shot back with a smirk. “This one’s mine.”

“Fine,” the Templar relented, fingers trailing through the sticky mess between Rook’s thighs before circling the rogue’s clit again, making them gasp and whine. “But you should share them more often.”

Rook let out a whimper in protest as they felt themselves being moved again. The hand between their legs was replaced with Rana’s mouth as Neve held them against her chest, ice cold fingers lightly toying with their nipples. “You can give us one more, can’t you Trouble?”

[auphaniim]

Drabble by @winebearcat & art by me!

“You’re injured, my Lord,” Hawke grunts. His brow is knitted, furrowed over a set of dark, impenetrable eyes.

“I’m fine,” Anders lies. He clasps a hand over his shoulder, radiating with pain where the shield split open from impact. It had been a thorough embarrassment, the way it shattered at the end of a jousting pole, but at least he stayed on his horse.

Worse than his defeat, Anders flushed to the ears when his knight helped him down, wrapped a steady arm around his waist, and slowly escorted him to his bedchamber. The given accommodations are threadbare – a draughty room set in a boisterous tavern – but it’s what they could secure at short notice for Lady Surana’s wedding.

“Let me see,” Hawke insists, placing his palm over Anders’ chest. Their eyes connect and he sucks in a sharp breath, acutely aware of how little separates them. It’s not the first time his charge has fussed over him, or been this close, so why does it suddenly feel so hard to breathe?

This is what Hawke of Lothering pledged to do. Pledged to be.

“You’re filthy. When’s the last time you washed?” Anders sniffs, stirring from his paralysis. His tone is more teasing than sharp as Hawke drags his hand higher. When he carefully tugs the tunic aside, Anders’ heart rises to his throat.

“So are you,” Hawke retorts, inspecting the bruise. Despite the concern in his eyes, his lips dance with a smile. He’s grown accustomed to his Lord’s quips. It once made him uncomfortable to parry, but he does so with such fluency now that Anders can’t help but feel proud.

As his knight devotes all his attention to him, Anders mind flits to the ongoing festivities. He’s mildly miffed to miss out on the sun and revelry, but being handled by Hawke like this, under the heat of his gaze, fills him with a warmth that neither could supply.

“Then bathe,” Anders orders, his head thick with drink. With want.

“I’ll do it once I’m done with this,” Hawke huffs, brushing calloused fingertips over Anders’ skin. It's tender, pulsing sharply with pain. He shivers and curls nimble fingers around the back of Hawke’s neck. His skin is warm; from sun and wine and perhaps something else. Could it be what's reflected back in Anders’ heated gaze?

“You'll do it right now,” Anders presses, acutely aware of the worn tub in the corner of the room. Hawke’s eyes snap to meet his, blown wide and swimming with confusion.

“My Lord?” he murmurs, ghosting warm breath over his lips. Anders' gaze flicks to Hawke’s supple mouth, parted around the question.

“I ordered you to bathe, Ser Hawke,” Anders’ voice drops to a hoarse croak. Hawke blinks, those perplexed, honey-brown eyes trained on him. Steady. Measured.

“So you did,” Hawke murmurs and Anders feels something shift between them. Their mouths are nearly touching and Anders feels his heart pound in his throat.

“Would you like to be present, my Lord?” he adds, barely above a whisper.

Anders bites his bottom lip, feeling his cheeks warm. It’s not the first time they’ve bathed in front of each other. Usually, as a point of necessity, washing up on the edge of a lake after a hard-fought battle. But there’s something different about today. Something charged in the way Hawke peers at him, like he’s the only thing that’s ever mattered.

“Yes. I require a wash myself,” Anders finds himself saying. He’s immediately mortified and his face flushes red-hot. He really has had too much to drink. Hawke’s eyebrows shoot up, his mouth falling open. It snaps shut, as a flush spreads over his cheeks, and Anders aches to kiss the warmth from his skin.

“May I undress you, my Lord?” Hawke murmurs. He lightly curls fingers around Anders’ neck, gently thumbing his pulse. Anders’ breath catches in his throat, skin aflame as his blood begins to race. Hawke peers at him openly, seeking permission.

“You may,” Anders whispers.