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blackwall-my-tiny-husband · 7 hours ago

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Thursday Bangers: Dr, Who?

My thanks to @woundedsoul12 for this epic game and @in-the-drowning-deep for hosting!

Can't believe I managed to get this one out before A Word with Friends (have I done anything but plan for it? Am I sad to see the back of Viago X Rook? A little TT__TT) but was inspired by this other spanner in the works. Adapt. Survive. Thrive? Eh, we'll see XD

Read on Ao3 (approx 3.6k)

Rules: Free form a blurb or drawing based on the weekly lyrics prompt. It doesn't have to include the prompt just whatever you're inspired to write, write it! Then tag some friends so they can play as well. It doesn't have to be finished on Thursday, just post it whenever you can (you have a whole week between Thursdays!)

"Blank silhouettes of you, In memories that don't exist, Words of a story shouldn't hurt like this"- Robbed by Rachel Chinouriri

---

In the weeks that followed, Lilya learned something about Illario Dellamorte - he was a man who made space for those important to him. It just so happened there were only two people before her, so apparently, he had a lot of room to give. Illario willingly carved out bits and pieces of his days so she belonged in them. There was no wedging in where she wasn’t wanted, squeezing into tight, ill-fitting corners just to be part of his life, no need to force her way into his world - because he wanted her there. If he didn’t, she couldn’t.

Together they wandered through, collecting wonderfully shared hours, overlapping routines, and small, deliberate acts of care. A mosaic of moments joined together beautifully in her mind, so impossibly joyous that it made her want to kick her feet out and squeal whenever she thought about them; a warm, giddy feeling she had long since missed.

The first time Illario appeared at her office in the middle of the day, he didn’t even pretend it was a coincidence. Just walked right in as if he’d been coming there for years, greeting Bellara with an intricate handshake they had obviously only talked about - judging by the terrible way they executed it. Even dressed casually that day - well, as casual as she had ever seen him - he still looked every bit like a model. Or a fashionable angel. Appearing before her in dark slacks and a navy sweater that looked so soft she wanted to rub her face into his chest, whilst carrying a paper bag that smelled of garlic, basil, and freshly baked bread. “Bellara tells me you keep skipping lunch,” he said, placing the bag on her desk and kissing her cheek, pushing away the ultra-processed, sickeningly-sweet, so-good it was bad for her store-bought muffin she kept at the bottom of her bag for emergencies. For times like these when she was strapped for time, and needed to shove something quick in her mouth so the sound of her stomach eating itself wouldn’t distract her patients. “Bellara talks too much,” Lilya replied, raising an eyebrow as she glanced at the clock. Funny how her calendar seemed to clear up at the last minute and how Illario seemed to know which day and time to come in to surprise her. CFox and PsyQ strike again. The little spy amidst her ranks had walked back and forth in front of her door a total of five times just trying to listen to their conversation, but at the mention of her name, she quickly disappeared. “And you eat too little,” he countered smoothly, forcing her attention back onto him and the food he had unpacked - two kinds of pasta, a fresh salad, and bread still warm enough to steam when he tore it in half.

Oh… if she wasn’t careful she’d fall head over heels in-

Lilya pinched herself and stared up at him, her eyes filled with an amused kind of suspicion as she packed away the files on her desk to make more room. “You know you’re interrupting me from finishing my notes, right?” “I know nothing of the sort. All I know, is I’m interrupting your wilful malnutrition, Doc,” he said, shaking his head and sliding a fork toward her. “Something which is far more urgent for us to address, no?”

They ate together on her desk, her chair rolling about and squeaking every time she laughed at one of his offhand comments, Illario pulling her back toward her food and once, toward him to press a kiss to her mouth. By the time he left, she’d forgotten what case file she’d been working on, but remembered the taste of real food, the smell of his cologne and had enough leftovers for dinner - that he didn’t have to worry she’d waste away to nothing without him around.

--- Two weeks later, Vera and Fletcher were still singing her praises well into the evening. She’d sent them some cannoli from his favourite bakery during a last minute deadline they had at the office. Illario had been ready to beg for her forgiveness when he called in the afternoon to cancel their movie date. To say he was surprised when she didn’t throw a hissy fit would have been an understatement; she only wished him and his team the best and that they would reschedule when he was next free. He was too used to the people he’d dated not understanding the demands of his work, or understanding him.

When he hung up he didn’t know if it was the calm before the storm and he’d return to a tirade of texts from her, but he’d have to deal with it when he had the time. Instead - he returned to one message from her, a picture of her and Teia having coffee, telling him not to work too hard and to make sure they all take breaks throughout the night.

“Tell her she’s a keeper,” Fletcher said around a mouthful of custard filling, the moment the large box of pastries was delivered by one of the security guards. “We approve, wholeheartedly. I don’t care if she comes here and smashes your face in with a phone, we’re on her side.” Vera nodded, cornering Illario at his desk to glower down at him with three cannoli in hand, brandishing them menacingly. “If you screw this up, Dellamorte, I’m quitting and working for her. Remember that.” Illario had only smiled faintly, slipping a single cannolo into his own drawer - the one she’d wrapped separately with a note that read: You’ll need this more than they will <3 He’d eaten it alone in his office after everyone else went home, thinking about the way she noticed things, remembered them, without making a huge show of it... just did them. Illario grinned as the flavour of the lemon ricotta, the only one she’d included - his favourite - made the sunrise sweeter with thoughts of her on his mind. ---

Viago had passed her the tickets after she left their sibling dinner at the Villa with an amused smirk, claiming it would “help expand her horizons.”

It did, though not in the way intended. For expressionism, as it turned out, was not their thing. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder before a canvas that spanned from floor to ceiling that looked like someone had lost a paintball fight, and crawled from one side to the other and called it art.

“It’s... It’s about the human condition,” Lilya guessed, tilting her head to the side almost at a ninety-degree angle. Illario nodded solemnly, mirroring her to see what she saw. “Yes. Clearly. It is about a man who had too much wine and ran through a paint store naked and used his body as a brush, to make love to this canvas. Very, very poorly.” She bit her lip to keep from laughing, failing miserably. “Well, what do you know? That’s the title of the piece!” They kept going, inventing increasingly absurd backstories for every piece they came across until an elderly patron in a feathered hat shushed them both, the couple looking at each other with sheepish smiles until their raucous laughter filled the room. They had to duck into the gift shop to catch their breath - Lilya had felt so guilty she ended up buying a book about the exhibit.

Their cheeks ached from laughing, and they’d come up with enough ridiculous titles to fill another book, both agreeing that perhaps the next exhibit they were invited to attend by Viago - they’d skip, as respectfully as possible. Afterwards, they ducked into a nearby coffee shop to flip through the book, snickering over their own silly explanations like it was their secret, and making a game of who could hold a serious expression the longest. Lilya had won by three seconds, but conceded to a tie when he offered her the most pathetically sad puppy eyes she had ever seen. As he held her on the stoop of her building, Illario traced her mouth with his, Lilya pressed the book into his chest, a confused expression on his brow. She smiled at him, so softly and oh so warm. “Keep it,” she said quietly. “To brighten your home - or your day - whenever you need a little reminder that not everything has to be so serious.”

---

One night, they were ushered through a discreet back entrance into a restaurant Lilya didn’t even realise was open to the public - mostly because it wasn’t yet. Lucanis owned it, and a single phone call from Illario had secured them a table to the city’s next hot spot for a private dry run, just for the two of them.

He watched her throughout the entire evening, her smile as she took in the hushed elegance of the decor, cooed at the flawless plating of their dinner, and the way her eyes widened and lingered at the impressive selection of cheese available on the cart. “You like it?” he asked. “I love it, this place is amazing!” she admitted, an honest grin on her face. “Thank you for taking me here.” The following week, she proved she was a woman of varied tastes, Lilya taking Illario to a popular food truck hub near her house, pointing excitedly to a truck with ‘Lucia’s’ painted on the side. There were flashing lights on bunting strings to decorate the area in pretty primary colours as the sun started to set. The owners who were standing behind a well-loved fold-out table called out to her with delight; their voices carried over the loud music on their beat-up CD player, hugging her and kissing both cheeks like their long-lost daughter. Then, after a moment’s consideration, they hugged and kissed Illario too. A single milk crate was pulled out from behind the table by Lucia for Lilya to sit on, painted bright pink. When it became clear to Illario that there was only one, she ended up perched on his lap, warm and laughing and utterly unselfconscious. He kissed her temple as they shared a plate of tacos, birria running down their fingers- trying their best not to watch each other’s mouths as they licked off the broth.

--- Their touches were always easy.

A hand at the small of her back when they crossed the street. His palm brushing hers under the pretence of passing something. Her fingers curling around his arm as they walked around the city, and their knees bumping under tables and neither of them bothering to move away.

At times, their banter strayed into territory both knew too well - lighter, sharper, with an undercurrent that had nothing to do with the words themselves. They would test each other, letting the silence after a particularly salacious comment stretch just long enough to see if it would break their control, or break them into laughter.

It was… different. Both so used to something faster with their partners, temporary as they were, but together - they explored a slow kind of wanting, comfortable and exciting all at once.

One Sunday afternoon, over coffee, Illario leaned back in his chair and smirked after Lilya had made a delicious comment about leaving her wanting after refusing to allow her to add sugar to her cioccolata calda.

“Careful, Doc. Keep looking at me like that, and people will talk.”

Lilya sipped from her cup without breaking eye contact. “Talk? Whatever about?”

“That you’re utterly smitten.”

“Mhmm.” She tilted her head, feigning deep thought. “I suppose they could say the same about you. Though in your case, they’d probably use the word whipped.”

Illario sat back and let his head drop as he laughed, low and warm. “If that’s true, I don’t remember putting up much of a fight. I may have even given you the whip and told you to put your back into it.”

Another evening, she reached across him to grab a menu, pressing her body into his as she did. Illario caught her wrist gently and tutted into her ear, his closeness and the breath on her cheek causing the hair to stand on end along her body, as a pleasant rush coursed through her.

“If you’re trying to distract me, Doc, it’s working.”

“I’m just trying to decide between the pasta and the chicken,” she said innocently, staring at him from above the top of the menu - bright green irises all the brighter against the classic crimson of its red leather cover.

“That depends,” he murmured. “Which one’s more likely to end with you sharing dessert with me… off the same fork. On my lap.”

The roll of her eyes was belied by how her lips curved into a wicked smile. “On your lap, Dellamorte? Take you to one place where that’s acceptable, and now you want to go around pushing all the boundaries of polite society.”

Illario’s thumb brushed her wrist, the nail of his thumb scraping the heel of her palm before letting go. “You never get anywhere without a good push in the right direction, don’t you agree, Doc?”

It was a slow kind of wanting, yes, comfortable enough to laugh in the middle of it, almost always, and exciting enough to make both of them think twice before pushing too far - to question if it was exciting or if it was just dangerous? Or maybe both. ---

That morning, Lilya stood in front of her closet, torn between all the familiar choices. She really needed to accept Teia’s invitations to go shopping with her again; she didn’t even remember the last time she purchased anything new except for underwear and pantyhose. A long sigh escaped her lips as her hand drifted to the far end of the wardrobe - a place she hadn’t touched in years. The fabrics were lighter there. The colours, warmer. Her fingers closed around a sundress she hadn’t worn since… him.

Ashur. The sound of gulls overhead, the wonderful sting of the salt in the wind from the coast, her bare feet in warm sand… she did not want to head back to the city after spending such a lovely day at the beach; it had been too long since she just relaxed and enjoyed nature. Ashur moved from beside her to embrace her from behind. Lilya drew his arms tighter around her and sighed happily, leaning her temple against his chest where his shirt opened.

His tanned fingers played idly with her left hand, smooth fingertips drawing circles on her skin. Lifting up her hand, he slipped his family signet ring onto her ring finger, grinning at the sight.

“It looks good,” he whispered into her hair, pressing a kiss to it. Lilya laughed, pushing his shoulder playfully, still smiling at the loose ring dangling off her finger. “Don’t tease, Ash,” she pouted, holding onto her closed fist in case she accidentally dropped the ring, petrified to lose it. “Mention the word wedding whilst on the same continent as Teia Cantori and she will find out, and she will start planning it!” “I’m not teasing, let her start,” he murmured, suddenly serious. “I just… There are things I need to settle with my family. But I do know that I love you. More than anything in this world. The only question is whether our summer house is in Tevinter or Antiva. Or maybe Rivain. Why settle for one?”

Lilya turned in his hold and smiled up at him and knew that he was telling the truth. He really meant it.

“Alright, Ashur, I’ll play along. I’ll let my brother and Teia know to start planning for a wedding after I finish my residency-” “Too long, Sunshine,” he tutted, drawing her completely into his embrace, his chin atop her head. “How about after you finish med school?” “Do you only want to have a week-long honeymoon, Ash? However will we find the right place to buy a summer house?” she grinned, standing on her toes to peck his cheek.

“Ah, good point. Alright. After your residency, your final graduation party will be the most extravagant one Tevinter has ever seen.”

Lilya bit her lip, doing her utmost to contain the emotion swirling in her chest. “Oh, I do love an efficient man. Perfect, I wonder if Teia will allow me to wear my white coat as the dress to save time getting ready. Though there’s a greater chance that woman would tear my degree apart than let me do that.”

It… it felt like a lifetime ago. They were so young, so certain they had all the time in the world. That they’d always be together and that it would all work out in the end. But then, like a cruel magic trick, it was gone. No wedding. No honeymoon. No summer houses. Just the broken whispers of a promised future that was never allowed to happen.

The shrill ring of her phone pulled her from her pity party, yanking her back into the present, still holding onto the lemon-hued dress. Fumbling for her phone, Lilya looked at the screen and centred herself before answering. “I’m on my way, Doc,” Illario said, smile evident in his voice. “You be ready in twenty?” “Y-Yes,” she said quickly, forcing steadiness into her voice and wincing at how small she sounded. “You okay, Doc?” he asked, knowing her voice well enough by now to understand the difference from her typical tone. “If you’re not well, we can reschedule. I can bring you soup-” “No, I’m fine, Illario,” she rallied, shaking herself back to the present. “You just caught me trying to choose between which shoes to wear, and that alone will take 18 minutes. And then I still need to get dressed-” “Are you telling me you’re standing there in just your underwear right now?” She smirked and let out a throaty chuckle. “Less.”

“I’ll be there in 17 minutes,” he said, with mock urgency, before laughing heartily. “I’ll be there soon, take your time. No one else understands more than me, how much perfection takes time, Doc.”

After the call ended, she looked down at the dress again. Remembered how beautiful she’d felt in it that day and any other time she’d worn it. The dress didn’t deserve to languish just because of some idiot man who broke her heart. Ashur had chosen his path all those years ago, and she was finally walking another.

--- Illario’s eyes lit up the moment she stepped outside, looking her up and down as if he’d not seen her in a decade.

“Maker… Lilya,” he breathed, arms out wide in flattering disbelief. “You’re beautiful.” Lilya flushed and automatically felt self-conscious. Patting down the skirts of her dress, she crossed her arms behind her and leaned forward to let Illario swoop her into a kiss, a greeting they continued since the first day he picked her up for work. Lifting her hand above her head, Illario spun her around so the fabric lifted and twirled with her, whistling low at his appreciation. “As sad as I am to have missed you before you slipped on this dress, this looks like it was designed with you in mind. Bellissima,” he slipped into rapid Antivan, spinning her with such gusto, she couldn’t understand what he was saying over her laughter. He paused and kissed her again, Lilya unsure if the world was spinning from the kiss, or the thousand revolutions she had just completed. “I’m so sorry Doc, but I have to ask a favour.” “If it’s to go back into my house to take a sneak peek at what you missed, that’s a no, Illario,” she laughed through her nose, earning her a grin. “As much as I wish it were that, I need to request we make one quick stop before we start our date. You can wait in the car if you’d like. I just have to go to the Chantry.”

That wasn’t what she had expected. A stop to his office. To his home. To Lucanis’ home - all within the realm of possibility. But the Chantry?! “Certainly. Is there something you need with the clergy there? Did one of the Sisters catch your eye?” she ribbed, poking him in the stomach. “Cos that’s poor form to try to pick up an ordained Sister when your date is waiting for you in the car.”

Illario pressed his lips together and shook his head from side to side ruefully. “If it were only so simple, Doc. I… it’s the anniversary of my parents’ passing, and I… I always offer prayers at the Chantry. I almost forgot, but - I… I can’t miss it. I’ll make it up to you-”

A soft press of her hand over his mouth hushed him, Lilya slipping her other hand into his and squeezing firmly. “I’ll come in. Of course I’ll come in. We can stay for the whole service if you want; there’s no need to rush this. It’s important.” He blinked, completely taken aback, and something in his expression shifted - touched, almost vulnerable. “No one’s ever… offered that before. I’d... yes – yes, I would like that. A lot.” They found an empty pew in the back of the Chantry and slid in, sitting together in the corner, light spilling through stained glass onto them in fractured beams of colour. The hymn the choir sang in perfect harmony only added to the beauty of the building. Lilya hadn’t attended mass in years; she had some type of faith, certainly, but she had not practised since the Maker took her mother. The organ’s sustained note faded out, and the Mother’s voice rang out through the hall, clear as the bells that called them into the service. “We are honoured today to welcome the delegations from the Tevinter Chantry, led by the Black Divine Vesperian, here to-” No. Not now. It couldn't be. Lilya turned, her ears ringing as she could no longer understand anything happening around her. Her breath vanished as her eyes fell upon him, waving and bowing humbly to the crowd from the front pew. Ashur. ---

Softly tagging: @rookamell @jenn2d2 @aetherflowers @kabsey @davrinsleftpectoral @blackwall-my-tiny-husband @obsessed-with-book-boyfriends @selennes @serstolas @genjyoandgojyoandhakkai @himluv @mythals-whore @sorcerousadventurer @epiphany-jones @elishnord @basedonconjecture @jukkaricity @wolfmoonwildflowers @the-sparrohawk @hightowerqueen and anyone else who wants to play!!! <3

#I’m late I blame stupid work #but oh man this always brightens my day #I’m always so excited to get to read this

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blackwall-my-tiny-husband · 7 hours ago

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Playing With Picrew

Jericho Mercar (plus Harding and Elek)

Thanks for the tag @blackwall-my-tiny-husband ❤️

this picrew for the kiss❤️My fave of Jericho and Lace

And This picrew as well, cute but hard to get Jericho right.

A bonus kiss for Jericho and Elek

this picrew of little Jericho and Lace

Jericho in this picrew plus a little version of me

And a face card thing with this picrew for Jericho and Lace (she's really hard to get right in this one)

And I've learned that picrews just don't commonly have the right facial hair options for Jericho. Oh well lol

No pressure tags for @woundedsoul12 @littlemissgeek8 @the-rebel-archivist @davrinsleftpectoral @thedissonantverses @biowaredisasterbisexual @mageofquandrix @askweisswolf @hedwigoprah @seaglassmelody and anyone else who wants to!

#look at Jericho being so cute kissing lace #and that elek looking all mischievous #I love Jericho with his little book stack

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blackwall-my-tiny-husband · 9 hours ago

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Have a little AU scene for @serensama's incredible Thursday Banger AU! Probably takes place a couple of years before her current timeline. And if you haven't been reading her stuff, you should do that! Right now!

-------

With a sigh, Viago tossed his tablet and stylus to the surface of his desk. His reading glasses followed, and he took a moment to rub the tension from his temples. He'd hoped he could respond to the R&D team's latest report with a few simple notes, but they weren't anywhere close to the right track. He'd have to cancel his meetings for the next day and head down to the lab to chastise them personally.

He leaned forward to press the intercom that connected to his PA, but the light began flashing before his finger connected. A soft buzz sounded and abruptly cut off when he depressed the button.

"What is it, Natale?"

"Doctor de Riva, your sister is here to see you."

Viago frowned and glanced at his personal phone at the corner of his desk. Lilya almost always texted before showing up at his office, but no new messages displayed on the screen.

"Send her in."

While he waited for Lilya to reach his office, he gathered up his tablet, stylus, and glasses and placed them in the top drawer of his desk. He crossed his legs and settled himself more comfortably in his chair. Hopefully the impromptu visit didn't herald yet another headache on top of the one he already had.

That hope was not only dashed but damn near pulverized when he saw that the figure approaching the clouded-glass wall of his office was not in fact Lilya. He closed his eyes and sent a rare prayer to Andraste for patience. The door opened, and he heard a dozen loud booted footsteps before the leather of the chair across from his desk creaked under the weight of someone throwing themselves onto it.

He opened his eyes to gaze upon the grinning, freckled face of his... ward? Former ward? The legal term had ceased being relevant years ago, and he had never quite settled on a suitable replacement. He supposed he should be grateful that she had finally outgrown her habit of propping her muddy boots on the edge of his desk.

"Two questions," he said in response to that grin. "Why does Natale think you're my sister? And what are you doing here?"

Ilene shrugged. "She's only seen me come in with Lilya. She must have assumed. Trust me, I'm not going around telling anyone I'm related to you." She nodded toward the bookshelf behind him. "And there's that."

Viago didn't need to turn around to know she was referring to the framed photo from her university graduation—the three of them all in a row, Lilya in a lovely sundress, him in a fine suit, and Ilene in her graduation gown... with her tongue sticking out and one leg kicked to the side.

"And the second question?" he prompted.

She smirked at the change of subject. "I have a proposition."

"That sounds ominous. I'm already sure I should say no."

With a laugh, Ilene shook her head. "Even if I'm offering a three-month consultancy in the lab?"

The offer caught him too off-guard for him to hide his surprise. The main reason he'd sponsored her education was her interest in biochemistry. When she'd proved to have an aptitude for the subject that bordered on genius, her boarding school tuition had seemed a small price to pay for the return he expected on the investment, a return that had never materialized due to her frankly baffling decision to pursue a career as a government agent.

He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his desk. "How?" he demanded. "You're based in Antiva City."

For the first time since her entrance, her usual mirth faded, and her brown eyes went back to his bookshelf, sliding along as if perusing the titles. "As it turns out, I'm not really based anywhere now."

"What?" She'd already surprised him twice, and the conversation had barely been five minutes. She'd worked for years to ensure she was the perfect candidate for any intelligence agency. She never would have given up her position voluntarily.

Viago narrowed his eyes. "What happened?"

As her gaze came back to his, her jaw tightened. "I can't tell you."

He let out an aggravated huff. "Of course not. You never can."

"If you don't like it, take it up with the Antivan government," she shot back. She tugged at a stray lock of hair that had fallen from her messy bun, and her right knee began bouncing in a way he hadn't seen from her in years. "But I've got an idea for my next step, so I'm here to negotiate a short-term consultancy in exchange for the capital I need."

Something that wasn't quite anger and wasn't quite disappointment lodged in his chest. "You've come for money."

"Don't act like that's something I do." She scowled at him, and for a moment, he could have sworn she was her teenage self again. "I've paid back every cent you ever spent on me."

She had. Over his repeated objections.

"And now I'm here to work," she continued. "Isn't that what you wanted?"

"I wanted you here permanently. If you'd stayed, I could have easily made you head of R&D by now." He shook his head. "Your discoveries could have helped so many people."

"You mean they could have helped your stock price," she muttered.

The not-quite anger flared, and he slammed his palm against the surface of his desk. Ilene jumped, and after a moment, her expressive face took on a rueful expression.

"I didn't mean..." She sighed and tugged on her hair again. "Look. If you've got something important in dev, I'll... stay long enough to see it through." He opened his mouth, and she pointed a forestalling finger at him. "Not all the way to market. But... trials maybe."

Maybe was the highest level of commitment Ilene was usually capable of, and they both knew it. Viago pulled open his desk drawer and drew out the tablet. He powered it on and slid it across the desk to her. She picked it up, and he watched as her brilliant mind absorbed the data he had been reviewing.

She let out a low whistle before glancing up at him. "Narcan for crimson?"

"Nearly every city in Thedas has seen an increase in red lyrium overdose deaths in the past two years."

Ilene snorted. "Which means every pharmaceutical company in Thedas is racing to be the first to develop an emergency treatment."

She slid the tablet back to him. "Your team is chasing bad results."

"I'm aware," Viago sighed. "When can you start?"

"Whenever." Ilene shrugged. "Tomorrow if you want."

"I have a meeting with the board at 9. Come at 11, and we'll set up your security access."

Ilene rose from the chair and put her hands on her hips. Her typical cheeky grin reemerged. "You got it, boss."

"And those," he insisted, pointing at her yellow plaidweave pants, "are never to be worn in my sight again."

She batted her eyelashes with false innocence. "What, these? Lilya loves these!"

"I'm sure," he drawled. "Wear them when you're with her. Not with me."

After shooting him a lazy salute, she turned to leave. He pulled his stylus and reading glasses out and resumed his perusal of the data. With Ilene leading the team, he could make minimal notes. She would know exactly what he meant by each one.

He looked up as the door closed behind her. Three months. At least. And when it was done? He had no idea. But if she was no longer with the agency, perhaps she would actually tell them where she was going before disappearing for months at a time.

Lilya and Teia were going to be thrilled to have her home. He'd have to remind them to let her actually do her work.

#Ilene is everyone’s favorite gremlin #Viago got 3 more grey hairs that day #and I love her for doing that to him

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blackwall-my-tiny-husband · 9 hours ago

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@notyourmamasdeerbat Will V and Emm ever know peace? prolly not.

Veryl can't have kids and Emmrich finds out + angst city population: me | 2.2k words | Unavailable on Ao3

He was fidgeting. A lot. His nerves were on fire, and he had spent most of the afternoon pacing. Veryl sat in front of him, looking every bit the delightful indulgence that got him nervous in the first place. He'd spent many a solitary moment in this manner, trying and failing to argue himself out of the circle he'd gotten himself into. There were so many emotions that needed to be sorted through. Variables that needed to followed through to conclusions. Pros and cons to be considered.

The most important issue was timing. It couldn't have been worse. they were in the middle of the greatest battle either of them had or would ever know. That should take precedence. If everything was to be weighed equally. If, however, the balances were to shift in favor, then he would do everything within his power to make sure that the right steps were taken. The correct allowances could be made, if that's the choice that was made.

And if the opposite was true instead, then they would be done with it.

He wondered if she even realized what this meant. If it weighed on her as much as it had him. The realization had struck him last night while they were in the middle of an incredibly intimate moment— his face nestled in the apex of her thighs, a situation he greatly favored. He spent a lot of time thinking while he lavished upon her with his most ardent worship. There were obviously plenty of reasons that Veryl would pursue relations with him without the interference of her menses— not that it would stop him, but she was much more uncomfortable around that time. However, it did feel odd that he hadn't had to contend with them recently.

He could readily mark on his calendar when things were more intense for her. When her mood shifted and waned. The moments she sought him out and distracted him endlessly and the moments when she drew into herself and snapped more quickly. All things he'd observed and worked himself around to best accommodate her. Keeping an eye on these things, privately of course, made understanding her much easier. He did his level best to wield the knowledge well and not let it interfere with his treatment of her. She was a grown woman after all, and one that did not respond well to any kind of perceived patronization or infantilization. He'd once watched her discreetly press a knife to a noble's kidney for assuming she could not preform a simple act because she was pretty. Emmrich had almost lost all composure when the puddle of urine collected at the other man's feet.

No, Veryl was not one to be coddled.

Which was why he was preparing for every out come of this conversation. He didn't want to assume that there would be a quick and definitive end to this discussion. In fact, with all of his observations, he was more sure than ever that Veryl possessed a protective streak a mile wide and the nurturing skills of a natural parent. If she so chose to pursue this, he had no doubt that she would take to it absolutely. They hadn't discussed such an outcome, however. Safety had come up, of course. She assured him there was no issue on her end, and he provided her will all the necessary concoctions to prevent such circumstances, but there was always a chance. Things had been so busy, he wondered if she had even noticed.

"Emmrich?" Veryl called to him. The hesitation in her voice pulled him from his circling thoughts just before he could start yet another mental circuit. "What's going on?"

Her hands were on his arm, smoothing along the fabric of his shirt and bringing his focus around to meeting her eyes. Always the loveliest eyes.

"You've been mumbling to yourself for the last twenty minutes." Emmrich felt a shiver run through him at the small, rich laugh and the smirk on her lips that accompanied it. Those holy lips. The ones that tasted like salvation and damnation all at once. He would be a shell of a man had he never given into the temptation of tasting them. She did not hesitate to meet him halfway when he dove for them, intent on claiming them for the million and half time.

She felt like a myth in his arms. The things he'd only read about in the most salacious novels come to life just for him to revel in. It was when he felt the most human, as he devoured her and she him. Planted with equal footing, matched in all the right ways, edged fitting against the curves that could only have been carved by hand. Nothing made sense, not even his own thoughts when she was around, and somehow that felt absolutely correct.

"I wanted…" he cleared his throat as they both fought to take in more breath to give to the other later. "There was something I need to talk to you about." She gave him an eyebrow but did not resist when he guided her back to the chair. The same one she always occupied in his laboratory. In front of the hearth, directly across from his. Right where he always hoped to find her.

She sat obediently and watched him as he knelt in front of her. She seemed unable to stop her hands from coming up to play with his hair and run her fingers along his cheeks, a look of longing he had only ever dreamed about was plain on her face. Only one lover before her had ever looked at him that way, but he understood now why that could never have been. Not the way this was.

He clasped her free hand in both of his, resting them in her lap as he stared up at her. He tried to pour every ounce of love and courage he possessed into the words he was about to say.

"Darling," all of his thinking had led up to this. Somehow, the actual action was harder to apply than he had anticipated. His hands squeezed gently around hers, trying to anchor himself to her, focus his thoughts on the most important ones. He breathed deeply, "Veryl. My guiding light."

"I don't want to presume too much," he started, the flow of words coming together all at once. "Or pretend that I know you better than you could ever know yourself. But I had wondered if you noticed the absence of your monthly." Veryl's face immediately fell, Emmrich worked quickly to try to correct his clear overstep.

"I understand there are a lot of factors, stress and the weight of responsibility could certainly change and alter things. And when you were sick the other day, I started counting and you didn't seem to show any concern for it. So I tried to ignore it, but then it seemed odd that you had missed so many. I know there was that one evening where we were not as careful as we could have been and we decided it was fine—" he cleared his throat again, choking a bit on the saliva that he tried to work over his dry mouth. He lifted a hand in a wiping gesture, " and truly, how it happened doesn't matter. There is no blame to be laid at anyone's feet."

He went from letting his eyes flit about to keeping his focus solely on her, "I just need you to know that whatever you decide, I will take care of you to the best of my ability. You are my highest priority." He kissed at her finger tips, willing her to understand the depth of his emotion. "I am capable of several procedures, there's a potion that could end things quickly. But if you should want to pursue this, even amongst our current circumstances, I would make it my goal to protect you. There are extra precautions we can take with your armor." He stood and made his way to his desk, collecting a number of schematics and forms that he had been compiling. "I've already been looking for pieces we can modify. I'll be paying closer attention to how your feeling, of course…"

He turned to find Veryl's chair vacant.

"Ver...yl?" She had completely left the first floor of the laboratory. The only reason he knew she hadn't left entirely was because of the barest hint of a movement on the wall where her figure cut through the sunlight. She had run away. Dissolved into the shadows of their home. He hadn't known what to anticipate with her response but this had made his list. Veryl was nothing if not a step away from disappearing at all times. Sometimes he wondered why she let him believe he firmly grasped her at all.

He placed the papers on his desk gently, and slowly made his way up the winding staircase. If it was space she needed, he would not take it from her in a fight. He was surprised to find her not on the window seat where he usually found her, but instead standing on the balcony over-looking the fade. Minutes passed as he watched her there, unable to bring himself to interrupt her solitude. Her back was bowed as she wrapped her arms around herself, fingers digging into the fabric of her shirt to hold herself in place. There were no words to describe the emotion her face when she turned to look at him. No language had even begun to think of the letters to create such a word.

Simply, what he saw devastated him.

He tossed his usual caution with her aside, and went to her. Long, determined strides ate up the space between them. He had his arms around her in seconds, she fitted herself to him as she was, unable to unfurl for the cage his arms created. No tears or sobs came, nothing wracked her body with emotion or took her breath from her. She was silent, and that threatened his own sense of stability.

"We'll take care of it." He murmured into her hair as his cheek pressed into it.

"Emmrich," A deep world-weary sigh worked its way through her, breaking her free from his hold. She stood back a few paces and looked at him. It was bold and unyielding with the kind of nature she reserved for strategy meetings. He saw it for what it was. She had reserved herself from him. "Emmrich, I can't have children."

It was his turn to shut down. All thoughts and plans bled from him. The reality of something he had not stopped to consider, sinking it's claws deep. If he were a better man, he would not have planned so far in either direction. He wouldn't have lost himself one evening in the thoughts of small hands and tiny toes. Of a bright new set of mismatched eyes that echoed the pair he loved so much. Of an old dusty hope that he had let decay that came roaring back to life with the most minor contemplation. Of his own world expanding to encompass something with a protective love he had never thought he would have the right to.

If he were a better man, he wouldn't have brought this up at all. What horrifically self-centered flight of fancy he had let himself escape on.

"I apologize for not telling you sooner. I-" Her hands turned to fists as they came down to her sides, the flexed open and closed as she worked her mouth to find the words she was looking for. "I didn't think it would come up. Which is just so- I should have told you sooner, I'm sorry. I-"

He tried to shake himself of the yawning gloom that was his despair, one he had no right to. How arrogant. This clearly bothered her more than he could ever begin to understand. More than he could possibly commiserate with. There was a reason she had not broached the subject with him. He knew her history. He personally knew plenty of the reasons that kept her at a distance, kept her skittish and broken no matter how stable the facade looked. How could he be so cruel as to not only bring it up without her permission, but also throw it in her face. It was beyond the pale.

Bending at the waist he reached for her hand and held it between them in the air. Her hand still flexed nervously, a strange color of emotion for one so indestructible. He saw the look of surprise on her face when he gently pressed the back of it to his lips.

"I don't need to know if you don't want to tell me." Stepping closer, he gently brought it to his cheek. The frigidness of her skin privately alarmed him, the alacrity with which it had been brought on was a testament to the state he had throw her into. It was wretched, what he had done. He caught her eyes again, "If it distresses you this much, I don't need to know."

There was a frown that kept pulling at her lips, as though she couldn't help the way her muscles deepened. He watched as that well structured facade she meticulously maintained, started to wobble. His hands were already reaching to brush the tears that started their descent.

This was his fault and he would be damned if she suffered more because of him.

#gimme that good angst #yum yum it’s like spaghetti #slurp it up

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blackwall-my-tiny-husband · 17 hours ago

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Playing with Picrew

Thanks @aetherflowers and @jenn2d2 for the tags. And special thanks to @blackwall-my-tiny-husband for making these for me lol.

This one is my favorite. Look at him with the earring he deserves! Plus it’s just really stinking cute.

This kiss one has the same problem Gladius did lol. Too skinny. It’s cute otherwise but he’s so small he looks wrong.

The adventure one is just really cute.

Turvi and Neve little guys. Turvi’s outfit is my favorite part lol.

And a bonus little guy of me

Gently tagging @seaglassmelody @hedwigoprah @notyourmamasdeerbat @mythals-whore in case you guys want to play dress up dolls too.

#skinny Turvi looks a little unwell #or like a scrawny 13 year old #someone needs to feed that poor kid

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blackwall-my-tiny-husband · 18 hours ago

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Playing with picrew

Bonus Face Cards tag too because i keep forgetting to post that one!

Thanks @aetherflowers and @jenn2d2 I love playing dress up with my blorbos 💖

This picrew this one was my favorite, and I love it look at them being cute.

And this picrew for this kiss❤️

Some little guys from this picrew of Zalan and Harding, I also loved this one a lot

One more Zalan from this picrew and a bonus me from the little guys maker

And the Face Card tag game using this picrew to make your oc couple

Bonus “work” outfits and their fic

Or the link for tumblr if you’re a read on here type of person

Modern assassin au

Gently tagging @davrinsleftpectoral @sandcastlekings @serensama @hedwigoprah @himluv

#tag game #come play with dolls with me #dress them up and make them kiss #dragon age the veilguard #my post #dragon age rook #antivan crow rook #dragon age veilguard #lace harding #rook x harding

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blackwall-my-tiny-husband · 19 hours ago

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Tell Me Tuesday (Thursday 8/14 edition)

Thank you for the tag, @crow-winged-wolf this game is always so fun! I really enjoyed what you shared this week.

Tell me about your writing! Pick a scene/chapter from one of your fics (or I'll suggest one!) and add any commentary you feel like. Why that line? How come this plot twist? What does the eyebrow waggle MEAN?!?! I want the dirt and I can only smash my face up against the glass of your stories so hard before I start to leave smudges.

I'm choosing one of my million oneshots this week: A Rook Move. I find myself with a lot of lore in the oneshots because I think of things and don't have a place for them in the main story.

This is the story of how they got their lightning, framed as a recently discovered notebook/manuscript from Varric. Isabela, of course, must be included because Isabela is a queen.

“Varric’s things. Forwarded from Kirkwall and points beyond.” Xiqaa snatched the bottle sitting half-full on the table. “What’s in this?” Without waiting for an answer, they took a long drink. “Alvarado's Bathtub Boot Screech,” Isabela said, watching as Xi coughed and wiped tears from their eyes. “Good way to get the waterworks started.” “No kidding,” Xi wheezed. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather mourn in private — with my vocal cords intact.”

So my initial plan for this was a flashback to Xiqaa telling the story to Varric, with a funny "I bet you're wondering how I got here" kind of slant. The more I thought about Varric and about his relationship with the outcast Lord of Fortune, the more I thought it was likely they'd told him the whole ugly truth in a very blunt yet humorous way and Varric...Varric'd it up. So instead, we get to see Xiqaa facing her own story while laughing a bit sheepishly about how heroic Varric made them out to be.

They swallowed the lump in their throat and forced themself to read the opening lines. This is a first draft of a planned chronicle of Thedas’ up-and-coming hero, Rook Laidir. From their journey of dark beginnings to the defeat of the mythical Dread Wolf, we pull back the curtain on a tale of lightning, thunderous risk taking, and electrifying outcomes. Xi snorted. “Always dream big, you told me. Doesn’t get much bigger than ‘Thedas’ hero’, even if the up-and-coming part doesn’t fit anymore.” “The One With the Lightning Problem” is the working title. “A Rook Move” is what the publisher will insist on. But me? I’m partial to “The Fool Who Touched the Wrong Thing”. That’s where Rook became the electric personality we all know and love. We catch up with our hero as she is about to satisfy curiosity, ignore safety, and really spark Isabela's interest. “Nice puns,” Xi grinned.

Without giving away everything (since it's short), Varric reframes, revises, and romanticizes Xi's past. It's a dialogue between the two of them:

This author’s retelling opens with Xiqaa, newly named and not yet Laidir, stalking through the cinnamon-bark-scented swirls of fog, their occasional lover paramour Fia at their side— Scrawled in the margin: Too much? Maybe too much. We’ll see how it plays. “Definitely too much. Stalking through the cinnamon-bark scented fog my ass. Everything smelled like wet Dread Wolf," Xi snorted.

The story is my goodbye to Varric, beloved storyteller and loyal friend, as well as a way to connect Rook and Varric outside Veilguard.

Varric had been a romantic. The story was lovingly told — just stylized enough to blur the lines between truth and myth. Xi supposed they had earned that.

This was a lot of fun to write but because I really, really care for Varric. It was also sad. I felt like I got a chance to say goodbye and thanks for Rook with this story. I promise it's not actually sad, but I love Varric and was really grieved about how he went out (and still get emotional about the Fade Prison goodbye), and this helped.

If you'd like to read it, here's the link!

Tagging @blackwall-my-tiny-husband if you've got anything you'd like to spotlight? What should we know about your modern assassins AU? @grad-writes 👀 talk to me about your work - whether it's your art, your writing + codex notations, whatever you'd like, really? @himluv your Bellario story is almost over...is there anything you want to give us a peek into, behind the scenes?

Edit: fuckit we ball moment tagging @serensama @hedwigoprah @serstolas y'all tell me about something!

#varric always makes me emotional #this made me want to cry

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blackwall-my-tiny-husband · 19 hours ago

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Writers tag game

I was tagged by @davrinsleftpectoral, @blackwall-my-tiny-husband, @aetherflowers, @mythals-whore, and @sandcastlekings thank you for tagging me!

My work blocked tumblr on their wifi so I have to wait until I have time at home to do things like tags, which is why this took so long to get to :(

Do you prefer writing...

on your computer or on your phone | one-shots or multichapter | <5k or 10k or >10k words per chapter | chronologically or jump back and forth I planning things out or winging it | drabbles or plot or character study I dialogue* or action | romance or comedy I mystery or horror I alternate universe or close to canon | writing new content or editing your work I finishing a WIP or starting a new one

*I actually prefer internal monologue but dialogue works too

Extra questions (below the cut)

How long on average do you spend writing 1 chapter? When I was writing Children of the Dark all the time, I was writing one-two 4k chapters in a week, sometimes within a couple of days. Usually, my one-shots that I publish here (1k or >3k) are written within the hours of 2pm-4:30pm because that's when my work day ends. I enjoy giving myself arbitrary deadlines with a definitive end of action (leaving work, ending my week at work) it helps keep the fire lit. Also, it keeps me from over thinking things too badly.

How long do you spend editing? Not very long, I edit as I go a lot. For one-shots, I read it after publishing and change it after that (lots of embarassing reblogs from that habit). I try not to think about my work too hard, I used to note that I didn't edit when I first started writing. I care a little more now.

When I'm writing CotD I'll listen to the chapter on my phone after I've published it so I can catch anything that I missed or sounds wrong. Which is why I emphasize all of my fics being listenable on iphone, and a lot of my fics have covers (because AO3 won't let you listen to the first/only page of a fic for some reason)

Favorite thing to write? I really enjoy writing emotional analysis and character studies. But a good interwoven storyline with lots of loose threads are my favorite.

Hardest thing to write? Anything with physical descriptions, so action and sex scenes. shoot even kissing sometimes gives me a hard time. "they smooshed their faces together" just doesn't cut it.

Fic/story you are most proud of and why?

Children of the Dark Always. It was my first step into planned writing with an idea that I was just running with. It's where I learned the most about writing and about Veryl. There are still a lot of things that I'm planning to do with it, but I'm most proud of the Chapters 1-5 arc that both completes itself and sets up plenty of other things.

Moonlit It was born out of a desire to break writers block. It took me a few days of going back and forth and making sure it flowed well. Almost none of it was cut. I'm just really pleased with how it turned out when I had no plan.

Innominate An absolute fever dream born from a single screenshot and encouragement from all the wonderful people I've met here. I will always love pointing to this fic and telling people about it. I'd shout about it more often if I didn't think it was annoying.

I think a lot of you have done this already but I'll tag a few people- @strugglinggranola, @serensama, @notyourmamasdeerbat, @guacamolleee, @serbarris, @trashwithvariety - Hi, I hope you're having a good day! Edit: @clodicious, tagging you too, my friend!

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blackwall-my-tiny-husband · 19 hours ago

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WIP Wednesday (It's Thursday)

I was tagged by the ever talented @fenrelmercar and as usual they have some of the best stuff imaginable. I love these little treats. I don't have much to share today, er, maybe not as much as USUAL. But I have some of the Espresso Martini/Neon Bitters/Nightclub AU chapter here. Hoping to maybe write more from the beginning and start uploading to Ao3? Haha. Ha... (looks at all my unfinished WIPS) [sigh]

But here have some more Madeline Aldwir:

They pulled up their contacts and dialed once more. It only rang once. “Allo? Coadi?” Rook’s shoulders sagged. “Mama,” they sighed. “Andraste be praised– oh, mon bébé! It is so good to hear your voice. Are you alright?” “Mama,” they said slowly, warning. “Stay out of Treviso.” A pause. “How did you…?” “Please do not come here. Auguste needs you in Val Royeaux. He just made all those new friends. He can’t leave that and struggle with a new language right now. I’m fine, I promise.” Madeline Aldwir sighed through the speaker. It crackled. “Your hospital is worryingly short staffed.” “Yes, well. Military occupations tend to do that to a country. Do not. Transfer here.” “What brought this on?” “Mama,” Rook warned again softly. Another sigh. “...How is Revas?” “He’s fine. I want you to promise you’re not literally going to follow me across the continent just because I got stabbed.” “Just because I got stabbed,” Madeline parroted, mockingly. “Pour l’amour du ciel, I should be loading you onto a plane to come home, never to leave my house again!” “Mama. I’m a grown person.” “Not even grown people ought to be stabbed on a night out! I see it all, you were lucky you can keep your innards. Le créateur me préserve– Has Bellara even been dismissed?” “Tomorrow. She’s alright.” “And the Templars have done nothing?” “No one saw who it was, Mama.” “It’s gross incompetence! I would have— Auguste, not now, cheri, Mama’s venting. Mhmm. C’est Coadi. Oh. Here.” “Yo. You healing yet?” “Hello, Auguste.” Coadi smiled slightly. “They let you keep the knife?” Their little brother asked drily. “Uh. No.” “Boooring.” Rook grinned. “How’s homework?” “Ugh. See you later, loser.” Rook laughed as their mother took back the phone with a scoff. “He is excelling. As per usual. I do wish he would get out and have some more fun with these so called friends.” “Mom, it’s chess club.” “Hmm. Your father played chess. Look where that got him.” Rook winced. “Very funny, Mom.” Auguste sighed loudly. “Tell Coadi to get their eyes checked so they can find the guy who did this. It’s not cool Bellara got hit. I’m glad she’s okay.” “How’re those self defense classes coming?” Rook asked Madeline softly, stomach turning with a twinge of worry. “The Iron Bull is an excellent coach.” Rook could hear her smiling. “Very patient, very firm. I met someone at the dojo that reminded me very much of you, I think you would like him quite a lot.” “If you’re trying to set me up with my little brother’s coach’s friends–” “His son! Kremisius, he’s very charming.” “No thanks, Mama. I’m sure he’s lovely.” “Hmm. Maybe I should just try my luck with the teacher then.” “Mama!” Horrified but grinning, Rook covered their mouth as they held the phone to their ear. “Oh very well. He’s a little old for me, anyway.” “By how much?” “Just enough,” Madeline sighed. “Just enough.” Rook laughed. “Look, just promise me–” “Promise me you will stop getting stabbed.” “Um. I promise?” “Hmm.” “Look, I just… don’t go behind my back again, alright?” Rook said softly. Another long stretch of silence. “...Coadi, I–” “We’re doing the best we can, I know. But I’m not ready to be that close yet. Okay?” “...Okay. I only worry,” Madeline pleaded quietly. “I know. But I’ll be fine.” “Right. I know you will.” A pause. “Have you heard from Lace?” “Not since yesterday. She okay?” “Oh, better than okay! That little minx has been sending me lovely pictures of Rivaini sunsets for weeks! Traitor, I say. And she and Taash seem to be having such a lovely time.” “I’m very glad to hear that.” Rook leaned their head against the cool drywall, sighing. “It’s nice to hear from you.” “Ma cheri, you called me. I was very glad.” “Thanks for picking up.” “Hrm. Well unlike your father I care to listen to my children’s woes.” Rook smiled wryly. “Let it go, Mama.”

“He will have to kill me first. Hit me with his ridiculous truck.” Rook snickered. “Yes, well. Goodnight, my love. Remember to rest. Take your inhaler, prop up your ankles. You have pillows, yes? Use them. Give Revas my best, tell him we are very proud.” “I will, Mama. Enansal asked me to give you her joys, whatever that means.” “Oh, that sweet woman. I really have to take her to brunch one of these days. Kisses! Mwah.” “Take care,” Rook replied, laughing softly as the line clicked off.

WOOO MODERN AU ALDWIR FAMILY LORE

And some of this week's a Word with Friends, I think, or maybe just some shenanigans because I want to feel something:

“Your blood will honor the–” “Oh, fuck off!” Rook roared, tasting iron and lashing out with both blades, knee nearly collapsing under them as they lunged for the Venatori rogue. He only twisted out of the way, laughing. “This is Rook? This angry, frightened and directionless thing?” Breathing hard, Rook grit their teeth and turned to follow him. Hot, sticky viscera seeped into the fabric of their sleeves, the gash on their leg freely bleeding. “Putain enculé Makerless fucking–” Muttering, they dragged themself back a step to press their spine against one of the massive marble pillars of the basilica, sabres braced outward. One of their eyes was swelling painfully, clouding their vision. They’d been hit badly, somewhere along the way, grazed by a blast of magic. The dizzy dark was closing in. That couldn’t be good. Somewhere down the lightless, echoing hall of mosaic flooring, the Despair demon shrieked. They had to believe their team was holding on. They could make it. The isolating tactics Despair favored, they’d discussed it, trained for it. They’d pull through. Had to focus here. Now. Venatori. More laughter from somewhere across the chamber. But the blade grazed Rook’s ear from the side. They twisted, gasping, and felt the cut all the same. A deep burn. More blood dripping down their cheek. A second cultist in robes stepped into the flickering Veilfire light of the torches, the ritual circles scrawled in crumbling red glyphs across the floor shimmering with magic as they stepped inside, scythes held out entreatingly. “Don’t be frightened,” he cooed, face obscured by his scarlet hood. “This is your destiny.” Rook spat some of the blood in their mouth at him, backing up slowly on trembling legs. Couldn’t see. Too much noise. Crackling fire, hissing chanting, the screams of the demon not far away. But no ring of steel. No challenging shouts. Andraste. Please. The mage had not moved from where he’d settled himself across the chamber, leaning on his staff with his head cocked to one side to watch. “Are you toying with your sacrifice, Iulius?” “A less panicked lamb goes more easily to slaughter,” the man, who sounded much younger, spoke quietly. He paced towards Rook, near silent. “You have fought so hard for your cause. Rest.” “You must be mad,” Rook garbled through a bloody grin, careful not to step directly on the concentric lines of sigils as they backed up, keeping their senses open for the third cultist. “It will be painless. I promise you.” “Oh.” Rook gathered the threadbare strength left in their arms and reversed the grip on their Warden swordbreaker, jagged edge catching the light. Their grin took on a feral edge. “No it won’t.” The Venatori tipped his head towards the mage for permission. The caster only shrugged a shoulder. “Do what you will. We are in no hurry.” “No one is coming to save you,” the younger cultist reasoned, scythes still resting at his sides. He continued to close the distance. “Don’t need it,” Rook groaned. “Not here to debate, let me save my breath.” “If that is your desire.” He lifted his blades, swaying into a readied stance. Rook took a deep breath through their nose, rolling their shoulders forward and sinking down into a painful crouch as they watched the robed rogue with hateful eyes, reaching two fingers to their belt. Then they turned tail and sprang behind the nearest pillar, already twisting around the far side to duck behind the next one down the line of hallway at the sound of the Venatori’s startled scoff. They disappeared into the dark and were already surging as fast as they could manage to the next scrap of cover, boots pounding on the marble.

Where is this going? No idea. But uh. We might be in trouble, gang.

Anyhow, love you all! Gentle tagging my beloveds!

@draco-illius-noctis @the-bear-and-his-sunbird @davrinsleftpectoral @blackwall-my-tiny-husband @hedwigoprah @sunny374940 @nevarrantorte @caughtnyact @seaglassmelody @strugglinggranola @jenn2d2 @woundedsoul12 @aetherflowers @officialnostradamus @fenrelmercar @redheadsramblings @thesummerstorms @jukkaricity

#I love you Coadi #and Coadi’s mom #never change

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