svanha

[svanha]

DA Kiss week…

…happened on my “off week” when I had to focus on another project, but it felt wrong not to go through the prompts once I had the time, so here’s a compilation of all 7 days✨🤍✨

[svanha]

@vonspe Hello! I know you're playing BG3 right now, but I'd wanted to write something for this wonderful piece for a while. I finally managed to take a break and finish it. I hope you enjoy it! 💜

The fever had claimed him like a god demanding tribute in salt and agony.

Emmrich lay in bed, drenched in sweat, his shirt clinging uncomfortably to his chest and back. Every breath rasped in his throat, his body a battlefield of aches and goosebumps. His head throbbed like nails were being driven into his skull, and his vision blurred, the room tilting every time he opened his eyes—the soft glow of candles swimming against the darkened walls of his bedroom.

He'd tried to sit up—once. His intention had been simple: water, maybe a cloth to cool his forehead. Something, anything to make it feel less like he was dissolving from the inside out. But his arms had buckled under him, useless, and he'd collapsed against the mattress with a sad, pathetic grunt.

The isolation hit him harder than the pain. He had always been alone when it mattered. Sickness, grief, long nights and longer regrets—he'd weathered them all in solitude. That aching part of him, buried under decades of ambition and academic pursuits, had longed silently, foolishly, for someone to care for him when he couldn't care for himself.

But no one ever had. That kind of companionship always seemed reserved for others—and romance, love—that was a dream for younger men.

He closed his eyes, resigned. If this was how the night would go, he'd endure it.

As he always did.

-----

The creak of the door was soft—so soft, he almost thought it imagined. But then a piece of fallen parchment crinkled under a cautious step.

His heart stuttered.

He cracked open one eye, just barely. A figure moved through the haze of his vision—short, lean, with long dark hair tied loosely at the nape. At first, it was too much effort to think.

Then he whispered, hoarse and winded, "Who... who's there?"

The shape knelt beside the bed.

"Just me," came the answer—low, familiar, like the rustle of spring wind through a garden.

Emmrich blinked, slowly.

That voice. Of all people.

Was he hearing things?

"...Scipio?" he murmured. "You shouldn't be here. I could be con—" His eyes rolled shut, another wave of dizziness nearly dragging him into unconsciousness. "Contagious."

"Shhh." Scipio gently pushed his damp hair back, feeling his skin.

His bare hand—rarely ungloved—was cool, and Emmrich let out an involuntary sigh, the sensation a balm through the heat.

"This isn't good," Scipio muttered, his brows drawn in worry. "You're way too hot."

His voice, usually rich with dry wit or polite charm, had taken on a softness Emmrich had never quite heard before—intimate, firm, and without a trace of sarcasm. He looked down at the feeble man like one might gaze at a wounded halla; not with pity, but a fierce, instinctual desire to help.

Emmrich wanted to speak, to ask him why—but the moment Scipio slid an arm under his shoulders and lifted his head to help him drink, the world narrowed to the sudden glass at his lips. The water was blissfully cold—everything he needed. He drank fast, greedily, then coughed, the relief overwhelming.

"Easy," Scipio whispered. "There we go."

He set the glass aside but didn't move away. Instead, he climbed into bed behind him, legs encircling Emmrich's trembling frame. Gently, he pulled the older man into his lap, arranging him so his head rested against his chest, then pressed a fresh, damp cloth to his forehead.

Emmrich stirred, disoriented. "Scipio... what are you—?"

"I'm not leaving you," the elf said plainly. "Not tonight. Not when you're this unwell."

His other hand settled over Emmrich's shoulder, the pressure grounding. Emmrich was still shaking, still burning, but in that moment, a different warmth began to bloom in his chest—gentler than the fever, deeper than the pain.

He let out a faint, disbelieving breath and curled closer. He wasn't sure if any of this was real. Maybe he was hallucinating. Maybe his yearning had finally conjured something beautiful in the throes of his illness.

But then he felt it.

Scipio's heartbeat under his cheek, steady and calm. A breath near his temple. The brush of fingers sweeping sweat from his hair. He clung to Scipio's arm with one hand, weak but resolute. Whether dream, or mercy, or miracle—he wasn't letting go.

And as the fever ebbed, lulled by the quiet pulse of affection and the protective presence that held him, Emmrich finally surrendered to a peaceful slumber.

Only this time, he wasn't alone.

[svanha]

Idk how much tumblr will let me get away with so here is a cropped version 🫣 a little intimate moment between Emm and Mills ♡♡

Bluesky link of the full image!

[svanha]

Dragon Age Kiss Week: Day 5-Battlefield

[svanha]

It's criminal that you don't have the artist badge. Allow me to fix that—and to say thank you for sharing your art with me and the world. I know you're busy, but I want you to remember that you're incredibly talented and a wonderful person! I wish you well everyday! 🩷

Omg🥺 this is just so incredibly sweet and kind, thank you so much 🤍🤍🤍

[svanha]

Have you ever drawn Emmrich with long waist length hair and in different styles? I don't remember and now I am curious? What would he look like with layers or a long single braid?

I only ever drew him with a ponytail or shoulder length hair as younger versions of him🤍🥰

[svanha]

It’s been some time since my last post and there’s been a few more additions to my Emmrook collection, both personal and for friends and lovely Fade members✨🤍✨

Some of these Rooks belong to @sofiemystique , @palenecromaniac , @emmg and a shared son with @andthekitchensinkao3 🤍🤍🤍

[svanha]

Yet another shining testament to your outstanding skill and beautiful soul my dear friend 🥺🤍

You bring such detail and life into these stories, let these characters show so much humanity, I’m always reading them in wonder✨

@svanha Two of two hugs complete!

Based on your wonderful art piece here.

The door slammed open with such force, it rattled every tincture, sconce, and bookshelf on the walls.

"Emmrich!"

The sound of his name—urgent, thick with panic—ripped the older man from his slumber. He rolled out of bed with a thump, hands braced on the cold stone floor, hair askew and heart pounding. Blinking through the murk of drowsiness, he found the source of the noise.

His dear dwarven companion—pale as moonlight, and pacing the length of the room like a caged animal.

"I want it gone," she muttered, her voice trembling. "I want it gone!"

"Harding?" Emmrich rubbed his eyes, his other hand lifting in a soothing gesture towards the startled Manfred. "What—what happened?"

"I saw things," she stammered, hands shaking at her sides. "While I was asleep. Horrible things. Wrong things. I-I couldn't wake up!"

Emmrich slowly rose to his feet, wary of making any sudden movements. "It sounds like you had a nightmare."

She stopped. Her eyes snapped to his—wide, wet, frightened.

"I've heard of nightmares," she said, her throat tight. "But not like this."

She resumed pacing, frantic now. Her fingers raked at her arms, as if trying to tear her soul free from the confines of her skin. Emmrich winced. He couldn't tell if she was unaware of her actions—or if she meant to hurt herself, just to keep sleep at bay.

"Harding, please... take a breath. Tell me what happened."

"I—I woke up and my room was—" Her teeth clenched, eyes squinting. "Emmrich, I destroyed it! I don't remember doing it, but everything was thrown around. Shredded!"

"Oh, sweetheart." He approached her carefully, his arms open, voice gentle. "That's perfectly normal for mages just coming into their powers. Especially children. The Fade seeps through more easily when we're dreaming."

"I'm not a child!" Harding spat, turning sharply. "I'm a scout. Trained to kill. To stay in control. But now—!"

She shook her head, the tears she'd been fighting slipping free.

"What if I lose control again? What if I hurt someone?" Her voice dropped to a choked whisper. "I don't want this. I want the dreams to stop. I want the magic to stop."

She tore at her scalp with both hands, nails scraping, hair caught between her fingers in a painful grip.

"I WANT IT GONE!"

Enough.

Emmrich dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around her.

"No—!" Harding gasped, freezing in place. "Don't! I-I might—I might hurt you!"

"You won't," Emmrich said, his voice calm and certain. "You're still you, Harding. You're Lace Harding."

She stood stiffly for a moment, every muscle resisting the touch she secretly longed for. Then, slowly, she crumbled against him, her body quivering as she returned his embrace.

"...How do you know?" she whimpered.

"Because you're worried about hurting people. That tells me everything." He slipped one hand to the back of her head, cradling her like glass. "You're still my friend. You haven't changed."

A shaky sigh escaped her, and she buried her face into his shoulder, the tension slowly draining from her limbs.

They stayed that way for a while, nestled in silence and warmth—the only sound the quiet sputter of Manfred, who witnessed and internalised how to comfort a loved one in need.

Finally, Emmrich pulled back just enough to meet Harding's eyes.

"We'll get through this," he murmured. "Together. First, we'll set up dampening wards in your room. They'll soften the blow of any future outbursts." His hands cupped her freckled cheeks, thumbs brushing away her tears. "And I'll brew you a special tea to render lesser nightmares inert. It won't solve everything, but it will help—just until you grow accustomed to your new abilities."

"I don't like tea," Harding said with a sniffle, though her tone was teasing.

Emmrich smiled. "You'll like this one, I promise. We can spike it with whatever vile flavour you prefer."

She gave a small, watery laugh.

And for the first time that night, a little of the panic faded from her eyes.

[svanha]

Specimen Fidelity Part I

“Hello, dear. How are you feeling?”  

“You keep saying that. Dear is a noun, not a name.”

��Ah. Quite so. You are correct, of course.”  

“Then why don’t you use a name? Didn’t you give me one?”  

The electrodes quiver faintly on her chest as she leans forward, the wires trailing after her like hesitant veins, uncertain of what they carry. Her hand lifts, pale and narrow, almost translucent, and pauses midair with a curious stillness, as if awaiting permission from some internal mechanism. She studies it, turns it over, palm to back, and flexes the fingers in slow, sequential articulation. The movement is utterly ordinary, but something in it fails to convince. It is too precise, too clean, the elegance of imitation rather than origin. Then, without comment, she reaches out and touches the sleeve of his coat.  

She is cold. Of course. Designed to be. He, on the other hand, has always been lukewarm. By inheritance, by habit, by study. There was no one to warm him.  

“Oh, darling,” he murmurs, eyes slipping to the monitor.  

Welcome, Dr. E. Volkarin Localized Intelligence Containment & Hosting (L.I.C.H.) — Phase IV Trial Subject: Reactive Operations–Optimized Kernel // Vessel ID: S-1139 Firmware v7.2.1 — Uplink: Stable // Host Integrity: Confirmed

The interface blooms into life: cool palettes, clinical glyphs, a schematic of her body rotating in the upper corner. Beneath it, cascading metrics: pulse simulation (active), respiratory mimicry (nominal), cortical mesh interface (linked). Her heartbeat scrolls evenly across the screen, projected by the electrodes on her chest: up, down, up, down. Rhythm as ritual. 

Read on ao3

I’m absolutely losing my mind, my sister from another mister @aldisobey went and got a scene from my goofy little Emmrook Ex-Machina AU fic commissioned (!!!) for my birthday by the disgustingly talented @svanha Like?? What did I do to deserve you two angels??? I’m sobbing, screaming, throwing sparkles, this is too much love for my squishy heart 🥹💖 teehee

[svanha]

"Sleep when the baby sleeps" and all that, blah blah blah...but how can you when she's this stinkin' cute?

Doing my duty by adding more half-qunari babies to the world 🫡

[svanha]

This is hauntingly beautiful and sweet🤍🥺✨

Thank you so much for this, I’m so humbled by your skill and kindness 🤍 You paint magic with your words and I’m so glad I can experience it 🤍

@svanha One of two hugs I promised! I hope you enjoy it. He gives the best hugs!

Based on your wonderful art piece here! 💜

Also a continuation of this short.

The scent of metal and oil filled the air, warm and sharp like a forge still glowing. Emmrich stood in the doorway of Bellara's workshop, abnormally hesitant. The soft hum of enchanted mechanisms ticked beneath the surface of silence, interwoven with the occasional clank of a tool against volcanic aurum.

He hadn't been able to attend Cyrian's funeral. The Dalish rites were private—sacred in a way that would not accommodate more than two outsiders, no matter how close. So he'd waited, stewing with guilt and longing, counting the days until Bellara returned.

Now, here she was.

She crouched beside the ancient Archive device, a wrench in one hand and a smudge of soot across her cheek. She wore her usual leathers—sleeves rolled, apron tight, hair swept back in a loose bun that, judging by the state of it, hadn't seen a mirror. Sparks sputtered as she twisted the head's crystal into place, earning a satisfied click.

She grinned, barely, as if trying to impress someone who wasn't there. As if she needed to convince herself to enjoy her accomplishments.

Emmrich opened his mouth to greet her, but Bellara looked up first.

"Oh! Professor!" she chirped, face brightening like a lantern being lit. "How long have you been standing there?"

He stepped in slowly. "Only a moment."

Tossing the wrench aside, Bellara beamed, bounding to her feet with a cheerfulness that nearly stunned him.

"How've you been?" she asked, wiping her hands on the rag at her waist. "You look well. Did you enjoy catching up with Rook? Sorry I kept them for so long. Dalish burials can be lengthy."

"Bellara..." Emmrich stared at her. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine," she said quickly. "It's a beautiful day. The funeral was... it was nice. Cyrian got a proper send-off. And look—!" She gestured to the Archive. "I'm finally getting somewhere with the matrix nodes! I might be able to break the restrictions on the spirit!"

"Bellara, I—"

"Sorry, Professor," she said briskly, her smile straining.

Emmrich noticed it.

"I really need to focus on this. I'm on a roll, and I don't want to lose the flow."

"I see." He nodded, eyes not leaving hers. "Thank you for letting me visit."

Bellara gave a bashful chuckle and turned back to the Archive. "Of course! I'm glad you came."

Emmrich didn't speak for a while. He watched her fiddle with the crystal, watched her hands shake in the barest, most imperceptible way. She reached for a gear, dropped it, snatched it up too fast.

He stepped closer.

"It's all right," he said gently, "not to be all right."

Bellara's fingers froze, though she kept her back to him.

"You're allowed to miss him," Emmrich continued. "Grief is proof that Cyrian is worth remembering. That his presence was a blessing in your life."

She swallowed. Her shoulders lifted, stiffened—then fell still again.

"I—" she started, but no words followed.

"My dear girl, please... if you need to, let yourself cry. It's not shameful; it's a way to honour his memory. To celebrate who he was."

He placed a hand on her shoulder, and at that simple touch, Bellara collapsed—sudden and silent, like snow slipping from a branch.

Emmrich caught her as she fell, carefully easing her into his lap. Her head pressed to his chest, her cheek nestled above the bend of his elbow as she clutched his arm with both hands, trembling.

Then the tears came—quiet at first, then unrelenting. She wept into his sleeve, gasping between breaths as though each one hurt to draw. Emmrich cradled her, holding her tight and rubbing soft, soothing circles along her back.

"That's it," he whispered, his chin resting in her hair. "You deserve a chance to heal, and this is how the heart begins to mend."

Bellara's eyes squinted shut, her nails digging into Emmrich's skin, but he didn't pull away.

"He'd be so proud of you," he murmured. "Just as I am."

A broken sound escaped her, and she gripped him tighter, needing his embrace more than she dared admit—and finding solace in it. She'd never allowed herself to lament Cyrian's passing, even the first time, for fear of burdening others with her sorrow or appearing derelict in her duties.

But somehow, Emmrich made it feel safe.

Together, they sat there, on the floor of her workshop, surrounded by the Archive's rhythmic thrum and the faint echoes of half-finished repairs. No more words were needed—just warmth.

Just the raw, undeniable truth of holding a friend who could finally mourn.

[svanha]

Some modern AU :>

[svanha]

Forgot to post these here too, “BEST HUGS” series Round 2🤍✨

(with a bonus hug with my Rook)

[svanha]

He GIVES the best hugs, no past tense, I refuuuuse that, and I needed to see these hugs realized so, here, indulge 💖

[svanha]

So May happened and with that Mermay swept me away from my regularly scheduled Emmrook sketches🫣

However I was still busy with some commissions from the loveliest people from the Fade server🥰

Some of these have been already posted here, and I also have some *heavily* nsfw pieces that I’m planning to post to my Patreon (free), but without full disclosure, enjoy this batch💖

These Rooks belong to:

@redheadsramblings ✨ @paramortality ✨ @thequeenofthewinter ✨ @lenkalost ✨ @bionicgrapejuice ✨ @kirain ✨ @toonybrin ✨ @farore05 ✨

[svanha]

This is perfect. Just heart wrenching, profound, deep understanding 🤍

Oh Kiri, You got all of it, and it’s beautiful ✨🤍✨

Thank you 😭

@svanha The White Light of the Morning:

The last vestiges of moonlight slipped through the slatted windows, bathing stone and wood in a cold, pale white. The room lay in silence—not a peaceful silence, but the tense stillness that usually precedes disaster.

It was nearly dawn.

Zea sat at her vanity, gently working a brush through the tangles in her hair as she blinked away the fading remnants of sleep. Behind her, Emmrich stood against the wall, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his head low, breath shallow.

He'd held that posture for a while—likely mulling over his next book, or quietly sifting through all they'd learned about the elven gods, as he so often did. Zea found it endearing when he drifted off into thought like that.

She couldn't have known how he suffered.

All seemed well—until he moved. Just a flicker, but enough. His hand jerked, his legs buckled, and he crumpled to the floor like a tower struck at its foundation.

"Emmrich!" Zea gasped, leaping to her feet. In an instant, she was at his side, dropping to her knees. "What's wrong?"

"I-I can't—" His voice cracked like brittle bone. "I can't—"

His fingers clutched at his shirt, as though something were gnawing at him from the inside. His breath came too fast—too painfully. His eyes were wide and wet, glassy with dread.

"I was sure! I was—Maker's breath, I was so sure!" His voice rose, frantic. "I made the choice. I said yes—I said yes, but what if... what if this is it? What if this is all we get, and then we disappear?!"

The words burst from his throat like steam from a ruptured pipe.

"What's the point of all this," he choked, "if we just... die?!"

Zea said nothing—not a hush, nor an urging breath. She simply gathered him into her lap. As always, he curled up in the space between her legs, clinging to her arm as she rubbed his back and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head. Another attack—worse than most. His nails dug into her skin without meaning to, his rings biting deep enough to leave marks that hurt more than she'd ever admit.

After an unbearably long time, he sat up, still only partially whole. But when he did, Zea's hand moved—slowly, gently—to his chest, right over the place where his heart hammered, fragile and afraid.

"This," she said, her touch soothing him like a spell. "This is the point."

Emmrich sniffed, a tear rolling down his cheek. "...This?"

"This moment. You and me. Alive. In love." She leaned in and kissed him softly, sensually—not to silence, but to remind him. "That's the point."

His eyes fluttered shut, his body trembling as she cradled his face.

"You speak of eternity like it's a blessing," Zea murmured. "But it's a burden."

His eyes opened and he looked at her, his expression torn, his mind reeling.

"Even liches know that," she whispered. "They don't become bulwarks because they want to live forever. They have to make peace with death first—you know that." She shook her head, her thumbs tracing the lines of his face. "They ascend to keep the balance, to ensure the line between life and death remains intact. If that's what you want, I'll support you every step of the way. But immortality isn't a life, Emmrich. It's a duty. It makes everything feel hollow—repetitive, empty. People cherish life because it ends. That's what gives it meaning."

Emmrich didn't respond. He couldn't—his lungs still wrung dry. But Zea reached for his hand and wove their fingers together.

"If you want to live forever, you do it by leaving something behind. Stories. Memories." Her smile was tender but sure. "Make those with me."

"Darling..."

She pressed her lips to his again, then met his gaze. "I love you, Emmrich. And I want a life—a real life—with you. Not some conditional ghost of an existence ruled by obligation. Just this: you, me, and whatever time we're given."

Emmrich stared at her, reverent, as if before a sacred work of art. In her short years, she'd found what had eluded him for decades—purpose. Courage. It brought him a comfort he could never describe.

"And you're certain you want me? Knowing that one day, inevitably... you'll have to grieve me alone?"

Zea wiped his eyes, shifting closer. "You'll never leave me alone." She smiled. "I'll have the memories."

Emmrich swallowed thickly, then pulled her into his arms and kissed her with a fervour that marked a new beginning. Zea melted into it, her arms circling his neck, making sure he felt every moan, every touch, every heartbeat—all luxuries of being alive.

When they parted, he lingered, resting his forehead against hers.

"I'm ready," he said, his voice steady. "Let's go bring Manfred home."

[svanha]