#// arvane de riva

[larkinna]

"Don't let him scold you too much. Vi was worried about you."

crow goes hunting by ted hughes // 1 // crow’s first lesson by ted hughes // 2 // the lacuna by barbara kingsolver // 3 // domestication syndrome by dhole b // i am a dog. i have blood all over my teeth. by sciencedfiction // crow’s theology by ted hughes // 4 // how to be a dog by andrew kane // the scream by ted hughes // unknown // for your own good by leah horlick

[larkinna]

This is Arvane de Riva and I think about them a (not) normal amount

And Drace Mercar, though she is slowly turning into a full-blown OC at this point!

btw show me screenshots of your rooks. i want to see them.

[larkinna]

OC meme: Arvane de Riva

Thank you for the tag @dancing--lights and @flowersforthemachines! <33

GENERAL

Name: Arvane Gaspari de Riva

Alias(es): Rook, Idiot, Fool

Gender: non-binary 

Age: 27-ish (as the most indecisive girl in the whole world, I keep pushing around their age, but it’s somewhere around that)

Place of birth: Antiva City

Spoken languages: Trade, Antivan, Orlesian, a teeny tiny bit of Tevene, and an even tinier bit of Elven (mostly thanks to Bellara)

Sexual orientation: bisexual

Occupation: obligatory assassin answer as a Crow

FAVOURITE

Colour: every and all sunset colors (especially Trevisan sunset) 

Entertainment: they do like a good private gathering, and they love taverns (do not play Wicked Grace with them though! You will lose.)

Pastime: dancing! They have an apartment in Treviso near a tavern where the music can be heard through the open window. They also really got into reading thanks to the urging of the Lighthouse Book Club™. 

Food: Arvane is a very picky eater, but they can never resist a good Antivan meal (especially if Lucanis cooks it). They love sweet things the most, so let’s say churros as the favorite. 

Drink: hot chocolate and wine

Books: recently became fond of romance novels and serials (and if I say they read Swords & Shields post-VG. What then.)

HAVE THEY

Passed university: does passing Crow training count? 

Had sex: yep. They had quite a few casual partners, but nothing really truly serious until Lucanis.

Had sex in public: gonna say no, but never say never! Semi-public though? Yes. 

Gotten tattoos: a few. Arvane has the wing on their face, which I headcanon as the tattoo from House Gaspari. The wings (it’s like I'm they are obsessed with wings huh. Crazy) on their arms just because they fancied it. And the de Riva tattoo at the back of their calf. I can see them getting more later on out of sentimentality.

Gotten piercings: they have both ears pierced in multiple places. 

Gotten scarred: the most noticeable one is on their face over the tattoo, but they also have some pretty extensive scarring at their left hip because of a contract that went wrong.

Had a broken heart: yes. It was a fellow Crow, who was also their best friend and partner. House loyalty was involved (you can see how that was a recipe for disaster).

Been in love: yes. I’m both a big fan of davrookanis and the crowlycule, so, they get alllll the love while they can!  

ARE THEY

A cuddler: yep. They love cuddling a lot, and they are generally pretty publicly affectionate as well. 

Scared easily: Yes and no. Arvane will push the fear down so hard, they might convince even themself that they aren’t scared or freaking out. They are world-class in denial!

Jealous easily: not at all

Trustworthy: depends. Even though they appear very open and they are generally pretty honest, they trust only a few people – they are loyal to the death to those few though. 

FAMILY

Sibling(s): none by blood

Parents: Their mother was a House Gaspari Crow who disappeared under Mysterious Circumstances™ and whom they never knew. Their father wasn’t a Crow, and he tried to shield them from that life, but despite all attempts, Arvane still ended up an assassin. Their father died (also under Mysterious Circumstances™, but almost certainly killed by Crows) while they were still a child.

Children: none, and they don’t want any

Pets: I can maybe see them “sort of accidentally on purpose” feeding stray cats and then “sort of accidentally on purpose” keeping them. 

no idea who has or hasn't done this, but tagging @theheartmold, @symphorine, @rook-de-rivas, @haedia, and @teyrnacousland, if any of you want to! <3

[larkinna]

wip wednesday

Thank you for the tag @inquisimer <33 University is kicking my ass right now so I'm very rusty when it comes to writing, but I fished this out from the depths of my docs. Set a few months after Veilguard, Arvane de Riva feels homesick after spending time at the Dellamorte villa and goes home -- Viago doesn't know how to deal with it.

Tagging @drysia and @mxssful and anyone else who would like to do this! :)

xx

It’s the fifth night in two weeks that Viago finds Arvane in his own estate. He didn’t mention the first four, letting them pass in and out like a wayward ghost and he hesitates to wake them now, steps faltering in the doorway before he stops entirely, the words crowding on his tongue. 

They are half-slumped over an armchair by the fire in the living room, legs dangling over the arm of it, head hanging low in their slumber. Dark hair spreads over their shoulders like a curtain, overgrown bangs brushing cheeks, and Viago instinctively thinks they should cut it, it will get in the way – as many things do. 

He has learnt to grow around their absence – there are always contracts to fulfill, ledgers to write, and poisons to make. But this, this he cannot seem to be able to let go of, between all the avoidance and the– hurt is a word his mind skips over, instead latches onto affronted as an alternative.

Hurt means caring enough. It means admittance, something he has never been good at when it came to people too close in his vicinity. 

They always come after nightfall and are gone by dusk’s first light without a single exchanged word. They don’t send letters anymore, and if not for these nightly visits, Teia’s gossip, and the corpses left in their wake after another statement made in the name of a House not theirs, Viago would think them dead. 

Instead he makes do with what he can have, even if it feels like a slow death from one of his own meticulously made concoctions, and like splinters under the skin, and hairpin fractures, and and and–

He doesn’t mean to move but still his body does what it wants on its own accord, and the floorboards crack–

Not very befitting of a Crow, much less a Talon, this awkward display of balance. 

Their eyes are on him in a single second, razor-sharp and ready to leap, body tense, hand reaching for the dagger that’s certainly hiding in their boot. For a moment stillness reigns, then their arm drops (no dagger, only a naked hand adorned with rings) limp in their lap – their eyes don’t, keeping Viago frozen in his place and leaving him wondering when the air grew so chilled. 

Was it before or after the gods’ defeat? When they recklessly, foolishly, idiotically pulled their stunt on the Antaam? When he held their life in his hands, once, twice, three times? Was it a gradual unseen descent? Or such a swift beheading that he only noticed too late that it happened at all? 

An amber flash, a slow blink, a crackle in the fire and he still doesn’t know how to ask for things. 

Courtesy would tell him to make small talk, but he loathes it and knows Arvane cares about it only if it’s amusing – and Viago doesn’t feel like entering into a wit of words with them. He knows a losing game when he sees one. 

They lean back in their seat, and the stalemate shatters. 

“I ate your last churros,” they say then, because of course, and Viago doesn’t know whether to hack a chuckle or make a sound somewhere between exasperation and fatigue. “Lo siento.”

They don’t sound sorry at all. 

He stands stock still, hands clasped behind his back – he doesn’t lean, not on the doorway, not on one foot, not on anyone, and he doesn’t trust himself enough to sit and be closer to them than he already is. 

“Shame. I had it made for Teia.”

“In that case, forward my sincerest apologies to her.” Something glints in their eyes, and Viago can’t tell what it is. That failure stings, more than what is sensible.