#Manfred just helping to cover his face | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sinnabum45 · 9 months ago

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⚠Trigger Warning! Graphic depictions of suicide attempt, suicide ideation, and spiraling thoughts⚠

[Image description: black and white with gray tones, digital drawing of a comic about characters from the Ace Attorney series. Page one: First three panels are of Miles Edgeworth sitting at his desk, which is covered with papers, tired with eye bags and feeling frustrated with himself. His left hand is on his face and it moves back down. He thinks to himself, “What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I even do something as simple as this?” A flashback to Phoenix Wright glaring at Edgeworth, then saying, “It’d been better if you never came back from the dead, Edgeworth!” Pearl Fey is standing next to him with a shocked and worried expression. Page one end. Page two: Miles is shocked and his desk is now covered with sleeping pills and an open pill bottle. An embodiment of Manfred von Karma appears behind Miles and reaches for Miles’s face. Manfred says, “How selfish can you be? Can’t even do me the favor of simply dying. ” The embodiment turns into Miles when he attempted suicide. Messy hair, bloodshot eyes, dried tears, dark circles under his eyes, and pills pouring from his mouth. He is squeezing the real Miles’s face and says, “Why don’t you try it again?” Page two end. Page three: Miles shuts his eyes and covers his ears with his fists while shouting, “No!! I don’t need you anymore!”. He opens his teary eyes when he hears Phoenix say, “Edgeworth.” Miles remembers Phoenix telling him, “Please call me anytime. I want to be there for you this time, okay?”. In the flashback, it is bright, Phoenix is facing forward, smiling with a worried expression, and holding his phone. The present Miles looks forward and calmed down a little. He’s still shaken up a bit. Page three end. Page four: Throughout the three panels, Miles is reaching for his smart phone on the desk, pulls away, then grabs his phone. Quotes from various characters: Phoenix, Gant, Manfred, and Franziska are scattered throughout the page. First panel, “I never wanted to see you again! To think that your motivation for prosecuting trials was so selfish…” by Phoenix. “I can feel it. You and me… we’re the same.” by Gant. Second panel, “You can let what happened kill the prosecutor inside you, or you can let it help you grow. I’ll be waiting for you in court…” by Phoenix. “Our battle… begins now… so you had better prepare yourself, Miles Edgeworth!” by Franziska. Third panel, “You have fallen so far. All these years I guided you, raised you as my own. You and your father are my curse!” by Manfred. “A von Karma is someone who is destined to be perfect! You are no longer worthy of being a von Karma! And neither am I!” by Franziska. Page four end. Page five: Miles is calling Phoenix. It rings throughout the page. The embodiment of Miles yells, “Stop! He will just hate you more than he already does!”. He is crying as he says, “ Then… I’ll truly be alone.” He has both hands raised to around his collarbone level and ink is smudged on his right hand. Miles reaches for his face and it startles his embodiment. The last panel is brighter. Miles, with closed eyes and somber expression, is holding his own face and reassuring himself by saying, “Don’t worry… I trust him.” Miles’s chair is squeaking as he rocks back and forth while leaning on his desk. Page five end. Page six: It is single light page with the phone ringing and getting picked up. Then Phoenix answers, “ Hello? Edgeworth?”. Comic end. End description]

Links to help Palestine and other resources! 🇵🇸

[Plain text: Links to help Palestine and other resources! (palestine flag). End plain text.]

Some extra thoughts below! These are just my personal interpretations of what I watched. I'll try to make sense of what I'm saying LOL 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️

Again, trigger warning for suicide attempt+ ideation!

Something I noticed while skimming through Farewell, My Turnabout is the similarities between Miles and Adrian Andrews. They directly connected Franziska and Adrian at the end, but they kinda just "hinted" at Miles being similar to Adrian. The main thing that stood out to me is when Miles starts explaining how Adrian is putting up a façade by acting strong. The background fades to black (TWICE), which is something that mostly happens when it's something important, putting focus onto Miles while he talks about how Adrian "lost her will to live" after losing Inpax. Inpax was Adrian's "pillar of strength" and when Inpax comitted suicide, Adrian completely fell apart. She then started to act just like Inpax to cope with losing herself and her mentor. That sounds like the relationship between Miles (and Franziska) and Manfred.

Miles's and Franziska's whole life with Manfred was them depending on him to validate/approve of them. When Manfred left their lives, they started to fall apart trying to gain approval of a man who isn't there anymore. Franziska's confidence was chipped away throughout every case because she kept losing against Phoenix. Miles fell apart a lot quicker (cuz Franziska wasn't created until after--).

Throughout Rise from the Ashes, multiple characters point out how Miles was not doing well and it progressively gets worse. This honestly confused me because Phoenix did notice that Miles wasn't doing okay. He even told Miles that he needs to choose between killing the prosecutor within him or let it help him grow. This interaction is at the very end of the case. Idk if "killing the prosecutor within" was ever brought up before that, but that was interesting cuz I kept seeing people say that Miles wrote that in his note out of nowhere.

With everything that Miles went through in just 2 MONTHS- it makes sense to me if he was not okay. His whole life was uprooted again after 15 years, he was betrayed by almost everyone he trusted, his adoptive dad killed his biological dad and tried to blame it on him, he was brought out on a boat in the middle of the night and shot at, Gant+ Lana used his knife to stab a person's body and made him unknowingly transport it in his own car, Gant saying that he's just like him, etc. Like DAMN bro, what the heck 😭

Also, the thing that made me want to make this comic was when Phoenix told Miles that "everyone would be better off if he stayed dead". Imo, I think it's understandable why Phoenix is angry at Miles. He felt betrayed and couldn't face the fact that Miles isn't who he was when he was 9. There was a post talking about it in more detail, but I mostly agree with what they had to say about it. Phoenix put an unfair standard onto Miles and got hurt when Miles couldn't meet that expectation. He wanted to "save" Miles by solving the DL-6 case and then thought that Miles would go back to how he was when they were kids. When he realized that it doesn't work like that, at least not right away, he felt betrayed. I love that they wrote Phoenix, the protagonist, with these traits tbh. I think it's very interesting! I just wished that they added a scene where Phoenix apologized for saying that Miles should stay dead tho cuz that's never okay to say to anyone, let alone someone you care about and apparently "know better than anyone else" 👁👁

Another thing I noticed is how different the characters treat Adrian vs Miles with the topic of "death". For some reason they're very sympathetic and delicate with Adrian, but then tell Miles to die. Phoenix tells Miles that everyone would be better off if he stayed dead, but then calls Miles cold for telling Adrian that if she decides to "choose death", then it is of no concern to him. Which goes right into my next point.

Miles seemed like he really didn't want to bring up Adrian's suicide attempt and her mental illness. It seemed like they tried everything to get her to talk, but because Franziska told her not to testify, Adrian kept trying to stay quiet. Even the judge was trying to get her to testify by saying at this point, it's looking like she's guilty. In any other situation, what Miles said to her would be uncalled for, but this was literally life or death for Adrian. Also, with context, Miles said that regardless of what she decided to do after the trial, she needed to talk now. She was asking for someone to help her, but only she can accept that help. He could've definitely put it in a way better way tho like damn. I think he's projecting how he talks to himself onto Adrian tbh 👀 It's honestly just a really shitty situation for Adrian to be in cuz no matter the reason, she was forced to face her worst fear. If anyone is to blame for all this bs, it's definitely Matt Engarde and Juan Corrida imo-- 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️ Her illness was something Adrian would have to face sooner or later, it just sucks that it had to be like this 😢 Another thing I noticed is when Adrian said that if the truth of her illness were to come out she couldn't finish her sentence. Then Miles finished it for her by asking if she would "choose death". That's a more obvious clue that maybe Miles's note was a suicide note, since it was used in the context of committing suicide.

This guy is always on my mind-- All of them are always on my mind tbh 😭 I just wanted to draw Miles struggling (just the usual on this account) SKMSDKLML I also wanted to show that healing isn't linear and there are a LOT of times where it's just hard. I also wanted to show that Phoenix (and literally everyone else OvO) does want to be there for him despite everything, Miles just has to be brave and accept his support. I just want them to be happy DAMN 😭😭

I feel like I have so much more to talk about, but I can't think of anything else rn. I hope all of this makes sense- I'd love to read your thoughts on this or if you have any questions! Just keep it respectful, please 🥺

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peonysgreenhouse · 2 months ago

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and still, i will live here.

summary: after the siege of weisshaupt, emmrich helps rook bathe. (rook x emmrich volkarin)

tags: 3.1k words, she/her pronouns for rook, rook is an elf/rogue/mourn watcher, bathing/washing, fluff, hurt/comfort, pre-relationship, rook is bad at feelings, emmrich is not.

Rook stands at the bottom of the staircase and mentally counts the number of steps that lead up to the second floor. She wonders if it would be easier to just curl up underneath the meeting table; skin soaked with blight and ichor and all.

Such exhaustion felt too big for her body. Sure, she had scrubbed the headstones in the Memorial Gardens from sunrise to sundown as punishment many times, but that weariness was manageable. This was not.

If she would’ve just died at Weisshaupt, at least she wouldn’t have to stand, and persist. An eternal rest sounds nice for both her body and her conscience.

It’s Manfred’s chattering that catches her hazy attention. He ambles over to her, bones rattling with each step. It’s a pleasant sound, familiar, and it’s almost enough to bring a smile to her weary face.

Manfred makes a noise akin to a screeching, and starts to slowly walk up the stairs. With each step, Manfred turns to her, as if beckoning her to follow. Or perhaps, he assumed that her idling by the bottom of the staircase meant she didn’t know how to use the stairs. He stops at the fifth step and hisses again, turning to face her, and takes another step down.

Rook does smile at that. She lets out a sigh, and relents, slowly following Manfred up the stairs. Rook clutches at her side as she walks up the stairs; exhaustion weighs heavy on her shoulders, draped like an oversized coat.

Manfred hisses happily when she reaches the top of the stairs, and she huffs out a laugh, turning to her room as she bids the spirit goodnight.

“Rook?” Emmrich. Rook turns to face her companion, trying to will a smile to her face. She didn’t want him to worry.

“Emmrich.” She says, quiet and fond. “Need something? I’m about to head to bed.”

Emmrich raises an eyebrow, his fingers steepled in front of him. Even after Weisshaupt he still looked put together; prim and dandy as he always did. She’s almost envious, she can only imagine how unkempt she looked in comparison.

“Covered in all that…” He makes a vague gesture, cutting off his words as if to not offend. “You should at least bathe first. Clean off all those cuts and bruises. I would hate for them to get infected.”

Rook lets out another breathy, tired laugh. “I’m afraid I’d fall asleep in the tub and drown.”

Emmrich’s expression softens. It makes something in Rook’s chest tighten uncomfortably.

“I would be happy to aid you. But only if you’re comfortable with it.” He suggests, kindly.

“Are you sure?” Rook asks, but the thought of a warm bath does seem nice. Especially if she got to collapse in bed afterwards. “You fought today too, surely you’re tired as well–”

“Yes, but I wasn’t in the thick of it like you were.” He answers, lacing his fingers together. “You made sure of that. Allow me to repay you in what small way I can.”

Rook doesn’t have the energy to protest like she might normally. She acquiesces with a nod. “Alright. That would be nice.”

“Excellent.” He says, clapping his hands together, his jewelry clinking as he does. “I’ll draw a bath.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Rook manages to traipse her way to her room and grabs herself a clean pair of comfy clothes; a thoroughly-worn tunic she had nicked from a friend in the Mourn Watchers, and a loose pair of breeches. She gives the mirror sitting on top of her chester drawer a wide berth.

She walks back to Emmrich’s room, tracing a finger along the stone walls as she goes. The door was already propped open, the smell of chamomile and lavender enticing her to step closer. She peeks inside, and sees Emmrich unfolding a screen divider, as if to give the bathing area a little privacy.

“Emmrich?” You call, and he stands up to full height, looking rather pleased with himself.

“Ah, Rook!” He answers, folding his hands together in front of him. “Come in, feel free to set your clean clothes anywhere you’d like. And do tell me if the water is too hot or too cold.”

Ever the gentleman, Emmrich turns around as she walks towards the tub. Rook thinks it's silly, no doubt all their companions have seen her in worse states than being in the nude; crawling out of blight pustules or wading through the entrails of failed Venatori rituals seemed like normalcy now. Sometimes it took multiple washes to rid her armor of the rot.

Still, Rook is thankful for the privacy. Emmrich was a kindness she knew she didn’t deserve.

Rook sets her clean clothes on the floor near the tub, changing out of her armor as quickly as she can. Even raising her arms to pull the leather over her head felt grueling, but Emmrich remains with his back turned the whole time. Rook leaves her dirtied armor in a pile on the floor. She was thankful the blood and blight had dried already – it would take longer to clean, but at least she wasn’t staining his brick flooring. She could almost hear the lecture he’d give her if she did.

Slowly, Rook sinks into the bathtub. The water is nice and hot, and the scent of the bath oils make her eyelids feel heavy. She pulls her knees up to her chest.

“Emmrich?” She says, clearing her throat after her words come out hoarse. “You can turn around now.”

“Wonderful.” Emmrich answers. He claps his hands together, and it’s only then she realizes that he’s lost all the finery he usually wears. No rings or bracelets, no glove, his vest discarded and his yellow collared shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Communal bathing was normal in Nevarra, but this is different, intimate.

“No need to worry, Rook.” He assures, as if sensing her discomfort. “Tell me if you wish for me to stop, and I’ll leave. No questions asked. But for now, allow me to take care of you.”

Rook sucks in a breath on instinct, her weary brain searching for something to say to ease the slowly surmounting urge to flee.

“...Right.” She says with a breathy laugh, sinking further into the tub. Rook’s eyes follow Emmrich as he grabs a few bottles out of a drawer, as well as a wash rag. He pulls up a stool to the side of the tub and sits down, setting the bottles on the floor beside him.

“I noticed you were short of breath when you addressed us tonight.” Emmrich says, dipping the wash rag into the bath water and wringing it out. “Did you hurt your ribs perhaps?”

A man as learned in Anatomy as he was would notice that, Rook thinks bitterly. Her hand subconsciously comes up to her side underneath the water. “Yeah, I…” She starts. “The Archdemon got me pretty good with the back of its tail. It’s not an open wound, but… It’s got some pretty nasty bruising.”

Emmrich nods. “If you’d like, I can take a look at it for you after we get you washed up.”

“I’ll be okay. I’m sure you’re tired from… everything that’s happened today. Wouldn’t want you exhausting yourself on my account.”

“Nonsense.” He says firmly. “If it is just bruises like you say, it will take little effort to expedite the healing process.”

Again, such kindness. It makes her throat feel thick with uncomfortable emotion. Rook didn’t know how to handle his sincerity; it felt antithetical to everything she was.

“I’ll just take a healing potion before bed.” She answers, tilting her head towards the far wall so he can’t see her flustered expression. “I’ll be alright.”

“If that’s what you think is best. But know my offer will always stand.” Emmrich says, not wanting to press on an already open wound. “Now, if you would…” Emmrich scoots his chair a little closer. “My dear, we must have a talk about how you handle yourself in battle. Not even Taash ends up as messy as you.”

That makes Rook laugh earnestly, her bruises aching as she does. She feels much more comfortable with this conversation. “Not everyone can stay behind and shoot… magic beams like you.” Rook says, a playful tone to her voice. “A rogue’s gotta get her hands dirty.”

Emmrich pauses as if he was going to correct her, but ultimately just sighs. “Yes, it would be fine if it were just your hands.” Emmrich brings the cloth forward to her shoulder. “You have blood inside your ears.”

“I mean...” Rook shrugs, sucking in a breath as he begins to gently scrub the dried blood from the side of her neck. She feels the sting as he cleans out one of the fresh cuts right above her clavicle, just shallow enough that it didn’t tear into anything important. “I have big ears. Hard to keep ‘em from getting involved in the action.”

“Still, you should be more careful, Rook.” Emmrich says, reaching up to wipe off a smear of blood off her cheek. The warmth of the cloth feels nice against her skin. “I have the utmost confidence in your skills, but you do have a tendency towards recklessness.”

“You sound like Myrna.” She mumbles, tilting her head down so he can clean a cut right above her eyebrow. Rook didn’t even realize she had gotten that one, her body felt like one giant ball of hurt. It was hard to pinpoint the little injuries.

Emmrich seemed to spot them all, though.

“I can tell Myrna cares a great deal for your well-being.” He says, rinsing the cloth out in the bath water. He wrings it out once again; the water takes on a reddish hue. “As do I. As does everyone here, for that matter.”

Rook opens her mouth to respond, but then Emmrich brings the cloth up to one of her ears. It’s just a quick swipe, but it makes her shiver. Instinctively, Rook jerks her head back, her cheeks warm as she pulls away from his hand.

“Did I hurt you?” Emmrich asks, eyes wide as he pulls his hand away, laying the cloth over the edge of the tub. “I apologize, I didn’t notice any cuts there. Do you want me to take a look?”

“No, no…” Rook says with a huff, bringing a hand up to rub at the spot he had touched, trying to play off her overreaction. She can feel the flush in her skin. “I’m just sensitive there. I’ll get it.” Rook brushes her hair back, picking up the cloth and scrubbing at both of her ears, unable to make eye contact with Emmrich as she does so.

When she thinks she’s gotten herself all clean, she looks back at Emmrich. She notices that his cheeks have taken on a rosy hue. Rook clears her throat.

“Did I get everything?” She asks, turning her head from side to side. Emmrich seems to regain his bearings quickly. He nods.

“Yes, it looks like it.” He says. “And I apologize, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I wasn’t aware that elven ears were so… sensitive, as you said.”

Rook snorts. “I guess that wouldn’t be in the textbooks, huh?” She says, teasing. “That information would be saved for more… raunchy works of literature.”

“Even so, it is fascinating. I shall keep it in mind.” Emmrich says, a playful spark in his green eyes. “Now, allow me to wash your hair, my dear. Scoot forward, if you will.”

Rook does as he asks, the ends of her hair touching the top of the water and sticking to her skin in inky strands. He scoops the water gently and lets it wet her fluffy hair. She wrinkles her nose as she sees the water turn red as it runs down her shoulders.

“...Okay, maybe I did get a little carried away today.” She says with a sigh, her shoulders slumping forward. In the stillness of Emmrich’s room, his gentle combing of his slender fingers through her wet hair, it’s hard for her to hold back the tide of emotion she felt about Weisshaupt.

It felt odd to even be alive. Breathing air that was borrowed from another. She had reassured Davrin earlier that it was not a sin to be alive, and she had meant it when she said it to him. But she was their leader, and she made sure to tidy her room before she had left.

“Would you like to talk about it?” He asks, sensing her hesitance. His words are as gentle as his hands as he massages shampoo into her hair. It smells earthy, like moss and patchouli; it reminds her of the smell of the Memorial Gardens after the morning dew.

It’s comforting, familiar. Rook takes a breath, lungs aching in protest, but the feeling of his fingers scratching at her scalp dull that ache. She doesn’t remember ever being touched so gently.

“About… today?” She asks. Rook absentmindedly traces her fingers over the surface of the water, watching as it ripples through the tub. Where would she even start? “I don’t even know what to say. It was awful.”

Emmrich nods, letting the shampoo rest in her hair for a moment. “It was. So much loss of life, it’s almost hard to believe such a thing could happen on such a scale…” Emmrich puts a hand on her shoulder, brushing his thumb over her bruised collarbone. Unlike her own, his hands are soft. “But you did all that you could. Without you, Rook, without Davrin… I fear the cost may have been much higher. You mitigated the loss of life. You made Ghilan’nain mortal, that is a feat none but you can brag about.”

Rook turns her head, looking up into his eyes for anger or disappointment. Those emotions she could work with – sincerity she could not. It makes her tired eyes sting with emotion.

Rook nods, slowly, his words slowly seeping into her skin. She wonders if the heroes of the past ever felt so lost. Did the Hero of Ferelden wonder if she could’ve done more, fist clenched tightly in her lover’s tunic as both herself and the Archdemon breathed their last? Did the Champion of Kirkwall ever feel hopeless against the city that took and took and took ever more still from her? Did the Herald of Andraste ever regret not striking the head of the wolf that nipped at her heels?

Even the thought of lumping herself in with them makes her feel like she’s overestimated her importance. She feels any of her companions could easily replace her.

“We all did that, together.” Rook says, softly. She’s thankful when Emmrich starts to rinse out her hair; the bath water was starting to get cold.

“And yet you’re the only one with blight in your hair.” Emmrich replies, a small smile on his lips. He scoops another handful of water over her head, running his fingers through the tangles, gently brushing out any knots. “All of us came back alive. You told us earlier that you considered that a win, it’s time you believed that, too.”

“I… do believe it. If anything would’ve happened to you all–”

“You’re alive as well, Rook.” Emmrich says, pausing his ministrations to look her in the eye. Rook feels she can’t look away, not now. “And what a wonderful thing that is.”

“I…” Rook starts, but once again she’s left without any witty retort. “You truly believe so?”

Emmrich softens, his voice breathy. “Yes, of course I do, my dear.” He combs his fingers through her hair once more, just to touch her. “I am so grateful to have met you, even if it had to be under circumstances such as these.”

Rook laughs, genuine, rubbing at one of her eyes. Damn, she must be tired if she was letting herself get teary-eyed in front of him. “I’m sure we would’ve met anyways. Eventually.” She says, her smile sheepish as she leans back against the back of the tub. “Or maybe we have met before. The Mourn Watch isn’t that big of an organization.”

“I would’ve never forgotten anyone as wonderful as you.” Emmrich answers. “Now, before you catch a cold, let’s get you out of the bath. Do you need help standing?”

Rook shakes her head. Even as tired as she was, the thought of him helping her out of the bath was a mortifying one. “No, it’s alright. I’m not so helpless that I need to be carried back to my room.”

Emmrich laughs, his eyes crinkling as he does so. “I know that you are not helpless.” He says, firmly, playfully. “But you can lean on us from time to time. A burden shared is a burden halved, as they say. I know if I were injured you would do the same.”

“I wouldn’t let you get injured in the first place.” Rook mumbles in reply. Emmrich walks behind the dividing curtain that separates the wash tub from the rest of his room, allowing Rook privacy. Slowly, she stands, her vision blurring momentarily as her body adjusts to standing. The cool air of the room makes her shiver as she reaches for a towel to dry herself off with. “But I wouldn’t mind carrying you.”

Emmrich lets out an incredulous huff. “I’m almost a head taller than you. I don’t think that would end well for either of us.”

“I’m up for the challenge.” She teases back, throwing the wet towel over the side of the bath. Rook starts to dress herself, thankful that she brought her baggier clothes. She can’t imagine trying to wrestle her belts around her waist in this state. When she’s done, she reaches down and collects her dirtied armor; it feels heavier in her arms than it had any right being. “Alright, I’m all done. Think I’m gonna go to sleep for three days straight now.”

Rook runs a hand through her wet hair, pushing it out of her eyes. Emmrich turns to face her, a slight smile on his lips. “Ah, well then, I’ll not keep you any longer. Get some rest, my dear. And do let me know if you need me to look at those bruises.”

“Yeah…” She leans against the door frame, feeling like there’s something more she needs to say. Whatever it is, it’s lost in the recesses of her tired mind. “Thanks, Emmrich.”

“It’s no problem at all.” His gaze is gentle, and she turns her head away. Too much emotion for one night. “Sweet dreams, Rook.”

Rook lingers for a moment more, then she turns, leaving the warmth of his room for the stillness of her own. She collapses, boneless and exhausted, onto the chaise lounge in the middle of her room.

Tomorrow would come, and she would be alive to live it. Perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing.

#emmrich volkarin #emmrich volkarin x rook #emmrook #dragon age the veilguard #dragon age #datv #fluff #hurt/comfort #fic #expect more of this <3

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viennacherries · 2 months ago

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Your Voice is a Comfort

Lucanis/f!Rook | 541 Words | SFW

Read on AO3

Lucanis often wonders how Rook manages to keep up with herself.

It seems like she’s always going at mach-speed. Like anything less than constantly vomiting words out of her mouth is a catastrophic failure on her part.

~~~

Lucanis often wonders how Rook manages to keep up with herself.

It seems like she’s always going at mach-speed. Like anything less than constantly vomiting words out of her mouth is a catastrophic failure on her part.

There's rarely a moment of quiet if she’s in the room. If she’s not excitedly discussing things with the rest of the Veilguard, then she’s narrating everything she does to Assan or Manfred. If she’s not doing either of those, she’s muttering under her breath to herself. Lucanis would think she was the one possessed by a demon if he didn't know better.

She's no different on the battlefield. She’s constantly moving, bobbing and weaving and slashing. He’ll think he’s finally locked onto her position so he can cover her, and then suddenly she’s 40ft away again, screaming a battle cry and diving into the fray before anyone can even think to stop her.

He thinks she’s probably never done anything quietly in her life.

He sees it too, in the way she cares for everyone around her. The way she’ll help every wayward vagabond that looks at her with slightly wet eyes, or the way she’ll rush to be a shoulder to cry on for any of her friends. The way she stoops to put a coin in every panhandlers tray, and the way she coos at every flea-ridden feline in all of Thedas that comes within arms reach. Of all the things Rook does loudly, she loves the loudest.

He found it overwhelming when he met her. A year of near constant isolation, and the first friendly face when he found his freedom was this bundle of energy and noise. Some days he would escape to the pantry purely so that he could find silence. It’s safe to say, between her and Spite, he never found any.

But things are different now. Spite is quieter, and Rook… Well, Rook isn't. And yet Lucanis finds he’s glad for it.

She’s taken to keeping him company while he cooks. He stands over the stove and she leans on the counter next to him, talking. He mostly just listens, making a few affirming noises when it feels right. He never says more than a few words, and she never runs out of things to say. If it was anyone else, maybe he’d find it tiring, but it’s not anyone else. It’s Rook.

While Rook is around to fill every silence, there’s still a chance they can win.

While Rook is keeping him company and talking his ear off, they’re safe.

She’s safe.

He’s not sure when that became important to him, but it is now.

So now he relishes it. Every muttered curse directed at no one in particular, every compliment offered to every mangy cat. Every strange gargled noise she makes at Manfred, and every time he can hear her behind him on the battlefield. All of it means there's still hope that they make it out of this. All of it means she’s okay.

And if he’s starting to say more than a few words? If he’s started making comments about things he knows will send her on a tangent while he peels the vegetables?

Well. Maybe he’s trying to love loudly, too.

#dragon age #dragon age veilguard #veilguard #dragon age the veilguard #da: the veilguard #datv #da4 #lucanis romance #lucanis x rook #dragon age lucanis #lucanis dragon age #lucanis dellamorte #veilguard rook #female rook #f!rook

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queenmuzz · 1 month ago

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Five Stages of Grief: Chapter V

Acceptance

Read it HERE on Ao3

He splashes some water on his face and checks himself in the mirror. He ought to shave, or at least trim his beard, but there isn’t that much time. In an hour or two, everyone will be up, and he needs to be gone by then.

It’s better this way he thinks as he changes into one of his robes, I can’t give them the chance to talk me out of this. They need Rook back as much as he does, and if it goes the way he theorizes, he can’t risk getting any of them caught up. Lucanis is needed for his god killing skills. Neve is needed when they inevitably mount a counter attack on her own city. Taash is needed for killing Elgar’nan’s archdemon. Harding is needed to help strategize and keep everyone on the same page. Rook is needed by everyone for her courage, her tenacity, her devotion.

And him?

What use is he without Rook? At this moment, not much. Best he can say is that he’s crafted a tool that will get her out of the fade, if he’s lucky. And if he gets sucked into the Fade in her place? That is good enough for him. A cowardly man who is terrified of the very thing he’s fascinated by, it will be a fitting end.

No, such thoughts did not become him, he tells himself. Wallowing in self-pity is not what she would want him to do.

He reviews his mental checklist. He’s gotten his affairs in order. The dagger is in his possession, safely hidden under his robe. His letter to Zea has been carefully written, and sealed in red wax, the imprint of the skull brooch to match her letter.

Speaking of which, he must address the only obstacle to his plans.

“Manfred!” he calls and the creak and clatter of bones signals the arrival of his ‘son’ as Rook had announced that blessed day. He wishes he hadn’t come to think of Manfred like that, if only to make this less painful.

“I’m planning to head to the Memorial Gardens.”

The skeleton’s eyes rotate in surprise and excitement, no doubt because neither of them have made their regular trek to that place in over three weeks, and Manfred so loves to travel there.

“Unfortunately I must insist you stay here.” And Manfreds jaw drops with a confused hiss.

“ WHY ”

“Because I need you to be here when Rook returns.” It’s not a lie, per se, Rook will be returning, with or without him, and it has the desired effect. The idea that Manfred’s beloved ‘ROOK !’s impending return is enough to get him excited enough to not ask questions of why exactly he cannot accompany Emmrich to rescue her. He happily accepts the brooch that Emmrich pins on his lapel, and promises to give it to Rook when she returns.

“You will keep her safe, my boy?” Emmrich asks, as he pats Manfred’s head and there’s a clattering as he nods profusely. It’s a comfort really, knowing that the spirit adores Zea as much as he does, and she adores him.. It makes what he plans to do a bit easier.

“Well, I must be off.” He grabs his staff and begins to head out.

He’s almost at the threshold when Manfred starts showing his first inkling that perhaps he’s not as naive as Emmrich assumed.

“WHY NOT EMMRICH GIVE HER BROOCH BACK?”

His mouth is dry as he attempts to come up with plausible lie excuse. “Because she was the one that gave it to you, it would be only right for you to return it yourself.” The skeleton thinks it over, its jaw clacking for a few agonizing moments, before he seems to agree that that is a perfectly acceptable answer. He gives a wave, allowing Emmrich to let out a sigh of relief, as he slips out of his room.

The Lighthouse courtyard is completely deserted in the odd twilight the permanent eclipse has cast on it, and he’s thankful that it gives him the cover he needs to sneak out like a thief. He takes one last look at its amazing beauty, the reason that he’s found the Fade so entrancing, how it's familiar and yet unfamiliar to the real world, everchanging, and yet staying the same, both at the same time.

But alas, just like an idea, his stay at the Lighthouse has probably come to an end far too soon, and he slips out, using the Eluvians to get to the Necropolis.

He doesn’t seem to notice someone is watching his departure with concern.

——————

His parent’s graves need tending. It’s been three weeks, and while the Mourn Watchers do all they can, recent events have made maintenance of the gardens low on their priorities. He’d never forgive himself if he left them neglected. Besides, he ought to talk to them, ask them to look after Zea and Manfred, seeing that they are daughter in law and grandson in all but name.

He plucks a few weeds that have grown between the pathstones that lead to their memorial, and cleans up the moss that always seems to be attracted to their gravestones. He places a hastily assembled bouquet at their steps, hoping that they wouldn’t mind his deviation from the norm of a carefully selected variety of flowers.

“I apologise that it’s been a while,” he speaks, trying to keep his voice his calm and steady, “Things have been quite hectic, you see, with ancient elvish gods, the ripping down of the veil, oh, and the Blight, complete with multiple Archdemons. Can’t forget that.” Despite that depressing description, he smiles, a feeling rather unnatural after these past few weeks, but it's genuine. “The strangest thing is, this is quite the happiest I’ve been in quite a long time. You see, that woman introduced you to, Zea…” he thinks back as she gave a small curtsey to the graves, was so respectful to them, as she was to even the smallest of wisps, “she’s helped me quite a lot in the far too short a time I’ve known her. She’s helped me immensely in confronting my deepest fears, has given me something to strive for, instead of cowering in the dark, trying to forestall something that claims us all in the end.” His eyesight gets a bit blurry, and pulls out a handkerchief to wipe his eyes before he continues, “You would love her. She’s kind, brave, and selfless. Willing to give herself to others, and asking nothing in return, even though she deserves everything. Willing to give her heart to a man who doesn’t deserve it.”

He takes a breath, and continues rambling, “She deserves so much more. She’s young, has the entire world ahead of her once this is over. A life of happiness and peace. I… intend to give her that, with all of my being. I trust you will understand in time why I must do this. Why I need to save her, no matter the cost? You know what’s strange,” he chuckles, and the sound coming out of his throat sounds foreign to him, it being so long since he’s felt humour, “The past forty years, I’ve been terrified of what lies beyond this life, to where you are. I’ve sought to forestall it, to remove myself from it. I’ve been so focused on how to avoid death, that I’ve never quite learned how to live. So despite my own fears…” he stands up straight, “I’ve found someone that is both worth living and now, dying for.”

He closes his eyes, trying to think of how to ask them to look after Zea and Manfred, when he hears the most peculiar sound, for a graveyard: Clapping.

He twirls around quickly, and comes face to face with the last person he’d ever expect in such a place.

“Taash…?”

“Nice speech. I can see why Rook likes you so much. You got a way with words.”

Which is of course the moment he’s at a loss for them.

“Why did you… How did you… Who?”

“Professor,” Harding appears from around one of the mausoleums, trying to control her heaving breath from chasing after the much longer legged Taash, “We couldn’t let you just go off to do something like this on your own!”

“Indeed,” the familiar clink of metal on stone signals the approach of Neve, always looking her finest. “We’d lose one of the finest minds in all of Thedas.”

“And for once Spite and I and the rest of this group are in agreement.” There’s a flap of wings, as Lucanis lands.

“LOST TOO MUCH. NO MORE.”

Emmrich is flabbergasted. And touched. And perplexed, not necessarily in that order.

“How did you know?”

Taash rolls their eyes, as if the answer is obvious. “I woke up from a dead sleep when a certain SOMEONE banged on my door telling me he’s worried about his dad. Telling me he thinks he left him behind to do something dangerous. I got really pissed off.” There’s soft apologetic hiss, as Manfred creeps up, somewhat embarrassed that he’s been revealed as the ‘traitor’. “Not mad at you buddy. Just mad at your dad.” Taash clarifies.

“Manfred!” Emmrich is shocked, but his voice carries no malice. He should have known a curiosity spirit would take such drastic action, that it would want to know exactly what was going on.

“Looks like you’re stuck with us.” Taash continues, looking around the place. “Smells… nicer than I thought it would. I can see why she might be here.”

“All of you…” he grouses, “are the most aggravating, the most exasperating, the most…” he sniffles and wipes his eyes again, “loyal friends I have ever had the pleasure to know. I honestly do not deserve it…”

“Perhaps,” Neve seems to agree, but her eyes say otherwise. “But Rook deserves you.”

It’s a strange feeling, he thinks. Zea loved him, perhaps still loves him after everything, and now he realizes that he’s never been truly alone. It’s hard to accept, after years of assuming that aside from Manfred, he’d always live a solitary life..

“Let’s get her back.” Taash cracks her knuckles, and the others nod, looking at him. He agrees There’s no more waiting, it’s time to finish this. He pulls out the dagger, and senses in which direction the veil is the thinnest.

There’s a few tense minutes where he does nothing but concentrate. Here, the veil is thin, where spirits travel freely back and forth, like dust motes on unseen currents, they float along… but there’s a presence here, solid and struggling to get past this barrier that even a wisp could get past. He closes his eyes, focusing on it, trying to discern its form. There’s something to it, an emotion of desperation, of regret, of hope.

“There!” He yells and points the dagger at an area near the gravesite, but farther down the path. Instinctively he raises his hand, keeping time with his words, his heartbeat. It’s just a variation of a summoning spell, used to attract a wisp. Except she is no mere wisp.

“From beyond, we beseech you to come forth, to grace us with your presence!”

His heart thrums in his chest as nothing happens.

One heartbeat…

Two heartbeats

Three heartbeats

Four heartbeats

It’s on the fifth one, that small spark leaps off the tip of the blade, and zaps towards where it was pointing. There’s no sound, but it looks like the air becomes a ripe grape being split open, its green flesh sending a gentle glow that excites the nearby wisps.

“SMELL ROOK.” Spite states, and that gives Emmrich hope. Not ‘Smells LIKE Rook’ like at the well at the Crossroads. This sounds more certain, and not some spirit feeding off his desperation to see her again. And yet, nothing appears in the veil tear. No spirit, no person, nothing.

Then, there’s a small voice, distant and warped coming from within the tear, but he could recognize it anywhere.

“Goodbye Varric… and thank you.”

He’s confused. He’s never met Varric, the dwarf had died long before he had joined her. But he has no time to contemplate that as the tear is becoming unstable, and still she does not appear, Emmrich decides he MUST take the initiative. Ignoring the danger he’s putting himself in, he sticks an arm into the tear.

Another heartbeat of nothing. And then he feels it, a hand. He knows that hand so intimately, every callus, every ridge. It grips hard, so hard that he can feel his bones squeak in protest.

“I’ve got her!”

He sticks another arm in to get a better hold, and immediately there is another hand gripping it, every finger clinging on to his wrist, including the shortened pinky. And yet, no matter how much he pulls, he doesn’t seem to make any progress. In fact, he seems to be pulled into the Fade, like being submerged while trying to rescue a drowning man.

She seems to sense that as well, and he feels her muscles slacken and her fingers begin to loosen, as if to let him go, to not drag him in with her. But he refuses. No. He will not let go of her, not even if he’s trapped in there with her for all of eternity.

“Zea, dearest! Don’t.. don’t you dare let go!” He all but begs, not sure if she can hear. Still, he slides even further, and he’s so close to being enveloped by the Fade, he can smell the dust and rocks, the regret and loneliness the place exudes. But, he still holds on, accepting whatever fate has in store for him, as long as it's by her side.

“OH NO YOU DON’T!” A voice booms out from behind him, and strong arms wrap around his chest like a hug, causing his slow forward progress to halt, momentarily. He barely hears Taash’s voice ordering through gritted teeth the others to help over the sound of the blood pumping through his system.

Harding appears on his left, gripping on the only part of his forearm that still isn’t swallowed by the Fade and tugs, pulling up a paving stone with her titan powers to use as a footstopper. Manfred mirrors the action on Emmrich’s right side, and hisses with all his might as he helps pull. Neve immediately follows suit, positioning herself behind Manfred and clinging to his upper arm, lodging her prosthetic in a crack as she provides support. And finally, Lucanis is there on his left, muttering Antivan curse words as he helps pull. Emmrich is surrounded literally by all his closest companions, all desperate for one thing, and yet… it is not enough. She remains stuck. Either their combined strength will eventually wear out, or the already unstable tear will close. Already, its edges are becoming blurry, less defined.

And then, he feels two sensations.

A sharp tug on his lower robe, like a dog that has yanked on a favourite and well loved toy. Except, the bite doesn’t feel like it’s made by teeth, more of like a … beak?

Then there is a pair of hands on his shoulders. He feels them, the metal gauntlets, he swears he can hear the sound of plate armour grinding against metal. But when he risks a glance to the left, there is nothing there, only Lucanis, his eyes aglow.

“ THEY SEND THEIR HELP” he says through gritted teeth, and Emmrich knows that it is now or never.

“On the count of three, we all pull.”

“One…” Darling, hold on for just a bit longer!

“Two…” Please, my love… we’ve got you…

“Three!” Whatever it takes

There’s the sound of hissing, grunting, growling and he swears he hears a ‘Squawk’ mixed in, as they put their everything into this single action.

There’s no sound that accompanies what happens next. He thought there should be a SNAP, or a POP from the way the tension suddenly dissipates, as if Fate has finally thrown up her hands and just went ‘Fine, you win. Enjoy your prize.’ Because one moment, all of them are straining at the very limits of their endurance, the next, they’re all thrown backwards by their own stored momentum, with various sounds of discomfort. The tear in the veil snaps shut a few moments later.

Emmrich gets thrown the furthest, and he lands with an undignified yelp, combined with a wheezy ‘oof’ as something heavy lands on him.

It takes him a moment to truly understand what it is, but he feels a heartbeat echoing his, even under a layer of leather and chainmail. The smell of Tearstone island, of blight and blood, fills his nostrils as his vision clears. It’s her… she looks the same as he last saw her as she yanked that dagger out. The cut above her eye still oozes blood, and there’s still remnants of a bloodstain under her nose. Her silver hair is everywhere except her ponytail, some sticking to the cut, smearing the blood across her forehead. Stains of dirt cover her cheeks.

She is the most beautiful thing he has ever laid his eyes on.

“Emmrich?” her voice is timid, almost afraid that what she’s seeing isn’t real. He realizes that her perception of time is different from his.. She looks like she hasn’t been there for more than a day, while to her, he probably looks like he’s aged years. He hopes this is the case, as it was a torment to be parted from her for these three weeks, and he had his friends to support him, she had no one.

“You’re back, Zea… you’re safe.” He says it as much to assure her as it is to assure himself that yes… she’s here.

“You… came for me?” she asks in a small voice that nearly breaks his heart, “Why did you come for me?” Does she not know how much she is loved and cherished, not only by him, but the rest of the crew? He holds her tight once more, knowing that words will not answer her question as well as actions will. He’s not sure if it's right to kiss her in this state, where both him and her are so emotionally delicate. So he contents himself with holding her, thanking the spirits for her safe return.

“You guys just gonna lay there forever? Or are you gonna fuck? ‘Cus if you are…uh… I want to be out of this creepy place.” There’s a giggle from Harding to Taash’s statement, and a half stern half amused warning from Neve.

“Thank you Taash, for knowing exactly what to say to enhance the moment.” He sighs, although there’s not much anger in his voice. THEY are the reason he is here, with her, and it’s a debt he’ll never quite be able to pay.

“We ought to go home, there’s a lot we must discuss…” Lucanis suggests.

“ HOME!” Manfred agrees as he begins to help Zea up. “ROOK COME HOME!”

She smiles as she accepts his bony hand, barely wincing as she places weight on her left ankle. He’ll have to address that when she gets home. He’s already gotten a checklist of things to do. They need to apprise her of current events, he needs to clean himself up, contact Myrna and the Mourn Watchers for their aid…

But most importantly, he needs to apologise. Not here of course, but where and when she feels comfortable. He needs to assure her that his ramblings were of a man nearly consumed by an irrational fear, that he loves her, deeply, truly.

And if she cannot quite bring herself to trust in his devotion right away, he’s willing to accept that it will take time to mend what was broken.

Whatever it takes…

#dragon age the veilguard #veilguard spoilers #emmrich volkarin #emmrich x rook #emmrook #my writing

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felassan · 7 months ago

Text

Just poring over some of the new images. ◕‿◕

I like the overall shape of the dragon, its wings and silhouette, like it's maintaining this theme, two. It particularly reminds me of the DAII cover, with the figures of other characters being present in the dragon's wings. the pattern in the background gives the impression of a sunburst or explosion/outwards burst of energy (there's been lots of that going around in promo images for DA:TV over the years hasn't there). :D chunks of rock float around, which by now is associated with Fadey stuff (floating rocks in the Fade), the barrier (Veil) crumbling in key arts, and reality warping in places like Arlathan Forest. the dragon, open-mouthed, golden-eyed and ready to breathe fire, recalls the dragons on the Dragon Age vinyl arts, two, especially with its general position, and the dragon in this screenshot/scene. in the background at the bottom you can even see a hint of the 'concentric circles' pattern that represents the Veil.

I love that this group shot truly does include the whole team, including Assan and Manfred. I wonder if they will come into the field too if we select Davrin or Emmrich to come out with us respectively? We saw Assan capably fighting darkspawn in the character trailer, and in this image Manfred is helping fend the monsters off. Does Manfred carry Emmrich's stuff in his lil backpack..? 🥺 and I wonder what the purpose of Manfred's goggles are. Visually they set him apart from other skeleton/undead-type enemies and make it so you don't have to peer into empty the eyesockets of a skull, but also they're green (necromancy magic color) and we see Emmrich doing magic on them here. Are they part of the enchantment keeping him animated? also happy to see Varric in this one even though he is not one of the 7 companions. also, Bianca is still here. RIP

Taash looks so cool. :D Even her weapons are gold. her upper body armor in this piece has the aesthetic to me of like a dragon's ribbed armored chest and underside. I like that her weapons are unique generally, and from each other too. her dual-wielding like this as [I presume] a warrior differentiates her from Rook who if a warrior would be sword and shield or twohanded. her gauntlets look like they have dragon teeth or spines on them (the sticky-out parts that are not scale-like).

Davrin is at Rook's right hand. ♡ the floating triangles near Bellara show that she is using her magical device. I wonder what the white sphere part of Neve's wand/staff is. like, in this particular image it gives me the impression of a big pearl. Lucanis' eyes are glowing, like we see here, in that way that seems to hint that something interesting is going on there. overall it's cool to see all the team and cast together like this, working together heroically to stave off doom.

some of the monsters the group are fighting at least are red lyrium darkspawn. the ones with 'shark fin'-shaped headpieces are the same kind as the one at that link. are the rest all darkspawn too (there are different types of darkspawn ofc), or are there some walking dead mixed in there? (lol at the one Varric has just shot in the face). the non-sharkhead ones seem to be these guys from concept art. the prominence of darkspawn in this key art give the impression that we will fight a lot of red lyrium darkspawn in this game and that the threat they pose, including the Blight, is a significant part of the game's storyline.

at the center of it all and at the forefront is Rook. in a nice bit of poetic mirroring (the Wolf and the Rook), they too stand on a rocky outcropping, also with the knife - just like this. the knife is blue here.. blue lyrium influence? the very ground on which they stand bursts with energy. I wonder if Rook's outfit here is sort of their default, iconic look, like the Champion of Kirkwall armor for Hawke etc? I love that they have a cape and the point of their helmet gives them a bird-like feel. (omg.. we can have capes in this game fr). they have the Veilguard symbol on their chest. and could they be canonically left-handed..? :)

#dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age: dreadwolf #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #dragon age #bioware #video games #long post #longpost #solas #between info gathering and compiling etc i didnt have any time at all to do this in recent days 😅 pls pardon me for bein late to the party #dragon age the veilguard spoilers

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kirkwall-tourism-department · 2 months ago

Text

Extra Reading, Ch. 2

More illiterate rook x emmrich fluff

Opposites attract will always and forever be one of my favorite romance tropes.

Emmrich searched through the piles of books he had pulled from his shelves, all potential contenders to be the first book Rook would read. The gravity of the decision was not lost on him. Finding a balance between something that wouldn’t be too challenging at her current skill level and would actually interest her was a fine line to walk. Certainly none of his necromancy texts, nothing that assumed the reader was already somewhat knowledgeable on the topic, and nothing that overindulged in grandiose language. Which sadly precluded the majority of his library as candidates. He tried to think of everything he knew about Rook, and came up with a pitifully short list. She was a Grey Warden, she had spent time in the Anderfels, and she didn’t mind necromancy. When he had inquired if his magical practice would concern her and her teammates, she had just laughed and said “she had seen worse things happen to dead bodies than doing chores in the Necropolis.” Concerningly, she had not elaborated on that point. He paced the balcony of his room, repeating the words Grey Warden over and over in his head until they lost all meaning. Suddenly, the perfect book came to him, and he walked over to the bookcase that housed his choice for Rook’s first foray into literature.

The History of Grey Wardens in Ferelden by Ferdinand Genitivi. There was a reason he was one of the most popular authors in Thedas- his writing style was approachable, but engaging. And the subject matter was relevant, given Rook’s background. While she seemed to react to most things with amusement, when speaking about the Wardens, her demeanor changed. She spoke seriously, with passion and conviction, her connection in the institution clearly going deeper than ideology. Emmrich wasn’t sure what her life was like before joining the Wardens, or the circumstances that led to her recruitment. When he had asked where she was from during their initial journey in the Necropolis, she said she had trained in the Anderfels, but offered nothing about her origins. As curious as he was about Rook, he knew that if a Grey Warden didn’t freely offer information about their past, it wasn’t a good idea to inquire further.

A knock sounded on his door. He peered out over the balcony, searching for Manfred on the floor below before remembering he had left earlier in the night to watch Lucanis cook dinner. Tucking the book underneath his arm, he rushed down the stairs to open the door for Rook. She stood in the hallway, hands on her hips, a small smile on her face. Despite her diminutive size, her presence dominated whatever room she was in.

“Welcome, Rook!” he greeted her, the excitement over having a new student starting to build in him. As much as he had been enjoying his time away from the Necropolis, he couldn't help but miss the comforting routine of academia. She strode into the room, taking in the mess he had left when finding the perfect book for her. Turning towards him, she raised a questioning eyebrow, and embarrassment began to burn over his face. In his single-minded focus to find a suitable text for Rook, he had neglected to clean up after himself. “I apologize for the state of the room, I suppose I lost track of time.”

“Professor,” Rook laughed, “I promise you I’ve seen worse living situations than this.”

“Emmrich is just fine. This isn’t a setting that demands formality.”

“But it’s such a fun word! And I’ve never gotten the chance to use it before!” Rook argued, putting on a playful frown. “Let me at least use it while you’re actually teaching me.” She took a seat next to his desk, staring expectantly at him.

“If you wish.” Emmrich gave a slight laugh before sitting at his desk, opposite to Rook, and handing her the book. As Rook stared at the cover, he realized he didn’t actually know how much she could read. Previously, she had simply said she couldn’t read “well”, but that wasn’t a very useful description. If he underestimated her abilities, he ran the risk of appearing condescending, which is that last thing a teacher should be. Overestimating her, on the other hand, would leave her without the instructional support she needed, and if she felt too shy to ask for help when she needed it-

“I don’t know what that says.” Rook said bluntly, interrupting his overthinking, pointing to the word Ferelden on the cover. “I know the words Grey Warden. Obviously. I’ve seen those enough. But I don’t know what a Feer-... a Far-...” she narrowed her eyes as she stared at the text, her finger running over the word as she tried to sound out the syllables.

“Take it one part at a time.” Emmrich instructed, motioning for her to hand the book to him. He laid it flat on the desk, placing his hand over the word so only the letters “Fe” were showing. Once she read the syllable correctly, he moved onto the second, and the third. “Now string them together.”

“Ferelden... Oh! I know that, that’s where Harding’s from!” Rook grinned, joy from her accomplishment radiating off of her. Emmrich smiled, the familiar sense of satisfaction gained from watching a student succeed filling his chest. “One part at a time.” Rook reminded herself as she grabbed the book that lay between them and opened it to the first page. She settled back into her chair, tracing her finger over the lines of text slowly, silently mouthing the words to herself. Emmrich picked up his own book, a study of the aftermath of the Breach.

They spent the rest of the evening in a similar manner. Rook would stumble across a word or passage she struggled with, and would ask for help without hesitation or shame. After a bit of help, she would figure it out, celebrate for a moment, then dive back into the book. Eventually, Manfred returned, delivering a cup of coffee to Rook from Lucanis. A comfortable silence settled over the room, the only interruptions being the occasional question from Rook and the turning of pages. Emmrich peered out over the top of his own book, studying Rook. She was curled up in his chair, intently studying the book while hugging her cup of coffee, unaware of his observation. The contrast between the force of nature she was on the battlefield to who she was in the moments she thought nobody was paying attention to her was striking. He hadn’t gotten many chances to interact with her past the visit she paid to the Necropolis to recruit him. But here, without her armor and weapons, without the demands of the outside world, she radiated a sense of calm he had yet to observe elsewhere.

The colors of the Fade outside began to shift from pinks and oranges to a muted purple, which was the closest approximation to a sunset they got at the Lighthouse. As the light in the room shifted, the glow of his candles fighting off the falling darkness, Rook looked up from her book towards him.

“Emmrich… thank you.” Rook said gently. “Not just for teaching me, but for being so nice about it. I was never really embarrassed about not being able to read until I joined up with Varric and realized it was strange. So, thank you for not making me feel weird about it.”

“Of course! You have nothing to be ashamed of.” He reassured her, setting down his book to give her his undivided attention. “How are you liking the book?”

“It’s good! Makes me want to read about Wardens in the Free Marches.”

“Why the Free Marches?”

“That’s where I’m from. Grew up in the alienage in Tantervale.”

“I’m certain I can find it for you.” Emmrich smiled, gratified by Rook’s desire to delve deeper into the subject matter.

“I should probably try to get some sleep. Would it be okay if I took this with me?” Rook tentatively questioned, holding the book up expectantly. He nodded, and she smiled, hugging it close to her. It was difficult to not be charmed by her mannerisms. Among other things. “You do realize I’m going to be bugging you with a lot of questions, right?”

“I was hoping you would.”

#dragon age #dragon age veilguard #emmrich volkarin #emmrook #emmrich x rook #dragon age fanfiction

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tuffgreg · 21 days ago

Note

merrick/emmrich, the first time they sleep (like, literally just sleep) together?

thank you for the prompt it is one of my favorite things!!! sometimes you just need to sleep!! with some nice company!! [posted to ao3 on 1/18]

i opened a google doc and it accidentally became 2600 words

emmrook + sleeping (just sleeping!!) together + gen, early relationship + 2614

“You’re up late, Rook.”

Rook jolts at the sound of Emmrich’s voice – he is up, in theory. Trying to be, at least, to such an extent that he’s even gotten himself a mug of the sludge Neve calls coffee. The last time he slept, he saw Solas, and before that Treviso under fire and the imagined specters of dead friends and colleagues, and before that the realities of Dock Town, destroyed and under Venatori rule.

He’s gotten too scared of what his brain might remember next – Varric, taking a knife to the chest? The Gloom Howler? – or what worse things it might imagine. Scared of Solas sneering at him.

“Rook?”

He realizes he’s staring when Emmrich repeats himself. Rook looks up, blinking blearily as he takes in the sight of Emmrich standing near the little sofa in the common space. He’s dressed for sleep – soft striped pants and his house slippers, a rather fancy dressing gown in what seem to be a typical Mourn Watch motif, a rich plum with gold trim. Emmrich’s hair is soft and looks a bit damp as if it’s freshly washed, falling over his forehead.

He’s staring, still. “Yeah, just.” Rook pats around with the hand not clutching his mug for dear life, scrambling to find the book he’s been pretending to read for at least two hours. His hand closes around something, and he waves it at Emmrich with a bright smile, the kind that normally warms people to him enough to make them feel safe leaving him to his own devices. “You know. Enjoying a little light reading.”

Rook clocks the cover. One of the suspiciously numerous copies of Hard in Hightown floating around. He smiles at Emmrich again, and tucks the book quickly under his thigh, though if the hint of a smile playing at the corner of Emmrich’s mouth is any indication he’s already noticed it too.

“I do enjoy a bit of light reading before bed. I thought I heard someone out here last night as well.” Emmrich takes a step closer, watching Rook with his usual shrewd curiosity. Normally his chronic inquisitiveness is charming, but there’s a weight to his gaze that makes Rook squirm a bit on the worn cushions. “And Manfred seems to have picked up an unusual amount of trivia about Antiva City, in recent days.”

Ratted out, and by a skeleton no less. A skeleton, who doesn’t even have a functional tongue. Rook feels his face heat up and turns his attention back to the book, glancing down at where the spine is sticking out from under his leg and tracing his fingers along it. “He’s pretty good conversation, all things considered. Wish I knew how he got so good at rock, paper, scissors.”

Emmrich arches an eyebrow and glances towards Rook’s mug of questionable coffee. A moment of silence hangs between them, then spirals out until Rook sighs. “And maybe I don’t want to sleep.”

Another beat, and Rook waves a hand towards the spot next to him on the couch. He tries not to feel disappointed when Emmrich settles a respectful distance away from him – not quite enough for another person, but too much space for Rook’s taste all the same. He tilts a little, facing Rook, relaxes enough that the collars of his dressing gown slump open just enough for Rook to process he’s not wearing a shirt.

“You know Bellara or I would be happy to help,” Emmrich offers, voice as gentle as it ever is when it’s just the two of them. Sweet, inviting, a host of other things Rook still isn’t entirely sure he’s not – projecting. Hoping. Inventing in his own mind.

He tears himself away from thinking about the pale, lean expanse of Emmrich’s chest under fine silk and the smattering of salt and pepper hair he’s sure he can see here under the glow of the astrolobe. “Not wanting to is different from can’t,” Rook says dryly. “I probably could if I tried.” He looks to the book again. “I just, you know. Would rather not.”

“Ah.” There’s a weight to that too, and when Rook looks again Emmrich is watching him intently. At the very least, there’s some understanding in his expression. “You do have a lot on your mind.”

“So does everybody else,” is Rook’s reflexive response. “But nobody else is…” He gestures around at the empty chairs with his mug. “I guess except Lucanis. And Manfred.”

He glances at Emmrich, who arches an eyebrow, and Rook huffs out a faint laugh. “And you, I guess.”

“Please, try to contain your enthusiasm,” Emmrich replies dryly. “I guess.” He extends a hand for the mug and takes a sniff when Rook hands it over, before immediately handing it back over with a distasteful expression. “Are you truly so desperate that you’d stoop so low? Based on Lucanis’ opinion of Neve’s brews I rather thought you’d find it a personal affront, as a fellow Crow.”

“Not every Crow’s as intense about coffee as Lucanis is,” Rook laughs, but he does sheepishly set the mug aside all the same. “Besides, I think hers works even better than Lucanis’ does just because it tastes so bad.”

“I’m shocked you can taste anything at all, after a cup of that.” Emmrich lets out a disdainful sigh, and Rook can feel Emmrich watching him again. “Would you like to…”

The hesitation in his voice makes it immediately clear what he’s asking, so Rook doesn’t worry too much about offending him with his immediate, brusque, not really. Talking will just put everything at the front of his mind again, easy pickings for whatever it is that drags him into the dreaming world.

Maybe it would be polite to explain, at least. “Sorry for bugging Manfred, though. I just…” Rook shoves a hand through his hair with a practiced, light laugh. “I should have picked a different place to meditate, when I need to talk to Solas.”

Or maybe he’ll talk about it. He grimaces and yanks at his hair a little, til Emmrich reaches out to touch his arm, just briefly. “Manfred enjoys your company,” Emmrich offers in return, his hand dropping to the couch when Rook finally lets go of his own hair. “He does worry, though.”

“Is that you, or is that Manfred?” Rook’s own hand drops to the couch, their fingers nearly brushing. He could move a little more, if he wanted.

He digs his fingers into the cushion, restless, and flashes Emmrich a practiced, disarming grin. “You fret over everybody.”

“Perhaps,” Emmrich retorts. He drums his fingers on the cushion. “Who wouldn’t, in these times?”

“Fair enough.” Rook thumbs at a loose thread, then stretches his fingers just a little to toy with another one closer to Emmrich’s hand.

Emmrich’s hand stretches a little too, and then moves, just enough for their fingertips to brush across worn-out fabric. “We don’t only share the fretting, you know,” he says, and the Crow in Rook – the de Riva, for all he’s no longer using the name he used at home – immediately recognizes the careful practiced edge to Emmrich’s voice too. “Perhaps I could at least offer company, if not conversation.”

Rook blinks at him. “What, you’d just sit here?”

“Oh, no, of course not, if you’d rather be alone.” There’s practice there, too, the careful friendliness of not taking it too personally. Emmrich starts to draw his hand back. “I do apologize for interrupting –”

Rook grabs Emmrich’s hand before he can stop himself, and stares at it, and then stares at Emmrich’s face. Emmrich’s eyes are a little wide, his lips parted, his cheeks faintly pink, startled the way he is sometimes when Rook tries his luck with a flirtatious line.

“No,” he says quickly, and he feels his own face heat up a little at the way Emmrich’s expression softens into hesitant excitement in return. “I – no, that’s not what I meant.” He clears his throat sheepishly, looking anywhere on Emmrich’s face except his eyes. “I just… if you wanted. I wouldn’t… I’d like that. Company.” A shy pause. “Your company.”

“Oh.” The way it slips out of Emmrich, it feels more like a sigh than a word, and Rook files it away to think about later – oh, sighed as Rook kisses him, skirts his fingers along the enticing flash of skin at the collar of his robe, tugs him down into a soft mattress. Emmrich tangles their fingers together, and smiles so tenderly at Rook when their eyes finally meet again that Rook feels his heart skip a beat. “Of course,” he murmurs. “If you’d like.”

“Please.” Silence hangs between them for a long moment, and Rook huffs out a laugh. “I uh – admittedly I’m not… great, at just sitting.”

“Why don’t we read?” The panic on Rook’s face must be terribly obvious, given the little chuckle he gets from Emmrich. He lets go of Rook’s hand – reluctantly, Rook is pleased to note – and stands, heading to the shelves. “I’ll leave that with you, in case you change your mind.”

A few moments of searching and a delighted little ah! later and Emmrich returns, this time leaning against the arm of the sofa as he examines his prize. “I haven’t seen this in years. Through the Gilded Lamplight. Quite a popular play, when I was much younger.”

Rook shifts a little across the couch, uncertain, til Emmrich finally extends a hand. Rook takes it and, after a moment, lets himself be drawn closer.

“If you’d like,” Emmrich says, a little quieter.

He shifts a little, making a bit of room between his side and the back of the sofa, and Rook tucks himself there, letting their legs tangle as Emmrich draws his up to stretch out across the cushions. “What’s it about?”

“A romance about a young mage apprentice and the nobleman’s son she fell in love with, watching him through the lamplight of his window.” Emmrich falters for a moment, then slips one arm around Rook’s shoulders as he sets the book on his thigh and opens it with his other hand. His brow furrows slightly as he thumbs over an inscription inside the cover. Til we escape the lamplight to be free beneath the stars, accompanied by an unrecognizable signature. “A strangely personal thing to find here.”

“Maybe someone left it,” Rook offers, reaching out to chase the tail edge of the scrawled name. “Last time people were using the Lighthouse.”

Emmrich sighs as he turns the page. “I hope they were together at least,” he murmurs, and he tips his head, almost absentmindedly, to press his lips briefly to the mess of Rook’s curls. “I’m sure you won’t be surprised to know I saw this every time it came to the theater, when I was a student. A dark stage, a single lamp and a window frame looking into the sitting room of the Lord and Lady Belanger…”

He’s not entirely sure when he drifts off to Emmrich’s low, even voice. Some time after he drops his head to Emmrich’s shoulder, surely, one arm wound around his waist, and after Emmrich’s fingers tangle in his hair, petting idly. There’s a blanket over them, when he wakes up from some minutes or hours of blissfully dreamless sleep, one ear slightly bent where his face is smushed against Emmrich’s collarbone.

Rook is used to waking up in beds with people who aren’t meant to wake up, and he keeps himself still, trying to ignore the furious blush that creeps to his cheeks as he assesses the rest of the room.

Manfred, off to the side, mimicking Emmrich’s dozing in the chair usually Emmrich’s sits in. His head tilts a little, mood as inscrutable as it ever is with nothing to give him away. Rook plucks at the blanket, and he gives a careful hiss of acknowledgement.

“Emmrich’s really raised you to be a little gentleman,” Rook mutters, netting him another pleased hiss. He tries to extricate himself from Emmrich’s arms, only to find himself hopelessly tangled – legs twisted up, Emmrich’s arms around him. “Emmrich,” he tries, giving his shoulder a gentle shake. “Emmrich – I’m really sorry –”

Emmrich, clearly, is less accustomed to trying not to disturb someone. He starts a little, and Rook has to grab him by the waist again to keep him from startling off the sofa. “I – no, I’m sorry, I only meant to let you rest for a bit.” His robe’s fallen open, and instinctively he goes to tug it shut as if he’s done something to offend Rook’s delicate sensibilities. “I hardly meant to… I never would have… not without asking.”

“To sleep together?” Rook stares at him for a long moment. “I mean – to sleep?”

“If you didn’t want company,” Emmrich replies, sounding a little offended by the question. “I do try to be a gentleman, Rook.”

Rook laughs, before he can help himself, and then quickly tries to swallow it as Emmrich’s eyes go soft and a little sad, his expression so endearingly sheepish. “No, I – no. I’m not…” He huffs out another chuckle before he can help itself. “Nobody’s… people don’t usually…”

Something in Emmrich’s expression suggests this train of thought is the sort of thing that’s less funny to people who didn’t grow up the way Rook did, as is often the case with a lot of Rook’s trains of thought. He tries again. “You’re a perfect gentleman,” he says finally, reaching up to tug his dressing gown closed a little more and then to brush away a lock of hair that seems stuck to his temple. “Nobody’s ever been so worried about asking me if I want to take a nap. It’s cute.”

“I am entirely too old for cute,” is Emmrich’s instinctive retort. “I fully intended to put you to bed –”

Rook arches an eyebrow, and Emmrich scoffs, aiming for derision despite his sheepish expression.

“Your bed,” he continues, “Before retiring to mine.” He processes the blanket, finally, and glances to Manfred with a paternally proud smile. “Ah, you are too kind, dear Manfred.”

“You’re a good influence,” Rook offers, and his stomach lurches when that pleased smile is turned on him instead. “You’re…” Too cute, too kind, so warm to the touch. A comforting presence. So disarmingly handsome, mussed from even a brief sleep. If he thinks about it too long, whatever winds up spilling out of his mouth will be too embarrassing to face. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Emmrich replies, without hesitation. He reaches up then seems to reconsider, resting his hand at his collarbone instead. “I… of course, Rook. I meant what I said, about enjoying your company.”

“I like yours too,” Rook replies, before he can second guess himself. He falters for a moment, reluctant to move. “And – I mean, if you wanted… I wouldn’t mind, uh…”

Emmrich, patient as ever, gives him a moment to sort himself out. His fingers flex at his collarbone, and when Rook continues to stammer, he reaches up to cup Rook’s cheek.

Rook struggles against the urge to tilt his head and press his lips to Emmrich’s warm palm, but he does tilt his head into it, just a little. “I could use some more sleep,” he says quietly.

Not the usual way he goes about coaxing people into bed, but, not the usual reason, either. He stares at Emmrich, aiming for something more sincere than the wide-eyed, sultry pout he usually employs in similar situations, and wherever his face lands nets him a look so tender in return it makes his chest hurt. “We’ll bring the play,” he says fondly. “Whatever you need, dear Rook, you need only ask.”

#emmrook #merrick lore drop #tuffgreg fic corner

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owlfashioned · 7 months ago

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I haven't written in ages, please enjoy.

Emmrich Volkarin/F!Rook/Antivan Crow/Spellsword

SFW/Fluff/I don't have an AO3 account yet weeee

~Tea Time~

There was something magical about strange herbs in hot water. Not the herbs the Crows used to dull the minds of their victims, no, but the ones that Rook would smell wafting from the kettle over the fire in the Lighthouse. The real fire, not the blue-green veilfire that caused the dark stone to always look like light filtering through shallow pools.

The plants inside each concoction would change, depending on the mood of the creator. From light and fruity when a battle had gone well to the smell of campfire and smoke when something particularly disturbing had revealed itself. As time passed, Rook knew exactly how the tea’s creator had felt with each simmering pot.

She didn’t know why she was so drawn to him. She was an assassin, a Crow, a spellsword, a murderer. He’d probably soothed spirits trapped in the bodies of some of her victims, helping them rest after she had brutally struck them down in the dark. But here she was, and there he was, all elaborate robes and bangles and kind eyes while she stared at his back all sharp features, sharp blades, and an even sharper tongue.

She watched him now, digging through jars of multi-colored plants that he’d stored in a makeshift larder near the hearth, mumbling to himself while he handed them to his skeleton servant. Friend? They weren’t even labeled. She’d seen him on multiple occasions grab a handful of plants while they were on missions only to stuff them absently into an odd-shaped jar for later use.

Manfred’s jaw opened slightly and he began to teeter as Emmrich handed him a tall jar filled with wicked looking seed pods. His head tilted towards Rook as if to ask for help but she had already stood up, inhumanly fast, to catch the falling jar of tea.

“Ah, thank you Rook.” He didn’t even look over his shoulder. “Manfred just say something next time if you need help," he chuckled, knowing the animated creature of bones and cloth couldn't talk.

The skeleton looked as indignant as he could and clacked his jaw shut. She swore she shared a knowing look with him as to say “please help this old fool”, but it was probably just her imagination. Rook was so close to the necromancer she could smell the tea he was making in an intricate bronze kettle. It was different than any of the ones he’d made before, this time she smelled flowers. Roses? They smelled so familiar to her.

“Emmrich what are you making this time? It smells delightful. It reminds me of Antiva for some reason.” She moved over to the circular wooden table in the center of the room and pushed over a few maps and battle plans, including some inappropriate drawings Bellara had made of Assan biting the heads off of demons. As she set the jars down she could feel his eyes burning into the back of her neck while he spoke slowly, deliberately, following the sound of tea pouring and cup against saucer.

“Antivan coastal roses, elfroot, orange essence, a light, airy red tea that brews a deep purple if the water is hot enough.”

There it was. That soft voice, that caring tone, and the feeling it caused in her chest that she fought to force down.

“That’s ah, oddly specific. Is this because of what happened with the dragon? I thought death was something beautiful," she awkwardly shifted a few scrolls around the table. "Plus it was only a scratch.”

She’d been unconscious for three days and Taash had built her a coffin.

“Not when it’s someone you would much rather see amongst the living.”

The touch on her shoulder nearly caused her to jump out of her skin. She had no idea how that man walked so silently with so much ridiculous jewelry on. It had to be dark, twisted magic.

She felt him reach around her with his other hand and hold the tea in front of her face. The cup was white and covered in deep green vines on a delicate plate, the tea a dark purple color steaming and smelling like roses and orange and sunshine on the coast. He didn’t move his hand and she was incredibly thankful he couldn’t see her face blush at his proximity behind her.

“The elfroot is because I’ve still seen you limping,” he whispered, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. She couldn’t move, he was too close to her and she could feel the heat radiating off him and the tea and her mind froze. She reached for the cup and took a sip, it was all she could do.

It tasted more floral than she had expected, along with the brightness of the orange, but slightly sweet. He must have added honey to cover up the bitterness of the elfroot.

“I like it. Thank you Emmrich.”

She could have sworn he got closer to her before he took his hand away.

“I think I’ll call it the Crow’s Cure,” his voice was soft again. Gentle, caring, and in the pit of her stomach she knew it was a voice he saved just for her.

“I’ll make it for you whenever you desire."

#emmrich volkarin #dragon age #da:v #da4 #dragon age fanfiction #gonnasmoochtheoldman

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jessicafangirl · 21 days ago

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Building A Mystery Chapter 2

Mystery continues to spiral. But the return of a certain Professor comes with a surprise and the ramifications of choices made.

I was going to try and keep Emmrich away for a bit longer but...who am I kidding. I can't stay away from that beautiful bastard. Things get...interesting.

You can also read here on AO3

Please let me know what you think. It's my first Video Game Based Fic and boy do I love Emmrich.

Time is a funny thing.

At least to Mystery as she waited for her Necromancer to return. At times it felt like too much. The days stretching on while she tried to occupy her mind with other things. Teaching Manfred for instance who was coming along quite well with his magic. Emmrich would be proud of his protégé. Mystery would often think she was a poor substitute for him, but Manfred seemed happy to learn from her and to follow her lead. These lessons weren’t a burden of time, and they would actually help her forget somewhat.

It was the time between lessons that would drag, would allow the worry and the fear to creep in. Emmrich hadn’t written, hadn’t tried to contact anyone. At times she’d go down to the Eluvian and stare into the swirling reflection wondering if she could will it to show him to her or she could concentrate hard enough on his image in her mind to have it take her to wherever he had gone. But he had covered his tracks well. Not even the enigmatic figures who ferried them to and from the crossroads could tell her where he’d gone. Neve’s network of informants hadn’t even seen or heard from him.

Then there were the missions, always the missions. Protecting the realm and those within it. The Veilguard had their duty to follow. And in those instances, it felt as if there was never enough time. Mystery and her found family of heroes would return back to the Lighthouse, tired and worn, but successful in what felt like a never-ending string of threats to their world.

She’d catch herself in the early days thinking Emmrich would be there waiting for her like he used to be. He’d take her hand and lead her to his rooms where he’d already have a hot bath waiting for her, the water scented and filled with a mixture of fragrance and flowers that would help her muscles.

“A girl could get used to this.” She’d say as he helped her remove her armor and then her clothes.

“A girl should get used to this.” He’d reply, letting his fingers run along her throat, wiping away a stray bit of dirt.

Sometimes he’d find a small scrape, still bleeding on the pale skin of her jaw for instance. She’d not see how he’d purse his lips in anger, wondering just which one of her enemies had managed to hurt her, especially if he’d been on that particular mission. Foregoing the usual method of allowing the healing magic to flow from his fingertips, he’d press a kiss to the spot, healing her wound and allowing him the pleasure of his lips against her.

He'd help settle her in the bath and she’d sigh and feel as though she were melting and then he’d roll up his sleeves and just start washing her hair, cleaning her skin of the blood or dirt left from the battle.

She’d argued with him at first when he did this, telling him she didn’t need to be spoiled or pampered in a way that only one of the upper crust ladies of the land would expect. Mystery remembered the look in his face as she’d crossed her arms, standing in front of the steaming bath still in her clothes, sans armor.

He’d narrowed his perfect eyebrows, and his green eyes had darkened. “There’s no comparison my darling. Unlike the so-called noble lords and ladies of these lands, you deserve to be pampered and it’s my pleasure and mission to do so.” He’d taken a step closer, and his long fingers had grasped her chin, tilting her face up to his. A thin line of blood ran from a cut on her forehead. Emmrich’s eyes followed its path, a furrow between his brows. “None of them have 1/10th of your strength or your courage my darling. They do not know what sacrifice, love, or honor even mean.”

He lifted the fingers of his other hand and brushed them along the wound, a slight warmth radiating along her skin and it was healed, the blood gone. His thumb traced her lower lip while still holding her chin, making her blue eyes meet his. “Now please allow me to take care of you my Mystery as you deserve.” The necromancer’s voice grew deeper, and Rook had known there would be no refusing him.

But there were no sweet words, no warm baths waiting where sometimes she’d pull him into the sudsy water with her much to his chagrin but always ending in laughter and kisses and usually more. Mystery felt as each long day passed that Emmrich wasn’t going to come back…and it hurt beyond words. It hurt beyond her tolerance.

The team had worried about her and still did. She’d grown pale, pulling away from the group. She was still their leader, but she’d lost a spark about her. Rook would only take her meals in her room, not with the group, sometimes in Emmrich’s rooms with only Manfred for company. It went on like this for the first two months.

Then during missions she started growing not braver but reckless. Like there was no reason to remain safe, she’d take risks that she didn’t need to. After weeks of this with more close calls than he could stand, Lucanis finally had enough.

She’d been hurt but not as badly as it could have been and Lucanis was unrelenting in his verbal assault all the way through the Eluvian and into the Lighthouse. “That Venatori bastard nearly killed you, Rook! You knew better than to take the fight to him, it was too confined. If Assan hadn’t…”

Rook had turned on them, holding her injured arm. “But Assan did, didn’t he? So it doesn’t matter! We got the job done! We get to live to fight another day!” Her voice was raised but not screaming. In fact, Lucanis thought for a moment it was disappointment that colored her words. Regret that it had turned out okay and it was simply a sore arm that she’d left with.

Mystery saw it in his eyes then, could almost hear Spite’s hissing voice as the demon whispered “She wants to die…” as a warning to his assassin host. She couldn’t take the look he gave her, the way his dark eyes filled with sadness and worse yet, pity. Mystery turned and quickly headed to her room, foregoing any sort of healing from Bellara or Neve who watched her leave. Taash was the only one who didn’t seem surprised.

“She’s missing him.” They said, sitting down heavily on one of the large chairs near the fireplace and pulling from a pouch at their waist a sharpening stone.

Neve sighed. “We know that Taash.” The detective turned and pulled a bottle of Dalish brandy from a table and poured herself a crystal glass. She held the bottle up for any other takers, quickly pouring two more for Davrin and Lucanis.

“So why do you seem surprised?” Taash asked, moving the stone along the axe.

Neve took a healthy swallow. Davrin sat heavily on a chair. “Because she’s spiraling more than I think any of us realized she would.” He said, then took his own drink. “I don’t think Emmrich realized when he decided to go on this “personal quest” what it would do to her.”

Lucanis leaned against the long table, taking a pull from his glass. He let the liquid swirl in his mouth then swallowed. “If he was here, I’d punch him in the face.” He muttered and Spite nodded in agreement, grinning from where he hovered.

Neve sighed heavily and tossed back her glass in one go. “I have to give it to him; he’s covered his tracks well. Bellara was even trying to track him in The Fade and she’s not having any luck.”

Davrin gave her a raised brow. “He was THE Fade expert remember? It shouldn’t surprise anyone that he can hide himself from us using it.” He scratched Assan’s feathery head as the young griffin looked forlornly after where Rook had headed. She’d not been going on walks with them at all in the last few months. “I know boy…I know.”

The warden drank down the last of his brandy then stood up stiffly. Rook hadn’t been the only one who’d come away beat up. “Tomorrow we’re pulling her out of this pit she’s buried herself in. She’s going to get herself truly hurt or worse.”

Taash looked over at him. “How are you going to do that?” They asked with a raised brow.

“We’ll figure something out, but right now Rook needs our help and that’s what we’re going to do.” Davrin stood, Assan following him. “I’m going to get some sleep right now; I suggest you all do the same.” The duo of warden and griffin left to their quarters, Assan squawking a bit happier as if knowing his father figure had made the right decision.

The rest of the group decided he was probably right, knowing a fight of a different variety was in the cards the next day. And it was probably going to be an ugly one. Each of them headed to bed.

Mystery had gone to Emmrich’s rooms instead of her own, tossing her armor carelessly to the floor. Manfred was immediately there to help her. “Rook…hurrrt.” He rasped.

She shook her head, wincing as her arm twinged. The skeleton spirit quickly figured out what was wrong with her and raised his gloved hands above her arm. The familiar green glow of the magic that he shared with Emmrich radiated along her arm, down her wrist. Mystery sighed as the pain left and the sprains and a possible fracture mended.

“Thank you, Manfred.” Mystery’s voice was tired, worn out. She felt the weariness in her soul, and it sat there heavily alongside guilt for biting Lucanis’s head off in front of everyone. She knew they were worried about her. These were her friends, her family. But without Emmrich she didn’t feel whole anymore. Even if she was surrounded by magic the only magic that mattered was gone and she didn’t know if he was alive or dead.

Somewhere in her heart Mystery felt she’d know if he was…gone. The connection between them was so great she’d feel it and maybe in that moment she’d cease to be too. Maybe that’s why she had been growing bolder in her attacks during the fighting. Maybe Emmrich would sense her recklessness, her near misses and it would inspire him to come home to her. Or if he was dead, she could join him that much sooner. The thought wasn’t as terrifying as it should be she supposed.

Mystery shook her head sitting down in the chair nearest the fireplace and pulling off her boots. She needed to face reality. Soul mates weren’t real, and he wasn’t coming back. All the pretty words on a piece of paper, all the ones said while holding one another…the promises made…it didn’t matter, did it? She’d lived in some dream that she’d woken from to a harshness that she wasn’t ready for. Maybe she was cursed to be abandoned, alone. Maybe she was atoning for some horrible deed she’d done in another life and this was part of an ongoing penance from the curse.

Manfred wandered over to where she sat staring into the fire and placed a perfectly milk and sugared cup of tea next to her along with some dainty almond cookies.

“Eat…” He hissed and then trundled over to the shelf to grab a book for his studying.

She closed her eyes as the tears threatened to spill again. What do I tell him? She wondered, not for the hundredth time. He’s not coming back Manfred. He left. And…he’s not coming back. Shaking her head, Mystery picked up the delicate cup and took a sip, sighing as the warm liquid coursed down her throat.

Mystery managed to eat two of the cookies before she gave up on anything else. She took off her dirt-streaked clothes and slipped into Emmrich’s bed in only her underthings. She didn’t have the strength to do much more or the desire.

His scent was fading from the blankets and the pillows now that it had been so long since he’d shared the space with her. It was as if he were a ghost and she’d just sometimes have a reminder appear, a whiff of cologne, a note written hastily and inserted in one of the books about something he’d been reading. She couldn’t bring herself to look at his clothes in the wardrobe. It would be too much, and she’d just crumble fully.

Mystery looked down at her left hand where the ring was still on her finger. Her thumb ran along the bottom, the runes etched into the band now familiar. She sighed heavily and pulled the plush blankets around her, creating a cocoon against the rest of the world before drifting off into an exhausted sleep.

It was hours later when the Eluvian inside the Lighthouse pulsed, the swirling glass thrumming with a magical light. The action would be strange to the heroes that slept above. It was as if a new magic was threading through the Fade, but at the same time very old and very powerful. It would have to be to utilize the Eluvian as it was now, secretly and ensuring that no safeguards or alerting of the Lighthouse’s residence would occur. Neve was a stickler for security of course so one could never be too careful.

After a moment the center of the travel mirror split apart, each side slipping to the side like the spectral curtains for a stage. Through them emerged a tall, thin, and familiar figure though changed from his last trip through the glass. After stepping through fully and moving two strides away the figure turned and watched as the Eluvian returned to its usual state with no sign of ever having opened.

Reflected back was the visage of one Emmrich Volkarin. He raised a brow behind the thinly wired and square, dark glasses that sat atop his aquiline nose. Emmrich ran a black gloved hand over the long coat he wore, making sure that any travel dust was removed. The coat had gold skulls for buttons with green jeweled eyes, a reminder of Manfred he’d not been able to resist adding. Almost invisible in the black velvety material were the outlines of emerald green stitching. It formed a pattern of Shroud’s Kiss flowers, almost like a secret only he knew was there unless someone took the time to search. Emmrich had a number of secrets now.

His long legs were also wearing black velvet trousers which ended in black leather boots. His waist coat was a pattern of light purple with black and gold accents, his cravat pinned with his favorite skull pendent. His grave gold was still in place only with a few more pieces added, very important pieces it had to be said.

Emmrich stared at the figure who he was still getting used to seeing like this. Those who knew him before his leaving would be shocked at how pale he appeared. His more salt than pepper hair now had more darker strands running through it as it swept away immaculately from his forehead. His mustache was still the same and perfectly groomed, but the paleness of his complexion made it stand out more.

But it was his eyes, hidden behind the opaque glasses, that were the most obviously different. The Necromancer removed the glasses, holding them gently in his hand as he took an unneeded breath, meeting the now garnet gaze looking back at him. He’d told her he hoped to be changed when he returned, and he was.

“I don’t want to scare her.” He whispered to himself, anxiety making the words strained. He slipped the glasses into the travel bag that was strapped across his chest. His staff’s green glow flared for a moment from its place across his back as he waved his hands once across his face. The glamor he’d perfected fell into place around him. There was the old Emmrich, back again, eyes green and flecked with gold and hair nearly all silver.

He’d felt the torment, the sadness that had been running through his darling Mystery from a distance. The ring he’d left her, a sign of devotion, of a vow he would not break had strengthened the connection they had with one another. It had been hell for him. Worse than the transformation he’d been through. Knowing he’d been the cause of her tears, her pain, the doubts that plagued her. His beloved was losing her light and herself because of him.

The ring was protection but also a window into her emotions and when Emmrich felt the hollowness, the sorrow it had nearly killed him. He had to fight with himself to keep from running back to her too soon. The danger would be too much. He had to know his spell craft had worked; he had to know his will was as strong as he knew it had to be. Denying himself seeing her again, being near her, he was sure it felt like the vivisection of Lichdom only while still living.

Another unnecessary breath, a habit he doubted would ever leave him. He licked his lips, his tongue now used to the newly sharper incisors of his teeth. He wanted to see her first before explaining to the rest of the team what he’d done and why. He needed to beg her forgiveness and show her what he’d done for the good of all, but especially his Rook.

Emmrich turned and walked through the empty, darkened stone path from the Eluvian’s room and into the Lighthouse proper, pulling the shadows around him just to be safe. It was a power that had come with the transformation and one he’d found useful, but especially now. Being back here felt strange after months away. Nothing had really changed here. He noticed a bottle of brandy sitting on the long table and three glasses carrying the scent of the alcohol. He wondered if Rook had partaken.

Without a noise he made his way up the stairs and took the familiar path to Mystery’s room. No sound came from within and due to the late hour, it stood to reason she’d be sleeping. Emmrich opened the door slowly, dazzled for a moment by the window sized aquarium that was her view.

It still fascinated him. He remembered many nights holding her on the settee, skin to skin wrapped in a blanket while they watched the seemingly endless parade of colors and species that swam by. “What piece of ocean do you think this is?” She’d asked him once, her cheek resting over his heart and her fingers running along his hip distracting him from rational thought.

His own fingers had been tracing rune shapes on the pale skin of her shoulder, one for passion another for devotion. Her soft voice had managed to break through though. “Hmmm…? Oh…” He’d looked up at the display before him. “It’s hard to say my love.”

Mystery had shifted, her chin now resting on his pectoral. Emmrich’s gaze found her sleepy blue eyes looking at him questioningly. “What do you mean?” She’d asked him and he could tell she was growing drowsy but was fighting the pull of sleep, something she did often when they were together.

“I don’t want to miss a moment of you.” She’d said once, her fingers brushing an unruly lock of mussed hair back from his brow…the ruined condition of his normally perfectly coiffed hair her doing. He would let her ruin him as often as she wished, sometimes begging her for the honor.

Unable to resist he lifted his fingers to her short blonde hair, finding the single braid that fell along her shoulder. He smiled as he ran his thumb over the softness. “I mean I’ve tried cataloging the number of species I can recognize from my blissful nights here with you and…” He pulled his gaze from hers and looked at the windows. “The mix is, to borrow a phrase, a mystery.” He turned back to her. “There are creatures here from all over our world, fish and amphibians that shouldn’t be in the same sea.”

An awed expression crossed her face and Emmrich had pulled her closer, enchanted by her surprise and happy to share some knowledge with her. “In fact my darling, there are some within those waters that are supposed to be extinct.” He’d said while tracing her jaw with his fingertips.

“That’s…amazing.” She’d said and turned to stare into the vast magical seascape.

Emmrich’s eyes stayed on her as he’d replied, “It certainly is.”

The memory caused a heat to race through him, even with the colder temperature of his body now. He didn’t need to breathe as he had before as his heart still beat, yet much, much slower. But it would always beat for her, and it would seem the thought of her in his arms and so close to that goal again could cause it to speed up.

His footsteps didn’t make a sound as he moved towards where Rook’s would-be bed sat. Emmrich steeled himself for seeing her for the first time in the flesh for months. He’d dreamed of her often of course. But as he turned his eyes to the settee there was no lovely form to be seen. Only the soft Tevinter woven blanket draped over it.

Emmrich’s brows narrowed…and then he realized where she would be.

He left her room quietly and headed to the other hallway where his own rooms lay. Before opening the door Emmrich readied himself for not only a reunion with his love but also seeing his, for want of a better term, child protegee again. He’d missed Manfred terribly.

Cautiously he opened the door, the book shelves and scents of leather, old paper and incense meeting his now sharper senses. Beneath it all he caught the scent of Mystery, lilac and cherries with an undercurrent of roses from the perfumed oil he’d made for her. And with it there was something that was simply her, sweet and warm.

It was his quick reflexes that managed to stop Manfred from screeching in glee upon seeing him. The skeleton emerged from a corner shelf and Emmrich quickly placed a finger to his lips, a gesture Manfred had learned years earlier meant silence. They did spend a lot of time in the library at the Necropolis.

Emmrich quickly moved to embrace the skeleton who hugged him back tightly, surprisingly tight actually. “Oh Manfred I am so happy to see you.” Emmrich whispered softly, a tear falling to his cheek. He pulled away still holding his protegee, looking into his large green gemstone eyes.

“Home!!!” The skeleton hissed quietly. “Home!!”

The Necromancer nodded, a smile on his lips. “Yes, yes I’m home.” He replied. “And you’ve been hard at work with your studies while I was gone?” He asked, voice low.

Manfred’s skull nodded emphatically. “Rook helped. She good teacher.”

Emmrich felt another tear threaten to fall at his words. Of course she would be, even in her distress she’d make sure to take care of “their magic slinging son.” He sighed, the weight of his decisions growing heavier. “There was never any doubt she would be a perfect teacher. Now Manfred, is she here?”

The skeleton nodded, pointing to the hidden door in the bookcase that led to the bedroom. “Rook sleeping. She was hurt.”

Emmrich stiffened, a look of horror coming over his face. “What?” he managed to gasp.

Manfred nodded again. “Hurt. I fix Rook arm.”

The Necromancer felt slightly less panicked. “Well done Manfred.” His need to see her doubled. “I need you to stay out here and return to your reading.” He patted the bony shoulder beneath the skeleton’s robes then headed towards the door.

Emmrich reached out with the practice of time and pulled the hidden lever without looking to slide the door open. Within the bedroom the fireplace was low, with only a few of the candles still lit here and there. On the walls the embedded lanterns burned with necromagic fire, emerald flames that wouldn’t stop burning until a spell told them to stop. They cast the room in a strange hazy and familiar green.

His eyes found her laying in his bed, blankets in disarray. He could tell from where he stood she was asleep. The fingers of his right hand flexed, the need to touch her overwhelming. His feet moved him swiftly to stand beside her and he froze.

The green and gold gaze of his glamor stared down at her and he felt the tears forming in earnest. He could see it here, the ramifications of his choice, of his leaving and it felt like a punch to his heart. Emmrich could feel it cracking, pieces breaking. “Oh my love…my darling.” He softly spoke to the air.

There were fresh scars peppering her arms, along her pale shoulders. Scars that hadn’t been there before he left for he knew the landscape of her body by heart and by touch. There were bruises that were healing still, yellows and fresh purple marks as well. One pale leg that had freed itself from the blanket revealed them along her calf. There was one long scar that ran along it starting just beneath her knee.

When they had fought side by side she was far more careful and of course he and the team had been there to assist her. Emmrich was always watching, always ensuring she was protected…except the last time when she’d nearly died.

But she had never been so damaged before. He’d never seen a patchwork of hurt and battle like this on her fair skin. The fact she’d not allowed healing magic to ease this…it spoke to something he couldn’t make himself contemplate. He’d go mad…

“Mystery…what did you do…” His voice was barely a whisper in the room. He couldn’t resist the impulse within him and pulled away the glove from his left hand. His fingers reached out and so very lightly he traced along the curve of her bare shoulder, his eyes closing at the warmth of her skin against his once more. Green flame sparked from his fingertips and where his touch swept over her the scars disappeared, the bruises healed.

Emmrich heard a soft sigh come from her lips and he pulled his fingers reluctantly away. “Emmrich…” her voice was rough honey to his ears, his name breathlessly spoken. “Why…did..you go…”

She was still dreaming of course, her eyes closed, heart rate slow and steady. But the question was like a knife to his soul. The sadness lacing the words pierced him deeply and he nearly fell to his knees next to her, ready to plea for her to forgive him, to tell him whatever task he could accomplish that would make it all right again, to confess just how deeply he loved her.

Instead, he bent one knee as though ready to propose and gazed at her lovely face. He saw here too, more bruises, a cut on her lip that looked fresh. He unconsciously focused on that for a moment and the glamor faded for a brief second. His garnet eyes flashing in the dark of the room. The scent of her blood was just there, and it beckoned him like a siren.

Emmrich swallowed back that particular hunger. He would not add to the hurts his love had endured while he was away. He would heal them. He would make amends and show her that this was a gift and that he loved her more than he had the right to.

“Oh beloved, I left to keep you safe, safer than I could as I was.” His fingertips swept along her temple, down her jaw, jade fire healing away the injuries and marks. “And I promise you that I will.”

In her sleep Mystery sighed, a small smile appearing as though hearing him. He didn’t want to wake her. But he so much wanted to hold her in his arms, to talk about all the things they needed to. But tonight she needed rest.

Emmrich couldn’t fight the desire though that drew him closer to her and her soft pink lips. Barely touching her he pressed his mouth to hers, a brush of a kiss and a small spark of green flame. She was so warm, even in that brief touch he felt dizzy, drunk on the feeling of her. He pulled away and stood quickly before being overwhelmed.

The tip of his tongue touched his lower lip where the smallest drop of her blood had attached itself. A sound like a purr, very nearly a growl formed in his throat at the taste. His Mystery’s sweet, sweet life, the thing he vowed to protect. Oh, it was divinity as much as he knew it would be. This one drop was all he would need to sense her presence even more, to find her anywhere in this world. The taste, the scent was imprinted on him now.

Emmrich realized this could get out of hand very quickly. The very thing he wanted to avoid, why he wanted to ensure he had all the safe guards in place. Her blood hadn’t been planned for. The Necromancer grounded himself. He slipped his glove back on, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, stealing himself against the desire that burned like an inferno within him.

Maker, it had been so long…and she was there in his bed with only her small clothes on. Warm, alive, his. She was still his…even now. Even after all he’d done, even after leaving her without warning. “Volkarin,” A voice in his head, his own voice spoke, “You will not do what you are thinking of. You owe her time and an explanation. You owe her much more than that. You will give it to her, and you will NOT become a creature of lust and appetite.”

Petulantly he thought the reply “But she likes it when I do that…” Mentally he slapped himself in the face for that stray thought. He straightened his back and gave her one last glance, the longing of his heart reflecting alongside the green fire in his eyes.

“I’ll return soon my love. Rest my dearest heart.” He whispered the words and then turned, leaving the bedroom.

He pulled the lever back, putting the door in place. Manfred looked up from his reading. “Rook ok?” He hissed.

Emmrich nodded, a small smile on his lips. “Yes Manfred, she’s alright. You did well with her arm.” He was sure that Rook had denied Manfred’s assistance with her other injuries. The thought still saddened him, but he was determined to make this right and he would. Right then he needed to rest himself and prepare his elixir. He knew of another area in the Lighthouse he could use to sleep and then he’d let everyone know of his return…let the chips fall where they may.

“Manfred, don’t tell anyone you saw me alright? That includes Rook.” He said seriously.

The skeleton cocked his head, then nodded. “Surprise!”

Emmrich nodded in agreement. “Yes, a surprise. I’ll surprise them tomorrow.”

“OK!” Manfred hissed.

“I’m going to get some sleep in the upper-level Manfred. Remember, no one but you knows I’m here.” The Necromancer reminded his excited protegee.

Emmrich headed to the door of his rooms, glancing back once as he opened it to see Manfred going back to reading. His smile returned and he had a feeling that yes, things would be alright. He shut the door and turned to the hallway.

His back was slammed into the stone wall with a thud so quickly he didn’t have time react. The rock cutting into his skull though was a far better choice than the sword that was now pressed against his throat. Emmrich’s gaze met glowing purple eyes that were glaring into him, white teeth bared in threat.

“We don’t sleep when Lucanis does.” Spite growled. “Sensed you when you stepped inside.” He pulled him closer for a moment and the demons eyes searched his still glamoured ones. “You’ve changed Corpse Man.” The demon sniffed him, a snarl rippling from his mouth.

His purple wings unfurled and he pressed the sword closer to Emmrich’s throat drawing a bead of blood. “Like knows like.” The demon asked, its glowing eyes staring right through the glamor.

Emmrich knew he could see the real him, sensed it and with a thought, garnet met amethyst, glare to glare. The Necromancer growled at the demon, fangs on display as he let his recent nature take hold for a moment.

Spite seemingly grinned, not removing the sword but apparently was impressed. The demon barked a laugh in response and asked with a dark raised brow “What are you now?”

#emmrich volkarin #emmrich x rook #dragon age #emmrich the necromancer #davg #veilguard #The NECKromancer #Also will accept NecROMANCEr

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thessalian · 1 month ago

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Molly!Rook vs New Recruits

Over in the Grand Necropolis

Emmrich: So ... Bellara. Not that it wasn't good of you to come and bring Rook with you--

Molly!Rook: DESPAIR DEMON, MY ASS - YOU'RE NOTHING BUT A WET WEEKEND WITH THUMBS! *fwoosh*

Emmrich: ...But while I'm grateful that you didn't simply send a letter - which ... well, might have been eaten by the problems here anyhow--

Molly!Rook: WHEN THE NECROMANCER TELLS YOU TO STAY DEAD, YOU WALKING PILE OF OSTEOPOROSIS, YOU STAY DEAD! *fwoosh*

Emmrich: ...Could I get a ... summary of your current queries?

Bellara: Weeeeeell ... We sort of need a Fade expert who's not based entirely on ... you know, ancient elven artefacts. I mean, we're covered there; me and Rook, you know. But there's these ... well, there's elven gods trying to tear down the Veil--

Emmrich: Fascinating. That would account for some of the issues we've been encountering of late, I suppose.

Bellara: I mean, that too, probably, but it's worse than that. These gods keep pulling allies, because I guess some people just want power and don't care where it comes from. The Antaam, for instance, and--

Molly!Rook: Excuse me, Professor? Did you want Venatori squatting in your Grand Necropolis dropping icy misery-guts all over your hard work?

Emmrich: Venatori? Here?!?

Bellara: ...Yeaaaaaaaaaaah I was getting to them...

Emmrich: By all means, Rook, let us show them how unwelcome they are.

Molly!Rook: Hey, after this, wanna help save the world?

Emmrich: I would not miss this opportunity for the world. I just hope none of your colleagues take issue with Manfred.

Bellara; Molly!Rook: Manfred?

A little later, when things are less Venatori-riddled

Manfred: *happy hiss; holds up tea set*

Molly!Rook: This is Manfred, I guess? Hi, Manfred. Thanks for the tea; my fire orb only warms me up so much when I'm flinging it at despair demons' faces.

Manfred: *agreeable hiss*

Emmrich: I've ... never seen a reaction that calm to Manfred outside of my fellow Watchers...

Bellara: Oh! Well, that's partly a Veil Jumper thing - because, you know, we see weird stuff basically all the time - but mostly it's a Rook thing. As long as it's being nice and not trying to eat their face, Rook's happy to go along.

Molly!Rook: Hey, Manfred; did you want to learn how to make coffee? I can try to introduce you to Lucanis, because he makes better coffee than I do, but I'm not sure what he or Spite will make of you, so if he gets weird, I'll teach you.

Manfred: *excited hiss*

Bellara: Just so I know ... what kind of spirit is powering Manfred?

Emmrich: A wisp of Curiosity.

Bellara: *snort* Well, he just made a new best friend.

And later, on the Rivaini Coast

Taash: *murder-frenzy on Antaam*

Molly!Rook: Niiiiiiiiiiiice. I mean, not for them, but that was epic.

Taash: Yep. Who're you and why're you here?

Molly!Rook: ...I feel like this is going to get complicated because if you'd agreed to this, you'd know who we were and why we were here, but let's start with, "We hear you're taking on a dragon and we're happy to help".

Taash: We're not killing her! We're just luring her away from her lair so the others can raid her hoard.

Molly!Rook: Even better! The only dragons I've ever seen up close were blighted ones so I'd love to see one healthy! So long as she's not breathing fire in my face--

Taash: First? The Vinsomer breathes lightning.

Molly!Rook: Cooooool.

Taash: Yeah, it really is. Second? Blighted dragons? Bullshit. They're smart enough to stay away from that crap!

Molly!Rook: I guess you don't know a lot about archdemons, but let's start simple - assholes are blighting them on purpose.

Taash: Okay, so they're assholes and I get to beat on them.

Molly!Rook: That's the goal! But first, I get to see a Vinsomer! This is going to be a good day!

Taash: ...She's weird.

Harding: They're eccentric, but I guess you've gotta love the world that much to be that keen to save it.

Taash: ...What do you mean, 'they'? Like, there's more than one?

Harding: Now that would be scary. No, it's just ... Rook doesn't like being limited. By anything. That includes gender. Something about, "I will choose what defines me, and it won't be the arbitrary contents of my pants".

Taash: .........Huh.

Molly!Rook: Hey, guys? We have Antaam! Oh, Taash, here! *tosses Taash an axe*

Taash: ...Where'd you get this?!?

Molly!Rook: Random chest in Arlathan, I think. I think it's got better balance than your other off-hand axe. Enjoy!

Taash: ...I like this one.

After figuring out why the Antaam are here, and Taash demonstrating her secret

Molly!Rook: ...You didn't tell us you could breathe fire.

Taash: ......Yeah. Um.

Molly!Rook: Huh. Metal.

Taash: *not quite a smile*

Molly!Rook: C'mon; let's unchain the Vinsomer so she can find a better nap spot, and then we can figure out why we're actually here.

Meeting Isabela

Isabela: You must be Rook. Varric told me all about you.

Molly!Rook: Isabela. Likewise. I'm taking it you involve Qunari in your treasure-hunting to avoid that shit that went down in Kirkwall.

Isabela: See? You get it. Some people have gone around saying I've gone soft or something, but it's not "What I did was wrong and we should be better people"! No, it's "Hello, my name is Isabela and I would prefer to not be bodied by the entire Qunari population. ...Again".

Molly!Rook: Good call.

Isabela: ...I admit that including the Dalish in that "making sure we're not taking anything of cultural significance" thing was a little more altruistic. I'm never sure if it was Merrill's stories about the mirror that blighted one of her friends to death and nearly killed another before she got Wardened, or the puppy-dog eyes she got over that arulin'holm thing that did it in the end.

Molly!Rook: ......Okay, wow, that story that Varric mentioned Leliana telling has waaaaaay more context now and I should rub that in the First Warden's face next chance I get. Speaking of ... y'all know Taash has no clue why we're here, so my question is, was she volunteered, or voluntold?

Shathann: We were getting to the ... voluntold part. It is just as well, as she has been breathing fire in front of the Antaam.

Molly!Rook; Taash: Wait, what the fuck?!?

Taash: I mean, yeah, I want to kick the asses of the assholes blighting dragons, but you don't even ask me?

Molly!Rook: I'm not conscripting your daughter, lady! It's her choice!

Taash: *looks at Rook for awhile* ...I'll go. It's fine. Whatever.

Shathann: I will make your potions.

Molly!Rook: You sure about this? I don't want to force anybody to do anything they don't agree with. I hate it when people pull that shit on me.

Taash: ...It is what I want. It's just... You know...

Molly!Rook: You don't want to sound too enthusiastic about it because you don't want your mom to think you're okay with being ordered around. I get it. Get what you need and I'll meet you at the eluvian we're using when you're ready. Feel free to stomp and slam things unnecessarily hard. Nothing says "You're assholes" like tossing a good solid ornament at a wall. *exits*

Taash: ...............

Harding: That's a face. I should warn you, they're kind of having a thing with an assassin abomination.

Taash: What?!? No! I don't want to have sex with them! I just ... kind of want to be them. ...Except less skinny. Way less skinny.

#Thess liveblogs DA: Veilguard #datv spoilers #Molly!Rook

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our-future-is-up-to-us-2 · 3 months ago

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The Jackal

Whooaaaaa we're almost caught up I swearrrr WHOOAAA living on a prayerrr (Fic number 8 and it is currently the 9TH!) @narcosfandomdiscord

Enjoy <3

Prompt #11, Book Of Pit Stops: Rush

Word Count: 1.1K

Relationships: Charles "The Jackal"/Nuria

Warnings: SPOILERS! Spoilers galore!! Episodes 1-5 of this show have been watched by me, and thus, a patchwork of spoilers throughout this rambly fic! Beware if you're a spoilerphobe!

~ Read the fic under the cut ~

The Jackal lives in secret. He hides from everyone and everything.

He dons disguises and becomes people who he’s not meant to be, for example, a certain Herr Thirsk, who, to The Jackal’s knowledge, may or may not be real.

Passports are essential if he’s globetrotting. No one bats an eye at the switches, at the effortlessness of it all. If it says he hails from Germany, that’s where he’s from. Then France? He’ll be a Frenchman for a day, who cares?!

The information is proper, organised, and it looks legitimate. That’s all that counts in The Jackal’s line of work: Efficiency, quality, and legitimacy.

After all, someone is set on hiring him, paying him grand amounts of money to make as many kills as possible. A hitman does what he needs to do, whatever it takes to target the best of the best.

He uses bespoke weaponry and state-of-the-art prosthetics. His materials, his safes, all of it, are top-notch. There’s nowhere in the business that he can fail, except for his own human error.

He trusts his gunmaker to the ends of the earth, he trusts his aim to make the kills, and he trusts others to give him whatever he requires.

Because, as he tells Nuria one sunny day in Cadiz, it’ll hurt the brand if people don’t pay him what he needs. It’s not all about the money, though, and even worse if people don’t follow his orders.

If he sets instructions, they’ll be met. If someone fumbles, then they’re out of the game.

The Jackal avoids taking unnecessary phone calls and explicitly warns his loveable Spanish relatives not to post whatever photos they take of him. As beautiful as celebrations and warmth and memories may be, he simply can’t risk being exposed.

***

After the ordeal with Manfred Fest, a very classy and striking ordeal if he does say so himself, he’s attracted attention. Or, at least, a ‘killer’ has done so. A killer could be anyone, but only someone of his expertise could make the shot from 3815 metres away.

He travels in taxis from one place to the next, keeping his language fluency intact with every country he visits. He passes Nuria after she’s dropped him off at the airport, but is his cover blown?

If he’s not answering his phone, then it won’t be.

Besides, he has a tingling, almost unwelcome feeling that his wife will find out. And, if she does? If the other Charles, Jackal’s in-law, helps her, then he’ll know.

He doesn’t have a safe without passwords, a lock without a key, or a room full of secrets without protection.

A camera inside a prosthetic face. A marvellous touch. As his wife snoops around, horrified by what she’s seeing, he’s seeing her right back.

It’s harmful to the relationship, detrimental, in fact, but he’ll just class it all as ‘industrial espionage’. You know how it goes, Nuria, a bit of spying, a bit of illegal activity, and…

A lot of murder, but The Jackal doesn’t reveal that much.

***

It’s so satisfying to see people at his mercy, to watch their trembling hands as they kneel before him. Whatever string of ‘oh, god, spare me, please, no!’ that escapes people’s mouths never deters him. Unless there’s something more to offer, The Jackal will do away with them.

Man, woman, guilty, innocent… Doesn’t exactly matter. If they’ve misunderstood their obligations to him, then, their time is up.

***

The Jackal bites back a laugh as he gets wind of recent news: A girl, one named Emma, dies in custody. The police are legally responsible. Whoever sent her into custody is feeling guilty for the rest of their lives.

Isn’t it perfect, for the authorities to be in the wrong? In their attempts to catch a criminal, a killer, a hitman, they misstep.

Well, they don’t just misstep. They’ve killed a daughter. They’ve ruined a mother, a father, a family. All of the girl’s friends will be devastated, all the good she hoped to achieve in life has been thrown into the gutter.

He stares at the article for a while, never once losing his focus. He laughs, and laughs, and laughs.

When Nuria catches him in the act, swiftly barging into his study, he hums and settles. The rush almost becomes too much, but he closes his laptop.

Her gaze implores him to talk, so he does.

Still, he demurs and deflects, “No, no, it’s nothing, really,” A certain twinkle in his eye reveals everything to her, “Well, if you must know, my work has just become very interesting. ”

“You’re in that place again!” She hisses, but he remains unfazed, “You’re always there, and never here… Come on , Charles. Come back to me.”

He leans back in his chair and shrugs, “I’m here, darling. I’m here. ”

“You don’t get it,” She shakes her head, “Because, sometimes, I look at you, and I just see–”

“What?” He intervenes with a lazy smile. A gentle tilt of his head. Charm, suaveness, everything in between, “Tell me. What do you see?”

With a sigh, she decides she can’t help herself, walking over to him and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. She holds onto him, lets her smaller body sink into his lap.

“I’ll tell you what I see,” She whispers, “I see a motherfucker. ”

“Oh, fuck you!” He replies, equally as quiet, and their lips meet not long after.

It’s just one of the many games they play. Teasing, banter, time alone, they cherish it. Nuria can tell when he’s drifting away, off with the fairies of business and stocks and, well, whatever he actually does.

So, it’s her job to bring him back to reality, to remind him of the people he has: It’s her and her love, it’s little Carlito, turning two years old tomorrow.

He goes for long periods of time, doesn’t come back for a few days, then a week, then two. He tells her, over and over, the same sentiments: People are too inconsiderate, they have no empathy, he’ll be back as soon as his shifts are over.

Whatever he does, the majority of it is out of her control.

She can only hold onto him when he’s physically here, when Charles is in her reach.

Otherwise, she is full of doubt, confusion, and emotions that extend beyond herself. Her family can only calm her so much.

She needs Charles, the lover, the husband, the family man… Not Charles, the sketchy, flighty businessman.

Not Charles the hitman, Charles the plotter, Charles the ruthless manipulator and assassin.

‘Industrial espionage’ is all it is. And hopefully, that’s all she’ll ever know.

#the day of the jackal #the day of the jackal 2024 #tv shows #fanfic #narcovember #narcovember 2024 #ava writes #my first work in this fandom #the day of the jackal fanfic #the day of the jackal 2024 fanfic

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ruiningsalads · 5 months ago

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here it is: the culmination of my Solavellan brain rot. thank you to @kiastirling, @rosella-writes, @shouldaspunastory, @midmorninggrey, and @seigephoenix for enabling me.

and special thanks to @lasatfat for beta reading!

They all knew the danger of trying to free Solas, but every one of them accepted the risk. The ritual to break apart the prison was difficult enough -- between the four mages of their group, they just barely had enough power to pull it off -- and that was without the hordes of Ghilan’nain’s corrupted creations swarming them.

Lavellan’s voice shouted over the din of battle as their companions fended off the ravenous swarm. “Focus on the barrier!” she cried. “Let my will draw from you!” Rook felt a sense of nostalgia for the words, but the feeling wasn’t her own.

And so their combined magic surged against the prison’s barrier, unraveling it layer after layer. The feeling of her magic being drawn from her initially unsettled Rook, but the Inquisitor’s control was precise. She wasted no time, no energy, in her systematic dismantling of the arcane protection.

But the further they got, the harder it became as their magic steadily dried up. Neve was the first to pull back, sweat coursing down her brow. Emmrich, Rook's mentor and oldest friend, held out a bit longer; but he, too, withdrew with a shaky gasp. But they were so, so close.

A skeleton’s hand entered her field of view, pressing a vial to her lips. Rook guzzled the lyrium draft gratefully, her gaze never wavering from the unraveling prison. “Thanks, Manfred.” She heard his pleased chattering and smiled.

Lavellan’s whole body trembled with the effort of the ritual. Rook redoubled her focus, pouring her newly regenerated magic into the spell as the Inquisitor let out a choked, “Fen'Harel ar ghilana!”

The translation came unbidden: The Dread Wolf guides me. Normally, that would have been self-deprecating, if what Rook knew about the Dalish and their views on Fen’Harel were correct. But with Lavellan, it was a battle-cry she felt in the very marrow of her bones. And with a last push, the final layer of the prison cracked.

Ancient power surged from within, bursting from confinement and washing over them in a concussive wave that sent Rook sprawling. Ghilan’nain’s minions dissolved into the Fade, their bodies torn asunder by Solas’s sheer force of will. When Rook squinted through the swirling dust and magical debris, she found Lavellan wrapped in the arms of Solas, kissing him as if her life depended on it. They separated a hair’s breadth and whispered words Rook could not — did not want to — hear. Then, as if they couldn’t help it, they kissed again.

They should have expected the goddess’s arrival, but they were caught unprepared. Her voice-that-was-not-a-voice thundered through the Fade, her words conveyed in a wave of rage and hate that stole Rook’s breath.

Dread Wolf, I shall rip out your heart myself.

Solas answered her threat by running — not away, but toward her looming presence. As he ran, his stride lengthened, his body rippling and shifting and growing until he sprinted on four massive paws. Scales covered much of his lupine form, save for a tuft of fur that spanned the length of his spine. His muzzle was as much a dragon’s as it was a wolf’s, his six eyes glowing red over top his snarling maw.

A battle between gods was no place for mortals, Rook quickly realized. She tried to grab Lavellan’s arm, tried to pull her back to safety, but the elf was determined to help Solas, somehow.

“The best way you can help him is to stay out of his way!” Rook shouted over the deafening shrieks of Ghilan’nain. “Inquisitor, please, heed some sense!”

“I can’t let him face this alone!” She fought Rook’s grip, her lone hand scrabbling against Rook’s two. “Fenedhis, let me go!”

“You’re tired and your magic is spent,” Rook panted. “What could you possibly do to help him?”

The elf stilled in her grasp, but Rook didn’t let go, wary of a trick. Lavellan turned to look back and up at Rook, tears in her eyes. “I don’t want him to be alone.”

“Then don’t die here. Get to safety, and when he’s done, you can let him not be alone then.”

The Inquisitor closed her eyes and let out a shuddering sob. But she nodded.

Together, they raced away from the embattled gods as the Fade felt like it was falling down all around them. A powerful yelp, like that of a giant wolf, stopped them in their tracks.

“Solas,” Lavellan breathed, turning back to look.

“Inquisitor,” Rook warned, but the elf suddenly grabbed her and dragged her out of the way of a falling chunk of rock that would have seriously injured her. “Thanks,” she gasped, clutching at the Inquisitor’s robes.

“Where is he?” Her voice was tense, strained. “Rook, I don’t see him.”

Indeed, Rook couldn’t see him either, but Ghilan’nain saw them. The goddess was like a storm in the sky, an unstoppable power that surged forward and swept everything into chaos. And she was aimed right for the two mages.

Her progress was halted when the giant wolf leapt onto her from behind, his teeth tearing into her shoulder as she shrieked.

“Inquisitor, we have to leave now,” Rook insisted, tugging on the elf’s arm. Lavellan stared at the battle a moment longer, before turning to flee.

They found their path blocked by a mass of sickly grey, fleshy tentacles that writhed and reached for them blindly. Rook cursed and quickly backed away from them, but they crawled toward the two women with murderous intent.

Rook drank down another lyrium draft — the last one on her person — and tossed aside the vial as her power regrew within her. Her magic erupted from the ground as skeletal hands that reached for the fleshy appendages, dragging them down and holding them inert. It wouldn’t last, but it would let Rook and Lavellan put some distance between them and the strangling tendrils.

The tentacles were tied to Ghilan’nain, Rook knew. The goddess’s death would purge them, but until then, they would spread like the Blight, destroying all in their path.

They would have to fight her.

“Do you have any strength left, Inquisitor?” she asked, steeling herself.

“Not much,” the elf admitted.

“Then save it to protect yourself. I’m going to try to help him.”

Lavellan swore. “Of all the times to run out of lyrium—“

“Watch our backs, Inquisitor,” Rook urged, then she reached deep into her power. The spell was one she knew only in theory, taught by Emmrich and demonstrated by him only once before. She prayed to the Maker and Andraste that it would work, and surged her magic into the Fade.

The torso of a giant skeleton erupted from the stone behind Ghilan’nain, its massive arms wrapping around the goddess and pinning her many arms in place. It felt like a clumsy marionette, its movements slower than Rook would have liked; but its strength held up to the goddess’s wrath. Her dark, depthless eyes found Rook, sending a chill down her spine that promised death.

The Inquisitor’s warning shout had her dropping low to the ground reflexively, her focus intent on her spell, keeping Ghilan’nain open to Solas’s attacks. It wasn’t until she felt warm liquid dripping down on her that her focus wavered and she glanced back —

Panic clawed at her heart as she took in the sight. Surely this was a nightmare, and she would wake up in a few moments and everything would be fine. Surely the Inquisitor wasn’t actually standing over her protectively with a jagged spike of rock embedded in her chest and emerging from her back.

Surely not.

The horrified cry that tore from her throat was real. Her spell forgotten, she reached out and caught Lavellan as the elf’s legs gave out from under her, collapsing her against her human companion.

Rook clutched at her desperately, sensing the life ebbing from her. “No, no, no,” she begged, hand hovering over the deadly projectile uselessly. “Don’t do this, Inquisitor!”

Lavellan’s face was so pale, her eyes glassy, but one corner of her mouth quirked up in a smile. “Perhaps later, Rook,” she breathed. Her gaze flicked to the ongoing battle, the skeleton having disappeared the moment Rook’s focus was broken. A single tear fell from the elf’s eyes. “In another world.”

---

In the end, the goddess fled. Exhausted, Solas let her go, his attention returning to the huddled figures of Rook and Lavellan as he fell back into his elf form. Something wasn’t right, he realized, and broke into a run.

Lavellan’s eyes stared blankly at where the battle had been, her pale face unmoving as he approached. Rook reached with shaking fingers and lowered her eyelids. But that would mean…would mean…

“No.” It was a flat refusal to believe the truth of his eyes.

A broken sob shook Rook’s body. “She protected me.”

Rage surged through him then, burning away his weariness with searing claws. “How could you let this happen?” he demanded, reaching for Lavellan, but pulling away at the last moment. If he touched her and felt her stillness, it would make this real. It couldn’t be real.

“She chose, Solas,” Rook spat through tears. “Don’t you think I would have protected her if I could?”

“Release her,” he ordered with deadly softness. Rook looked up at him incredulously, then carefully lowered the Inquisitor onto the bloody stone beneath her. As soon as she was free, Solas waved a hand and sent Rook back to her allies outside of the Fade, where they awaited their leader.

He fell to his knees. Shaking hands gripped the spike that had killed Lavellan, pulled it from her flesh, and tossed it aside. Carefully, gently, he lifted her into his arms and cradled her motionless form against his chest. She was still warm, but no breath stirred. No heartbeat carried a lovely blush to her cheeks, no indomitable spirit dwelt behind inquisitive eyes that always, always, wanted to know more.

He supposed Ghilan’nain accomplished her threat after all. Here was his heart, broken and limp in his arms.

She had been determined until the very end, he knew. Even from his confinement, he could see her dreams from afar. In them, they were a happy family, the two of them and — the thought burned like acid within him now — their children. How happy they had been, living quietly and full of love. His favorite had been the dream where she rested her head on his shoulder, their children snuggled up against them both as he read stories of ancient Arlathan aloud.

Lavellan believed with all her heart that somehow, they would be able to make that dream a reality. Somehow, somewhere down the line, Solas had begun to hope, too. What a fool he had been.

If only he had been stronger, had turned her away the first time she kissed him, perhaps she would still be alive, happy somewhere else, with someone else. But how could he resist her? She was strong, brilliant, endlessly curious, and—and dead. She was dead, and he could do nothing.

Once again, he failed that which he loved most. His ritual was supposed to fix everything, but that human had to go and interrupt. Because of her, Ellana lay dead in his arms, along with any hope for their future. This prison was far worse than the one he just escaped.

Sometime later — perhaps it was an hour, a day, or an age, he wasn’t sure — he stood and emerged from the Fade in a flash of green light. Exhaustion and grief lay over the once-vibrant Veilguard like a suffocating shroud. Rook sat slumped on a rock, elbows braced on her knees, and stared down at her hands, at the drying blood coating her fingers. He kept his face carefully blank as her attention snapped to him.

“Solas.” Rook’s voice came out hoarse and scratchy. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—“

“Spare me your platitudes.” His response was flat, unyielding. “Do not forget that you caused all of this.”

“Bullshit!” Now she glared at him, any hint of sympathy gone. “You started this chain of events long before I was ever unfortunate enough to cross your path! Her blood is on your hands, Dread Wolf.”

He saw the regret on her face as soon as the last syllable fell from her lips, but it didn’t matter. Not when he bore the body of his lost love in his arms.

Ellana Lavellan, former Inquisitor and advisor to the Veilguard, looked peaceful in death. No longer was her face pinched with exhaustion, nor her lips pressed into a thin line as it was whenever she considered their impossible position. She bore no expression at all.

Solas turned and walked away without another word.

“Wait!” He heard Rook's uneven gait as she limped after him. “Where are you going? We still need your help.”

He paused, but didn’t turn to look at her. “I must find a worthy resting place. Somewhere she will not be disturbed.”

“But you’ll come back?”

“Yes.” His tone was flat, emotionless.

After a pause, her voice was uncharacteristically tentative. “I could let you speak to her again, for a moment. To say goodbye.” He was silent for so long that she added, “It’s more than most folk get.”

The ancient elf gazed down at his love, considering the human’s words. Rook took the opportunity to step closer and reached for the flask on her belt. Under his suspicious watch, she wet a clean spot on her cloak with water and gently washed the grime of battle from the Inquisitor’s face. It was a small thing — one of many courtesies she offered the dead in the Grand Necropolis — but it brought her own heart a small measure of peace to see Lavellan look more like herself than a battered corpse.

Once, Lavellan had been alive. When life flowed through her veins, she offered wise counsel to Rook on several occasions. She never complained when things got difficult, never lashed out in anger when Rook’s patience ran thin and her tongue sharpened like a stiletto. Instead, she would smile and say, “Perhaps we should come back to this later, Rook.”

And she never lost faith in Solas. Despite their years apart and what she saw as his determinedness to torture himself, she remained a staunch defender of the dreamer she fell in love with so long ago. It was because of that love that he now walked free — and she lay still in the cradle of his arms. What would he say? Could he say anything that would be worth drawing her out of her much-earned rest?

“No,” he said simply. Rook let him pass as he bore the burden of his failure away.

He would return to help them fight, as he promised. He would not dishonor the Inquisitor’s memory by going back on that agreement, but a new heaviness weighed on him at the prospect of more fighting. There would be more death, more destruction, and for what?

As far as he was concerned, the dawn would not come.

#dragon age fanfiction #fanfiction #solavellan hell #solavellan #dragon age solas #solas #angst

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dendroaspis-viridis · 7 months ago

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Study Break

Emmrich has a bad habit of overworking, something Katareth is all too eager to help him break.

Rating: E (18+) (this is just smut, y'all)

AO3

It was technically a rest day for the Mourn Watchers, though they both insisted on waking up with everyone else to get an early start on their work. After seeing the others off, the couple migrated to Katareth’s study, finding it to be the quietest space in the Lighthouse. Manfred was organizing manuscripts in Emmrich’s den, and Gustav, Kat’s skeletal horse, was occupied exploring the grounds surrounding their base with Assan, leaving her cozy office empty.

The coffee table was covered in all manner of annotated books, hastily-scrawled notes, and a pot of tea that had long since cooled. They’d been collaborating on a paper regarding the Veil’s current instability and its effects on summoned spirits for several hours, evidenced by the cramp the qunari was massaging out of her neck.

Leaning back in her armchair, she looked over to her long-time coworker turned lover with a fond smirk. Their relationship was a relatively recent thing, only coming about a few months ago following a rather embarrassing incident for all involved (and a particularly meddlesome dwarf), but she found them to be some of the most fulfilling months of her life. They continued to maintain the friendship they’d cultivated for the past two decades, though now there was an added romantic zeal that Katareth found exhilarating.

She’d engaged in strictly physical encounters with people here and there to relieve stress, though her overwhelmingly timid nature had her ushering people out the door as soon as each of their needs had been met. Emmrich was her first real relationship since she’d joined the Mortalitasi, and the first one she’d ever had where she didn’t feel like the object of someone’s fetish. He’d been ceaselessly patient with her thus far as she navigated the novel waters of domesticity including communicating feelings, non-sexual intimacy, and the most foreign concept of all: sharing the same bed with someone after sex.

She watched as he sighed, rubbing his eyes as he collected his teacup.

Stifling a yawn, Kat suggested, “Why don’t we take a break? We’ve been at this since seven.” A glance to the clock on the wall informed her that it was well past midday – at least back in Thedas. Time seemed to pass differently in the Fade. “I think we’ve earned it?”

Taking a sip and grimacing at the unpleasant chill, he smoothed down his moustache as he returned the cup to its saucer, eyes scouring the table for a specific scrap of parchment. “Mmm, I don’t know… We’ve barely touched on the spirits’ increasingly volatile behaviors.”

As much as Kat loved him, the necromancer had a self-destructive habit of eschewing basic care like food or rest when he was focused on a project, something she’d been gently trying to help him break over the years.

A devilish thought popped into Katareth’s head. Oh. That might work…

Mulling it over as her partner found the paper he’d been searching for and read it for what must’ve been the fifteenth time that morning, she rose to put her idea into action.

“Then let me convince you.” Kat stepped around the table, stopping at Emmrich’s knees before crawling onto his lap, straddling his thighs, and perching her hands on the back of the loveseat behind him, effectively trapping the human under her. With his view of their workspace now obstructed, Emmrich had no choice but to look up, meeting her salacious gaze.

He gave a surprised little “Oh!” when she seated herself, followed by a lower “Oh…” when he understood the explicit nature of her suggestion. A conspiratorial grin deepened the creases that framed his face.

Setting the parchment aside, he ran his hands along her thighs before untucking her shirt. Katareth jolted slightly when she felt cold fingers graze along the small of her back, circling the little dimples that sat just under her belt. The reaper crowded him further by leaning down to pepper his face with kisses. His cheeks, his jawline, his temples, everywhere except where Emmrich wanted her most.

Giving her hips a gentle grind, Kat purred into his ear when she felt his muscles tense under her and carefully-manicured nails dug into her waist, “Now, consider us in much the same position on my bed. No distractions, no clothes. Just the two of us... what do you think?”

He took a steadying breath before responding, “Truth be told, I’m finding thinking quite difficult right now.” The measured grind of her hips over his stirring member combined with the delicate licks and kisses she was placing just under his ear left his mind with little room to consider her proposal. “Though I concede that a break would be nice…”

Pulling back to meet him with a smolder, she teased, “I’m glad you could see reason.”

Kat dismounted, extending a hand to help pull him up into an embrace. She unbuttoned his waistcoat and high-collared shirt, shucking both and draping them across the back of the loveseat. He mirrored her actions, slipping the buttons of her tailored blouse through eyelets and unlacing her brassiere. The qunari took Emmrich’s hands in hers, pulling the smaller Watcher towards the doorframe of her bedroom with a wink.

The pair made it just inside the doorway when Katareth pinned the necromancer to the wall, capturing his lips in a searing kiss.

It was an absolute cacophony of sensations for Emmrich. The cool brick scratching against his back was in direct opposition to his lover’s plush, warm breasts pressing against his chest. And while they exchanged panted breaths, Katareth lifted him, guiding his legs to wrap around her waist. From his new vantage point, Emmrich could only watch as Kat leaned in to ravage the elegant column of his neck.

Taking his Adam’s apple between her teeth, sharp canines scraped across the delicate skin, leaving red streaks in their wake. Katareth reveled in the throaty moan of her name she felt rumble up through his neck, littering it with more nips and sucks.

Delicate hands came up behind her to fumble with the leather strip holding her hair in a loose bun. Untying it and discarding the leather at her feet, Emmrich ran his fingers through her snowy hair before taking a handful in a gentle fist, guiding her lips back up to his.

With their mouths occupied, Kat tightened her grip on his thighs to carry him over to her bed, setting the elder Watcher down gently on evergreen sheets before removing the rest of her clothes, prompting him to do the same.

Now fully nude, she ushered Emmrich towards the center of her bed. “Scoot back, I’ll need some room.”

When he complied, Katareth began her ascent, crawling up him like a predator on the prowl, and he was her all too willing prey. She stopped at his thighs, folding her legs under her so her pelvis rested just past his knees, gold eyes on his still semi-flaccid penis.

“S-Sorry, I- ah!” His attempted apology was cut off when she wrapped her warm hands around his cock. Kat held the pliant shaft in one hand, and eased his foreskin back with the other to thumb a shimmery bead of precum across his flushed head.

“Do I look like I mind?” She husked, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his lips. She slowly flicked her wrist, smirking at the full body shudder that worked through him as she swallowed down his whine.

One of his hands grasped onto a grey thigh, the other cupping the back of Katareth’s head to hold her there, playing with the wispy hairs at her nape. His eyes were screwed shut, focusing on the sensation of her calloused hands gliding up and down, twisting along his cock.

The qunari adjusted her grip on his stiffening member, interlacing her fingers to rub the battle-roughened pads of her thumbs along the underside of his cock, paying special attention to the sensitive spot just under his glans.

She worked him in earnest, enthralled in feeling the way his length slowly began to swell under her thorough touch.

“Please, Katareth... I want to feel you around me,” Emmrich panted, resting his forehead against hers.

“I am around you,” She reminded him coquettishly, tightening her grip on his stiff erection to emphasize her point.

“Maker,” he gasped. “You know what I mean... Your – your core – your heat… don't make me be crass, please,” the necromancer begged, finally opening his eyes to look directly at her. He could be so sensual and articulate when he was taking the lead, but was endearingly bashful when it came to engaging in any kind of dirty talk.

Showing her lover mercy, she gave his length one last stroke before maneuvering herself to straddle his narrow pelvis. Pressing his shoulders, Kat followed his descent to drape herself over him, supporting the majority of her weight on a muscular forearm above his head.

“Ready?” Her free hand took hold of his cock, lining it up with her entrance.

“Yes, please…” Long fingers dug into the soft meat of the reaper's hips, encouraging her down.

Needing no further coaxing, Katareth eased herself down, sighing as his erection parted her glistening folds. Their collective groans of pleasure echoed off the stone walls of her bedroom when she fully sheathed him in her warmth, wiggling her hips slightly to better accommodate him.

“Kadan...” she whispered, cradling his face in a large hand and brushing her thumb along his cheek. When she gently rocked, Kat dipped her tongue between Emmrich's lips, savoring the faint flavor of tea.

Their lovemaking began tenderly, both Mourn Watchers leisurely tasting and touching each other, accented by the delicious squeeze of the qunari's velvety heat around her human lover on a lazy upstroke.

She hummed into his mouth when cool fingers ghosted along a pointed ear, running soft fingertips along the outer edge where it was most sensitive. When the necromancer pinched at the sharp tip, he wasn’t prepared for the surprised clenching of her core, meeting her hum with a gasp.

His other hand trailed up from her hips, feeling her pace pick up ever so slightly when he scratched across the well-muscled planes of her back from waist to nape. He repeated the motion several times, matching the timing of his reaper's thrusts and steadily working her up into a fervor under his ministrations.

Katareth pressed her body into him more firmly, the added stimulation of her pierced nipples dragging against his angular body drawing occasional sighs. She loved the intimacy of it all. Loved knowing the panted exhalations of her name were for her ears only, and that the thrusts and jerks Emmrich was fucking up into her greedy core were for their mutual ecstasy.

The hand that'd been stroking his face gripped at the bedsheets as her thrusts grew more vigorous, caging Emmrich under the larger Watcher. The soft tap tap tap of the headboard against the wall was easily drowned out by the pair’s blissful cries and the wet slap of Kat's hips coming down to meet Emmrich's as she picked up momentum.

Adjusting the angle of her hips, Kat wailed a stuttered ‘E-Emmrich!’ into the side of his neck when his erection stroked against a sweet spot. She lost herself to the exquisite drag of his cock within her sensitive core, her hot breaths puffing across his shoulder. The intensity of her thrusts increased still, and some barely-functioning corner of Emmrich's mind noted that the taps from before had grown to solid thumps with each snap of her hips.

“Em, I'm close – fuck, I’m so close…” she panted into his ear. Her rocking lost its rhythm, devolving into stuttered lurches as she neared her peak. The fevered pitch of her shuddered breaths rose as she nosed along his pulse point.

“So – hah – so am I,” Emmrich struggled to for coherent words, basking in the absolutely decadent grind of her plush walls around his throbbing cock. “Just a little more – just like that!” He encouraged, grabbing at her hips to help push and pull her along himself.

Grinding her clit down into his pubic bone was the last little bit of stimulation she needed, tumbling over the edge with a long, keening whine as she bit down into the taut muscle that connected his neck to shoulder, rocking her hips to draw out her euphoria.

Emmrich soon followed with a deep, guttural groan, unable to hold back when the powerful muscles of her core squeeze and pulse around his cock. Feeling the rush of his orgasm paint her inner walls, Katareth released his neck, capturing his lips in a frantic, sloppy kiss, riding him through the aftershocks.

As their ecstasy abated, Katareth’s hips eventually stilled. Catching her breath, she rolled off the human with a groan, stretching her legs and easing them to a more neutral position before turning to Emmrich. She ran her blunt nails through the grey, wiry hairs of his chest, watching it rise and fall as he, too, came down from his high.

“If this is your new method for getting me to take more breaks, I may have to start pulling all-nighters again…” he huffed breathlessly, meeting her exhausted gaze.

“Don’t you dare, Emmrich Volkarin.” She pressed a chaste kiss into his cheek, taunting, “I might not be so nice, next time…”

He brought a hand to his neck, gently prodding at the tender bruises she’d bit and sucked into him, giving her a playfully incredulous look. “Heart, if this was ‘nice’, I’m not entirely sure I’d survive ‘mean’ with my throat intact.”

“I can’t help that your neck’s just so biteable, now, can I?” The qunari defended bashfully. “Besides, you always wear those high-collared shirts, so it’s not as if anyone would see...”

Rolling to lay his head on her shoulder, Emmrich quietly laughed as he replied, “Thank the Maker for small mercies, I suppose…”

#emmrich volkarin #emmrich x qunari rook #katareth naletski #i've been fiddling with how i format fic posts #so expect me to edit this like 5 more times until i get fed up with it lol

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