#and Manfred always did paper

[choice-spirit]

Finally finished Dragon Age The Veilguard (hence my absence since I was avoiding spoilers) so finally sharing Esha! My Lords of Fortune Rook who fell instantly for Taash! She is also besties with Davrin, and my next Rook will absolutely be falling for him.

[azalawa-scroggs]

About Eddie Fender and why he was a dick to Miles

I first started this post in response to something, but it got so long I decided against inflicting it on OP. This is very long and very meandering and the form is kinda weird, as a warning. It's also kinda spoilery for Ace Attorney Investigations 2.

When we first start playing AAI2 and are introduced to "Ace Attorney Eddie Fender," it's true he doesn't come across as very likeable. The first thing he says to Miles is basically "Oh, look! Here comes Manfred von Karma," and the game happens three years after the truth about DL-6 came out. That's incredibly low, very petty, cruel even. He does start off as a dick to Miles, unfair on him until he gradually realises he isn't as bad as he thought, and as he starts warming up to Miles we start warming up to him.

But also... I kind of get it.

Like... Imagine you're 19 years old. Your boss just died in a sudden and shocking murder. You inherit the law firm even though you haven't even passed the bar yet. You're grieving as you keep working hard to become an attorney, now without the guidance you used to have. Maybe you even blame yourself a little - after all, you worked on that case too, you were likely there for the trial, you left both Edgeworths to take that elevator by themselves. Had things played out differently you would have been there, too.

Did you think of your boss's son, in the middle of this whirlwind? Probably a little, but you're a 19 year-old law student. You're nowhere near a suitable place in your life to even think about fostering a kid. Besides, Gregory Edgeworth was your boss. Someone you greatly admired and whose death you will never stop mourning, but still just your boss.

(It's unclear how well Eddie knew Miles. Enough for Miles to recognise him instantly, but certainly not as close as Miles and Phoenix were.)

You take it on yourself to continue the work he left behind, to help the clients Gregory can no longer help. For ten years you try your best to uphold the reputation and the values of his firm and name, and every day you witness a little more how corrupt the system really is.

Then, one day, you start hearing about this young new prosecuting upstart. Passed the bar at 20 and already has the legal world in his pocket. Rumours of forged evidence, backstreet deals, manipulated witnesses. Not only is that just like the whole lot of them, the tactics you became so familiar with over the years - no, it sounds painfully, specifically familiar to that one long, drawn-out case, the last one you worked with Gregory. It turns out the young prodigy is the student and protégé of Mr. Perfection himself, the man who never lost a case in thirty-five years, even though he should have lost against you ten years ago if the world was even a little fair. You would hate the boy for that alone, but on top of that he's also the son of the mentor you lost, the son of the man you both used to admire so very much.

And that hurts. That none of Gregory's legacy lived on in his son. That this sweet, kind boy, who Gregory always used to worry about not making any friends, became a parody of all they used to despise.

Perhaps you even get to see him. You catch a glance of him in the courthouse corridor as he passes you by without so much as a nod to acknowledge you, or you stumble upon a picture in the same paper that struck Phoenix Wright so deeply. You see that damn suit. That damn smirk. That damn waggly finger. His features may have something of Gregory but everything in him screams von Karma. He's spent a decade trying to shape himself into him, and it shows.

Prosecutors are a privileged bunch, and the Edgeworth kid grew up into a downright brat. Entitled. Rude. Arrogant. Obsessed with his fucking perfect record. You hear he goes around cutting the salaries of detectives that make a tenth of what he does and insulting the opposing counsel in court. He became the worst of them all, taught by the worst of them all, he is everything Gregory fought against and everything you hate.

Why would you want to associate with that? Why would you ever think he is not perfectly fine where he is, with his cushy office and his cushy sports car and his doubtlessly cushy pay?

A couple years later you hear he's been arrested for murder. Maybe you follow the trial, maybe you only see the headlines after everything, after DL-6 is finally solved. Honestly, that's when you start having a reason to reach out. When, had you been less embittered and jaded by the thanklessness of your job, you might have wondered what it was like for him to grow up in the shadow of his father's murderer. You might have been stricken with compassion and horror at the thought of fifteen years spent in crushing guilt, believing he killed the father he used to love so much. You might have empathised, despite your contempt for von Karma, with how his ward might feel to be so cruelly betrayed, thrice over, by the man who raised him since he was nine, who taught him everything before throwing him away like a piece of used junk.

But you still think of how he was like a son to von Karma, of how he got to spend fifteen years in wealth, following a shiny, easy, corrupt new path while you grieved and desperately tried to keep the pieces of your shared dream together. You think of how uneasy Gregory seemed with the idea of von Karma as a teacher, you think of how eager Miles seemed to follow in his footsteps and how much Gregory would have hated it. You think of the many defendants this boy callously condemned with barely a thought, just like his mentor. Of how he may not have his father's blood on his hands, but with the way he acts you'd think he had his murderer's in his veins. And you really, really don't want to deal with any of that.

You think, somewhat unfairly, that maybe Miles ought to have seen it coming. It's not like it's much of a secret that Manfred von Karma is a piece of shit, and good riddance to him.

Three years later, you actually have to interact with him again. It's been 18 years since you last saw him in his father's shadow, looking at him like he hung the stars in the sky, back when everything was so simple for the three of you. It's been 3 years since the truth about his oh-so-esteemed mentor was uncovered. He still wears the cravat. His brow is still furrowed, his eyes are still piercing.

But slowly, begrudgingly, you talk to him. You start realising he actually has some honour to him. That he's not really the Demon Prosecutor the papers made him out to be, that maybe you misjudged him a little bit, in you grief-stricken, angry bitterness. That maybe he can be trusted, after all, with his father's legacy.

Why would you think he ever needed saving?

[thecraftybaroness]

This time, Emmrich saw a worn-out and sleeping Rook. A small writing thought I had with some tender thoughts and falling asleep beside one another.

Rook is Loved As Well

The candle on the table had burned low, wax pooling and cooling in uneven rivulets down its base. The Library in the Lighthouse was quiet, save for the faint rustling of paper beneath the slow rise and fall of Sabriel’s breath.

Emmrich stood at the stair leading down to the Eluvian having just returned from spending a few days in Nevarra. What he saw caught his breath somewhere between fondness and quiet sorrow.

She had fallen asleep at the table again.

She was seated on the floor. Her head rested on the curve of her arm, cheek pressed against a missive she had likely meant to finish. The ink had smudged faintly beneath her fingers, caught between the act of turning a page and the pull of exhaustion. Around her, documents and reports lay scattered, some marked with careful annotations, others abandoned beneath the weight of sleepless nights.

She always gave everything. Every ounce of herself, every breath, every moment. If she could not be wanted, she would be needed. And if she could not be needed, she would have the fires of her life be used until there was nothing left.

He knew.

He understood.

For these recent years, he had thought his life would be spent in service to something greater. The potential for lichdom had extended the sense of that timeframe out beyond into forever. With that path closed to him, he thought he had made peace with it—or at least, he had convinced himself he had. He would make the best of however much life he had remaining. Love, a future beyond duty—those were things reserved for other people. Younger people. Luckier people.

Not him.

Not her.

Not until her.

Until she had turned toward him in the aftermath of battle, blood-streaked and weary, but still standing. Until he had seen the way she carried the weight of others, how she knew when to push and when to stay silent, how she remembered the smallest details about the people around her—not just as soldiers, but as people. Until he had realized, with a slow, aching certainty, that she had done the same for him.

And somewhere in between the quiet conversations and sharp-edged banter, between the unspoken understanding and the rare moments she allowed herself to lean against him—he had begun to want.

It had terrified him, at first.

But gods, he loved her.

Not just her strength, but her kindness. Not just her sharpness, but her warmth. The way she could hold the weight of the world on her shoulders but still remember to check if someone had eaten. The way she could bring their group together, make them laugh, make them feel like they belonged. The way she gave, and gave, and gave, as if she did not know how to do anything else.

She was the kind of person people followed into battle without hesitation.

She was also the kind of person who would kneel beside a wounded friend and stay there, steady and unmoving, until she was certain they were alright.

How could he not love her?

How could anyone not love her?

Emmrich handed his gear and staff to Manfred who quietly nodded and carried them up. 

Emmrich exhaled, running a hand through his hair before stepping forward. He reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. She barely stirred, but something in her expression eased, as if even in sleep she knew she was safe. That he was home. 

His expression softened.

With practiced care, Emmrich slid an arm beneath her shoulders, the other beneath her legs, lifting her carefully. She made a small, indistinct noise, her head tipping against his chest, but she did not wake. She trusted him. She had learned how, even when resting.

And gods, he loved her for it.

He carried her up the stairs to her room, moving slowly, mindful not to wake her. The blankets were cool beneath his hands as he pulled them back, settling her down with the same quiet reverence he reserved for the rare moments he could protect her—not in battle, not in strategy or sacrifice, but in something as simple as rest.

Kneeling beside the bed, he reached for her boots, carefully unfastening each buckle before sliding them and her socks off. The callouses on her feet spoke of long hours spent on the road, of relentless motion, of a lifetime spent walking forward with no space to stop. He pressed his fingers lightly along her ankle, soothing a knot of tension before tucking them beneath the blankets.

Still, she slept on.

Emmrich sat there for a moment longer, watching her breathe, watching the way her fingers twitched slightly before settling, the way her face—so often sharp with focus—had softened into something defenseless in sleep.

She gave so much to others.

Maybe, just maybe, she was learning how to let them give something back.

Rising, he moved through the familiar motions of peeling off his coat and traveling gear. Pulling off his own boots and donning a set of sleeping clothes he had started keeping in her room. He slipped into bed, if one could call it a bed, beside her. The cushion dipped as he shifted closer, careful not to jostle her, but allowing himself the quiet comfort of her warmth.

Sabriel stirred, just barely. A slow, sleepy sigh. A shift toward him, as if even in unconsciousness she reached for him.

Emmrich breathed, something small and aching and full settling in his chest.

Gently, he slipped an arm around her, drawing her close, tucking her against him. His fingers brushed lightly, instinctual, protective.

She let out a slow breath, relaxing into the warmth of him, and in that quiet surrender, he felt something loosen in his own chest.

You don’t have to burn yourself away to be loved.

It was not spoken, but it did not need to be. It was there in the hush of candlelight, in the quiet press of arms around her, in the unspoken promise that had settled between them long before either had dared to give it words.

And as the last of the candle burned down, Emmrich let himself sleep, steady beside her.

- - -

This is a companion fluff writing to one I wrote here where Rook wants to make sure Emmrich knows he is deeply loved:

[guacamolleee]

happy thedasweekend!! uwu intrigued by the family! elannora volkarin and emmrich volkarin/thana ingellvar, maybe with the domestic prompt of: a faded portrait in an old frame. hope it's funnn 💖

thank you for the prompt!!! for @thedasweekend

Set post-Veilguard. CW for major character death and hurt/comfort. 902 words.

Papa's funeral was last week and Nell had long run out of tears in the endless stream of condolences and well-wishers. She didn’t begrudge them — or tried not to, anyway — after all, her father had been a well-loved and well-respected man, and it was gratifying to see that for herself even at a time like this.

But she was just so tired.

Between wrangling her own children, planning the funeral, and making sure mama wasn’t bothered by shaking the hand of just about every Mourn Watcher in existence, she could use a nap or three. Though not quite yet — there was still one last thing.

Thus she found herself on the floor of her father's home office, mama and dear Manfred by her side, sorting through the last of her father's things. The office was well-organized though bursting at the seams, shelves upon shelves of books of every topic under the sun, a well-worn desk of dark wood, and a plush couch by the fire when her or one of her siblings kept him company while he worked. It was a room full of fond memories.

Most of the things, of course, would stay with mama, but there was a box or two he’d wanted to pass on to her. It was just a matter of unearthing it. Manfred hissed quietly next to her.

“What do you have there, Fred?”

“Found it.” Her brother turned to her, holding out a pretty wooden box, dark brown and simple, tied with a ribbon and a letter.

“Oh.”

He passed it into her hands and mama came up behind her, leaning down and saying, “Ah, that’s one. There should be another one here somewhere…”

“Should I…” Nell stroked the sides of it, warming the wood under her palms. “Should I open it now?”

Mama chuckled. “It's yours, darling. You can do whatever you want.”

Nell nodded and untied the ribbon, the letter falling into her hands. For a moment, she set the box down, winding the ribbon around her wrist so as not to lose it, and opened the letter.

My darling Nellie, This is not the last letter I am writing to you, though I don't know if it will be the last one you read of mine. I pen this as your mother sleeps beside me and you and your girls are just down the hall for the holiday. Perhaps the night has simply made your old father more sentimental than usual, but I feel this is important for you to know, my little love. I suppose you aren't so little anymore. You have grown up so fast, growing in leaps and bounds since you were born, my brilliant girl. I still remember it so vividly — the day I first held you, already announcing yourself to the world as you cried in my arms. Oh, how long I had waited for you, wished for by your father for decades, and loved well before you were born. It is among my greatest privileges to be your father, to have held your hand through both your tears and your joys. I keep you and our family close to my heart, full and bursting at the seams. I have lived a long, full life, enriched by your presence. Forgive your dear father's sentimentality when you open this box. I love you and I am so very proud of the brilliant woman you have become — but you will always be the babe in my arms, tiny hand grasping my fingers, and laughing at the wisps. With love, Your father

Nell swallowed heavily, lips pressed into a frown to keep it from wobbling. She folded the letter, placing it next to the wooden box. Manfred only sat next to her, his shoulder to hers, the weight of it comforting. He did not say a word and neither did mama, no questions on what was written, just patiently waiting for her next move.

Blinking away tears she didn't realize she still had, she took the box and placed it in front of her and Manfred. She opened it without ceremony.

Nestled inside were neatly arranged papers, trinkets of all kinds, dried flowers, shiny pebbles, shards of nug bones, and, finally, a golden locket, smaller than her palm. She picked that up first, eyes drawn to the gold and fine filigree, though worn from age.

She found the clasp and it sprung open easily. On one side — a lock of dark hair, stuck to the frame with some sort of sticking charm. On the other side — a small, almost faded portrait of a sleeping baby. The brush strokes were tiny but masterful, capturing even the miniscule eyelashes against the child's cheeks, and the fine little fingernails on tiny hands next to dark hair.

Mama spoke then, softly, “Emmrich hated throwing away anything you gave him. Drawings, wildflowers, pretty rocks — he considered them all gifts.” Nell could hear the sad smile that must be on her face. Mama continued, “And the locket… I'd wondered where it had gone the last few months.”

“It's you,” Manfred hissed to Nell. “I remember this.”

Mama nodded. “Yes. Your first haircut — he kept a lock of it, and then commissioned both the locket and the portrait.”

Nell sniffed, and Manfred pressed his skull to her shoulder.

They spent a few more hours going through the box, memories of a father's love spilling through the edges.

[serensama]

Writing Challenge Weekend

Thank you @thedissonantverses for always being such a dang peach! This was just what I needed to detox from my last piece and get me ready for the next!!!

I chose the following prompt for a quick write about the darling Bellara Lutara ❤️

"But with all my education I can't seem to command it."

A picture of Lil Bell for effect, thanks @turnbaseddave

(I wrote this on my phone and I did not review anything, no edits, we die like men)

———

A loud crash caught Rook off guard, with only a couple of them left at the Lighthouse, she hadn’t expected for there to be such a commotion without Taash running around after Assan, or Emmrich chasing after Manfred who had learned how to summon actual fire. Lucanis had gone ahead of her to get his apartment ready for them to move into and Neve had been called back to Minrathous by the Threads for an urgent matter. The regular sounds of life around the Lighthouse had diminished into silence almost overnight. Rook ran out to the courtyard to investigate the noise, reminding herself that the gods were gone and that they weren’t under attack. She hoped.

A wave of relief washed over her when she saw it had been Bellara clamouring about, only to be replaced by a sense of dread when she realised it was Bellara clamouring about. She was by no means shy or meek, especially around their team, but she was never one to throw her belongings out of her door and into the yard in a fit of anger- the caretaker diligently retrieving any items that fell off the ledge.

Rook dodged a tome about astral projection or projecting atoms or something- the title flashed by her eyes too quickly- and dashed into Bellara’s room, hoping to escape a concussion from her unintentional aerial assault. The girl had wicked aim even when she wasn’t aiming. Rook called out to her but she was too far gone, screaming and crying in such rapid broken Elvhen and Common, it was hard for her to keep up with what she was saying.

“BELLARA!” Rook screamed, startling the her into stopping. “Bell! What is… who… are you okay?!”

Bellara stood in the centre of her room, panting heavily and her shoulders hunched forward. She sniffed and wiped the tears that marred her face on the back of her glove, succumbing to more as the silence dragged on.

“Bellara, take your time. Tell me what’s wrong, you know I’m here to help you.”

The veil jumper made a sound at the back of her throat and nodded sadly, doing her best to smile reassuringly to her friend, the thin watery offering looking more like a wince than anything close to being ‘okay’, let alone ‘happy’.

“I’m.. I’m fine, Rook. Thanks.”

Rook sighed softly and sat on Bellara’s green chaise until her friend was ready to talk. She looked around her normally well organised room and found it littered with loose papers, random tools and pieces of half finished artifacts she had been working on. Whatever was happening to her, it was serious. Bellara never let two active projects too close to each other in case their parts were accidentally interchanged, she would never allow such a breach in her own protocols unless she was going through something earth shattering.

“Is… is it about Cyrian?”

Bellara shook her head and sniffed again, trying to stabilise her hiccups. “No, it’s fine Rook. You have so much on your plate as it is, the last thing you need to do is-“

“-The last thing I need to do, is be a bad friend after all we’ve been through. Talk to me Bell. Big. Small. Normal. Weird. I’m here for it all,” she grinned, hoping to brighten up her spirits.

“It’s… you see the thing is… and then I… the real issue here is… oooooh, I can’t even get my thoughts right to tell you!” she groaned, crumpling her shirt collar in frustration. “Okay. It’s fine. Breathe, Bellara. Breathe.”

Rook smiled at her kindly and continued to wait. She knew that Bellara would be able to tell her what bothered her if given enough time and patience.

Bellara paced the room for a few minutes, her body slowly releasing the tension held in her muscles as she allowed herself the grace to find her words. She pushed away her journal and other notes from her desk and perched herself on it, her leg bouncing upon her stool unconsciously.

“I’ve thought about it. Over and over. Did my due diligence and wrote down what I observed. I tried to pick it apart and put it back together, a hundred, no- a thousand ways! I even asked the Nadas Dirthalen and it wasn’t able to help. It’s just another problem that I can’t work out!” she cried, her eyes welling up with tears as her nose started to redden. If she weren’t in such distress, Rook would have squealed at how adorable her friend was. "I’ve disciplined myself. Put limitations on what I could and could not do to see if I could change it, then I stopped that to see if it made any difference- but nothing Rook! No changes! No understanding! I’ve done everything I could viably do, but it still won’t listen to me!”

“What? The Nadas Dirthalen?” Rook asked, confused as she thought she had the archive spirit figured out for the most part, even if it was a sassy little shit half the time.

Bellara frowned and waved her hand. “No, not that. This is much worse. I even asked Emmrich and Neve what to do but they said it was up to me to work it out, but I can’t Rook! That’s the problem! I’m tearing my hair out trying to figure it out so I can handle this on my own, but I can’t! I’ve read everything I could get my hands on, spoken to experts and in my desperation, I prayed for anyone to grant me the knowledge I needed. But with all my education I can't seem to command it."

Rook stared at her friend, completely lost.

“Uh… sure. But um- handle what? Command what, exactly?”

Bellara’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped as she realised that she hadn’t actually explained it properly. She cleared her throat and felt her face flush from her embarrassment, she had been talking a mile a minute again.

“Right. Right. I uh… my heart.”

Rook blinked and paused for a minute, to ensure she heard correctly. Her- heart? Did Bellara have a crush on someone?!

“Ooh! Don’t look at me like that!” Bellara whined, reddening further, playing with the hem of her skirt to avoid looking at Rook. “I just… I can’t help it. I didn’t mean to feel this way-”

“We rarely do, Bell.”

“And I don’t want to cause trouble or make things difficult-”

“Bell, you never do that-”

“I just know that he plans to go travelling and do some really amazing things, but I can’t go just yet, Strife would kill me, and it would be selfish for me to say anything to him and burden him with my feelings and force him to stay if he feels the same - that will mean his dreams will be on hold, Rook, that’s not fair!- but if he doesn’t feel similarly and nothing is going to come about anyways then is there any point in me discussing this with him and-”

“Wa-hey! Slow down there Bellara! Remember. Breathe.”

“Right. Breathe. Gotcha. I can do that. That I can command. Breathing. That’s what I’m doing. Breathing. Cool.”

Rook shook her head in disbelief at the flustered elf, always everyone’s biggest cheerleader when it came to their love lives but oh so anxious when it came to her own. “Bell. Do you… do you like, Davrin?”

She wrung her hands together, jingling the cuff on her wrist. “No! No, of course not! Don’t be ridiculous, it would be preposterous for me to like him. He’s so calm, assured, confident, kind and wonderful. He’s always able to talk me down and listen to me, even when others have long stopped listening to me. Even if he doesn’t always understand what I’m talking about or agree or get as excited as me- he’s always there and listening and being more amazing than I deserve. So no? No. I don’t like him. Wait. No. I do like him. Just not like like him.”

A large grin spread across Rook’s face as she looked upon her friend, understanding dawning on her even as the other elf fidgeted nervously under her gaze.

“Yeah, totally. You don’t like him. Or even like like him. Bellara, you’re in love with him.”

Bellara let out a yelp before hiding her face within her hands, feet stamping on the stool with frustration at herself. She peered out from between her fingers, clear cognac eyes saying everything she needed to say to Rook, without uttering a word.

“Bell, you are wonderful and you need to tell him and give him the benefit of the doubt. He’s your friend first- remember? He will never think your feelings are a burden, even if he doesn’t feel the same way.”

Bellara nodded, knowing that she was probably right. The math was always in Rook’s favour when it came to understanding their little rag tag team. She had been right about her and Cyrian, after all.

“I’m right here for you Bell, always. And Neve will be back by dinner and between us three, we will have you ready to confess to our resident warden in no time! But I need to know… when did you start feeling this way?”

A soft giggle escaped Bellara’s lips as she bounced on the spot, her quill rolling off the table from the abrupt movement. “Okay- so you know how we’ve been going to Arlathan a lot since the gryphons found their home with Uncle Eldrin? Well, we got to talking and…”

Rook watched on as her friend excitedly spoke, the kind elf flushing and biting her lip whenever her giddiness overflowed. She chuckled, shaking her head at her sweet cluelessness. Her heart never had to be commanded, it just wanted to be listened to, and it would be able to speak freely, always knowing the right words.

Just like Bellara. Luckily for her, Davrin was an excellent listener.

[mercars-musings]

OC Tag Game - Az "Rook" Mercar!

Aaa thankies for the tag as always @hyperions-light !! :3💖

No Pressure Tags will be at the end of the post! Answers under the Cut as per usual :3 💖

Astaarit "Az" Mercar

General:

Name: Astaarit Mercar. Alias: Az or Rook ; unless you're Emmrich then any cute lil pet name :3 ; Taash & Davrin also kind of get to call him whatever they want as long as it's funny lmfao. It's like sibling / bestie privileges. Gender: Trans Man Age: Start of VG: 27 // End of VG: 34. Place of Birth: Unknown, raised in a smallish town near Dock Town though. Spoken Languages: Qunlat, Tevene & Common / Trade Tongue. Sexual Orientation: Pansexual. Occupation: Devoted Shadow Dragon, Varric's Semi-Body Guard & {unbeknownst to Az} mentee, very anxious but trying his best leader of the Veilguard.

Favorites:

Color: Lavender / Red. Entertainment: Awful romance novels, annoying Davrin & Taash {that counts right?}, rock paper scissors with Manfred and generally just bothering Emmrich whenever he can lmfao. Pastime: Reading {particularly awful romance novels}, hiding out in Arlathan forest, reading to Assan & Manfred. Food: Tevene Stuffed Vine Leaves & Saheron Fish Pockets. Drink: Lavender Tea. Books: He doesn't have a particular favourite tbh, but it's probably whatever trashy romance he and Bellara are currently reading and comparing notes on at the time lmfao.

Have They…:

Passed University: Ummm, he completed circle training? Does that count? Had Sex: Yes, many more times that he'd like to admit. He had a littttle bit of a whore phase between his awful Ex & Emmrich. Only Tarquin knows the actual count bc he was there for part of the whore phase lmfao. Had Sex in Public: No, he's too much of a home body to want to spend ANY time outside nevermind doing that. Gotten Tattoos: YES. Many, full sleeves & wants more every time. He's trying to convince Emmrich to get a matching set for funsies too :3 Gotten Piercings: Nope. He did want them at one point, but trying to survive as a non Human in the Circle was ROUGH and he opted not to draw more attention to himself than he had to. Then when he joined the Shadow Dragons he realised it's probably best not to have too things enemies can grab onto if he can help it lmao. Gotten Scars: YUP. Facial & body. Man has been in enough fights even before the events of Veilguard that it would be wild if he didn't have at least some! Had a Broken Heart: Sadly, yes. I'll be going more into this in the fanfic going over his younger years but it was Ren {the Magisters son / best friend} from the circle who fucked my boy up exponentially in the romance department. You can read about Ren Here & Here! Been in Love: Yup, Twice. First Ren, second time Emmrich.

Are They…:

A Cuddler: Nope. Unless you're Emmrich, Assan or Manfred. He will give hugs to everyone but he is not the biggest when it comes to physical affection outside of that. Scared Easily: YES. This bitch has ANXIETY, like out the wazoo. He's constantly panicked, just hides it behind jokes lmfao. Jealous Easily: Unfortunately, yes. He's so used to people using him atp that it's kind of instinctual for him to assume the worst. He is working on that though, and luckily for him Emmrich is very clear with his affection once they get together. :3 Trustworthy: Yup, UNLESS your a magister, venitori OR YOUR BITCH ASS IS NAMED SOLA- anyway. He will do his best to keep his promises & make sure he keeps his friends and loved ones safe. Whatever it takes.

Family:

Siblings: No biological ones. Taash & Davrin for sure though. Parents: Dead, unfortunately. They died before they or Az could ever reconcile and that will eat him alive for the rest of his life if he ever spends too much time thinking about it. Children: NOPE. He and Emmrich are a liiiiiittle too married to their work and also have their hands full enough with raising Manfred and Hissera lmfao. Pets: HISSERA MY BELOVED!!!! Aka. The Dock Town Doggo barking outside of her cage! You can read HERE about how Az coaxed & then subsequently yoinked her to live with him & Emmrich once the events of Veilguard are over :3

Thankies for anyone who took the time to read this!!! :3 💖

No pressure taggies to the faves: @sunny374940 ; @andthekitchensinkao3 ; @ofcrowsanddragons ; @redheadsramblings ; @anderfels & honestly anyone else who sees this and wants in on it! 💖

[aceof-stars]

Manfred von Karma!

Thank you for the ask <3 (to every else who sent me a character ask, I'm working on it :)

First impression

I actually never hated him or had strong feelings about him. I was introduced to AA through narumitsu fanfic but I knew I wanted to play the games so I avoided everything with spoilers, including everything Manfred. I guess I just thought of him vaguely as a villain and Miles' mentor/father figure.

Impression now

He's one of my favorite Ace Attorney characters. I have him at 4th but honestly, maybe he's 3rd now?? I have developed an attachment to this ridiculous evil man. I love him so much. I wish there was more canon content of him, but I think he's an interesting character with a lot of room for nuance.

Favorite moment

He doesn't really have many canon moments (and I haven't played AAI). But probably when he gloated Phoenix into cross-examining Polly the parrot and it's implied that he witness-coached a parrot. Manfred, you are an insane person.

Idea for a story

I just want to see a story where Manfred is force-fed a redemption arc. Like for example a no DL-6 AU where Gregory manages to get a Manfred properly investigated for forging evidence. But to ensure he doesn't get another penalty, Manfred tries to frame another prosecutor to throw Gregory off his trail.

Only, Manfred finds out that the person he is framing is actually guilty of forging evidence. Manfred has to follow through with his plan and gets dragged into working with Gregory. Gregory is surprised but grateful that Manfred has been so helpful in weeding out corruption in the prosecutor's office, and wants to befriend/ally with Manfred. Manfred is seething with hatred. (Oh and eventual Shingou :)

Unpopular opinion

Manfred as a character deserves a lot more nuance. There's... a lot to talk about but these are the three main things I have a strong opinion on:

1) He was a flawed parent and I think it's more interesting to explore those flaws than to just label him abusive for the sake of villainizing him.

2) It does not makes sense for Manfred to be sexist/homophobic/etc. Simply because I don't think he cares enough to hate a group of people like that. He is very rational, efficient, and his perfectionism is focused on his prosecuting career. If anything, he discriminates against defense attorneys (lmao).

3) Manfred didn't brainwash or force Miles into becoming a prosecutor. I'm sure Manfred was influential but Miles had his own reason to be a prosecutor that stemmed from DL-6. Miles was also always a perfectionist (the paper cranes thing) and the von Karma family brand of perfectionism just amplified it.

Favorite relationship

Shingou!! <3 (Gregory Edgeworth/Manfred von Karma)

Defense attorney/prosecutor ship, toxic enemies to lovers, doomed romance, or super slowburn (if no DL-6 AU), bitter courtroom rivals turned bickering old married couple (who still duke it out in court), co-parenting Miles and Franziska (before officially getting together).

Favorite headcanon

Manfred did love Franziska and Miles (in his own way). Regarding Miles, Manfred saw him as a symbol of his failures (the penalty Gregory gave him and the shot in his shoulder). So Manfred struggled a lot when he began to actually care about Miles. When Miles's perfect record was broken, Manfred saw it as a threat to his own perfection. (I hope that makes sense. I do need to think about this more to solidify the headcanon. I just love complicated von Karma family dynamics)

[queenmuzz]

Zea Ingellvar’s Codex

Based off this prompt. I will attempt to put one out each day IT'S THE FINAL ONE!

30. A note/letter that Rook never sent

(Letter recently discovered among Lady Ingellvar’s papers.  Still sealed.  Lady Ingellvar reluctantly allowed it to be unsealed and read by her guardian, several decades after it was written)

Vorgoth,

If you’re receiving this letter, I’m sorry.  Right now, as I'm writing this, it’s late at night, Emmrich is sleeping,  Manfred is  gone on a multi day expedition with his classmates into the Necropolis depths, and it’s two more weeks before I’m expected to give birth.  I know that I’m going to have the best care when delivering this child, and that my pregnancy has been quite normal (aside from the weird cravings.  Why am I craving meat, of all foods?) but I’m under no illusion of how dangerous childbirth can be.  So, as a proper Mourn Watcher, I’m getting my affairs in order. So this means writing these letters when Emmrich is indisposed, as these sort of matters always seem to upset him. I know I told Emmrich that there would be no more worries or fears that we’d keep from each other, but frankly, I’m not actually fearful of dying.  

That’s not to say I’m at peace with it.  I’ve survived the War of the Banners, Solas’s ritual, several dragons and Archdemons, two would be Gods, a prison intended for said would be gods, and the Dread Wolf himself.  To die while giving birth, after all that I’ve been through, it feels so tragic.  I won’t be able to raise my child, they’ll never truly know how much I love them.  Emmrich will undoubtedly blame himself, although it’s not his fault.  I’ve written a rather long letter explaining to him about the matter, to live for me, to live for our child.  Still, Emmrich’s soul is a gentle, fragile thing, and I need you to support him, as best you can.  He will need as much help as you can spare.

I never got to say this in life, so this letter will have to do.  Thank you, Vorgoth.  Thank you for being there all those years ago, finding that little abandoned infant in the crypts.  Raising said infant, despite the trouble she would constantly get into.  Watching her grow up, encouraging her independence.  

Maker, I would even thank you for persuading the council to exile me after the War of the Banners incident.  At the time, I was furious with you and Myrna.  How dare you send me away from the only home I had ever known!?  How dare you deny me a swift and early death?  Oh, I was beyond livid.  I thought you hated me.

Turns out, I was wrong.  Wrong about you hating me, of course.  But also about being exiled.  Had it not happened, I would never have experienced the wide world out there, met so many cultures, people, perspectives.  I, of course, would not have been able to save Thedas.  No doubt someone more capable would have taken the job and done it better.  But without with my exile, I would have never met Emmrich, never fallen in love with him.  Never got married.  Never had a child.  So… in a way, by sending me away to avoid my death, I was still destined to die.  Kinda funny, in a morbid tragic play way.  At least in this way, the life I left behind was far more richer, more vibrant, and I myself left a larger impact on the world.

Again, please look after Emmrich for me.  Look after my child, like you did for me, and I will be eternally grateful.  

Your Eternal Ward,

Zea Ingellvar-Volkarin

(P.S.  If it's a girl, do NOT let Emmrich name her after me.  He’d probably think he was honouring my memory, but I know it would hurt him beyond measure.  His mother’s name would be delightful, but I would like her to be named Selphina.)

[sunny374940]

I will be waiting with open arms pt.2

So now that we've all had a good cry, I am bringing you the hastily assembled second part, because I am a sucker for happy endings. (They do meet in the afterlife, because I can't make them stay apart).

Cw: Rook dies (but he's eighty four now, so we can forgive him, I guess)

For those who missed it and want to be sad, here is part one, wherein Rook receives a letter from Emmrich after his death. And part three is up as well.

Ao3 link to second chapter here

Customary other stories link here.

The illness had been long and brutal, ravaging Rook's body until not much but skin and bone remained. He was so tired of it and he fiercely envied Emmrich, who had died peacefully in his sleep twelve years ago.

Rook woke up one beautiful autumn morning and there he was, cold and still, lying in bed next to him and Rook just wanted to curl up and die right there. But he couldn't, his family was still there for him and he made his peace with Emmrich's death in time.

He had spent every day of those twelve years missing him, but there was joy in his life too, a great lot of it. He got to watch Rupert grow into a fine young man, he was there for his wedding (and his husband was such a kind soul and such a cheeky little bastard, he reminded him of Davrin a lot). And just two years ago they adopted a beautiful little girl and he had a great-grandchild! Sophia was three now and he simply adored her and he supposed she liked him as well, if her repeated begging for stories of their adventures was anything to go by.

He kept Emmrich's last letter in his desk, taking it out occasionally to take comfort in his words. The paper became brittle with time and Ellie had found him crying over it on the fifth anniversary of Emmrich's death, because the paper finally tore at a corner and it terrified him to lose this for good. She commissioned a frame with a glass panel at the front and secured the letter there, hanging it up in Emmrich's former study. He cried over it again when she showed him.

Manfred was ever by his side, helping him through the bouts of pain, through the horrible dirty bits of sickness, never complaining, always ready with a joke or a comforting word when the world was nothing but terror in the dead of night. He had become so much more than the wisp he was when Rook first met him, growing into his own personality (and some of Rook must have rubbed off onto him, given the incessant puns) and he was a trusted friend, beloved by his family. Manfred’s care allowed him to live out his last days at home, spending most of them in his and Emmrich's bed, now that he was too weak to move.

But Rook had had enough. It had been months since he fell ill and he knew there was no coming back from this. He just wanted to rest, it was getting so hard to breathe.

Ellie was coming in, just like she had done every morning for those past months and he smiled weakly at her. His daughter was a grandmother now, but it felt like yesterday when he brought her home for the first time. Emmrich was so scared of becoming a parent back then, but they did good by her and she grew into an amazing woman. She looked at him and he knew that she saw the end as well as he did. She sat down on the bed next to him and took his hand and he hated how skeletal the hand looked, how fragile it was.

“I'm sorry, little bug, I can't take it anymore,” he whispered to her.

“It's alright dad, I know. You can go now, you've been brave enough.”

“I love you, Ellie.”

“I love you too,” she said, and she was sobbing and he wanted to comfort her, but he was just so weak… He allowed his eyes to finally close and surrendered to the soft beckoning dark.

There was a bright light burning through his eyelids and he opened his eyes, blinking muzzily in the sunlight. There was no pain and when he raised a hand up to shield his eyes, there weren't any of the liver spots that had made their home on his skin so long ago. Gone was the horrible thinness of being ill. The last time his hands looked like this was what, forty years ago? When he was young and had a baby daughter and was getting married.

He was lying on his back in the grass and where the hell was he? Where was Ellie? He sat up to look around and then he saw him standing there.

“Emmrich?”

He looked just like he did on the day of their wedding, eyes shining with joy.

“I did tell you I would wait for you, darling.”

Rook launched himself up to embrace him, knocking him off his feet and into the grass. Emmrich was laughing in delight and Rook was kissing him, laughing into the kisses and he thought his heart would burst with joy.

“I missed you so much!”

“I missed you too, dearest. I'm sorry I had to leave you.”

Emmrich sat up and Rook took his customary place in his lap. He'd missed his touch, his voice, missed talking to him so much and now he finally had it all back.

“You have a great-granddaughter now, did you know?” Rook said, because he just had to share the news of the latest addition to their family.

“I hear the words of those who come to visit my grave, so I do have some inkling, but tell me everything!”

“Wait, does that mean you heard me yelling at you for dying?”

“Yes, darling, I heard you and I was very sorry I couldn't respond. And I also heard all the complaining about the wedding plans of young Rupert.”

“They wanted to elope!” Rook grumbled. The possibility of not being present at his grandson's wedding was annoying him still.

“I believe you didn't allow them to,” Emmrich chuckled.

“You bet I didn't! I am - was - the oldest member of the family and they had to listen to me.”

Emmrich chuckled and kissed him again, running a hand through his hair. Rook leaned into the touch, purring softly to himself and Emmrich brightened even more upon hearing him.

“I've missed this sound so much, my dear.”

“Yeah? You're gonna be hearing it a lot now, ‘cause I'm so happy I'm with you and I love you so fucking much-”

Emmrich drew him in for another kiss, making Rook purr even louder. They parted after what felt like an eternity and just stayed there, gazing into each other's eyes.

“I love you too, darling, now and forever.”

[lizardsquisher]

The Pirate and the Professor

Chapter Fifteen: That Sinking Feeling

Emmrich was always conscious of the possibility of Rook’s demise. Wherever she went, she made friends and enemies in equal measure. Which side felt more passionately about her was hard to say. The fact that the latter had armies and dragons was less than ideal.

Emmrich took comfort in the fact that his beloved seemed to have as many lives as the cats she adored. She had a golden luck, a glowing charm that made her seem unconquerable. They wrote ballads about folk like her for a reason.

But he could not help but fret on days when she ventured forth without him, leaving him tucked away in his tower to research. She always knew. Raising her hand to show him the ruby ring on her finger, she’d say, “It’s all right, sweet man. I’ve got my good luck charm. How can I lose?”

That did not quite quell his anxiety. But when she was home, he found such bliss in her company that his concerns were promptly forgotten.

One evening, they lay in a pile of loose, satisfied limbs in his bed after a vigorous round of “experimentation.” For a moment, it had verged on a more significant endeavor. Then Manfred had interrupted. Thank the Maker Emmrich had finally impressed upon him the importance of knocking. At least they’d had time to make themselves decent.

Emmrich’s disappointment at the intrusion had quickly given way to fondness. Neve had gifted Manfred one of her old hats. It perched improbably on the side of his skull, the dangling turquoise tassels swishing with every turn of his head. Emmrich and Rook had crooned over how handsome he looked. When Manfred was satisfied with their adoration, he had wandered off to play rock-paper-scissors with Taash.

Afterward, they were both too tired to “resume the festivities,” as Rook put it. So, they dozed.

Nestled in his arms, she murmured, “I promised to help Bellara stop her brother from performing Anaris’ ritual. You should come with us.”

“I’m so close to a breakthrough with the dagger, darling. I worry that if I leave it too long, the moment when a replica might’ve helped will have passed.” He brushed a lock of hair away from her face. It bounced back as if possessed of a will of its own. He let it twine around his finger like a band of flame.

“You’re pushing yourself too hard. You can afford to come up for air. And Bellara looks up to you. It’ll steady her, having you along.” He felt her smile against his collarbone. “Besides, who’ll play with my hair if you don’t go?”

“I do miss our adventures.” He let her curl slip free, gliding his fingers along the impossibly soft skin of her shoulder. “And you. I don’t like being parted from you.”

“I don’t much like missing your company myself.”

“Then tomorrow, you shan’t, dearest.”

Maybe she heard him. Maybe she didn’t. By the time he drew breath to inquire, she was snoring gently against his skin.

#

The next day, Rook died.

Read more at the link below.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61873225/chapters/164060431

[hyperions-light]

For the codex entry prompt 16 and if it’s already been answered 26!

Very fun, thanks for asking! Will probably go ahead and do 26, in a bit, as well! [Codex prompt list] 2, 16, 17, 21 asked/answered! (My canon for Leth is Neve/Rook/Lucanis, but this is not long enough after the game that they’ve gotten their shit together yet lol)

Lucanis,

Is asking about the weather a rich people thing? Viago always starts his letters to important people with that, too. The weather is terrible. It’s the middle of summer in the swamplands, what did you expect? (I refuse to ask about how it is in Treviso; we both know it’s raining.)

The swatches for the fourth sitting room you sent both look exactly the same. (Still don’t understand why you need more than one. How many people can possibly need to be sitting at the same time?) I didn’t even know ‘ecru’ was a color. You’re on your own, there.

If you were trying to get me to say I miss you, you only had to ask: I miss you. And your coffee and your handmade blankets and your crow skull cuff links. And the way you look at me when you think I’m being ridiculous (often). And your desserts, and how you insist we visit that specific fishmonger, and how excited you get when you talk about wyverns. Other things, too, but there’s only so much paper out here.

I keep telling you, you just need to talk to Illario. Viago and Teia both said they weren’t going to get in the middle of your problems this time, and I’m pretty sure they meant it. If you can’t, ask Spite to teleport you into his brain, or something. (Or wait until I get back. We’ll figure it out. Do NOT ask your grandmother, Maker’s sake. I know you love her but she definitely would not help with this situation.)

The job is going well. Would be easier if he hadn’t decided to flee across this fucking swamp. Tempted to poison him in retaliation, but honestly I’d just like to be finished.

Bringing back spices for you, collected serials for Bel (let her read them first, she’s been waiting), ironbark for Davrin, funerary urn for Emmrich and some weirdly magical rocks for Spite to play with. Still looking for presents for Neve, Taash & Manfred (have something in mind for Assan, already). Would appreciate your input?

Going to see if I can stop and visit my clan on the way back. Need more vallaslin ink. Ask Bellara and Davrin if they need anything they can’t get in the city or Arlathan, please.

Answer a question for me? Your right hand has a scar on the back of it— small one, sort of curved. Is it between the third and fourth knuckles, or the fourth and fifth? I can’t remember, and it’s messing up my sketches.

You will probably have sent five more letters by the time you get this one, but hopefully the length makes up for it.

I miss you. And Spite. Home soon— promise.

Yours,

L. de Riva

[hot-mess-choices]

Davrin: So, how do the Shadow Dragons operate exactly?

Rook: What do you mean?

Davrin: Who are their leaders? Who decides what jobs you take?

Rook: Hm… doesn’t work like that.

Davrin: Then how?

Rook: We help the people who need our help.

Davrin: But how do they contact you? What do you… ugh, you know what, forget about it.

~~~

Bellara: What’s it like living in Minrathous? It must be exciting to be in a city with that much magic all the time.

Rook: If you’re a wealthy mage, sure, as an elf born into slavery, not so much.

Bellara: Mythal'enaste, I am so sor-

Rook: I’m messing with you. Minrathous is pretty great. You know, if you don’t think too hard about the corruption and the blood magic.

Bellara: … are you still joking.

Rook: Eh, mostly.

~~~

Neve: So, how do you know Ashur?

Rook: Oh we go way back, freed me when I was a slave, noticed I was good with a knife, did the whole mentor thing.

Neve: Really? The Viper going soft on a little elven girl?

Rook: Oh he never went soft on me, he just reluctantly accepted that he was stuck with me. Says I have that charm where I grow on people like a cyst.

Neve: That does sound a lot more like him.

~~~

Lucanis: Rook, about the spices you asked for…

Rook: The peppers? What about them?

Lucanis: Are you sure they are safe to eat? When I asked Viago to look for them at the market he said that he usually only buys them for one of his poisons.

Rook: Huh, I thought they were just an acquired taste…

Lucanis: Mierda…

~~~

Harding: My mom sent you her regards in her last letter.

Rook: Aww, thanks, how’s she doing.

Harding: You know her, always an optimist.

Rook: We need more of those. And more of her cookies. And I have a bunch of clothes that need mending when we visit her again.

Harding: Hey, is she my mom or yours?

Rook: It’s not my fault. She’s really good at mothering.

~~~

Davrin: So the Shadow Dragons work with some of the Magisters?

Rook: No. Some of the Magisters work with the Shadow Dragons.

Davrin: Isn’t that the same thing?

Rook: It’s not.

Davrin: sigh… I hate Tevinter politics

Rook: Now you’re getting it!

~~~

Rook: Neve, I’ve been thinking, do you run background checks on your clients?

Neve: It would be a pretty big risk not to.

Rook: So when you first worked with the Viper-

Neve: Absolutely not!

Rook: You don’t even know what I was gonna ask!

Neve: I am not giving you dirt on Ashur.

Rook: Spoilsport.

~~~

Emmrich: Rook, without wanting to sound accusatory… did you teach Manfred how to ahem flip the bird?

Rook: … it was an accident

Emmrich: An accident?

Rook: He kept beating me in rock, paper, scissors… I’m sorry

~~~

Taash: I know it’s you.

Rook: Hm?

Taash: You keep giving Assan those extra truffles, I can smell them in your pockets.

Rook: … please don’t tell Davrin?

Taash: Hmm…

Rook: I can put in a good word for you with Harding!

Taash: Hmm…

Rook: And do the dishes for a week?

Taash: Two weeks.

Rook: Deal!

~~~

Rook: I’m sorry about the Stew again, I didn’t think it would end up that spicy.

Emmrich: It’s my own fault really, I should have been suspicious when Taash was the only one eating it.

Rook: And sorry about finishing all the milk earlier that day…

Emmrich: Yes, that was rather unfortunate.

~~~

Rook: Hey Lucanis, any idea why Spite keeps bringing all the forks to my room?

Lucanis: Forks? I don’t-

Spite: Eat fish. Vints like it. Neve does!

Rook: Aw, that’s actually sweet, I think.

[hydrangeapartridge]

The Last Day of a Condemned Woman (Veilguard Female Rook/Emmrich)

Beware spoilers for Emmrich's quest line.

Okay so I wrote a little something thinking about the day Johanna would receive her punishment and Emmrich and Rook would have to say goodbye to her. Set after the events of the game.

It's a bit sad but also domestic Rook and Emmrich!

Enjoy!

«Darling, have you seen my collar pin ? » Emmrich’s strained voice was heard from the bedroom, distant noises of his shuffling around reaching Rook’s ears.

« I believe it would be in the box where you always put it away, on the nighstand ? » She replied from the living room.

« I already searched there an it wasn- » Emmrich started before he interrupted himself, then grumbled something intelligible. « Nevermind, I found it ! » He told her from afar.

Rook chuckled to herself. Emmrich was obviously stressed. It was unusual for him to misplace his belongings. He was a very organized and tidy man ; except for the eventual stray papers and books that could litter his desk when he was really engrossed in his studies. So much so that when Rook moved in with him, she didn’t quite feel at home in the space that he had inhabited alone for years. But that was ancient history. Now his cosy but spacious residence in Nevarra was their home. And Manfred’s of course.

Emmrich was stressed but he had reasons to be. Today was a big day.

« Urgh, now he has memory impairement.. I cannot fathom how you decided to attach yourself to that senile sentimental you call ‘husband’ » Johanna’s voice echoed from her skull under the glass container that Rook carried her in.

Husband. That notion was familiar too now. It had been a few years already since Rook and Emmrich exchanged vows, first alone in the intimacyof the Necropolis’ garden where they first kissed, with Shroud’s Kiss flowers in her hands and hair, and then in style with the people they loved in the beautiful scenary of her native Arlathann.

Rook sighed at Johanna’s usual bickering but didn’t grace her with a reply. That onlt served to irritate the undead more.

« I heard you again last night you know ! How that decrepit weakling can go at it like that without breaking his osteoporotic bones is beyond me ! »

It wasn’t the first time Johanna said something crass of the sort, yet Rook still blushed, remembering the events of the previous night. What started with her gently holding her troubled husband turned into less chaste activities to keep his mind off things when he got frustrated that he couldn’t find sleep.

It was a delightfuly tender moment, and a good way to then spend a good night. But Rook didn’t really want to share that with a half-liche power hungry necromancer.

« Jealous Johanna ? » Rook grinned, regaining her composure and usual cockiness. « You won’t be getting any anytime soon I fear »

Johanna only huffed indignantly.

After a beat of silence, Rook asked more gently. « So, ready for the big day ? »

« You mean the day I finally get to leave that sickenly sweet home of yours ? » Johanna scoffed again.

Rook was used to her antics, that old lady didn’t know how to express herself in any other way.

« At least my ordeal will end there » Johanna dramatically added.

Those Necromancers really had a thing for the dramatic.

The corners of Rook’s lips turned down. « It would be okay to be afraid you know » She said, lower this time.

« Afraid ?! Me ?! » Johanna of course was offended. « Unlike Volkarin I am not a coward »

She paused and the silence felt heavy in the room.

« I’ll face whatever will come, like I did everything else »  Her voice came from the skull, quieter this time.

Rook’s fingers ran over the glass of Johanna’s highly warded prison, almost synmpathetically. After a long trial, as well as years of researches and discussions, the Liche Masters of the Mourn Watch adjudicated the case of Johanna Hezenkoss, as well as the punishment for her crimes. And the day of judgement was this very one.

After a ritual in which Emmrich was to participate, Johanna’s soul would be cut from any contact with the fade, and then, all maimed and powerless, would be imprisonned in a forgotten dark corner of the Necropolis, guarded by spirits and warded by the most powerful of spells, for eternity. As a mage, Rook likened her fate to being made Tranquil. A fate worse than death, and a life of suffering for a soul that wouldn’t be complete anymore. It was a fate she wouldn’t have wished upon even such an ennemy.

Dear Emmrich in all his kindness and idealism voted against that cruel punishment, but he sadly wasn’t part of the decisive majority.

« I’ll miss you Johanna » Rook half jested half confessed.

All these years they had kept her, for it was Emmrich’s duty to watch her. When they could have put her away in an abandonned room, they chose to keep her in Emmrich’s study. Guarding her was a duty he took very seriously (like he always did with work), and which also allowed him to regularly converse with an old friend (on the rare occasions where said friend was in a good enough mood not to insult him). Johanna had been part of their lives since the Veilguard, and seeing her go was like turning a page over years of their shared lives.

If Rook felt nostalgic, she couldn’t begin to picture how Emmrich felt on this day. Given how long he took to get dressed, it must have been worse than she thought.

« Of course you’ll miss me » Johanna retorted « I’m the only interesting person in this house ! »

Rook didn’t pay attention to her and asked Manfred to go check on Emmrich.

- - -

If the Necropolis could sometimes feel warm, intimate and inviting, the room where they stood felt as cold as ice.

Emmrich stood before Rook in his elegant gold and black ceremony attire. The wrinkles at the corner of his eyes and of his lips were deeper than when they met, from age and from smiling so much since then. There was more white now than grey in his hair, but he still looked most dashing of all the necromancers present. However Rook could tell his posture was stiff and his shoulders tensed when he carefully took the glass container that held Johanna’s skull in his gloved hands.

« Thank you for accompanying me today darling » He whispered as not to disturb the ambiant calm.

« Of course. Wouldn’t want to miss Johanna’s retirement party » She joked to try and alleviate the heavy tension in the air.

« You know you won’t be able to attend dearest »Emmrich seriously replied. She knew that, he already told her so, but she let it slide. « And it’s best you don’t. The ritual might be… difficult to handle for unprepared souls»

Emmrich was frowning and Rook knew he wasn’t eager to participate in the curse Johanna would be put under. She wished she could support him further. She placed one hand over his and squeezed gently ; she couldn’t do much more.

« Let us get this over with » Vorgoth’s voice echoed behind them.

Emmrich let out a deep sigh and gave Rook an admitedly melancholic smile. « See you soon darling »

Rook waved and let out a casual « Bye Johanna » trying not to let emotion fill her. Her goodbye got no answer.

Manfred stepped beside her and watched Emmrich walk to the other necromancers, observing, curious as ever.

« Sad ? » He asked.

He kept surprising Rook everyday with how much he improved in magic, language, and these days even grasping human emotions, trying to understand them in his own way.

« Yeah. Saying goodbye is always a bit sad »

Manfred nodded with a contemplative whistling sound.

- - -

The group of mages performing the ritual was already in place. All Emmrich had to do now was open the large ornated doors of the grand auditorium and join them. This would be over soon and he would go back home with Rook and Manfred and forget about the horror of it all.

Taking another slow shaky breath to calm his nerves, he went for the door handle when a short call of « Volkarin ! » stopped him, making him jump in surprise.

He eyed down Johanna’s skull, blinking twice then clearing his throat to regain his composure. « What is it Johanna? Last words or requests maybe ? » He asked kindly, ready to listen to her like he would anyone on the verge of dying. She did terrible things in the past, but he still made it a point to respect the final wishes of a sentenced soul.

Johanna didn’t answer immediately, and Emmrich started wondering if she was stalling. But then her voice came out, low and softer, just how he remembered it from their shared years as students.

« Will you be there until the end of the ritual ? »

Emmrich’s gaze softened « I will » He promised.

A beat of silence. Then a voice from inside urging him.

« Be more strict with the wayward company you dare call a family would you ? » Johanna said when he reached for the door again. He stopped but before he could retort, she whispered her last words.

«  Live long, and live well, you impossible man »

- - -

Rook was tapping her foot nervously when the large doors of the auditorium finally opened. Waiting for Emmrich had felt like an eternity. She kept worrying something would go wrong. Johanna was full of surprises, and it wouldn’t have been past her to try and get out of her sentence with a few dirty tricks. She was relieved to see only calm necromancers exit the room, unharmed. Everything seemed to have gone right.

Now to see in what state of sorrow she would get her soft husband back.

Emmrich was the last to exit, stepping away from the group carrying the funeral urn in which the remains of what once was Johanna were trapped. He didn’t spare a word to anyone and rushed to rejoin with Rook. He stopped before her, looking down, inhaling deeply before he straightened up, repositionning his already perfectly adjusted collar.

« It is done » He told her, nodding his head solemnly.

When he looked up to meet Rook’s eyes, she saw how misty his warm brown gaze was. She tenderly raised a hand to cradle his cheek and gently wipped an unshed tear from the corner of his eye.

Emmrich leaned into the touch for a short moment of indulgence, then sniffed and cleared his throat, stepping back. « The ritual was messy ; old books, bones, dust everywhere... » He mumbled, keeping his crying in check with a rub of his gloved thumb under each eye. Of course he would blame it on allergies. He probably didn’t want the others to see how affected he was.

Watchers were supposed to be at peace with loss and accept it with detachment. Emmrich’s tender heart never quite achieved that, but to Rook, it only made him more human and more lovable.

Rook took his hand and slowly traced his pulsepoint with her thumb. « My dear husband, the love in your heart overflows it seems. » She smiled just for him. « Let’s get you home to a nice warm cup of tea »

« Home ! » Manfred chirped in, excited. « Tea and biscuits ! » He raised his arms in the air. « With sugar ! » He then added, mimicking the sugar clamp he loved so much with his hand. The spirit’s show of enthusiasm made Emmrich chuckle, the sound still a bit wet from his tears.

« Yes my dears. Let us go home »

[miles-wrightworth]

AA culprit AU (TW for mentions of blood and violent murder)

okay so buckle up

Phoenix: when Dahlia tried to poison him, he became interested in chemicals and toxins. he switched his major to chemistry and he now sells concoctions and poisons to anyone who is willing to pay.

he is a little bit insane. he has built up an immunity to poisons after accidentally drinking them and narrowly surviving every time (and cuz he works with toxins so much). at this point, he just tastes his poisons like soup like 'hmmm needs more acetone'

his hands shake and hes gone just a little crazy from the damage the poisons have done to him

he pretty much always has some sort of chemical stain or burn somewhere on him or his clothing.

edit: I'm thinkin' he's Mia's medical apprentice (she runs a hospital in this au)

Miles: Miles is what began this idea because i think he would be ten times hotter if he was a muderer. anyways-

dl6 still happens and everything is the same up to when Miles is about 15 years old and he finds out about mvk killing Gregory. he is pissed asf and apalled at the injustice of the whole situation and how corrupted mvks methods are. he feels the urge to kill him grow stronger every day.

he eventually does snap and plunge his pocket knife into mvk multiple times and gets away with it. Franziska is pissed because he murdered her dad but eventually comes to terms with the fact that Miles' crime has made the world an overall better place.

with no legal guardian, Miles and Fran are put in an orphanage and vibe there until Miles is 18. Fran learns how to make knives and Miles learns how to use them. Fran lives with Miles until she is 18 and moves out.

Miles is like 'hey. im good with knives, i despise injustice, and i have begun to like the sight of blood. i should put that to good use' and he becomes somewhat of a serial killer/vigilante

he picks targets carefully. corrupt people in the legal system, corrupt politicians, any shitty person he can find. he murders them brutally and due to the dl6 incident, he cant hold a gun without trembling, so his go-to method of killing is knives. he loves knives and he has a huge collection of fancy blades and throwing knives. he always leaves his victims crucified on the nearest wall with knives through their wrists pinning them there and bathes the room in their blood. thats how the cops know he did it.

the news dubs him the 'Crimson King' and Phoenix sees that in a newspaper and wants to see this guy for himself because he definitely recognizes that blurred pic the police took in the paper.

basically hes noble but extremely brutal and god thats kinda hot

Fran: Franziska is a bladesmith/black market arms dealer. Miles frequently visits her shop and he gets discounts on her wares. havent thought about her story a lot. Her relationship with Miles is strained after Manfred's murder and gets a bit better over the years.

Maya: Maya is a nurse at a nearby urgent care clinic. Phoenix frequently comes in begging her to help him but not tell anyone because he accidentally drank a lethal poison but nobody can know because its illegal to possess. also havent thought too much about her story.

added ideas: Klav is a drug dealer and Godot/Diego is a mafia boss

[tiger-shrike]

Pantomime, part 2

Emmrich delivers bad news. Amara has a proposal.

---

The Wintersend season was always quiet at the Grand Necropolis.  The autumn rites had long concluded, and aside from the usual trickle of mourners and beloved dead, there was very little to be done, the festival very much for the living.  The usual circuit of holiday parties had just drawn to a close, and the Necropolis had largely emptied out, most of the Watchers having taken a few days’ leave to spend with extended family.  For Emmrich, this part of the season was always a time of quiet melancholy; he had no close family of his own, instead spending the height of the celebrations tending to the duties of his absent fellows.

In the past few years, at least, Manfred had proven an excellent distraction.  While Emmrich was unsure if the spirit grasped the concept of a ‘holiday’, his ward delighted in the celebration, developing a particular fascination with the brightly-colored wrapping paper customarily used during Wintersend.  He had taken to helping Emmrich wrap gifts quite readily, although he still did have an unfortunate habit of making off with the paper if Emmrich’s attention drifted for too long.

Whatever usual chaos was absent from the rest of the Necropolis was instead pulled into a small radius around the mailroom.  Keeping track of the correspondence of the Watch was a daunting task at the best of times, but Agnes Oberhauser was drowning in it.  Stacks of letters and packages covered nearly every square foot of the room, labeled and bound neatly with string in an effort to enforce some kind of order on the deluge of mail that always accompanied the holidays.  Agnes was a tiny, bird-boned thing at the best of times, and Emmrich found himself wondering (a little hysterically) if she would be crushed should one of her carefully-constructed towers fall.

Link on AO3

[murdercommashewrote]

Dragon age: Veilguard spoilers below SOME MAJOR SPOILERS BELOW (I am saying what most have already said but kind of wanted to contribute.

Normally I don’t post about things like this, but this is common complaint in the community right now and I don’t have others to talk too because my friends don’t play games like these or at all, but I do enjoy the game a lot. I enjoy most do enjoy the story, I don’t find the complaint that’s it isn’t as dark as [insert game here] or the dialogue is too cheesy or bad [granted in spots it is and we will get to that later]. Sure it gets repetitive but I felt the same way about all dragon age: inquisition and about mass effect. When the story is this long it is bound to happen in my opinion. I find myself smiling at parts and really feeling the story and really getting serious about it. I have feelings of hope, guilt, and love. I see fragments of myself in these characters. Bellara is favorite and bestie. Taash is funny and I get the vibes. Seeing Harding again is great. Manfred and Assan are adorable and rock, paper, scissors is great. I just finally won :,). A lot to people may disagree and that is okay because everyone has different experiences and my experience or positive experience doesn’t discount someone who has had a terrible time/experience with the game and their opinions still need to be respected as well.

The addition of the inquisitor is nice; however, not being able to transfer your saves or choices is odd but it is what it is. Not my biggest grip with the game. I already assumed Varric died but was like oh well then I was like I KNEW IT (I spoiled myself). The plot twists are hard to figure out with Illario and such.

But I think my biggest thing is the romance. The writing. We all knew what happened and went wrong with what BioWare did to their writers and the people who are long-time professional in the field. It made me not want to buy the game and maybe I need to reflect on myself playing it and enjoying it.

But Lucanis is disappointing and though I am still romancing him my first run it makes me sad because that is kind of why I play these games lol. Lucanis voice actor did great with what they had and the scenes with Lucanis are okay. I feel like the romance between Neve and Lucanis is better than Rook and Lucanis or, also from what I heard, Rook and Neve. Which kind of pisses me off lol. Kind of the same with Harding and Taash from what I heard as well. I’ve heard a lot of things lol. I want to restart but honestly I’m so invested in time but I can always afford another play through.

But not all romances are bad though. The romance scenes seem shorter but all the scenes and romance characters seem to have similar lengths but idk what you guys think. Davrin (plan on romancing him my third play through) is great from what I heard and somehow my current rook (who is romancing lucanis) has more vibes with Emmerich (my next play through after lucanis). I think there should have been more romance but no hate on actual workers as a whole because there isn’t just ONE person to blame but a chain of events and the links that made them. The development was long, horrid, and crazy and I can’t imagine what everyone went through.

Anyway I wish everyone luck and even if you want to romance Lucanis don’t let others tell you you can’t. You may not get exactly what you want but the other characters got exactly or almost exactly the same treatment. I may have forgotten something but yeah.

Good luck on your adventures through Dragon Age: veilguard!