#and then thinking rook might be gone forever

[vaguely-concerned]

thinking about not only the specific people lucanis pulls in to represent the 'locks' in his psyche, but the storytelling that happens in the structure/order of them. the underlying ideas are presented something like:

the lucanis who went into the ossuary never came back out again; he died down there (the boy caterina raised is gone forever) -> you're putting yourself in danger doing this (by being close to me), you should leave because I can't bear it if you get hurt because of me -> it doesn't matter even if we do try this, it won't work anyway (again because of me) ('you know what he's like, you can open the door but he won't walk through it' :'( oofie doofie) -> what if the real secret is that there was never anything but the monster in here from the beginning. you should leave, there was never anything here worth saving in the first place. (implicitly: what if I deserved what happened, all along.)

it runs pretty cleanly from outward-oriented attachment anxiety ('caterina won't even want me back like this, she won't recognize me (the same way I no longer recognize myself)) and gradually deeper inwards until we reach self-image and self worth. or you know, the harrowing basic lack of it lol.

"careful -- they'll know we're not right," spite says in one of their first scenes... but clearly, some very deep part of lucanis has feared or suspected for much longer than that that there's something inherently not right at the core of him, way before any demon entered the picture. and the voice he gives those lines to is the person who should know him better than anyone in the world, who he has loved more than anyone in the world -- and who deliberately chose to hurt him so horrifically anyway. 'It's better if I'm just a monster and deserved what happened than it is to allow for the idea that the brother I love doesn't really exist and maybe never did'. it's better if he's fundamentally flawed in some way that needed fixing to help him survive, and that's why caterina chose to hurt him again and again -- out of love. (this one I think he might have a very sad wakeup call on one day if he ever ends up with the responsibility and care of a child of his own in some way and realizes just how alien the idea of ever intentionally hurting them for any reason is to him. oh buddy. also interesting that he keeps caterina as the outermost lock -- there IS a distance he keeps there that he hasn't with illario. he doesn't resent her 'anymore' he says, but he also keeps her carefully further away from his deepest self.)

as far as I could tell the only note in the mind prison that's fully hidden and needs to be uncovered is the sad painful helpless stupid little truth that even after all this, even knowing what happened... he still loves his brother. is there anything illario could ever do that would make lucanis completely stop loving him, do you think? sometimes the trouble with unconditional love is that it is, well. unconditional, even when some terms and conditions probably would have been in order haha.

that's the pattern you see there again and again; he would rather destroy and abandon and imprison himself at every turn than let go of love, even when it's just scraps, even when there's only ever enough of it to hurt him. it's only when rook shows up and as it were takes his hand and walks along with him that he can entertain the idea of changing the story of what walking out the door might mean in the end.

[lustlovehart]

This is like my first ask ever so I'm a bit nervous, but I've been thinking abt monter!twst nonstop so I just had to make an ask. What would the boys do (including Rollo) if mh!reader was on a mission and got put under a sleeping curse?

I'd imagine it'd be pretty distressing, imaging Rollo trying to keep the monsters away while looking for a cure for reader.

Love the au also! Keep up the good work!

- milk 🥛 anon

A/n: Ahhhh!!! Hi 🥛 anon!!! Don’t ever be nervous putting stuff in my inbox <33 I’ve said this before but I love reading everyone’s ideas!! Even if i don’t get to writing them </3

Featuring: [Monster!Twst] Heartslaybul, Savanaclaw, Octavinelle, Scarabia, Pomefiore, Ignihyde, Diasmonia, Rollo, Neige, Fellow, Skully, Chenya x Reader

Cw: Head canon format ( So no individual scenarios unfortunately), Obsession, Possessiveness, Kissing, Insecurity, No proofreading

Unfortunately, Poor Rollo has to deal with BOTH swatting them away like flies, and checking up to make sure you’re not suffering in your time of rest with nightmares 😔 (a wanting to be married to you single mom who works 2 jobs).

I like to imagine fairytales still exist within the universe, but they don’t reach their ears in the wild. It’s only Heartslaybul, Leona, Kalim, and Epel who have any idea of the “Kiss of true love”, and then words spreads around of these human stories and suddenly it’s less about getting your body back and more about being the one who wakes you up…

Why would he wanna kiss you? That’s stupid nothing’s gonna happen… Maybe one—?

- Ace, Jamil, Epel, Sebek

- Depending on his personality, he’s either going “Ew gross i’m not kissing a human” or “Those humans tales are foolish, why would i believe them?”. But either view end them in the same boat, standing over your slumbering form and hesitantly leaning into your face. Maybe he isn’t fast with it either, taking his time to look at the details in your mortal face, pores, eyelashes, everything really. It’s stupid, so stupid he shouldn’t believe any of this really, it’s vulnerable, emotional, unnecessary; yet, he can’t seem to stop himself from placing his monstrous mouth on yours, hoping something will happen.

Wants to kiss you, but feels a sense of insecurity that holds him back

- Riddle, Deuce, Cater, Ruggie, Jack, Azul, Idia, Silver

- Similar to the previous category, but slightly different. They don’t oppose the idea of a kiss at all, what really has them fearing their lips on yours, is both the vulnerability, and the event of it not working. What then? He puts himself out there for you and it’s pointless? It’s cruel, a further reminder of just how different you both are. He will look at you with pain in his eyes, wondering what he should do. Ghastly hands taking your own as he lifts them to his mouth. He might not be able to bring himself to your lips, but he’s willing to settle on your skin. He just… can’t bear the thought that he wasn’t made for you.

He’ll try, it sounds fun! When, not if, you wake up, he’ll make sure to tell you about everyone’s current violence problem.

- Trey, Floyd, Jade, Rook, Lilia, Fellow, Chenya

- Practically jumping at the chance to place his mouth on you. Of course he’ll wake you up! You’re a lot more fun when you up and about trying to hunt him down! The thought of it not working does cross his mind, but is he truly an all famed beast if he can’t take risks? He lucked out on Rollo being gone, he’s essentially a human version of a brick wall. He’ll go out all out for you, snaking his arm around your waist and lifting you out the glass coffin liking a loving husband. He’ll swirl you around with care, before dipping you down like a ballroom dance, and then wake you up. He can’t wait to show off to everyone else, because you will open your eyes.

He’ll do it. if his try doesn’t work though… He’ll make sure no one eleses does either. Your sleeping body will forever be held with him until you wake up.

- Leona, Kalim, Vil, Malleus, Neige, Skully

- He’s already sat by your side, his hand tracing patterns into your collarbone while he whispers. Will you wake up for him? You will won’t you? You must. Silent affirmations only he and he only will know, unless you wake up of course. His finger will trace down your chest, tapping the place your heart would be, each touch in sync with the beat of your heart. It’s gentle, yet somehow possessive in some right. With the final beat of his index, he’ll finally lean down, his face feeling your breathes on his fiendish skin. You’ll wake up, not because he believes in the tale, but because you must let him be the one who does something so intimate to you. If it doesn’t work, he’ll put you in prettier clothes, a prettier coffin, a prettier home, because he won’t let anyone else have the blessing of tasting your lips, only him.

The one who places your body in the pretty glass coffin, putting you in the prettiest of wear and scenery during his attempt; all while warding off the wretched creatures.

- Rollo

- Practically spends every waking and sleeping moment in your presence, only leaving for at most 5 minutes. Unfortunately for him, 5 minutes is enough time for anything to happen to you. He’ll hold your hands, fix your clothes, place new flowers and ribbons on your coffin, anything for you; except be the one who kisses you. The urge to consumes his entire being, eating at him like a sinful leech who wont let go. Sometimes whenever he’s by you, his eyes can’t help but trace back to your lips, a temptation too good for any man or beast to resist, but he does, because he can’t bear the thought of stripping you’re purity, directly at least. Whenever the urge becomes much too strong, he’ll lean down, placing a kiss on your knuckle, on your wrist, on your forehead, on your cheek, on your collarbone, on your neck, on your chest, even on the corner of your mouth, until the only place he hasn’t placed his mouth on is your lips. An indulgence he won’t take no matter how much he wishes to. Because…

You don’t deserve a monsters love, not matter how much he wishes to be yours and yours alone.

You are the sole blessing he has left, he won’t taint you, no matter how much he wishes too. But… he won’t let anyone else take you either.

A/n: For Floyd, Jade, and Sebek I realized half way that these guys wouldn’t be able to reach you on land if that’s where you were laid to rest, a perfect scenario for Rollo really. Imagine his surprise when he opens your room and sees tiny imps dragging your coffin out and into the river, where a horrific marine monster takes hold of you… Truly, how desperate for you are they?!? (Rollo has no room to judge considering he’s just as obsessed)

This honestly makes Floyd and Jade scenario so pretty <3 being in pretty clothes while he ball dances with you in the water, dipping you down while clear water envelops your upper half, leaving only your pretty face <33 do you guys see the vision?!?

And trey? He doesn’t seem like the type to be in that category, but hear me out, he does it low-key. He doesn’t go all out like the others guys so it’s not as cocky, yet there’s the underlying feeling of bragging that they can get mad and but can’t outright criticize him for. Same goes for kalim, he doesn’t seem like the type to do such a thing, but in this case, he can’t help but feel a little jealous if it isn’t him who wakes you up.

[mochinomnoms]

why were you digging? what did you bury, before those hands pulled me from the earth?

art by wolfythewitch

Hozier lyrics in which they embody when loving you.

multi x gn!reader

[tw/cw} - some of the lyrics are gendered, few suggestive parts

[note] - i forgot i had this drafted for a while lol anyways only romantic vibes cause i couldnt find satisfactory lyrics for grim and ortho :( i also was gonna add the halloweenie boys but then it wouldnt have been evenly split and i didnt want that lol

[edit] - I FORGOT AZUL IM SORRY AZULITO FORGIVE ME—

"I know who I am when I'm alone/I'm something else when I see you" - It Will Come Back

He's always been sure of who he is and how he presents himself. He has an image that he must uphold, his reputation is dependent on it. Yet, that perfectly sculpted person comes crumbling down, firm marble turned into malleable clay with you. He should be appalled by the very idea of someone having so much hold over him, yet he can't bring himself to care. You see through him, and it's addicting. You see through him, but still show him kindness, and it's addicting. You see through him, still show him kindness, even knowing just what thoughts he has of you at night, and it's addicting. He has an addiction, and you're his drug of choice. There is no rehab for getting him off of you, once he's hooked he's never letting go of the high that you are. Then again, if you knew just who he really is, perhaps the addiction was mutual.

Riddle Rosehearts, Cater Diamond, Azul Ashengrotto, Jade Leech, Jamil Viper

"We lay here for years or for hours/So long, we'd become the flowers" - In a Week

He is admittedly a simple man, even if he might portray or say he desires otherwise. But deep down, he is very simple: he'd like to be with you forever, that's it. Laying in the grass, the sounds of cicadas and birds singing, the smell of dewy grass and freshly bloomed flowers, all of that with you would be his dream. He hopes that you two will live a long life together, that your graves will be one, your bodies decomposing together into the earth as nature intended. You hope that centuries into the future, some bright-eyed archaeologists will see the patch of flowers growing over your grave and dig to find your two skeletons intertwined. You both hope that theories and myths are created in the image of your long gone bodies so that the memory of your love will live forever on.

Ruggie Bucchi, Jack Howl, Rook Hunt, Silver

"She'll know me crazy, soothe me daily/Better yet, she wouldn't care" - Jackie & Wilson

Loud and impulsive to a fault is how most would describe him, and really he should care more about the problems this causes. He should, but why when you take him as he is, flaws and all? To you, the impulsivity, his loud mouth, his rash nature, his bluntness, they weren't flaws—they were him and you love him. And he loves you—for all your naivete, doting, and enabling ways. If there's trouble to be found, it's likely you're both involved: you chasing after him as he goes of. Is it naive to think that this sort of relationship won't eventually burst into flames? Probably. Is it a bit toxic if you were to look at your relationship critically? Probably. But he doesn't care (even if he normally would or should), and neither do you. Instead, for just a bit, you indulge in the present, rather than the past or future. Just for a bit

Floyd Leech, Kalim Al-Asim, Epel Felmier, Sebek Zigvolt

"You're bright as the morning, soft as the rain/Pretty as a vine, as sweet as a grape" - Too Sweet

Something about you is just a bit off-putting: you're a bit too put together, too cheery, too sweet for someone in your situation. It's more off-putting to him that he's drawn to you anyways. Part of him holds himself back, as he's a realist at heart. One day, any day now, you can go back home, where your sweetness rightfully belongs. Part of him though wants to that sweetness, make it rightfully his and his alone. It's why he can't keep himself away from you, he'd rather defile you, ruin you for anyone else so that you'd have no choice but to come running back to him for that sweet satisfaction that only he can provide. You're not stupid though, you know just what he's doing; lucky for him, you're happy to let him age you into a fine wine, made just for his taste.

Trey Clover, Leona Kingscholar, Vil Schoenheit, Lilia Vanrouge

"Heaven is not fit to house a love like you and I" - Francesca

You have ingrained your very being into his own. The sight, the sound thought of you has him yearning for your touch in ways that would put a god to shame. But Eros had no role in his love for you. Since he's met you, somehow you've managed to core out a space in his heart in the shape of your body. Without you, he'd be empty. Without you, he'd be devastated, experiencing an anguish that would kill his very soul. His love is so strong, so overwhelming, so earth-shattering that he'd alter the very laws of the universe just to keep you with him. Could you even bring yourself to deny him if the choice to leave ever came? You have him in the palm of your hand, like a god with their worshipper. You'll be a merciful and loving god to your devotee, won't you?

Ace Trappola, Deuce Spade, Idia Shroud, Malleus Draconia

comments and reblogs appreciated 🩷

[robo-milky]

Dynamic Swap 1: What if Rook fell first?

Now Cloche is the one who’s nonchalant! Rook would still run from her, but not out of fear (yippee?)

I love my expressive and confident Rooks out there… bUT I WILL FOREVER HC THAT ROOK FINDING HIMSELF FALLING DEEPLY IS A VULNERABILITY TO HIDE AND HIM GETTING NERVOUS LIKE HE’D WITH NEIGE (just a tad)

[Ramble]

• How Rook would’ve caught feels for Cloche is by being there to observe the small glimpses of herself when she thinks she’s alone. Like a glacier melting, Cloche warms up to let the little smiles turn the corners of her lips or exhale too heavily to be anything else but frustration. Rook knows that if he reaches out, Cloche will revert back after unwinding, so he’d rather bask in her presence from afar. Rook also feels special for being the only one to read her so accurately and understand her true intentions (as opposed to Cloche freaking Rook out because she figured him out and he couldn’t read her back.)

• Instead of the first encounter where feral! Cloche attacks Rook in the school forest, Cloche calls Rook out for being “voyeuristic” when he was there, hidden behind a wall, and watching the whole time she was roughed up by bullies. Cloche didn’t know it was the Vice Dormleader of Pomefiore she was calling out to, but was vaguely aware that the presence of a master remained even as she was left alone. Instead of Rook’s usual dismissals of scathing remarks to his character, this one from Cloche makes him reflect just a little. After all, he’s never once stepped in once to help, having seen that Cloche took all the pushing and shoving just fine.

• Now, he slips little treats for her where he goes. Sometimes it’s a 50 Thaumark bill, or a new handkerchief that could replace the one Cloche just lost. Rook knows that Cloche will pocket them, and if anyone tries to harass her over it, he’ll swoop in gaslight them that the lost item was originally Cloche’ and she must have dropped it herself. Before Cloche would even realize Rook helped her, he’s gone.

• Similar to how he’d write Neige poems and letters, Rook would send them to Cloche too. To be inconspicuous, Rook signs each letter with “H”.

• Rook is partially accepting of this crush, yet is also in denial, waiting for it to pass soon. All this excitement and giddiness might just make him spill something he might regret.

• Since Cloche doesn’t idolize Rook in this AU, unfortunately she’d think of him of a sucker that’s overly sentimental. She’s more indifferent to Rook than trying to avoid him.

[maythedreadwolftakeyou]

VEILGUARD SPOILERS FOR LUCANIS ROMANCE SCENE

I haven't seen anyone post this option version for the first dialogue wheel choice in Lucanis' romance scene yet, but it's by far my favorite because it's one of the few (perhaps even only) opportunities the game gives you to add a little depth to your character and the Lucanis relationship (even if it's never mentioned again). My comment below is just about that one choice and followup but ummmmm i recorded the whole scene anyway just for you know. Me. Anyway...

This is the only "anxiety/alarm" dialogue option I think I picked the whole game, but I think the timing of it is really perfect. Especially with the knowledge that Rook was trapped in the Regret Prison for WEEKS. Even if time moved faster for them, we can still imagine it probably wasn't as fast as it took us the player to go through it. But Rook has just gone through a series of awful things--losing one of their companions (and being the one to consign them to that role), learning Varric has been dead all along, Solas (who they were perhaps just coming to trust) betraying them, being trapped with no idea if they'll be able to leave. And they just got confirmation that Solas was using blood magic to make them hallucinate their dead friend speaking to them, so that they'd fall in line with his plans more easily. So when they're trapped and struggling to escape and suddenly hear their new companions calling to them, and come out to find everyone they hoped was still alive safe and waiting for them... wouldn't they doubt it? At least a little? I mean if Solas REALLY wanted to trap them in the Fade forever, wouldn't this be the absolute best way to do it--by convincing them they ARE out and everything might still be okay? And this is especially great with the Lucanis romance because he (and Spite) are the only one on the team who have first hand experience with that same thing. He escaped the Ossuary but he didn't, truly, at first. He knows what it's like to be trapped somewhere and then not really believe in his own freedom afterward. And THIS time, he gets to be the one comforting Rook, who's been his rock through the whole experience, and Rook gets to be the vulnerable one for a change as he finally steps into the more active/supportive role. I just think it's really nice symmetry, to have an option where the hookup scene is coming from a place of loss/desperation on BOTH of their sides, to convince themselves that everything is real AND there's a chance that everything might actually turn out okay in the end.

[saintsandsorcery]

I really love reading fanfics in which Rook is the one who proposes to Emmerich - something just feels so right about it. Emmerich who is such a romantic, who loves Rook so, so much, who would literally do anything for them… but he’s a little conflicted when considering marriage. Since Rook is (at least in canon) younger than him, his thoughts often return to the inevitable end of their union - Rook, all alone. Somehow it feels like he is keeping them to himself, but what will be after he’s long gone? He might even have picked out a ring he would love to give them and it’s just hidden somewhere behind the books on his shelve. He does look at it sometimes, just to imagine how much beauty there will be before the bitter end. Because that’s where his thoughts stray to so often - the end.

He really doesn’t expect Rook to be the one who asks him. And they are so nervous about it, too. It’s in the necropolis, the gardens, that they take both of his hands in theirs and straight up forget what they wanted to say. So they just stand there and explain how they don’t have a ring, because they wouldn’t know what he’d like and this all sounded so much better in their head and- it takes a moment for Emmerich to realise what they mean to tell him, but when he does I think it really hits him: no matter how many or how few years they will have together, this is forever.

[erin-unknown]

I think people who say that Solas is a spirit of Pride and cannot ever be anything else ever again are both right and wrong.

I don't think he can go back to being Wisdom again but the story is, in part, about change. We see several characters experience major transformations and Rook themself is an agent of change. For Solas to be incapable of any change flies in opposition to that (imo) when one of several endings involves him doing what few thought possible: willingly changing course and not tearing down the Veil.

I also think people who say—through his release from Mythal's share of their mutual guilt or Lavellan's love or whatever—that Solas can return to being a spirit of Wisdom are also right and wrong and I think this is also kind of missing a point the game makes elsewhere. As I said, he cannot ever be Wisdom again, certainly not as he once was, but neither is he locked in place as Pride for all eternity.

If you leave three bouquets of Brona's Bloom in the field where the Spirit of Despair Undying once lurked, the Spirit of Hope Unyielding reveals itself instead.

If Rook asks Hope Unyielding if Despair Undying is completely gone, (iirc) it tells you that no, Despair remains—forever a part of itself. Still, you walk away from that exchange understanding that this spirit has undergone a significant metamorphosis as a result of the changing circumstances in the Hossberg Wetlands; Hope Unyielding has changed while still carrying a part of who it once was, as our own experiences leave a lasting impression on us. Spirits just externalize this in a way mortals would not.

With the Spirit of Hope Unyielding in mind, Solas throughout the game is probably shades of both Wisdom and Pride and, as of the end of the game, he could be something entirely new as well. Maybe Solas' core identity now reflects a deeper understanding of the relationship between these two concepts. Or maybe he's some new hue of Wisdom or Pride informed by his experiences over the last two games (whatever those experiences might have been).

There's probably stuff I'm missing, but I haven't really seen anyone bring up Hope Unyielding within the context of Solas and the whole Pride vs. Wisdom thing and I think its absence is deeply felt.

[heylittleriotact]

*banging pots and pans* Come get your angst! Delicious, heart wrenching Emmrook angst!

𝑀𝑜𝓇𝒾𝒷𝓊𝓃𝒹

adjective

1. near death

2.  stagnant; without force or vitality

One of us needs to consider my mortality.

Had he known what would happen hours later, he would have chosen very different words indeed.

It was a foolish assertion in hindsight - a weak argument and he knew it: Amina was always considering mortality. His, hers, and everyone else’s.

A study of Emmrich's perspective after Rook goes missing: we get to bear witness to a scruffy, smelly, devastated man up to his neck in self-loathing, as well as the spirits that help him.

Contains heavy Act 3 spoilers - proceed at your own risk!

Full under the cut or on ao3

Day 0:

It was extremely unorthodox thinking - there was no evidence or theory supporting any circumstance where it might work: without a body on this side of the Veil to serve as a ballast, it was wishful thinking at best, but he had to try. Not trying meant accepting, and he refused to accept that she was gone - lost forever to the Dread Wolf’s prison. Not with their exchange from the night before being what it was…

That couldn’t be the end. 

He excused himself curtly from the others upon their arrival back at the Lighthouse, expertly sidestepping any inquiries after his own wellbeing that followed him doggedly until they were silenced by the laboratory door slamming shut behind him. Might he have come off as callous? Perhaps. Did he care? Not presently. The time for contrition would come later.

Questions lingered about the specifics of what had happened, but it was easy enough to infer by the fact that Solas walked free and Amina had seemingly vanished from existence, she had been made to take his place in the prison he’d been trapped in. Solas had been able to survive there in that pocket of the Fade, so that meant that Amina could too… for a time at least, if not indefinitely. 

He was going to get her out. 

But first…

He stood in the middle of the room and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath in, holding it… then slowly letting it go in a measured, disciplined exhalation that helped to slow his racing heart as he forced his body back into a state of calm: no mean feat when one comprehended the heaviness of the air as it pressed in around him, the tragic gravity of his task weighing on him.

He lifted his hands, felt the comforting susurrations of the Veil playing over, through, between his fingers as he trailed them through seemingly empty space: a lonely conductor at the podium, leading an invisible orchestra… the melancholy composer of a poignant dirge. 

Threads unravelled with the morose, introspective swell of a cello’s baleful hum, and the vast mystery of Beyond sang to him, a faceless, nebulous chorus of voices, ageless and legion. Some were joyful, others despondent, but they all maintained a pristine harmony that would cause even the most cruel and unfeeling of souls to take pause for the sheer perfection of their sound.

He swallowed away the tightness in his throat. Forced strength into his craven voice. Focused on the familiar verdant light that filtered through his eyelids. 

“Hear me, Amina - with my voice I am calling you!” He sent the words beyond the Veil, where no one may ever hear them again. “I set this beacon for you now: a beacon that will guide you home. Follow my voice. Follow me home: we are waiting for you…. I am waiting for you.” 

With a gesture of his hand that would look very complicated to anyone observing, he tethered the invisible line he had cast into the Fade to the only body in the room: his. Traditionally this particular spell was called upon to guide wayward spirits back to their hosts, or in rare cases, draw the spirit of a dying person back from the Fade before it was too late to resuscitate them. That anchor point in the world of the living was vital for the magic to work, but since Amina left behind no body, Emmrich could only live in hope that her spirit was as tightly bound to him as he suspected his was to her. 

It was likely folly: what affection could survive his cowardice? His preening ignorance? His vainglorious proclivity for driving something away as transcendentally pure as love itself?

But he had to try: at the very least she could live to despise him for the rest of her days. 

The green light faded as his hands stilled and the notes of the symphony resolved. Silence returned so harshly it physically hurt. He opened his eyes and clasped his hands together as he so often did. 

“I need you, dear…”

Perhaps she would hear that too. 

Day 2: 

He was awake well into the early morning hours communing with the dead, listening through the Veil for a whisper, a rumour - any rumblings amongst the spirits that would avail him of his darkest thoughts: even confirmation that she was alive would be enough. 

The spirits were indeed talkative, but not a single one seemed aware of the presence of a mortal woman in their realm.

He wept for the first time that morning as her absence in its totality hit him all at once - the first of many times that tears would be shed in the coming days as he curled around her scent-heavy pillow on the settee in her room. 

The couch which ordinarily felt rather cramped when they both shared it now seemed devastatingly wide and empty without her tangled up in him, giggling softly as she slotted her thigh between his and slipped a hand up the back of his shirt to shock him with the coldness of it against his skin.

Gone. She was gone, and it was entirely his doing…

Day 4:

It had taken precisely eight words to destroy everything, as Johanna’s remains were so eager to point out before he had her temporarily removed to a quiet alcove elsewhere in the Lighthouse. It was an astute observation, and he couldn’t find it within himself to offer a rebuttal to her further assessment that he was a ridiculous gloating twat with a truly awe-inspiring gift for cataclysmically fucking things up for every single poor soul that happened to cross paths with him.

One of us needs to consider my mortality. 

Had he known what would happen hours later, he would have chosen very different words indeed.

It was a foolish assertion in hindsight - a weak argument and he knew it: Amina was always considering mortality. His, hers, and everyone else’s. If life was a sentence in a book, death was simply the appropriate punctuation that marked the end of it: without it, the sentence lost all of its weight and meaning. 

She always spoke so romantically about the inevitability of that final mystery - the peace and freedom from pain and fear that would come with it, and the comforting guarantee of an end in a world where one could seldom rely on the guarantee of anything: food, fortune… love. To her, it was part of a treasured natural order, responsible for everything from the stars in the sky to the worms in the dirt. She was enchanted by mortality… he loathed it.

He dragged his hands through his greasy hair, hunched over an old and fragile tome.A tear splashed on the page, and not wanting to damage the delicate paper even in this state, he wiped it away.

His eyes itched and felt swollen - he didn’t need to look in a mirror to know they were bloodshot from long hours of focusing on print, missed sleep, and periodic bouts of pain and regret that would descend upon him like some great, vicious bird of wrath. It ravaged him with its talons and plucked at his insides with its wicked beak, discarding his guts methodically as it rooted around inside of him for its favored meats: his liver and his kidneys - bloody and succulent. His heart was left untouched by the cruel raptor… it wanted him to feel everything, and he welcomed its agonizing ministrations as he toiled endlessly, trying to find a way to fix his mistake. 

It was his mistake after all. 

“It wasn’t your fault!” Neve had insisted the first time he dared to speak the truth aloud. 

A thoughtful sentiment, but worthless when held up to the light: he had instructed Amina to seize the dagger from Ghilan’nain’s corpse, and she obeyed without question because she trusted him implicitly.

He had been told after the collapse that the death of his parents wasn’t his fault either - as if that was of any real comfort to a traumatized child, newly orphaned and numb with grief. 

Of course it wasn’t his fault - even as a young boy he knew the catastrophic failure of the building wasn’t his doing, but people said ignorant things when they didn’t know what else to say. Things that took root in the heart of a young man, replacing his grief over the years with a solemn and defiant indignance: ‘it wasn’t your fault,’ ‘it was the Maker’s will,’ ‘they’re in a better place now,’ ‘at least they didn’t suffer…’

Why would the benevolent and loving Maker will that a small child should be made to grow up without the love and protection of his Mother and Father? What divine goodness was there in stripping him of that and forcing him to carry the burden of their fates for the rest of his life?

Did people really put any thought to the shallow platitudes they babbled to fill space and tidily rationalize that which is utterly and completely irrational? Or was it merely a performance to give the one who offered them some measure of absolution - a sense that they’ve done the ‘right’ and ‘helpful’ thing in such a circumstance, when in fact they’ve unknowingly heaped another layer of despair on top of an already smothering, lonely mound of it?

Dizzying, petulant questions he had pondered for years… bitter, angry little things that buzzed around his head like grave-flies: when one died, three more seemed to take its place. 

A small, dark part of him - a squirming, fanged thing with gnashing teeth and a tongue like a wooden switch had been sorely tempted to enlighten Neve to the futility of her words… perhaps subject her to what would come across as an overly curt and somewhat sardonic lecture on what one might instead choose to say to a bereaved person that wasn’t the verbal equivalent of spitting in a wound and rubbing salt in it. He might have made her cry, and he would have felt shameful for it later, but in the moment he would have taken what glee he could find in the seed of misery he planted in the world.

Instead he stuffed that wicked, bristling, fanged shade of himself away and reminded himself that Neve was grieving too… as were the rest of them. Not only was Rook gone, but Harding had bravely given her life to defeat Ghilan’nain. Bellara had been captured by the enemy, her fate unknown…

The Lighthouse had taken on the solemn stillness of a mourning parlor, and he should have been the most understanding and compassionate among them of their shared sorrow. He should have been helping them:  shepherding them ably through the tribulations and challenging waves of emotion they would grapple with over the days and weeks to come like he was solemnly sworn to do, but he couldn’t… not when his every thought was occupied by her and the sheer, unrelenting compulsion to right this wrong: he was responsible for her being caught in Solas’ trap - it fell to him to get her out. 

Her hips swayed with her familiar feminine gait as she strolled away from him in a memory, and her dark hair was piled on top of her head in a messy knot… she was breathtakingly radiant in the morning.

He never got to tell her that every morning he got to spend with her - disheveled, heavy-eyed, and often in a state of partial undress - was more precious than life itself to him. He never got to tell her how much he admired her maturity and well-organized mind, because the truth of it was that despite his enviable list of accomplishments and considerable years of experience, Amina possessed an enterprising bravery he knew could not be learned from a book. 

Before the day ended he called through the Veil to her again, and as it had each time, the echo of his words came back empty.

“Oh darling…” He said to the absolute silence of the laboratory. “I’m so sorry.” 

Just like Neve, he knew she’d tell him it wasn’t his fault.

Day 7: 

He had been immersed in the dagger: the act of shaping the raw shard of lyrium into something deliberate and precise. It hung in the air, rotating slowly as he manipulated the Veil around it, giving the material form and purpose. Solas’s dagger was the key to the prison, and he had reclaimed it when he freed himself. Rather than wasting valuable time trying to get it back, it had been communally decided that attempting to duplicate it would be a wiser course of action. Letting Amina go - abandoning her to her fate - was no more of an option for their companions than it was for Emmrich.

He had thrown himself into the work - it gave him purpose and an outlet for the despair that threatened to overwhelm him when his hands and mind stilled for too long.

It was momentum. A direction. 

“Pondering, planning, praying–”

Emmrich nearly leapt out of his skeleton - the shard of lyrium clattered to the workbench. He put out his hand to keep it from bouncing over the edge and shattering on the floor. 

“Never a man of faith - but what else is there to turn to when reason has fled? ‘Please keep her safe.’ Words whispered through a curtain of song: ‘Darling, come home.’”

He took a breath and turned around, finding himself face to face with a spectral woman with ragged, dirty hair and a tattered, stained gown. Her translucent, faintly glowing form was in an advanced state of decomposition: her tongue dangled morbidly from her mouth, attached by the smallest scrap of connective tissue. Her skin was mottled and discoloured and sagged tenuously from the outline of her skull. He could see all of her teeth - not due to a smile or a snarl, but because her lips had dehydrated and withered away.

A rather unusual form for a spirit of this variety to take, he decided. It was a blessing she decided to manifest here in the laboratory and not Taash’s room - she would have given them quite a fright. 

But was he truly so wretched that he had drawn Yearning to this place?

The spirit seemed to pick up on his moment of self-pity and it stiffened slightly, smoothing its decayed hands over the skirt of its ruined dress as it tossed what remained of its hair testily. 

“At least there exists one Watcher who can identify me correctly.” Her voice was an autumn breeze, sharp and stinging. 

He examined her closer, lifted a hand and felt her aura tingle against the bare skin of his palm. “Oh, my apologies,” he pulled the hand back and twined his fingers together in front of himself. “Devotion. I’m humbled by your presence given the circumstances. It couldn’t be that you’ve heard anything in the rippling currents of the Fade?”

“No.” The answer was abrupt but not unkind - the spirit did not dally with unnecessary semantics. “The Lost Watcher is hidden from all but the oldest and most sensitive of us, but she is a being of unique substance and did a great service and kindness unto me once - as she has done for many before me.”

Though the sting that came with confirmation that she was deeply, deeply hidden in the Fade hurt, he couldn’t help but be warmed with a sense of pride by the reminder that his Amina was a champion for spirits like Devotion and had spent her life aiding such beings… a fact that was clearly known amongst spiritkind. 

Glowing green eyes landed on the rough likeness of the dagger on the workbench. “I have heard of you, Professor Volkarin. The others whisper of you even in the deepest halls of the Necropolis as I soothe their loneliness and seek to mend that which has broken them. I would not have found them if not for her.”

He’d heard rumours months earlier of a spirit that had manifested in the deepest, most rarely travelled corridors of the Necropolis. Despite its lesser classification it allegedly sought out the maligned and tormented and cared for them stalwartly with a dedication that was nothing short of admirable. If Amina had been the one responsible for it manifesting in the Necropolis in the first place…

Another thing added to the ever-growing list of things he wanted to ask about - there were so many stories he wanted to hear… but he wanted to hear them from her.

“I will remain here with you, Corpse Whisperer while you toil to reunite with your beloved. I cannot do much, but I can keep the likes of Sorrow and Diffidence at bay, for they are drawn to your labours as I was. Work, Watcher… and I will keep you safe.” 

Day 11:

Was she even still alive? The thought burst into his mind unbidden, taking immediate precedence over the words he was half trying to read. Had she languished away by now, her mortal body incapable of sustaining itself in a prison designed for immortal gods? Beyond the need for obvious necessities like food and water, what horrors lurked in that place as retribution for the sins of the gods? Could she defend herself indefinitely? And if she had died, were those final moments peaceful: the welcoming of the sunset at the end of a long day? Or were they desperate seconds that stretched into eternity as she realized her impending and unavoidable demise, her entire being gripped with loneliness and terror as life slipped from her grasp like the finest grains of sand…

“No.” The assertion possessed defiance he didn’t think he was capable of. “I cannot think like that.”

She isn’t dead… she can’t be dead for the simple fact that there’s so much I have yet to say to her…

Denial, this was called, and it was a common coping mechanism amongst the bereaved. The mind was tremendously skilled at protecting itself during times of immense emotional and psychological strain. Comforting rationale would parse itself into a neatly packaged alternative that was easier to confront than the truth - a temporary neurological repair not meant to last forever, but rather allow one to withstand the immediate shock of a loss. But was he suffering the rigors of grief, or was he on the right path with his stubborn refusal to accept anything that didn’t result in Amina warm and safe and alive in his arms?

Did he even deserve her back after how he’d treated her? 

Devotion was a welcome companion and had been a tremendous balm to his soul with its presence alone, but as hours drained away and days seemingly raced past, it was becoming more and more difficult to ignore the mounting odds that there may not be a favourable outcome to this problem. 

He heaved a sigh and straightened in his chair, his spine protesting at the sudden shift in positioning. He ran a hand pensively over his chin as he stared at the pages upon pages of notes, figures, and calculations before him, decently lengthy stubble rasping against his palm. He normally wouldn’t be caught dead with even a day’s growth shading his jaw, but these were extenuating circumstances indeed. That’s what he told himself at least - the truth was that he couldn’t bear to look himself in the mirror for the guilt he carried. 

He could have just ignored it - that persistent tightness in his chest that forecasted the all-encompassing terror that would consume him in short order, stampeding through his body and reducing him to a shivering, clammy skinned likeness of a man. He could have done the intelligent thing and kept it to himself instead of trying to appease it by feeding it more pain. But no. He was Emmrich Volkarin - a smart man; an overachiever; an academic and philosophical force of nature - he knew what was best for him in that moment… and what was best for her, because for all of her quaint cheerful talk about death over breakfast, she hadn’t the faintest idea what she was talking about, and honestly, that pointy, vile little part of himself that he kept shackled with clever repartee and gentlemanly manners wanted to break that naive innocence.

So he bit. He lashed out like one of the dirty, malnourished, terrified strays that scurried between the narrow gaps of the crumbling buildings in the part of the capital that he called home in his youth. His brittle fangs caught skin and drew blood as he called her age and maturity into question, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before someone hunted him down and put him out of his misery - too dangerous, you see: the world has no need for a creature prone to such violence, even if it was shaped by its circumstances…

Perhaps he belonged in that prison with the gods. Perhaps the Maker had seen fit to free his parents from him: if they were dead, they no longer had to deal with the burden of a third mouth to feed while earning enough gold to maybe sustain one. Perhaps death had been freedom and relief for Rupert and Elannora Volkarin, because there was something wrong with little Emmrich, and it was in everyone’s best interests that he was alone. Perhaps the Maker looked upon Amina with that same kindness and called her away too, not willing to subject this kind, lonely woman to the wrongness that was Emmrich, and his carefully crafted palisade of goodwill that could only temporarily conceal the utter rot that dwelled beyond it. 

He stared sullenly at the now room temperature bowl of roasted tomato soup Lucanis had brought him hours earlier. He couldn’t remember the last thing he’d eaten. Maybe a handful of the spicy peppermint candies that Amina was so taken with. Shortly after she started spending more and more time in the laboratory with him, she strutted through the door one day with a bowl full of them that she set on the mantelpiece, declaring that she was tired of going back and forth to her room to get more every time she fancied another. 

He was always telling her that she couldn’t live on mints and needed to eat properly and look after herself. He ought to take his own advice, but the very thought of food only made his already unsettled stomach turn on itself more. 

His eyes returned to the page as he tried and failed to summon the formidable academic concentration that had gotten him this far in life. 

It was so odd how the words on paper kept replacing themselves with the words he should have said to Amina that night instead of hurling insults at her.

I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you…

He sniffled and rubbed his eyes again, wiping away tears with the heels of his hands. He was so tired of crying. He had cried so much already. Couldn’t he be finished with crying?

He knew if he asked her that question, she’d look at him with that serious but perceiving smile of hers… maybe run her hand soothingly down his arm and say, “I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that, but I’ll keep you company if you’d like: shared sorrow is a halved burden.” 

Fade take him… what a fool he was…

“Professor?” 

Emmrich flinched at the unexpected greeting and looked up. Had Davrin been standing there long? His eyes flicked over to Devotion standing by the door only a few feet from Davrin - it seemed that she was invisible to everyone but himself.

“Davrin,” he put on what he knew to be a cheerful, amiable tone that might have been believable if not for the complete absence of vitality behind it. “What can I help you with?”

He’d spent so much of his life helping the living and the dead to avoid confronting his own horrors… the loss of his parents, his fear of death, the deep and persistent suspicion that he wasn’t worthy of love - why stop now? 

The warden considered him, his handsome face grim and somewhat drawn; that usual fiery spark gone from his warm eyes. Emmrich watched those eyes take note of the untouched tomato soup, then the tear tracks on his gaunt cheeks. “Assan is going stir-crazy, and honestly I think I am too. I thought I’d see if you and Manfred wanted to come for a walk with us. The fresh air and a change of scenery might do you some good… inspire some grand epiphany or whatever you want to call it.”

The mockery of a smile slid off of Emmrich’s face. Davrin surely meant well, but even the fact that he’d asked was yet another painful reminder that she was gone: Amina was the one that usually ventured out with them. “Oh. That’s… that’s very kind of you to offer, Davrin, but I simply haven’t a moment to spare. Every second that passes is precious, and I believe I’m nearing a breakthrough with the tuning of the metaphysical oscillations in the lyrium dagger… I dare not walk away now.” 

It was a blatant and terrible lie: the dagger was on the other side of the room on his workbench where it had sat untouched for two days. Despite this, Davrin seemed to possess the decency to pretend he bought the falsehood. 

“You’re always on her case about taking care of herself - maybe consider taking your own advice, Emmrich: you can’t find a way to bring her back if you’re dead.” 

There was truth in the warden’s words that echoed his own thoughts, but Emmrich struggled to feel inspired by them. 

If he had been the one to retrieve the dagger instead, he could be the one to die alone in the Fade, and she would still be here… safe. Broken hearted, surely, but she would have recovered in time…

He bid Davrin farewell and paced over to the workbench, sitting into his hip and wrinkling his nose slightly. He stared at the softly glowing twin of the dagger bound to Amina’s fate. It would not be arrogant to say that it was an impressive fake. He’d never handled the original personally, but he’d watched Amina fidget with it enough that he was confident that he hadn’t overlooked a single seemingly insignificant detail - he was willing to bet that it was identical right down to the weight. 

A shame that a pretty fake was all it would ever be. 

Their plan to duplicate Solas’ dagger had screeched to a gutting halt when it became clear that there existed no means to enchant the dagger such that it would function the same as the original - not without accessing the unique aural resonances of the Fade that remained a mystery to anyone who didn’t happen to be an ancient elf. His theory was that Solas and the evanuris’ connection to the Fade was fundamentally different on a physiological level than that of a modern mortal. Whether that was a byproduct of their spiritual origin, or the result of them manifesting physically millennia earlier, he couldn’t rightly say… all that mattered was that unless he found a way to transform himself into an ancient elf, the dagger would remain as useless as Neve’s platitudes... 

It was a petty, childish fantasy to stare at the dagger and imagine what it would look like buried up to the hilt in Solas’ eye socket, but when he could feel himself becoming overwhelmed with hopelessness and despair, it helped keep him going. 

Few could guess by looking at him, but he was a creature driven by quiet anger: injustices and wrongs, big and small, collected and deliberately curated; claimed with the same detached fascination one might feel when they spot an interesting stone on a riverbank and slip it into their pocket. 

As he amassed success and wealth and renown, he remembered those who had done wrong to himself and others, and he learned how to smile easily at them with warmth and kindness in his eyes as he shook their hands. He even learned to forgive some of them. 

But he never, ever forgot what they were capable of, and he never ever let himself be fooled into believing that they were good and decent people. 

This ire for a spirit was unusual for him, but impossible to let go of: had Solas known? Had he any idea what Amina meant to him? That she was a beloved person, and so much more than the piece on the chessboard that she was named for? Certainly as a spirit Solas would struggle with the seemingly static, immutable nature of people, but that hadn’t been enough to stop him from falling in love with the Inquisitor, had it? He was not so bound to his spiritual nature that the concept of love was beyond him. 

The fact that Solas was originally a spirit and Emmrich was sworn to protect his kind did not excuse him of the fact that he betrayed Amina… perhaps even killed her.

Her. Amina. Rook. The woman he’d known for such a short time, and whom he could no longer imagine life without. He needed her back - was that so hard for Wisdom to comprehend? Life without her was as much a shallow mockery as the dagger he’d crafted. 

He had waited so long for her - all but resigned himself to a life empty of the companionship and love that he craved with a desperation that had hollowed him out over the years, etching unwritten sonnets and love notes into his ribs until he was certain those words would die with him: an epitaph on the monument of his bones. He would take them to his grave where they would desiccate and become dust with him - imbibed and consumed slowly by uncaring, unfeeling time. 

He could have spent their last night together reading those words to her: letting her peel away his flesh and muscle so she could split open his chest and bear sacred witness to every secret hope and abandoned dream. He should have breathed them directly into her lungs between long, hungry kisses that would serve as his confession that the that his sacrosanct duty as a Mourn Watcher was little more than a facade now, for he no longer belonged to the living and the dead: he belonged to her, body and soul… with what life dwelled in his breast and what eternity his soul could endure. 

But he had done none of those things, and he could almost hear the Dread Wolf laughing at what his hesitation had cost him.

All he could do now was keep working… keep trying. Keep thinking. 

Day 15:

In his dream, he found himself in the vast center of nebulous nothing. There was no sky, no ground, no walls. Nothing with which to orientate himself - up, down - such things appeared not to exist here. 

The only other thing occupying it aside from himself was a faintly shimmering golden haze. It stretched into eternity in all directions. Endless. Incomprehensible.

He might have been gripped with terror at the idea of being alone in a place as strange as this, but he knew better than that: he was most certainly not alone. Of course he was terrified, but more awestruck than anything: if this was what he suspected it to be, this was a very, very rare encounter.

“To what do I owe this great honour?” He spoke into the golden eternity.

Two small suns burst into existence before him. They glowed with white hot fire, but radiated only a gentle warmth that permeated every cell of his being. Slowly the miniature stars rotated around each other, and a voice spoke that he perceived not with his ears, but with his soul, the agelessness and sheer power of it driving the breath from his lungs.

“One who has been drawn to this place many a time as I wander to and fro. Were you aware that it was once a refuge for the newly liberated?”

Its voice almost hurt - it felt like it was vibrating through him at such a frequency that it might rip him apart. Not its fault… it was a trait that likely came with being older than measurable time…

“I was aware,” he responded collegially. “It makes sense that such souls would attract Hope.” 

The orbs of light circled each other slowly… passed through one another in a smooth, hypnotizing motion.

“Verily,” it said. “It stood empty and still for a long time, but still I would visit now and again, if only to revisit the memory of that which dwelled here once.”

“And now?”

“A lone spirit called to me without knowing it. By the time I returned, it was gone. I found you in this place instead.”

The lone spirit it spoke of could only be Solas…

“It’s as plain as anything that you are most certainly not Wisdom. There’s a sort of… desperate imprudence about you that gives it away.” The suns stilled for a moment, shivered, and resumed their languid orbit. “So what are you?”

Did Hope just insult him? How unexpected…

“Only a man of little importance on a journey of great urgency.” He felt emboldened, though he wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was the spirit’s existence alone that made him feel such a way. “Perhaps you could be of assistance with the matter in question?”

The suns flared slightly, streaks of streaming colour sparking over its surface. His surroundings went slightly rigid, the auric mist prickling his skin. “You carry brittle echoes of death within your spirit. There is bone dust in your lungs. The scent of corpses lingers inside your nose though there are none nearby.”

Emmrich swallowed hard, but remained in place.

“You shepherd the living and the dead towards purpose and convalesce unsettled entities all while fearing your own demise. Despite this you willingly relinquished your only chance to live on in perpetuity - why?”

The immensity of Hope was overwhelming. The fact that a spirit of this magnitude existed was remarkable on its own - the fact that he was conversing with it… unimaginable. But it had asked him a question, and he knew that the manner of his answer was of utmost importance if he was to obtain the aid of this being.

“Because with her I am less afraid to face that fear. It may always hold sway in my heart, but with her beside me, I have hope that all of my days won’t be dark.”

The orbs of light rose and fell… trembled faintly as though excited…

“Fascinating,” it breathed and its air caressed him like a triumphant spring breeze, smelling of honeysuckle and luscious young grass. “I feel the pull of the one that you speak of: she is palpable.”

He was glad to know he and Hope were of the same mind in that respect. 

“The prison she is trapped in is designed specifically to keep me - and others like me - from penetrating its walls, but despair not - you are close to finding the one you seek: there is a ripple in the firmament that you may exploit - a fold in a place of significance to her… a crack.”

Emmrich’s stomach dropped - that could be almost anywhere, and even with a network of eluvians at their disposal…

“The beacon you have set for her is strong and although she cannot hear you, her spirit is joined with yours: look for her in the same place where the initial spark of curious infatuation between you quickened and became flame.”

He looked down at his hand slightly obscured by the actuality of Hope, and turned his mind to the puzzle: was there a single defining moment? Was it a culmination of weeks of stolen glances, shy smiles, and utterly fabricated excuses to find themselves in each other’s proximity once again - innocent and coincidental? 

Yes - there had been a lot of that: dancing around one another politely, both undeniably smitten but neither willing to set aside the consummate professionalism that their vocation burdened them with. 

It could have gone on forever. They might have passed like ships in the night for all their efforts if it weren’t for that one evening that seemed like so many other evenings until it wasn’t: a night of research and reading - both of them hunkered down in the library well past midnight when everyone else had retired. 

The comfortable silence that dwelled between the soft husk of a page being turned every now and then. The easy conversation that flowed between them as they discussed matters ephemeral. Their knees almost brushed more than a few times on that uncomfortable couch. Amina, smothered a yawn here and there; Emmrich glanced up at her every time. 

“What?” She’d ask, a confused little smirk on her divine lips.

“Nothing,” he’d answer. 

He suggested she get some rest: he could continue reading - it was more important that she slept. 

A defiant shrug and a polite refusal - but she did tuck her legs under herself and rest some of her weight against him - nothing familiar… just her shoulder against his. 

Shortly after, he asked for her take on Orlok’s Theory of Asomatous Transitory Regression, and he thought she was taking time to consider her response, but when she remained silent for far longer than he knew was typical for her, he chanced a look down to find her sleeping soundly, her head on his shoulder and her book still spread open on her knees. He thought to rouse her - send her to her room where she’d at least be able to stretch out properly, but something held him back and he found himself gently slipping the book from her hands and setting it aside. Felt himself readjusting his right arm slowly - carefully - so it was around her, and he could share his warmth with her in the drafty space. 

His heart had leapt into his throat, and apologies and placations lined up on his tongue a few minutes later when she made a soft noise from behind her curtain of hair and shifted, lifting her head enough so he could see slivers of green under heavy lids. 

His lungs ceased working.

But instead of lurching away from him, blushing furiously and stammering her own stream of awkward, rushed excuses, Amina just blinked… once… twice… smiled groggily… shuffled down the couch some, rested her head on his thigh and fell back asleep, her hand on his knee.

He read until the morning - the same book three times cover to cover, in fact - because he didn’t dare move her - didn’t dare be responsible for ending that moment because whatever he had glimpsed in her sleep-filled eyes when she looked at him was a kind of magic he had never seen before. 

Everything about it felt like home.

Even when he plucked up the courage to softly capture a strand of raven hair between his trembling fingers… even as he guided it away from her face as she slumbered, even as his touch lingered and he stroked down the silken length of it, his heart thundered. 

That was it. That was when everything had changed for him - and for her. 

“The library,” he croaked, throat tight. “It was in the library. I– I need to go. I need to go there now!” Tears filled his eyes as hope flooded him for the first time in days. A broken laugh burst from his lips and he clutched at his hair, aware that he looked like a madman. “Thank you!” He wept. 

The orbs flickered again - rather like twinkling eyes - and then blinked out of existence. 

“Live well, creature, and of all things that you may choose to abandon in the days to come, may hope be the last of them.” 

He woke on the too-large settee to the cool green light of an aquarium that made no sense. He scrambled to his feet, flipped his hair out of his face, and bolted for the door.

Muffled voices… all familiar - one in particular. His voice. 

Then his shape - his outline - a shape she would know anywhere. 

A hand - a beautiful, soul-shatteringly, heart-achingly artful hand that was capable of healing and holding… destroying, creating, and calming; teasing and caressing - and everything else in between. 

She heard herself sob as she seized that hand with her own and felt muscles and tendons reflexively tense in surprise for a fleeting instant before slender fingers clenched around her wrist in an unexpectedly bruising grip that wrung a clipped scream from her. Her feet left the ground as she was dragged into the bright light, and she was falling forward, up, down, and in directions that didn’t exist all at once. 

Then something solid. Something warm and firm. The feeling of well-worn wool and meticulously cared for linen against her face… a familiar scent, though it was more rustic than usual…

The excruciating pain in her wrist persisted as her eyes struggled to adjust and she looked up. She blinked… once… twice…

“Emmrich?” 

He had a decent start on a beard for one - that was new - and his hair was messier and dirtier than she’d ever seen it. The dark circles under his eyes were a particularly haunting shade of aubergine, and his sclera were dull and bloodshot. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. He looked terrible…

“Where’s Varric?” She demanded hotly, panic rising in her chest as she tried to step back so she could get a better look at him - he wouldn’t let her, and she already knew the answer to her futile question. The grip on her wrist tightened and so did her throat as her mind raced to try to comprehend the situation. The grief she felt in Solas’ prison at the revelation of Varric’s death was rapidly being replaced with incandescent rage directed at the Dread Wolf: she was going to destroy him - spirit or not, he had gone too far… “Emmrich!” She yanked her wrist free and let out a cry of surprise as he toppled forward into her arms, a disheveled, weeping mess that took them to the ground. She managed to keep them both upright and Emmrich caged her in an embrace that took her breath away.

“I’m sorry, darling - I love you - I’m s-so very sorry…” He half-sobbed into her ear as he stroked her hair. His voice was so ragged... She felt tears splashing against her, wet and abundant, and her own joined them: confusion and anger and joy converged on her in a baffling wave - she couldn’t house all of this. And Emmrich…

How long have I been gone?

She managed to pull far enough away from him so she could cup his scruffy jaw in her hands and meet his gaze - his haunted, hollow gaze. 

“It’s all right now,” she soothed, summoning up enough calm for both of them - she was beyond furious, but he was despondent, and like any experienced Watcher she knew she needed to meet him on his level - manage herself for the time being. 

She softly traced her thumb down the familiar plane of his cheek and he leaned into her touch, his hand covering hers. “I love you too… I’m here and I’m safe, and I’m–” her voice trembled and broke. “Oh Emmrich… I’m sorry too.” If what she was beginning to suspect was true - if she had been lost to that place of regret for much longer than a few hours - it meant that Emmrich had been sitting on that argument for days at least, judging by the looks of him - her promise that they would talk about it at home a dangling thread that would remain forever untied if she never returned… 

She pressed her lips to his and he sighed into her, some of the tension finally leaving him. “You found me…” she murmured against his skin. “You got me out. Of course you did.” Her arms tightened around him and she kissed him properly - deeply. 

“I couldn’t live with myself knowing the state I had left things in.” He rested his forehead against hers and twirled a strand of her hair around a finger as they sat on the floor, both aware of their audience of companions - both utterly unconcerned about their presence. “Will you forgive me?” 

“If you’ll forgive me,” she offered: she carried her own regrets about that argument… though evidently not as long as he had.

His mouth curved into a smile for the first time and he chuckled weakly. “There is nothing to forgive, my dearest Amina.” His eyes continued to sweep over her as he took her in, mapping every line and angle of her, committing it to memory as if it would ensure she could never be taken from him again. 

“You really love me, huh?” 

“I have for some time, and I’m afraid that rather than embracing that fact with the deference owed to it, I acted like a cowardly fool. If I had only–”

She silenced him with another kiss, his mouth opening as her tongue brushed the seam of his lips. Her fingers stroked through the coarse, straight hair that covered his jaw and she realized with a jolt somewhere around her midsection that she rather liked it. She made a mental note to discuss the future of the beard with him later on, but for now…

“No academic theories right now, Professor…” she whispered. She was exhausted and overwhelmed. She needed to take a minute and just… come to terms with everything. With Varric, Harding, and Bellara; with how long she’d been gone… what the hell she was going to do next. What she was going to do to Solas when she got her violent, creative little Reaper hands on him… 

“Humour an old man,” he smirked tiredley. 

“I’ll consider humouring him in the bath.” 

“You’re no basket of roses either, dear.” 

“Regret bringing me back yet?”

He caught her hand and brought it to his lips, placing a chaste kiss to the back of it, his eyes locked on hers - as red and puffy as they were, the love that dwelled within them was unmistakable, and Amina knew they would never be parted in this life again. 

“Never.” 

[jaal-ama-daravv]

Had an idea about Rook's time in the fade and wanted to share it

Johanna a necromancer who is on the same level as Emmrich and very much wants to break out of jail is like right there while Emmrich is spiraling trying to save Rook

If there was ever a prime time to manipulate a man it would've been in those few weeks

You've brought up once about how Emmrich has the potential to go down a darker path when Rook dies in the lich! path so I feel like he has the capacity to give in if things are looking dire or atleast be highly tempted to loosen Johanna's wards ever so slightly like she's been requesting

There's fic potential right there

I completely agree with you. Johanna is a shit-stirrer so I would definitely imagine her poking at a mortal Emmrich during that time,

"Bet you never thought you'd lose a beloved paramour to your beloved fade instead of your timely death."

or

"Looks like Volkarin's lovers have gone and lived happily ever after together. It's too bad you understand the fade more than people, they might be lost forever (disgusted noise)."

and a lich Emmrich might hear a line like-

"I can't believe I have to witness you mope around for eternity because the one person that was actually fond of you chose the fade over well, a bag of bones. Really Volkarin, did you think they'd fight to come back to suppers leftover rations? Please (scoffs)."

or

"So much for your enduring affection, Volkarin."

I can see a lich Emmrich pleading with Johanna for her to show him ways to access the fade to speak to Rook.

The amount of thoughts that run through my head at Johanna and Emmrich during that time Rook is imprisoned is unparalleled. Especially since emmrich could be so easily swayed in those fragile few weeks.

[thatnonameuser]

So… is cannibalism technically allowed if you eat your darlings heart because “you loved them too much that you wanted a part of them to be with you forever”

Darling murder is illegal in nearly every nation, but what happens after death. What happens after their one true love is gone from this world forever.

Some yanderes commit suicide, after their darling's death. But most get creative in their grief.

And to some, what better way to have their darling and their love forever, and ever, than to eat their heart.

The Queendom of Roses, the Scalding Sands and the Shaftlands are disturbed by the very concept. The love yanderes have for their darlings means that they should be safe from all harm, even in death. So the thought of consuming a part of them is just barbaric. So, Ace, Deuce, Trey, Cater, Riddle, Kalim, Jamil, Vil, and Epel won't.

But in the Sunset Savannah and the Coral Sea, it's a common funerary custom. It's meant to represent the idea that your loved ones never leave you, even in death. That they're waiting for you on the other side. As a result, Leona, Ruggie, Azul, Jade and Floyd would all do it.

Jack would if when you died, you left him all alone. If you had kids, he would still have a piece of you left behind and might not. But leave him completely by himself, then he will.

Rook absolutely would. A ceremony like that is absolument magnifique, la perfection incarnée. Rook romanticizes the whole ordeal, dressing you as a beauty in a glass coffin. A freshly sharpened knife never stained or tainted with another's blood will be used to sever the flesh from such a delicate organ. And it will be the most delicious thing he ever tastes.

Idia already has a till death and beyond tradition. The pomegranate. He doesn't need to rip your heart from your dead chest.

For the Briar Valley, it depends on the yandere. In this case, I think that in this case, and the canon episodes. Malleus would never given his very present issues with losing loved ones, and would spend the rest of his life trying to return you to life. Lilia would, he's lost many friends on the battlefield, keeping you with him forever by eating your heart feels in character. Silver and Sebek maybe, but for now, I'm not sure.

[gabbiecasso]

Sharing my recent journal entry about Neve Gallus and myself, so let me yap

One of the biggest reasons Neve means so much to me is because I see myself in her. I’ve always been logical and analytical, always trying to figure things out—why something works, why it doesn’t. That curiosity naturally led me to problem-solving, but it also made me intellectualize my emotions instead of just feeling them, even though I know I’m a deeply emotional person.

Neve’s struggle is not that she lacks emotions—it’s that she feels too much. She’s the kind of person who catches the smallest inconsistencies, pieces together the truth with precision, and always seems to know what’s really going on. Her logic is sharp, her deduction skills nearly unmatched. And yet, when it comes to her own emotions, she shuts them down. Not because she doesn’t understand them, but because she does. She knows that if she lets them take over, they might unravel everything she’s built—her discipline, her duty, her control. And god, do I feel the same way.

The way I see it, our logic isn’t just a tool—it’s a shield. We both intellectualize our emotions, treating them like puzzles to be solved rather than experiences to be felt. But emotions aren’t rational, and the more we try to categorize them, the more they slip through our grasp. So instead, we repress them.

But repression isn’t the same as control. Neve’s emotions don’t disappear—they linger beneath the surface, showing up in subtle ways. In the way she hesitates before making a choice that should be easy. In the way she avoids thinking about what comes next. In the way she convinces herself that as long as she keeps moving forward, she’ll be fine.

Her emotional logic is a paradox—she tries to rationalize feelings that, by nature, resist logic. And deep down, she knows she can’t keep running from them forever.

When my emotions rise and start clouding my judgment, I panic—not because I don’t understand them, but because I know myself. I know how deeply I can feel, but I don’t always know how far those feelings will take me. I think Neve is the same way. She’s confident in herself, but she doesn’t know her breaking point.

And maybe that’s why falling in love can feel so terrifying for someone deeply logical and analytical. You can study it, observe it, notice the smallest details, and even rationalize why a person makes you feel the way they do—but love isn’t something you can fully understand. It has to be felt. And for someone like Neve, who’s spent so long relying on logic, that’s exactly what makes it so daunting. She knows she has feelings for Rook, but acknowledging them isn’t the same as allowing herself to feel them. So she represses them, over and over again.

Man, human behavior and emotions have always been my favorite topics, so stumbling upon Neve’s character was such a treat. But honestly? Watching her struggle was like watching myself, LOL. Not to mention, we both share the same deep-seated need to be of service to others. The need to fulfill a duty, god. As someone who thrives on acts of service, I get it. When you want to be there for people, you start taking on everything yourself without even realizing it. Sometimes it’s so second nature that I don’t even notice I’ve gone out of my way to do something I swore I wouldn’t—like taking a route I hate just to make sure a friend gets home safe—until someone else points it out.

Learning to balance logic with emotion—understanding my feelings while also allowing myself to truly feel them—and balancing the need to be of service to others and to myself, it has been a lifelong journey.

It's exactly the reason why I draw.

I’ll remember Neve for a very long time. I don’t think I’ve ever come across a fictional character who mirrors me this well.

I don't follow zodiac signs religiously but me being a Capricorn (Sun) and Virgo (moon) is too much of a coincidence that explains my overly logical + overworked ass LOL

[rom-e-o]

*holds Manfred hostage* Spill the tea on Belismerich's proposal, or the skeleboy gets an earful of the nastiest, funnest-to-say swear words. ... Metaphorically speaking.

NO, MANFRED! 😭 (Although that does sound like a good time…I’m tempted. Manfred has gotten good grades lately, maybe he can say ‘fuck’ one, as a little treat.)

OKAY BUT YES - Belismerich proposal! To be honest, I had not thought about what this would look like specifically, so this was a really fun ask to receive! I had to think about it. We know Emmy says before the final battle that there is so much he wants to “say” and “plan” with Rook after they survive. (He can still die horribly in a cinematic after this if you mess up enough with your battle assignments, which KILLS ME INSIDE, but not in this universe.)

If you romance Bellara, she confesses something along the lines of, “Rook, I know we haven’t known each other that long, but I feel like I’ve know you forever” right before the end. So we don’t really know how long this adventure lasts. Maybe 6 months? Harding also teases Emmrich that “you and Rook are sort of moving quickly.” (Which is funny, his romance is the only one with multiple kisses and dates, whereas most of the other allies get … one/two kisses and bed scene rolled into one. So yeah, he’s amorous by comparison.)

So, after the final battle, I don’t think Emmrich jumps right into a proposal. Even with his lingering fear of death and insecurity about aging, I feel like his desire to give Rook a proper romance comes through, which is big for him. I do HC that, after they survive the final fight, they’re sitting together in a sickbay recovering, and Emmrich slips off one of his MANY rings and gives it to her.

(This gets long, so I’m inserting a “Read More”, haha.)

Belisma: Emmrich, what is…?

Emmrich: It’s…a promise to you.

Belisma: A promise? Emmrich, are you—

Emmrich: I-I know there is much we need to do. The cities needs to recover. The world needs to heal. The ancients are gone, and the everything has changed, my love. We need to rebuild, and mourn those we lost. But … through it all, no matter what we face, I want you to know my feelings were true. Are true. Our relationship was not a flight of fancy. I still long for you. For a future with you. If you’ll have me.

Belisma: Oh. I … Y-Yes. I’d very much love that.

I think Belisma worries Emmrich’s fancy for her might fade once she’s no longer the grand hero “Rook.” She goes back to being a normal, bookish Watcher with an affinity for ballet and jam sandwiches. Is their love the type that can shift from an environment of dangerous excitement to domestic bliss? Does he only love her because of her exciting, dashing hero persona and role?

With Belisma being a Watcher, I imagine it’s easy and natural for her to move into his lodgings in the Necropolis with Manfred. There is plenty of space, and it’s private. He takes an extended sabbatical, and works on making Rook feel at home. Their rooms were adjacent at the Lighthouse, but now? They’re sharing a bed. Rooms. A wardrobe.

Isma’s fears are quickly nullified as they spend more time quiet together. Walking the gardens, cooking together, reading together by the fire. They also walk the crypts hand-in-hand, and attend lectures/seminars together on necromancy. They tend to the funerary rites of all the people lost in that final battle, and as they prepare their bodies, they reminisce and pay very personal respects. They make sure Lace has a proper monument erected to honor her sacrifice. And they travel! They visit Treviso for the amazing markets, or Rivain to frolic the beaches properly. He always wanted to travel, and now he can. So, they still adventure a bit, but much more safely, haha. They also travel to provide aid across the country, especially to those needing assistance with burying/honoring their dead. It’s a sensitive process, and they are very, very tender.

They bond over teaching Manfred magic (there’s a few close calls with the flaming rocks.) She goes back to dancing ballet. He still privately tutors his most promising pupils, and grades assignments in is spare time.

It’s perfect. Then, six months in, he proposes.

The most obvious choice is the Memorial Gardens, but I imagine he also does it there because his parents are there. 🥹 And it’s private, and where they shared their first kiss.

They share wine and dinner, and end with a walk. Belisma expects nothing; they’ve done this make times before. Then, right at the end, he leads her off the path and to his parents graves. There, Manfred is standing with an overflowing bouquet, and a small box. But they aren’t offerings. He goes to them, takes them, and beckons her forward. She obeys, and he gifts her the flowers. Shroud’s Kiss, Blue Creepvine. Weeping Widower.

They walk eternity hand-in-hand, he reads. Their epitaph. “It’s always a sentiment that is touched me, even as a boy. Their affection so enduring that, even in death, they are intertwined. Bound by their mutual adoration. Their lives ended too soon, but they set a sterling example for what love could be. Should be. Warmth. Togetherness. I longed for that in my life. A-And with a loving soul to watch over or wait for, then join that new journey … even death itself seems more than bearable. With you.”

Soulmates, in every way.

Slightly breathless, he presents the ring, and sinks onto one knee while taking hers. “Flame of my heart, I ask … would you join me in that destiny? Will you marry me?”

He doesn’t trust himself to say much, because he’s so nervous. Here he is, on his knee before the woman he loves (and Manfred, lmao) laying his heart bare for her. The ring is gold with a smoky-quartz stone in the middle. It matches her hair and eyes.

Belisma buries her face in the bouquet, so happy she is without words, before nodding eagerly. Here she was, happy to be his love in all ways. But marriage? She’s almost 36 by now. She was content with being a quirky spinster/retired hero. Now, she’s wanted as a bride? As a wife. Her heart sings, and she wishes she could twirl.

“…My love, I need you to say it,” he says. “Please.” His heart can’t handle false hope.

“Yes,” she rushes to say, “I will … happily marry you, Emmrich Volkarin. Walk hand-in-hand with you for the rest of our mortal, and immortal, days. I want to share your life, your name, everything.”

The ring is slid onto her finger, and less than a second later, he rushes upward to crush her into a thankful, passionate kiss. “I’ll always love you,” he promises through pants. “Treasure you. Keep you company, and you’ll want for nothing, my dearest. I promise. Oh, I promise.”

Manfred turns away and shields his eyes with a squeal, then distracts himself with a rose bush (“Rose! Beautiful!”) Neither Belisma or Emmrich stop this, instead continuing to kiss and whisper loving please to each other between swipes of the tongue and sighs of delight.

Belisma also takes his name, which means a lot. After all, he’s the last Volkarin. And now, she has his name. She chose to be a part of his life, and his family. That, in addition to a long list of other things, leaves him besotted and hopelessly, undoubtedly, convinced he has found a soulmate in her.

[vaguely-concerned]

ohhhhhhhohohoho taash half-accusingly telling rook 'what would you know? you act like you haven't lost anyone' is soooo good and hits so perfectly for rye in particular (who incidentally was showing his true credentials as varric's spiritual son in giving good advice he has never, ever, not once in his life, actually followed himself. and probably never will! (also the only option at that point in the convo that doesn't give you approval interestingly. taash rightfully doesn't quite buy what rook's selling there lol.) of course it's okay for you to be sad and feel abandoned because your parent figure is gone even though she never meant to leave you. not me though. obviously. that's just going to have to be an untended open grave of a wound in my heart forever there's nothing for it). it's such a good hint as to how odd rook's reaction to varric's death must seem to the rest of the team even as they eggshell tiptoe walk around it. of course no one wants to be the first person to broach the subject with rook. would YOU want to be the first person to break through that weird serene lack of reaction and find out what's hiding beneath it??? because none of the potential answers to that have the outlook of being entirely comfortable. (the real answer being, of course, 'oh shit blood magic empowered denial stage!!!'. which is also not great but would have been good to know sooner probably lol)

in general I LOVE the relationship I've been able to set up and keep developing between these two. there's such a solid throughline that there is so much affection in this relationship... but taash consistently picks up on rye's bullshit (as much about what he tells himself and thinks about himself as anything else, I don't think he means to be deceptive necessarily he's just out of touch with a lot internally), on the lack of complete authenticity that's there however well-meaning. and (probably wisely) keeps that last little bit of distrust and distance because of it. no one in the world could want to help them more earnestly than rook, and his protectiveness and tenderness for them is genuine and from the core. but beneath it all rye is not in a place with himself to be what they really need because at the end of the day and in many ways they're probably already further along in the quest to be true to themselves without apology or obfuscation than he is. and also he's going to get their gf killed inadvertently in a hot second so like. layers. layers of stuff and resentments and broken promises never quite made and reflections never quite faced going on here despite everyone's best intentions every step of the way lmao (which could be the subtitle of this game in many ways so that works out excellently thematically). 'I feel like I'm always letting you down and I'm so sorry' cycle keeps grinding on.

at the same time taash is working through ways to reconcile with and find ways to live with their mother and the memory of her in all her shortcomings because they love her and she means so much to them that they don't want to let it go completely, 'I just have to find a way to hold you that doesn't hurt me so much even if that means I can't clutch you as closely as I might have wanted once'... they're having to do some of the same process with rook. forgiving someone for what they couldn't be for you and finding other ways to get what you need -- not because this person ever meant to let you down, but because they simply don't have the capacity for whatever reason not to, a bit. there's going to be an oh how the turntables moment at some point down the line where taash rounds on rook to bark 'hey asshole forgive yourself already. you can't be everything to everyone and no one's asking you to be but you. and if anyone is asking you to be that they're dicks because that's unfair. stop beating yourself up I don't like having to watch my friends be bullied.' and rye will have to lie awake staring at the ceiling for a couple of nights after that probably. but maybe there's some hope he'll finally listen.

(I think the only person who gets rye completely unfiltered is lucanis by the end. which is not at all reflecting on the rest of the crew -- RYE rarely gets rye completely unfiltered all of those relationships are still very important no matter what lol. but I think lucanis has both the eyes to see through to and understand the truth and the unflinching 'I said all in and I meant all in' nature to accept what he sees without hesitation or quibble when he does, which makes rye finally let the walls come down after the fade jail when everything is in shambles inside. the full mutual People think that intimacy is about sex. But intimacy is about truth. When you realize you can tell someone your truth, when you can show yourself to them, when you stand in front of them bare and their response is 'You're safe with me'—that's intimacy and so on and so forth deal. which basically is what that big romance scene is about and why it's. everything.)

[brennacedria]

Thursday Bangers, Memorial Day Edition

I was tagged by @woundedsoul12 for this week's Thursday Bangers!

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

This week's song was picked by @fiberpunk027:

I don't know what I'm supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you Oh, take me back to the night we met. - The Night We Met, Lord Huron

Oh my GOD was this week hard. I had two approaches right away; one filled the prompt perfectly but the other was more emotional. I decided on combining them, but wrote the second part first... and then I couldn't write the first part. This is the compromise I came up with, minus quite a few keysmashes filling in my original place-holder brackets.

Note: Sofia de Riva isn't Rook, but rather Viago's liaison to the Lighthouse--and younger half-sister. She fell hard for Davrin, and him for her. (AO3)

Sofia stared blankly at the empty hearth and hugged her knees to her chest. It was never cold at the Lighthouse, but she was used to having a fire here. She was used to having him here.

“I wish I could go with you all tomorrow.” “No, it’s better this way. If something happened to you, I… I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.” “I’m just as involved in all of this as the rest of you.” “That’s not the point. And yes, I know you can take care of yourself. It’s just…” “Just what?” “I can’t lose you. I shouldn’t have fallen for you in the first place, but now that I have, I can’t risk losing you.” It'd been weeks since the mission to Tearstone Island. Weeks since the team returned at half its usual strength. Weeks since she lost him forever. A single tear escaped to fall down her cheek, and she swiped it away angrily. She was a de Riva, dammit. She was better than this. It was a weakness, and she should have known better. The door opened behind her; she ignored it and continued to stare at the hearth. “So, this is the famous Lighthouse,” Viago said from the door, and Sofia jumped out of her skin, scrambling up from the chair to face her Talon. “You left so abruptly after your last report, and I haven't had a chance to follow up until now.” “Viago, I'm so sorry, I– I was going to come back tomorrow. They just rescued Rook this morning, I haven't had a chance to talk to her yet, I thought–” He held one hand up to silence her. “I understand, do not worry.” He paused. “What I do not understand is why you did not tell me about you and the Grey Warden.” “How did you… Teia.” “Yes. She told me after you left. She thinks that is why you returned here so quickly. Has there… been any sign of him?” Sofia shook her head, her dark hair falling across her face and hiding the tears that began to fall. “Nothing,” she whispered. And then the dam broke. “Why hasn't there been any sign of him, Vi?” she sobbed. “There's just no sign of him, not even a body. They came back and told me what happened but there was no body. No proof. I thought… I thought he might still come back. Rook came back, so why didn't Davrin?” “Come here,” he said gently, and Sofia threw herself into his arms and bawled like a child. “Shh, shh, mi sorellina, it will be okay,” he murmured. “Sofi, it will pass. It will take time, but it will pass.” She sniffed and laughed. “He called me that once. No one's ever called me Sofi but you, and when he did it it caught me off guard so badly, I think he thought I was angry. I wasn't, though. I loved it. I loved him." The weight of the word settled in, and her eyes grew wide. “Oh, Maker, Vi,” she gasped. “I never told him. I loved him and I never told him and now he's gone forever and I'll never be able to tell him.”

IDK, I just had this idea of Viago actually having some emotions, even if he'll never show them when there are witnesses. He and Sofia weren't raised together, but they share a mother and she was his fledgling from the moment she joined the Crows, so they've been together long enough to have that family bond in spite of now growing up together.

Anyway, it's Monday night so it's so late in the game that I don't think there's anyone left to tag, not that I can usually remember names after going through everything to get this formatted. >.< At any rate, if you see this, haven't played yet, and want to play, consider yourself tagged!!

[divorcedwife]

it's not what i wanted to talk about originally but im thinking about grey wardens and relationships cause i actually didn't consider some things until yesterday

until i thought about it for jena, i honestly didn't consider much that a grey warden would not be allowed to tell a not-grey warden partner about the side effects (infertility + early death) of the joining. at least not the real reason why. right? like the joining is secret, and the effects are only explained after it's already done

i didn't consider it before because in da:o, things are really really dire and unusual and it's clear from the start the warden might not live, so concerns about the future feel like a luxury we don't have. i mostly went with alistair anyway, and i don't remember if it's something that's ever discussed with other companions, but i wouldn't find it odd that the warden's friends would know. we break so many wardens rules anyway (like no politics), it's really really dire out there

and in da2, the grey warden hawke can date is someone who has left the order and doesn't care about upholding their rules, and left the wardens on bad terms. and he has so much going on anyway that the side effects are not even in the top 5 of his afflictions at any time... like it doesn't matter too much if anders will die of the calling in fifteen years when he's putting on his black coat and giving away his wordly possessions and talking more ominously by the hour. hawke seems to know quite a lot about wardens regardless, so it's all fine

in dai, the inquisitor knows nothing about warden secrets, and blackwall doesn't explain much, but... well... revelations happen. lol

but if you play as a warden rook and date a companion..... you can't tell them, right? things are bad, but definitely not dire and lonely like in dao. warden rook and davrin have plently of warden people they can talk to about warden issues, they don't need to break order rules to do that. i guess warden rook has been excluded from the order a bit, i guess some people could say that their rook has gone anders mode and will share all the secrets, but not me personally. jena isn't explaining anything to any of them, her heart is with the wardens forever

so i guess it's lucky that i went for lucanis, who already knows all warden secrets cause he killed one... and exclusively uses that knowledge to taunt davrin about his upcoming horrible death. i thought that moment was really funny cause since i was a warden and standing within earshot, it felt really cruel and inconsiderate and unprompted (i didn't say anything mean to warrant this?? im collateral damage....), and since i thought the characters were lacking in negative traits, i was always happy to see something petty like this. now i do wish these little acts of being unconsiderate weren't all directed at rook, but it's something i suppose

[quill-pen]

@rom-e-o So, my turn, I suppose?

The Guineverich Proposal

Considering the Wolves relationship takes forever😩 I decided to stick to the idea in the game that Emmrich and Rook are supposedly moving at a pretty quick clip for the Ravens. Just for something different.

They first say "I love yours" and consummate their relationship around the 3 month mark.

Doesn't take long at all after for Emmrich to decide that, yes, he's going to propose. She's the one.

He just needs to find the right ring.

Ring secured, his next step is to ask her parents. They're wonderful folks that think the world of their G'iney and he wouldn't want to make them feel like he's stealing her right out from under their noses without letting them know. So he gets in touch with them, telling them he needs to talk in person and asks them if they might issue an invite for G'iney, Manfred, and him to come visit the next convenient weekend. G'iney has to think it's their idea or she will be suspicious. So they do. Emmrich and Manfred more officially meet G'iney's family in a non-funeral related setting, and he asks for Guinevere's hand. Of course, they give him permission. Manfred spends all weekend playing with G'iney's younger siblings and cousins and Kat, because of course the snake goes too.

With ring and permission sets in stone, Emmrich sets to work at crafting the perfect setting. While Guinevere likes her jewelry to be more flashy, her proposal is a different matter entirely. She's much too shy for a public or even semi-public proposal. So Emmerich prepares a lovely, romantic meal to be held at the Memorial Gardens where they went on the date where they decided to make their relationship official. He plans to propose to her at his parents' graves. (Sorry! But it just seems only right for him to do!😭)

He stashes the ring in the meantime.

Unfortunately, fueled by the playtime he had with G'iney's family, Manfred is in a pirate-loving phase and is looking to find "treasure" for his "treasure chest". Naturally, in his search and snooping, he comes across a pretty little box. Now, Manfred knows, even as a pirate skeleton, that sometimes boxes contain very important things for his papa to use or keep safe, so before he decides to put the box in his treasure chest, he needs to see what's in it. But he can't get the little clasp open, and Papa is out. So he takes it to Mum instead!

Guinevere is... surprised to say the least. Emmerich already has a ring? There is nothing else this could be but an engagement ring: It's too new to have come from a crypt, there's no enchantment about it but a small charm to make the longevity of the sparkle last longer. He's already planning to propose! But... they've hardly been together as a couple for six months! It's so soon! And yet... it feels perfectly timed. And so right. And Guinevere finds, if she digs past those vicious voices in her head that constantly tell her she's worthless, not marriage material, she'll only be a burden, and Emmrich will end up hating her for tying him down to her brokeness, that she has no reservations. At least, none concerning him and his genuineness, goodness, and love for her.

She supposes she could have Manfred show her where he found the box and put it back to try and keep her beloved's surprise, but in contrast to the proposal, lying to Emmrich like that, even for what seems a good reason, doesn't feel right. So she tells and shows him when he gets home. Of course he's disappointed. Everything was going so perfectly according to plan, he was trying so hard to keep up.a good pokerface and had actually seemed to be succeeding. And the happy surprise of it for Guinevere is now ruined.

"I suppose I'll have to cancel things now."

"No, please don't! It sounds like such a lovely idea and you've gone to so much trouble to set it up. I don't need the perfect surprise proposal--I just need a lovely night with the man I love and all the happiness in the world to make it a dream."

So, cheered by her assurances, Emmrich does just that.

The night goes off without a snafu, except for one rogue wisp that seemed determined to hog their attention for a few minutes.

"Maybe Manfred needs a sibling?"

"Unlike Manfred, I don't believe this wisp would take too kindly to an earthly tether. And Manfred still has much to learn; I'm not certain I'm ready to take on another wisp as of yet."

Emmrich does manage to surprise Guinevere however, by getting Manfred a "Will you be my mama?" shirt and dressing him in it. (Bellara handled the tracking down of that one for him.) Manfred is wearing it when they meet him at the Volkarin's graves.

Guinevere laughs and cries and says "yes" to Manfred as she hugs him and accepts his flowers. Then she turns her attention to Emmrich as he goes down on two knees with the ring.

"Guinevere Vynhalsyne, the life of a Mourn Watcher is a lonely existence; mine has been no exception. From the moment I was orphaned as a young boy, I have been incredibly alone, even when surrounded by teachers, tutors, spirits. It has been hard for me to find solace even among my own peers. An enduring affection, such as that which I've dreamed of for as long as I can remember, is an incredibly rare find. I thought I'd missed my chance to find it.

"Then you come into my life and suddenly that deep shadow of loneliness flees into the corners at the touch of your light. Colors become ever more vivid. The air becomes fresh and clear and full of life. What unexpected splendor to be found in just the creases of your smile, the musicality of your laugh! And, most unexpected and splendid of all, enduring affection to be found in the purity and kindness of your wonderful heart.

"I love you, Guinevere, as the wolf loves the moon. As the sun ignites a rainbow after a storm, you have ignited my heart and soul for you. You have awakened my enduring affection. I offer it to you freely and will chose to do so all the days of my life if you will allow it. My dearest heart, my most precious beloved , flame of my heart, my Rook, will you grant an old fool the greatest honor of taking your hand in marriage to become your most devoted husband? My darling Guinevere, will you marry me?"

And, of course, through tears and sobs (which she feels a little silly about because she knew this was coming after all) Guinevere says "yes". A thousand times "yes".