#oc: rosie/thorn

[wishing-well-art]

A few more pieces of my ocs, Atlas and Rosie!

Both of them gained a specific magic gift in an event that trapped the town under a magic dome, with Atlas being able to manipulate light and Rosie able to manipulate plants. While Atlas is living a relatively normal existence with their new powers, Rosie decided to become a supervillain and cause lots of minor property damage.

[changeling-fae]

Thanks to a guide made in the Veilguard modding discord, I can finally have my dream of having a short qunari.

Rosie Thorne; a grey warden mage. She basically has a form of qunari dwarfism. I headcanon her to be a spirit healer and she’s always been sensitive to spirits. She was born in qunari lands and with her spirit sensitivity and magic triggering at a semi early age, she was bound like most saarabas.

Her handler eventually went tal-vashoth and forced her to come along. The group she was with got ambushed by darkspawn and she was the only survivor but got infected. Thankfully some wardens in the area found her, including a vashoth warden, and saved her with the joining.

The vashoth warden is named Warden Amleth Thorne and he had actually been raised by the Avaar as an orphan and since he became her mentor she adopted his surname. She was named Rosie for her eyes, blushy cheeks, and her sense of optimism.

She was able to train and practice magic with the wardens now which is how she learned her healing magic (though she’s still a powerhouse from her qunari training).

She was shy at first but really came out of her shell and now is quite mischievous.

She really loves the story of the griffons and got wings tattooed on her arms. She’ll be over the moon when she meets Assan.

Thanks to her dwarfism, she has to deal with people constantly asking her “I thought all qunari were tall” and/or people mistaking her for a child.

She has dark sclera because I’m a DA2 dark sclera qunari truther. Wish they also had their metallic/iridescent skin still too, alas.

She’s going to romance Emmrich because I’m weak.

[deltaqueen184]

my 300 dtiys for Instagram is here

rules

no tracing

no deadline

the tag is 300dqdtiys

you allow to change things just keep the character the same have fun

[autumnday19-fanart]

The brain rot...... Is returning.........

[boyslit-moving]

I wish I felt like drawing and had energy for coloring and rendering bc i'd love to draw Penelope and Rosie dancing side by side :(

[gweelczz]

“Thorns and Silver”

Bo Chow x OC (Rosetta)

Genre: angst, fluff

Warnings: violence

Summary: Rosetta saves Bo from a threat

The world had gone deathly still.

Bo Chow slumped against the crumblin’ brick wall of the alleyway, the heavy Mississippi night pressin’ down on him like a wet blanket. His breath rattled in his chest, shallow and quick, the ropes bitin’ into his wrists.

In front of him, Remmick moved like a cat about to pounce, crouched low, a wicked gleam in his too-pale eyes.

“Ah, you’ll thank me yet,” Remmick said, his voice a soft, lilting Irish brogue. “Life’s too short for fear, lad. I’m offerin’ you a new one. Richer. Wilder.”

Bo’s head hung heavy, the world swimmin’ around him. Blood loss made the ground tilt and sway, but through it all he clung to one thing — Rose.

Rosetta.

Her gold eyes, burnin’ brighter than any star. Her deep dimples when she smiled just for him.

His heart. His home.

Remmick’s shadow grew larger as he stepped closer —

Until a sudden crash broke through the night.

Garlic cloves scattered across the cobblestones.

Remmick hissed like a wounded beast, reelin’ back, arms thrown up to shield himself from the assault.

“You best back off ‘fore you catch worse,” came a voice — soft like honey, fierce like a storm.

Bo forced his heavy eyes open.

There she was.

Rosetta.

His Rose.

She stood at the mouth of the alley, framed in moonlight, her dark skin glowin’ like wet earth after rain, her great halo of curls a crown of defiance. Her gold eyes locked on Remmick with a look that could’ve cracked stone.

With a swift hand, she reached into her hair and yanked free a silver hairpin.

No hesitation. No mercy.

She closed the distance and drove it straight into Remmick’s chest.

The vampire howled — a ragged, inhuman sound that made the windows rattle. His body convulsed, crumpled, then turned to ash that whirled away into the mist.

The alley fell quiet again.

All Bo could hear was his own heart poundin’ in his ears — and the soft, frantic sounds of Rose workin’ to untie him.

“Bo, sugar, stay with me now,” she whispered, her voice breakin’ just a little as she pressed her forehead against his. “Ain’t nothin’ gon’ take you from me, y’hear?”

Bo tried to speak, tried to tell her he heard, he knew, he felt it — but the blackness swallowed him whole before he could get the words out.

⸻

A few hours later…

Bo woke to the soft creak of the chair beside him.

The room smelled like home — old wood, fresh cotton sheets, the faint sweetness of honeysuckle soap.

Rose sat there, still in her dust-stained dress, her curls wild ‘round her shoulders, lookin’ at him like he was somethin’ precious.

Her hand was slidin’ gentle through his hair, each pass slow and easy, like she was makin’ sure he stayed anchored to this earth.

“Bo?” she said, voice thick with sleep and worry. “You back with me, baby?”

He managed a ragged little smile.

“Ain’t goin’ nowhere, Rosie,” he croaked, his voice rough as sand. “Not ‘less you go too.”

She laughed — a soft, tearin’ sound — and leaned down, kissin’ his forehead, her curls tumblin’ around them both like a shield.

“Move over,” she muttered, already climbin’ up onto the narrow bed beside him. “Ain’t sittin’ one more second in that fool chair.”

Bo chuckled, wincin’ a little as he shifted, makin’ room for her.

She curled up against him, strong and warm, her arm flung across his chest like she meant to keep him there by sheer will.

He breathed her in, heavy and grateful, the terror of the alley fadin’ away under the steady thrum of her heart.

Bo Chow had nearly been dragged into the dark —

But Rosetta, his sweet, fierce Rose, had hauled him right back into the light.

And he wasn’t lettin’ her go. Not ever.

Bo let his eyes drift shut again, holdin’ her close.

Somewhere in the quiet hum of the room, a memory stirred — soft and sweet, like a honeysuckle breeze.

He first heard ‘bout Rosetta from Smoke and Stack, sittin’ out back behind the Black Swan one sticky evenin’.

Stack was talkin’ big, laughin’ ‘bout this girl who could outrun any boy in town and beat ‘em too if they got slick.

Smoke just grinned, that slow grin of his, and said, “Ain’t a man south o’ Jackson who wouldn’t hand over his last dime just to see her smile. She’s my cousin, y’know — you better mind how you look at her.”

Bo hadn’t thought much of it then.

Just another story, he reckoned.

Until the day she walked into his family’s little market.

She was standin’ by the sacks of cornmeal, studyin’ ’em real careful like she was weighin’ the whole world in her hands. The sun poured through the windows and lit her up — her big golden eyes, her skin dark and rich like fresh-turned earth, her wild crown of curls shinin’ like a halo.

Bo had near about dropped the crate he was carryin’.

Felt like the ground shifted right out from under him.

She looked up, caught him starin’, and smiled — deep dimples carvin’ into her cheeks, a slow, easy smile that punched the breath clean outta his lungs.

Bo hadn’t stood a chance.

Not with a woman like that.

Not with Rose.

He grinned now, half-dreamin’, half-rememberin’, as he buried his face in her curls, lettin’ the memory settle in his chest like a prayer.

He didn’t just fall for her.

He flat-out belonged to her from the first.

⸻

A soft shift in the bed woke him.

Rose stirred beside him, her fingers brushing gently across his chest, like she was still feelin’ him even in her sleep. Her breath was slow, steady, and she let out a little hum — a sound that curled through him like warm honey.

Bo lowered his voice to a near-whisper, his lips brushing against the top of her head as he pulled her closer.

“Love you, Rosie,” he said, words thick with tenderness, with a promise that would never break.

She stirred just enough to press closer, her voice muffled but sweet in her sleep. “Love you too, Bo…”

And with that, the two of ‘em settled back into the stillness, hearts beatin’ in rhythm, the world outside forgotten.

[mothmangela]

Breakfast At The Lighthouse

A short writing exercise done during a quiet window at work. Lucanis provides the occupants of The Lighthouse with a rather extravagant breakfast. Rook (in this case, Dove Thorne, my OC; you can find out more about him in the Dove Thorne tag on my blog) muses on found family.

There were hot, flaky pastry parcels full of a rich beef gravy. Bread, thick with golden butter. Sunny slices of cheese, whorled with holes lay on a platter, alternating with the rosy pink slices of fine honey-roasted ham. Tiny tomatoes glistened like rubies, dotted amongst a salad of lambs’ lettuce. Everywhere Rook looked, his eyes settled on something new and undoubtedly delicious. Fat scones, still steaming, piled next to a pair of elegant pots filled with glossy raspberry jam and clotted cream so fatty and rich it was almost buttercup yellow. Muffins in patterned paper cases, some studded with fat blueberries, others with little pieces of fudge, dripping caramel sauce onto the platter. Dainty finger sandwiches - the white bread cut so thinly Rook had no doubt he could’ve read the morning paper through it had he been so inclined - with the scalloped frill of wafer-thin cucumber slices peeking from the edges. Dumpy little tartlets, some full of different varieties of jam, some with chocolate, others with caramel and full-bellied hazelnuts, sat close by, looking all the more delicious for their humble presentation.

“It’s a rough breakfast,” Neve commented sarcastically, as though they both weren’t painfully aware this was more food than either of them had ever seen in their lives. “But it’ll do.”

She punctuated the comment by popping a whole, miniature boiled egg in her mouth. A quail’s egg, Rook realised; he’d seen them in nests hidden under the hedgerows in the fields, but always thought they were too pitifully small to steal. But the rich will take for the sake of taking; whether it’ll sustain them or not. Not that Lucanis was that type of rich person, but he’d certainly been brought up on finer fare than the clan had ever been afforded. Rook hurriedly took a seat; Neve was eyeing the gooseberry jam tarts in such a way that Rook was seized by a sudden sense of urgency.

“Lucanis,” Rook began haltingly. “Are you aware that there are only eight of us for breakfast?”

“I was up anyway,” Lucanis shrugged, shuffling about in a monogrammed bed jacket. “And I wanted you to have options.”

“Maker, that’s a heck of a spread,” remarked Harding as she strolled into the room, her eyebrows in danger of disappearing into her cloud of (visibly unbrushed) auburn hair. She sat beside Rook and helped herself to a wodge of toast, heaping on butter so generously that it began to melt and run in keen rivulets down her wrist. “How’d you learn to cook like this? Didn’t you guys have servants for this kinda stuff?”

“I spent a lot of time getting under everybody’s feet in the kitchens as a boy though Caterina used to scold me for it when she caught me,” Lucanis said. “I wanted to try and make something for everybody… there’s fresh fruit for Taash, and Ferelden cheese for you, Harding… Bellara gave me some Dalish recipes… Just seemed like a good way to stay busy when I wasn’t sleeping. A good and helpful way to stay busy.”

“I certainly shan’t complain,” chimed Emmerich as he drew up a chair and began to pour himself and Rook a cup of tea from the big brass kettle. Unlike the rest of The Lighthouse residents, Rook and Emmerich were quite decidedly tea drinkers rather than coffee drinkers, though Emmerich took his with enough sugar cubes to treat a whole herd of Halla.

“Lots of vegetarian stuff,” Rook nodded, shoving a plate of tiny puff pastry slices filled with what looked like crumbled cheese and slices of pears toward Emmerich.

“With such a care toward presentation that one would be forgiven for assuming a Nevarran chef had plated them!” Emmerich agreed, heaping a selection of things onto his plate. Taash had entered the room in silence and immediately put the entire serving platter of croissants onto their own plate, with a modest bunch of grapes on the side.

“Glad to see you’re making sure your diet has all the relevant food groups Taash,” Davrin remarked through a mouthful of bacon. “Twelve croissants and seven grapes. Very balanced.”

“Food groups are vashedan,” Taash replied airily, with a blunt certainty that made their statement seem far more reasonable than it was in reality. “Just eat what you want to eat. Nobody tells me what I can and can’t eat. Who cares about food groups?”

“I mean, it’s a point,” Bellara said tentatively. “With Elgar’nan and Ghillan’nain and… everything… Maybe we should enjoy stuff like this where we can.”

“And that is the point,” Lucanis said sagely. “No matter what the world is doing, good food is a great comfort.”

“Very Antivan point of view, but I can’t say I’d argue with it,” Davrin conceded, tearing a bread roll into halves and tossing one at Assan, who snapped it out of the air into his beak with surprisingly dexterity for an animal that managed to step on every single individual rib when he tried to climb into bed beside any of the Lighthouse residents of an evening.

“Has he tried to make you drink those weird “effervescente” drinks with the white stuff in yet?” Neve asked. “He says they’re good for digestion. I think they taste like the bottom of a store cupboard.”

“To be fair Neve, you eat like a Minrathous street cat,” Rook teased. “Isn’t this all a bit fancy for you?”

“Like you didn’t pay over the odds for a pound of Halla butter because it reminded you of home last week,” Neve crowed in response, though she was quickly distracted by the discovery of some potted shrimp. Rook let the comment hang, happy to take the teasing; his cheeks ached from smiling, and that feeling had become foreign in the past few weeks. It was hard to smile when you spent a great deal of time wading through waist-high blighted water and trying not to step in corpses. There was a feeling of family at the Lighthouse that he hadn’t known even with the Wardens; it was like being back with the clan again, taking turns milking the Halla and baking bread in the ashes of the firepit. In a strange way, it felt like he was a shepherd again, watching over the people of the North the same way he had once so carefully guarded the Halla. He knew Davrin had shared that aspect of growing up Dalish, and made a mental note to ask him if he ever felt that same responsibility for the people they met on their adventures. Rook had felt it during his service with the Wardens, and he felt it again with every step he took with his new family toward that distant end goal of eliminating the blighted gods and restoring order; like he was guiding his flock through the dark, and protecting them from what lurked in the shadow beyond the light of his lantern. It was just that what inhabited the shadows now was significantly higher stakes than what usually menaced the Halla.

[talesfromtherollingmountain]

I decided to actually definitively list ALL of my OCs I have for One Piece, from fully developed, to "Just a Picrew" because I have soooooo many I honestly just don't touch anymore 💀

And I still would like to create more, because making Little Freaks is Fun.

Strawhats:

Unaek Seveer

Eleni Santiana

Jocasta Erotas

Hearts:

Vidra

Rumbar Pirates:

Rhapsody

Buggy Pirates:

Odessa "Binky" The Mime

Pirates With No Crew:

Ash

Marines:

Marianna

Revolutionary Army:

Trygve Seveer

Rose Thorn-Seveer

Ruth

Hazel Floren (Sloth Mink)

Amaryllis

Misc:

Heishi Seveer (Germa 66)

Anemone (ClownFish Fishman)

Thalassa (Royal Gramma Loreto Fishman)

Lophi (Anglerfish Fishman)

Ceil (Blue Jay Bird "Mink")

Akako (Cardinal Bird "Mink")

Lyra (Buggy Pirates OC that I basically scrapped to make Odessa)

Fankids:

Delphinium Prince

Liatris Prince

Ace

Rosie

Mary Erotas

Roronoa Enma

Cora D. Trafalgar

Puffin

Ermine

[unanswered-stars]

Thank you so much for tagging me @jules-writes-stories @highlordofkrypton @achaotichuman

1. How many works do you have on AO3? I'm a but a wee babe in the ao3 world so just 7 but I have several WIP's that are on pause currently. I had originally had a fic planned for each day of Eris week but haven't been able to write in awhile so might be some time before those are published but once I start posting again you can expect Eris chaos to reign.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 36,487 I struggle to write long chapters and most of my works end up being around 2,500.

3. What fandoms do you write for? A Court of Thorns and Roses

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Shadows of Regret and Redemption| Azris - My first published work. A oneshot that grew legs and started to run. I am not completely happy with it thus far but I have the end plotted and I'm excited to eventually bring that to life.

Daughter of Autumn | Azris - Now this one absolutely shocked me with its popularity. Started as a fun little drabble for Gwyn Week 2024 and of course turned into Azris central.

The Beginning and End of Friendship | Azris - So many people screaming in the comments at me on this one. More screaming to come when I post part two I’m sure.

Two Souls Entangled| Azris - A tiny part of my soul via a short poem for Azris Week 2024.

Heaven Help the Fool Who Falls In Love: The End | Azris - This is the first piece I wrote for fanfiction and it is my precious baby. Only one chapter posted but I have several in need of editing before I publish the remainder. It's very heavy and I haven't had the mental space to read through it again.

5. Do you respond to comments? Every single one! They bring me so much joy. I have currently stayed away from my comment section for my own mental health but when I start posting again I will get back to everyone's comments, promise.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? All of my works are fairly heavy on the angst. TBaEoF comes to mind but I think for published works I’ll go with The Ending of Darkness which is a short little piece about @jules-writes-stories OC Mithras x Sylvan which I have a part 2 almost completed which is equally as angsty (sorry). Unpublished works definitely The Burning of Leaves and The Death of Shadows which are two fics I had planned for Eris week but are currently on pause (poor Eris I was really putting him through the wringer for Eris Week).

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Daughter of Autumn. Mostly because Cassian has the closing line and he just always says the darndest things.

8. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? I have not, nor do I plan on it. Please don’t hate me 😅 Just not my writing jam. I love finding unique ways to explore a relationship and conveying those same emotions and feelings without the smut. That being said some of my favourite stories and authors use smut as such a wonderful exploratory storytelling device and it is delightful. I love reading others contributions to the smutsphere. So so many talented writers out there giving us all our smuttiest dreams. I truly do not think that my smut contribution is even necessary when you have things like To Become a Vanssera by @acourtofladydeath and Why Not Me by @thomasisaslut both absolutely rife with smut and use it beautifully to convey their story (albiet in very different ways).

9. Do you write crossovers? Not yet, and probably not ever because I can hardly keep up with writing ideas I have for one fandom.

10. Have you ever had a fic translated? No.

11. Have you ever co-written a fic before? No, but it sounds delightful.

12. What is your all-time favorite ship? Azris most definitely for writing. I definitely have a big soft spot for Samwise and Rosie from LOTR (my husband is Samwise reincarnated and I am irrevocably in love with him). I have a WIP for Thesan and his lover and that dynamic and storyline has been so incredibly fun to explore as well.

13. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? I started writing a Tarquin UTM oneshot that is incomplete and while I am still in love with the story I really struggled with writing the voice of Tarquin. This one will only ever get finished if I can finally figure out the right tone for this man’s internal dialogues.

14. What are your writing strengths? I have been told my writing reads like poetry which is one of the biggest compliments you could ever give me. I also love writing parallels but there’s definitely a lot of room for improvement there.

15. What are your writing weaknesses?  Editing haha. But actually, I find that my characters voices don’t feel very distinct and that there is a lot of overlap in the way they speak and think and it can be hard to distinguish who’s talking/thinking. I feel like my characters resemble a cookie cutter suburban neighborhood where the walls and trim might be a different colour but they’re all built exactly the same. If anyone has some tips please feel free to comment or message me!

16. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I absolutely love reading it but unfortunately the only other language I know isn’t really a language at all. Pidgin, which is basically just native slang. I was playing around with it in my Tarquin fic a bit but seemed a tad too niche.

17. First fandom you wrote for? LOTR in middle school. I have a printed multi chapter booklet that is a rewrite of Sam and Frodo’s journey through Mordor that I made for my English class one year.

18. Favorite fic you’ve written? My favourite multi chapter by another author is undoubtedly A Court of Shadows and Ashes by @futurehunt Mother Save Us From Your Twisted fate by @chunkypossum which got a stunning part 2 for Eris Week this year! My favorite of my own published works is either HHtFWFiL:TE or The Ending of Darkness. Of my unpublished works honesty The Burning of Leave or The Death of Shadows are both strong contenders. For non Azris I have a Beron fic WIP for @sjmvillainweek day 1 that will probably get prioritized over the other two.

No pressure tags (and sorry if you've already been tagged): @the-darkestminds @born-to-riot @chairofchaos @thomasisaslut @chunkypossum @acourtofladydeath @shadowsandlint

[alxssarosex]

Every rose has it's thorns lore drop: pets edition

Evan and Pandora: They have a dog and a cat (cocker spaniel and a white fluffy cat) the dogs name is Rosie and the cats name is cupcake because they got it when they were four (this is lightly based off me naming my old dog sprinkles at age 4).

Barty: his dad is super against pets and since Barty's gone all year for school no one would be there to take care of it but he plans to get a Rottweiler and a snake after graduation.

Regulus: he has a black cat named starlet she's really small and he tries to sneak her to school every year unsuccessfully.

Dorcas: she has a black horse named Raven she got after he dad's first big investment deal when she was six.

Hyacinth (oc): she has a cane Corso named bear, a simease cat named Alice after Alice in wonderland, and a white horse named winter on top of her pets her mom has a Yorkie named Claira and lucius has a snake she's absolutely terrified of.

[wishing-well-art]

Casual outfits for Rosie

[changeling-fae]

More Rosie pics.

[call-sign-shark]

Little Flower

Game: What does Amos think of your OC? @justrainandcoffee

Rules: This game doesn’t reflect the author’s opinion but the thoughts of a fictional character. Amos lacks of interest in people and is mean, sarcastic. Beside, this game is not an ego contest nor meant to be a battle. Your character get roasted, we all laugh, and that’s all. PLEASE don’t go like “blabla my character would say this, they would destroy him” like, Idc bro that’s not the point of the game.

• This is a little humbling and fun exercice aimed at making you laugh. A parody of the love and care we have for each other in the fandom. Enjoy 🖤

“Oh little flower, do you really think you know what biting truly is? Your stem might have thorns but your petals haven’t, so plucking them wouldn’t be that hard.”

Flor, you don’t make it easy because Amos genuinely loves your Rosie in his canon version so we start this game with quite a soft reply. Lucky you, you’re the only one that won’t get roasted!

Amos thinks that Rose is an endearing person with a pure heart. Her buttheaded, rebellious yet caretaker nature is something he does value in her. In fact, Amos has quite a sharp sense of justice, so the fact Rose fights for women’s and minority’s rights impresses him. Modern!Amos has really nothing to say to hurt Rose.

To be fair, I can’t even imagine him hating on her in their Peaky Blinders verse — and God knows how surprising it is. YET, in this context, Amos would roll his eyes at her tendency to mingle in affairs that don’t concern her but since she often does so to protect those she loves he kinda gets it. He’d also say that, while quick-witted, Rose might think of herself more unbreakable than she really is and that her bite isn’t as strong as she thinks it is.

I don’t know if it makes sense but I swear his opinion about her is overall positive, even non-medicated and with the 1920 mentality. She truly is the winner despite the fact she’s, I quote Amos, “a fucking cheater, an angry midget and a butthurt sore-loser”.

[deltaqueen184]

batponies

[dragonbabes]

The Thorns that Bind

A/N | I had to completely rewrite this chapter because word didn't save any of my edits to the very rough draft, so that's what it took so stinking long. I also struggle to get anything done when I feel even the slightest bit of pressure to complete it...

Pairing | [OC]Crow!Rook x Lucanis, Solas x [OC] Lavellan

Warnings | Several, actually: death, and also very dark themes are going to start coming to play in these coming chapters, starting with this one...

Words | 8,490

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 (In progress)

Chapter 3 | How Deep It Cuts

“So?” Isehari couldn’t really fathom how large Bell’s eyes grew when she was excited. Those bright brown eyes were akin to Fiori’s; she’d hoped to introduce the two someday. They both were spurred by curiosity and had a predisposition toward looking for the bright side of things. “What do you think?” Bellara leaned forward in her seat at the dining table and cast a curious glance at the journal in front of Ise.

“It’s sweet.” Isehari smiled softly, rubbing the rough pages between her fingers and scanning the words on the page before her again. It was a romance — something Lucanis was much more adept at reading than she was — full of tension and longing, smoldering stares, and stolen glances. It was hitting close to home, and the assassin shot several sneaky glances to the other Crow perched two seats away. Suddenly, it was hot in the room.

Ise flicked to the next page, read a bit more and gasped. The others, who had broken off into their own small and quiet conversations, looked up and assessed the elf at the head of the table. The rosy color that had taken up Rook’s cheeks and the roguish grin on her lips piqued their interest; she always caused trouble when she dawned that look.

“Sweet and scandalous!” Ise laughed as Bellara noticed that she had read a bit farther than intended. Ise’s eyes greedily ate the next few words before the startled Veil Jumper could snatch her journal back; words about tongues traveling and hands grasping, desperately. “Oh my, Bell!”

“What is it?” Neve, ever the curious spirit, tore away from Lucanis and leaned over in her chair trying to catch a glimpse.

“Nothing!” Bellara blurted, and Ise snapped the journal shut, handing it back to her friend.

“That’s nothing?” Ise questioned with a teasing look at her friend, which only caused the red hue taking up Bellara’s cheeks to spread up into her ears. Rook bit back her giggle.

“Ise!” Bellara took to giving her friend a scrunch-nosed, narrow eyed look before giving Neve a significantly softer, bashful look. “It’s nothing, Neve.”

“Scandalous? From my sweet Bell?” Neve chuckled and, determined to not let Bell brush this one off, leaned her chin into her palm and batted her eyes at the Dalish elf, “I’d have to see it to believe it.”

“Oh,” Ise replied with a wink to Neve, “It’s always the sweetest ones you have to worry about.”

“Tell me about it.” Neve leaned back in her chair. Rook’s eyes, when panning from Neve and back to Bellara, snagged on Lucanis. All the teasing left her at that point, and she suddenly felt the need to apologize to Bellara. Staring at the object of her affections while laughing about roaming hands and adventuring tongues had Ise’s stomach up in knots; she couldn’t imagine where Bellara was. Her hand found her friend’s arm.

“I’m sorry for reading too far.”

“Oh, it’s okay.” There was a sheepish smile on Bellara’s lips. Ise squeezed her arm and leaned to catch her eye. When she did, she continued with a glint in her eye.

“If it’s any consolation, I thought it was good. I’d read more, if you’d let me.”

“Really?” The elf perked at that. Ise grinned back.

“Yeah! I am, after all, a fan,” her green-blue eyes returned to Lucanis, “of wandering tongues and grasping hands.”

He tore his gaze away from hers instantly, and Isehari giggled to herself under the assault of Bell’s playful smacks. There was a redness that settled in the apples of his cheeks that made Isehari feel that she was on top of the world. No god stood a chance against her, because she had made the Demon of Vyrantium blush. She drank in how he shifted in his seat, stared down at the drink in his hand, and then… Trailed his eyes to Neve.

What that look meant, Rook didn’t know, but it was a punch to her gut. It wiped the smile from her face and made her run cold.

“Rook!” Bellara cried. Rook jumped and only managed to return the sly grin to her lips, cooing and leaning back into her chair. She sucked in a huge breath and folded her hands over her stomach in a white knuckled grip.

“You wrote that?” Neve cried. “Let me read it! I love smut.” Bellara scoffed and crossed her arms, safely locking the journal under her arm; her eyes darted the length of the room, landing everywhere except for Neve. Ise tried to keep her attention on the two bickering in front of her, but she couldn’t help but check if Lucanis was still looking at Neve…

He was. With a fond smile tugging at his lip. Rook tore her eyes back to Bellara; she wouldn’t be looking again.

“No! I didn’t –“ She cleared her throat and gave another snort, “That is not what I wrote!” Bellara took the time that everyone shared their snickers to give Ise another sharp look. She shrugged back at her, but couldn’t form a sentence to defend herself from it.

Who cared who Lucanis looked at? If anything, she was glad it was Neve… Right? Neve was beautiful and strong and so, so smart. She was everything someone could want… If Lucanis wanted her… Rook couldn’t blame him. And if Neve returned those feelings? Ise looked at her friend; how her chocolate eyes shimmered and her rich, olive skin seemed to glow in the candlelight.

Well, she definitely couldn’t blame her, either.

“So, Neve,” Rook would do Bell the mercy of redirecting the rooms attention, “You read smut?”

The room falls silent as Neve deadpanned and processed her admission from earlier.

Ise giggled over her drink as she watched a devious grin curve Bellara’s lip.

“She wrote… Like you.” Isehari turns her head in Varric’s direction.

“Oh yeah? What about?”

“Scandalous things, really.” Ise hoped that a joke would snap her out of it, out of the dead stare she’s shared with the ground for the past… Well, she doesn’t know, really… it doesn’t matter anyways. “She wrote about love.”

Her hand finds a brittle twig, and begins to wring it between her hands… It handles her abuse surprisingly well, but after a particularly harsh twist, it snaps.

“And now, I won’t write ever again.” The elf flinches at the sudden echoing of words. That she won’t.

“I’m sorry.” It barely comes out as a broken whisper. She can’t bear to look at Bellara — even if it’s not really her — so she looks past and to the murky green clouds about.

She hopes the team will look for Bellara and Davrin first. If she has to return — if she can return — and face the world without them in it… Ise turns her eyes to Varric. She’s not sure she can stand that.

“That’s all you’ve got, huh?” The words spit at her sound unnatural on Bellara’s lilting voice. “Empty apologies, empty promises.” She’s not sure when it happened, but the stone figure had brought her face dangerously close to Ise’s, forcing her to look; she holds her breath with a wobbling lip and looks down.

“You can’t even look me in the eye.”

~*~

There’s a rumble that water makes when it collides against glass. Those currents — invisible to the eye — would be enough to sweep anyone away. Even the Demon of Vyrantium. He tenses when he hears it; the warble of a bubble traveling, water being cut by a fish’s fin, and the hissing rumble of murky depths.

The clinking of a chain, the sting of a cut around his ankle; the weight of cold metal around his neck.

Lucanis shoots up, reaches for a dagger, and finds none. His hands will do. Rigid and upright, the assassin takes in the cell about him with dilated pupils; a large window with golden trim, schools of fish and bubbles floating by just outside, an empty table with half burned candles, the figure of a halla on a small table to his left… The plush and soft green fabric of a sofa beneath him.

Lucanis slaps a hand against the sofa and lets out a relieved breath through his panting. Thumb tracing over the fabric, he listens closely to the sounds around him. No screaming. No moaning or whipping or rowdy guards joking the hours away. Lucanis snaps his mouth shut, forcing his rapid breaths out through his nose, and nods to himself.

Right. He left the Ossuary. He has been free from it for months. Rook… She freed him.

Turning his stiff neck to the left, Lucanis takes in the ebony mask placed at the center of the long dresser against the wall. He takes another steadying breath and stands on shaky legs. He really should take the mask to get the large gash on the point of it buffed out. He’d bothered her about it before — appearance is very important to a crow, after all — but she’d only snickered back at him. Something about her liking the look of it; makes her look a little more intimidating, she said. It had made him chuckle, wondering who would be scared of her.

First, he stops to run a finger along the edge of finely maintained daggers, laid out next to each other on the table behind the couch. Next, he looks through the collection of carefully labeled poisons on the worktable by the door. He sobers to the thought that Isehari really is a woman as dangerous as himself. He knows she is a force to be reckoned with, but when he’s heard the heavens sing through her laugh, seen how her eyes reflect the sun and the moon, the way the stars dim next to her smile… He pities her enemies; both for being at the end of her sword, and for never having the privilege of knowing her.

“Strawberry Keel Over?” He blinks at the name of the pink liquid swishing about in the bottle he picked up. “What even is that, Rook?” He mumbles. What sort of things does she mix up in her free time? He pops out the cork and wafts the liquid. A strong scent of strawberry and cream assaults him. The faintest hint of vanilla… No, honeysuckle?

“Belladonna.” Spite hums, suddenly appearing and inhaling deeply. Lucanis pops the cork back in, replaces the bottle, and closes the dark chest.

“She really is a de Riva.” He sighs to himself, tapping his fingers against the top of the chest affectionately, before turning back to the couch. The room is relatively bare, but there are small things about that sing of Rook. A stack of books here, quills and ink next to stacked parchment, a violin tucked away in the corner. Her scent hangs on everything. He begins to wonder just how he’s ended up here, since the last thing he remembers is reading in one of the most uncomfortable chairs in the dining hall, fighting the weight of exhaustion.

Taash, who is sitting on the ground halfway down the hall with their arms tucked and a light snore coming from them, clears up any confusion. Spite was back in action last night, it seems. He kneels silently next to the Qunari and gently shakes their shoulder til they stir awake.

“You should get to your room.” He says, “I’m fine.”

“Spite’s been coming through a lot lately.” He can hear the question in their words but ignores it. A tight smile and a short nod are the only response he gives while helping them to their feet. Since Rook went into the fade nearly a week and a half ago, the demon has been a lot harder to keep leashed. He thrashes about more, bangs against the confines of Lucanis’ body, and howls in his head day and night. Spite is a sore loser. From the day they met, the demon has had the habit of calling Rook his; one of the many reasons Lucanis pushed back against her little flirtations.

“He didn’t try to leave this time. Just went straight to Rook’s room; said he needed to find something.” Lucanis ticks his head to the side; what? “I don’t mind spirits… I’m-“

“Ravaini… Yes.” Lucanis finishes for them and turns to them with a smile. “Still, you should be careful. Spite is a demon. If I cannot control him,” especially now that Rook’s disappearance has him twisted up in knots, “I cannot say what he’ll do if you continue to stand in his way, Taash.”

“Is that worry I hear from you?” The young hunter asks with a lopsided grin. He waves them off.

“Don’t act so surprised. Go. Rest.” He shoos them away by jutting his chin toward their room. He waits until he hears Taash’s door click, and then spins on his heel, returning to Isehari’s quiet room.

He casts his brown eyes about again. Her wardrobe is shut and the clothes within nicely folded or hung. The books stacked atop her dresser, housed on either side of her ebony mask, appear untouched. As he turns to continue his perusal, he takes note of one of the books; leather bound and untitled. From the pages he sees scraps of parchment jutting out at awkward angles. Curiosity gets the best of him, and he is pulling open the covers before he can think of the intrusion.

Written in neat hand on the front page is a short note:

                Ise, I hear you’re off to stop the Dread Wolf. I’m pretty sure Viago’s gonna rub a hole in his head already, so I guess it’s best one of us stays. No need to stress the poor talon out more, no? Since you’ve forbade me from coming (really, a terrible choice) you have to write everything down in this journal. You know how I love your stories. To think my own sister will be the hero this time!

                Stay safe, Lethallan. Whatever you do, make sure to bring my home back… And don’t let the Dread Wolf take you; if he tries, give him my regards. - Fiori.

He begins to thumb through the pages. The first entry is dated to nearly a year ago, and in rushed script that he’d expect from Rook. It begins as a letter, addressed to Fiori, and details a day of traveling and a git at the bar that Ise had to knock some sense into. They continue like that, in the tone of an annoyed and impatient young crow, ready to complete her contract and make it back home. He is warm, reading her words, can almost hear her saying them, and lets out a soft chuckle.

Lucanis takes a seat on the couch and devours each word. She was positive – happy, even – in the beginning of it all; glad to be out and seeing the world in a way she’d never had the chance to before. This seems to be the part of her that she’s hidden – or tried to – from the rest, until he reaches a blank page.

Blank aside from eleven words:

                Solas started his ritual. Varric is hurt…

                What did I do?

Varric’s name rarely crossed Ise’s lips. He was her good friend; Lucanis has always wondered why Ise didn’t talk about him more. The others told him wonderful, extraordinary stories of their time with Varric… But Ise?

She only ever looked away, as if she could still see him. He always assumed that his passing affected Ise more than she could admit, and she only needed time… But he reads her words again.

Varric is hurt…

He wonders at it for only a second, before he continues to the next entry; just as short, it’s simply a bullet list of things they did, things she felt we’re important and she needed to remember, or things she needed to do circled frantically or crossed out. Between the frantic notes and scribbles, he would find the occasional address to her sister.

We broke the Demon of Vyrantium out today, Fiori. You should meet him… He has a sweet voice and even sweeter eyes. I think you’d like him.

Lucanis quickly slaps the book shut and blinks at the wall until the burning in his eyes goes away. Should he even be reading this? He turns the journal about in his hand, as if it would spout a mouth and tell him if he’s wrong or not… The words in here are things she didn’t intend for the others to see, things she didn’t want to say…

Things he didn’t allow her to say.

He curses in a thickened voice, as his mind escapes him like a mabari slipping out of its collar and runs to the memory of her last visit to him before Tearstone island. The rosiness in her cheeks, how she stared directly into his eyes and at his soul, how she has started to say it. Those dreaded words.

Those beautiful, dreaded words he’d cut off. He was scared of it. All of it, and what it might mean; for her… For him… He dreaded the thought that the first time those words were said between them could be a goodbye…

He hears his name on Neve’s lips from the lighthouse’s library. What Emmrich says back, he can’t quite make out, but he assumes the professor pointed her this way since her heels start clicking down the hall. Should he hide the journal? What would Neve do if she knew he was snooping in Ise’s journal? He’d never hear the end of it. He’ll hide it, then, back under the pile of books. Before he can stand, Neve lightly raps her knuckles on the door and enters.

“Lucanis?” His back is rigid, and his hands tighten on the journal. “Emmrich said I could find you in here.” The scent of coffee hits him and he turns his head to her slightly.

“Did you bring coffee?” She rounds the couch and holds the cup to him.

“I did.” Lucanis raises a brow.

“Did you boil it?”

“No.” She quips back, “I watched you do it the other night, remember?” He hums and slowly takes the cup.

“Thank you.” Neve turns her eyes about the room and lets out a heavy breath.

“Keeps a tidy room compared to the rest of us.” She comments. “I wouldn’t expect that.”

“Crows don’t make a habit of unpacking too much in one place…” He swirls the coffee around and watches the dark liquid; he’s wary of drinking it. But Neve made it for him. He brings the cup to his lips.

“What’s that?” She motions to the journal in his hand. His grip tightens until his knuckles are white, but she continues her slow walk around the room. She eyes the ebony mask, reads the spines of the books, pokes at the nose of the halla statue, and then picks up the small silver mirror.

“Isehari’s journal.” How can he hide it? He clears his throat, taps his fingers on its cover, and chances a look at Neve. She watches him from over her shoulder, and he swears he sees a flash of pity ghost over her expression.

“Are you reading all of her secrets?” There’s a teasing tone in her words, but a softness in her eye. “You find anything good?”  

“I…” He opens the filled pages and flips to the entry of the day of the ritual. “Read this.” Handing the journal to Neve and tapping his finger on the short entry, he turns his attention to the coffee. Her expression crunches in confusion and her dark eyes dart back to his.

“She did take a bad blow to the head that day… She was out of it for a while after.” Neve bites her bottom lip and reads the lines again. “It’s no surprise that she didn’t realize when she wrote this…”  Lucanis only hums back and stares at his rippling reflection in the coffee. The sound of pages flipping fills the silent room; he’s convinced she’s not actually reading what’s on the pages with how quickly she sifts through its contents.

“Oh.” Suddenly, she stops flipping through the pages, and Lucanis turns to see what’s caught the Shadow Dragon’s eye: a page with Neve’s name written along the top. A fond chuckle falls from Neve, and Lucanis takes note of the dimple in her right cheek. “Look at this,” she turns the journal toward him slightly and reads, “Neve knows people. Go to Neve for people things. Eats fried fish — lots.” She laughs, “Wisps of curiosity hang off her; can’t blame ‘em… She knows interesting things. Always finding answers.”

“She kept notes on you?” Neve’s head falls back with a laugh Lucanis rarely hears from her.

“She did!” She continues to read, the smile slowly melting off her face as she reaches the bottom. Turning the page, Lucanis reads Harding’s name.

“Every inch of these pages are covered with notes…” Neve turns the page, “Looks like she was keeping notes on all of us. Favorite drinks and foods, even our favorite colors. Emmrich’s is lilac, apparently. Who we work best with, what worries us…”

“Interesting.” Is all Lucanis can think to say back. He desperately wants to snatch the journal from Neve and read what’s written on his page; but he stays still, ‘peacefully’ sipping his coffee.

“Is it good?” Neve motions to the drink. “Do I pass?” Should he lie? He raises a brow as he takes another drink and considers the bitter and burnt taste blanketing over his tongue.

“If you want coffee, just tell me.” Neve sags

“Just say it’s bad.”

“Your effort impresses me everyday, Neve.” She laughs and smacks his arm lightly with a roll of her eyes. Her attention turns back to the book, and his goes to the untouched room. What was Spite looking for in here? The room hardly looks ransacked by a manic demon; Lucanis has nothing to go off of.

“What were you looking for in here?” He asks the demon suddenly. Neve raises her head to him, eyes darting around with a punch between her brows…

“You?” She points to the coffee, “I figured you’d-“

“Not you.” He shakes his head. “Spite. I woke up in here this morning… Taash told me that Spite had been looking for something in here…”

“Huh...” Neve turns herself toward him on the couch and holds the journal up. “Was it this?” Lucanis shrugs.

“Maybe? It doesn’t look like he was searching for anything in here… And I don’t think he would’ve cleaned up after himself.”

“Well… What did he say?”

“What did you want to find in here, Spite?” The demon appears before him, like an earie reflection the assassin is still adjusting to, and looks around the room, stopping on the ebony mask.

“Rook connected to Pride. Here… I was looking for Rook.” Lucanis looks to the journal.

“He was seeing if he might be able to find a way to Rook from here… Since this is where she meditated to reach Solas.” The investigator extends the journal to Lucanis and considers with a hum.

“Makes sense. I think you should be the one to read through this…” He gingerly removes it from her hands, as if it would burst into flames just from his touch. Lucanis doesn’t intend to argue with Neve on it, both because he wanted to read every line between the covers of the journal, and he knows Ise would trust him to read it.

He didn’t deserve her regard, but she always gave it. He rubs his thumbs over the leather-bound journal as if it was Ise herself. His hands tremble, and he opens the journal to where he left off…

For now, this is the closest he’ll get to hearing her voice again.

~*~

“What?” The sniffling elf — who usually holds herself quite high — is scrunched into a ball a ways away from where Bellara had just been tearing her a new one. Varric surrenders his hands and turns away.

“Nothing!” Then quieter, more collected, “Nothing… Just… Been here a while, huh?” His hands find purchase on his hips as he rocks on his heels and looks everywhere than at her blotchy face.

“Then, by all means, leave! I’d hate to keep you.” Ise feels worse after snapping that at him and rests her head on her folded arms. “You make it sound like it should be easy.”

“That it’s not just tells me I chose the right person.”

“You’ve said that already.”

“I have?”

“Yeah… And now look where we are.” Trapped in an impenetrable prison, never to talk to another person, never to touch someone. Never to see Lucanis or tell him… She’ll never get the chance to tell him the truth. “I’m stuck here, and you’re-“ she can’t say it.

“Dead.” He finishes for her. She flinches at it.

“Yeah…” She deflates again and continues to trace idle flowers in the dirt. Fiori loves botany, and spent all their quiet nights shoved into their small room reading textbooks that Ise “bought” (she stole them) and spewing every little fact to her… It’s no surprise that Ise always finds herself drawing the petals of a rose or azalea while mumbling their scientific names or properties.

She misses those days. When it was simple… well, simpler.

Who’s she fucking kidding it’s never been easy. Though, she guesses if she’s here, she won’t have to worry about much of anything anymore…

“There she goes again. Giving up. Just like that.” His voice sends a cold rush through her, as if she fell into a frozen lake.

“Had I known she’d be so weak, I never would have trusted her.” Bellara’s voice hisses around her.

“It’s a bad idea to trust Isehari… I trusted her until the very end. And look where it got me.” There’s a gasp from Ise when she opens her eyes. Directly in front of her lies a colorless form — small and twisted — with round cheeks and curly hair. It was red, like hers. His eyes were hazel, now frozen in a dead stare, suck her into an icy and desolate place.

“Illen.” That name burned on her quaking lips like salt in a wound. She hasn’t uttered that name in eighteen years. Her dirt and blood covered hands move to hover above the beaten form before her… As if she could still save him. Her body is tense and heart hammering like it did that night.

“You remember.” There’s a hint of surprise in that cherubic voice. Ise lightly runs a finger over the freezing surface of his cheek, and she looks over his body; she remembers the black bruises over his pale skin, can hear the thudding of the blows that made his lip break and swell like that, can feel the slippery warmth of his blood on her freezing skin.

Of course she remembers. She will never forget.

“How old was he?” Varric’s hand on her shoulder makes her start, and she shoots him a quick glance from the corner of her eye; she recognizes the rage, disgust, and pity mixing on his features… It looks unusual.

“Eight.” His jaw clenches.

“And you?”

“I was ten years old.”

~*~

Viago stares – with a frown – at the skeleton pouring him his tea. The crow is rigid, obviously uncomfortable with being in the same room as a possessed skeleton and not taking a weapon to it. Manfred hisses with joy and brings his face level to the cup, watching the steam drift up and up. Viago’s brows pinch, he looks Manfred up and down and pulls his drink away. The crow angles his body away from him on the couch and tries to keep his attention on Lucanis.

“Manfred, come sit here.” Emmrich pats the chair next to him, where his companion happily bounced to.

“We’re sorry to drop in so suddenly.” Lucanis shakes his head at Teia’s words while sitting food down on the table. “We have news on Solas.”

Lucanis stills.

“Good. Pride owes us.” Spite growls, suddenly appearing and bending to be in his view, “We will make him pay.”

“What news?”

“He was spotted in Minrathous.”

“I figured you would want to be there, Lucanis.” Viago leans forward, sitting his cup down.

“You’re right. I’ll go get ready.” He spins on his heel and begins to stalk toward the door. His heart hammers in his chest, that thudding beginning to spread into his fingertips, all the way down to his toes. His hands twitch with the thought of being able to wring that wannabe gods neck. He’d take more pleasure in stabbing the bastard, but he needs answers first.

How does he find Ise? How do they get her out?

How could he betray her?

Then, and only then, would the Dread Wolf answer for his transgressions against Rook.

“I want to be there.” A voice Lucanis doesn’t recognize sounds just as he begins to push on the doors. He quickly turns over his shoulder to find the owner, a young elven girl with curly blond locks framing her round face. He brings in a sharp intake of breath as he recognizes the hue of her eyes. Eyes identical to Rook’s. Teia is up within a second with a noticeably concerned expression.

“Fiori! How did you get here?” Teia takes to checking the girl for any wounds but finds her intact. Fiori begins to respond but stops when Viago’s towering form appears behind Teia with an expression that could wither a flower in seconds.

“Why are you here?” Lucanis watches the girl squirm for just a second, before she balls her hands into fists, and lifts her chin.

“She’s my sister. I have just as much of a right to be there as any of you.” She scans the others standing around the circular table, eyes stuttering on Manfred. She only brings her eyes back to Viago when the talon lets out a short laugh.

“You? You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“Why shouldn’t I go? I’m trained. I’m ready.” Viago laughs harder this time.

“You’re ready? To kill a god? You haven’t even taken your first contract, and you’re ready to kill Solas?” Fiori shifts.

“She is my sister.” She repeats. Lucanis raises his brow and looks to Viago. The talon places his hands on his hips and stares back just as stubbornly as Fiori is. There’s silence around the room until Viago snorts, spins on his heel and takes his spot on the couch again. He takes a sip of his drink – eerily collected – and sits it down before answering her.

“No.”

“But-“

“Fiori, do you know how dangerous it was for you to follow us through the Crossroads? Without any of us knowing?” Teia, knowing a lost battle when she sees one, begins to lay into the elven girl.

“I got here fine, didn’t I?” Fiori crosses her arms over her chest and moves to sit down in a chair as if she’s lived in the lighthouse her entire life.

“That’s not the point. You put yourself at an unnecessary risk-“

“A stupid risk.” Viago interjects, Teia doesn’t miss a beat before continuing.

“What would you have done if you came across Darkspawn? Or Venatori?”

“I would’ve been fine. I’ve trained just as hard as Ise.”

“You would’ve gotten yourself killed. It’s dumb luck you made it through.” Viago raises his voice, effectively getting the girl to shrink back in her chair with that stone cold tone, “Then what, Fiori? Ise comes back and finds out that all she has done for you was pointless, because you went and got yourself killed?”

More silence follows. Lucanis has studied every expression and every spark that would find its way into Rook’s eyes over the months they’ve been together. He recognizes the stubborn line that Fiori’s mouth settles into, and the genuine disregard for Viago’s warning in the girl’s eye. She is going to follow them no matter what the fifth talon says. Lucanis steps away from the door, and the girl jumps as he silently places himself a bit to her left.

“She’s going to follow anyways.” Lucanis raises his brow at Viago, and the way his friend sighs, tells him that he knew that as well. There’s a bit of a gasp from Fiori as she stares up at Lucanis with wide eyes.

“You’re the first talon? Lucanis Dellamorte?” He draws back slightly, but nods to her. She stands quickly and closes the distance between them.

“Teia said you and Ise were close.” Lucanis sends a lidded look to Teia, who has suddenly found the tips of her hair very interesting. “Did she ever tell you why she wouldn’t visit me?” Lucanis’ mouth opens and closes as he tries to find an answer for her.

“She wanted to keep you safe. She faced three gods… If they discovered what you are to her?” Lucanis rests his hands on her shoulders and gives a reassuring squeeze. “She absolutely would not risk that.”

“And you would just throw that away. Walk yourself before the very gods she protected you from.” Viago grumbles at her; Fiori shoots a very quick and very sharp look at the talon. “Now, can I get to what I came here to take care of, or would you like to waste more of our time, Fiori?” The girl rolls her eyes at him.

“Thank you.” She mumbles to Lucanis before taking her seat again.

“I’ll go with you, Lucanis. If Solas really is in Minrathous, the Shadow Dragon’s are sure to have more information on him.” Neve says, standing from her seat and nodding at the two crows on the couch.

“I’ll write the Inquisitor. She’ll want to know.” Harding stands and scrambles out alongside Neve. Emmrich takes to discussing with Teia and Viago the progress on the dagger. Lucanis quietly takes his leave.

~*~

The team travelling to Minrathous didn’t speak a word from the time they’d left the lighthouse to the moment they step out of the Minrathous eluvian. The sun is high in the cloudless blue sky. It’d be beautiful, he thinks, if it weren’t for the crumbling remains of the sitting area this once was framing it. He chances a peak to Neve at his side, and notices that she’s already started to stalk through the dark remains of the Shadow Dragons base. He waits until they’ve stepped through the threshold of the shop before speaking – something he’d picked up from Ise, after the dragon attack.

“Still no word on the Venatori?’

“No.” He watches her cast her eyes about. His right hand instinctively reaches to the hilt of a dagger, Spite seems to awaken as each of his senses are heightened, and he begins his own surveying of the empty Minrathous street. “The Shadow Dragons have taken to lying low with everything that’s happened.”

“It’s… Quiet.” Viago comments. The mage straightens, her own hand braced on her weapon and turns to the group slightly. The fifth talon suddenly reaches out and latches tightly onto Fiori’s arm. “Listen to every word that I say like your life depends on it,” Viago begins with his finger pointed at her, and bringing his eyes level to hers, “because it does. You are not trained to be a full-fledged crow. That was the deal between Ise and I. You make poisons, and you stay safe. You stay close to me. If you can’t, you are glued to Teia or Lucanis. Do you understand?” Fiori casts her eyes around the ruined streets of Minrathous, eyes widening on the bodies still left rotting on their noose. Lucanis steps to Neve as Viago shakes the young girl and repeats himself, “Do you understand, Fiori?”

“Yes!”

“Not even guards.” Lucanis mumbles to Neve.

“I was thinking the same thing…” Tossing another look about, she gives him a firm nod, “We move quickly and quietly. Get to the hideout and see what’s been going on here.”

“Lead the way.” He offers his own firm nod back and sets his shoulders. They begin a quick weave of Minrathous’ twisted streets. No guards, windows drawn. His ears catch the faint sound of fast footsteps in the alley parallel to the one they’re passing through. Their direction changes suddenly and heads straight for-

“Neve!” There’s only a moment to react before a small, scraggly form slams into her, and lets out a panicked shriek. In a flash, Teia has them by their hair, and a knife to their throat. It’s then that Lucanis notices the face; a young boy with tousled and knotted shoulder-length brown hair, dirty cheeks, and missing one of his front teeth. The boy is dressed in rags, feet bare, and bangs kept back by a fraying red sash.

“Oh,” Teia releases the child and sheathes her dagger, “Sorry about that.” The boy only backs away from her and bumps into Neve, who steadies him by the elbows, turns him to her, and looks him up and down.

“Hey.” She begins simply. The child seems to shrink under her gaze – which Lucanis notes is a surprisingly warm shade of brown – so she continues softer, “Are you okay?”

He begins a wide and blank eyed nod, before blinking and giving a vehement shake of his head. Neve kneels at this, and Lucanis moves closer. Viago and Teia take up positions on each side of them, so that every direction is under the watchful eye of a crow. Fiori, to Lucanis’ relief, stays close to Viago.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Neve asks.

“The Venatori.” The child whispers, as if he’s scared just speaking that name will bring the bastards. She waits for him to elaborate.

“The Venatori?” Neve urges when he doesn’t speak up for a few more beats. He nods, then leans forward, cupping his hand over his mouth.

“They’ve been taking people. Everyone’s hiding now. I lost my sister on our way home… I’m trying to find her, but the Venatori saw me first.”

“Where’d you lose your sister?”

“By the market. I was hoping to give them the slip over here, but they have eyes everywhere.” Tears line the child’s reddening eyes. Neve shoots Lucanis a look. He gives her a nod; they’d get the boy to safety and see if there’s any trace of his sister after they check in with the Viper.

“Listen-“ She stops short, shifts, then asks, “What’s your name?”

“Aulus.”

“And your sister’s?”

“Lora.”

“Good. Aulus, I’m going to take you to a safe place. With the Shadow Dragons-“

“The Shadow Dragons?” The kid seems to shoot to life, now housing stars in his honeyed eyes. Neve pops a smirk onto her lips.

“Yes, the Shadow Dragons. But I need you to listen to everything my friends and I say.” Her eyes cast to Lucanis, and Aulus’ follow. The assassin gives him a short smile; Aulus only stares back with a blank expression. “Okay?”

“Ok.” Neve stands and adjusts her gloves.

“Seems we’re collecting children today.” Viago grumbles. Fiori gasps at him.

“I’m almost twenty-one!” She exclaims. Viago raises a brow and casts her a sidelong glance.

“Really? Could’ve fooled me, with the way you act.” Her cheeks redden, and she purses her lips as she gives him yet another glare… Is that all they do in House de Riva? Glare at each other and dig their elbows into each other’s guts?

“Alright, now stay close and-“ Neve’s cut short by the explosion. Lucanis is flat on his back and blinking at that pretty blue sky – now slightly obscured by thrown up dust – in the blink of an eye. He sees the writhing form of a blight tendril craning above them, like a predator eying its meal before striking. The hair on Lucanis’ neck stands.

“Up!” His warning is short and breathless, “Move!” He rolls to his right, Neve rolls to the left, yanking Aulus with her just a breath before the thick tendril slams down, throwing up stone from the ground and buildings. The city that was once holding its breath in complete silence, is now wailing; its hiding citizens pouring out from their homes that are being torn to pieces by blight and shielding themselves from the falling debris with hands over their heads. There’s a flash of pale blue light before Lucanis is hit with a frigid burst of air. The tendril separating the two convulses, and he swears he hears some twisted sort of shriek come from it, before it begins to draw away from the ground. Lucanis presumes it’s rearing for another strike. Just when there’s enough space, Neve pushes Aulus forward, and ducks under it quickly.

“Vi! Fiori!” Teia cries, rushing closer to the groaning mass of muscle and flesh; Lucanis can see the relief soften the lines of her face as Fiori is shoved into her arms and Viago dashes out next. They scatter away from the tendril, and sure enough, it strikes again where they had just been standing.

The ground shakes, and there’s a distant rumble; another area of the city being ransacked like this part.

“It’s spreading fast!” The mage cries, eying its rapid growth through building windows and up their walls. A young elven woman scrambles past Lucanis and knocks shoulders with him; when she stumbles, a tendril lashes out and wraps around her ankle. His companion latches onto the girl’s hand and begins a futile tug of war with the blight. She’s being dragged away with the girl. Lucanis swiftly takes a dagger into his hand and lunges forward, cutting mere inches away from the girl’s ankle, at the thinnest point. The blight recoils as he slices clean through.

Lucanis quickly returns to Aulus, who is still frozen a few paces away, grabs firmly onto his arm, and checks the others. He looks to Neve who is helping the woman up.

“We need to get back to the eluvian.” She gives him a despairing look and opens her mouth as if she is going to fight him on this. “We can’t outrun this, Neve. Best we can do is get who we can out.”

“I am Elgar’nan. First of the Firstborn. Last of the Evanuris.” Lucanis runs cold as the gods baritone voice slithers through his head. Still as disgusting and disorienting as before. Lucanis looks to Neve with a knowing look, finding horror fresh in her expression as well.

He keeps her eye with his mouth in a thin and grim line as tears build, and spill over onto her cheeks. He moves to her and raps her firmly on the shoulder, and she seems to start out of that dreadful state he knows all too well.

“Come to reign over you with a fine and gentle hand. Citizens of Minrathous, give yourself to me…” The assassin snorts, and nudges at Fiori’s frozen form.

”Elgar’nan is in my head.” Her wide eyes turn to Lucanis, “You hear him?”

“Let’s go.” He says to both her and Neve.

“Right.” Neve’s voice shakes. She draws in a trembling breath before shouting, “Follow me! Everybody!” Some notice, some don’t, “Follow me!” Only a few more begin to tag along.

”And together, we shall unleash magic so glorious,” the building towering over them begins to groan as blight rapidly grows around it like a snake, and it collapses inward under the weight, “So limitless… That all the world will be transformed.”

They scatter as the rubble of the building comes crashing down around them; some people aren’t so lucky as they are in dodging the jagged stone.

They’d only made it a short distance from the eluvian, but weaving through the crumbling streets while dodging the swinging and crushing of blight tendrils, tiptoeing around pools of the sticky black beginning to ooze from larger boils of blight festering in the cracks of houses, and avoiding being snatched up and torn away like flies proves a slow process. Lucanis chews at Elgar’nan’s words; that the world would be transformed. Looking at the grotesque landscape, the blood and ooze now coating the streets that he’d once found a charm in, he wonders how any creature could find this desirable.

Heavy steps and a warbling growl warn Lucanis of the Hurlock that soon bursts through a crumbling wall on their right. He dives out of the way of the blow and angles his blade so that the darkspawn’s sloppy swing is angled upward, giving Lucanis just enough of an opening to ram his second blade deep through its ribs. It lets out a cry that deafens out the shrieks of the city. Putting both feet to its chest, he kicks off it while yanking his sword from it. It stumbles backward but doesn’t fall.

He hates how many times he must stab a darkspawn before they die.

“Lucanis!” He casts a glance to Neve, who is holding off an onslaught of ghouls of her own. He waves her off.

“I’m fine! Keep going!” Teia is quick to appear at his side, throwing a small smoke bomb that begins hissing out smoke immediately. She then turns to Lucanis and begins to push him with the flow of the crowd.

“No time!” Is the only explanation Teia gives. He didn’t need much of one, anyways. They scramble backward through the narrowing street – the door to the old Shadow Dragon hideout is visible and looks relatively intact to his relief – while throwing the occasional spell or dagger at the horde on their heels, and dodging falling debris loosened by the blight’s wrath.

Lucanis scans the head of the small group they’re ushering and finds his target; Fiori’s golden curls whipping around as Viago spins her away from another ghoul throwing their heavy, clawed hands at them. There are too many of them swarming at his friend.

“Teia, Viago.” Lucanis breathlessly nods toward them. She doesn’t give him any sign that she’s heard him other than shooting in that direction. Lucanis keeps at the tail of the group as they begin to shove their way through the doorway to the eluvian. It’s a frustratingly slow process, but as soon as he’s close enough to his fellow crows, he flings himself into their fight. Heavy pounding on the ground – nearing quickly – tells him they didn’t shake the Hurlock from earlier.

Lashing out at a ghoul’s throat, he nearly cuts its head clear off and then buries his other sword to the hilt in another’s chest. He can hear the hurlock’s large axe scraping the ground to their right and starts as another large blight tendril bursts from the buildings across the way. It would crush the hideout – and the eluvian – to smithereens in one blow. They would all lose their way out of this mess.

“We need to go! Now!” Lucanis grabs Fiori by the hood of her cloak and yanks her to him. He runs, with her held tightly under his arm, to the dark doorway.

“Viago!” She cries, trying to push away from him, but he has her in an iron hold.

“He will follow. You need out.” Lucanis growls at her, navigating the overrun and darkened rooms; the eluvian’s glowing and shifting glass is a welcome sight. Neve is hurrying people through and meets his eye as soon as he steps into the room. As the last of the civilians disappear, he guides Fiori to it.

“No! I can’t go until Viago and Teia-“

“Go!” Lucanis hisses at her, almost desperately. If Fiori died while under his watch, Ise would never forgive him; he couldn’t live with that, whether he sees her again or not.

“I won’t!” She tears his hand off her cloak and looks toward the door with a contorted and twisting tearstained face. “Viago-“

“Go!” Lucanis takes her by the collar this time, and meets her eyes with a blaze in his, and then he shoves her through. He’d apologize later. Neve looks to the doorway again, “Go, Neve.” Lucanis urges her through, and she listens.

“Mierda!” He hears Teia curse after there’s a huge rumble and the ground shakes beneath Lucanis’ feet. The curly haired elf slams into the doorway, with Viago close behind and guiding her forward.

“Quickly!” Lucanis yells, shifting his feet and casting his eyes up to the reddening sky; just as it did at Tearstone.

Lucanis steps through the eluvian with Teia and Viago. The sound of the blights screeching and the animalistic gargles that come with darkspawn is gone in an instant. But, with the stillness of the Crossroads, comes the wails from the people they’ve managed to get out. He counts the heads.

Ten. Only ten managed to make it out with them.

“No!” The scream has Lucanis drawing his blades again, but he stops short when he finds the older woman leaned over the body of a boy of fifteen, if he had to guess. Stepping closer, Lucanis notices the boys hand clasped over his stomach, and the blood trickling over his pale skin… Skin with black already beginning to cut jagged patterns - like a million lightning strikes – just below his skin. Lucanis’ stomach twists and somehow his frown deepens.

“He’s been tainted.” Viago quietly says, coming to stand next to him. Lucanis nods, and his eyes flutter.

“We can take him to the Wardens and see if they can perform the Joining for him. It’s his only chance.” Neve is quick to be at the mother’s side, one hand on her shoulder, and the other reaches to hover over the boy’s wound; a milky blue light emanates around her hand in a sphere. His struggling slows, and his rapid panting slows; but not enough. “We need to move if we are to help him.” Neve urges the mother, and the woman seems to snap out of her trance. Entire body visibly shaking, she nods.

“Yes. We’ll get you to the Wardens, darling. You’ll be okay,” Her quaking hands brush the sweat soaked, sandy brown hair away from his forehead, “We’ll save-“

“No.” The boy stops his mother and shakes his head. “No, mom. I don’t- I can’t…”

“Yes, you can. I promise-“

“I can’t live like that mom.” His face twists with a sob, “I would rather die.”

“You… you’re not thinking clearly right now. Once you undergo the Joining, you’ll feel better!” She begins to sit him up, but the boy pushes away from her.

“Mom, please… I cannot live like that.” The boy keeps his mother’s stare, and Lucanis’ own eyes sting as he watches her shoulders sag and her head fall.

“It will be painful.” Neve tells him, almost in a whisper. Then, the boy’s eyes are on Lucanis. Why is he looking at him? He can’t help the slight shake of his head as the boy’s eyes trail down to the sword in Lucanis’ hand, making his expression fall, along with his heart.

Lucanis can hear the mothers sobbing worsen. He sees the boy turn back to his mother. He says something. His smile is soft, chin wobbling. His mother’s hand wipes at the tears falling from his blackening eyes, but really, she just smudges the blood and dirt around. She kneels and places a long kiss on his forehead… Lucanis wonders what that feels like.

The kiss of a mother on the forehead.

Neve and Teia’s shadows shift over the boy as they take his mother by the shoulders and gently pry her from him. She holds him until they part at the fingertips. Again, he meets the boy’s eyes. Viago slaps Lucanis heavily on the shoulder, walks to kneel at the boy’s side, and takes up his hand.

Lucanis kneels. The boy looks from Viago to him and then smiles at Lucanis. The dagger is heavy in his hand…

“Mercy, please.” It’s but a broken whisper on dying lips.

Prev | Ch 4: Mercy, I Beg (In progress)

[boyslit-moving]

I made Rosie too!! Thorne's little sister, training to be a ballerina like her idol Penelope, but is stricken with a chronic illness that leaves her unable to dance or even go on outings. Thorne's out taking whatever expensive bounties he can find to pay for someone to cure her.

made my HSR ocs Penelope and Thorne with the into the spiderverse picrew :3

Thorne is Hunt/Imaginary and while Penelope is a noncombatant I like to think she's on the path of the Beauty ('dead' Aeon or not) and if she had an element it would probably be quantum or wind