Emmy doodles.

Emmrich, can't wait to meet him in yhe game *u*

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viago de riva: crows rule antiva 🐦👑😤 treviso will be free 🤠🧤😌 contract accepted 🧐📄✅😎 tumblr: what a NERD i need him

Banter, Barbs, and Breakdown - WoundedSoul - Dragon Age: The Veilguard (Video Game) [Archive of Our Own]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64431634

NSFW

Summary: Viago had always found Qunari fascinating, even before the hated occupation. Their strength. Their vitaar. Of course a master of toxins would be fascinated by a creature who used poison for armour. He had even dissected a few Antaam who had been unfortunate enough to meet his blade in hopes of understanding them better. But Viago would never admit aloud just how deep his fascination ran, until the day his fascination was staring at him with open hunger.

Curiosity killed the cat, or in this instance maybe the Crow.

AKA- what happened between Viago and Rook after they killed two dragons

For Veilguard Appreciation Week Day 3 Hossburg Wetlands. Sorry I'm a little behind @veilguard-appreciation-week catching up now

This one goes out to you, @shadow-pancake9.

Also I made a TikTok. The Flame Eternal on ao3.

For @caughtnyact and her Rook, Kayla Mercar 💜 I loved writing Emmrich trying to be clever and flirty (and probably making her roll her eyes)

To the Brightest Spark in All My Carefully Contained Fires,

I have attempted to begin this letter no fewer than seven times—each attempt more mortifying than the last. You will be pleased to know that version three was so disastrous I had to pour myself a drink, and version five compared your laugh to a runaway carriage (a comparison that, in hindsight, says more about my lack of sleep than your charm). Let us hope this one survives your inevitable commentary.

I write to you now in the quiet of the night, with nothing but ink and the memory of your voice for company—and it’s the latter that’s proving difficult to ignore.

You, Kayla Mercar, are too much in precisely the way the world needs. There is a tempest in you, bright and loud and unrepentant, and I—pitiful, flame-chasing creature that I am—cannot help but draw closer. It astonishes me how effortlessly your passion spills into everything you touch, how you burn not for show, but because you were born alight. And I, who have spent a lifetime pretending my own fire is merely academic, find myself yearning to be seen by you in the blaze.

You hide it well, this tenderness of yours. You bury it in jokes, toss it over your shoulder with a grin and a clever quip. But I see it, my darling. I see the way you listen, the way you remember the small things—words I said in passing, thoughts I never meant to share. You catch them as though they were precious, and then—Maker help me—you do something with them. You twist them into small acts of kindness so subtle I nearly miss them. Nearly.

How do you do that?

How do you make me feel like I am being studied and understood and laughed at all at once?

You speak a language I am still learning. One of sharp wit and deliberate misdirection, but also of loyalty, and care, and tea left just where I might find it. I wonder, often, what you would say if I were to ask for more time in your company—not for research, or duty, or tactical necessity, but for the sheer pleasure of watching your eyes light up when you talk about something you love.

(And yes, I know precisely how that sentence would be deflected, which is why I haven’t yet asked aloud.)

You once said—offhandedly, I think—that you admired how I put others at ease. I have thought of that moment more times than I care to admit. For someone who so often feels like a library on fire, your words… quiet something in me.

We are not so different, you and I. Lifelong students of a world that rarely deserves us, forever seeking, forever burning. And if the pursuit of knowledge is a flame, then perhaps it is no shame to be consumed—provided I am consumed by you.

I must end this before I do something truly unforgivable—like admit I’ve rehearsed what I’ll say the next time I see you. Or that I’ve considered writing another letter just to test which compliments make you blush and which make you roll your eyes. Or, Maker help me, that I’ve caught myself smiling at nothing like a fool just because I remembered the way you said my name.

(This is my compromise: I shall stop here—if you agree to dinner.)

Yours in anticipation, devastation, and frankly embarrassing enthusiasm, Emmrich

Something about everyone in inquisition looking at the unkempt nerd that Solas is and the inquisitor going "No but hear me out"

and then a decade later Solas is acting as the Dread Wolf again and the Inquisitor looking at Rook being like "WAIT BUT HEAR ME OUT"

It gives me life really.

The Last Beat of My Heart - Chapter 17

Chapter Summary: Rook decides she wants to do something nice for Emmrich, but has no idea what. She asks her companions for some advice, which is...questionable, at best. Later that evening, Emmrich's resolve cracks (a bit).

=======================

Rook turned the small folded note over in her hands, her thumb brushing along the edge. Another one. The fourth this week.

She already knew what it would say—something impossibly sweet, written in that elegant script, words chosen like each one mattered. And still, every time, it knocked the breath from her lungs.

Was this what it felt like? To be wanted this deeply, this sharply, like her ribs couldn’t quite contain it?

Every time she found one—tucked into her room, waiting at her usual seat in the library, hidden in some spot meant only for her—it sparked something in her chest. Not fear. Not nerves. Just that low, startling ache of being cared for. Of being wanted.

She unfolded it, swallowing as she took in the words.

Valeria,

If I could bottle the way you look at me, I would keep it always—uncork it in my loneliest moments and drown myself in the warmth of you. Until tonight, dearest.

E

Her stomach twisted, warmth curling low in her spine. Maker’s breath.

She set the note down beside the others, staring at the growing pile on her bedside table. Each one left her breathless, no matter how long. How did he know exactly what to say? How was it so easy for him to cut straight through her with just a few lines?

And what had she done for him in return?

Nothing.

Her brows furrowed as she sank onto the edge of her bed. It wasn’t right. He was courting her. Properly, with gestures and gifts and words so thoughtful they made her ache. And she… hadn’t done a single thing. She hadn’t even tried.

That had to change.

She just had no idea how.

Read the full chapter on AO3

Start from the beginning

Snuggle that old man

Rowan and Zev for my lovely @fiannans!!! thank you for the commission :3 it is always such a treat to draw our beloved antivan disaster rogue <3

WIP Wednesday Friday

I am late (again) but was tagged by @notyourmamasdeerbat @holdingontojupiter and @thequeenofthewinter 💜

Here's a bit from The Last Beat of My Heart chapter 17, which will be posted later today (still editing, it never ends).

Tagging whoever wants to do this - I'm late and not sure who has done it 😭

Friday night - working on some filth.......🥵 @bankabb

Sneak peak below......

In case anyone was wondering I am trying to get some writing done today. So here's a little sample as a treat

(I think maybe today will be a good day!)

Solas 🧡