#iris ingellvar

[thequeenofthewinter]

Iris and Emmrich Share a First Kiss

I have absolutely no words. I write, and perhaps it may sound trite, but there are none which could possibly carry the emotion I feel right now about this work of art. The emotion and detail, the expression, the softness--my goodness. I am actually sitting at my desk with misty eyes. Dearest @svanha, who is the wonderful, beautiful, and skilled artist behind this masterpiece, knocked this out of the park just like in all things she does. Thank you, Svanha, so very much for bringing these two saps to life. I fed her some of my writing, and we got this. <3 So, stay tuned very soon for some interesting things which will be happening. (I'm going to go scream some more now. Don't look at me.)

[draco-illius-noctis]

For @thequeenofthewinter and her Rook, Iris 💜 Iris wrote our gentleman necromancer a letter, which is included below:

And his response:

My dearest Iris,

I have been holding my breath for so long.

Your letter arrived like a tide breaking against something I had long convinced myself was unmovable. To read your words—each one so carefully chosen, so achingly vulnerable—was like surfacing after being held beneath the waves. I find myself breathless in an entirely different way now.

Iris, you say you have fallen. If so, then I must admit I was already at the bottom, waiting for you. I have lived in the quiet ache of what I could not name—what I did not dare name—for longer than I would ever confess aloud. And now, here you are, offering me the very thing I had only allowed myself to want in the safety of dreams.

I cannot pretend I have not thought of this moment. Of some impossible future where you might see me not only as a colleague or companion, but as something more. But you, Iris—you exceed every version of that fantasy. I could never have imagined this: your truth, written so fiercely, so honestly, that I find myself reading it over and over again just to believe it is real.

You ask how you are to describe the feelings I provoke in you. Allow me, then, to answer in kind. How am I to tell you what it is to sit beside you and feel the shape of your presence like a gravitational pull? How am I to describe the way you occupy my thoughts—how every silence bends toward you, how every moment of peace is tinged with the hope of hearing your voice?

You speak of my flame. But Iris, you are the warmth I have sought in all the cold places of my life. I have known the dark, the quiet, the stillness of mausoleums and the hush of tombs. But you—you make the air hum again. You make me feel alive. Do you understand what a miracle that is?

I tried to bury what I felt. I told myself it was inappropriate. That it would pass. That I had no right to want what I wanted. But it never passed. It only grew, as you carved space in my life with every quiet act of grace, every brilliant turn of wit, every way you saw through me without flinching.

There is a kind of joy that terrifies a man. The kind that makes him believe, against every instinct of caution, that something might be his to keep. That is what you are to me. That is what this letter means.

And no, you are not a fool. You are the bravest soul I know. You reached for me when I could not find the courage to reach for you, and that is something I will never forget.

So please, Iris—do not fear my reply.

There is nothing within me that does not ache for you.

Nothing I would deny you.

No part of me that does not long to be known by you, as deeply and fully as you are willing to know me.

If you still want me, then you shall have me—entirely. Not some version of me softened by distance or dulled by restraint, but all of it. The man who has thought of you with every spare breath. The man who wakes and reaches instinctively for a presence that is not yet there, but might be.

I do not yet know how to carry this joy. I suspect I will learn, if you allow me the chance.

Yours—utterly, Emmrich

[vermilionheart]

Yarina and Iris

~~~

It both inspires and frustrates me to draw complex environments and lighting but I still like the result. I prefer drawing in some kind of sketchy style

@thequeenofthewinter hope you like it!

[inquisitor-julia]

The Rooks so far 💜

Rajlin Mercar // Kassanda [Andy] Thorne

Fei de Riva // Arlise'el [Lisell] Aldwir

Mica Laidir // Iris Ingellvar

[crowthatwalks]

best i can do without a ref for @thequeenofthewinter

i'm not sure if it's appreciated out of the blue, but please tell me if i can change anything or if you want me to make it a full painting :')

[thequeenofthewinter]

Even in Death Flowers Bloom

Chapter 6: Tulip (Link)

This one is rated E, so be warned if you click the link. <3

"How long has this been going on?" As he feels her hands clench into his nightshirt, a stirring of both affection and something else swells within him. 

Not now, Emmrich. Please. It would be wildly inappropriate and especially not while she is crying in your arms. That would be taking a gross advantage. Do you not have a care?

He swallows, his fingers tentatively reaching up to run through her hair. Soft, it is so soft, just like her. Just like her skin which runs beneath his fingertips as he carefully tips her head back to look at him again. "How long?"

Watery eyes made greener in the light look up at him, tears trailing down her cheeks. Would that he could wipe them away. How he would love to--

No! She doesn't want that. Not here, not now, and most likely not ever. What has gotten into you tonight?

"Weeks. Since before the Lifts, prior to when I began teaching with you."

"And you did not think to come to me before?" His eyes do not leave hers as worry and something else unidentifiable to her flicks across his expression. "Iris, I had told you--"

"I know. I know, and I am sorry. I thought this would all resolve itself on its own. Clearly, I was wrong."

"Clearly, and now--"

Her voice comes out small, so different from the Rook he had known who had brought their team together, sorting out their problems and bringing Evanuris to their knees. No. This is Iris, the woman, stripped bare before him with worries, insecurities, and doubts just like anyone else. "Are you angry with me?"

"No, of course not. What ever would make you believe that?"

"I don't know. I just--" Her voice trails off as she realizes how warm his arms are wound around her, how wonderful he smells like leather-bound books and parchment--how close she is to him. She is practically sitting in his lap, and if she leaned forward just a little, she could--

It is the sweetest torture for her as Iris finds she wishes to cry for an entirely different reason altogether.

For a moment, they continue sit in silence, the spring of her words suddenly run as dry as her tears. Or perhaps, it is that they are all not enough, poignant emotion instead pulling them taut with invisible strings to say what cannot be said with words through action.

The air stills around them as Emmrich's eyes drift down to her lips before meeting her eyes, his hand trailing from her chin to cup her cheek as she takes in a shaky breath. Is this really going to happen? Will he--

Slowly, her eyes flutter closed, hope driving her forward, and she is unable to help herself as she leans forward until her lips finally find his.

At first, their kiss is soft, tentative, and perhaps a little uncertain as Emmrich's lips envelop hers as if he had nothing but time in the world for her. How she had craved this, dreamed of it, wanted him for so long that she cannot even remember when it started and now--now it feels like her suffering has finally ended as she falls into him, lips parting slightly to take in a breath before he steals it away from her.

And she would let him.

He could have anything he wanted of her, and she would give it freely to Emmrich as if it had already belonged to him. Perhaps that is why when she pulls back from him, and he sinks his fingers into the silken strands of her hair, she does not protest and even presses herself closer.

The softest moan, so quiet and so sweet, escapes him, so unexpectedly exquisite that she drinks from him deeper, lips fully parting without question when his tongue runs over the seam of them.

Divine. He is absolutely divine. She could die and be buried here right on the spot as his tongue brushes lazily against hers. The taste of salt mingles with their sweetness, turning their kiss ever more desperate with the remembrance of why she is here to begin with, and he drowns himself further. He will wipe away every trace of her fear and replace it with nothing but affection until he drags her down with him to the depths.

Art by the insanely skilled Svanha. (You may have seen this floating around as I posted it the other day. This is the snippet of writing which I commissioned this for.)

[thequeenofthewinter]

I, uh, may have accidentally given myself a brain worm after I had this thought. Woke up at 8am on a Sunday to rush to my computer. Lemme know if this is anything you’d like to see more of.

The music is too loud, too jarring—too undignified. As Emmrich’s eyes scan the club, he isn’t sure half the people—a sea of sweaty, gyrating bodies seemingly surrounding him on all sides—are even conscious of what they are doing.

This was a bad decision.

When Iris dragged him here, he had no idea it would be like this. Three cranberry vodkas, and two shots of Fireball in, he’s half sure she’s forgotten he’s even here.

And yes, he has been counting her drinks. Maker knows she needs it.

He makes his way to the bar, weaving his way carefully through the crowd so as not to touch one of these unfortunate souls, until he finds Rook—short black sequined mini skirt and all. Surprisingly, she’s still aware of her surroundings, even looks at him—hazy eyes and lips pulling into a lazy smile which makes his heart unexpectedly flip.

“Might I be able to escort you back home now, darling?”

She surprises him by pulling his hand—skin flush and overheated by the alcohol or the environment, he doesn’t know—and pulls him out onto the dance floor.

“Darling, dearest, I don’t think this wise especially with your current state of inebriation. Mightn’t we just—”

She doesn’t listen. Doesn’t seem to care. Quite honestly he has never seen her like this before and he isn’t sure he wants to again; her hair hangs loose, dress beginning to ride up her thighs. It would be better to take her home, tuck her safely into bed, and set some water along with an extra strength ibuprofen on her night stand.

Emmrich was not built for this; he is too old for—he looks around scandalized—for whatever this is, and he is fairly certain she is too. However, when she turns to him, wicked grin on her face as she spins in those ridiculous 5 inch heels she insisted on wearing—he had called them a death trap even if they do make her ass look delectable—and slowly grinds against him, he cannot help but suppress a groan.

“Are you sure you want to go home?” She slurs, head turning as she bats her eyelashes at him.

[thequeenofthewinter]

And I’m calling this done ✨

Iris and Emmrich can dance around the stars with swirly magic forever