ID in alt | text version of the prompt lists available below the cut
We're excited to announce the prompt lists for ViaRook Week 2026! Get started on your works now - we can't wait to see what you create 💜
How it works: Post any form of human-created ViaRook fanwork (art, writing, gifsets, digital photography, mods, etc.) on tumblr. Mention us, @viarookweek, and tag your post #ViaRookWeek2026. We'll reblog your work here!
You can also optionally add your work(s) to our AO3 Collection.
Please tag NSFW and other potentially triggering or sensitive content appropriately.
Prompts are optional. Use them, combine them, riff off them, use the alternates, or ignore them entirely! We'll reblog any new ViaRook creations posted during the event window.
NSFW content IS allowed for general prompts. We've included a dedicated NSFW prompt list for the more explicit prompts, but if any of the general prompts inspire an NSFW creation, that's acceptable! Likewise, you're welcome to create something SFW with one of the NSFW prompts, if you wish.
See you for ViaRook Week 2026, January 11th - 17th!
About ViaRook Week 2026: Jan 11 - 17 | Prompts | Event FAQ | Ask the Mods
take my hand, don't you let it go (this star lit night lives in your soul)
“Pah,” she snapped, yanking the over-large scarf up to shield her red-tipped ears. It’s almost comical how her hair spills over the blue weave, but Viago bites back the laugh that wants to escape him. He knows Marisol’s patience is thin at the moment, and laughing at her would ensure that he, too, had a very cold night.
“I’ll warm you once we get to our rooms, si?”
The look she gives him promises retribution should he renege on his promise.
Not for the first time, Viago is left wondering quite how his life turned out like this.
a Dellamorte Villa Holiday Gift Exchange fic for my darling @thimblings feat her Marisol and Viago!
okay i really need to share this new commission art of band au vero and viago. this is by @sashthesloth again (who is amazing to work with and who i cannot recommend enough) and i LOVE THEM SO MUCH.
it's an illustration from the first scene of the first chapter of and i want to know what would happen if i surrender to the sound, the moment right before vero kisses viago for the first time. complete with his stupid wine glass.
"You're drunk," he accuses.
"A little drunk, a little high," Vero says, and they have one of those faint smiles they often wear, like they're amused by a private joke. "Doesn't change how I feel."
“How you –” but he stops, because Vero has pushed away from the wall and has instead reached for the front of his perfectly pressed shirt, twisting those long and delicate fingers into the fabric. This is – this is not supposed to happen, because Vero is many things. Young, first and foremost. His drummer. (Not his. Never his.) A little drunk. A little high. He is suddenly aware of their scent – beer and sweat and cigarette smoke and the sticky-sweet smell of Rosa’s perfume.
Viago knows he should pull away, or do anything other than what he does, which is lean in until his lips brush against theirs.
Exceptions to the Rule
Viarook Week, Day One: gloves/skin
cw: off-screen injury/injury recovery
T
Viago de Riva/Nova 'Rook' de Riva pre-relationship
context for this au: a prequel for my high protocol bdsm fealty dynamic au, the sword and the shadow, where my two de Riva Crows help Viago take the throne. you don't have to read that to read this, but if you like viarook you might enjoy it! (wink)
Thank you @viarookweek!
on ao3
Consciousness returns to her, drop by hazy drop. Everything is very warm, and her mouth is very dry, like her tongue has been wrapped in cotton wool. She shifts, trying to roll over onto her other side, and is immediately rewarded with a jagged lance of pain tearing up her right side.
Ow.
"Don't move."
It takes all of Nova's focus to open her eyes. Has controlling her eyelids always been so hard? Taking shallow breaths against the pain radiating through her, she screws up her focus and bullies her eyelids into opening.
She's not in any room she recognizes. It's too dark to be an infirmary, the bedding and drapery on the magnificent four-poster bed too lavish, too ornate. A fire burns merrily in an ornately outfitted hearth across the room, and scattered around her is the detritus of healing. Bandages, pitchers and bowls of water, bloodstained towels, empty bottles.
And sitting in an indecently large armchair by the side of the bed is one Viago de Riva, looking as stormy as ever as he turns the page of his book.
Nova stares at him, at him nonchalantly reading as she continues to come back to her body bit by bit. Curiously, Viago's eyes don't seem to move on the page he's just turned to. It could be a trick of the flickering light in the fireplace. She stretches out her leg on the side that doesn't hurt like a bitch and closes her eyes again.
"Where are we?"
"A villa on the outskirts of Avira, in the Weyrs." There's sound of a page turning. "Until very recently, the property of one Leonello Covazzi. It was not wise to move you very far, given the…extent of your injuries."
Ah. That explained a lot. Nova swallows thickly. Her mouth is so dry. "So Covazzi's dead."
"As a doornail. Caprice ensured what little was left of my half-brother would be an exemplary message sent to the rest."
Nova sighs, the sound turning into an involuntary whimper of pain - and then hears the book snap shut before the weight of it skids down the bed, near her feet.
"Here." A bottle uncorks near her ear, and then she can smell the sickly-sweet greenish smell of one medicinal brew or another beneath her nose. The scent makes her gag; she frowns, head shaking from side to side as much as she can.
"You are in pain," Viago says, disapproving. The cold glass rim of the bottle presses against her bottom lip. "Take something for it."
Nova shakes her head again, and tries to lift a hand to bat it away before Viago finally relents. She only just woke. Even if her side's in agony, she does not want to go back to sleep. "Water. Please."
The cool, lush sound of water splashing from pitcher to cup is the sweetest sound she's ever heard, and she forces her eyes back open so she can take the cup. Viago holds it steady for her as she drinks, great noisy gulps of it, the sweetest thing she's ever tasted. Half of it spills down her to the sheets but she scarcely pays it any mind, focusing instead on draining the cup, and then a second. Her hand closes over Viago's when he helps her to drink again, the leather of his glove skin-warm even as cool water drips down their hands.
Sated, finally, Nova sags back into the bed and closes her eyes again. The cup's set with a soft clink of glass on hardwood on the bedside table, and then Viago settles back in his chair. She hears him exhale softly, and, licking the last remaining drops of water from her lips, wonders if he wishes he hadn't tossed his book to the side.
"So your half-brother is dead."
"One of them, yes."
Nova doesn't remember the moment of Leonello Covazzi's death. She does remember the company of mercenaries that shouldn't have been there and yet, somehow, were. Clearly Covazzi had caught wind of the premature demise of the last three of Viago's half-siblings and made some investments in his own well-being. Viago was perfectly capable of handling himself, but Nova can now recall, with perfect clarity, the flash of a hired longsword as its wielder sought to cut down the leader of the Crows.
One man and his two loyal assassins, cutting a bloody swath through the bastard progeny of the King until they could grasp for the line of succession. In the moment Nova hadn't thought. She had merely moved between that sword and Viago, the only one of the entire lot worthy of being called King.
It was worth it. It was all worth it. Even as Nova takes shallow breaths, feeling the fire of the wound every time she moves.
"Mmm. Pardon the pun, Highness, but your half-brother was a real bastard."
"He was certainly tenacious, I will give him that," Viago muses. He sounds…contemplative. Nova cracks an eye open to see him in his armchair, arms crossed, absently rubbing his thumb along the edge of his jaw. There's a strange, contemplative set to his brow, a distance in his eyes.
"Did you know him?" she asks.
Viago scoffs. "Hardly. Covazzi's mother was the younger sister of a minor count here in the Weyrs; apparently her elder brother had the good sense to keep her away from court after our father was too…attentive to her. He knew he was a royal bastard, of course, but if a royal bastard decides to lay low and keep to his agrarian pursuits, then apparently he may be an exception to the rule of Crows, or exile."
There's a distinct bite of bitterness at the last three words. Nova falls quiet, wondering if, after everything, Viago would prefer to be a nobody of minor nobility out here tending to the affairs of vinyards and wheat harvests, not poisons and contracts.
"For what it's worth, I don't think you would be very happy as a gentleman farmer," she offers at last.
"Happiness is immaterial," Viago retorts. "Efficiency, accuracy, and self-control are the only standards to which I should hold myself."
"Suit yourself, Highness." Nova tries tugging the bedsheets up further and immediately regrets it. Viago's frown deepens, and then he's standing over her, pulling the sheets further up to her chin. It's a…surprisingly tender gesture, from the Fifth Talon.
At the beginning of this mad endeavor, when subterfuge was cast aside and Viago had - begrudgingly - revealed his ambitions to the two of them, Nova and Caprice had sworn their loyalty to him. Their oath, that they would see Viago installed as King of Antiva, or die trying. It was one thing to swear an oath, to know that it is only three of them trying to overturn an entire line of succession.
It's something else entirely to have someone who holds your oath of devotion fretting over you in an infirmary bed and tucking you in. Nova does not know what to say, not even to thank him. For a long moment they look at one another, Nova exhausted and sore, Viago standing awkwardly at the edge of the bed, as if unsure why he did that.
"You should - take some more medicine," he says hurriedly. "You're still in pain."
"It's not so bad," Nova says softly. "You're taking care of me. I'll recover."
"Yes, well." Viago clears his throat, looking away. "You…you did not have to do that. For me. I could have handled one mercenary with a sword. And now you're - you didn't have to risk yourself unnecessarily."
"You have my oath, Highness. What else could I have done?"
Apparently Viago doesn't have an answer for that, only medicine. Nova watches him uncork the bottle once more, and though she begins to pull a hand from beneath the blankets to reach for it herself, he only shakes his head and holds it up to her lips for three measured sips before pulling it away.
"Rest," he says. "We will return to Salle as soon as you're well enough to ride. Caprice and I can handle the next contract."
Nova struggles to open her eyes once more, given that her eyelids have suddenly grown exponentially heavier. "I can - with you two, I can…"
"Rest," Viago says, steel in his tone. "That is an order, Nova."
Though she wants to resist, to object at being left behind, a wonderful warmth is spreading through her veins like honey, dulling the edges of the pain. Nova sinks back into the pillows, darkness rising up to greet her. The one sensation that she holds onto before losing consciousness is the scent and feeling of leather, butter-soft and blissfully warm, stroking the skin of her brow.
I love that post I just reblogged about Viago subtly giving his blessing to Lucanis and Rook, but I ALSO love Viago who is a possessive, selfish creature and Rook is his and no one else's. After the final battle, everyone is looking for Rook, and Teia has to tell them that Rook has already been whisked away by Viago, who is much more concerned with his own need to make sure Rook is okay. He'll let them go back to their friends eventually. In a couple days.
