Rook doesn’t get drunk often. Not because she can’t handle it, but because she prefers to keep her wits about her. She likes to stay aware, to be the one watching rather than the one being watched.
Which is why, when she does tip past her limit, it’s an event.
Tonight is one of those nights.
It starts innocently enough—a few drinks, some lighthearted competition, the slow collapse into chaos. Davrin suggests a drinking game that no one really understands, Harding is laughing too hard to explain the rules, and at some point, someone dares Lucanis to chug directly from the bottle (he doesn’t).
And Rook? Absolutely gone.
She doesn’t realize how much she’s had until she shifts in her chair and the world tilts at an odd, concerningly delightful angle.
Which is fine. Totally fine. She can still think. Can still form coherent thoughts.
She just… doesn’t want to keep them to herself.
“Emmrich,” she says, slow and syrupy, like she’s figured out something very important.
Across the table, Emmrich barely lifts an eyebrow. He is, of course, still perfectly composed. A little flushed, maybe—he’s been drinking too, after all—but nowhere near her level.
“Darling?” he replies, amused.
With zero hesitation, she abandons her chair completely, strides over, and unceremoniously drops herself into his lap. One hand braces against his chest as she squints at him, like she’s trying to piece together some grand revelation.
“You’re so handsome,” she mutters, thoughtful. Profound.
The table goes quiet. Harding barely stifles a laugh. Bellara eyes Rook like she’s staring at a live grenade. Taash shifts in their chair, grinning like this is the best entertainment they’ve had in months.
Emmrich’s lips twitch. “Do go on.”
“Like, disgustingly handsome,” she continues, tapping a finger against his chest.
“Hmm.” He tilts his head. “Shall I be offended?”
“Absolutely not,” she slurs. “Your face is stupid. I hate it.”
This is very obviously a lie.
Harding lets out a strangled noise. Lucanis presses his fingers to his temple. Neve mutters something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like unbelievable.
But Rook isn’t done.
She tilts her head, studying Emmrich like he’s some rare specimen she’s just discovered.
“And your voice,” she says, gripping his shirt like it’s helping her balance. “It’s. A problem. Have you ever heard yourself? You—” she waves a hand vaguely, slurring, “—talk, and it’s like, oh no, I think I have to make some bad decisions.”
Emmrich looks downright indulgent. He lifts a hand, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"What fascinating insight," he murmurs, voice so smooth, so low, so devastatingly amused.
She short-circuits.
Rook lets out an aggressive groan, buries her face against his shoulder, and mutters something into his collar that is most definitely obscene.
And then—because she is officially too far gone—she bites him.
Not hard. Just a slow, tipsy nibble.
Emmrich immediately freezes.
“Darling,” he says, slow and measured, like he’s trying to talk down a wild animal.
She hums against his throat, nuzzling closer. “You smell good.”
His fingers tighten slightly at her waist. “Do I?”
“Mmhmm.” She breathes him in. “Like books and trouble.”
Emmrich exhales sharply, clearly suffering.
Then, as if she hasn’t already pushed him to the edge, she starts unbuttoning his shirt.
His hand shoots out, catching her wrists.
“Darling,” he says again, firm, but patient.
Rook twists out of his grip immediately. Gets another button undone.
Emmrich grabs her hands again.
She wiggles free. Another button.
They wrestle, half-drunkenly, half-seriously, her trying to undress him, him trying to salvage his dignity.
By the time she gets to the fourth button, Emmrich is visibly suffering.
“I hate to interrupt,” Neve drawls from across the table, sounding deeply entertained, “but are we about to witness actual intercourse?”
Rook does not stop.
"Rook." This time, it’s not a gentle warning. His grip catches her wrists in one swift motion, firm and final.
She pouts immediately, bottom lip sticking out.
“You’re not calling me darling,” she slurs, offended. “Or my love. Or—”
“Rook,” Emmrich sighs.
She squints at him. “What?”
His fingers tighten just slightly around her wrist. “Not in public.”
There is a brief, terrible silence. Davrin makes a muffled noise against his fist. Lucanis closes his eyes like he’s praying for strength.
Rook, unaware of the way the entire table is holding its collective breath, frowns at him. “Why not?”
Emmrich sighs deeply. He takes both of her wrists, gently but firmly, and places them back where they belong—on his shoulders, not his buttons, not anywhere dangerous.
Then, with unwavering patience, he lifts his gaze, meeting hers.
“Because, my love,” he says, “I am still capable of shame.”
She blinks at him. Thinks.
Then leans in until their noses almost touch. “Sounds like a you problem,” she whispers.
Harding actually falls out of her chair.
Emmrich exhales, finishes his drink in one long, suffering pull, and immediately rises to his feet, scooping Rook into his arms with ease.
“We are done here,” he announces.
Before she can say another word, he turns and strides away, carrying her out of the room.
The table erupts.
🍷 🍷 🍷 🍷 🍷
Rook wakes slowly, the weight of last night’s choices settling in before her eyes even open. Her head throbs in protest, the unmistakable ache of overindulgence, but worse than that is the creeping awareness that something dreadful lurks in the depths of her memory. It hovers, just out of reach, waiting.
And then, like an explosion of poorly timed clarity, it crashes over her.
The room is quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that spells trouble.
She forces herself to look up, dread curling in her stomach like a living thing.
Emmrich is already awake, seated in the lone chair near her bed, tea in hand. He looks as composed as ever, no sign of suffering from last night’s indulgences. And, Maker help her, he is watching her.
Her stomach flips. He remembers.
The look he gives her isn’t smug—not outright. That would be too easy. No, it’s something far worse.
Pleased.
Amused.
Like he’s been waiting for her to catch up.
Rook stares at him, a silent plea for mercy. He lifts his cup to his lips and takes a slow, measured sip.
She groans, buries her face in her pillow, and lets out something between a whimper and a pained curse.
“Oh, don’t be shy now,” he says, relishing every second of this.
“I’m going to die,” she mutters into the fabric.
“I rather think not.” He leans back slightly, entirely at ease. “Though, if it helps, you were quite…” He pauses, considering. “Expressive.”
Rook makes a low, suffering noise.
She peeks over the pillow, eyes narrowed to slits. “Tell me I didn’t say anything bad.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”
She doesn’t think. She just acts. The pillow flies across the room.
Emmrich bats it away effortlessly, lips curving as he chuckles, rich and warm and unbearably entertained.
Rook groans again and pulls the blanket over her head.
I forgot all day even though I tried to remind myself yesterday —
Today is my three year fic anniversary!!
I started writing/publishing Bound to the Light three years ago (1/28/2018!), and while I’ve only published 10k words or so since September 2020 (ah, life! ah, insecurity!), I officially have over 2.6 million words and 209 works on the archive now!!!
While I started in Damerey, it’s been a wild ride writing for other ships and meeting so many wonderful people, and I’d really like to start writing fic again with regularity !!!
Thanks to anyone and everyone who ever read, kudosed, commented, or encouraged me to keep writing!!! You’re awesome and thanks for letting me share so many wild fic ideas with you all!
(Edit/addition: I literally think about deleting Bound to the Light like once a week bc I’m so disenchanted with how I plotted it - really didn’t plot it tbh - and some characterizations and how I actually wrote it, but I also always have to stop and think about how I ground out a 166k word fic in six weeks and how I was so excited to get feedback from people and meet cool people and I just feel like leaving it up is honest and oddly comforting even though I cringe at it sometimes because writing is all about growth babey!)
The party was already underway by the time they arrived, glittering nobles flooding the courtyard like perfumed moths around a chandelier. Laughter rang out across marble steps, crystal glasses clinked, and a quartet played something that sounded like music but felt more like a test of patience.
Rook adjusted her dress for the third time, trying not to look like she wanted to flee.
“Do I have to pretend be your wife all night?” she muttered.
“Only until the artifacts are secure and the ambassador is no longer pretending he doesn’t know who I am,” Emmrich replied, resting his hand at the small of her back. “So yes.”
Rook opened her mouth to argue, but a man in an over-embroidered doublet approached with a too-bright smile.
“Ah! You must be the Volkarins. A pleasure.” He bowed. “We were told you were recently wed?”
Emmrich beamed like he'd personally invented the concept of matrimony. “Indeed. She swept me off my feet. Or was it the other way around, darling?”
Rook made a faint noise. Possibly a curse. Possibly a threat.
“She’s shy,” Emmrich explained to the man, “but it’s part of her charm. The quiet ones burn the brightest, you know.”
He guided her away before she could recover enough to kick him.
Later, after two and a half glasses of surprisingly strong Orlesian wine:
“She’s from the Necropolis, you know,” Emmrich was saying to a ring of utterly spellbound nobles. “Knows how to embalm a body with nothing but salt, spirits, and sheer force of will. I’ve never been more aroused.”
“Emmrich!” Rook laughed, red-faced, clinging to his arm. “You can’t just tell people that!”
“They were asking about your talents, my love. I’m merely being supportive.”
She turned to the group. “Don’t listen to him. I’m not that good at it.”
A pause.
“…I mean I am, I’m just—not that good—oh, you know what I mean.”
One noble clapped politely. Another looked vaguely ill. Emmrich, of course, looked like a man who had just won the lottery, retired, and built a temple to his own success.
“Isn’t she magnificent?” he murmured, raising her hand to his lips. “Utterly, blindingly magnificent.”
Rook had somehow acquired a third glass of wine.
She wasn’t sure when. Or how. Or why it kept refilling itself. Possibly Emmrich was responsible. Possibly the wine itself was possessed. Either way, she had long since stopped resisting.
A very polished noblewoman in blue velvet leaned in and asked, carefully, “Do you two have children?”
Emmrich smiled. It was not a kind smile. It was the smile of a man who had absolutely been waiting for this moment.
“Yes,” he said. “A boy. Takes after my wife. Strong jaw. Excellent posture. Hisses when he’s happy.”
The noblewoman blinked.
“Hisses?”
“Mm. Charming lad. Bit bony. Very expressive collarbones.”
“He means he’s a skeleton,” Rook said, then hiccupped and immediately added, “But we love him! He brings us tea. Sort of. Sometimes he just takes the tray and runs.”
“Very spirited,” Emmrich agreed.
The woman excused herself and walked into a potted plant.
LATER – THE BALCONY, WHICH THEY MAY OR MAY NOT HAVE BEEN BANISHED TO:
The air was cooler outside, which helped. A little. Not enough to stop Rook from swaying slightly and using Emmrich’s chest as both pillow and anchor while she finished whatever was left in her fourth? fifth? glass. She’d lost count.
“Did you see the one guy’s face when I said I slept in a sarcophagus once?” she mumbled into his shoulder.
“He nearly dropped his wine. I’ve never been prouder.”
“You didn’t even stop me.”
“My love, I started you.”
She snorted. “We’re never getting invited back here.”
“One can only hope.”
Rook sighed, pressing her forehead to his neck. “You smell good.”
“That’s not the wine talking, is it?”
“No, that’s the wife talking.”
Emmrich paused. She felt it—the way he stilled for just a moment, his arms tightening around her waist.
“You said it again,” he murmured.
“What?”
“Wife.”
She blinked up at him, face still flushed from the wine and the mortifying number of conversations she’d had about bones, spirits, and the ethics of soul jars.
“…Well,” she said thoughtfully, “husband—I think it’s time we go practice our marital duties.”
There was a silence.
A loud silence.
Rook turned her head and called back into the ballroom:
“WE’RE LEAVING NOW! FOR SEX!”
Several conversations stopped. One noble dropped a flute of champagne. Somewhere, a server fainted.
“I JUST THINK IT’S IMPORTANT TO PRIORITIZE EACH OTHER,” she added helpfully. “HE’S REALLY GOOD AT IT.”
Emmrich’s composure, already hanging by a thread, shattered like a cheap vase.
“We’re leaving,” he said, voice slightly strangled.
“I said that—”
“No, I mean now, right now—say goodbye, we’re going—I have to go do things to you—”
And with that, he scooped her up and threw her over his shoulder, all urgency and zero shame, while she giggled like a menace, waving back at the stunned party guests like a drunk necromantic princess.
“Good night!” she called. “Thank you for the wine! I’m going to go ride my husband now!”
“Rook!”
“I MEAN PROFESSOR VOLKARIN.”
Somewhere behind them, a noble leaned in and whispered, “Do you think they’re actually married?”
Another replied, “I don’t know, but I’m afraid to find out.”
Bestie i just read the drunk rook fic, and i have to say.
Your words are spun from gold.
It's the best fic I've read in a while, I'd like to hear your thoughts about emmrich being the drunk one, how would he act?
This is so sweet 🥰 Just for you, anon:
Rook should have gone to bed with the others.
The drinking had started as a group effort—a bottle passed around, laughter spilling into the halls of the Lighthouse. One by one, the others had retired, leaving her and Emmrich, lingering in the library, finishing what was left.
She was tipsy, pleasantly warm, but still present. Emmrich, however?
A complete disaster.
He was sprawled across the couch, waistcoat unbuttoned, hair mussed, an arm draped over his forehead like some tragic poet contemplating the cruel whims of fate. Every few minutes, he exhaled a long, soul-weary sigh, as though mourning some great, unspeakable loss.
Rook sat on the floor, her back against the couch near his head, within easy reach of his wandering hands.
“Rook,” he breathed, fingertips ghosting against her neck as though she might vanish at any moment.
She exhaled slowly. “Mm?”
“I am lost.”
She huffed out a quiet laugh. “Are you?”
“Utterly.” His fingers drifted into her hair, twisting a lock around his finger, his voice low, indulgent, full of tragic suffering. “Do you know what you have done to me?”
Rook smirked. “No, but I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”
A sigh, deep and world-weary. His fingers slid to her cheek, his thumb tracing her jaw as if committing it to memory.
“You have bewitched me, body and soul.”
Maker’s breath.
She tilted her head toward him. “Oh, have I?”
“Beyond all reason.” His fingers drifted along her cheekbone, reverent. “I was once a man of discipline. A man of great intellect, bound by duty, ruled by logic.”
She hummed, amused.
His thumb pressed lightly against her lips, his expression grave. “And now?” He exhaled, dropping his hand to his chest as though he had been struck through the heart. “Now, I am a wretched fool, enslaved by love.”
Rook bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. “That’s tragic.”
“It is,” he murmured, absently petting her hair, his fingers slow and indulgent, as though soothing himself with the motion.
And then he tilted forward, forehead pressing gently against hers, his breath warm as he sighed deeply, as if burdened by the weight of the heavens themselves.
“What are you doing?”
“Lamenting.”
“Lament quieter.”
“I cannot.” His hand sought hers, lifting it delicately, treating it as if it were a sacred relic, something too precious for mortal hands. He pressed a slow, lingering kiss to her knuckles.
She arched a brow, watching as he let out a long, mournful sigh, lips brushing against her skin as though the mere act of touching her caused him exquisite pain.
“Do you know, dearest, that when you leave a room, I feel it in my bones? Do you know,” he continued, drawing her hand to his chest, pressing it there as though it might steady the storm within him, “that I wake each day and think first of you, and in that moment, my existence is both agony and bliss?”
Rook pressed her free hand over her face. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” he sighed, pressing a kiss to her wrist now, “you allow me to exist in your orbit. How generous you are, my love. How cruel.”
She sighed, exasperated but fond, and pulled his hands away. “Enough poetry. Time for bed.”
I was tagged by @cocoboots for this game! This is such a fun idea. I love writing silly stuff (which you can see in my #silly draco tag) so I am always looking for an excuse to write more 😂
--------------------
Rook had that look again. The one Emmrich now recognized as a prelude to disaster—half hesitation, half determination, and fully capable of knocking ten years off his life.
He glanced over the top of his book. She was sitting on the floor, legs stretched out, staring at him like she was about to either say something life-changing or chew off her own foot to avoid it.
He waited.
She cleared her throat. “I want you to take me like a thesis.”
The silence that followed could’ve mummified a lesser man.
“…Pardon?”
Her shoulders stiffened, but she forged on. “You know. Just…touch me. But academically.”
Emmrich blinked. Slowly. “Academically.”
“Yes.”
A beat.
“You want me to peer review you.”
Rook winced so hard her entire body flinched. “All right. That came out wrong.”
“Did it?” he said, setting his book down. “Because I think I understand perfectly.”
She made a distressed noise in the back of her throat and flopped onto her back. “Forget I said anything.”
“I don’t believe I will.”
“I was trying to be seductive.”
“Clearly.”
“I thought it sounded better in my head.”
“I’m not entirely convinced it sounded better in your head.”
She pulled a pillow over her face.
Emmrich leaned back against the couch and steepled his fingers, absolutely basking in the disaster. “So, just to clarify, you’d like me to approach you as if preparing an academic paper?”
“—cross-referenced conclusions, perhaps even a literature review if we’re getting ambitious—”
She groaned. “Do you ever stop?”
“Only when asked very sweetly.”
The pillow shifted just enough for her eyes to peek out. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”
“Can you blame me?” he said, reaching down to brush a lock of hair off her forehead. “You could’ve said anything. You could’ve said you wanted me to kiss you. Or ravish you. Or pin you to the floor and make you forget your name.”
Her breath hitched.
“But no,” he murmured, smiling now, “you led with thesis defense.”
“I panicked,” she whispered.
“Darling,” he said gently, “you’re lucky I find panic deeply endearing.”
She stared at him.
He stared back.
Then she sat up—quick, determined, dangerous—and crawled into his lap.
“Oh?” he asked, very pleased.
“Field study,” she said.
“Now that has potential.”
Softly tagging @spinfins @notyourmamasdeerbat @pixiedurango @starfleetteddybear @thequeenofthewinter and anyone else who wants to participate!
I regret to inform everyone I'm working on a new crack fic and it involves a murder mystery in the Lighthouse.
Here's a snippet:
Rook was halfway through her second cup of wine when Lucanis slumped face-first into the casserole.
For a moment, no one moved.
Then Harding dropped her fork. "Oh, shit. Did he die?"
Davrin leaned over the table to get a better look. "That was a strong pour, but I didn't think it was that strong."
"Dead," Emmrich said dryly, not looking up from his own glass. "Or very committed to the bit."
"Ooh! Are we doing dinner theater now?" Bellara asked brightly. "I love improv!"
Lucanis did not move.
Rook set her cup down with a quiet clink and muttered, "Please don’t be dead. I am not emotionally prepared to give a speech about your contributions to the team."
Neve, who hadn't touched the casserole at all, crossed her arms. "He’s breathing. His shoulder moved."
Harding crouched next to the body, cautiously poking Lucanis in the ribs. "Buddy? You okay? Did you choke on the mushrooms or just…decide to nap in your food?"
Rook – "Fix It or Flee" (Home Makeover/Disaster Renovation Show)
Premise: Rook walks into absolute disasters of homes and decides whether to fix them or set them on fire.
Tagline: "You live like this?"
Recurring joke: Every episode starts with her walking through in silence before muttering, "What the fuck is this?"
Fan-favorite segment: "Congratulations, You Made It Worse." Homeowners try to fix something mid-episode and immediately cause a disaster.
Emmrich inexplicably appears in stressful episodes. They disappear off-camera, return looking disheveled, and refuse to elaborate. If pressed, Rook snaps, "Stress relief," while Emmrich buttons up his shirt without comment.
Season finale? The house is so cursed Rook refuses to fix it. Turns out Solas used to live there.
Emmrich – "Love in the Time of Nonsense" (Etiquette/Dating Show Gone Wrong)
Premise: Emmrich attempts to teach contestants the art of romance, only to be thwarted by their absolute incompetence, modern dating culture, and his own dwindling will to live.
Tagline: "Courtship is dead, and I wish I was too."
Recurring joke: Every episode starts with Emmrich looking cautiously optimistic and ends with him knocking back a drink while whispering, "I cannot live like this."
Fan-favorite segment: "No. Try Again."—where he forces contestants to redo their date until they behave like actual humans. It never works.
A contestant brought a live owl on their date because "romance is about the element of surprise." The owl attacked the waiter.
One contestant thought "courtship" meant actual legal court. Emmrich had to sit down.
A woman said, "I don’t date short kings." The camera zoomed in on Emmrich’s increasingly clenched fist.
At least one contestant tries to flirt with Emmrich himself. He reacts as though he’s just been personally threatened.
Season Finale? Emmrich finally finds a contestant who seems promising. They immediately ruin it.
Contestant: "I won’t date anyone born in May. I just don’t like the vibe."
Harding – "Scouting the Unknown" (Travel/Adventure Show)
Premise: Harding explores remote, dangerous, and downright sketchy locations worldwide, trying to act professional while constantly getting into near-fatal situations.
Tagline: "If it hasn’t killed me yet, it probably will next season!"
Recurring joke: She loses her map in every episode but insists it’s “part of the adventure.”
Fan-favorite segment: "Harding Tries the Local Specialty," where she eats something awful, forces a smile, and insists, "It’s fine," while visibly struggling.
One time, she got stranded overnight and pretended it was “on purpose” for the cameras.
Season finale? She tries urban exploring in an abandoned building. The cops show up. She outruns them while laughing.
Bellara – "How Bad Could It Be?" (Science/Exploration Gone Wrong)
Premise: Bellara tests wild scientific theories and investigates historical mysteries by immediately doing things she absolutely should not.
Tagline: "For science!"
Recurring joke: Every episode starts with her saying, "I promise this won’t explode." It explodes.
Fan-favorite segment: "Famous Last Words," where she reads historical warnings out loud before ignoring them.
One episode, she got banned from a museum for “testing” an artifact’s durability with a hammer.
Season finale? She tries to build a time capsule. It gets mistaken for an explosive device. Again.
Lucanis – "Murder, But Make It Classy" (Luxury Crime Docuseries)
Premise: A stylized true crime series where Lucanis dramatically narrates high-profile assassinations, art heists, and crimes of passion.
Tagline: "Death is an art. And I never miss."
Recurring joke: He never directly admits anything was illegal. "And then, through a series of events, the problem was permanently resolved."
Fan-favorite segment: "How I Would Have Done It Better." Lucanis critiques famous historical crimes and points out where they went wrong, often with infuriatingly specific details.
One episode was mysteriously pulled from airing. He refuses to comment.
Season finale? He covers an unsolved case. The episode accidentally solves it. The FBI wants to talk.
Neve – "The Shadow Files" (True Crime/Investigative Journalism)
Premise: Neve investigates corporate corruption, political scandals, and unsolved crimes, exposing frauds with brutal sarcasm.
Tagline: "The truth is out there. And it’s pissing me off."
Recurring joke: She solves the case in the first 10 minutes, but has to spend the rest of the episode proving it to morons who refuse to listen.
Fan-favorite segment: "Neve Reads the Dumbest Theory of the Week," where she mockingly reads absurd conspiracy theories until she snaps, "Who LET this person have internet access?!"
One time, a suspect tried to bribe her. She took the money—then aired the footage and donated the bribe to a charity in his name.
Season finale? She uncovers a massive government cover-up. The network tries to cancel the show. She leaks the story anyway and films the executives panicking.
Davrin – "Predator vs. Prey" (Wildlife/Survival Documentary)
Premise: Davrin travels the world tracking dangerous predators and analyzing their hunting techniques—sometimes by testing them firsthand.
Tagline: "To understand the hunter, you must become the hunted."
Recurring joke: The camera crew regularly refuses to follow him any farther.
Crew Member (from a safe distance): "Are you sure this is a good idea?" Davrin (grinning, crouched behind a bush): "It’s a great idea."
Fan-favorite segment: "Let’s See If It Notices Me," where Davrin tests an animal’s predatory instincts by getting dangerously close.
Once spent three days tracking a wolf pack. Ended up befriending them instead.
Season finale? He accidentally gets too close to a big cat, has to climb a tree to escape, and just narrates from up there for the rest of the episode.
Taash – "So You Think You Can Hunt?" (Survival Elimination Show)
Premise: Taash drops contestants into extreme wilderness settings and watches them fail spectacularly.
Tagline: "Some of you will live. Hopefully."
Recurring joke: Every contestant is convinced they’ll do great. Every contestant immediately fails.
Fan-favorite segment: "Who Let You Sign Up For This?"—where Taash interviews the most hopeless contestants.
At least one contestant every season is a rich influencer who thought it would be easy. They last one day.
Season finale? No one makes it to the finale. Taash shrugs at the camera: "Well. That’s on them."
Manfred – "The Manfred Files" (Creepypasta/Internet Mystery Show)
Premise: A viral internet mystery series documenting bizarre and unexplained sightings of a skeleton that shouldn’t move...yet keeps appearing in places he has no business being.
Tagline: "He’s always watching."
Recurring joke: Every time Emmrich tries to prove Manfred is just a normal skeleton, Manfred somehow shows up somewhere new.
Emmrich: "He is literally incapable of movement."
Cut to Manfred sitting in the background of a live news broadcast.
Fan-favorite segment: "Manfred Sightings of the Week," where viewers submit increasingly ridiculous photos of him.
"Manfred spotted on a subway in New York. Holding a newspaper. Explain that, Emmrich."
Conspiracy theorists refuse to believe he’s not sentient.
Season finale? Emmrich finally gets frustrated enough to move Manfred himself just to prove a point. Next day, Manfred appears somewhere Emmrich definitely didn’t put him. The internet explodes.
Assan – "Sky Kings" (Nature/Wildlife Documentary)
Premise: A breathtaking documentary series following Assan and his fellow griffons, exploring their habitats, hunting techniques, and the noble bond between griffon and rider.
Tagline: "Above the clouds, beyond the reach of mortals."
Narrated by an extremely serious scholar (it's just Varric)
Every shot is cinematic and awe-inspiring—sunrises over mountains, slow-motion flight sequences, epic battles mid-air.
Recurring theme: How griffons were thought extinct, their legendary past, and their resurgence.
Occasionally interrupted by footage of Assan absolutely wrecking something in midair.
Varric – "Tales from the Hanged Man" (Anthology Drama)
Premise: A stylish, noir-inspired anthology where Varric recounts wildly exaggerated tales of adventure, crime, and romance—set in Kirkwall’s infamous Hanged Man tavern.
Tagline: "Never let the truth get in the way of a good story."
Every episode is a different story, told with varying degrees of accuracy.
Dramatic reenactments include:
"The Champion and the Mysterious Stranger"
"How I Once Robbed a Tevinter Magister and Lived"
"The Time I Beat a Qunari in a Drinking Contest (And Survived)"
Cameo appearances from old friends (and enemies).
Sometimes, halfway through a tale, someone in the tavern yells, "That's not how it happened!" and the whole thing shifts to a new version.
Solas – "Please Shut Up: A Debate Panel from Hell" (Infuriating Roundtable Show)
Premise: Solas is forced to debate people he absolutely despises on philosophy, history, and ethics. Every episode shaves years off his lifespan.
Tagline: "I will not dignify that with a response." (He always does.)
Recurring joke: Someone interrupts Solas to explain his own point back to him. The camera zooms in as he visibly malfunctions.
Fan-favorite segment: "You Are Objectively Incorrect." Contestants confidently present terrible takes. Solas stares at them in silence for ten seconds before exhaling through his nose and muttering, "Maker help me."
A guest once called Plato "that guy from Assassin’s Creed." Solas whispered "I hate it here" under his breath.
Someone argued that "history doesn’t matter because the past is the past." Solas immediately knocked over his water glass in fury.
A YouTuber claimed, "Books are obsolete, everything’s online now." Solas removed his earpiece, massaged his temples, and whispered "I am going to commit a crime."
Season finale? The panel includes a flat-earther, a conspiracy theorist, and a self-proclaimed ‘alpha male.’ Solas lasts three minutes before dramatically slamming his hands on the table, standing up, and launching into a full-volume, academic takedown. The audience erupts into cheers. The producers cut the feed mid-rant. The show is immediately canceled.
Setup is a dimly lit room with candles or fairy lights in the background
Personal attention, hair and scalp massage, whispered relaxation
Extremely calming but her videos, especially the personal attention videos, are disarmingly intimate
Occasionally uses Emmrich as a prop, as long as his face is not shown (his request). He secretly loves it.
Has a ridiculous number of “boyfriend audio” requests from subscribers that she pretends she doesn’t see
She reads every comment but doesn’t realize what people actually mean. One comment said “I need you to wreck me tonight” and she replied “I hope you sleep well!!”
One time she absentmindedly played with Emmrich’s hands while brainstorming a video. He was a bit too affected by it, but she didn’t put two and two together until he casually asked her to do it again a few days later. It has become an extremely popular trigger.
Vibe: someone soothingly whispering to you while they play with your hair
Emmrich aka Whispered Academia ASMR
The overly elegant ASMRtist
Setup is his study, featuring a mahogany desk and soft candlelight in the background.
Page turning, book scratching/tracing, whispered readings of classic literature
He started out just reading literature but kept getting requests for specific trigger words (“Slow…deep”). He gives in, but very grudgingly.
He refuses to wear headphones while recording because he insists he can hear the difference without them
Q&A videos are unintentionally hilarious because he’s too formal. “My favorite color? How deeply uninteresting. It’s lilac, if you must know.”
Rook is never seen on camera, but she’s occasionally heard in the background. The comment section always explodes. “Did you hear how soft his voice was when he answered her?” “This man is in love and thinks we don’t know.”
Secretly enjoys when subscribers say his voice has “daddy energy” but doesn’t acknowledge it. Rook uses a burner account to fuel the flames.
Vibe: like listening to a rich professor read bedtime stories
Harding aka Trailside Whispers ASMR
The chill camper ASMRtist
Outdoor ASMR. Binaural videos of campfires, bird songs, running streams, and crunchy leaves
Her dog made some accidental appearances until her subscribers begged to see him more. Now she makes sure to show him in every video.
She has no idea she's bad at cooking; she thinks her charred, flavorless campfire meals are fine. Subscribers say her cooking doubles as an animal repellant.
Has a very loyal fanbase who swears they can identify specific forests based on her background noises. It’s a little weird.
She's unbothered by everything. A tree nearly fell on her in one video and she just moved to the side and kept talking
Once did a Q&A where someone asked if she was single. She laughed for a full minute but never answered. Someone named “Crunch & Conquer ASMR” was strangely hostile to people in the replies.
Vibe: your cool friend takes you camping and knows how to start a fire without trying
Taash aka Crunch & Conquer ASMR
The confident mukbanger
No permanent set location
Full crunch, full experience
Someone once commented “You eat too aggressively.” Taash pinned it as the top comment and replied “Good.”
Their most popular video is called "Loud Crunching, Deal With It."
Will absolutely roast bad food.
They will accept challenges, no questions asked. Taash's response is always the same: "Sounds dumb, let's do it."
Has no interest in following ASMR rules. Will stop and talk mid-chew just because they remembered something funny.
Vibe: the one friend who can eat whatever they want and has the best food recommendations
Neve aka Shadows & Whispers ASMR
Cozy classic noir vibes
Typewriter sounds, rain ambience, soft detective role play
Setup is in her office, which is just a shot of her desk with a huge investigation/conspiracy board in the background
Actually owns several vintage typewriters and rotates them between videos
People think she was involved with a crime syndicate. She casually explained how to pick a lock in one video and gave a "hypothetical" guide on money laundering in another
Prefers doing videos offscreen, but her roleplay videos are the most popular
Wildest fan theory: that there is a slowly unfolding “case” happening throughout her videos for fans to solve. Neve encourages it because it keeps viewership high.
There is no case.
Or is there?
Vibe: that cool detective in an old movie who always knows more than she lets on
Lucanis aka Midnight Espresso ASMR
The unbothered barista ASMRtist
Set is usually his kitchen, specifically his extremely expensive and overly complicated coffee machine
Never talks, just soft coffee making and cooking sounds
One time he accidentally mumbled good morning at the start of a video and the comment section went feral. He never did it again.
Knows exactly what he’s doing. Likes all the comments asking if he’s single but never replies
Wildest fan theory: he’s secretly a millionaire who doesn’t need to do this. He never promotes anything, doesn’t take commissions, and his equipment is so expensive they can’t even find it online
Best fan comment: “I would trust this man to ruin my life in the most respectful way possible”
Vibe: that cool barista you have a crush on but can never talk to
Didn’t know what ASMR was at first, just liked carving wood. Accidentally blew up when someone made a compilation reel of his deeply focused expressions
His voice is very soothing, but he rarely talks
Once dropped a soap block mid-carve and caught it smoothly with one hand. The smile he gave the camera broke the comment section
Tried to do an outdoor ASMR video once. Immediately got swarmed by bugs. A bird screamed right into the mic. An unidentified creature rustled in the bushes. Subscribers were convinced they were watching the start of a found footage horror movie.
Auctions off some of his more complicated carvings. Donates all the money to wildlife conservation efforts
Vibe: that chill dude who just carves stuff quietly and minds his own business
Bellara aka Oops! All Tingles ASMR
The chaotic energy ASMRtist
Fast tapping, scratching, crinkles, high energy videos
Every video starts with “okay, I just found this thing and thought it might sound cool.”
Talks too fast, even for ASMR
Knocks something over at least once per video, including her microphone
Once tried a “slow ASMR” challenge and failed after 45 seconds
Fans beg her to do a compilation of deleted scene fails
Her comments are full of timestamps because no one can keep up
Vibe: an excited golden retriever discovering new sounds for the first time
Varric aka Whispered Legends ASMR
Deep-voiced readings and original storytelling
Background sounds always include a fireplace, writing on paper, and the occasional clink of his glass
People describe his voice as "molasses and honey"
He refuses to read classic literature because it's too boring. Now he only reads things that entertain him
He roasts bad writing on the fly. Once whispered "that's not how people talk" mid-sentence
Casually name drops his famous friends
Likes to rename characters in particularly bad books after his friends. "And then this rogue - let's call him Hawke - ran a hand through his long, silken locks..."
Got to a particularly racy section of one of his books. Halfway through he paused, raised an eyebrow, and said "huh, I forgot I wrote that part."
Vibe: settling into a warm chair with a good drink and a great story
Bonus:
Solas aka Echoes on Canvas ASMR
Lying Bob Ross-esque painting tutorials
Soft spoken painting ASMR and philosophical ramblings
Setup is always just him and his easel. A steaming cup of tea rests nearby. He never drinks it
Starts as painting tutorials but drifts into storytelling and philosophy
Lies so casually that subscribers are losing their minds. One time he said "this color does not exist in the waking world" and it was just a shade of blue.
Often makes up "lost art techniques" that definitely do not exist.
Knows his voice is hypnotic but will never acknowledge it
Occasionally says something that sounds like a warning. No one knows what he means. Everyone is too afraid to ask.
Occasionally passive aggressive. If someone asks for a specific tutorial, he paints something different. “You requested a sunrise? A sunset is nature’s farewell kiss. We shall paint that instead.”
Vibe: A mix of Bob Ross and a historian who thinks lying is an art form
