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There’s always the chance, down the line, that there actually is a way to bring Johnny back. That the tech happens and bodies can be 3D printed right there in Night City, blank and waiting for a relic.

And if V is there, years later, I think she’s scared. I think she’s got survivor’s guilt and she wonders if Johnny will even still care, or want this promise fulfilled anymore.

Nothing has been the same for V since. Her existence after the events in Mikoshi leave V feeling like a chunk of her soul is gone. A half of a whole, roaming the dystopian future alone. How can anyone ever compare? How can anyone ever know her in the way he knows her?

So when the time comes, she’s terrified. She puts off seeing him, busying herself as the top fixer because she can. She ignores Kerry’s calls about arranging a time, and So Mi’s medical updates. It’s strange knowing Johnny exists outside of the context of her head, because V feels like she doesn’t truly exist without him.

How do you tell someone that the life they sacrificed for you hasn’t been worth it? How do you tell them that only, maybe, possibly it means something if they agree to live it with you now and forever? How do you look into those perfect brown eyes for the first time in years and tell him you’re in love?

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I just know Vik poured himself a full glass of whiskey the first time he saw V with the Lovers neck tattoo because it was one thing when V showed up with the Johnny + V tattoo because apparently Silverhand got that when V gave him control of her body (which was already concerning because why the fuck are you letting your brain parasite pilot your body V?!?) as a ‘joke’ but there is no reasonable defense for the Lovers tattoo right next to where the relic is slotted into her head. Vik is just desperately ignoring the signs that V is in the world’s most fucked up situationship with her tapeworm and drinking to forget but he always remembers

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me making my oc a worse person

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/58173973/chapters/164867086

SURPRISE!!!!!

I’m continuing my V/Viktor + V/Johnny fic from seven months ago and finally posted a new chapter. :,)

Here’s a snippet:

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Thinking about the initial trip from Haven to Skyhold and what we don't get to see in the cut scene...thinking about Blackwall pushing Sera over in the snow and her laughing so loudly. Thinking about Varric complaining every step of the way, but at night settling in their makeshift camps to tell stories to thr weary and the injured. Thinking about Cassandra and Cullen sticking close to the inquisitor, both with the memory of her ice cold skin fresh in their minds. Thinking about Dorian casting small heating spells. Thinking about the chargers helping carrying all the supplies they can. Thinking about a little girl who Bull carries on his shoulders when she gets tired but they can't afford to stop moving. Thinking about Viv checking in on the tranquil they have with them when few people remember them because they do not voice their complaints. Thinking about Solas, quiet and walking ahead, wondering at the strength of these people he thought so fragile and worthless. Thinking about scout Harding pressing forward to find easier paths for the company. Thinking about Leliana finding Josephine the warmest cloak and best shoes she can so she doesn't catch frostbite. Thinking of Cole deciding this is where he wants to stay as he looks upon all this compassion and hope and heartbreak and grief. Just. There's so much we didn't see. But I think about it. Constantly.

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Happy anniversary, Cyberpunk 2077

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The only problem with returning to a fic you took a long break from is trying to decipher your own notes and plans. Past-me is like that image of Charlie Day with the Pepe Silvia board. Girl, WHAT is this?

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There’s this… stunning elven mural in a dark abandoned corner of Din’an Hanin

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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.”

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has this been done yet

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your name is on my lips like a prayer

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Le voile de l'oubli

"I was made to distrust

Both my will and my lust

In the shades of sorrow

In the feasts of the morrow

I found a new master

Who knew how to command

I am that master

At my command

The beasts that guard the staircase

These soldiers on guard

Are at my service

And were built to last

Don't need your religion

Of immobility and sleep

I was made to conquer

I was made to be free

You lie in anger

Fat and swollen

To flatter and to deceive

My will was stolen from me"

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Thought I make a master post with all my Emmrook sketches so far for all the lovely new followers, but turns out I can only include 30 images and I have way more than that :’D

edit: I got flagged so I removed all explicit content, so… those can be checked on Patreon🤍

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After the events of Veilguard, Rook and her companions become quite famous over Thedas. They’re spoken about in ways that will one day become lore, like the legend of the Inquisitor and the immortal wolf who loved her.

But they also have lives, and families, and normalcy to return to. And what isn’t as famous at first, is Rook’s sweeping romance that started at The Lighthouse.

It isn’t until she starts showing up at the back of Mourn Watcher lecture halls, or is spotted frequently in Nevarran gardens that people start to gossip.

Rook is hard to miss; the person who fearlessly commanded Elven Gods to stand down definitely has a presence. She doesn’t fit the mold of a student, and she certainly isn’t in need of instruction. No, her sudden and frequent appearances to The Necropolis are for something else entirely. Someone else.

Emmrich does anything but hide it. He’s madly in love with his scandalously younger girlfriend. The professor blushes when students ask him about their epic tale, happy to gush about his beloved Rook. He has a framed portrait of her on his office wall, where he can sometimes be found writing her love letters when she is away. Emmrich escorts her on his arm when they walk through the halls of the college, always making time for her.

One day, the couple is spotted in the cemetery during Emmrich’s lunch break, and Rook is wearing a gorgeous black diamond on her ring finger. The future Mrs. Volkarin, is how he proudly refers to her now. Sometimes it is My beloved fiancee. He can hardly wait for it to be My Darling Wife.

The day they marry, all the wisps in the Necropolis dance and chime so brightly that the dark city is filled with a constellation of spirits. It’s a sight to behold - a rare and beautiful thing that is talked about for years to come.

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˗ˏˋ ꜰᴇɴ'ʜᴀʀᴇʟ ˎˊ˗

[alderaanplacesss]

also i'm such a gemma girlie. i don't mean in relation to mark or vs helly i don't care about any of that i'm a gemma girl forever. it's me and her. what if you thought you were eurydice until the last second until you turned around just in time to realize you were orpheus

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I asked my mother what went wrong

she said it’s been bad all along

and you’d better face the butcher straight

if you don’t want to end up on his plate