lavenderprose

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Rotating no stamina Emmrich in my brain. He's all silver tongue and clever fingers, but once he puts it in he's fully in his emotions and sensitive and smitten aaaaand well, that was that. For the thirty seconds he lasts, he worships Rook's body like no one ever has. That is exactly his downfall. He is fully unable to emotionally or physically disconnect from the situation long enough to collect himself. He genuinely just doesn't know how. You think he remembers his breathing exercises while balls-deep inside the love of his life? Not a chance. He is a whimpering mess IMMEDIATELY. Every time.

He's skilled with his tongue and deeply commited to making it up to Rook afterwards. He's deeply apologetic. Probably cries after the first few times this happens because he's convinced they'll leave him over it, while Rook is just head over heels over here going "you mean to tell me this absolute angel of a man loves me so much he can't last two minutes inside me?"

And then they make him cum again. Just because.

[lavenderprose]

I love that my first really successful post in this fandom was literally 'Emmrich is the only one in the Lighthouse with rizz' and now we've done a complete 180 back around to sad wet man hours. He's such an enigma. He's Schrodinger's meow meow. He both can and cannot fuck and the only way you can know is by opening the box (fanfiction) where you've put the poison (horny headcanon.)

[lavenderprose]

Emmrich getting rejected for being too spooky by a WOMAN WHO COLLECTS HAUNTED DOLLS is perfect and exactly the kind of thing that would happen to him. Perfect 10/10 addition to this post.

Emmrich Volkarin would be such a disruptive presence to the local online dating app pools. An innocuous hookup with a handsome Vincent Price looking older guy. He's unsinister. Clearly takes care of himself. One of his profile pictures is from the day he got his doctorate. He shows up to the agreed-upon location and he's brought flowers. Okay...whatever. Some decent food (UberEats? The Chinese place on the corner? Maybe he cooks?) and some crazy hot sex later and the subject of his very soft hands just so happens to come up. Oh, he says. It's the embalming fluid. EMBALMING FLUID? OKAY. Dude's a mortician. Sure.

He gets up and puts on his clothes. He stares out the window for a few moments. Just long enough to be a little awkward.

"Do you have an uncle who recently passed?" he says. "By the name of Gerard. Gerry?"

WHAT.

"I'm so sorry," he sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. "He wants to tell you that your mother hid something from you underneath the floorboards of the blue bedroom. Does that make sense?"

Unfortunately, yes.

"Right," says Emmrich Volkarin. His hair is still sticking up from being clutched into by ecstatic hands. He is ten minutes post-orgasm and looks so, so annoyed. He only brightens a little when he says, "Thank you for a lovely night. You were wonderful."

Then he leaves in an almost-silent swish of expensive trousers and a plume of even more expensive cologne.

The only further contact from him is a message that says Your uncle spoke to me before we retired to your bedroom. I assure you his spirit was not present or aware of our sexual encounter.

I'm gonna need you to lose my number Emmrich, is the response from most people

There is a sadness about him.

He's sweet, considerate. He can do crazy things with his tongue. He also needs someone who can match his freak on a molecular level.

Understood, he responds.

At some point he pops up on the TV because he's become a regular on a well-loved YouTube channel. One of those phenomenally popular longform documentary-style series about ghosts or true crime. He's apparently the expert medium. The host of the show, some thirty-something named after a chess piece, looks at him like he hung the stars while he monologues about demons who imitate children. Or something.

Good for him.

[lavenderprose]

.............sigh.

Yeah, yeah, you win. You all win. @emmg @smoreofbabylon and all of you fucking bullied me into writing the 'emmrich is mid at sex' here it is ya filthy animals

***

Emmrich Volkarin was a man of many talents. Singularly possessed of so much skill, knowledge and natural gifts.

Rook had teased him about his dashing good looks because he was so prim and proper, she wanted to get a reaction out of him. When that ploy worked a little too well – his mouth falling open slightly, the faintest dusky pink rising on his cheeks – she was done for. He was dashing, and he was handsome, and now she needed to know just how many more buttons of his composure she could undo.

The tiny moan he let out when they kissed in the Memorial Gardens was lethal. She was going to be addicted forever now to that sound. Even though it was a chaste press of their lips, his eyes shone wetly as he looked at her like she had hung the stars, and Maker if he didn’t look like a painting. She wanted to grab a fistful of his hair and pull a longer, fuller moan from him.

Patience. It was a virtue, not one she’d had much use for, but another one of Emmrich’s exemplary traits.

He was a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield. Seeing him fling a Venatori mage up into the air and slam their body back down onto the ground like a ragdoll with an almost careless, arrogant sweep of his staff – made her drool.

She didn’t know much about the death mages, but even she knew being able to summon a corpse to speak was a rare talent. She watched, mesmerized, as he waved his hands in the air – her stomach clenching at the thought of what else his fingers could do.

“Breathe. Ah, slow. Deep.”

The silky timbre in his voice made her want to howl at the moon. She was gone. Hopelessly, arse-over-teakettle fallen, and it made the ache even sweeter that he was unfailingly kind. Thoughtful. Even as her hands were underneath his shirt and tugging wrinkles into the normally pristine fabric, her hip bumped against the shelf and he stammered, “Are you alright? Rook, darling, you’re going to hurt yourself—“

Too much talking. Entirely too much talking.

This man was perfect. He was gift-wrapped from the Maker himself as a special treat for her tireless efforts in trying to stop two maniacal elven gods. It was unfair, really, that Emmrich was good at everything.

“Ow.”

It was unfair. The Maker seemed to think so too.

He stammered, panting, “I’m sorry, are you alright? Did I – oh, Rook, you’re bleeding.”

She didn’t feel the blood, but her teeth were ringing from where they had smacked artlessly together. Emmrich looked mortified and was already pulling away, so she had to yank him back to her by the lapels. Her entire mouth felt funny from the impact, somehow buzzing more than sore, but she had finally gotten Emmrich Volkarin’s tongue down her throat and she wasn’t going to let him run away now.

“Didn’t know you liked it rough, Professor,” she purred, seeing his eyebrows shoot up, before she pulled them together again.

His eyes closed and he moaned and it was the sweetest thing she’d ever heard and, oh. He was hopeless.

He lapped at her like a puppy dog, their noses bumped together and he just couldn’t seem to figure out where he needed to be – just that he wanted to be everywhere – and his moustache hairs tickled her nostril. Eventually, Rook forced him to sit down and grabbed him by the ears, holding his head in place so she could show him just how to stroke their tongues together, when and where to suckle at his lips – and he was a melted pile of goo in her hands.

“I’m sorry,” he would gasp out between breaths, “it’s, I’m afraid it’s been a little while for me and—“

“Shhh.”

That mind of his was so brilliant, he needed to turn it off. At least for an hour.

Straddled in his lap, she rolled her hips against him and felt his hands clutch around her. Grinning, she coaxed his hand down the front of her breeches, an unmistakable order for him to touch her, before she continued her assault on his mouth.

He was so eager. Panting happily into her mouth, reaching his long hand down to her cunt, already slick and wet, and rubbing vigorously too high. Awkwardly shifting so she could free her trapped arm, Rook held his wrist and moved his hand lower – no, lower, too low now, right…yes, right there – and helped him find her clitoris. He was wonderfully open to suggestions, that was good, his long fingers stroking and pressing to a rhythm that perhaps only a tone deaf minstrel would be able to follow.

Okay, that was fine, it was a difficult position for fingering anyway. Rook gingerly climbed off and pulled him up – Emmrich biting back a grimace as something in his leg protested the cramped movement, but eagerly followed her lead to her room.

When she wiggled out of the rest of her clothes and laid back on the couch, he looked like he might tear up.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said it like a man dazed, walking through a dream he didn’t want to wake from. The adoration that poured from his eyes and the reverent way he kissed up her stomach, had her legs rubbing together with shivery anticipation. Gods, he was everything.

“Rook, darling, you’re perfect,” he pressed his worship onto her skin, “I’ve wanted you,” his breathy desire tickled her ear, “for so long.”

His professions were silk and sin, and Rook shivered with delight. “Really? Just how long?”

His eyes were dark and the hint of uncertainty made her heart squeeze. “Longer than I’d like to admit.”

She brought his face down to kiss him. “Fuck me?”

He bit back a groan and she wrapped her arms around his neck. Gods, it was happening, finally, she could feel his cock rub up her inner thigh, velvet and wet…and it kept rubbing, prodding around lost, until she reached down and helped guide him in.

“Oh, Rook.”

Maker, he made the filthiest sounds. Like he was dying. It was intoxicating, and she whispered encouragement in his ear – yes, yes take me, Emmrich – as he thrust in. Pulled out slowly and thrust in again, propped up on an elbow and trembling, Rook squeezed her legs around his hips and tried to urge him forward. He made a lost sound and fell against her, pumping erratically in a broken staccato, when his cock slipped out of her again.

“Rook.”

He groaned into her neck, shuddering. She felt warmth drip down the inside of her thigh and realized he’d come, most of it ending up on the couch.

“I’m sorry,” his face was red, he couldn’t look her in the eye, “darling, I’m sorry, I couldn’t, ah, couldn’t control myself – mmf!”

She reached up and kissed his silly mouth until the word ‘sorry’ finally left his lips. Another, and another, until the tension on his face began to unwind and the smile on his face, while heavy, looked sincere.

“I like you, Emmrich,” she finally declared, hoping it would get through to him, “that hasn’t changed.”

“No?”

She resolutely shook her head.

He looked relieved, kissed her cheek, and then summoned the nerve to say, “I’m rather besotted with you, and I wouldn’t want to hold you back in any way, because of my own selfish wants, so…”

He said this, with the screwed up look of a man trying to swallow a bitter tasting medicine. “…if you want to pursue other partners, who might be more compatible with you physically, I – I would understand…”

Now that was the most unfair thing of all. Rook frowned and held his face above her, so he couldn’t look away. “You don’t want that.”

He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to.

“I don’t want that. I want you, Emmrich. Besides,” she smirked, “I don’t need anyone else to give me an orgasm. I know myself best.”

He let out a huff of laughter, grateful and surprised. “You are remarkable.”

A sly thought came to her, as Emmrich settled beside her, pillowing his arm under her head and tracing his fingertips feather-light along her hip. She snuggled in closer and looked up at him with a coy look.

“Do you want to watch?”

She could see him gulp.

“Yes. Yes, I would very much like that.”

And Emmrich laid his head on top of her chest, listening to her heart beat, watching with rapt fascination as she stroked herself and played with her cunt – and finally came with his name on her lips, as he pet her hair and whispered over and over “perfect, so perfect” – and she thought, it really was.  

[lavenderprose]

Emmrich w his heated cushion

[lavenderprose]

Emmrich Volkarin would be such a disruptive presence to the local online dating app pools. An innocuous hookup with a handsome Vincent Price looking older guy. He's unsinister. Clearly takes care of himself. One of his profile pictures is from the day he got his doctorate. He shows up to the agreed-upon location and he's brought flowers. Okay...whatever. Some decent food (UberEats? The Chinese place on the corner? Maybe he cooks?) and some crazy hot sex later and the subject of his very soft hands just so happens to come up. Oh, he says. It's the embalming fluid. EMBALMING FLUID? OKAY. Dude's a mortician. Sure.

He gets up and puts on his clothes. He stares out the window for a few moments. Just long enough to be a little awkward.

"Do you have an uncle who recently passed?" he says. "By the name of Gerard. Gerry?"

WHAT.

"I'm so sorry," he sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. "He wants to tell you that your mother hid something from you underneath the floorboards of the blue bedroom. Does that make sense?"

Unfortunately, yes.

"Right," says Emmrich Volkarin. His hair is still sticking up from being clutched into by ecstatic hands. He is ten minutes post-orgasm and looks so, so annoyed. He only brightens a little when he says, "Thank you for a lovely night. You were wonderful."

Then he leaves in an almost-silent swish of expensive trousers and a plume of even more expensive cologne.

The only further contact from him is a message that says Your uncle spoke to me before we retired to your bedroom. I assure you his spirit was not present or aware of our sexual encounter.

I'm gonna need you to lose my number Emmrich, is the response from most people

There is a sadness about him.

He's sweet, considerate. He can do crazy things with his tongue. He also needs someone who can match his freak on a molecular level.

Understood, he responds.

At some point he pops up on the TV because he's become a regular on a well-loved YouTube channel. One of those phenomenally popular longform documentary-style series about ghosts or true crime. He's apparently the expert medium. The host of the show, some thirty-something named after a chess piece, looks at him like he hung the stars while he monologues about demons who imitate children. Or something.

Good for him.

[lavenderprose]

I do love the idea that Rook is just constantly doing Hot Girl Shit while being followed around by a 52 year old queer who looks like he's either A: Disapproving or B: Freaking Out every time he enters a room. There's Rook doing backflips off Venatori cultist's noses and bodying Qunari six times their size and meanwhile their sugar daddy stands behind them clutching his staff, looking nauseous. Then the monkey's paw curls and you realize that's just his chronic bitch face right around the time he laughs out loud and power word: Scrunches you into the next Age. There is a dead mercenary wailing inconsolably in a dark corner of the Fade, not because he's dead but because on his last breath he watched That Fuckass Necromancer and Rook (You know, Rook?) absolutely DEVOURING each other's faces and had the brief but devastating realization that his death was foreplay for these insane motherfuckers.

[lavenderprose]

I think in Old Hollywood AU, Mafred should be a horse.

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They were RACEFAKING too btw like nobody touch me nobody look at me!! I am VIBRATING. The schadenfreude is exquisite. I am still laughing my ass off oh my god.

[lavenderprose]

Oh my GOD who is going to talk to me about this OFMD plagiarism stuff. Oh my god the schadenfreude is way too much I am kicking my feet and giggling.

[lavenderprose]

To be clear: HORNY CRIMES are different from actual crimes and are NOT REAL. The phrase HORNY CRIMES was a joke not meant to be taken seriously. This has been a PSA.

[lavenderprose]

GENUINELY I ADORE YOU AND THIS IS SO PERFECT

(You should make it its own post so that I can reblog that too and the notes on it won't get lost in the notes of this larger post ❤️❤️)

Home lessons in massage.

[lavenderprose]

Me, on my hands and knees: Can I please be done with outlining now?

The physical spectre of Convenience Marriage AU standing on the edge of my vision at all times: My hunger is not yet satisfied. I've decided this already monsterous fic outline must now include an epistolary element. Concieve a list of thirty discrete journal entries, letters, and notes to insert between scenes.

Me: But--

The spectre: NEOW.

Me, sobbing: Fine.

[lavenderprose]

confession: when i was in high school my best friend used to steal a ton of clothes from the busted-ass target in town and then walk across the street and sell them at plato’s closet and she called it her job. i’d be like “where are you?” and she’d be like “at work” and i’d know she was just robbing a target blind lmao 

[lavenderprose]

I don't know how to tell you guys this but when I make a post about Emmrich it is not, despite any indications to the contrary, about Lucanis.

[lavenderprose]

If I was Emmrich Volkarin and I had spent thirty-five years of my life watching everyone around me get married and have babies I would be a little crazy too. If I was a fifty-two year old serial monogamist with a heart full of longing, I too would get a little weird about it when a Young Adventurer started showing interest in me. If I was fifty-two, a former orphan who'd spent a lonely childhood dreaming of family and had given up hope of ever having a wedding or meeting my children, only for someone beautiful and brave to start staring at me with big wet cow eyes and tell me I looked GOOD? I might do something a little insane like introduce them to my dead parents. And then if they for some weird reason found the whole Dead Parent thing charming I would absolutely neck on them in a cemetery. And yeah that's probably a lot of people's definition of moving too fast but ANYTHING looks like moving too fast if you've been standing still for thirty-five years. In conclusion, Emmrich Volkarin is guilty of horny crimes but they were justified and no jury would ever convict him.