#emmrook au

[insanityisthecure]

So yesterday while I was working out I planned out in my head an entire Mourn Watch Emmrook zombie/real world AU.

An organisation is creating a virus (The blight) and Varric, a UN operative has to put together an international team to find and stop them.

Rook is a medical examiner who had their license suspended after patching up Varric who they found bleeding in the street. Feeling bad, and needing someone to perform autopsies, he brings them on board.

Emmrich is a world renowned medical examiner with an expertise in neurobiology, and is brought in as an expert.

At first Rook feels threatened by Emmrich’s presence, but finds they work well together, and that they have something of a shared past, having been placed in the same children’s home in Nevarra (decades apart of course) Mourners Watch children’s home, named for the large cemetery next door. Manfred is his intern/PHD student who was rendered mute from a childhood accident.

Lucanis is an operative who was captured the previous year and subjected to experimentation, and has an altered form of the virus that allows him to partially transform and gain greater strength and speed at the cost of a certain amount of control.

Neve is an international investigator drafted to the team by Varric, whose home city falls to the virus and is quarantined and cut off from the rest of the world by the venatori who are trying to cover up the nature and origin of the virus.

Bellara is an epidemiologist whose brother was taken by the virus during their research. She finds traces of her brother as their investigation continues and they begin to question how much is left of the person once the virus takes hold.

Davrin and Taash are bodyguards/bounty hunters brought in to be muscle. Davrin has been on the front lines since the very first outbreak, Taash is a soldier of fortune who starts off in it for the money, but then found family and all that.

Harding is the token spy, knows everything and everyone, and everything about everyone.

And Solas is an ex member of the organisation spreading the virus who is infected but asymptomatic to the virus but still has to be isolated. He’s in one of those huge glass prison cells and will only talk to Rook (Black list type deal) and he slowly has her exposed to the virus so she is infected in the same way he is so he can swap places with her without the box freaking out that he’s escaped.

I don’t have all the details, but I think I need to write some of it.

[mooreaux]

Modern au shenanigans

[yappacadaver]

Woaghh drawing art for a fic that isn't mine O_O!!!!!

tysm to @farore05 for commissioning three panels from their fic Amaretto Sour, I had a blast and I hope the art does your writing justice ♥

Commissions always open :D

[itslarsyouguys]

I'm sorry but "hopeless romantic" Emmrich Volkarin deserves ten million soulmate AUs

-him hitting puberty and all his classmates are getting their soulmate marks/names but he doesnt (because his soulmate is younger than him! and hasn't been born yet! Or maybe this is a Nevarra magic thing and a non-MW Rook wouldn't get a soulmate mark/name!)

-He has a soulmate name that he's never even heard of. Because Ingellvar was named after the crypt they were found in and the magic goes with what your bio parents named you

-Similarly, he meets Rook and falls for them and is very confused that he can feel that strongly when "Rook" isn't the name written on his heart (Or Mercar because they are adopted, or Aldwir because Dalish don't really use clan names as surnames etc)

-He's denied attempts at lichdom because he has a soulmate out there and they want to make sure you cleanse yourself of mortal attachments first so he has to leave the Necropolis and find this "Aldwir" (or Laidir or Mercar etc) so they can sign off on there not being an attachment. But of course there will be...

-part of the divide between him and Johanna is that she thinks soulmate magic is bs or old fashioned and looks down on people who like it and a society that reveres it. Or maybe she found a way to use the magic for evil and power. Like, soulmate magic in a world where magic is already a thing is rich for use.

[sky-scribbles]

Party banter with Rook!Blackwall

(but it's just the part where he falls in love)

—

Thom: I have to say, Emmrich, you’re not what I expected. Thought necromancers would be all about commanding corpse armies and the like.

Emmrich: (sighs) Whatever depictions of our practice gave you such impressions, I assure you they are inaccurate.

Thom: So there aren’t corpse armies?

Emmrich: The Mortalitasi have not the least interest in conquest. We comfort the bereaved. We speak with our beloved dead, passing on their final messages, ensuring any last requests are met. We soothe the frightened spirit and calm the watchful.

Emmrich: Love is our business, Warden Rainier. How could we possibly be uncaring?

Thom: … Right. Well, that’s me put in my place.

—

Thom: Sorry about what I said earlier. Should’ve known better than to run my mouth about something I don’t know a thing about.

Emmrich: I appreciate that, master Warden. And I apologise if I was oversensitive. I think I was unprepared for how many… opinions everyone outside Nevarra would have about my art.

Thom: Well, I’ll keep mine to myself from now on.

Emmrich: Oh, you needn’t. I would much rather you be honest than continue to carry unspoken doubts that I cannot put to rest.

—

Thom: You said I could talk to you about the whole death ma – necromancy. Thing.

Emmrich: I’m entirely at your service. I hope I can set your mind at ease, even a little.

Thom: Look – there’s no question your heart’s in the right place. I don’t doubt your intentions. But all those skeletons walking... all those corpses speaking…. It’s not natural.

Emmrich: Magic is a part of our world, master Warden. A smith forged your sword into metal, giving raw metals a shape. Likewise, necromancers merely take a form of magic present around us, and give it shape.

Thom: But it’s not right. Moving a body around. Waking up bits of their memories. The dead should stay at peace.

Emmrich: I promise, every soul laid to rest in the Necropolis does so with the express hope that a spirit might inhabit their remains someday. The few who request to remain untouched… well, we simply don’t put hinges on their sarcophagi.

Thom: But how can anyone be at peace with that? How do they know it’s going to be a good spirit who finds their body? What if… because of who they are, they draw something… twisted? Wrong?

—

Emmrich: I know you find necromancy unsettling, master Rainier, but I hope our visit to the Memorial Gardens was able to provide you a deeper understanding of it.

Thom: It made some things make sense, certainly. I wasn’t expecting a necropolis to feel comforting. Suppose I’ve always thought of the dead as distant and haunting. Cold.

Emmrich: Whyever would they be? The dead are still people, as full of feeling and as fond of connection as ourselves. And what are the people we mourn, but repositories of our boundless love?

Thom: And what if the dead have reason to hate you?

Emmrich: Ah. Master Rainier… do you have someone to fear among the dead?

Thom: … Find me later. I’ll give you the full sorry story. And drinks for both of us.

—

Emmrich: If I may… I wanted to express my thanks for trusting me with your story.

Thom: I should be thanking you. For not turning your back on me.

Emmrich: Perish the thought! You’ve shown me no reason to look at you with anyone other than the deepest respect.

Thom: Well, now you know why I wouldn’t expect the dead to have any good feelings toward me. Callier and his family… they’d never love me. They shouldn’t. If anything of them’s out there, they deserve to not think about me at all.

Emmrich: But you love them. You have let them change you. Their memories guide your decisions. In every innocent you protect, every moment of compassion, you honour them.

—

Thom: What you said, about me honouring Callier’s family. Feels like a twisted legacy, to live on through your murderer. I doubt they’d find much comfort in it.

Emmrich: Perhaps not. But what of your comfort?

Thom: It’s not about me.

Emmrich: I beg to differ. That poor family is gone; you are alive. The living deserve peace as much as the dead.

Emmrich: If you ever wished… I could perform a memorial ritual. Some candles lit, a few prayers uttered. A simple tribute to them.

Thom: It wouldn’t help them.

Emmrich: My dear Thom, mourning rituals are not really about those lost to us. A memorial would not help them, no – but it may help you.

Thom: … I might need a stiff drink afterward.

—

Harding: You seem different, lately.

Thom: Different? Different how?

Harding: I don’t know. You’re talking a bit more. Smiling. Like someone took a weight off you.

Thom: I suppose going to the Memorial Gardens helped. All these years, pretending to be a Warden, then actually being one… I’ve been trying to make up for what I did. Even if it never feels like enough.

Thom: I suppose I never took a moment to think about… doing something for me. To help me live with it. Not ‘til Emmrich suggested it.

Harding: Hard to be kind to yourself ‘til someone else shows you some kindness, huh?

Thom: (chuckles) Well. Guess it’s a good thing for me that he’s not in short supply of that.

Harding: Look… maybe if there’s anything of that family out there, they do hate you. But I don’t think you need to hate you anymore.

—

Thom: Neve, you know you said you were going to check in on Dock Town? Could you take a note to Dorian for me?

Neve: Sure. But you could just come talk to him yourself. He’d actually be glad to see you.

Thom: And that’s how I know the world’s ending. (sighs) Look, it’s just… it’s one of those talks that’s easier to do by paper.

Neve: Hm. You’re nervous. Everything all right?

Thom: I think so. I just think… I need to ask his advice on… something personal.

Neve: If it’s that personal, isn’t it better you do it face-to-face?

Thom: Probably. And it’ll be fucking awkward.

—

Emmrich: Do you mind if I ask – are you still unsettled by necromancy? I hate the thought that I might be making you uncomfortable.

Thom: I think I’m getting used to it. When I heard about your mages, I thought it was some… obsession with death. Disturbing bodies that should be at peace.

Thom: But it’s not about that, isn’t it? You’re talking to your dead, all the time. Letting them help you. Care for you.

Emmrich: Exactly so! We maintain a dialogue with the dead, and in doing so, try to find peace with death itself. (sighs) Even if some of us still struggle with a certain cowardice.

Thom: You’re no coward. Cowards run from what they fear. I know; I was one. You look it in the face, work with it, even when it frightens you.

Emmrich: I… thank you. (clears throat) So are content with my art, then?

Thom: I think it’s admirable.

—

Thom: Lace, those flowers in your room. Are they real plants, or…. Fade plants?

Harding: They’re Fade plants! But Emmrich says they’re sort of… becoming real? Because I believe in them, or something.

Thom: So if you picked them, they wouldn’t, I don’t know… disappear, or something?

Harding: Haven’t so far! Why? Wait, are you giving someone flowers? ‘Cause I bet Emmrich could tell you which ones have meaning. You should ask him!

Thom: No, I’ll just… get some that look… nice.

Harding: Why not? He’ll be happy to talk about it, he loves flowers – oh!

—

Davrin: So, Rainier. Emmrich came by to ask if I knew who left flowers on his desk. I told him he should keep asking around.

Thom: You – what? No! Davrin – stay out of it!

Davrin: What’s the point of getting a guy flowers if he never knows? Can you face an ogre but not an old necromancer?

Thom: Look, it’s… it’s easy for all of you. You already know who you are, and what you like, and I… didn’t think I… (groans) Never mind.

Davrin: Oh. I see.

—

Taash: So, you talk with Dorian?

Thom: I did. It’s up there with most awkward experiences of my life.

Taash: So what’d he say? Did he help you figure shit out?

Thom: Well… I asked him how you know if you like men, and he asked me some questions about what was going on, and I told him. And then I said, ‘Doesn’t every man look at other men like that sometimes?’

Taash: And?

Thom: And he laughed at me for ten seconds straight, then said, ‘Oh, big man, no.’

—

Bellara: So, um… I know this is kind of nosy, but... what made you realise? About the professor, I mean?

Thom: No keeping secrets in this fucking Fade house, is there?

Bellara: I… sort of guessed a little while ago. You kept being protective of him in fights. I mean, even more than you usually are with everyone else. And you were helping him climb up things, and giving him little looks, and asking about what he liked…

Bellara: And I… maybe also saw you sneaking into his room with a load of flowers.

Thom: (sighs) I… look, he’s a gentleman. Treats everyone with respect and kindness, even when they’re dead. I like listening to how he talks. And… watching how he moves. He’s graceful.

Thom: Someone like that deserves to be courted. Honoured. Someone to make him feel as important as he makes everyone else feel. And I realised… I wanted to be the someone.

—

Taash: Hey. You know it’s okay to still be figuring yourself out, right?

Thom: (chuckles) When'd you get so wise?

Taash: I dunno. It's what Mae and Tarquin keep telling me.

Thom: Look, you’re young. It’s only to be expected that you’d be working this shit out at your age. But me… I’m getting toward sixty. Shouldn’t I have figured this all out by now?

Taash: That’s vashedan. You already proved it’s never too late to find out who you are.

—

Harding: You know, Thom, I’ve been thinking. Emmrich’s graceful, and good with words, and he’s kind to everyone. He even wears gold.

Thom: Uh… what’s your point?

Harding: The point is that I remember Josephine. You have a type, Warden Rainier.

—

Davrin: So, are you ready? Trimmed your beard? Found a shirt with no bloodstains? Had a bath for once?

Thom: Look, it’s just a visit to the Necropolis. For all I know, he just wants my help killing a demon of… mild disgruntlement or something.

Davrin: Hey, battle’s a good opportunity for this kind of thing. Just make sure after you kill it, you turn to him, wipe the blood from your mouth, and put our your hand to pull him up…

Thom: He’s the healer. You don’t think he might be the one helping me up?

Davrin: Good point. All right, after the fight’s done, you slump down, wincing bravely. Make eye contact as he treats your wounds.

Davrin: Better yet, take your shirt off so he can give you a proper look over. He’ll get in real close to do the healing magic. Play your cards right, and… well, there’s no one down there to see how far things go.

Thom: Keep on like that, and I’m going to put all my wood shavings in your bed.

Davrin: Sure, old man. I saw your eyes go all distant there.

—

Emmrich: Thom, my dear. Would I be right to assume that you were behind those flowers that kept appearing on my desk?

Thom: Sorry to keep you guessing. I was… figuring some things out.

Emmrich: Well, I did have my suspicions about who my secret admirer might be. I only hesitated to talk to you about it because I feared I might simply be… seeing what I wanted to see.

Thom: … Oh. Well, then.

—

Neve: So, Emmrich’s wearing a new bracelet, you’re bathing twice as often, and both of you keep smiling at nothing. Any chance that’s connected?

Thom: It… might be.

Neve: Good. You two fit well.

Thom: Glad you think so, 'cause I worry about that. A necromancer and a Warden? Sounds like the start of one of Sera’s jokes.

Neve: Well, let’s see. Emmrich reads romance novels in our book club as if he’s aching to have them become real for him. And you act like you’re ready to swear deathless devotion at the drop of a hat.

Thom: That a bad thing?

Neve: (laughs) No. I mean that neither of you do half-measures when it comes to feelings. Like I said: you fit.

—

Davrin: So, you and Emmrich took your time showing up to breakfast. Guess you showed him some swordplay last night? Or did he show you his favourite bone?

Thom: Davrin. Don't. Start.

Davrin: (chuckles) Seriously, though... glad you two are making it work. Not every Warden's brave enough to risk something, with the Calling hanging over them.

Thom: I've been a soldier and a Warden. That's a lot of death for one life. Being around him, it's... like taking a breath.

Davrin: Take your comfort where you find it, old man. Even Wardens deserve to get some. (pause) And to get some.

Thom: Maker help me, I will shove a chisel somewhere chisels where not meant to go.

[artnijna]

I haven't gotten to the romance scenes yet for Emmrich but I want him and my Rook Seidhir to be so obsessed with each other it's in Addams family levels of devotion. So here's them in a heated make out session post battle when they get back to the LightHouse.

[heylittleriotact]

To Die as Lovers May - Chapter 3

Emmrich and Amina scramble to figure out what happened to her, and what to do next.

Under the cut and on ao3

“What do you mean I’m ‘dead’?” She frowned, her nose wrinkling as a thought came to her. “Are you corpse-whispering me?!” Panic rippled through her, icy terror carving through her already disconcertingly cold veins. 

“No! I’m–” He looked as unhinged as she felt.

“Oh Emmrich - what happened? What is happening?!” She held up her hands in front of her face, as the realization that something was horribly, horribly wrong crashed around her. “I’m–”

“-I don’t–” 

“-dead?!” She wailed, one hand splaying over her heart, the other searching her own neck for the steady familiar rhythm of her pulse. When she found no such thing, her eyes widened so much that the whites were visible all the way around her faded irises, and she let out a mortified yelp. 

She faced him with desperation written on her face, frightened tears gathering in the corners of her pleading eyes. “Emmrich, what happened to me? W-why am I l-like this?” She wrapped her arms around her named form, hugging herself and shivering violently. “W-why am I so co-cold?”

She hadn’t felt fear like this since the day the battled Elgar’nan: gripping, ruthless. It strained against the carefully cultivated bonds of rational thought that were the only thing keeping her from becoming hysterical - bonds that were rapidly fracturing.

All she had were questions upon questions and the vile, chilling confirmation that she lacked a pulse, and Fade take her - had she ever felt this hungry?��

Emmrich studied her, compassionate sympathy replacing the anguished horror that dominated his features only moments earlier when she came to with him holding her, screaming like a man possessed. 

His warm fingers wrapped around her upper arms and he rose to his feet, bringing her along with him. 

“Before we turn our minds to finding the answers to your questions, let’s try to get you warmed up, darling.” He reached across her and nudged the tap with his fingers, finally stopping the flow of water into the overflowing bathtub. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he drew his hand through his hair and cast a brief, assessing glance around the flooded room and wordlessly decided it was a problem to deal with later before he turned his attention back to her. “Right. Are you able to walk, or would you like me to carry you? I think I can if you wish, but I expended a great amount of—“

He was exhausted, she realized then: his eyes were bloodshot and swollen and his face was pallid - almost green. 

Amina wriggled her toes against the wet stone floor, marking their responsiveness and deemed it adequate. “I think I can walk - everything seems to be… to be w-working as it sh-should…” 

Well. Except my heart…

He slipped his arm under hers, holding her by her waist in case she faltered. “Thank you, Manfred.” He accepted the fluffy sage green towel that the skeleton was holding out for him, his glittering eyes averted respectfully from Amina. 

“Rook is… okay?” 

Emmrich draped the towel over Amina’s shoulders and patted her down, drying her off as best he could. “We’re not sure, I’m afraid,” he admitted solemnly.

At this, Manfred hissed in a such a way that communicated his deep concern about this revelation.

“Fear not, Manfred. We’ll get to the bottom of this and set everything right in no time.” Emmrich’s voice was heavy with fatigue, but still carried that spark of optimistic surety she was eternally taken with. 

He was saying those words aloud not only for Manfred’s benefit, but for his own… and hers.

“Now I want you to go to your room and stay there until I come and get you, do you understand?” He waited for Manfred’s confirmation before squeezing the lad’s bony shoulder and guiding Amina out of the bathroom, keeping her as close to him as he could.

Even though he was soaking wet too, and likely a bit chilly himself, Emmrich felt wonderfully warm against her: like a dark river stone left to sit in the summer sun for hours. Heat positively radiated off of him with such intensity that Amina wondered if he had a slight fever. 

As they slowly made their way to their bedroom at the end of the hall, Amina’s mind raced: if she was medically dead as she appeared to be by all definitions, but she was simultaneously conscious and sentient - herself as far as she could tell - then she was… she was technically undead. Like Manfred. Like the Lich Lords…

But Manfred was a wisp possessing remains, and the liches were the sanctioned powers that ruled the Necropolis. She was something else. Something accidental. Something unnatural.

Emmrich closed the door behind them and sat her down in one of the emerald damask armchairs before the fireplace. Flames roared to life in the hearth with an absent-minded movement of his fingers, and he moved for the large trunk of spare blankets at the foot of their bed. 

Amina caught him by the wrist, her fingernails clinking against gold. 

“This is… this is lovely, Emmrich - thank you, but… would it be too much trouble if…? I think I would be more comfortable laying down. Will you hold me? Keep me warm?” 

She winced as soon as the words left her mouth as the gravity of what she had just requested settled, crushing her under its brutal immensity: she wasn’t just asking her fiancé for a sweet cuddle to ward off the stinging nip of an autumnal breeze: she had just propositioned him to climb into bed with a corpse. 

Appropriate contact between the living and the dead was strictly enforced in Nevarra: there were few things more shameful than it becoming public knowledge that one had dallied with a corpse: it was damning to one’s livelihood, social circles, and overall reputation if they were suspected or openly accused of necrophilia; and if such things could be proven, the penalties were incredibly steep: if one avoided execution, they would almost certainly be commuted to imprisonment for the remainder of their lives.

The relationship between the living and the dead - and by extension, the undead - was sacred to Nevarrans, and the moral and ethical matters of consent and power dynamics rendered any sort of romantic or sexual contact with bodily remains - regardless of their status - completely off the table. 

Her throat tightened painfully at the realization. The comprehension that those laws now applied to them: that Emmrich couldn’t touch her, kiss her, or make love to her until this was sorted out… maybe never again…

“Never mind.” She said abruptly, speaking before Emmrich could find words as he blinked and his mouth hung open slightly because he had clearly had the same damning epiphany. “This… this is fine.” She tore her stinging eyes from his and rubbed her arms, staring into the fire, its orange flames blurring together as tears welled for the second time since she woke up in Emmrich’s arms, lungs full of water, feeling physically worse than she ever had in her life. “Can I have a blanket please?” She murmured to the fire. “Maybe like… three, actually?” 

His footfalls filled her ears - so loud - as he came around the front of the chair instead of going to the blanket-trunk. 

Unable to look at him, she stared at his bare feet now blocking the warm glow of the fire, a tear rolling down her cheek. 

Then he was pulling her to her feet again, and scooping her up into his arms. 

“What’re you–?”

He was carrying her towards the bed. “There have traditionally been special provisions extended to the liches of the Necropolis when it comes to matters of flesh and relations with the living,” he explained with a measured calmness that would have her doubting that he had been a grief-ravaged heap on the bathroom floor only minutes earlier had she not witnessed it herself. How did he do it? So effortlessly put other people ahead of himself? Manage his emotions so capably? “Because liches are undead but retain their naturally born souls housed inside their own remains, they are considered capable of decision-making in matters of bodily autonomy and consent. For all intents and purposes, they are held to the same standards in that arena as the living by precedence of our laws.” 

He had mentioned this provision before - back when he was still pursuing lichdom and she had asked if they would still be able to continue their relationship. 

“But I’m not a lich,” she pointed out, looking up into Emmrich’s face as he placed her gently on the bed and began pulling the sheets and blanket over her. “At least I don’t think I am. I’m... I’m… we don’t know what I am.” 

“Well you’re most certainly you - I would be able to detect a difference in your metaphysical resonance if you were possessed by a spirit.” He hauled the covers all the way up to her chin and tucked the blanket around her. 

Satisfied that she was properly tucked in, he left her side to flip open the trunk at the end of the bed and pulled out an assortment of carefully folded woven blankets, waving them out, and spreading them over her one at a time. 

“I have seen no evidence that you are entirely dissimilar to a lich: your soul - your essence - is retained within the flesh and bone of your own deceased body. The only variation appears to be your physiology and the fact that lichdom is obtained through performing a deliberate rite, and this was obviously unintended.” 

He went to his side of the bed and began undressing, wicking away sodden layers of clothing, leaving them in a wet pile on the floor - unusual for him - then methodically removing his many rings and bracelets, storing each with care in the glass topped, velvet lined box on his bedside table. 

When he was finished and he was standing in the firelight, as naked as she was, he regarded her from the edge of the bed for a moment before saying, “So if it pleases you and puts your mind at ease: do I have your consent to join you in bed, dear?”

“Y-yes.” Amina breathed through the fresh tears in her eyes, feeling an odd stirring in her chest that was so very different from the beating of her heart. “Yes, of course.”

With a thin smile, he slid under the covers alongside her without hesitation, enveloping her instantly with his divine warmth as he wrapped himself around her slight form. 

“There,” he murmured into her hair, cradling her head against his chest. His heartbeat roared in her ears, so steady and calm despite everything that had happened. “No laws broken.” He pulled back, lifting her chin with his fingers so she was looking at him over the surface of her pillow. He placed his lips against hers and she heard his heart rate increase; felt his body stiffen slightly at the unfamiliar sensation of frigid lips that were usually the same temperature as his. His thumb - so alive and warm - swept over her chin tenderly. “Besides, I won’t tell anyone if you won’t.” 

He winked, then smiled for her. For her. He was trying so hard to comfort her. Bring her some measure of peace to help her through this nightmare. 

“Emmrich, it's not a joke - this is dangerous. If it gets out that I’m…” she couldn’t say the word she meant to say. “Like this you know what will happen.”

In her many years with the Watch she had never encountered an undead being like herself. Emmrich had been with the Watch considerably longer and even he was at a loss for an explanation for her condition.

And what did the Mourn Watch do when they discovered an unexplained magical phenomenon? 

They studied it. 

It wouldn’t come from a place of personal malice: just one of detached cruelty often seen in academic circles where the ends justified the means when it came to committing morally dubious acts in the noble spirit of advancing knowledge. 

Her freedom and autonomy would be stripped from her, and she’d end up housed in a windowless ‘living quarter’ in the bowels of the Necropolis to be observed, studied, prodded, and vivisected by her colleagues in an effort to glean what was responsible for the miracle of her undeath. 

“Surely Myrna and Vorgoth wouldn’t–” 

“I’m Unsanctioned Sentient Undead, Emmrich - no different than Johanna after her failed attempt at lichdom. Unintentional or not, I’m an affront to the natural order of life and death by the order’s definition. A sin against nature. My fate is extermination or becoming a lab rat if we can’t undo this…” her voice shook when she uttered the truth aloud and Emmrich’s deep hazel eyes softened further.

“Come now, darling. You mustn’t think like that.” He rested his forehead against hers, and she flinched away but he dragged her back to him, running his nose along the side of hers. Long fingers slipped into her damp hair and began combing through it gently, his breath baptizing her like a hot summer wind. 

He seemed completely unphased by her current state. 

She didn’t know why, but it made her eyes fog up yet again.

“You are not a ‘sin against nature’. You are a good person who has encountered an inconveniently timed spot of trouble in the line of duty, and we’re going to get you out of it.”

“What if we can’t? What if I’m stuck like this? Maker’s breath - what if I start decomposing?!” 

The spiral of ‘what if’s’ and hypotheticals had started again, and tight panic gripped her throat once more. 

“We’ll keep an eye on the condition of your body and take appropriate measures as needed in order to offset florid decay.” 

He said it with the ease of a seasoned embalmer assessing a fresh corpse on his preparation table: strangely comforting given the circumstances. “However, it’s of utmost importance that you remember something as we work together to find a solution, dear.” His eyes wandered over her face, and he could practically hear the wheels turning in his mind despite his assurances: he was already mulling over theories; coming up with strategies. 

“What do I need to remember, Emmrich?” 

“That you are still you, darling Amina.” His gaze paused when he caught her eyes. “The fact that you’ve unwittingly transitioned into a different state of being does not change that.” He gathered her face in his hands and kissed her again, his lips lingering longer this time, and her fingers wrapped around his thin, bare wrist as she allowed herself to finally touch him - this living person - for the first time with her unliving hand: a cardinal offense by the rule of the Law, but one that brought her such comfort in its simple intimacy. 

“I love you, dear - please know that my feelings towards you remain unchanged. I will do whatever it takes to make this right… everything in my power.” He peppered a few more gentle pecks over her cheeks, his lips leaving a burning trail wherever they touched. “Everything will be all right.” 

She didn’t know how badly she needed to hear those words until Emmrich spoke them, and feeling fortified by them, she shifted closer to him, the shame of coercing the man she loved into deviant behaviour lessening somewhat: he was only keeping her warm - it wasn’t as though they were having sex. This was a benign kindness, and nothing more.

Warmth flooded her as her chest pressed against his, and precious heat flowed into her flesh, worrying at the cold, chipping it from her tense muscles and relaxing them. 

“I’m sorry, I can’t imagine this is particularly comfortable for you,” she mumbled sheepishly into his shoulder.

“Never mind that.” His arms wrapped around her and held her tightly to him. “Is it helping?”

It was - the consistency of his warmth enveloping her was making her feel much better, and it seemed that once that heat infused deeply enough into her flesh and fat and muscles, she could retain it somewhat - for how long she couldn’t be sure, but as they maintained their embrace in the quiet, calmness of their bedroom, she found that she felt more at peace than she had all evening - even before she died.

Nodding, she gave herself permission to rest her hand on Emmrich’s waist, feeling his smooth, soft skin against hers.  

“That’s marvelous, darling. I’m so relieved to hear it.” His tone was pleasant, bordering on cheerful. There was no lie: his heart was lightened by this improvement.

“You seem disarmingly at ease with all of this,” she remarked. “Not… not that I’m complaining, but I was surprised enough when you agreed to share the bed with me. But this?” She flexed her arms around him, squeezing him tighter. “And the kisses? Aren’t you even slightly put off by the fact that I’m, uh - technically dead?”

“Darling,” he admonished. “Firstly, you aren’t ‘technically dead’ - you are undead. Secondly, a disciple of higher learning quickly discovers that the most important virtue one can possess when they wish to delve into the mysteries of the world is keeping an open mind. It is - and will be - an adjustment, I grant you, but one doesn’t spend as many years preparing for lichdom as I did without having to periodically revisit their definition of ‘strange’.” 

The corners of her mouth lifted for the first time in a wan, somewhat misty smile. 

He had worked so hard for lichdom only to turn it down forever at the last moment when Manfred’s life hung in the balance - literally on the table. She had never wanted lichdom for him in the first place, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate the staggering amount of study and work that had gone into his preparations for it. Once considered, it made perfect sense that the prospect of stripping nude and embracing his undead fianceé in bed was not a daunting one to a man as wonderfully bizarre as Emmrich Volkarin.

“I’m lucky then, that I’m your sort of ‘strange’.” 

“You always have been.” He smiled down at her, stroking her hair gently, every touch delivered with the singular, deliberate aim of calming and comforting: it was working. “I do think we should still see Myrna and Vorgoth come morning. I have reason to suspect this… transformation had something to do with the creature we encountered today.”

She opened her mouth to remind him that in case he’d already forgotten, she was undead, and therefore bringing her around other Watchers was likely a poor decision, but he continued speaking.

“We needn’t tell them of your condition, don’t worry. But it’s our duty to alert them to the existence of such a being. Though I’ve never heard of anything comparable to it existing before today, we cannot rule out the possibility that there are more of them in the deepest reaches of the Necropolis, and we know firsthand how dangerous they can be - particularly if my suspicions are correct and it has infected you with some sort of contagion or other vile thing: there could be an epidemic if more appear and care is not taken.” 

Amina rolled her face into the pillow, hiding it as she groaned. “Fine.” She agreed begrudgingly. “But we don’t mention anything about me: I didn’t get bitten. If they ask, we overwhelmed it before it could properly attack us.” 

“I’m still not keen on your insistence that we hide this from our superiors, but I’ll go along with it for the time being.” 

“Thank you.”

“How are you feeling, dearest?”

Humming quietly, she lost herself in the placating rhythm of his hand stroking her hair over her back. “I’m not sure,” she admitted.

“Well we’ve clearly established that your heart is not beating, therefore blood is not circulating through your veins and arteries, robbing you of the ability to regulate your body temperature. We’ll keep that in mind in the morning when selecting your clothing in the morning. And with your permission of course I would like to examine you properly tomorrow. Are you experiencing any other notable symptoms?”

“Remember when I alluded to the fact that I’d prefer to avoid a fate where I become the subject of a necromancer’s crowning dissertation?” 

“Seeing as my dissertation was completed roughly around the time you were learning to walk, you have little to fear from me in that regard, my dear.” 

He was trying to help. Trying to learn whatever he could that would set him on the right path to cracking this. Guilt and shame filled her at her own obtuseness: who better to solve a puzzle like this than Emmrich? He literally lived for this sort of bizarre mystery.

“I’m ravenous,” she admitted. “I don’t understand why - I only missed dinner. But it’s not just typical I-haven’t-eaten-in-a-few-hours-I-could-do-with-a-snack hunger: it’s that deep, hollow sort that nags at your brain and hurts your stomach.”

Emmrich looked hurt at her words. “Why didn’t you say so, darling? Let me fetch you something–” he made to get out of bed but Amina hauled him back over the sheets with ease, trapping his lithe form against her. 

“No - please stay. I’ll be fine to wait until breakfast, and I just want to lay here with you. I’m more tired than hungry anyway.” 

“Very well, but if you change your mind in the night, you mustn’t hesitate to wake me, darling: I think the fact that you have an appetite at all is a very good sign indicating that at least some of your mortal physiology has remained intact and maintains function.” He shuffled slightly, the luxurious sheets slipping over his legs as he wrapped them around hers. “What else?”

“I feel… overstimulated. My hearing is all keyed up and everything sounds so much louder than it usually does: I can hear your heart beating from here as clearly as if my ear was pressed against your chest.”  

“Fascinating…”

“Please tell me you're not going to refer to every aspect of my suffering as ‘fascinating’ for the duration of this nightmare.”

“Sorry dear.” His voice was sheepish and he pressed a kiss to the side of her neck.

“Aside from that, I’m utterly exhausted - everything hurts, and I feel as though I haven’t slept in days.”

“Then let’s rest for the night, darling. Close your eyes and hold tight to me - I promise I won’t leave your side.” 

He waved a hand and the flames of the fire receded but did not go out completely, casting the room in an insubstantial but warm glow. She thought she heard him gasp at something, but he evidently didn’t feel the need to elaborate, instead adjusting himself so he was curled around her, his head resting atop her silent heart. 

Doing as she was told, Amina closed her eyes and carded her fingers through Emmrich’s soft hair. Silence - or as close to it as was possible - filled the dim room and Amina wondered if Emmrich’s own exhaustion had at last won out. 

“Darling?” 

His voice was tentative and vulnerable - drained by the immense emotional weight of the evening. 

“Yes, love?”

“I know that you’re frightened and upset by this unexpected complication, but…” His voice was a whisper so soft and low that she doubted she would hear it under normal circumstances. “When I saw you at the bottom of the bath under all of that water… still and silent and clearly gone… I–” his voice hitched and he took a moment before going on. “I’ve never felt more helpless in my entire life, and even though it’s not ideal, I find myself utterly relieved that you’re here in my arms right now… in our bed. In our home. I can’t help but feel selfish because of it, and yet…” His tears carved hot tracks over the curve of her breasts as he spoke into the dark. “I’m so glad that you came back, Amina - so glad that tonight was not the end…” 

A soft sob slipped from him, and he sniffled, pressing his nose against her chest, fingertips digging into her skin as if she might be torn from him at any moment. 

Shushing him gently, she continued to soothingly work her fingernails over his scalp. “I understand, Emmrich. Finding me like that must have been awful.” She winced at the desperate and audible groan of hunger from her belly - what awkward timing. “Just try to rest now, all right? We can talk more in the morning. I promise I won’t leave your side either. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Emmrich let out a trembling sigh and removed his hand from her for long enough to wipe the tears from his face before replacing it. “Right you are, dearest.” He concurred, his voice still uneven. “We have much to do, come the dawn.” 

“I love you, Emmrich… thank you for loving me.”

“I love you too, darling – I suspect there is nothing in the world that could make me cease loving you.” 

She smiled again at that, then let her head sink into the pillow, drifting off to the sound of the steady beat of Emmrich’s strong, healthy heart filling her ears, lulling her into a sort of trance before her mind went dark and still, and thoughts were no more. 

[farore05]

Ivy Rook Ingellvar, Amaretto Sour. 🌿♟️

I commissioned the beautifully talented @itsmeglycine with bringing Ivy to life. In game, she’s a necromancer of the Mourn Watch. In the fic, she’s a bartender, audiology student, former chess champion, and completely smitten with her professor.

Check out the fic if you haven’t! It’s a Dragon Age Emmrich/Rook modern AU

Thank you again so much Glycine! Go support them on Kofi:

[ollypopwrites]

multi chap emmrook victorian au centered around solving hauntings with lots of sexual tension and ballroom dancing

is this anything

[basic-x-witch]

There’s no Ingellvar without Volkarin

[thepalehorsevictoria]

WIP - The Internship

An EmmRook gift for @emmg who has told me in no uncertain terms that I needed to write this idea out. Behold. A Silicon Valley AU. ETA: I tacked on some more to this and made it chapter 1 on AO3.

“Good morning! Welcome to your first day at Volkoss Systems! We’re so honored to have you join us as a small step of what we are sure are very bright futures in tech. My name is Bellara Lutare and I started in the exact same place as you three years ago, so I’m happy to answer any and all questions you may have in your internship orientation.” 

She holds up her access badge, smiling just like her photo. “Please be sure you have your badge visible on you at all times for security purposes,” and the badge snaps back to the reel when she releases it. Her left arm is covered in an intricate full sleeve tattoo of circles and glyphs and rings, now waving the group of students down the hallway for the office tour.

Iris swirls her iced coffee in its plastic cup and takes a long sip. It is too early for her to be functional, and the orientation leader’s effervescence is too much to handle right now. All she wants to do is get assigned a space, get a laptop, take a branch, write some code, check it, merge and go back home to sleep. Even her new badge photo shows that she is not really keen on being here, the half-smile as the bare minimum. Fucking photographer telling her to smile and shit. She’s going to get a badge reel as soon as she can so that she doesn’t have to see her own face looking up at her from around her neck. 

But if she wants the cushy work from home developer jobs she’s been dreaming of so she can work from some sunny poolside in Cumberland or whatever, she has to do this, which is … fine. She’ll do it. 

It’s going to be a long twelve weeks of summer, though. 

/. /. /.

“Pah. Like rats in a maze. They won’t know what they’re in for,” she cackles while thumbing the chunky acrylic pieces of her ostentatious statement necklace. 

“If you’re quite finished looking down on our prospective employees, Johanna, we haven’t quite finished solving this problem.” Emmrich sighs and absentmindedly runs his hand over the stack of bracelets on his left arm. Staring at the equation on the frosted glass whiteboard isn’t helping them either. The algorithm needs updates to reduce its computational needs in order to work properly with the new advancements in Evanuris hardware. “Or, at least, if you insist on continuing, perhaps you could do so in the comfort of your office down the hall.”

Thank goodness the architect put the boardroom in between their offices. And well away from the main floor so the company can’t hear her spirited opinions on a daily basis.

“You’re wasting your time, Volkarin. Evanuris is on its way out and we all know it. They know it. We really should be courting the AI being worked on in Seheron.” 

“That would require a complete reorganization of Engineering and Operations.” 

“And it’s about time. We are more than your algorithm.” 

“That algorithm has sent all your children to very fine schools, Johanna. Like the ones that sent us the interns you’re fond of mocking and tormenting,” he shakes his head, getting up from his perch on the back of the couch. “It’s a wonder we were able to get any interns at all this year, no thanks to you.”

“They’re just cheap labor. Barely worth the time for much we have to explain things to them like they’re five.”

Emmrich bristles. “I’ll …” he sighs, “I’ll keep working on this. But meantime if you’ll please excuse me. I've asked Bellara to include my office as part of the tour so I may greet them.” He caps the dry erase marker and puts it on the bottom tray of the whiteboard while his partner scoffs and grumbles on her way out.

He can’t quite understand what he’s missing. His life’s work is laid out before him in the exquisite universal language of mathematics that he had been able to bend to his command for decades. But something seems to be missing. 

Three knocks shake him from his thought work, and Emmrich reminds himself that he asked for this interruption. Plus it’s not like he was being productive, anyway. “Please come in,” he idly twists at the filigreed ring on his thumb, and prepares a well-rehearsed smile. 

“And now I’d like to introduce you to one of the two halves of our founding, Dr. Emmrich Volkarin,” Bellara opens the door to his office and walks in backwards to shepherd a group of students. Their eyes widen at the wall of accolades, framed feature articles, and the iridescent crystal disc of his famed Order of the Nevarran Kingdom. It makes him stand just a little bit taller to watch them stunned. 

Goodness, they’re all so young, he observes.

“Hello, and welcome. I’m so glad you’re able to join us this summer, everyone,” Emmrich greets them. “Volkoss Systems is only made possible by the true collaborative spirit of science that has been the same foundation of your education, I’m certain, and we are honored to welcome your brilliant young minds and energy to our work.” Bellara is beaming at him, ever the biggest fan of his work, but the rest of the students look intimidated. 

He presses his hands together and gestures with them, bracelets jingling softly. “Please, I absolutely encourage you to share your whole selves with us, and bring your curiosity and questions. While I do unfortunately have some very busy days every once in a while, when I am not in those, my door is always open.”

“Right,” Bellara says, “We’ve got just a few more stops on this part of the tour and then we’ll get you to Hardware and Ergonomics for setup. Thanks for your time, Doctor Volkarin!” The gaggle of interns turn to leave, except one. 

They’re reading the whiteboard. “What’s this?”

Bellara sticks her head back through the door. “Oh! Sorry, Doctor, we’ll just be out of your hair.” 

Emmrich holds up a hand, intrigued by their curiosity. “It’s quite alright, Ms. Lutare,” and he watches the young intern walk up to the equation he had been working on. 

They’re such a young thing–they get younger every year, he thinks. They’re at least one if not two heads shorter than him, with pointed ears peeking out of jet black hair like his was once upon a time. Their eyes are darting around the whiteboard’s neat rows of his handwriting, but he can see that they’re a delightful, rare shade of light purple. And very attractive.

His eyes fall to the badge around her neck. IRIS INGELLVAR, she/her. 

A rattle of the cup of iced coffee in her hand shakes him out of his reverie.

“I’ve been working on updating a calculation so that it can be further compressed without loss of computational power.” 

“For Evanuris,” she says, still reading. 

“Why, yes.” He’s impressed. Iris has been reading up on the company. “Is this in your field of study, Ms. Ingellvar?” 

“Eh, for fun. I’m really just here for work experience so I can fish for a code monkey job to pay the bills.” 

From the doorframe, Bellara squeaks in secondhand embarrassment, but Emmrich finds her reply refreshingly honest, and smiles. 

“Well I am glad that we have the honor of your talents for the summer, then–” he gasps as Iris wipes out an entire row of his work. “Miss–” She picks up the marker from the tray, uncaps it, and a string of characters appear in a haphazard, jagged handwriting. 

“Fixed it,” she sips her coffee and puts down the marker.  Emmrich is speechless, mouth slightly open as he reads over her work, and reads it again.

She did.

Emmrich could kiss her.

Where did that feeling come from?

[navrok]

Well... I warned you, but you've asked me. My Rook detective from Emmrook modern AU. She's a bit... Messed up.

[himbopunk]

datv modern au but i don't un-fantasy any of the characters.

iktom and davrin are both firemen, emmrich works in a morgue. iktom is hopelessly trying to woo both of them

[emmg]

wip yeah yeah whatever it's never wednesday

I've been tagged by a few folks and I'm having trouble remembering because I've had a shitty ass day but I love you. And I miss you. And I need you.

So I'm tagging all my usual boos back. K thanksss. @aldisobey @heylittleriotact @thepalehorsevictoria @caffeinatedmunchkin @xxnashiraxx @jainydoe

I honestly don't really have anything in particular cooking, so this is just something from the next chapter of Aftertaste, the stupid sugar daddy AU I can't stop having fun with. It's one of the most cursed things I've written lmao

****

She tousles her hair. Bites her lips raw, like some tragic heroine wasting away in a garret. Paces the apartment for the most flattering light—nature’s filter, since she has standards—and extends one arm to the heavens, the other tugging at the neckline of her shirt. Nothing too obscene; wouldn’t want to inconvenience some tragically repressed colleague of his with a crisis of conscience. Then again—why not? 

Let them suffer. Let them swallow around the dryness in their throat, let them grip their pens a little tighter. A whisper of lace, just enough to suggest that yes, she owns lingerie, and no, it is not because she enjoys spending $80 on machine-washable disappointments. 

Let him imagine her breasts—imagine that they exist, that they could, theoretically, be his to touch, that perhaps, if he’s really exceptionally well-behaved, he might even get to slide his cock between them. Not that there’s much to work with—more symbolism than substance, more spiritual journey than actual grip—but hey, she suspects he’s the kind of man who would whimper at the mere suggestion of friction. The type to shudder through it, clutch at her shoulders afterward like she’s just guided him through some kind of sacred, transcendent experience—one that leaves him dazed, vulnerable, and in dire need of a therapist with very strong professional boundaries.

Maybe, just maybe, if fate is kind and the gods of dignity finally decide to smile upon him, next time he spills onto her face or neck, it will be on purpose. A deliberate choice rather than an unfortunate trajectory issue. Perhaps even with a plan this time, some semblance of aim, a fraction of control. And afterward, he’ll do the gentlemanly thing: wipe the tear tracks from his face, mumble something about how he’s never felt this way before (bless his heart), and take out his wallet to buy her a pearl necklace—the kind that actually comes in a box, not the kind she has to scrub off in the shower.

It wouldn’t be a hardship. She finds, to her mild surprise, that she actually likes the man. At least as a human being, which is more than she can say for most. 

Click. Send. 

She knows he sees it because he is the kind of technologically inept buffoon who never figured out how to disable his read receipts. A man living in blissful ignorance of his own transparency. How cute. 

A pause. 

Dot. Dot. Dot. 

Nothing. 

Dot. Dot. Dot. 

A great, yawning chasm of nothing. 

She sighs and plops her ass on the bed. 

Dot. Dot. Dot. 

Perhaps he has died.

Perhaps the mere implication of cleavage has sent him into full cardiac arrest, right there at his desk. Emmrich Volkarin, well into his fifth-or-whatever decade, struck down—not by time, not by fate, but by the revolutionary concept of boobs. Maybe he hit his head on a stack of his own pretentious books—some dusty, 800-page discourse on moral decay—and perished instantly, a martyr to propriety. Mr. Professor, defeated by décolletage. Tragic. 

Ah. Something. 

A ha-ha reaction, skittish and accidental, yanked back almost immediately, and replaced with the trembling penitence of a heart.

And still. No. Words. 

She rolls her eyes, sends him a photo of the most aesthetically offensive thing in her apartment. 

That’s my monstera

This time, a response. Still criminally slow, but at least they've moved past Morse code levels of hesitation. 

Emmrich, miracle of miracles, finally sends a photo back. 

It’s a dog. Poorly cropped. Enthusiastically blurry. A dog in spirit, certainly, but in form? A vague collection of fur and misplaced limbs. The man takes photos like a cryptid spotter. But hey, at least the pup looks happy. 

This is my Manfred.

Manfred. 

What an absolute catastrophe of a name for a dog. 

[summerfirewood]

Patiently waiting for a Dragon Age: The Veilguard college town au

Mainly because of Professor Volkarin...who is tenured professor at the university that later-in-life student Rook is attending...

speaking of Rook: they work at a flower shop....or coffee shop - which Emmrich stops at every so often - and they share an apartment with Bellara and Neve

Oh and of course Professor Volkarin is a consultant at the Museum which is one of Rook's favorite places to be, or not, they could find it boring but is there sometimes for class

Or anything really like this. Anything AU where it can be cute and smutty. Or just cute. Or just smutty. I like them all.

[nerdanel01]

Love Is A Stranger, Chapter 10 - Safe

It was still new to her, saying it aloud. It did not come easy. She’d been hiding it, ashamed of it, for years and years, long before Erich had unexpectedly and gloriously interrupted their lives and shattered that silence. It was going to take much longer than two weeks for Agnes to unlearn that shame, that furtive urge to conceal the truth of her affection in her heart. 

But Emmrich had seen it anyway, though she had never once spoken of it. Had seen her, and married her—not in spite of what he’d seen, but because of it.

Tremulously, on an uneasy exhale, she said:

“I love you too, Emmrich.”

The little gasp he made was sharp as a knife. His eyes softened, any lust that had abandoned them made up for in double with warmth. How right it felt, to be nestled like this, to fit so well within his embrace. He dipped his mouth to meet hers, and Agnes felt her heart swell; he kissed her softly, slowly.

Hungrily, then, as he began to back up towards the bed behind him, pulling her body along with him. 

His hands searched her hips, fumbled for the hem of her chemise. “May I?”

A peculiar wobble of discomfort shot through Agnes’ body. 

“Emmrich, I gave birth not very long ago…” The sudden flush of heat on her face had nothing to do with arousal and everything to do with premature embarassment. “I do not know if—I might look… I might feel a bit different than you remember.”

His body froze against her, wholly still, and Agnes felt herself grow sick with dread. But he pulled away from her only long enough to shake his head at her—loving, but reproving—and kissed her once more, brief, gentle.

“Of course it’s going to be different than last time,” he told her, warmly. “Inevitably it will. Last time…” A pained grimace flashed across his face at the memory before fading. When he spoke again, he spoke in a whisper, just for her. “Last time, there were such misunderstandings between us. Whatever pleasure we stole was made bitter and brittled by the pretense under which it had been taken. Of course it will be different,” he continued, pressing his forehead gently against hers:

“You are my beloved wife, the mother of my children, my eternal companion.” His lips brushed against hers as he spoke; his breath was warm against her face. “And that is how we will have each other—no longer colleagues stealing a forbidden tryst, but as newlyweds, in our bed. In our home, where we no longer feel the need to hide our love from each other. Of course it will be different,” he said, weightily. “I think it will be better.”