Emmrich: Jovus? Have you ever wondered what we'd be like if we'd met sooner?
Jovus: Why? We're here now.
Emmrich: Well, yes, but... if we were younger...
Jovus: Ah. You mean if you were younger.
Jovus: You're a handsome, caring, accomplished man, Emmrich. Younger-you was presumably also a handsome, caring, accomplished man. I doubt you'd have given an old dog like me a second glance.
Emmrich: Oh, I doubt that's true, my darling.
Emmrich: I started turning grey in my thirties. Can you believe that?
Jovus: I'm a werewolf. I have a weakness for silver.
Now that Wendy seems to be feeling a little better and I'm a bit less overwhelmed, I've decided to reopen my emergency commissions to help cover her ongoing veterinary expenses.
If you're not able to commission me, sharing this post would mean the world to me. And if you'd simply like to support Wendy's treatment, I'll leave my PayPal and Ko-fi links below.
Commission Information
I currently accept PayPal only.
Payment will be requested once the sketch has been completed and approved by the client, before I continue with the final artwork.
The estimated turnaround time is 1–3 weeks, depending on the complexity of the commission, my current queue, and my family commitments.
Thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who has supported me by sharing my posts, commissioning me, donating, or simply sending kind words. Your kindness has meant so much to both Wendy and me during this difficult time.
For @sofiemystique and her Rook, Allette Ingellvar 💜 Oh, Emmrich. He is absolutely the type to sit and stare fondly across the room while writing the sappiest love letter 🤭
My dearest Allette,
You are only a few paces away—half-sunk in pillows, surrounded by open books, hair falling over your shoulder in the way that always makes me want to move it just to kiss the skin beneath—and still I write to you as though I were miles off. Perhaps it is foolish, but I think if I do not spill some of this feeling somewhere, I will drown in it. You have filled every quiet space in my soul so completely, I don’t know where to place the overflow except here, in ink, in trembling confession.
I had intended to focus this morning. There were pages I meant to organize, annotations left half-finished, some brilliant and deeply important notion about runes that I can now no longer remember. You walked past me in the soft light of the window—kissed my temple in that absent, intimate way you do when you're thinking of something else—and I have been lost ever since.
You love me gently. As though you are not afraid of the dark corners. As though you know they are there and choose me because of them, not in spite of them. I have spent much of my life learning how to be useful, how to be clever, how to disappear into my work when the ache of the world grew too loud to bear. And now you look at me like I am not a collection of clever parts but someone worth loving whole. Do you know what that does to a man who had forgotten how to hope?
There are moments you don’t notice—when your hand lingers at the base of my neck, when you hum softly while reading aloud, when you murmur my name like a spell—and in those moments I feel touched by something ancient and holy. You, who walk through the world with such gentleness it puts every battle-hardened man to shame. You, who tend to the living and the dead with equal reverence. You, who would sit for hours in silence beside an unmarked grave just so the spirit within might remember what it is to be seen.
You made me feel again. Not just hunger or grief or passing delight, but life. And I cannot explain the gift of it. I can only show it, again and again, in how I touch you, how I listen, how I remember every secret smile you give me in the dark.
You once told me, in a soft voice that cracked halfway through, that you hadn’t allowed yourself to imagine a future. And I remember thinking how cruel it was that someone like you, someone so full of light, had been taught to keep her hopes small. But we’re here now. Not just alive, but together. Laughing about our endless books, debating over whether a third shelf in the bedroom is excessive or necessary. Planning where to go next. You take me to waterfalls and ancient tombs and call it a stroll, and somehow every place becomes beautiful because you are there to name it so.
I never believed in second chances. But you did. And now—I believe in you. In us. In the weeks still ahead of us, the years still waiting. I want all of them. The quiet mornings, the overstuffed shelves, the tea left on the table when I’m too deep in thought to remember it myself. I want the sound of your footsteps behind me, the way your arms wrap around my waist, your mouth at my ear as you ask, always so sweetly, if I’d like some company. (The answer is yes. It is always yes.)
I have no real conclusion to offer you. Only this ache in my chest and the certainty that I am, completely and irrevocably, yours. And if I don’t put down this pen and come to you now, I will start writing verse. Embarrassing verse. Or worse—I will begin cataloguing all the places on your body I wish to kiss at this very moment, and then neither of us will get anything done today.
Here is my solo written piece for the What Comes After zine created by the @thefadediscordserver members!! I’m so proud of everyone who contributed to it and was so happy to be a part of it! Check out the full zine in all its Emmrich filled glory!
It's the day before the Veilguard heads to Minrathous for the final showdown with Solas and Elgar'nan, and Remy "Rook" Ingellvar has just returned from Solas's regret prison in the Fade. Emmrich takes her to the Necropolis to make sure there are no lingering effects from Solas taking residence in her mind and in a moment of rare spontaneity, Emmrich proposes marriage with one caveat - they get married tonight. Remy and Emmrich ask Neve and Lucanis to help with the secret wedding planning and discover how convenient it is to have the First Talon as a friend. Vows are exchanged in the Memorial Gardens with Neve, Lucanis, and an abundance of spirits friends in attendance before Mr. and Mrs. Volkarin celebrate their wedding night and reflect on their journey so far.
"In his loneliest hours, he had never allowed himself to dream of this day, this moment, when Legatus Mercar strode toward him with his bride on his arm. And yet, against all doubts and odds, she was here as she slipped from her father’s arm, took her betrothed’s hand, and exchanged vows before the Black Divine (who could not entrust the wedding of the heroes of Minrathous to a mere priest of the Imperial Chantry and insisted on officiating the ceremony himself).
Manfred hissed with joy, and Emmrich was now finally convinced: it didn’t matter if they had only twenty years left together. This woman was worth spending another twenty years walking among mortals for him."
My contribution to this year's The Fade community Anniversity Zine "What comes after"!
A wedding might be the lamest interpretation of the theme. 🫠
But when I caught Emmrich's banter about his regret of him never getting married, I felt like awarding pookie with a better-late-than-never wedding with my Rook Theophila Mercar 😭
I imagine these two getting married in Theophila's home of Ventus in Tevinter with her father's blessings (after certain persuasion work beforehand) and a cameo of the Black Divine (who could it be? 🫢)
Thank you for @thefadediscordserver and the community for cheering on my process, it was so much fun working on it and being part of this wonderful and supportive community project!
Everyone please check out the other entries of wonderful (and spicy) art and fics!
Thank you so much @paramortality for being my partner in crime for the incredible What Comes After zine! I had a blast, and I'm always happy to make Laird blush in romantic situations! 🥰
That night, the Memorial Gardens had never seemed so alive. Wisps drifted through the air like wandering stars, and motes of magic swirled around the monument, humming with the quiet pull of the Fade. Laird had spent years studying death, sorcery, and all that lay between, yet nothing had prepared him for what Emmrich could do.
Or for what he could make him feel.
Their kiss, their first shared breath, was electric. Warmth bloomed across his lips, then raced down his spine in a slow-building pleasure that made him shudder. It felt like a dream, but the taste of Emmrich, the soft moan, the familiar scent of his cologne, kept him tethered to reality. This wasn't a dream; it was paradise.
"What a day of unexpected splendour."
Emmrich beamed, his hands coming to rest at Laird's waist. The motion was gracious, unhurried, as though giving him all the time in the world to pull away if he wished. When he didn't, Emmrich's lips found the sensitive skin beneath his beard, just above the collar of his sleek Mourn Watch regalia.
The sensation was surreal. Transcendent. Laird's shoulders sank, tension draining from him as though Emmrich had pressed some hidden release. He lingered there, nose grazing the freckles scattered along Laird's neck before placing another, firmer kiss to a spot that made him shiver.
A rapt, helpless sound escaped the younger man, and his hands rose instinctively to clutch at the front of Emmrich's vest—a response Emmrich took as encouragement. His lips moved lower, patient and attentive, the kisses growing deeper as he traced the column of Laird's throat. Maker, it was wonderful.
Too wonderful.
A nervous tremor began to stir behind Laird's ribs, then spread outward until his knees nearly gave way—though not from weakness. His mind raced ahead, hurtling towards scenarios he wasn't sure he could satisfy. He knew where this was heading, and part of him wanted it desperately, but another part recoiled in fear.
What if he did something wrong? What if he couldn't keep up? What if, in the end, he proved himself unworthy of such a remarkable man?
He wasn't prepared, yet Emmrich's mouth pressed more insistently, teeth nipping his neck. His breath hitched. His fingers tightened in the fabric of Emmrich's vest, his entire frame rattling like a branch in a gale. He couldn't hide it any longer. He didn't want to push Emmrich away, but there was a secret he needed to tell him.
"W-wait," he stuttered, the word barely forming.
The moment shattered as Emmrich pulled back, concern replacing the passion. His hands shifted to Laird's arms, steadying him as he realised, with great dismay, that the trembling wasn't from excitement.
"Darling?" he asked, his eyes wide with guilt. "Are you all right?"
Laird's face burned. "I'm sorry!" he blurted. "I didn't mean—I just—!"
"Darling," Emmrich said, taking one of Laird's hands and brushing his thumb over his knuckles. "You have nothing to apologise for, especially if I've made you uncomfortable. If you don't enjoy being touched in such a way," he soothed, "please tell me. I couldn't bear it if I hurt you."
"No!" Laird yelled, shaking his head so hard his ginger hair became a blur of embers. "No, that's not... I love it when you touch me."
He looked away, utterly mortified, his freckles lost beneath the bright red spreading across his cheeks. He could see Emmrich's confusion, his remorse, and that was precisely what he had hoped to avoid. Emmrich was too kind, too observant. He deserved the truth.
"It's just..."
Silence stretched between them, but Emmrich waited. He didn't prod or chastise. He didn't leave in a fury, as many would have after being brought so close to the edge, only to be denied. He simply held Laird's hand, offering his most encouraging smile, one that swore he would never mock or condemn.
"I've never done this before," Laird finally confessed. "I've never been with anyone."
The words fell out in a rush of shame, leaving no room for interpretation.
"I thought I could," he added quickly. "But when it started getting... you know... I panicked."
He kept his eyes fixed on the ground for what felt like an eternity, then dared to glance up. To his surprise, Emmrich looked stunned, and unmistakably moved.
"Oh," he breathed. "Forgive me. I was under the impression you'd had preexisting partners."
"I know," Laird choked. "I'm sorry. I didn't tell you because... I thought you'd want someone with experience." He backed away, nails digging into his coat. "I thought I had time to study. I've been... reading sutras, diagrams, trying to memorise techniques. I'm sorry. I'm such a fool."
For a heartbeat, Emmrich simply stared, taking in the humiliation and doubt etched across every inch of Laird's face. Then his expression softened, and he stepped forward, wrapping him in his arms. His hold was gentle but firm, one hand cradling the back of Laird's head, the other pressing between his shoulder blades.
"There is nothing foolish about that," he murmured, his voice blissfully strained. "And that you chose me... I am honoured."
Laird burrowed against him, goosebumps rising on his skin. Emmrich was far too perfect to be real, yet here he was, holding him in a fierce, protective embrace.
"We can move slowly," he vowed. "As slowly as you like."
"You're not... disappointed?"
"Disappointed?" Emmrich pulled back just enough to meet Laird's eyes, a faint smile touching his lips. "My darling, no one is more fortunate than I. So long as we're together, I'll wait as long as it takes."
"But—"
"You could never disappoint me, Laird. All I want, all I desire, is to be by your side. That alone feels like a privilege I was never meant to have."
Laird tried to speak, to protest, but his words broke, tears welling in his eyes. Before they could fall, Emmrich reached up, wiping them away with the delicate pads of his thumbs.
"There now," he whispered, then hesitated. "Would it be all right... if I kept kissing you?"
Laird's face lit up like a breaking dawn. "Of course!" he cried. "Kissing is fine!"
Emmrich chuckled at the enthusiasm, then cupped Laird's cheeks with a tenderness that made his chest ache. He paused just just long enough for Laird to decide the pace, then leaned in, their lips meeting in a soft, eager press. The kiss was warm, full, and grateful all at once, proving a truth Laird never thought possible: he was more than a passing comfort. He was precious.
He was wanted.
When it came to an end, if only for the sake of breath, Laird was dazed, panting, his face flushed with heat. Emmrich, though usually more composed, looked no better; his poise slipped as he savoured the moment.
Then, with a hint of playfulness, he flicked Laird's nose. "I'll kiss you anywhere you like," he grinned. "And I promise never to cross any boundaries."
Laird, dizzy and speechless, lifted a finger and bashfully pointed to his nose, where Emmrich had just teased him. The older man obliged, gently kissing the tip before turning it into a tiny nip that made Laird spasm.
He pointed to his forehead next.
Another kiss.
He tilted his head, extending his neck, and Emmrich's eyes darkened. His favourite spot—the steady pulse of life, the subtle, intoxicating scent. Slowly, he leaned in and pressed a hungry kiss to the bare skin, his grip on Laird tightening just enough to indulge himself.
The younger man shuddered, coming undone piece by piece. It felt so good. He couldn't get enough—but Emmrich was giving everything and taking nothing.
It wasn't fair.
A mischievous thought flickered through Laird's mind, and before he could lose his nerve, he reached up and unfastened the pin at Emmrich's throat. He swallowed hard, the treacherous sound betraying his thirst, and before he realised what he was doing, he undid the first nine buttons of his shirt, the fabric parting to reveal a stretch of pale chest beneath.
Emmrich, though taken aback by Laird's sudden boldness, made no move to stop him, allowing the exploration, ready to sate any curiosity. But when his breath hitched, aroused and raring, Laird froze, his fingers hovering at the threshold.
"Am I... being cruel?" he stammered. "I don't think I'll be able to go any further than this."
Emmrich smiled, eyes shimmering. "There is nothing cruel about that," he assured him. "Please, don't fret, my darling. Take it as far as you like. I'll not pressure you for more."
Relief spread across Laird's face, along with a thrill of something fragile and unfamiliar. Gently, he gripped Emmrich's collar and began peppering the exposed skin with light kisses, each one building his courage.
Emmrich inhaled sharply, his eyes squeezing shut. A shameless "yes" escaped his lips as he pulled Laird closer—not possessively, but adoringly. How he managed such restraint, Laird couldn't fathom. Perhaps it was his age, his experience, or perhaps it was love holding him back, because he would not risk making Laird uncomfortable, no matter how much he wanted to ravage him, even here, on the hallowed monument.
"Laird..." he sighed, shaping his name like a benediction.
"Emmrich, I—"
"What do you think you're doing?!"
Both men flinched, Laird very nearly leaping out of his skin. That voice. That stern command.
Myrna.
Holding his breath, Laird turned to find her scolding Manfred, who had unwittingly wandered into a rosebush and crushed the stems beneath his feet. Emmrich had tasked him with trimming the deadheads, giving himself and Laird a much-needed moment alone, but Myrna was far less understanding of the wisp's harmless blunders. She would not relent—not until Emmrich was made to answer for it.
"Where's the professor?" she asked, her tone laden with the air of a discontented parent. "I can't believe he left you unsupervised."
Before she could catch sight of them, Laird felt a jolt of panic. He couldn't allow her, the woman who had raised him, to see him in such a state: entangled with the love of his life in the sacred Memorial Gardens. With haste, he yanked Emmrich by the wrist, muffling the chime of his bangles, and drew them both behind the towering statue of King Caspar Pentaghast.
"Darling," Emmrich said, charmingly oblivious as he was dragged into the shadows. "Is there a reason we're hiding?"
"Can't let Mum see us," Laird shushed, frantically peering around the corner. "She'll probably head to the kitchens, or maybe the mines to find us. Let's wait her out."
Emmrich smirked. Laird sounded less like a grown man in a perfectly suitable relationship and more like an initiate sneaking out of his dorm after curfew. Though, he supposed being discovered under such circumstances would invite a measure of awkwardness, with his shirt left artfully undone and Laird bearing the evidence of their indiscretions along his neck.
"As you wish," he said. "However..." With a grin, he wrapped his arms around the younger man, caressing places that nearly made him squeal. "I do hope you'll tell her about us soon."
Laird moaned, his back pressing against Emmrich's chest, his apprehension ebbing away. Suddenly, nothing else existed. He closed his eyes, surrendering to the feel of Emmrich's touch—teeth nibbling his ear, a leg slipping between his thighs. Emmrich never crossed the line, but he knew how to dance along it masterfully, turning Laird to butter in his grasp.
"Promise?" he purred.
"Yes..." Laird wheezed, magic crackling at his fingertips.
"Easy, darling. Control your mana or you'll summon the wisps. You wouldn't want them to lead Myrna to our little hidey-hole, would you?"
"You're enjoying this..." Laird groaned, though he couldn't bring himself to sound truly annoyed.
"Immensely."
Emmrich's voice was velvet, laced with quiet amusement. His hands pulled Laird further into the dark with near-greedy urgency, and the closeness did little to quell the flutter of his heart.
"Does it—?" Laird stopped, grimaced, then forced himself to finish. "Does getting... excited... often result in magical outbursts?"
There was a brief pause. Then Emmrich leaned in, pressing a provocative kiss just below Laird's ear.
"It depends on the mage, my dear."
That did not help.
Laird gasped, his mind reeling. "I-I see. And... how do you feel about that?"
A chuckle brushed against his skin.
"I've never been opposed to magic in the bedroom," Emmrich replied, the words threaded with a sly, unmistakable edge. "In fact, one could say I'm quite the proponent for it."
Laird made a small, strangled sound that might have been a laugh if it weren't so thoroughly overwhelmed by embarrassment. Emmrich deserved better. Why was he wasting his time on someone like him—a disgrace of a necromancer banished from their homeland? Why would he want someone so hopelessly inexperienced, who couldn't even meet his touch without trembling?
Before he could spiral further, Emmrich's grip shifted. He turned Laird to face him, their breath catching in the narrow space between them. Once again, he gave Laird the chance to pull away—and once again, he didn't. Emmrich's expression had softened, the teasing glint giving way to something vulnerable.
"I love you," he said.
Those words struck Laird like a sudden gale, stealing the breath from his lungs. Emmrich had said it with such ease, such disarming honesty; yet beneath that enviable confidence, something writhed in his hazel eyes.
Uncertainty, virulent and painful.
Laird wondered how many times he had bared his soul, only to be rejected. Was he alone now, in his later years, because he feared trying again, enduring another heartbreak?
Did he fear his love was unrequited?
"I..." Laird's throat clenched, but he refused to make Emmrich wait a second longer. "I love you, too!" he shouted. "I love you, Emmrich. I love you."
It felt bigger saying it aloud. Real. Undeniable and without regret.
Emmrich smiled, his brow furrowing as he teetered on the brink of tears. Laird wanted to say more, to swear he would never be alone again, but before he could speak, Emmrich, still mindful of the tenuous balance of magic and emotion thrumming between them, captured his lips, the kiss an explosion of gratitude.
"More, darling?" he asked, his eyes closed, mouth never quite leaving Laird's.
The question, the compassion, the pure devotion—everything about him was a temptation Laird found himself increasingly unwilling to resist. Perhaps, he thought, as his tongue traced the silken seam of Emmrich's lips, he had more in him tonight than he realised.
Tonight, and many nights after.
"Yes," he begged. "Keep going."
Somewhere beyond them, the last of the wisps drifted away, their curiosity fading into a rare, silent understanding, and, unnoticed entirely, Myrna and Manfred were already gone.
Collabing with you has no higher honour bby!! Thank you for doing immeasurable justice with my boy and putting up with me as your collab partner!! 💙💙💙💙
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