#sil writes

Emmrich who hears every whisper and sees every knowing glance as he moves through the nobility of Nevarra - he hears them, he sees them, but carries on without a thought knowing that the fancies of a noble as are fleeting as the fade.

Emmrich who never misses the silent plea of a recently departed - a kind word and understanding hum always on the tip of his tongue as he tends to them, easing their journey and helping them find purpose.

Emmrich who pointedly ignores that cat calls of the young men and women who line the quieter streets of Nevarra City - he's never cruel or derogatory though, even when a hand tries to reach for his sash or curls around his wrist. He slips them a few gold coins and offers up an address that would not turn them away if they wished for help.

Emmrich who somehow, despite being an incredibly intelligent and observant man, does not see the way Rook's gaze follows him every time he leaves a room - theirs eyes dark and mouth curled just a little at the corners.

Emmrich, who despite having a rich history of lovers, misses the deliberate brush of their hand against his when they pass him in the lighthouse corridors and the way they linger in his rooms, long after the others have all gone to bed.

Emmrich who doesn't realise it is Rook that is leaving freshly steeped tea on his desk in the morning, thanking Manfred as he usually would and thinks that Lucanis must have overheard him talking about his mothers hazelnut torte when it appears on the table for dinner one evening.

Emmrich who is somehow oblivious to all this even as he leans down, hand outstretched to help Rook up from they had slipped. Instead he finds himself pulled forward, limbs wheeling until he lands on his knees above them, his weight braced in his elbows either side of their head.

Emmrich who just stares as one hand curls into the lapel of his coat, the other lifting to slot neatly against the nape of his neck.

"Can't have you missing this one, Professor."

Emmrich who very much does not miss the glint in their eyes before they tug him closer, mouths crashing together. Neither does he miss the weight of their leg hooking around the backs of his thighs and the hand that moves from his lapel to slide beneath his coat, grasping at his sash.

Then all Emmrich knows is them. The slide of their tongue against the seam of his lips before they part. The warmth of the hand against his neck, fingers tangling in the ends of his hair. The pressure of the foot digging into the back of his thigh.

He does not hear or see anything else when he finally pulls back, cheeks flushed - only the smirk and amused gaze that watches him as he sucks in a sharp breath.

"I really have been quite oblivious, haven't I?"

You two are laying in a lounging chair together, in the comfy little nook next to your big bookcase.

His large body is stretched all the way across the chair like an oversized cat, and you are laying comfortably between his legs, with your back propped up against his front.

All you have to do is reach over and pick a book off the shelf, barely even needing to move from your position.

The hours slowly trickle away as you read quietly between his arms. Sometimes you think he might've fallen asleep, but then his arm reaches over to hand you your mug of hot chocolate whenever you make a move to grab for it.

Each time you smile, and each time he kisses your hair.

Your entire body is enveloped in this fuzzy, warm feeling that almost feels like sleepiness, but that never pulls you into a slumber.

The house is pleasantly warm, and the light from the lamp casts a yellowy glow over your little corner of paradise.

I came up with the idea of Fade Emmrich, an alternate version of Emmrich Volkarin. He came to be from Emmrichs deepest darkest desires, and lives in the Fade. Only shows up whenever Dahlia is pent up or wanting more from her real Emmrich. 💚

I also worked together with the amazing @silshinobii to start a Dragon Age fanfic and fancomic series of Fade Emmrich X Dahlia Ingellvar!!

Please take a read of their fanfics and our collabs! I will attach the link below of our fic “The Tethered”

The Tethered Fan Fic

It would definitely take Geto a few years to even allow himself to consider if he wanted to marry you. Once he did, it would take him a few more years to actually pull the trigger. So much time in fact, that Satoru of all people gets on his case about it, “Dude, if you don’t fucking marry her already-“

“Satoru please don’t start this right now.” Their daily smoke sessions turning into a weekly occurrence after that. Almost monthly until Satoru gets tired of being avoided and demands his friend tell him why he dreads the topic of marriage so. How could he explain that even though you were the only person he could see himself with, the thought of getting down on one knee made his hands clammy, his heart race, his breath all but stop?

He wasn’t Satoru. He couldn’t brush off his worries so easily. Maybe there had been a point in time when he possessed the confidence to do so. Believing himself to be strong enough to handle anything and come out on top. But that had been before he saw the world crumple around him. Before he realized that he was just man, and there were risks he didn’t have the capacity to handle. Things he couldn’t control.

Eventually, Satoru’s insistent nagging would force Geto to divulge his worries to his friend. And upon hearing them, Satoru bursts into a fit of booming laughter. It pissed Suguru off.

“Bro, you’re nervous? Seriously? It’s been 6 years, if she was gonna leave you it would’ve already happened. Trust me, your emo ass has nothing to worry about.”

For a few weeks afterward, Geto would catch himself studying every interaction between the two of you. The soft voice with which you consoled him, the way you always asked if he was alright after too long of a silence. The way your hand always seemed to drift to him. As if you needed to feel his skin on yours as undoubtedly as your lungs needed air.

The way you brushed his hair, humming whatever tune your mind had decidedly fixated on. The tenderness with which you held his face, tucking his hair behind his ears and staring at his lips as if it pained you not to be latched onto them for even a moment.

Even if he was no longer the careless over confident sorcerer you had fallen in love with all those years ago, he was still your Suguru, no matter what shape he had grown to take. And upon the realization that he could be anything and you would still be there, he went for it.

On a Sunday morning, over coffee, as you sang along to the theme song of whatever show you had playing on tv. Taking sips of your mug between each nail you painted. Bare feet splayed on the edge of the coffee table, chewing on your lower lip in concentration as you tried your best not to make a mess of your attempted pedicure.

Drunk on the casual intimacy, in awe of the effortless beauty that had him in a chokehold, the words fell from his tongue before he had the chance to actually understand what he was doing, “Marry me.”

You nearly choked on your drink. The brush in your hands just moments before clattering to the ground, leaving a stain on the floorboards he would undoubtedly chastise you for later.

“Y-you mean that?”

“Yeah.” He choked out, holding his breath so fiercely he thought he might turn purple. Hands gripping the kitchen counter so hard his knuckles became white.

The shriek that erupted from you nearly scared him half to death. Wet nails be damned, you jump up from your spot on the floor and run to him. Throwing your arms around his neck and jumping up to wrap your legs around his waist. He couldn’t help the breathless laugh that escaped him at your unabashed animation.

Bloodspeckle had lived many moons at this point in his life. Seen cats live and die, battles lost and won. He had seen many, many things. Not much surprised him anymore, or so he thought. However, it seemed the mercenaries Redstar had gained had made it their life goal to prove him wrong.

When Redstar announced the arrival of outside cats, that was when the remaining cats of Redclan had decided that the fight had gone on too long, and had left. Bloodspeckle couldnt blame them, but it did make his job a bit lonelier with only three other cats in the camp, one of which couldnt even communicate properly. Bloodspeckle found himself talking to his birds more during the period where the newcomers had joined the clan, finding more comfort in them than he did the others. He started dedicating more time to his work, spending less time with the clan. He could tell some of the cats who had known him before the others arrived were concerned, but he brushed them off, saying he was working harder to accommodate the sudden growing numbers. It was a lie. Why should he have to heal these buffoons who looked like they could barely fight a mouse, let alone a full cat? The day of the first battle was Bloodspeckle's first surprise.

Baystep and Firecrackle had volunteered to stay behind to guard the camp, while the rest had gone to the border of the two clans in a patrol. Apparently they had discussed earlier the plans of the battle, but Bloodspeckle had been paw deep in a loner's chest at the time, having been attacked by the loner and making them meet a quick end. The small group quietly split up to surround the small patch of land they sought to take, leaving Bloodspeckle with little clue on where to go. He took a look around, debating who to concern himself with first. It didnt take long, spotting the large mass of fur and what he prayed was muscle and not just more fur, and he slunked over beside the large tom. The tom, who Bloodspeckle remembered having been renamed Heavyclaw, looked down at him with a distrusting glare, and Bloodspeckle took a step to the side. He wasnt scared, he had lost the ability to fear a while back, but had enough manners to treat Heavyclaw with respect. The tom made a sound that Bloodspeckle took for one of thanks, before the quiet wait began. It took only a few heartbeats for the enemy patrol to come around, and immediately all hell broke loose. Bloodspeckle wasnt sure what to expect from the ragtag team of strays, but 'Slaughter' was definitely one way to describe it. It was Scorchleap who attacked first, picking a long lanky black tom who reminded Bloodspeckle of one of their own cats, Raccoonheart. Looking at the battlefield, he noticed various cats who looked strikingly similar, but Bloodspeckle brushed it off, having more important things to concern himself with. The battle didnt last long as he set down the herbs he had brought, and he watched as the large tom wrecked havoc on the Rushwing look alike. He swore he heard something snap as Heavyclaw slammed a paw down on the other- a rib, maybe?- before the retreat was called. The enemy patrol ran away, leaving their side victorious. Bloodspeckle quickly got to work and ran over with cobwebs and poultices, respect for the newcomers growing.

The second surprise came a moon later, while he was looking at a corpse he had 'found'. Bloodspeckle had tried to keep his work hidden from most, very aware of what reactions he would get. He had found nothing too interesting inside, much of the same stuff he had found many times, but when he looked up from his activities, he was surprised to find Baystep there, staring at the mess. At first Bloodspeckle didnt know how to react, and even began trying to find an excuse to why he was mucking around in some poor cat's body, but was rather stunned when Baystep walked over and began asking questions, unfazed by the body. "What does this little thing here do?" He had asked, leaving Bloodspeckle speechless before explaining with genuine excitement what he believed it to be. Excitement wasnt a feeling he felt very often at the time, but Baystep's interest and lack of morals had seemingly revived his passion. Not soon after did Bloodspeckle decide to give the others a chance, opening up a bit more and making time to talk to them. Bloodspeckle realized that clan life had dulled his senses as he learned more of these cats, and that there was much more outside of the clans than just patrolling and constant fighting.

The final surprise came three moons after the second. The presence of the others wasnt a foreign feeling anymore, and a welcome one at times. He had helped many with their injuries and sicknesses, and found himself enjoying his normal work once again. He was ecstatic when many had agreed to test some herbs for him, and looked forward to every visit he got. He had grown to become good friends with Baystep, and surpringly Heavyclaw. The latter often visited for any wounds he had recieved, and opened up when Bloodspeckle had begun to join in the fighting. More and more it seemed the large tom was coming in for smaller and smaller wounds, even coming in once for what Bloodspeckle suspected was a faked headache. Bloodspeckle didnt mind at all though, soon finding out Heavyclaw was much more than just a large and destructive cat. The two talked often while Bloodspeckle worked, giving Bloodspeckle some often much needed mental challenges with some topics they discussed. That morning Heavyclaw visited to check up on the medicine cat, having brought a rabbit to share. Bloodspeckle took a few bites inbetween sorting through his herbs, before Heavyclaw spoke. “You are sweet, when you want to be." That made Bloodspeckle pause for a second, processing what Heavyclaw had said. Sweet? Him? Bloodspeckle didnt vocalize his confusion and surprise, instead making inquisitive sound to push Heavyclaw to continue that train of thought so he could hop on and figure out exactly where the last stop was. "I have seen you with the others. You treat them kindly. In your own way. You play with the little Firefly, listen to tiny apprentice to amuse him. Heal Heavyclaw's and other's wounds, care for small prey." Bloodspeckle paused as he continued to list small things that had apparently added up. The garden he, Baystep, and Houndsnap had made. Giving poppy seeds to Hawkslash when he needed them, even if that happened to be when the sun was rising. Letting Scorchleap sleep in his den when the tom felt homesick after the camp changed, despite the fact the tom snored like a monster. Bloodspeckle was about to say something, about to brush Heavyclaw's examples as small signs of respect and nothing more, but paused as Heavyclaw began talking about those outside of their current clan. The mothers he had helped through birth, the endless battles and wounds that had never seemed to end. The secrets he had promised to keep a secret, even if it meant to break the code. Bloodspeckle had tried to get a word in throughout Heavyclaw's monologue, but shut his mouth with a click once Willowshine's name was mentioned.

<3

Professor Emmrich Volkarin, who faces down the greatest of the undead without so much as the bat of an eyelid. He has quelled demons, defeated cultists and faced down gods.

He has educated two generations of watchers, beguiled the nobility of Nevarra and achieved things that would be impossible to most.

He is brilliant. He is kind. He is the greatest of men.

He also has the most adorable blush.

It's the kind of blush that stains his cheeks the most endearing shade of red, the colour flooding down his throat and beneath the starched collar of his shirt. It matches well with the way his breath catches as he leans back in the high backed seat behind his desk - Rook can just make out the flush of colour where his collar hangs open, the top two buttons having fallen pray to their fingers.

They watch the way his head falls back from their spot between his thighs - one hand splayed across his belly, the other curled around the base of his cock.

Gone is the silver-tongued professor. Now there was just Emmrich, trousers loose around his hips, one hand twitching nervously just above their hair, a knuckle of the other held between his teeth as he finishes inside the wet heat of their mouth.

"Breathe, Emmrich," the sound of his name draws his attention back to them as they pull back with a wet pop.

The sight of them, lips slick and eyes bright, draws a broken sound from him as he sags back in his chair.

There really is something quite wonderful about him like this - cheeks somehow turning an even deeper shade of red as he finally reaches for them with shaky hands and all manner of sweet things spilling from parted lips. When Emmrich is like this, he seats them atop his lap and mutters soft thank you's into their skin.

But put a glass of Orlesian wine in the man's hand and you'll meet a very different Emmrich.

This Emmrich still blushes though it is offset by the way his mouth curls at the corners as he makes space for Rook between his thighs - he is all wandering hands and heady praise as they take him into their mouth. He guides and steers without force, announcing to the empty space around them about how well they are doing and how good they make him feel.

His hands thread into their hair, gaze warm as he watches how their cheeks hollow and lashes flutter against their cheeks.

There is no stammering shyness then, only groaned praise and adoration. When they pull back, cheeks flushed and chest heaving, he tugs them upward so that he can kiss them - uncaring of the lingering taste of himself on their mouth as hands sink beneath clothing.

Rook likes both versions of Emmrich.

Sable - “did you know 75-80% of women claim to have faked an orgasm?”

Emmrich - “challenge accepted”

Nothing but soft, maybe a teeny tiny bit angsty, fluff and Emmrich being sentimental <3

As a child, all knobbly knees and wide eyes, his mother would call him “Mien Schatz” – her darling, her little treasure, murmured softly as she brushed the tears from his cheeks after he had fallen or when he presented her with yet another messily gathered offering of flowers from their tiny garden. It was comforting, familiar – a reminder of her love as she tucked him into her arms and made every woe better in the way only a mother’s kiss could.