paramortality

[paramortality]

"I don't care what they call me. If they're calling me anything, it means they're still alive. That's all that matters."

Look to Windward - Sleep Token

Hi yeah I made another edit I'm definitely not good at these but this one lodged itself into my brain and had my executive function in a chokehold until I finished it pls lemme know if ya liked it I make em for me but I like when I spark joy for others too thank yew okie byeeee

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[paramortality]

……

Keep your wrists crossed like that….

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sssssssssssssssome self indulgent shit under the readmore (and above it too who am i kidding)

(a direct response to the screencap that made me insane)

why does he have booty like that NOT COMPLAINING just wondering

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Telling Emmrich he’s cute when he’s geeking out over bones is my favorite dialogue option.

But why shouldn’t I be able to kiss him here?

Hm? Tell me.

Let me French this man in front of the bones.

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Confession: I need to watch Emmrich a blushing, knuckle biting mess while I worship his cock. I wanna keep him on edge until his eloquency flies out the window and he's pawing at the back of my head begging for mercy. He's a good boy and deserves nothing less.

[paramortality]

Part twenty-eight of my appreciation project.

@paramortality A fic based on their wonderful post here and here. Thank you for feeding the fandom!

The chamber was cold, lit only by the muted glow of emerald torches along the walls. Their light wavered across the metal of Laird's tools—and the pale, unmoving skin of two bodies: a man and a woman.

As he worked, the tawny necromancer hummed to himself—a low, threadbare melody that didn't quite settle—a ward against the silence, a shield against the weight pressing down on his chest. His gloves, stiff from recent cleaning, flexed and crackled as he marked where to cut into the man's sternum with unerring precision.

The man had died with an oddly peaceful expression, his brows slightly raised, as if caught in a blissful memory. Across from him, the woman wore a faint, beautiful smile. Laird had seen all manner of faces on the dead, but this—this haunted him.

They were so young—no more than twenty. No signs of struggle, no hint of illness. Just gone.

Asphyxiated.

A cruel, senseless tragedy.

Burdened by sorrow, Laird reached for the man's left hand and gently pried free a gold band—a simple ring, its spotless surface a testament to too few years of wear. Then, just as delicately, he repeated the motion with the woman's hand, her ring nearly identical.

"You poor dears," he murmured, voice cracked as he turned the bands over in his palm. "Your story had barely begun..."

He stepped back and set the rings side by side on a tray—where they glimmered as they touched the steel, as if mourning the loss of their owners.

"I'll see to it you're buried together," he vowed. "As you deserve."

A creak from the doorway startled him.

"Darling?" came a familiar voice. "What are you doing?"

Laird spun to find Emmrich standing just inside the threshold, fingers steepled, not a strand of silver hair out of place. His tone held no urgency—only concern.

"Ah. Hello." Laird cleared his throat, smoothing the grief from his voice. "I didn't expect to see you down here. How did your meeting with the lich lords go?"

"Perfectly well," Emmrich shrugged, brushing the question aside. "Are you performing a mummification? I was under the impression you were still barred from active Mourn Watch duties."

"Technically," Laird chuckled. "But Myrna pulled a few strings—convinced the council that if I want to prove I still value Nevarran traditions, I should start by returning to them."

Emmrich stepped inside, his eyes studying the shorter man's face. "And how are you feeling?" he ventured. "You seem... troubled."

Laird's breath hitched. It always took so little from Emmrich—a word, a glance, an observation—to leave him reeling. His heart thudded painfully at the worry in the older man's eyes.

"I'm fine," he beamed, forcefully. "It hits a bit harder when it's lovers, is all."

Emmrich looked to the bodies and frowned. "They were married?"

"Newlyweds. The attendants found them embraced in bed, taken by smoke in the night. Apparently their chimney flue had collapsed whilst they slept."

"How dreadful..." Emmrich stepped closer to the tray, gaze landing on the bands. "May I assist you?"

Laird flinched. "Nice of you to offer, but no. I need to do this alone. I'm out of practice, and I want to show the Mourn Watch—and myself—that I'm still capable."

"Of course you are," Emmrich scoffed. "This... 'test' is utterly absurd. You may have been exiled, but your reverence for our culture and practices is unparalleled. Why, I've half a mind to march up to the council and—"

"It doesn't bother me," Laird tittered.

A blatant lie.

Emmrich winced, ready to protest, but something in Laird's expression gave him pause—a smile, fragile yet determined, tacitly begging him not to intervene.

"All right," he said quickly. "But if you change your mind, don't hesitate to send for me. There's no shame in it."

"Thank you, Emmrich. I appreciate it."

He nodded, then regarded the couple once more. "At least they're together. In death, if not in life."

"Yes," Laird replied softly. "At least there's that."

Emmrich gave him one last look—uncertain, compassionate, kind. Then, with great courtesy and respect, he turned and walked off, his boots echoing down the corridor.

Laird watched him leave, already missing the comfort of his presence. Then he returned to the couple, standing solemnly between them, his head bowed.

"Scares me to think about..." he whispered. "But it should be me lying there, not you." His fingers curled into fists, arms trembling enough to rattle his bangles—had he not removed them for the ritual. "You had your whole lives ahead of you. So much to experience."

He sighed, reaching for his scalpel.

"No one would miss me."

-----

The ornate stone door to the morgue dragged shut with a weary groan, and Laird leaned against it, shoulders slumping. Blood stained his gloves, his sleeves, the front of his tunic—soaking into the seams, sticking to his skin, clinging to the bristles of his beard. His head throbbed, his eyes stung, and his chest felt hollowed out. The sight of those two lovers—serene, yet robbed—had worn something thin inside him.

Once he'd found his bearings, he trudged down the corridor, each step heavy, the scent of iron and antiseptic lingering in his wake.

"Darling."

He froze, then turned his head, blinking as Emmrich seemed to appear out of nowhere. He wore a bright, casual smile—but his eyes shimmered with something more: pride, purpose.

"You're still awake?" Laird muttered, the thought tugging at him—had he been waiting?

"You're the one who's exhausted," Emmrich teased.

"True enough," Laird huffed. "I was just heading to the bathhouse."

"Before you do," Emmrich said, patting his arm, "I wondered—would you be willing to come by my apartment?"

Laird furrowed his brows, baffled by the request. "But... Emmrich, I'm a mess. Unless protocol's changed, I'm required to cleanse myself in—"

"Oh, you needn't fret about that. I've made preparations."

Laird tilted his head. "What?"

"Please, darling, it's important." Emmrich gestured with a small wave of his hand, beckoning him. "Trust me."

Too tired to argue, and too curious not to follow, Laird fell into step beside him. He tried to make conversation as they crossed the plaza and rode the lift to Emmrich's flat above the Necropolis gardens, but the older man gave nothing away, as if harbouring a nefarious secret.

Once inside, Laird barely had a chance to bask in his surroundings. He caught only fleeting glimpses—tidy furniture, herbs hanging from a drying rack strung across the ceiling, countless books stacked neatly on tables and chairs—before Emmrich pressed a hand to his back and ushered him towards the bathroom.

As the door swung open, Laird stopped cold.

The bath had been drawn, steam curling from the surface. The scent of lavender, rosemary, and something richer—jasmine, perhaps—rose up to greet him. Candles flickered on the counter, their flames dancing in the haze. The water, foamy and tinged green, rippled invitingly, assuring the height of luxury.

"What's this about?" Laird asked, his voice a breathless squeak of surprise.

He started to turn, but Emmrich was already there—arms wrapping around his waist, pulling them flush together.

"Please," he said quietly. "Let me help you."

Laird gasped—and before he could think, Emmrich's fingers were at the ties of his apron, loosening them with a slow, provocative grace. Laird remained still, heat rushing to his cheeks, his pulse racing with a searing mix of confusion and desire. It was all so sudden, and he could only stare ahead, eyes wide, his face burning.

"Will you let me?" Emmrich asked, sensing the stress beneath his touch. He stopped at the strings, his hand resting over Laird's taunt stomach. "Do you feel safe with me? Will you let me do this for you?"

"Yes..."

Piece by piece, Emmrich undressed him, unhurried, savouring the loss of every layer. Bloodied cloth and rigid leather fell away, forgotten.

When Laird stood bare before him, Emmrich pressed a featherlight kiss to his shoulder, then another just beneath his jaw, his lips trailing heat up the smaller man's neck.

Laird moaned, his knees buckling. "Emmrich..." he choked with a shiver. "What... what's gotten into you?"

But Emmrich said nothing—merely eased the smaller man into the tub, the warmth swallowing him whole. Laird let out a rasp of relief as the water lapped at his scarred, freckled skin, tension unspooling from his limbs. He hadn't realised how much he hurt until it began to fade.

"Relax," Emmrich soothed, his voice hypnotic. "You've earned it."

Though dazed, Laird let his head fall back against the edge, lashes fluttering shut.

"There you go," Emmrich praised, then knelt at his side to wash him.

For once, Laird was speechless. There was only sensation—tender hands gliding over his shoulders, down his arms, wiping away the filth with velvety cloth and fragrant water. It was overwhelming. Intimate. Disarmingly kind. And Maker, it meant everything.

"Those gloves were useless, weren't they? Who gave them to you?"

"An... initiate," Laird mumbled.

"That explains it," Emmrich sneered. "They were probably poorly maintained and riddled with holes."

As if he'd done it a hundred times before, Emmrich took Laird's hands and gently scrubbed the dried blood from beneath his nails, tracing along the lines of his palms, across his knuckles, down to his wrists. Not a single part was overlooked—not even his beard, which Emmrich massaged with scented oil, lathering and combing it with avid devotion.

Then he whispered it: "I would miss you."

Laird's breath caught.

His mouth dropped.

His eyes snapped open.

"You—?" he tried.

But Emmrich leaned in and kissed him—soft, sure, silencing the ache behind his words. Laird melted into it, his arms flying from the water to slip around Emmrich's neck. He wanted to cry, to flee, but he couldn't resist Emmrich's fervour. He kissed back with a hunger he hadn't realised he carried, his breath trembling.

"I didn't... mean for you to hear that," Laird wheezed when they parted. "That's... embarrassing."

"No," Emmrich said firmly. "It's just wrong. I would miss you every day, every second—as would many others."

"Emmrich, I—"

"I love you."

Laird's heart slammed against his ribs, his lip quivering. Emmrich had never said it before. Maker, it terrified him to hear—but it was also the happiest moment of his life.

"You... love me?"

"Of course I do." Emmrich shuffled closer, cupping his face. "Did you think this was all a game to me? Is it a game to you?"

"No!" Laird blurted, panic rising in his voice. "No, of course not! I love you, too, Emmrich! So, so much. I—I just—!"

"I know you don't feel worthy," Emmrich said, caressing his cheek. "But that couldn't be further from the truth. My darling, there's no one more worthy of love than you."

Laird's throat tightened. He could have denied it, joked it away, pushed Emmrich back with self-deprecation and fear. But for once—just this once—he wanted to be cared for.

"I'm sorry," he whimpered, placing his hand over Emmrich's. "I... I won't talk about myself that way anymore."

"I should hope not," Emmrich warned, though it was tempered by more kisses—slow, sensual, and thoroughly distracting. "Or I shall be very cross."

Laird laughed.

And the bathwater, along with Emmrich's ministrations, washed away more than the blood.

[paramortality]

I can't be the only one sitting on this so I'm taking you all down with me

CW blorbo death HC (it's about Laird)

Laird and Emmrich have a long, inseparable 37 years together. Laird, his rusty red mane– now a strawberry silver sunkissed by life and age– can't cope as well as everyone thought he could. Even knowing it was coming for so long, it felt like he hadn't prepared at all when it finally happened. It was peaceful of course; cold in Laird's arms one Wintersend morning.

Lucanis makes the trip from Minrathous with his wife Neve of nearly as many years. Bellara's Aravel is escorted through the Nevarran streets to at Vorgoth's behest as she's an old friend of their son's and ofc a hero of the Veilguard. The blight no longer in the world, Davrin has made it to his greying years with no calling and arrives with the mountain little Assan has become. Laird was there for Shathaan, Harding, and Isabella's funerals, so of course Taash makes a show of force with the Lords of Fortune at their backs to be their for Emmrich's. He was just as gilded as they were, and they found some Nevarran artifacts in some looter's den that needed returning anyways.

The funeral was beautiful, people making pilgrimages thedas-over to pay respect to the now second fallen member of the Veilguard. Laird seemed to be holding it together really well; He'd never tell anyone how bad it hurt. Even if Neve saw through him like a glass house, he'd argue politely he'd be okay. There'd been quiet concerns he'd turn to the lich lords to "fix it" at his lowest moment, but he never visits them. "How many exceptions until tyranny," he reminds himself.

It's not even a full week after the funeral they all receive a letter again. This time in what may be Vorgoth's hand but is too shaky to really be theirs, right? Laird had been found at Emmrich's headstone after being unaccounted for for a couple of days. Shrouds kiss had already started growing unnaturally fast around the headstone and over Laird's shoulders, petals pressed gently against the pages of a memoir of Manfred's development they'd written together in their final years. Manfred was his own man, off in search of a lost hypogeum with his own research team much further down in the Necropolis. He's grief stricken but unsurprised his fathers went one right after the other when a letter finally reaches his expedition camp some days later. His only regret being he missed Emmrich's funeral for simply not knowing. Time loops on that one charnel bridge really delayed the letter's delivery. No one's fault.

All the gang returns, just as they had for Emmrich, but the grief now stacked twice as high. The man who believed in them all, went to hell and back, killed three gods, and was the wind at all their backs as they saved the world together was gone, just like that. If happiness could be a thing in times like this, they hoped the Fade gained two inseparable wisps of curiosity and determination that night. Neve never looked at wisps that pestered her in pairs the same way again.

Taash, trying to keep a stoic face– like the casket before them didn't hold the first person to ever really listen to them, who outed his own gender identity to help them find their own– forces a dry humour smile at the podium and swallows a tightness in their throat. They knew he never wanted his funeral to be doom and gloom.

"Hey. His hands finally stopped rattling. Bet he's happy about that."

It was the only time anyone in the world had ever heard Vorgoth laugh.

If y'all need anything I'll be fighting my brain in the Waffle House parking lot for this.

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More Emmrich being majestic, as always

[paramortality]

LAST LINE TAG!

I was tagged by the amazing @holdingontojupiter . Thank you my love!!

This is from the ever evolving modern uni AU that I have slowly going for Remy & Emmrich! Enjoy a little taste of Emmrich’s reaction to getting dirty pics from Remy!

Emmrich’s mouth went dry at thought of her bared just for him, his cock hardening at the memories of her skin against is. The filthy desires she whispered in his ear as he fucked her into that comforter had haunted his waking hours. The little whimpers she made or the way her back arched under his touch filled his mind and the moan he’d been holding back could no longer be contained.

Tagging with no pressure: @soeasilyswayed @paramortality @redheadsramblings @razildor and you if you wanna share!!

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i am a very firm believer that Emmrich's eyes turn a bit extra fade green in moments of high emotion. he does not believe this happens, no matter who mentions it. "Preposterous, mages eyes cannot just turn color on a whim." johanna almost had him convinced, but was sent away from the necropolis before he fully believed her.

im also rolling with the assumption that this is not common for mages in thedas, but myrna did say our professor is a powerful pyschagogue, so i would think its possible for extremely powerful mages, even if it's rare

notable moments of this include:

when he graduated with his necromancy PhD (or whatever the proper term is) and was still up partying with other watchers at 4 am, absolutely drunk off their heads

very shortly after manfred's body was assembled, and he was getting into absolutely everything emmrich owned for an entire day. emmrich was trying so hard not to be flustered but he keeps putting things back in the wrong place and he has a system and its completely off now, and what was he thinking bringing a wisp into his home like this????

myrna swears she saw it once when she was keeping him company on the anniversary of his parents death. emmrich denies this, although he was very thankful for the company of a good friend on a sad day

rook thinks they saw something green flash near emmrich's eyes when he was showing them the fade in the upper floors of the laboratory. but there were so many green fade bits slying around they cant be 100% sure

the first time he saw rook naked. they asked him about it after (very vaguely) and he said there has been some records of it but hes never seen it personally. rook spends the next 10 minutes trying to convince him, he does not believe them.

when rook tells him they love him

when rook gets trapped in the fade jail, they stay green for longer than they ever have. the entire team notices, but doesnt say anything. he sees them in a mirror, and tears up again thinking he was an idiot for not believing rook or myrna or anyone else about this

when they rescue rook from fade jail

they stay green the entire time during sarcophagus sex. it's the brightest rook has ever seen them

after the gods are defeated, and he collapses into bed with rook after the longest day of his life, and the fighting is finally over, and rook is still here with him. they are green until he falls asleep holding rook

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oops I comm'ed them again 🙈 commissioned art by the amazingly talented @yelenhol !

realized I updated the end-of-series fic with this a while back but didn't share here so... feast your eyes 😭💙🥹

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Halos : "Can I get you something?"

Emmrich : "Oh, I'm... sure it's lovely, but I avoid meat." <ever kind and considerate in his interactions>

Halos : "I got oil that the fish hasn't touched. You want fried bread with herbs?"

Emmrich : <surprised by Halos's consideration and immediate accommodation of his preferences with no judgment> "That sounds marvelous!! Thank you."

I am consistently touched by Emmrich's kindness, acceptance, and empathy in all of his interactions.

[paramortality]

The professor isn't taking any disrespect.

[paramortality]

Name + Vibes

The rules are simple: go to pinterest, search "your OC's name + core", post six picture. Then tag six people.

I got tagged by @avoskorm and @paramortality, ty lovely people!!!!!

This is miss Yumi Sato :3

okieee tagginggggg :333

@amoaliquis @rewind-redux @nerdanel01 @chubritza and anyone else who wants to participate!!!!!!!

[paramortality]

What a Beautiful Dream....

... I think I'll stay awhile

[paramortality]

Name + Vibes

The rules are simple: go to pinterest, search "your OC's name + core", post six picture. Then tag six people.

I got tagged by the ever badass and amazing @avoskorm !!

Laird Core

Oh yeah that checks tf out big time. Half tempted to make this his actual Modern!AU moodboard oh my god.

Tagging with no pressure! 💙 @sofiemystique @yappacadaver @basic-x-witch @junejems @pwney @ollypopwrites (and open tag bc why limit it to six have fun love your blorbos!!