zecarnevilcat

[zecarnevilcat]

Love the idea of Emmrich standing back and letting Rook defend herself because he knows she can and she deserves to be allowed.

As a general rule, people don't step to Rook too often. She's outspoken, she's got a presence about her that basically screams Play Stupid Games Win Stupid Prizes, but the world is not lacking for morons. She's short, attractive, and has very loud opinions of right and wrong. People do fuck with her, if only because she fucks with them first.

Emmrich tends to stay out of it. She's capable, his wife, and he got out of the habit of throwing punches around the time he traded in a leather jacket for a doctorate.

There is, however, one memorable occasion.

They were in Rivain, and Rook had just trotted into her second trimester of pregnancy. They were on the first of several planned babymoons--the first for the two of them as a couple, the second to include Emmrich's energetic preteen son Manfred and have some time as a family before it grew, and the third for Rook to enjoy some time alone before the Big Day. Rook was glowing, having left morning sickness behind her at some point in the last few weeks. The curve of her stomach was precious and small. Emmrich had lovingly gifted her symbolic golden jewelry, rich with meaning in their shared Nevarran culture, to wear around her waist, which she kept mostly bare in the beaming Rivaini sun.

Afterwards, Emmrich will never be quite sure how the incident started--they were waiting in line for grilled pineapple skewers at a beach side establishment, and the Qunari manning the till was a flustered woman who may have been a recent immigrant, judging by her less than fluent Trade. A man in front of them had grown impatient with the length of the line and the clear language barrier.

"Cut her some slack," Rook said--and Emmrich absolutely loved that she could never make herself overlook injustice, but that didn't mean that he didn't sigh and close his eyes and think Here We Go.

"You got something to say to me?" The man asked, and Emmrich looped a finger into the belt loop of Rook's shorts to preempt any shenanigans. Rook could, at times, be likened to a particularly vicious terrior.

"Yeah, I already said it: lay off."

"Tell your girl to control herself, Gramps."

"Oh," said Emmrich, demurely. "She's more than capable of managing herself." He tugged on Rook's beltloop--a reminder that he did not want to end this vacation with a citation for misconduct.

"He's got nothing to do with this," Rook said, throwing her arm back to push Emmrich behind her. Absurd, because he was a head taller, but he supposed it was the principal of the thing. "You're talking to me. Stop making an ass of yourself and walk away."

"Or what?" The man, also significantly taller than Rook--though not as much as Emmrich, because few people were--stepped into her space and stared down his nose at her. "What are you gonna do, you little ankle-biting knife ear bitch?"

"Walk the fuck away," Rook snarled. "If I weren't pregnant, you'd be on the fucking ground right now for that shit--"

"You think I won't take you down just because you're knocked up?" said the idiot--which he truly was, because he proceeded to make possibly the biggest mistake a person could make in that circumstance.

He put his hand on Emmrich Volkarin's pregnant wife.

He shoved her, with surprising force, back against Emmrich's chest--and Rook yowled like a flung cat, preparing to launch herself, though not before the smallest microexpression crossed her face. Something anxious, as she passed a hand over her stomach and the gold chains, jingling from the violence of the shove, and Emmrich saw red.

"Oh, absolutely not," Emmrich said, very primly, before uppercutting a motherfucker with vicious efficiency.

"Oh shit!" Rook yelled, not without glee, as Emmrich bent down, grabbed the man by the collar, and punched again. "Emmrich! Emm! Alright, that's--babe, stop."

The squabble ended with a pair of security guards from a nearby hotel entering the fray and pulling them away from each other--Beach Asshole had a beautiful fat lip and Emmrich had probably wrenched his shoulder in a way that he would be regretting in the morning, but fuck. Fuck.

He felt twenty years younger.

He and Rook barely made it back to their hotel room before she was on him. Pressing him back against the door, dropping to the floor, yanking his pants down with tugs powerful enough to jostle his entire body.

"That was so fucking hot," she hissed, smearing kisses up his thigh. "Holy shit. That was--Maker. I didn't know you could punch like that."

"A man lives many lives in the time he's given," Emmrich gasped, or something similarly flowery as she curved her tongue around the head of his cock. "Oh, Rook. Are you alright, darling--?"

"Shut up," Rook snapped. "Don't even pretend to be a gentleman right now. I just saw you deck a guy wearing a muscle shirt."

"He deserved it," Emmrich warbled as she reached a hand up, massaged his balls, and then snuck a finger back.

She bobbed her head for a moment, gazing at him filthily from under her lashes. Then she rose all at once, fisted a hand into his collar.

"Fuck me like I deserve it," she said, and led him to the bed.

All in all, a roaringly successful babymoon.

[zecarnevilcat]

That AI art of emmrich smoking a bong makes me so mad for one very specific reason. I have seen SEVERAL requests for art within the DA fandom get fulfilled just by asking. Like people asking “Hey artists of tumblr, can someone render Lucanis in this exact pose?” Or “Hey can someone draw Illario wearing -this-?” And both times several artists step up to the plate and make that art for free, for fun, because that is what community is all about in fandom.

You have a world of artists willing to draw at your disposal (you don’t even have to commission them) and yet STILL you chose to disrespect artists and use a machine that steals art, hours of hard work.

Had you asked “hey can someone draw emmrich with a bong and a skull smoke cloud coming out”, I guarantee you would’ve gotten several works of art in return, from actual artists.

You don’t have to steal from them. You don’t have to use technology that steals from them. You can go straight to them and ask.

[zecarnevilcat]

Not dead

Just very, very tired

[zecarnevilcat]

@kirain Maker's breath, wtf!!!! 😧🤯 DUDE are you for real??? ❤️❤️❤️😭😭 Thank you so FREAKIN' MUCH!!!!!!!!!!! I can't believe you did this just to cheer me up!!! Oh my heart! Thank you x 100000000 times and over, I can't wait to come back!!!

I absolutely should learn to say no. The latest commission I took made me realize there are certain things I enjoy drawing for money waaaaaaaay more than others... :(

I can't wait to go back to the Emmrich fandom. My current contract (not ko-fi) is sucking the life out of me. I can't wait to be done with it.

[zecarnevilcat]

I absolutely should learn to say no. The latest commission I took made me realize there are certain things I enjoy drawing for money waaaaaaaay more than others... :(

I can't wait to go back to the Emmrich fandom. My current contract (not ko-fi) is sucking the life out of me. I can't wait to be done with it.

[zecarnevilcat]

Many thanks to Mephsation for trusting me with this commission of her characters! It was a lot of fun!

[zecarnevilcat]

Thank youuuuuuuuuuu so freakin' much, that's such an awesome gift, I absolutely LOVE every part of IT😍​😭​❤️​

Part ten of my appreciation project.

@zecarnevilcat A fic based on their wonderful art piece here. Thank you for feeding the fandom!

The Fade closed in, a haze of twisting shadows and distant whispers. Varric was gone, and Lenore stood in the gloom, friendless and adrift. The air smelled of old magic, thick and cloying, the only light straight ahead—a soft, flickering glow that pulsed like a dying star.

Through the silence, she heard it.

"Lenore!"

A voice—rough, desperate—cut through the abyss like a blade. Her breath caught.

"Emmrich?"

There, beyond the shifting mists, a figure emerged, silhouetted against the light, reaching for her.

"Here! I'm right here!" The voice came again, urgent, distressed.

Despair curled around her, nipping at her heels like a pack of ravenous wolves. Even after Varric's reassurance, it was inescapable—a curse inherent to that awful place. Panic surged through her every muscle, every nerve as the rift began to close, the edges fraying like torn cloth. If she hesitated now, she would be lost forever.

Arm outstretched, she hurled herself forward.

Closer.

Almost.

Then—fingers locked painfully around her wrist, and the world cracked apart.

With a lurch, she was ripped from the Fade, her body slamming into the earth. The sudden change in pressure made her feel weak, nauseous, but warmth enveloped her—slender hands gripping her tightly.

An anchor in the chaos.

As she gasped, the air heavy but familiar in her lungs, a pair of arms wrapped around her, tormented and shaking.

"Darling..."

Her eyes widened. She could feel a man's breath in her hair, his chest rising and falling with dry, shuddering sobs. He was clinging to her as though she might vanish again, as though sheer will alone could keep her bound to reality.

Though dizzy and disoriented, she managed to lift her head, glancing up at him.

"...Emmrich?"

She barely recognised him—his shirt wrinkled, face dirty, somehow older.

"Are you—?" Her throat clenched. "Are you real?”

He inhaled sharply, and for a moment, he simply stared at her, his expression caught between agony and relief. Then, his grip on her tightened, his lips parting around a trembling breath.

"Yes, darling. It's me."

The emotion in his voice nearly undid her, but before she could say another word, darkness clouded her vision, her mind reeling.

And then—nothing.

-----

Weeks earlier, Emmrich's study lay in ruins. Parchments littered the desk, torn and crumpled in frustration. Broken daggers lined the floor, their runes inert or ineffective. The air reeked of burnt ink and scorched metal—remnants of his failed attempts at replication. No matter the method, no matter how much he tried, no matter how much he begged, the result was the same.

Worthless.

He sat hunched at his desk, head hanging, fingers knotted in his hair. His shoulders throbbed from relentless work, and his breath came slow and shallow, as if even that required too much effort.

"Professor?"

The door creaked open. Bellara shuffled inside, the rich aroma of spiced tea trailing behind her. She entered with a smile, but she barely took two steps before her eyes swept over the shambles of his study, her legs numbing at the sight. She had never seen it, or him, in such disarray. It was unbearably worrisome, but when she spoke, her inflection was sweet, attempting to pull him from his sorrow.

"Where's Manfred?" she asked, his absence palpable.

Eventually, Emmrich whispered, "With Myrna."

Bellara's eyes drifted to Johanna's perch. Empty.

"And Hezenkoss?"

"I couldn't stomach her snide remarks," he rasped, his eyes shut tight. "Vorgoth is watching her for now."

Bellara frowned, hurrying to his side.

"Emmrich, listen." Her tone was soft, careful. "We'll get her back."

She placed the tea by his elbow, but he didn't drink it. He didn't move at all. Not a twitch. Not a breath deeper than the last.

"Emmrich..."

Her hand found his back, rubbing slow circles between his shoulder blades. She could feel the tension beneath his shirt, the grief woven into his stillness.

"Don't give up. If anyone can crack Solas' prison, it's you."

He didn't respond, on the verge of collapse. He needed rest, food, company—he didn't deserve to suffer like this—but she didn't want to push him.

"Let me know if you need anything else, okay? I'll come running," she giggled. "We all will. We're here for you."

She then turned away, respecting his space.

"I told her to do it."

Bellara froze.

"What?"

Emmrich's fingers curled against his scalp, his voice faint. "Lenore... I told her to break the knife's contact with Ghilan'nain."

Bellara blinked, too stunned to speak. Then, the words tumbled from her lips, eager to sever his guilt.

"Emmrich, no. Don't do that to yourself. If the process hadn't been interrupted, that whole region would've been swarmed by spirits and blight. You made the right call."

"It should've been me..."

She stepped closer, her brows drawn. "Emmrich, you can't blame yourself for—"

His head snapped up, the movement sudden, rigid.

"And we argued! I argued. Before the attack. I was so stubborn and cruel, disregarding everything she said. And now—!" His breath hitched, fingers clawing at his silver strands. "I may never get a chance to apologise. How do I—?"

His composure shattered.

"How the fuck do I save her?!"

Bellara winced. She reached out to comfort him, but he barely seemed aware of her presence as he shot to his feet, his chair clattering to the floor. His hands braced against the desk, his eyes scanning the useless notes, the barren runes, the impure lyrium—all pathetic imitations of power he had no hope of rivalling.

Fury erupted.

He snatched a blade from the pile, carving tool in his other hand, and dragged the tip across the lyrium. Magic flared in a reckless surge—an obvious warning—but his grip tightened, his hews frenzied, erratic, desperate to force enchantment where none could take root.

The rune on the handle sparked, then sizzled with an angry hiss.

"Emmrich!" Bellara stumbled back. "Emmrich, don't—!"

The blade split.

A violent explosion of arcane energy burst outward, flinging the desk and all of its contents across the room. The loud crash echoed off the walls, reverberating down the hall, betoning his folly.

As smoke filled the air, Bellara covered her mouth, her heart aching.

"Emmrich?" she coughed.

He stood amidst the wreckage, his head bowed, hands battered. His ears rang from the blast, but the only sound he heard was the one that had lingered for weeks—Lenore's scream.

"F-forgive me..."

His vision blurred, though whether from the smoke or his tears, he couldn't say.

-----

Lenore woke with a start.

Air flooded her lungs as if she'd surfaced from drowning, her chest heaving. The world around her was bleary, bright—but before she could panic, strong arms pulled her against a solid chest, so tight that it hurt.

"You're safe," a voice hushed, quiet and restless. "You're home."

Her eyes fluttered, the weight of exhaustion pressing on her lids, but she forced them open—to see who held her in such a protective embrace.

"Emmrich?" she whispered, his name a soothing caress.

He sat beside her on the bed, his grip fierce, afraid she might slip through his fingers if he so much as flinched. When he drew back, it was only enough to cup her face, his palms unusually coarse, the skin scabby and yellowed.

"It's me," he promised.

The moment their eyes met, his breath seized. Lilac. His favourite colour.

Maker, how he'd missed it.

Seeing her again—uninjured and alive—sent a pang through his heart, his fingers brushing over her cheeks, her neck, her lips. The touch was delicate, reverent, as though he feared she might break if he pressed too hard.

"Emmrich? Are you—?"

She stilled, letting him trace her features as disbelief flickered in his gaze. He looked terrible—his normally neat hair disheveled, dark circles bruising the hollows of his eyes, a wispy scruff marring his jaw. This wasn't the wear of hours, but days—days he hadn't slept, hadn't eaten, hadn't stopped.

"How long?" she choked.

Emmrich paled, wishing he could spare her the truth. "Three and a half weeks."

Her gasp was guttural, the revelation hitting her like a blow. She hadn't known, she couldn't have known, but she swallowed it down. Her time in the Fade had been an endless, confusing blur of despair, the loss of Varric fresh, but seeing Emmrich's anguish made her own pain seem trivial.

"I'm sorry," she muttered.

"What?"

Her brow furrowed, her nails digging into his sleeves. "You must've been so scared. You must've been—" She bit down, ruing all the ways he'd clearly tortured himself. "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"No." He shook his head insistently. "No, no, no, darling. None of this is your fault."

"But—"

He hugged her again, his fingers threading through her long, fragranced hair. "I have you back. That's all that matters."

He kissed her temple, drinking her in. Few escaped the Fade unscathed—mind or body—and he couldn't begin to fathom what horrors she had endured.

"Are you all right, my dear?"

The question struck harder than he intended, splintering her resolve. A shudder racked her very soul, and before she could stop them, the words spilled free.

"I... I saw them," she stuttered, her voice cracking.

"Who?" Emmrich asked.

"Varric, Neve... Harding."

"Oh, Lenore. My darling, it wasn't—"

"I saw all of them. Everything. My regrets. Every life I shouldn't have taken. Every contract that felt wrong. It was all there, Emmrich... taunting me."

Her eyes stung. She tried to hold back, but the memories—the nightmare—haunted her.

"Emmrich," she wept, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Have we helped anyone?" She gestured weakly between them. "Is this even real... or am I still trapped?"

"What?" he wheezed, startled by the suggestion.

"I still feel like I'm falling," she admitted. "Like at any moment this room will crumble, and I'll wake up in some past hell I'd give anything to forget."

"Lenore..."

"I'm sorry. I just can't tell. I can't—"

Before she could spiral further, Emmrich leaned in, pressing his lips into hers.

The kiss was overwhelming, confident, erasing her doubts in an instant. As he held her close, pouring every ounce of certainty into her, his hands slid up her shirt, stroking her back, shredding the hints of despair that dared to dwell in his presence.

He wouldn't allow it.

As he deepened the kiss, his tongue skimmed the outline of her lips before slipping inside, seeking hers with a slow, passionate rhythm.

"Mmph..." Lenore moaned, melting into it.

The heat of his mouth, the command, the way he trembled against her—it was real. He was real.

This was real.

And she let herself enjoy it, as he desired.

When he pulled away, they were both panting, flushed and lustful.

"You didn't give in," he praised, gently grinding his forehead into hers. "That's how I found you. You never stopped fighting." His hands moved to her face, thumbs wiping her tears. "Don't stop now, Lenore. You're strong. You're a good person. And I love you."

"I love you, too," she sniffed.

For a while, they sat in each other's arms, eyes closed, listening, tasting. He kissed her again, ashamed of his slovenly state, but wanting her—needing her—to believe him. She wasn't alone, and she never would be again.

"And I'm the one who should be apologising. Not you."

Lenore tilted her head. "What for?"

"For the argument. I was a fool. I should've—"

She smiled. It was small at first, hesitant. But it grew, beautiful and sure, a spark reigniting behind her tired eyes. She forgave him without a single word, and it nearly broke him.

"Thank you," he whimpered. He cradled her face a moment longer before rising to his feet. "Rest now. You need to recover."

But Lenore shook her head, swinging her legs over the bed. As she struggled to stand, Emmrich rushed to her aid, his hands grasping hers.

"What are you doing?" he asked, concern laced through every syllable.

She met his gaze, her lilac eyes shining with renewed purpose.

"Gather the team," she grinned. "We're going after Elgar'nan."

[zecarnevilcat]

Where do you find these storyboards snippets ???

The original storyboard for Emmrich and Johanna went so hard. I can just SEE this scene play out in my mind: 😭

Emmrich’s battle hardened face as he defeats her.

Cut to her face as she is dying.

Flashback montage of their friendship over the years.

Back to Emmrich’s face and he’s absolutely devastated.

[zecarnevilcat]

So I'm scrolling through posts and my depraved mind reads Testosterone instead of Tearstone, and I'm here giggling stupidly at my phone at 6AM.

[zecarnevilcat]

(The following babbling is my personal interpretation of his Lich armor design)

I think there's no need to overthink the bone structure/design of the ribcage here, because "the cool factor"™ prevails over logic.

Emmrich has become a Lich, and that's quite an achievement by fantasy standards. Very few people know about them and even less know what they're supposed to look like. And my guess is you're supposed to be shitting yourself when you spot one. It must looks like a regal, deadly mage, and I presume that was the main focus of the overall design.

One detail however I think is worth mentioning:

The only part of the armor that is hollowed out, and also the main area of interest : the place where his mortal heart was.

Emmrich's heart. One that was too big for this world. A heart so full, it could love and fear in equal measure. A heart that was Emmrich's greatest quality and weakness.

That heart is gone, now. All that's left is an empty void.

But certainly, his soul remains, doesn't it? Maybe... But according to certain cultures, the heart is also where the soul resides*...

* According to folklore, that's why you have to shove a stake through a vampire's heart, to free the soul from its mortal flesh.

Ok so I turned up the brightness a lot and took a peek

Those ribs on the inside are definitely not bone. Seems to be just armor around the bone—which makes sense. But... Ribs don't sit like that... So now I'm thinking—especially since they are wider now— that during the process they... "bloomed" his ribs out? There are plenty of skeletons and bodies that have been autopsied/processed normally by Mourn Watch standards so... WHY

Like yes, it looks cool and I guess it was done post-mortem otherwise OW... But also...

Is it just to look cool? I mean it's awful armor if you think about it. Gold isn't very great defensively wise.

The "spine" part is sitting in the middle, so it's not replacing his bone or anything that I can see. I rather like that headcanon though.

Also this is a recolor mod—it's not too far off vanilla but obviously need to look again without the mod enabled—But I was going off of texture and shape rather than color anyway.

[zecarnevilcat]

Orlesian fashion Young!Emmrich

Fastest concept sketch I've done in recent years solely fueled by the collective lust creativity of the Emmrichmancers out there.

I think I've set an absolute personal self-record for this one. Reminded me of how much I love fucking around when designing outfits for characters. So many unhinged ideas sparked in my mind when drawing this... I wish I had more time to try some other variations. It's a shame I won't able to touch a sketchbook for the next two weeks, but I'll be with you all in spirits!!!

[zecarnevilcat]

I must tend to this, but I'd be delighted if we found each other later.

[zecarnevilcat]

Happy Valentine! Yes, the gold stays on (mostly). That one gave me hell @_@

[zecarnevilcat]

Prints of Emmrich available (and this time it works XD)

Ok sorry again for the inconvenience everyone, and thank you for your messages! I hope everything is ok this time 😅

[zecarnevilcat]

UPDATE:

Since I just created the shop, I had to had a lot more crap to the store for it to be really considered a "viable" store *sigh*. Also, validation should take a few days before the store becomes public... Sorry for the inconvenience, stay tuned!

Prints of Emmrich available on Redbubble

https://www.redbubble.com/fr/shop/ap/168262973?asc=u

Alright, I've just opened my redbubble store. I think it's the easiest for me and for other Emmrichmancers around here. It's the first time I'm trying to sell prints, so please be kind if you spot anything weird, lol Drop me a message if you have any issues, and thank you again for all your love!!!

[zecarnevilcat]

Prints of Emmrich available on Redbubble

https://www.redbubble.com/fr/shop/ap/168262973?asc=u

Alright, I've just opened my redbubble store. I think it's the easiest for me and for other Emmrichmancers around here. It's the first time I'm trying to sell prints, so please be kind if you spot anything weird, lol Drop me a message if you have any issues, and thank you again for all your love!!!

[zecarnevilcat]

Not a Disney fan, but that's all I can think of reading this XD

Ok but consider this: Fancy Mourn Watch ball/party/masquerade/whatever-the-fuck gathering of the edgelords Nevarran-style.

For some goddamn reason, Emmrich showed up looking like sin in a suit, and now Rook’s hand has transformed into a military-grade dick homing device.

A little dance? Hand. On. Dick. Chatting with colleagues? Oops, tragic accident, hand on dick. A little too much overpriced wine? Oh wow, would you look at that—hand? ON DICK.

It’s not even subtle. It’s a fucking occupation. His pants are being held hostage, and Rook’s hand is actively gerrymandering his self-control into oblivion. The fabric of his trousers is stretched to its absolute breaking point, and Emmrich is one more accidental brush away from having to either fuck her in a broom closet or die trying.

Eventually, Emmrich has to retreat, because whiskey dick can only hold the line for so long before all that hand action turns into a pants-ruining catastrophe and he really, really likes those pants. They’re expensive. They fit just right. They do not deserve to be baptized in a full-force, Rook-induced cum disaster.

The end.

Someone needs to write this because I need it shot directly into my fucking brain but refuse to lift a single finger.