nerdanel01

[nerdanel01]

I haven't drawn such a soft scene in a long time. But the last bit of my conscience tells me I can't hurt this old man!

[nerdanel01]

A gentleman is never without a brush and a razor.

[nerdanel01]

not sure if I am able to do another before the game comes out so I shall leave you with the "aftermath" of my Emmrich train, for now 🤞 see you on the other side, unless I am sneaky and keep procrastinating 🙈

[nerdanel01]

krem possibly the only convincingly competent person in the inquisition

[nerdanel01]

I wonder how he was doing when Rook was imprisoned in fade...

[nerdanel01]

“Tell me something,” Johanna demanded, suddenly, as if the thought had just occurred to her. “Where has Volkarin been hiding you all these years? When he realized he was too weak to protect you from me, how far did he ferret you out of Nevarra?”

What a wildly untrue accusation; though she was winded and trembling from the after-effects of Johanna’s magic, Agnes resented it immediately. She hissed, “He never hid me anywhere.”

Over her shoulder, Johanna gave another contemptuous titter of laughter. “Is that what you think?” she asked, with a snort. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised—you never were the brightest candle at the altar. But you did leave the Grand Necropolis, didn’t you? Left Nevarra behind entirely?”

Agnes’ head swam with memories. Commander Lowe’s funeral. The War of the Banners. “That’s not what happened,” she insisted, less adamantly than she would have liked. “I left because of what had become of the Ossified Bastion… the Van Markhams had threatened—”

“The Van Markhams?” Johanna repeated, with a bark of laughter. “You think he would have let you go, willingly, simply because those self-important, gaudy, short-sighted nobles stomped their feet and made a scene?”

… all those years ago, when Agnes had told Emmrich she was leaving Nevarra, he had refused to go with her, and shattered her heart—and had looked, strangely, almost relieved by the news…

“Stupid man,” Hezenkoss continued, low and contemptuous. “If Volkarin had an ounce of the strength and conviction he pretends to possess—if he really had wanted to catch me—he would have been better to keep you close, and to use you as bait. But this…” Johanna drawled, with satisfaction, “this is almost better than what I had originally planned for you.”

———

excerpted from my emmrook long fic, for love is strong as death, 158k+ word count, rated e for smut

[nerdanel01]

My darling~!

[nerdanel01]

comm for @/honey_lavendxr on twt ✨️

[nerdanel01]

Day 5 battlefeild.

The best way to say - “i’m fine”

[nerdanel01]

Sometimes a good day is just a good cup of tea.

[nerdanel01]

The Necromancer

All of my previous DA art is ancient, so have something fresh. Happy #DragonAgeDay 💚

I love I love I love him The plants are rosemary, asphodel, green carnation, and, obviously, Shroud's Kiss.

[nerdanel01]

[nerdanel01]

Cole: He remembers chasing the wind.

Emmrich: Ah, yes, I imagine a common pastime for a wisp.

Cole: Through the trees, twisting, tall, tangled. Following anything that moved. It was fun.

Emmrich: And now?

Manfred: (Happy hiss!)

Cole: He likes where he is now. He feels safe.

[nerdanel01]

Because I just wanted to write something small whilst I figure out how to torture people with the next chapter of Need vs Want...

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.

His father would say “my boy” – a claim of ownership that had encouraged him to stand taller, shoulders back, and face the world as a son wanting to be worthy of such a title. It carried a weight he had been glad to bear, even when he stood no higher than his fathers belt. It had weighed just as heavy, choked out between wet breaths and the creak of wood when he had refused to leave their side, even as their home crumbled down around them.

Under the care of the Mourn Watch he had grown used to being addressed as the young Master Volkarin, a formality that had felt strange as a child - to be spoken of in such a formal manner by such esteemed individuals when he had done little other than display a talent for speaking with the deceased. Master Volkarin shifted into Watcher Volkarin as he grew older, his talents growing with him - a sign of respect, one befitting his hard work and dedication.

Johanna had called him any number of things, though few of them involved his name. Despite the illusion of friendship they maintained over the years, she was ever sharp and with little to waste in the way of emotion or compassion. Fool, dimwit, coward, just to name a few - they would fall from her tongue like a knife to a chopping block, each as deliberate as they were cruel, in a way only she could. Though there had been a time, a few short months where he had rather foolishly looking back, hoped that he had broken through the walls that she had built around herself only to be met with accusations of neediness and wilful idiocy - he had stopped asking her to use his name then.

Middle age brought with it new responsibilities and his role as an educator - teaching each new wave of watchers had filled him with a sense purpose as he watched them grow, watch them step out and become their best selves. It also meant that he had been gifted a new title - that of Professor. It rang of distinction, of prowess and success, as yet another flood of wide-eyed necromancers entered his lecture hall. They would call it out across the hum of conversation to draw his attention, each syllable clear and precise. Some would mutter it in disdain when he corrected form or posture - a snark filled comment they believed he was blind to as he moved onto the next student. Others would let the word curl around their tongues as they batted eyelashes and puffed up their chests seeking favour and his… personal attention - it would leave a bitter taste in his mouth, the vain attempts at seduction, a mockery to the loneliness that had never quite left despite the years that had passed. Those he would ignore.

The Crow addressed him as Mortalitasi, which whilst technically correct rang hollow - an acknowledgement of his position and work with no reflection of his being. That was more palatable however than being called Death Mage as their new dragon hunter had deemed fit - though even that was better than some of their other less acceptable suggestions.

Now Rook. Rook had called him Professor Volkarin upon their first meeting - gaze perceptive as they took in his worth and assessed his skills all whilst they travelled through the Necropolis. It was said respectfully, without the nervous fluttering of the Veil Jumper who still could not bring herself to use his given name as he had requested, and without a trace of mockery. It took some time, evenings spent walking the Memorial Gardens and sitting together in his rooms, before Rook dropped the honorific and began to call him simply Emmrich.

The sound of his name quickly became one he adored when they spoke it aloud. First said with the grace of a colleague who appreciated his work and advice, then later with a warmth that spoke of potential. That potential grew, met with hands that brushed when they passed each other in the corridors of the Lighthouse and glances that spoke of… more.

Now he wished only to hear it from them. A quiet thanks shared over tea, gentle greetings in the morning and soft goodbyes at night. He longed for it. Ached for it in a way that he had long past given up hope for. To hear his name spoken with need, and want, and should he be foolish enough to imagine, love.

"Emmrich-"

Whispered between hurried kisses and clasped hands in a moment of snatched solitude in the depths of an alley as they scurried across Dock Town.

"Emmrich-"

Called out across the sandy beaches of Rivain as they fought undead pirates and Aantam before seeking out the cool waters to soothe their sun-burnt skin.

"Emmrich-"

A quiet utterance of thanks as he offered a hand from across a ledge, the valleys of the forest below an ever daunting threat to their determined leader.

"Emmrich-"

But this was his favourite sound. His name spilling from their lips as they sank into the sheets of his bed, hidden away from the rest of the world - his name spoken with the need he had dreamed of for so long, repeated again and again between airy sighs as hands slipped beneath clothing and kisses grew deeper. It curled around him, as comforting as his mothers quiet love and as encouraging as his fathers belief - it spoke to him in a way that brought out the tears he no longer tried to hide, each tiny drop a reminder of where he was and who was there with him.

"I love you, Emmrich-"

If he were a weaker man he would brush it away, tuck the desperation beneath his years of wasted titles and draw out other sounds from them - but he wanted nothing more than to keep them there with him, away from everything that threatened their very lives, and have them say it until their voice cracked.

"My Emmrich-"

It truly was his favourite sound.

[nerdanel01]

Dragon Age Kiss Week: Day 5-Battlefield

[nerdanel01]

Finishing up Veilguard today. I am the world’s slowest gamer.

[nerdanel01]

"How I wish we were already safe in home together"

beat the game for the first time, had to draw Minthe (Rook) and Emmrich together <3 truly enjoyed of the whole game, but specially of him and his romance