naynernayner

[naynernayner]

Confession: Davrin's bed looks SO cozy I'd be there all day every day and let him do whatever he wants with me

[naynernayner]

youre not “bad at art” you just need to find a character to latch onto to where you draw them 1 million times and you improve dramatically

[naynernayner]

me at work

[naynernayner]

[naynernayner]

i couldn't get this out of my head ;A;

[naynernayner]

Sword Fights and Skeletons

Rook (Birdie) x Emmrich

There isn’t much Birdie can get up to that Emmrich doesn’t know about. The Mourn Watcher is normally glued to his side, and Emmrich is often told in maybe too much detail about the things she gets up to when he’s not there to witness it himself.

But today, he hasn’t even had a glimpse of his dearest since breakfast. This is one of the first red flags, because where Birdie goes, trouble follows. No, she is the trouble.

He’s been reading in the mediation chamber, as Birdie had coyly suggested he find a new place to study, as she didn’t want him to get bored of his room. Her suggestion had come off more like an order, and despite himself, he listened.

But while sitting in the room, relaxing against the arm of the chaise where Birdie had too many pillows piled atop, he noticed something odd.

Her shelf, with her swords, was empty. Birdie was always one for melee weapons, and he knew she cherished them. It simply wasn’t possible for someone to have stolen them. Maybe she was getting them cleaned?

Emmrich shook his head. What Birdie did with her weaponry was her business. And just as he was about to direct his attention back to his novel, he could hear the faint thud of something clattering to the floor. Birdie’s rooms were flanked by the infirmary, and his own. And he knew damn well nobody was in the infirmary.

“Oh Maker, whatever is she getting up to?” Emmrich murmured. He debated getting up, but a shrill laugh is what really pushed him to rise to his feet. He strode out of the chambers, turning a sharp left into the hall for his room. And he simply wasn’t prepared for the sight he saw when he pushed the door open.

Manfred was stood on the autopsy table, wielding a blade. A sword, Birdie’s. And what was his sweet Birdie doing?

Balancing precariously on the railing of the stairs, Birdie held her own sword, wearing the most ridiculous helmet he had ever seen, feathers sprouting from the top of it as if she were a cockatoo.

“Beware! All ye who- Emmrich!” Birdie wobbled, and Manfred leapt off the table, tossing the sword aside as Birdie fell off the railing, landing awkwardly on the stairs and thumping her helmet into the stairs.

Birdie’s scream is muffled by her helmet, and she lays dazed on the floor as Manfred hisses, trying to hide the scene behind his back.

“What are you doing?” Emmrich gasps, appalled at the behavior of his ward and partner. Swordfighting like a bunch of barbarians. The nerve! In his room!

“Emmrich, my love, my cutie pie, my little gooseberry, my uh, uh.. my little necromancer! We were- just reviewing history! Lords of Fortune!” Birdie lies, pulling her helmet off, her long hair falling out of it in waves, somehow still perfectly brushed. Her cheeks are flush from the embarrassment of being caught, and she can see clearly that he is not amused.

“Oh really? Because I do not see a single book open! Giving him a sword, really? You couldn’t do this with Davrin, or Lucanis?” Emmrich demands, extending his hand to Manfred to take the sword back. His ward reluctantly hands it over with a saddened hiss, and Emmrich looks on disapprovingly.

“Lucanis and Davrin are too good. And they hit too hard.” Birdie grumbles, sitting up from her tumble off the stairs.

“Plus, he’s got to learn to defend himself!” Birdie insists, pushing herself to her feet, rubbing her sore back from where she collided with the stairs.

“We won’t always be around to keep him out of trouble. What if he wanders off in the gardens and has to fight off a rage demon?” Birdie demands.

“With a sword?” Emmrich counters. Birdie nods, as if it’s the most obvious thing ever.

“I’m a mage, and I use a dagger. It’s not a crime to be well versed in combat.” She adds, picking up her own sword, swatting Emmrich with it. He yelps as the dull end of the blade whacks into his side, and he narrows his eyes, face hardening.

“Rook, Manfred will never be forced into combat, I assure you.” Emmrich says, trying to grab the sword from her, which she dodges.

“You never know!” Birdie insists, swatting at him again. Emmrich sighed, a quick flick of his wrist freezing her in her spot.

“I will not allow that to happen.” Emmrich said, more firm with a hint of finality in his voice. He took the sword from her, and only after did he allow her to move again. Birdie grunted, glaring at him with no real heat before it.

“It simply will not happen.” Emmrich adds one more time, heading up the spiral stairs, leading Birdie and Manfred to stare up after him.

“Wow, your papa really has a stick up his-“ Birdie begins, and Manfred hisses, cutting her off. She shakes her head, turning to pick up the mess they had made during their combat.

[naynernayner]

The Fall of Weisshaupt

Birdie (Rook) struggles to cope with the loss.

No matter what Solas said, Birdie couldn’t shake it. The lingering fear, the doubt. She wasn’t made to be a leader. Chest crushing guilt even after her conversations with Davrin, Lucanis and Neve.

Her apologies didn’t make it better. She had failed the Wardens, her team. They had expectations and they had failed. Lucanis hadn’t delivered the final blow? She didn’t give him a good enough opening. Davrin’s death, or lack thereof, had she taken that from him? She had been the one to bring down the archdemon in the first place so he could get his clean kill. And Minrathous, and Neve. Birdie cannot look her in the eyes.

Everything was wrong. With ever present guilt gnawing away at her stomach, she could hardly stomach seeing her team again. Maybe she’s avoiding them, can she be blamed?

No amount of peace or meditation will fix this. Birdie sits before the piano in the music room, the setting sunlight washing over her and warming the ever present chill on her skin. Her fingers rest on the keys, yet she doesn’t hit the note. Who sat here before her, fingers dancing over keys? Did they struggle such as she does?

She hits a B, allowing the note to ring out slowly. Her foot presses onto the pedal, and she hits it again, sustaining the note before releasing it and the pedal.

She doesn’t hear the door bang gently against the walls, too busy staring at the keys, lost in her thoughts. She smells him before she sees him, something soft and floral with also hints of earthy undertones that remind her of home.

Home. Nevarra. Birdie can’t even begin to describe the way—

“Rook?” Emmrich’s tone cuts through the haze of self loathing like a hot knife in butter. The fog in her gaze clears and she looks up, watching his expression shift to concern.

“My dear, have you been crying?”

“No- no! Emmrich, I don’t cry.” Birdie scowls, her ears reddening as she turned to glare at him. She’s deflecting and the two of them know it. The real question is if she’s brave enough to admit it. And they know she’s not.

“Rook, do you think I cannot see what’s in front of my eyes?” Emmrich asks, his tone sharpening slightly to hint at his disapproval for her terrible lying.

“I don’t know, Professor, okay? I’m not crying. I have terrible allergies.” Birdie turns away, her hair hiding her red cheeks and wet eyes. Her right eye stings, and she blinks awkwardly to clear the tear to relieve the burn.

“You haven’t so much as sneezed nor sniffled in the time we’ve traveled together, and you’ve barely left my side. What’s changed?” Emmrich asks, taking a seat beside her on the piano’s bench. When Birdie doesn’t turn to face him, he reaches forward, gently nudging her chin up and forcing her gently to face him, his thumb giving her chin the softest of reassuring strokes, the touch fleeting and leaving her aching.

“Must you be so secretive? We are a team, are we not? You have so much on your shoulders. It is okay to confide in us. Even expected, really.” Emmrich chided gently, his heart clenching as Birdie’s face scrunched up to cry. He placed his free hand onto the piano, joining her hands on the keys.

“I can’t do this, Emmrich.” Birdie chokes, gritting her teeth as the overwhelming urge to sob tightens her throat, her eyes reddening. She doesn’t give him the chance to interject before she breaks down, sobbing. Her fingers jam into the keys, playing a discordant note as she allows her head to drop, tears flowing freely.

“I was never supposed to get this far! Varric was! This was his expedition and I was never supposed to get this involved!” Birdie seethed, sobbing into the keys.

Emmrich hesitates, realizing he’s a bit out of his depth. He settles for placing a warm hand on her back and onto her shoulder, pushing her to sit up. He guides his Birdie into a hug, letting her bury into his chest, her warm breath panting against his collared shirt and vest. Her hair gets caught on the golden chain adorning his collar, and his gentle hands begin to untangle it, pulling it back and out of her way, twisting it gently into a small section against her back and out of the way. Her hands are warm from the exposure of the sun, as is the rest of her skin. They rest awkwardly at his back and side, twitching as if she doesn’t know what to do with her hands, as if she’s never had a hug before.

“Oh, Rook,” Emmrich sighs, feeling nothing but sympathy for his young companion with so much burden to carry. How she had even gotten caught up in this mess was beyond him, for just two years ago she had been a mourn watcher.

“I failed them, I failed them all,” Birdie whispered into his vest, trembling with the force of her stifled sobs. Her sobs sound like she’s drowning, struggling to breathe and stay above the churning sea of guilt that she’s currently wading in. She’s clinging to Emmrich like he’s her lifeboat and yet even he cannot save her from herself.

“I sent them all right to their deaths. The First Warden, the-“ Birdie is cut off by her own choked sob, and she can do nothing but struggle to catch her shaky breaths as Emmrich strokes her hair softly. His fingers run through her hair, pulling it gently to the side when his fingers run through it, twisting it gently.

The motion is soothing to Birdie, reminding her of what life could be. In her anguished exhaustion, she goes limp in his arms. He knows she’s still awake by the ragged breathing and the occasional shift for comfort as the position strains her spine. She’s been so stiff lately, it’s hard for him to ignore. Delicate bones and all that.

“You need to relax, my dear Rook,” Emmrich tells her softly. Exhausted, Birdie just nods, not even bothering to fight it as she loses herself in the warm comforts of his scent. She can smell the aftershave clinging to his clothes and the sweet smell of a flower she doesn’t recognize. The smell tingles pleasantly in her nose, and Birdie sighs audibly, earning a soft hum of amusement from the man holding her.

Much to Birdie’s disappointment, Emmrich pushes her up to face him again, gently nudging her chin again, which she protests with a jerk of her head, yet follows anyway.

“You must learn to communicate with us, my darling. We are your team.” Emmrich says, giving her cheek a gentle caress. At Birdie’s nod, he leans in, pressing a warm kiss to her temple. His mustache tickles against her skin, and she smiles despite it.

“Now, on to more pleasant topics. You chose this room for a reason. Why don’t you show off what you know?” Emmrich asks, guiding her attention to the piano. The two sit side by side, hands on keys as Birdie walks him through a scale, her graceful fingers playing a gentle melody in the warm room. She’s not healed, but it’s a start.

[naynernayner]

their canonical relationship does not cause anything other than the desire to make a mediocre category B meme surprisingly enjoyed drawing this  

[naynernayner]

I love these assholes so much.

[naynernayner]

it's giving princess celestia

[naynernayner]

Died twice while drawing I don't think I'm going to draw him *realistically* ever again "D Tamplet by tagasaing on twitter (x) 

[naynernayner]

Well Javier rios Gone out even

[naynernayner]

Retired Phillip Graves who grew up riding horses, taking you back to his home in southern south something and he realizes his pretty darling has never ridden a horse before.

Now this is not acceptable in his eyes, at all. How are you two supposed to raise cattle and sheep? Are you gonna walk? Not on his watch.

So he buys two horses, one for him, and one for you. He’ll be by your side every step of learning, and he found the most docile mare on the market.

He shows you every step of brushing, preparing the saddle, how to get the right notches on the bridle. He made sure this horse was tame so that one day your tots could ride her too. (Don’t ask what tots, you’re fixing to have about four, remember?)

The first time you accidentally nudge too hard and send your horse into a sprint, Phillip has to chase you both down on his own horse and prevent spousal murder. He walked you back on the horse, reminding you to squeeze with your knees and assuring you that you did really good, she probably spooked because of a snake that you both didn’t see. He’s very reassuring the whole time, and for the first few weeks he doesn’t let you go out alone until he can get you comfortable. Then he lets you go on trail rides, and the horse enjoys them so much she chooses the path, and even puts her own face into the bridle every time you go out.

[naynernayner]

[naynernayner]

they’re together idc

[naynernayner]

You guys should be brutally honest about my Javier attempts and like tell me how to get better and like how to fix it and what else to do with him

[naynernayner]

Putting Javier in places he shouldn’t be

I went to monster jam the other day and I was like what if Javier was there