Posts Tagged 'fenhawke'


heres a lineart bribe drawing thats a cheesy, silly, and kinda badly drawn fenhawke for abby lmao


Tank Girl of Kirkwall 


I thought I’d try to take two things I love and smash them together, inspired by this Jamie Hewlett drawing. I think purple Hawke would make the best Tank Girl.


I mostly post to Instagram instead of here, I should post here more!


for lovely @rockboci 😀 her tol Hawke is tired and resting on her smol bf’s shoulder. I bet she is telling him smth quite funny and interesting. 


“The Hawke and the Wolf”


when ur girlfriend can bench press you and you love her

I apologize for spamming you with prompts, but you’re like the best DA author I’ve ever read >w< How about Fenris seeing Hawke on their wedding day?


You’re not spamming me at all! I love receiving prompts! Thank you so much for giving me some! 

You are far too kind ❤ I hope that you like it!

Recommended listening: Aust by Otto A. Totland

Everything they’ve done has
been in secret. Hawke’s armor sits buried in a chest, hidden but not forgotten.
Fenris’s sword and her staff stay by the door, gathering dust. They wear simple
clothes, his with hoods, and do their best to blend in. Hawke’s hair is longer
now, his shorter, but she still laughs, still loves the same.

The burning of Kirkwall is
still fresh in their minds. The threat of an exalted march even more so. They’ve
found an isolated village, far from the noise of the rest of the world. Hawke
uses her knowledge of herbs and healing, while Fenris uses his strength to help
around the village. Their neighbors are quiet, all of them keeping to their own
business. The perfect place to hide.

Some ask if they are married.
They say no. Around the third time this is asked, Fenris resolves to change the
answer. He has the rings made secretly. He sells his breastplate to pay for
them. He asks a sister to perform the ceremony in a quiet space, away from the
village and after dark. He sells his gauntlets to pay for it. He sets a date
and does not tell her, sneaking out to drape the spot he has chosen in flowers
and candles.

On the morning of, he gives her
a time and directions to the place. She’s confused but does not question. He
collects the rings, simple things of metal engraved with the imagery of hawks
and wolves, and hopes that she’ll like it. He spends most of the day pacing in
their fields, thinking and planning for what he’d like to say to her.

When the time comes, he meets
the sister under the willow he has chosen, and lights the candles. As he waits,
he wavers between excitement and feeling like he’s going to be sick. What if
she hates it? What if she doesn’t
want to marry him? All the words he has been practicing suddenly slip away. His
stomach rolls and he turns the rings over and over in his pocket.

It’s the rustling of leaves and
bushes that tells him she is close. He forces himself to stand still and
straightens, pushing away all other thoughts. Her hair is pulled back loosely,
stray wisps of it brushing across her face. Her trousers have a patch on the
knee, her tunic long and stained with poultice and potion. She is perfect. She looks at the scene before
her, confusion plain on her face, but he watches as comprehension slowly begins
to dawn.

Her eyes widen, a trembling
hand clapping over her mouth, the other reaching for him. He takes her hand in
his, holding it tightly, watching her eyes swell with tears. She looks happy,
and his heart leaps at the thought of him being the one to cause her such
happiness. She uncovers her mouth only briefly to say, “You didn’t,” and begins
to shake with watery laughter when he nods.

“I hope you are pleased. I hope
you want – this.” He hopes she wants him.
Her hand moves from her mouth to his cheek, smiling and still trembling,
nodding vigorously.

“Of course you silly, most
ridiculous, most unbelievable man.” It’s her smile, it’s always been her smile,
which does him in. He leans forward catching her lips with his, the both of
them laughing softly together.

The sister makes a polite
cough. “Shall we begin?” He draws the rings from his pocket and she’s crying
all over again, her fingers tracing them in his palm. He barely hears the words
the sister is saying. He focuses on her hand in his, slipping the ring on her
finger, the breathless laughter on her lips, the way her eyes crinkle when she
smiles, and the way she feels in his arms.

Fic Starter Friday


☆ Cut:
Many of us have one FenHawke scene we’d like to change. Maybe just a few details. Maybe the whole thing. Or, maybe, there’s a scene missing that would totally happen in your version of the pairing. Show how it was meant to happen in your FenHawke.

☆ Fast forward:
What does the very end of your FenHawke look like? Do they grow old or die before their time? Who goes first? (Rated: A for angst)

☆ Action!:
Fenris and Hawke have faced so many foes together. Take your favorite battle your FenHawke has had (canon or headcanon) and write out the epic battle scene for us.

☆ Parody:
Alright, if you write AUs or feel the urge to really have some fun and try something new, it’s time to write a parody. Rewrite some FenHawke scenes as goofy reimaginings. Tie in other games, or tie in movies, or make your own funny rewrites. Don’t forget to link it to us, or use the overall Fic Starter Friday tag so we can read it.

Sea Foam


for @loquaciousquark, who sent me a prompt a while ago for Fenris/Hawke and a kiss on the hand

There are times he thinks of the sea.

Endless waves invade Danarius’ mansion, throwing themselves against the unyielding walls.

Ostentatious furniture becomes driftwood. Residue of spilled blood and magic scrubbed away. Freezing water curls around his legs, trying to pull him under. He stands as immovable as a mountain, chained to the ground. Sea foam caresses his neck, his lips. Salt fills his senses.

The tide is relentless, inevitable. He stands naked and watches the ocean corrode the lyrium on his body.

He’s left smooth and cold as stone in an empty mansion as the water retreats.

He is free.

He hopes and he fears the water will return until the pieces of everything he is break apart and dissolve into sand.

The sun has just disappeared, though it is a reluctant parting and the dying light casts everything in a rusty gleam. The heat stays, lingering in the air, clinging to the stones underneath his feet. He feels it, even in Hightown where it’s always colder.

He lingers, too.

A drop of sweat runs down Hawke’s face and his eyes follow its path along her cheek, her neck, until it disappears beyond her shirt. He wants to lean in and breathe out against the wet line to raise goosebumps on her skin, reenacting something that might have happened once. A memory, a dream. He doesn’t know. He never knows.

His fingers hurt these days, bursting at the seams with longing.

“Fenris.” The skin around her eyes crinkles as one corner of her mouth curves upwards. “You can come in, if you want.”

He has long accepted that he won’t stop wanting.

Elation and remorse entwine around his chest.

Her finger brushes against the red cloth around his wrist.

He wants…

His hand closes around hers and he lifts it to his face. His eyes on hers as he presses his lips to the inside of her hand. The taste of sea foam.

“Good night, Hawke.”

She lets out a shivering breath as he lets go of her hand and then laughs as she disappears inside her home.

Chapter 13


Finding my Way Back to You

Wherein Fenris and Hawke are forced to realize they need to talk

Blogger Gatherings!

Click the button for reports from the 2010 Spring Blogger Gathering, hosted by Linett of Nimrodel!

Berethron of Brandywine hosted the 2010 Summer Blogmoot.

The Winter Blogmoot was held on December 4, 9 p.m. EST at the home of Telwen of Silverlode.

Next up: The Spring Blogmoot of 2011 shall return to Nimrodel with Tuiliel (Whart, aka user-1027520) hosting! Linett is looking forward to another local moot!



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