Posts Tagged 'fhawris'

perseajackson:

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

voidtakeyou:

Tank Girl of Kirkwall 

¯_(ツ)_/¯

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.

krocutakaiju:

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

idonotknowwhy:

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. 

teepotjie:

“The Hawke and the Wolf”

valalin:

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?

jawsandbones:

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.


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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