Posts Tagged 'so sweet!'


Commission of Cicero and his daughter Tullia for penfairy! Finished this one today finally.

I very much underestimated drawing a toga and thought I could bullshit the folds with lineless art but man was I wrong hahaaa… Powered through it anyway.

DAI Drabble: Lines


Because there is never a bad time for Cullen fluff, is there?

The first time she notices, they’re gone again before she is even sure she saw anything.

The second time, she looks more closely until Cullen asks if there is something offensive on his face. She tells him, because why wouldn’t she? At first he is abashed–he does not mind getting on in years, but worries that the changes might bother her. Of course they don’t, she reassures him, it is his face and she loves it the way it is. In any case, it was probably just a trick of the light.

But it wasn’t, and she knows what she has seen: two faint lines coming from the corner of each eye that weren’t there before. Over the next few days, she pays better attention–more subtly, too–until she realises: they are the lines that form only in those private moments when Cullen smiles at her.

She does not mention them again, keeps them as her sweet little secret. But as the weeks and months go by, she watches them grow deeper ever so slightly, and she nourishes them with her smiles and laughter and kisses whenever she can.

It may not be an accomplishment that Varric would think to write about. But in all the uncertainty and upheaval and struggle to make the right decisions, the knowledge that she is slowly carving lines of happiness into her lover’s face sometimes feels like the most precious triumph of all.


♥: Reacting to the other one crying about something

I am the worst with keeping up with the prompts. Sorry!

Anyway nonny, you didn’t give me a ship so I’ve chosen Fenris and Rosie. Let’s say my Hawke didn’t take the event at the end of da2 lightly. But at least she’s not alone.


For the final day of Fenhawke Week and the theme of Hope, have a snippet from the post-Inquisition Kirkwall gang reunion fic that I will hopefully someday actually get around to writing. 🙂

Anders smiled at her, chuckling slightly.

“Are you daft? I just told you I’ve been throwing up every day for a week. Stop laughing and either do something about this damned stomach bug, or get out of my face!”

Anders just kept smiling softly at her, and she scowled right back.

“Hawke, you’re pregnant.”

She blinked once, her mind going blank and then kicking into overdrive in the span of one second.

“I’m… what?”

Anders chuckled again, but she found this time she felt less like strangling him.

“You heard me. I suppose congratulations are in order,” he said, still smiling warmly at her. “You’ll be a great mother.”

“Do you even know me?” she asked, incredulous, but couldn’t help the matching smile that crept across her face. Anders laughed again.

“I mean it, Hawke. I’m happy for you both,” he murmured, sounding utterly sincere. Hawke tilted her head to the side, studying her friend’s face.

“You know, you really are much nicer without Justice,” she said. He laughed, and it was a warm, rich sound, carefree and light. She could see it in his face, too; the heavy lines of his brow had softened, the corners of his mouth quirking up instead of down. He looked so young, she thought.

“So I’ve been told, Hawke. So I’ve been told,” he said, still chuckling slightly.

Hawke stared out the window of her bedroom, waiting for Fenris to get home. She had made herself stop pacing a while ago, not wanting to freak him out when he got back. Would he freak out? It occurred to her she had no idea how he would react.

There was an awful fluttering in her gut, nerves and excitement all mixed up at once.

The soft sound of bare feet against the tiled floor alerted her to Fenris’s presence just before the bedroom door opened and he walked in. She turned towards him, smiling in what she hoped was a normal manner.

“Hi,” she said, voice going just a little too high for normal. She chuckled nervously.

“Is everything alright?” he asked, quickly closing the distance between them, reaching a hand up to brush across her cheek and into her hair.

“Yes, everything’s fine. It’s… um. Oh, Maker,” she muttered, “This went so much better in my head.”

“Hawke- Marian, calm down. You can tell me anything,” he said. His thumb rubbed soothing circles into her temple. She looked into his eyes, heart beating erratically like she was standing atop a cliff. Well, nothing for it but to jump.

“I’m pregnant, Fenris.”

His hand stilled in her hair, his face going slightly slack. Oh, Maker. What if he wasn’t happy? They’d only ever mentioned children in vague hypotheticals, to wary of the dangerous lives they’d led to entertain the notion seriously. What if he didn’t even want children? The floor was suddenly falling out from under her feet, so overcome was she by the uncertainty.  

She took a deep breath. She ought to give him a moment to process the information before she started jumping to conclusions. Maker knew she was still processing.

“You… you are certain?” he asked, bringing both hands to cup her face.

He was still gaping at her open-mouthed, shock plain on his face. No- not shock, she realized. It was awe. As she watched, one corner of his mouth twitched upwards in the beginnings of a disbelieving smile. She let out a shaky breath and her feet hit solid ground again.

“A child,” he whispered. “We’re going to have a child.”

“Yes, Fenris,” she said, smiling at him teary-eyed.

He laughed, and it was the most joyous sound she had ever heard. A warm rumble that filled the room, infectious and all-encompassing until she was laughing too, unable to contain the emotions welling up in her chest.

Fenris pulled her to him, his arms wrapping tight around her, fingers weaving into her hair as he cradled her head with one hand. Without warning he lifted her, spinning her in a circle with another carefree laugh before setting her gently back on her feet and leaning back to hold her face in his hands.

“You’re happy, then?” she said with a wild grin.

“Happy? Hawke, I…” He stared at her, eyes bright with emotion. “I had never dreamed…. I am to be a father,” he murmured, wide-eyed, mouth turned up in a smile even though he still hadn’t quite managed to close it. She blinked back the tears that were pooling in earnest in the corners of her eyes.

“Start dreaming,” she said. “If it’s within my power to give, it’s yours.”

Fenris laughed, a soft chuckle that spoke of joy but also of contentment that ran deeper than this moment alone.

“Hawke, you have already given me the world.”

He pulled her into another kiss then, clumsy for the grins they couldn’t keep off their faces, and when their tear-damp cheeks slid together she couldn’t even say who was crying.

This Trust in Touch


FenHawke SFW for @malsweeklychallenge 5 Flash Fiction- A hold like iron

He is so gentle at first and then even after more often than not, but there is nothing quite like those first tentative touches. He pauses, unsure, and she finds they both stand there holding their breath waiting for the other to bolt away. She craves his touch but doesn’t want him to give more than he can offer, he afraid that it will hurt. Not her but himself, she thinks, and not because of the marks on his skin but more how they got there. All the people that reached out to touch him and did not understand he was something that felt.

Even so she can’t help but lean into his hand, just a little. 

It causes a smile to tug up the corner of his lips. She hangs onto it, now breathless with how beautiful he is with hair that reminds her of Lothering’s first snowfall and yet it is the wonderful want in his dream colored eyes that keeps her caught. He wants to hold her after wrapping himself in metal to ward away the world and it is something to be cherished, this trust in touch.

She does want more. She wants crushing kisses, the sliver of moons left lingering even as the night ends. She wants the passion in her mother’s novels that leaves aches to be remembered, but she doesn’t need it. She doesn’t need it because there’s a fire in his eyes that promises to burn longer and brighter, a torch that will never fade, and in this dark world all she really needs is more light. 

In the end, it doesn’t matter if they do not walk hand in hand through the markets or fall upon each other like so many enraptured lovers in letters. In the end, this is enough to carry her through the darkest places. More than enough. For she knows that even when he doesn’t touch her he will always have a hold like iron on her heart. 

How about Sweet Pea for either Shakarian or Fenris/Hawke? :D


Delicate Pleasures

“There you go!”

Fenris eyed the mug Hawke sat down in front of him with suspicion. A not-quite appealing dark yellow colour and a smell that could be enticing if it weren’t for the strong fumes of alcohol burning his nose.

“What’s this?”

Hawke sat down next to him on the bench, a mug with the same beverage before her, her cheeks flushed and her eyes glittering like the stars in the… Fuck, I only inhaled this brew once and my thoughts are already three sheets to the wind.

“Hot apple cider!” She leaned forward, inhaled with closed eyes and then inevitably started coughing as she breathed in the intoxicating steam. “With just a tiny splash of rum. Barely there.”

“And why are we drinking this?”

“It’s winter and in Ferelden, if it’s winter, you drink hot apple cider.” Her eyes narrowed for the shortest moment and Fenris would have missed it if he wasn’t watching her so intently. But it was hard not to look at Hawke. It’s why he showed up so early to their Wicked Grace nights in the Hanged Man. Because she was there. They’d never outright agreed to meet early, but somehow it happened. Every week. It gave them the opportunity to just be next to each other without their friends’ questioning looks or lewd comments in Isabela’s case. And it wasn’t the charged atmosphere of their reading lessons, where every deviation from the actual lesson usually led to one of them stammering a far-fetched excuse and leaving in a flustered rush. But this, this was comfortable. And not too long ago he’d feared they could never go back to ‘comfortable’.

He suddenly realised that he’d just been staring at Hawke like a fool and quickly raised his mug in a toast.

“To Ferelden then.”

“And to apples.” Hawke grinned at his confused face. “You said you like apples.”

Warmth spread out through his body and he quickly hid his touched smile behind his mug.

“To apples.”

Playing in the Rain (DA ficlet, Fenris/Hawke + kidlets)


from a suggestion by @theherocomplex


There were times when Hawke missed Fereldan’s weather. It never seemed like a proper winter to her without snow thick on the ground and frost patches on the windows, the way she remembered Lothering; bundling up in wools and furs, flinging snowballs at each other, drinking hot mulled cider and wine beside the fire. In the Free Marches, winters were milder. Kirkwall was often wet in the winter, but seldom cold enough for a real snow. What snow it got turned quickly to grimy slush, turning the streets and steps slick and sloppy. And this year, it was unseasonably warm, warm enough that Hawke had opened the shutters to air out the house, even if it was damp outside.

The rain had passed, though the sky was still cloudy, leaving the landscape the grey and brown of dead leaves and cobblestones. The rain left a wet sheen on the streets and stone walls, glimmering when the occasional ray of sunshine passed through the cloud layer.

In the greyness of the day, the brightest thing Hawke could see were her children in their blue jackets and yellow caps, and Fenris’s white head, bending over them as they played.

Fenris was always graceful, even leaning down to hold Devin’s hands while he danced in a puddle or squatting to see what Eiriel held in her cupped hands. Whether on the battlefield or chasing toddlers, he moved with a bone-deep smoothness and efficiency. He had, doubtless, learned that efficiency at great cost, but Hawke did not care to think of that now. They had both learned that what they had now — their children, together with a little hard-won tranquility and privacy — was worth the effort it had taken.

Hawke could not see much of Fenris’s face from where she stood at the window, only the edge of his cheek or jaw, though she could hear the deep cadence of his voice mixed with the children’s piping tones. She had to imagine his expression — probably a fond, spare smile, lending the smallest bit of softness to the sharp bones of his face and warming his eyes. He could be the stern father when he had to be, but he softened and gentled around the children more than she had ever seen in the first years of their friendship. With them, he seemed endlessly patient, whether he was reading them the same stories for the twentieth time, or playing in the rain.

The children, now, they were almost indistinguishable with their mops of untidy dark hair protruding beneath their bright caps. The twins were of a size, and liked dressing alike these days. But Devin got hot faster, and had consequently (and predictably) turned down his collar and undone his jacket rather quickly, while Eiriel kept hers done up, and so it was easier for Hawke to tell which was which. Both of them were bare-handed and bare-footed, jumping in puddles and splashing each other. They were all three going be soaked when they came in, Hawke could tell.

Hawke’s own mother would have been appalled. She could almost hear Leandra’s voice, scolding that the children were going to catch their death of cold, demanding to know why she was letting them out without bundling them up in boots and mitts. Hawke had learned to pick her battles. It was not worth the effort of arguing with the children about putting their mittens on when they were only going to take them off later. Better to make sure there was a warm fire when they came in, and clean dry towels and clothing, and hot cider to drink.

Outside, Fenris scooped up one child in each arm and propped Eiriel on his shoulder, and Hawke knew that for her cue. A brief burst of magic stoked the fire and heated the pot of cider to a pleasant warmth, and she went to fetch clean linens from the cupboard before the door opened and her family came in.

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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