#brushfireartshenanigans

.... just a heads up.

I will be making an official post by the end of this week. Which will be one of the last posts on this blog.

So if you're still interested in following me please follow:

http://lunardaisyart.tumblr.com/

So once upon a time Autumnyte posted this

And I couldn't help myself in drawing him as a custom Hawke... I mean really.... Asian features Hawke..... oh my gosh.

brushfireartshenanigans and missmeggo929 requested #15, a kiss in the rain/snow with Anabel Hawke and Sebastian Vael.  Also on AO3

  It’s almost the solstice, almost a month after her fight with the Arishok.  Though she still gets absurdly tired from even the smallest things, she whined and pleaded and complained enough that Anders and Sebastian have agreed to let her come downstairs during the day now. 

She still lies around like some sort of feeble maiden, which she supposes is what she is these days, but at least the view is different for a few hours. 

She’s getting so tired of this whole invalid thing.

She’s been resting all day (all week, all month), been following all their rules, and Maker, who would have thought that Anders and Sebastian would be working together so efficiently to keep her from doing absolutely anything, but they have been. It wasn’t so bad when she didn’t have the energy to do anything more than lie there reading a page or two of a book before falling asleep, but in the last few days that’s changed and now she’s restless and bored and more than anything else, tired of being inside.

She’s going to change that tonight.

Anders, who was supposed to be on babysitting duty tonight, was called back to the clinic on an emergency. 

Sebastian’s assisting with the preparations for the Solstice Service at the Chantry and won’t be back until morning. 

Boy is asleep on the hearth.  Bodahn and Orana are busy putting the candles on the Solstice tree in the main room, and Sandal is watching excitedly.  They’re completely absorbed by the task, facing away from the library and the door to the kitchen.

She swiftly returns to the couch where she’s been sitting all day and retrieves the cloak she hid under the cushions earlier.

She’s going outside.  She hasn’t been outside in a month.   

They can’t get too furious with her, she reasons.  She’s not going to leave the house.  Not technically.  Just go into the garden to see the snow she’s only peered at through the window upstairs.

She sneaks out of the library and into the kitchen hallway without anyone noticing and goes quickly through the garden door. 

And Maker, it’s cold out.  For a moment it takes her breath away, makes her shiver in the dress she’s wearing.  In her convalescence she’s discovered just how comfortable dresses are when all you do is lie about.  They’re useless for the things she usually does, of course. She’d slipped her boots on just after Anders had left, when this idea first occurred to her, and she’s glad she did because the undisturbed snow in the garden comes up to mid-calf.   

In spite of the cold, it feels glorious to be out in the fresh air. It’s snowing again, or still, big fat flakes of snow that clump together and then fall lazily to the ground.  Everything is covered in snow; the trees and shrubs, the chairs and table on the patio, the fountain. It’s strangely light in the garden as if moonlight is shining down, but she knows it’s just the whiteness of the snow that makes it look like that.

It looks magical.  Unreal.  Just beautiful. Crisp and clean and absolutely perfect.  She wonders if the rest of Kirkwall is as transformed.  She bends down and picks up a handful of snow, irritated with herself for not remembering gloves. Even the snow is perfect, not to dry, not too wet. Perfect for snowballs, and snow forts and snowmen. 

She hasn’t made a snowman in years, not since they left Fereldan. 

She could make a small one there on the table. Surely she could get that done before someone notices she’s gone missing. 

The table’s piled high with snow and she quickly packs it into a large ball.  She scoops up another few handfuls from the chair, packing it together until a second, smaller sphere is on top of the first.  She has to pause to try and warm her hands, and she’s just forming a third snowball for the head, when she hears it.

Boy barking. Orana frantically calling out “Mistress?”  And then the garden door opens and Sebastian calls out. “Anabel?”

Oh crap.  Instinctively, she ducks down behind the table, and almost immediately wonders why.  Her footprints form a path right to where she’s squatting in the snow (a really bad idea in a dress, she discovers), and it’s not as if Sebastian is going to give up looking for her, not until he finds her.

“You do know I can see you, right?”  He says, somehow managing to sound both angry and amused.

Deciding she’s damned no matter what she does, she straightens up and throws the snowball in her hand, with deadly accuracy. It hits Sebastian right in the face.

She’s never seen him look so startled, so stunned, so utterly taken aback, not in the three years she’s known him.  She can’t help it.  She starts to laugh.

Sebastian wipes the snow from his face and stares at her, and she realizes that probably no one has ever done that to him.  That probably no one would ever dare to hurl a handful of snow in the face of the Prince of Starkhaven, or at proper Brother Sebastian, and that just makes her laugh more, so much so that she falls over and sits there in the snow giggling like the madwoman he undoubtedly thinks she is.

He walks over and pulls her to her feet, shaking his head when he notices she’s not even wearing gloves.  “There are times Anabel Hawke, that I quite doubt your sanity.”  But he’s smiling at her.  It’s wonderful to hear her laugh like that again. “Come, let’s get you inside. You should be resting.”

“Oh no, not yet please. I feel fine.  I’m not even tired.”  She reaches up and brushes the snow from his hair.  “I’m sorry, truly I am.  You were too tempting a target to resist.” 

She’s smiling up at him, her dimple dancing at the corner of her mouth, her cheeks pink with cold, her eyes sparkling even in the dim light of the garden.  She doesn't have the hood of her cloak up, and her hair is covered in snowflakes.  She looks happier, more like herself than she has in weeks.  

He bends down and places a gentle kiss on her forehead.

A kiss on the forehead.  A kiss on the cheek.  A kiss on the top of the head.  Ever since she was injured, and then ill, that’s been the extent of things between them.  He treats her as if she’s made of delicate crystal, too delicate to be touched almost. 

It’s infuriating.  She could almost believe she’d imagined those other kisses. 

Before he can straighten up she’s wound her fingers in the fur collar of his hood and pulled his head down again.  She goes up on her toes and brushes her lips against his.  He goes still.

He shouldn’t. She’s still not well.  She’s still so frail. But he doesn’t pull away; in fact he takes a step closer, letting himself inhale that sweet fragrance that’s so uniquely Anabel.

Encouraged, she catches his lower lip between hers and runs her tongue against it.  He still doesn’t respond.

She pulls her head back to look at him.  The snow is coming down more heavily now and it lands on her eyelashes and she has to blink it away before she can get a good look at him.

She doesn’t see what she feared she might; he’s not indifferent, quite the contrary.  There’s a look of longing in his eyes that sends a thrill through her, right down to her toes.  Her lips curve into a small smile.  “I won’t break, you know.”  She teases reaching up and stroking his face.

“You’re still not well.”  His protest sounds half-hearted even to him.

“I’m well enough for a kiss, surely.”  She sees his eyes flicker to her mouth and then back up to her eyes, and there’s a heat in them now that she hasn’t seen in weeks.  Encouraged, she goes up on her toes again, and he leans forward until their lips are almost touching.  “Just a little one.” She whispers so close that he can feel her breath soft against his mouth.

The trouble is he doesn’t think he can stop at just a little kiss.  He closes the distance between them and at the first taste of her lips, he’s knows that’s a lie.  It’s not that he can’t stop.

He doesn’t want to stop.  And when she’s responding this eagerly, pressing herself against him, opening herself to him, nipping and biting and tasting, and when he’s meeting each caress of lips and tongue with his own, he can’t think of a good reason to stop.

Not until she suddenly pulls away and sneezes violently.  She laughs and reaches up for him again and sneezes again. 

Reality rushes back.  Her hair is almost white with the snow that’s fallen, and he’s certain his is as well.  But he has gloves and a fur lined coat. 

She’s in just a simple dress with a cloak not nearly warm enough for the weather, with no hood, or gloves.

“Inside.”  He orders. “Now.” 

She lets him guide her inside, a pleased smile on her face. 

He still wants her. Still finds her desirable.

AU merrill who works at a bookstore........... 

Please don't hate me Zevran lovers.......

<3!

My middle name is Jean, which is also my mother’s middle name and my grandmother’s first name. 

I’ll be spending this year’s Thanksgiving in NYC with my family. We’re staying at my sister’s apartment and going to see the Macy’s parade as well as Chicago on Broadway the day after. :3

My favorite animal is an elephant, though I can’t decide if I like Asian or African ones more.

I should be getting my braces off sometime at the beginning of next month! *fingers crossed*