#queenofeire

GODS

I had to dig like five of these out of our yard when we got this place, and am STILL pulling bits of black plastic up NOW, years later. 

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Hell, I’d be super down for a series on African and black-diaspora cuisines BECAUSE I know very little about it. I’d love to watch black chefs talk all about their food cultures.

Blackwall isn’t a dirty old man, he’s FILTHY. I mean, during the bit where he says ‘you have the world at your feet, myself included,’ he friggin approves of the “Good, stay there” line!

He reaches upwards for it, thetips of his gauntlets only just reaching the very bottom of it. Sighing as heraises himself on his toes, tries again. Almost, but not quite. He feels herbehind him, easily reaching up and plucking the apple from the tree. Smiling athim as she brings it down, takes a bite. “Very funny,” Fenris says.

“Hey, it’s not my fault you’reshort,” Hawke says with a smirk, bouncing the apple up in the air, back to herhand, again, and again.

“I am of average height for anelf,” he says, crossing his arms, distinctly unimpressed. “You are simplyabsurdly tall.” Hawke chuckles, takes another bite of the apple.

“And being so tall comes inhandy,” she says.

“Mhmm.” He eyes the rapidlydisappearing apple. Quicker than she can react, Fenris drops down to theground, palms in the grass, swinging his leg around. He catches the back of herankles, rips the ground out from under her. She falls backwards in surprise,the apple slipping from her grasp and right into his.

“Height isn’t everything,” hetells her, victorious, finally able to take a bite. It’s sweetened by Hawke’slaughter, hair disheleved in the grass, elbows in the dirt. Wrapping her legsaround his, pulling him off balance, catching him as he falls. She pins himbeneath her, the apple rolling away.

“Yes,” she says, “but it doeshelp.” Leaning down for the quickest kiss, before springing to her feet.Reaching upwards, one apple and then two. He’s only just barely on his feetwhen she starts tossing them at him, and he struggles to catch them, hold themin his arms. Overflowing soon enough, filling the basket they brought withthem.

“No need to be tall when youhave me,” she says, closing the distance between them, handing him the lastone. He takes it gratefully, smiles up at her.

“You do come in handy,” he saysas she beams, “sometimes.”

(Kisses because everything hurts right now includingbeing loved by you but you’re also the only thing that makes it feel better) And I adore you!

If there is one thing she is, itis warmth. A fire all her own, a heat no other can match. Many times had shestolen into his tent, he into hers. Wrapped in each other, tangled limbs and burninglips, falling asleep with her in his arms. It is rare to wake up alone, to wakeup cold, but the closer they inch towards their goal, the more it seems tohappen. He pushes himself up from the bedroll, tucks a stray lock of hair behindhis ears. At least, tonight, she has not gone far. He finds her stoking thefire with a stick, sitting on a fallen log, elbow on her knee and chin in herhand.

She turns when she hears thetent open, smiles when she sees him. He settles hands on her shoulders, worksfingers against muscle. He knows what nightmares plague her. He knows not toask her to come back to bed. Not yet. Instead he leans over as his hands slipover her arms, his face beside hers, running his tongue along the shell of herear. She chuckles under his attentions, leans away and stands to face him. “Youshould sleep,” she tells him. He wants to tell her not without you, but instead he takes her hand in his.

Pulling her towards him with asmug smile, wrapping an arm around her waist. “What are we doing?” She asks,the amusement just barely quirking at the edge of her lips.

“Dancing,” he says. She rewardshim with a snort of laughter before he begins to sway, as she settles her handon his shoulder. Zevran’s still smiling, studying her face. He knows it evenbetter than his own, each careful curve of vallaslin,the shadows under her eyes, the dimples in her cheeks. Closing his eyes as herests his forehead against hers, as they step against dirt and leaf. Gentlymoving together, her quiet breathing, that heat that seeps from her to him.

He almost feels guilty, stealingher like this. Hoarding her all to himself. Almost. Instead, his nose brushesagainst hers, listening to her soft exhale, the way she eases into him. To him,there are no others like her. There are no others. His hand squeezes aroundhers for a moment. She may think it a simple gesture of care, of affection, butfor him it is a sign of the realization. He feels it in the dread of everyheartbeat, in the slow pounding against rib, the heat that flushes the back ofhis neck and sweeps into his cheeks. In the knot between his brows, thegritting of his teeth, the subtle way he holds her tighter. He loves her.

He’s heard the words before,such hollow and meaningless things, but now he’s the one saying them, repeatingthem, an echo in his skull. Everything stops, slides to a halt, opening hiseyes to see her quizzically looking at him. “Zev? What’s wro-” He stops herwith the hard press of his lips against hers. Resistant, surprised at first,she soon eases into it. That hand on his shoulder sliding into his hair, hermouth opening to his, so warm and wet. The murmurs as they shift, as he holdsher face in his hands. Brushing thumbs over cheekbones, fingers against thepointed tips of her ears, tracing the line of her jaw.