#whiskynorocks

Please send Varric/Hawke.

*snuffles and sneezes*

The Herald's Rest was not the Hanged Man - there were many, many reasons why this was so. Cabot was not Corff (though what he served was just as eye-watering) and the lighting was all wrong; the whole place creaked up and up and up into cold corners full of cobwebs and Cole instead of out and back where dark shadows led to darker deals; the music was slow and baleful, Maryden's voice full of longing for a time before or after this one, and not once had he heard any cheering, any whistling, any feet stomping on boards as some poor sap lost a week's earnings to a card game never meant for him...

And as though she could read his mind, Hawke whispered from the very side of her mouth, "You're sure this is meant to be a tavern, not a mortuary?" surprising a snort out of him that echoed strangely in his tankard. She leaned down further, sliding her weight onto her elbows until her chin nearly touched his shoulder, her eyes alight with the promise of defiance, and further whispered, "A kind word and a silver, messere - that's all you'd need pay me to climb up onto the nearest table and start kicking drinks. Who knows, throw in a sovereign, perhaps I'll even do a little dance...something somber, I think, to match the pace of this miserable dirge, heavy on the arms and light in the hips, perhaps."

Final part of my 6 (and more) fanarts meme! Hope they came out well <3

From top to bottom: Lucky Hawke by @blue-eyes-white-privilege69 Celia Mac Tir-Cousland by @dauntless-necromancer Athel Lavellan by @calicocantaloupe Marian Hawke by @sillyliterature Fenya Hawke by @whiskynorocks

You KNOW I'm gonna ask for something VHawke ;D

How about Hawke looking after a drunk Varric ;)

“C’mere,” he said, and that was that as she was tugged from her spot on the arm of the chair down onto his lap, her initial squawk of surprise melting into laughter, “be my good luck charm for a minute, wouldya?”

Across the table, her cards held taut in the fan of her fingers, Aveline was quick to tut, “Get a room,” only to be (lovingly, of course, so very, very lovingly) put in her place by Isabela’s snide, “Be careful what you wish for—we’re in Varric’s room.”

Had she said her sigh then was anything but contented, Hawke would’ve been a liar; her laughter continued to surprise her, tiny little bubbles that kept pop, pop, popping when she least expected. She set her head on Varric’s shoulder after glancing at his cards, stage-whispering, “If you’re betting on that hand, I’m afraid you might just be a liiittle drunk, darling,” and only fell to snickering again when he snorted in response.

“Hawke, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bring my height into this, thank you.”

For the spooky prompts, what about Hawke read a spooky story and is now too afraid to blow out the candles? (Funny since she's hardcore)

"Don't," was all the warning he got before she'd locked herself around him and willed herself into steely dead weight so he wouldn't be able to roll over...much less snuff out the candle beside the bed.

"The Champion of Kirkwall," Varric tutted, doing his level best to keep the laughter out of his voice right up until she buried her face in the crook of his neck and the battle was lost, "scared of a little bedtime story! For the last time, Hawke, there's no such thing as Orlesians - they're not real, they're just one big conspiracy the Chantry uses to keep you Fereldans - "

"The ghasts, Varric," Hawke interrupted in a deadpan, raising her head only enough that she could glare at him (the daggers of her eyes, however, weren't quiiite as formidable as the ones she'd left on the table), "I take issue with the ghasts."

WHO IS SMOOCHING? I LIKE SMOOCHING!

😏

ohohohohohooooooo~

well, after seeing this post floating around about da kiss week, i figured...it's been a minute since i've written anything da, perhaps i should.........do that ;)c

i have nothing written for it YET, but i'm hoping i'll get off my butt soon and actually get some words down, because the prompts are super fun and i just miss thedas so much 🥺

my GOAL is to write at least a cooooouple things for characters/ships i don't normally write for, so while i WILL UNQUESTIONABLY 100% be writing some vhawke (who woulda guessed???????), i'm aiming to branch out a little. i know for SURE i want to get some blackwall/inquisitor in there, i'm toying with the idea of some isabela stuff......i'm not totally sure yet!!!

But for Six Sentence Saturday, how about eating streetfood at the Lowtown Market :D

It happened around the third stall, maybe the fourth; their partnership was still new enough that he hadn't quiiite been able to tell where her Fereldan sensibilities ended and her sense of humor began, but as her eyes rolled back and her moans of delight became loud enough to attract the startled gaze of passersby, he figured he had his answer.

This was a bit, all right, and Maker help him...Varric was quickly finding he was not immune to it.

"Oh, you have got to try this," Hawke said, and without waiting, shoved the fried mess under his nose, cupping her other hand under it to collect its oily drippings.

He tried not to laugh - really, he did - and failed miserably, a pattern that was already becoming all-too-familiar with this one. "Hawke, for the last time...I've lived in Kirkwall my whole life, I know for a fact that slop is maybe, maybe, a step above nugshit in terms of overall palatability, so no, you're not going to trick me into eating it."