Dashing Rogue I Am

Also here’s an alternative idea I had for that manry ballet picture I posted a while back.

If you squint it’s Hawke dancing with…um…Sebastian  a tall Varric?????

????????????

???!!!!!!??????????

So a while back rebootingfromstart wrote me an amazing Hawkesino modern!au fic for my 21st birthday. Hawke volunteers at a soup kitchen for the homeless, and Orsino is one of said homeless who sits outside but never goes in. 

It’s just so well thought out and bittersweet, I mean most of the Hawkesino fics available out there are smut so this one really hits me in the hurt/comfort spot. It is hands down my favourite Hawkesino fic and I reread it today and all the feels just came back.

I haven’t drawn Dragon Age stuff in a while and the fic was just the kick I needed.

This is from a scene in the fic, which is called In The Snowdrifts and you can MUST read on archiveofourown.

spicyshimmy:

teapirate:

(art) Of Champions and First Enchanters — Garrett Hawke and Orsino. Orsino doesn’t quite look like himself but Garrett’s got the right idea—that elf sure could use a lot of hugs. 

A small HAPPY BIRTHDAY wish gift for raaawrbin! -whose original style and amazing little comics always is a joy to watch :D

Pencils, psCS5, Intuos3, own-made photo textures etc and so on so forth. Quick-link to high-res view here.

i was hit with writer’s block for raaawrbin’s birthday, trying to decide how to write about the pairing, until i saw this lovely piece. happy birthday, raaawrbin!

Hawke knows his way around a healing spell or two, all learned from his father’s hands. At times it’s felt as though they were cast with his father’s hands. 

Neither were meant for the task specifically—gravity was their strong suit, and heavy things crashing down again—but Hawke knows stubbornness can often approximate cleverness, and cleverness is all he’s ever known of true success.

He doesn’t call on spirits. He so rarely presses his palms to staunch the spilling of his own blood. It’s just a precaution, something small to stand against everything big. 

Father was a collection of those small things. Stitched all together, they were warm. 

But Hawke knows the look of a man who doesn’t heal himself—the same as he knows the look of the man in the mirror in the morning, the same effect as a glance over a shard of some enchanted glass-work in Xenon’s shop, one that offers glimpses into personal heritage and legacies and especially pasts. 

Hawke also knows how to undo the stiffest of collars and slide free the trickiest of laces—that’s a part of healing—as though the hands he inherited from Father didn’t just pick up the spells they needed but customs and complexities, too, a rogue’s sensibilities hidden behind the staff. 

Patchwork. That’s the word for it. Standing beside the palest of skin and the finest of robes, Hawke can’t help but feel like a man made entirely of that patchwork, sewn piece into piece and not quite whole. Collecting others. Needing them to be strong.

‘Remarkable,’ Orsino says, as though he’s come to an exciting page, even if the research here is of a different sort: Hawke’s fingers seeking out pain in the shadows, pain in the gallows. 

Now he’s starting to pick up a little of Varric, too, titling things before they’re ever finished.

As though they don’t all do it sometimes. 

‘I’ll pretend you were talking about me and try not to let the compliment go to my head,’ Hawke replies, mending that slight, rare bruise on Orsino’s shoulder because it’s so obvious now he won’t do it himself. 

‘But there are times,’ Orsino replies, ‘you do not have to pretend.’

‘And this is one of them?’ Hawke asks.

The sleeve slides down Orsino’s arm, Hawke’s breath against the back of his neck, both of them made up of too much but not yet everything. 

‘So it is,’ Orsino says. 

SPICYSHIMMY WRITES THEM SO WONDERFULLY AAAAAAAAAA hawkesinos askjddfhds

<3 THANK YOU LOVE even though this reblahg is a little late oop

sometimes he’s passive

sometimes he’s not

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sorry I seem to have an obsession with beaten up-self abusive-hobo!orsino

you know that kind of orsino is the best kind of orsino for BIRTHDAYS

coughcough

he opens his mouth

all blood and rot

but it doesn’t matter

at least not to Hawke

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SUPPOSED TO BE WRITING AN ESSAY DUE TMR BUT OH WAIT LET ME DOODLE ON MY PHONE AGAIN

/master procrastinator

drawn using the ‘Sketch n Draw’ app on my Samsung Galaxy Ace

i asked the sketch app to stop being so creepy and it gave my Hawke shoujo-eyes

wat

are

you

doing

Before his mind could even process the over sized scarf thrown over his head there was a digital sounding click, and the large bearded man was holding up a screen for him to direct his attention at.

“Look how pretty you are!”

But he could really only stare at the purpling bruise around his eye.

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GUISE ARE YOU READY FOR MODERN AU HOBO-ORSINO.

so yes my AU Orsino is a hobo. COUGH i have a good reason behind this I’M WORKING OUT THE PLOT K, but let’s just say he wasn’t always a hobo?

Hawke volunteers at the shelter for homeless people serving soup sometimes, and Orsino is the hobo who lurks around outside and never comes in. 

And then he looked cold so Hawke gives him a scarf.

Also Orsino hasn’t looked at himself for quite awhile.

i’m feeling kinda meh about my art suddenly

like what am i doing with all these noodle arms and lazy colours and shit

everyone is drawing sexy anatomically correct men

and then i have this idea for a comic that i want to draw but at the same time don’t want to draw. rawrbin ples. ples pick up your tablet pen an—oh look at this i shall just doodle a lazy anders instead okay.

okay rawr you do what you want

My modern au’s Hawke belongs to a family which owns some company, and they have relations with this other big ass company Alistair just inherited. Alistair wears fugly ties to meetings while Hawke is in a singlet of varying colour and low waist (or low butt) hipster pants.

Yes.

Why are you even reading this there are so many more awesome Dragon Age modern aus out there /sob

/GODDAMNIT TUMBLR WHY MUST A GIF BE SO SMALL FUCKK

Hawke expects failures, faces from the Fade.

He doesn’t expect First Enchanter Orsino.

‘The last time we met,’ Hawke says, ‘I couldn’t help but notice you were a bit more…abominable.’ But then, Hawke adds privately, he’s always been drawn to that, hasn’t he?

Even after he lost Mother the night offered no dark dreams, no dread demons, no shades or shadows returned from beyond the twisted grave. The time would have been right; the man was weak. But his head hit the pillow and only sleep followed—sleep without whispers.

Not so now.

They’ve met in the Fade before, just an echo of a young lad’s careless dreaming. Orsino folded his arms beneath the sleeves of his robes before and he does the same now, hiding long fingers graceful under the hems, knuckles tucked where the pulse should be.

‘Perhaps I’m no more than your imagination,’ Orsino replies. ‘How you wish to remember me—and not how I really was.’

‘That seems a sensible way to manage,’ Hawke says.

As though How To Deal With Your Abomination is a handy guide passed back and forth through Thedas. Given all their troubles, it should be; Varric could pen the thing and make a dwarven fortune, so much easier than a trip through the Deep Roads. Fewer arcane horrors and darkspawn, for one thing.

Hawke feels his grin twitch. He feels his molars grind together. Orsino bows his head and chuckles, neither sweet nor shameful.

If Hawke had been a Circle mage, he thinks—a Gallows mage, the distinction necessary because it lacks friendliness—this would be the man he revered, the man he idolized. This would be the man he knew, and not the disappointment.

Despair and danger and cleverness. A sharp profile. Hair swept back from the widow’s peak and behind sharp ears, a personal weakness, not necessarily the same as indulging in too much Orlesian wine with supper or even sensing the call, the possibilities, of blood and magic. Character. Hawke’s always tried to believe in it.

‘Are you here to haunt me, then?’ Hawke asks.

It seems a plausible assumption.

‘Perhaps—although I’m not your greatest failure,’ Orsino says.

‘No,’ Hawke agrees. ‘Just a missed opportunity.’

Orsino slides his hands free at last, opening his palms, lifelines cut short against the flesh. Hawke remembers holding him at the end—the same way he held his mother, until all life fled. And he holds them after, too, deep in the silence of his dreams, Orsino stepping closer, offering healing like temptation—same as it’s always been. 

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Gahhhh so spicyshimmy wrote me some Hawkesino for xmas (yes I am bribing everyone for Hawkesino stuff fight me) It’s such a heavy and feelings-based fic, and I love the little things, like Hawke grinding his teeth and the description of Orsino’s folded arms, the simple words with which they speak to each other AAAA.

How do you guise write so well I don’t even, all the emoshunns.

One day I will write as well so as to detract attention from my derpy arts.

THANK YOU SHIMMY <3