No one special.
Just a ginger, nerdy writer who posts little things that amuse me.
On occasion the ramblings of a spoilt brat.
Mostly Dragon Age, kittens, Star Trek, gorgeous ladies, gaming, shoes and sometimes NSFW - be aware.
Should you wish to see what I actually look like (for whatever reason) you can do so - here.
Unashamed silly fluffy nonsense. Also on AO3.
Hawke’s family assess his latest purchase.
The thick material wasn’t like anything any of them had seen before. Light in weight but tough like leather, the trousers were something new and interesting. Denim, denning, something like that. Hawke couldn’t remember what the vendor had called it. He’d just given Hawke the usual spiel about how good he’d look wearing them and them being the latest thing out of Orlais.
“I like the colour.” His mother half smiled. “But I’m not sure about the fit darling. Are they meant to be that tight?”
“Hmm. I’ve seen some of the Orlesian traders wearing them.” Gamlen frowned. “Look like bloody ball crunchers to me lad.”
“Can you walk in them dear?” His mother tugged at the waistband.
“I think so.” Hawke gave a few experimental steps.
“Andraste’s sweet bosom boy.” Gamlen gasped. “You’re going to have to watch your arse in those things.”
“What?” Hawke spun round to face Gamlen.
“They don’t leave much to the imagination do they?” Carver offered, laughing from his seat at the table.
Gamlen couldn’t contain his laughter and collapsed into a chair next to Carver. The two men leant on each over as tears rolled down their faces. “At least now that elf he’s been chasing might notice him now.” Gamlen got out finally.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Hawke huffed defensively.
“Stop scowling brother.” Carver wiped his eyes, grinning. “I’m sure Fenris will love your fancy pants.”