the fashion hawks

2

Excited to share that we will be revealing the Rodarte Fall/Winter 2017 Collection tomorrow, March 1, online. Here is a sneak peek!

Ava Hawk McDean photographed by Autumn de Wilde.

Styling by Shirley Kurata & Ashley Furnival
Production design by Adam Siegel & Tina Pappas
Beauty by Uzo for NARS Cosmetics
Hair by Claudio Lazo for Wella Professionals
Nails by Thao Nguyen for Morgan Taylor Lacquer
Undergarments by Commando

xiz0r  asked:

I need Fenris & Hawke fluff! As their relationship develops, I always assumed Fenris would increasingly stay over Hawke's mansion more often. Having been on the run for so long, I don't imagine Fenris would have much belongings and I want to read about Hawke giving him some lounging clothes or something like that to make him feel more comfortable at home. Maybe Orana would've given Hawke a hand at picking out some of those. Bonus if theres a fluffy bathrobe with the Hawke crest on it in there!

“I got you something,” Hawke said, and Fenris, warm and slightly dozing, quirked his lips and didn’t open his eyes.

“Again?” he asked, the deep rumble of his voice low and content, and he felt Hawke’s arms for a moment tighten around him, felt the scratch of his beard against an ear as he kissed his hair. Fenris didn’t want to move, but after a moment he was forced to, as Hawke began to get up. Fenris groaned and he protested, he tried to pull him back. How strange it was how perfectly content he was to waste the day abed when the mage was nearby.

Hawke laughed, and finally slipped free, and Fenris stretched out alone on the man’s massive bed and watched his bare and slightly fuzzy ass cross the room. He liked his big thighs and his trim waist, the tapering of his broad, muscular back, the flex of his arms. Fenris propped himself up against the headboard and tucked his hands behind his head, and he let his eyes lazily linger anywhere they pleased.

“You should not keep buying me so many gifts,” he said, as Hawke opened his wardrobe. Fenris kept a few items there now, for the sake of convenience when he slept over. He liked the smell of Hawke on his clothes when he returned to the mansion.

“I like to keep my guests comfortable,” Hawke answered him, in that tone that said he wasn’t quite saying what he wanted to say. I want you to know you have a place here, he meant, perhaps. I want this to be your home. Hawke had yet to go so far as to ask Fenris to move in; he respected the elf’s need for his own space. But when Fenris came over, Hawke often engineered to keep him there as long as possible.

It had its effect. The mansion, slowly but surely, was growing to feel more cold. Fenris spent less and less time away from Hawke’s side. He required less time away.

Fenris’s voice was light when told him, “I happen to be very comfortable,” and though he couldn’t see Hawke’s face, he knew he was smiling.

At last Hawke found what he was looking for. He pulled it from the wardrobe, and turned back to Fenris with it in hand.

Fenris tried to school his face, but he must have failed. He saw the disappointment flicker, quickly, across Hawke’s eyes at his response.

The robe looked warm, and soft, a flattering crimson color with Hawke’s crest embroidered onto the right breast. On Fenris it would have fallen comfortably past his knees.

Hawke looked at it, then back to Fenris. “Well?” he asked, a little gruffly. “What’s wrong with it, then?”

“Nothing,” Fenris said. He rose from the bed and moved to join him, to reach out and touch the soft, warm materiel. It would feel good against his skin, even on the days when there had been too many battles and his markings ached.

“You don’t like it,” Hawke said.

“I don’t dislike it.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I would rather wear yours.”

Hawke snorted, until he realized he wasn’t kidding. Fenris petted the soft material of the robe, and hoped he wouldn’t have to explain just why, exactly, he loved feeling the weight and the warmth of Hawke’s robe around him, the scent of the man overwhelming. He liked the burned singe on the left sleeve from a careless candle, and the crumbs from the dog treats Hawke stashed in the pockets for Flower, and the mustard stain on the lapel. It was ugly and old and worn, and he liked the casual intimacy of it – of wearing Hawke’s clothes, of claiming the mage for himself. He liked that there was a place for him in this man’s life, and that Hawke did not throw out the old and comfortable in favor of the new and fashionable. 

Hawke was watching him, with that gaze of his that saw so much. His frown was thoughtful. He didn’t ask Fenris to explain.

Fenris said, “I don’t mean to appear ungrateful,” and Hawke frowned some more.

“You can still wear mine,” he said at last. “But this one is yours, when you want it. An option. I can’t very well take it back, anyway.”

“An option,” Fenris repeated. “Thank you.”