#Rainier drabbles

[ghcstlyhearts]

# TAG DROP - KIAN RAINIER.

[eternally-frozen]

Peek-a-boo i.

Unreliable synopsis: How many masks can you stack on one face?

Author note: I return with nothing but a self-indulgent post that might or might not be connected to an old fic <3 On another note, send me an ask containing your interest for a drabble event if you want to see one

Warning: Dottore. Kidnap mention. Bro is a bit weird but it's okay, I love him. No beta because I will cry. Author is insane and the writing might be too

The room pulses with an eerie silence, broken only by the faint hum of fluorescent lights flickering overhead. Crimson eyes, glossy and void of light, gaze through you. Two pale blue strands hang on either side of his face, one slightly longer than the other. The ends of which curl like an untamable wave. His shoulders are tense, and he seems absent while his body is present. 

The man in front of you is zoning out again. 

You’re unsure what goes on in the mind of your captor, but these moments are the ones you fear most. You never quite know which side of him appears when he wakes up from his stupor. 

Silence takes over the room. You don’t move, you don’t breathe. In this moment you are merely a spectator—the very thing he used to be in your life before he decided to take a more direct approach in the current experiment.

‘Dottore’ clutches the wooden frame of the chair in front of him. His knuckles turn white at the strength he uses but his expression remains blank and devoid of any emotion. 

And then as, quickly as it came, the moment passed. 

The eyebrows that were previously relaxed are pushed into an unforgiving frown. His lips are pursed, and he takes but a mere second to regain his awareness. 

“You.” he spits out.

It was reported to be the coldest winter in the past two decades when you first arrived in Snezhnaya. The first nights in the previously abandoned mansion had been insufferable. The walls are too thin, the sheets too light, and the doors too loose. Cold air creeps up from every corner, forcing you back into the arms of the person you despise most. 

“I thought you were exaggerating when you told me about the eternal winters of Snezhnaya.” You wrap your second blanket closer to your body. The side of your body is pressed against the decrepit sofa in a desperate attempt to cover your back from the air.

In direct contrast to you, Zandik sits comfortably with his legs crossed on the sofa across from you. He is wearing a chunky, cable-knit sweater in a deep navy blue colour. The crisp, white button-up shirt underneath compliments the otherwise darker colour. The collar is neatly pressed and peeks out from the sweater. 

Paired with the sweater, he wears a pair of slim-fitted trousers in a dark shade of grey. These, too, are neatly pressed and fall just above his polished black shoes. 

He had dressed this way on the rainier days in Sumeru. It sparks a sense of nostalgia when you look at him now. The outfit is a nearly identical replica of the clothes he wore during your first interactions in the Akademiya. The only thing that falls short is the incertitude and cold look on his face. 

He shifts in his position on the sofa, uncrossing his legs, and then crossing them again. He scoffs at your attempt at a conversation opener. “Surely you can’t expect to blame me for your lack of knowledge regarding the environmental habitats of Snezhnaya.”

“Part of you is to blame. I don’t recall you ever giving me the time to research it. Nor did you warn me about your decision to kidnap me.”

He is silent after that. 

The truth should hurt. Given the way he acted during the last days of being at the Akademiya and the way he carried himself during your travels, you expected asperity—anything but silence.

A shiver falls over you again, and you curl yourself up tighter. 

Your eyes fall upon the Zandik in front of you. It might be wishful thinking, but a spark of recognition, a small light, seems to have returned in his eyes. He feels less distant. Sure, he is far from the boy you first met, but you can’t deny that he seems softer.

It’s strange how abruptly he can change. Like the moon, he goes through phases where he comes off to be unwhole. Often, you don’t doubt he’s lost part of himself. In what? You’re not sure. But as soon as it comes, it passes, and he seems whole again. 

The tips of his fingers trace the fabric of the decaying sofa. His touch caressing what must be a mixture of dust and loose threads with the filling underneath being the sole foundation that keeps it from collapsing. 

You wonder how he came into possession of this large mansion, and why he had left it in the first place. You wonder why and how he ended up in the Akademiya. 

“I’m going to the library.” He says. 

Zandik stands up from the couch. The wall he had built between you and him stands as tall as he does. It towers over both of you, and you’re unsure whether this barrier protects or fails you. 

For the first time since he decided to sit in your company, his eyes find yours. There is a sense of urgency behind his next words. “Don’t follow me.”

You nod. The idea of following him has landed you in this situation. You long learnt that curiosity is what makes or breaks a man, and you’re not ready to gamble your life again to learn the secrets that Zandik hides.

Oblivion is bliss.

His footsteps echo through the bare room. Most of the furniture remains covered by linen cloths and aged by a layer of dust and untold history.

‘The library’. 

Oh, how you long to read.

To have the company of words instead of a man you've grown to despise.

[jobrookekarev]

Pour Me a Drink (or Not)

Chapter: One/One

Words: 1,803

Summary: Link goes to the loft after Amelia dumps him and talks to Jo while she waits for Alex to call her. 

Takes place directly after ‘A Diagnosis’ (16x14)

Fandom: Grey’s Anatomy.

Relationship: Atticus Lincoln & Jo Wilson, Amelia Shepherd/Atticus Lincoln, and Alex Karev/Jo Wilson

Characters: Atticus Lincoln, Jo Wilson, Alex Karev, and Amelia Shepherd.

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences General Audiences.

Additional Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Family, Drabble, One Shot, A little Fluff, Food, Canon Compliant.

Read at AO3

Read at FFN

…………………………………………………………………

“We’re over”

Amelia's words rang through Link’s ears as he walked out of the house. Link was on autopilot as he got in his car and drove away. The street signs became a blur as he was on autopilot. He just followed the cars that were in front of him until he finally snapped out of it. He realized he was somewhere in the SoDo district by the Old Rainier Brewery and just a few blocks away from Jo and Alex’s loft. 

He knew Jo wouldn't mind him stopping over unannounced as he had done a couple of weeks since Alex left to take care of his family. Jo was always grateful for his company and he needed her. He locked his car and input the code for the apartment building, before running up the stairs to the loft. 

“Jo,” Link yelled as he knocked on her door.

“Just a second,” Jo frantically yelled as he heard her moving things around in the loft.

Jo unlocked the door and pulled it open. The second she laid eyes on him, her lips parted as she took in his hopeless look. 

“Amelia dumped me.”

“Oh Link,” Jo said, tilting her head as her shoulders slumped and she held open the door for him. 

Link walked in and went straight for the freezer where he knew she kept the vodka, pulling it out along with two cups for them. He knew that with Jo they could just drink and be measurable together as Jo was worried about Alex.

“None for me, thanks,” Jo said, walking over to him with her arms crossed in front of her, but looked away and Link followed her eyes to the cell phone on her coffee table. He knew she wasn’t on call, for the hospital at least. 

“It's okay, you don't have to drink with me and I promise I'll shut up when Alex calls,” Link said, pouring himself a drink and putting the other glass back.

“You can drink and I'll eat and we can both cry over the people we love,” Jo said, giving him a sad smile as she let out a heavy breath. Jo walked over to the kitchen and pulled out the leftover mac and cheese from her fridge, dishing him up a plate as well. “So did she give you a reason why?”

“She said she wanted someone who would love her regardless of her baby's paternity,” Link said, as he stole a bite of the mac and cheese before she put it in the microwave. “I mean, I love her, I do, but I want to know. Is that wrong, was I wrong to ask her for a paternity test?”

“No, you wanted to know and you asked her. That's your right as the potential father,” Jo said, turning back to look at him and putting a hand on his shoulder. “Amelia's just scared that someone who doesn't love her is going to get hurt because of it and that the person who does love her will stop loving her because of it. So instead she chose the easy way out, hurting you before you hurt her.” 

“Therapy has made you really wise,” Link said, tilting his head at her and giving her a small smile as he patted her arm.

“Well once you start to understand your own complex emotions it's easy to understand others as well,” Jo said as the microwave dinged and she traded out the first plate for the second one.

“Does any of that understanding extend to Alex?” Link asked as he walked towards the couch.

“You're not here to talk about Alex,” Jo reminded him, grabbing the second plate out of the microwave.

“Well if you want I could go to Iowa and give him a little bit of brotherly advice,” Link said as Jo let out a laugh and he stepped on something by the coffee table, hearing the plastic break under his boot. He sat his drink and plate on the couch, sitting down before reaching to pick it up. 

“Well I don't know about that, Alex and I... I don't know at this point. not after...” Jo trailed off, with a shake of her brown curls.

Link picked up the piece of plastic, the blue tip had cracked under his foot, but he instantly recognized what it was and turned it over to see the positive results displayed on the little screen.

“Jo,” Link whispered, standing up and turning around to stare at her. 

Jo froze, holding her plate of mac and cheese and staring at the pregnancy test in his hands. He clearly wasn't meant to see it and she had probably tried to hide it when he knocked on her door. She had that look again, with her lips parted and her eyes wide; helpless. 

“Would you mind taking care of another pregnant woman?” Jo finally managed to say, her words just above a whisper. “Because I truly think my husband has left me.”

Link dropped the tests on the table and ran to take the plates of food from Jo’s hands. He put them on the table before he wrapped his arms around Jo. Holding her and rocking back and forth just a little. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Jo said, fighting his arms as she squirmed and pushed against him. “This is supposed to be about you and Amelia. I should be comforting you not..”

“It’s okay Jo, and listen, Alex Karev is a lot of things, but he loves you. He has to come back for you and your baby.” Link tried to reassure her. He’d make sure that Alex came back to her, even if he had to go to Iowa and drag him back to Seattle himself.

“He's not!” Jo said in a mixture of anger and sadness. “I sent him a text and a picture of the test and I left him a voicemail hours ago and he still hasn't called me back. He’s not coming back.” 

“Jo, he will come back! And in the meantime, I'll take care of two pregnant women, just like you said.” Link said, as Jo finally stopped fighting and clung to him. “I'm here for you, okay. I'll be Uncle Link and you can have some of my baby stuff. You'll love it. There’s this adorable little Seahawks jersey and matching booties.”

Jo nodded and tried to calm down as she let out a deep breath, before pulling back and wiping away her tears. “Okay, I've had my cry, your turn.”

Link laughed as he put an arm around her shoulder and they both grabbed their mac and cheese before going to sit on the couch. Jo turned on the TV to some late night medical drama that they loved to laugh at and they pointed out the inaccuracies while laughing at the insane amount of drama. 

Yet, Link’s thoughts drifted back to Amelia. “I think I would have married her.”

Jo nodded, choosing not to make a joke about how he swore off married life after his parent’s divorce. She grabbed his empty plate and set it on the coffee table before he laid his head on her lap. 

“We had love and the baby and I don't know, before she told me about the paternity I just thought, maybe we could do it. Maybe we could have the whole thing, partnership, a house, and a family.”

“Would you change your mind if the baby wasn't yours?” Jo asked as she ran her fingers through his hair, before grabbing a few strands and beginning to braid it. 

“I don’t know. I guess I'm still waiting for the results.”

Jo hummed as her finger stilled. “Okay don't be mad, because it was 100% a hormonal thing, but I may or may not have talked to Owen.”

“What?” Link shot up and stared at her.

“I didn't say anything, at least nothing that wasn't hypothetical.” Jo rushed to explain it to him. “But he said that he and Teddy are in a really good place right now, and honestly I don't think he'd leave Teddy for Amelia.”

Link just sank back down as he nodded, turning his attention back to the TV again. “You can't just blame the stuff you said on your hormones.”

“Shut up,” Jo said lightly, hitting his arm. “Yes, I can.”

Things lapsed into silence again as they just watched the show. Jo’s fingers stilled in his hair as she moved to lay back against the arm of the couch. She culled up her legs as he moved his head to lay on her thigh. 

“You should think about what would happen in both scenarios whether you can realistically co-parent or if you can work it out if the baby is yours. Regardless, don't give me the baby stuff, give it to Amelia, even the Seahawks onesie and you can buy me a second one because that sounds absolutely adorable.”

“It’s so cute,” Link added, looking up at her.

“Yeah?” Jo asked as she smiled down at him and he nodded.

Link pulled up a picture of the onesie for her and they cooed over it as Jo put a hand on her belly. Link looked at the way her shirt hugged her stomach and he could see the small outline of a little bump under her hand. He wasn't surprised that she was already showing, more so that it had taken her so long to realize it, as Alex had left two months ago. 

“Are you going to co-parent with Alex if he…” Link trails off not even wanting to say it. The smile that Jo had as she looked at the onesie faded into a frown and Link instantly regretted asking her.

Jo took a deep breath and let it out in a huff. “I don't know, I guess that depends on if he calls me back.”

Link nodded, pulling up another onesie to show her and watching her face light up as she saw it. 

“Amelia’s lucky to have you and if she doesn't see that, then honestly she's blind and you're better off with someone who sees the love you have to have to offer.”

“Thanks, Jo,” Link said, smiling up at her.

“No problem,” Jo said, ruffling up his perfect hair as he complained and tried to fix it but Jo only laughed.

They watch the rest of the medical drama and the beginning of the next show. Soon enough they both grew tired. Jo didn't want to sleep alone and Link neverminded sharing a bed with her. They slept like little kids together as Link had one arm around her waist and Jo curled up against him. They left the TV on, but before they knew it they both fell asleep.

[sacrificethemtothesquid]

Ssp top hits - AO3 era

Tagged by the lovely and talented @thebyrchentwigges, who is a gorgeous human being I adore.

The preamble: So, wanted to get some hiatus rec lists going and encourage some self promo in my friends so how about sharing your top fics no matter how big or small - give us the links to your wonderful words with the Most hits/Most kudos/Most comments/Most bookmarks/Most words/Least words.

Sadly it has been AGES since I've touched fic, but this is a good opportunity to go poke through unfinished projects. (She says, fully aware of the unfinished novel burning a hole in her browser tabs...)

Most Hits/Most Kudos/Most Comments: The Length and Breadth of Fury Road. Mad Max: Fury Road, Max/Furiosa.

Max leaves, and Furiosa stays.

I posted the first chapter of this exactly two weeks after the movie came out when there were like six other fics in existence anywhere, so I was very very lucky to catch the new-fandom wave of interest. (Why did you wait two whole weeks, you might ask? Chop chop, time's a-wasting. I was too busy seeing the movie four times in the theater, but after that fourth screening, my poor husband was like, "...can we maybe see something else?") This fic defined my entire life for three years, introduced me to some of the most amazing people I've ever met, and my life has never been the same.

Most Words: The Moth. Horizon: Zero Dawn, Aloy/Erend.

Moths seek out light, he thinks, and die for it. Maybe they know, but they still can’t stay away. He feels like that, a slow, inexorable urge to set himself on fire in the wild blaze of her hair.

I would have bet money that L&B would make a complete sweep of this, but apparently Moth edges it out by almost 4k. I'm not as proud of this one, because I don't think it's written as well. It spanned the year I was in a protracted bipolar breakdown, including the period where I was in an intensive outpatient program, so while it did a good job keeping me afloat, when I go back and reread it, it's very obvious (to my eye) I wasn't at the top of my game. It was great fun though.

Least Words, overall: DAI Drabbles. Dragon Age Inquisition, gen.

Random drabbles of my headcanon. I reserve the right to move them to other works as they fit.

Technically, these are not drabbles (not exactly 100 words, but ah well) and they're not technically their own fic, just fragments of the larger DAI epic that I never quite got into. (You can thank Fury Road for that abrupt pivot.) I have a ton more DAI that I never uploaded, so maybe at some point I'll get bored one day and tackle that disappointing mess.

Least Words, completed fic: The Things Left Behind. Dragon Age Inquisition, Blackwall/Female Trevelyan.

“Thom Rainier?” she hears herself say, her voice calm and collected and very, very far away. “No. I didn’t know him at all.”

I never would have let my Inquisitor have anything other than a happy ending, but some itches just need to be scratched.

Now, for the tagging! I am so shit at picking people, because I know SO MANY excellent fic writers and I have no idea who has already seen this meme. So, at complete random: @silver-dream89 @aubade @theherocomplex @fuckyeahisawthat and anyone else who is even vaguely interested. Love you all!

[nirikeehan]

first lines

rules:  share the first line of your last ten published works or as many as you are able to and see if there are any patterns!

I got tagged by @rowanisawriter! Thank you for the tag, this is always a delight to do.

IDK if recently updated fics technically count but I'mma do it anyway bc I am lazy.

Upon reviewing them: I really love starting out with a setting detail. I'm gonna blame Inquisition for being fucking gorgeous for that one. Also I am impressed only two start out with dialogue – so often that has been my go-to way to start a scene lol. I am most impressed with the lines that put you right into the action... I should maybe work on doing that more.

Tagging, if interested: @theluckywizard | @oxygenforthewicked | @exalted-dawn-drabbles | @melisusthewee | @bluewren

---

These are all Dragon Age btw, the brainrot that keeps on going since 2020

Kingdom Come; Thalia x Thom Rainier

He has imagined her return a thousand times and a thousand times more.

2. Two Songs; Truth, Sadness, Sacrifice; Cullen & Samson

“Staring at the cards all night won’t change ‘em, kid,” Samson said.

3. World-Weary Assholes; Garrett Hawke & Thalia

“Where did that damned Inquisitor go?” Hawke asked Varric.

4. The Wingman at Griffon Wing; Rylen & Thalia

The blazing sun hung low on the horizon, washing the forbidding landscape in hues of blood red.

5. The Greater Good; Cullen & Samson

Cullen stood in the Gallows courtyard, sweating into his armor. 

6. Desert, Dragon, Soldier, Spy; Rylen x non-Inquisitor OC (exchange fic)

His first impression of her is a flash of white in a sea of orange.

7. But Never a Key; Cullen x Thalia, Cullen & Pravin

The Hinterlands were ablaze with autumn color.

8. An Unquenchable Flame; Cullen x Thalia, Cullen & Pravin

The wind howls through the night.

9. Things my heart used to know (things it yearns to remember); Cullen x Neria Surana Lavellan (exchange fic)

The argument in Josephine’s office was significant, from the sound of it.

10. Through a Glass, Darkly; Cullen x Thalia, Samson x Thalia

The sky hung low like a threat.

[yvesdot]

LRB I actually think it's worth stating explicitly that the reason I haven't named explicitly the people/work that inspired KAY RAINIER is that I have zero interest in pulling attention to people who wrote something fannish for fun and have since moved on with their lives. More below for KAY people who are interested! Not relevant to the original post.

No matter how praiseful I could be, I don't think it's polite to send 'outsiders' who are inherently not primed to get the appeal to find somebody's hobby work after the authors themselves have moved on. Like any work, there are undoubtedly things that could fairly be critiqued by new or old fans, and leaving a work up on the Internet does not imply an interest in having it suddenly gain an audience, or a willingness to defend its contents.

I also think there's something that could be interpreted as weird and obsessive about having something like KAY RAINIER grow out of a fanspace in the sense that it is just so long and unwieldy and 'serious', and while much of that comes from my own mind and what I have added, maybe people don't want someone to be inspired by their work to do an entire 200k+ word duology plus bonus AUs and drabbles! Maybe they're not comfortable knowing what changes I made, or that I made them at all. The creation of a thing inspired by another thing-- of thinking "hm, what if this was like that?"-- could itself be interpreted as an unwelcome criticism; a kind of "I'd like this more if it was like [the thing I'm trying to write]," whether that's true or not.

To be abundantly clear, I am okay with someone doing all of this with/to/about/because of my work, and I don't believe in copyright or 'intellectual property' or whatever-- but I am also alive on this Earth and generally empathetic to other human beings, and I have no interest in bothering anyone whether or not I agree with the source of their bother.

So! The people who inspired me remain unnamed, out of respect for them, their work, and what they've most recently said about it. In case you've been wondering, that's what's going on with that.

[anonymousbeefriendfanfics]

Requestable Character/Fandom List

Content/Formats | Prompt Masterlist | Writing Masterlist

Fandoms I specialize in at a glance, so you don't have to search: Last Legacy, The Arcana, Monster Manor, Path To Nowhere, Genshin Impact, Wuthering Waves, Teen Wolf, The Maze Runner

Please note: You can request one character/pairing/group for a fic or drabble, and up to 6 characters or everyone from one fandom for headcannons!

If it's one of the larger ones on the list (PtN for example) you may wish to specify which characters you want to see most, and I might add others as I feel like it depending on the prompt.

My Original Characters

Aja

Emily

Elliott

Liv

Cassiopeia

Kataleya

Riley

Willow

Asteriya

Touchstarved

Mhin

Leander

Vere

Ais

Kuras

Last Legacy (Fictif)

Felix

Sage

Anisa

Rime

Elowen

Tulsi

Scylla

The Arcana

Julian

Asra

Portia

Muriel

Nadia

Lucio

Monster Manor (Fictif)

Casimir

Rainier

Isle of Enchantment (Fictif)

Rogue

Billie

Serena

Scarlett

Path To Nowhere

There are too many to list, but I can write for most characters, so request away for whoever you like!

My favorites/specialties are listed below:

Cinnabar

Raven

Zoya

Langley

Demon

Etti

Hecate

Pacassi

Kelvin

The only Sinners I CANNOT write for are currently: Crache & Rahu.

Genshin Impact

I can write for all of the playable characters, plus Arlecchino and Dainsleif, but my specialties are listed below!

Lyney

Lynette

Freminet

Xiao

Tighnari

Cyno

Dehya

Kaeya

Ei/Raiden Shogun

Wuthering Waves

List currently in progress! I can try to write for any playable character, plus Scar!

Teen Wolf

Stiles

Scott

Allison

Malia

Lydia

Liam

Mason

Derek

Isaac

Theo

The Maze Runner

Newt

Thomas

Minho

Gally

Other fandoms that I know well enough to write for, but don't currently specialize in, are listed below!

Other Fandoms:

Criminal Minds

Doctor Who (up to 11)

The Hunger Games

Divergent

How to Train Your Dragon

Warrior Cats

Ouran High School Host Club

Other Visual Novels

Tailor Tales

[secret-realm]

Storytelling Time

Gn!reader & Rainier

wc: 337

> Fluff (I think? Pretty domestic)

Warning: None.

Real life anecdotes, made up fictional stories, or current occurrences with occasional modifications to add a sparkle of "mystery". The options were endless. Nevertheless, you were well-aware of the fact that telling stories, and getting to listen to them was one of the best activities ever.

So, when you found someone else who thought the same way as you, you could not help feeling excited about your shared interest. That way is how you found yourself staying up until late, dim light, crossed legs and voice going up and down according to the part of the story.

Attentive eyes from the dragon laying on his stomach followed your every move, as you expressed yourself to make storytelling an interesting experience. Rainier expressions were on sync with the story, allowing you to notice how immersed he was into the plot.

A pout would make its way onto his face whenever something slightly sad happened, and then you would see his eyes going from almost watery to bright with happiness.

You wondered whereas he was the most excited one while listening to the story, or if you were the one, due to how happy it made you seeing him enjoying himself.

When the story came to an end, Rainier finally lifted himself from his previous resting position to sit in front of you, his hands meeting in front of himself to clap. Playing along, you would slightly bow, thanking him at the same time for being the best audience you had ever had.

The brightest smile would make an appearance in response, and right after you would get to hear how the glowing being that was in front of you would comment each and every part of the story, telling you how they were his favourites, only to mention another one right after.

If there were a window open, you could probably have seen that the day was soon arriving, but at that moment all you knew was that there was no other place where you would rather be.

I really needed to write something about storytelling with Rainier. We both love stories, either listening to them or telling them, so it's a win-win for the two of us.

It would be such an amazing experience to get to get to listen to him talking about his numerous adventures as well, don't you think?

I hope you had a peaceful week, lovely people, and for the next one to be as well. Take care! Sending lots of love your way. 💕

-L🪐

[drunken-drengr]

for the writing prompts, maybe “You deserve someone better than me.” or "You owe me."?

Thanks for the ask! I haven't wrote anything in awhile, and believe me when I say that I had a lot of ideas for this one. Went back and forth between a happier, fluffier drabble, and the horrible angst. Evidently, decided on angst, because my writing is very chaotic. Decided to rewrite that one Storm Coast Blackwall romance scene because uhhh angst. It needed more. Maybe I'll write something happier to follow this up. Also I wrote this while sadly listening to this song.

“You deserve someone better than me.”

Rain fell on her cold, barren cheeks, as the clap of thunder drowned out the sound of pouring rain for just a brief moment, before the downpour came back as calmly as ever. The clouds above them were a dark grey, and showed no sign of letting up the storm. Even so, the weather calmed Karrie, the downpour drowning out all her thoughts and washing away all else besides him. He stood there, motionless, gazing off into the distant body of water, waves overlapping over and over in an endless yet seemingly stagnant cycle. It was just them out there, far from all else in the world. It was all that mattered in that moment, then and there.

Following another clap of thunder, Blackwall’s voice cut through the rainfall, somehow so clearly. “A horde of darkspawn here, some number of years ago,” the man said, hesitating to turn halfway and look back to gaze at the woman who he confided all his hopes and dreams in. Their eyes met for a moment before Blackwall instinctively cast his gaze back to the horizon, though still turned, still acknowledging her presence.

“Men died here. Good men. Maker knows they didn’t deserve it, Maker knows I…. I didn’t deserve to…” His voice trailed off as yet more thunder made itself audible. Through a flash of light, Karrie saw his gaze fixated on the ground, completely stopping him in his sentence and erasing all words he had left. Following his locked gaze, the dwarf saw it. A small badge, made from silverite, bearing the Grey Warden symbol. And for a brief moment, glancing back into his eyes, she saw it. Just as lightning had flashed, so did terror in his eyes. That look, the plummeting of his heart in an instant. She could feel it in him. But, just as the waves washed over each other, so did the terror in his eyes get swept away, and replaced by a settling grimness.

“I didn’t deserve to walk away alive, like I did,” he finally finished, brows furrowed, and gaze still locked on the badge that lay on the soaked earth. Slowly, he knelt down to the ground, reaching a hand out to grab it ever so carefully. There was a sullen air about his movements as he stood back up, clasping the badge in his gloved hand.

“The Warden Constable badge,” Karrie offered quietly, raising a brow and gazing up at him almost expectantly. “Your badge.” And so suddenly, she saw in him all contemplation and consideration turn into realization, as if something had dawned upon the man.

“...Yes.” Hesitantly he returned. Wiping away raindrops with his thumb, he continued with more certainty. “I suppose it must be. After all, I did earn it. I shouldn’t have let it go so easily.” He gave a gruff sigh and gestured to their surroundings. “This, was my life before I met you. Crumbling ruins, endless battles.” He paused for a moment before stealing one last glance at the badge. “Death.”

A silence filled the air between the two, allowing Karrie time to think. But the feelings rushing around inside her, writhing like serpents yet fluttering like butterflies, wouldn’t allow her to reason. She had always cast aside all doubt, threw all caution to the wind, let herself be reckless. Why was she hesitating to do so now? When it came to people, this feeling wasn’t one she had felt before, nothing she thought she could ever feel. And, with such a feeling, why try to wrap your head around it, why attempt to understand what was previously unknown if she knew what was going on right there and then? In truth, she didn’t know what was going on. Up until now, she let herself indulge in the new and warm feeling he gave her, trusting in him, trusting that he knew what was going on, that he felt the same thing, just as deep and pure as she did.

But those looks flashing in his eyes, the way he indulged yet pulled away. He didn’t know what it was, either, did he? He was just the same as her. “I am no stranger to death and ruin,” the dwarf finally returned, catching his gaze on her. “Maybe that means we’re fated for each other. One battle hardened warrior to another.” As she approached the tall man, she saw a small smile tug at the corners of his mouth.

Letting out a small chuckle, his grim look was washed away as he allowed himself to smile. As the red haired dwarf slowly reached for his hand, almost questioningly, he dropped his guard and allowed himself to give into her. What fool could resist such a woman? “You tease,” he smiled, pausing with a small sigh. “Maybe.”

Taking her hand in his, he smiled down at her. Ever so softly, they eased into an embrace, standing there in the midst of the storm, rain pouring around them, wind lashing and tugging at their hair, but everything seemed so still to them. It seemed time itself had stopped as they stood there in each other’s embraces, warmness seeping between them, their smiles, the small tears forming at the corners of their eyes. There was no patter of the rain, no claps of thunder, no clash of the waves. Only the steadiness of their own breath.

And suddenly, it all became so clear to Karrie. It dawned upon her, like the sun rising on Skyhold, what this feeling was, all along. And for a moment, it scared her.

Love.

It hit her like a ferocious wave hits the shoreline. She loved Blackwall, she loved him ever so dearly, like she had never loved before. She had loved her family, she loved Solas, she loved Sera, but she loved him. Was this what the fabled feeling felt like? True bliss? A high you seemed to never come down from? Karrie was overwhelmed by so many emotions, all swarming her at once. Joy, excitement, anticipation, sorrow, fear. She was scared of truly loving for longer than she could remember, perhaps long before that arranged marriage. Scared of change, fearful of the new experiences. But that’s all her life had been, hadn’t it? Change. The very thing she feared most. But why didn’t she fear this? In a way it comforted her, put her at ease, knowing she finally had what she deemed impossible all this time.

Finally pushing aside all her racing thoughts and feelings, Karrie opened her eyes to stare lovingly into his own. “You deserved to live,” the warrior grinned up at him. “And you deserve to live. You deserve to love, Blackwall.”

Blackwall. Hearing that name, his smile faltered for a moment. As he looked down unto her eyes, the eyes of perhaps the only woman he truly loved, the only woman that truly loved him in return. And it all came back to him, why he brought her here to begin with. He had lied straight to her face, her of all people, how? Even now, as she finally gave in, and gazed at him with full trust, smiling like she never had before, he couldn’t bear the burden. If he truly loved her, why would he put her through such turmoil and heartbreak?

His smile faded as his embrace loosened, casting his eyes back to the stormy, grey skies. Though he couldn’t see it, he could feel Karrie’s smile disappear as well. He felt her arms around his sides fall back to her own, but not before grasping his hand. He felt her confused gaze on him, on the verge of sorrow, but could not bring himself to meet it.

“Blackwall?”

It was like a jab to the chest, hearing her plead, seeing her frown, her, the woman who he had never once seen cry. It was foolish, though. He almost let himself get away with it, too. To think she would have still loved a man who wasn’t who she thought he was at all. “I...I’m sorry, My Lady,” he breathed, choking up on his own words. “You deserve someone better than me.”

And with that singular sentence, the world jumped back into motion around them, it seemed. Karrie was taken by surprise, her heart dropping at his words. So much time spent going back and forth between them, casting out and reeling back in, not quite fully opening herself up to a new experience, a new change. And here she was. Just as she finally came to terms, finally accepted the undeniable, finally realized that she truly loved him, he backed out in an instant. Gaze locked with his eyes that wouldn’t meet her own, unbreaking, the tears welled in her eyes. She suddenly remembered why she didn’t want to love. This was exactly what she feared.

She felt him give her hand a soft squeeze before releasing it from his grasp. His lips moved, but she did not hear any words come out. She refused to hear them. Watching him turn away and leave her there in the rain, Karrie didn’t know what to do. Usually, she would chase him down, demand an answer, force him to see eye to eye. But her legs wouldn’t move. All she could do was watch his figure, blurred by tears, fade off into the distance. After what seemed like a dreadful eternity, her knees gave out, falling down to the soaked earth. Softly, her fingers touched her cheek. Rain mixed with tears, but she could still feel the warm, salty tears running down her face. Why was she crying so? She hadn’t cried in ages. Never once had she allowed herself to cry since the Conclave. Love wasn’t supposed to hurt, not the kind of love she was taught about as a child. But it hurt so badly. When you truly loved someone, did it hurt so horribly when they left? All that the dwarf could think about, as she knelt there, soaked by the rain and soft sobs drowned out by thunder, was why.

Why?

[fanonorcanon]

Blackwall & F!Trevelyan

“Rosalyn, forgive me,” he pleaded.

“You left me alone there. Did you think I wouldn't come to look for you? Do you truly believe that my feelings for you are so insincere that I'd give up at the first sign of hardship?” Her voice was cold, unsettlingly calm. He didn't know what to make of it. He felt lost, adrift. “You were mistaken to think that I am like you in that. My feelings do not sway so easily. Stay here in the cells if you wish, but you are a free man now and may do as you please.”

“My lady, I will do all I can to prove my worth as a warrior for your forces.”

“I see,” Rosalyn murmured. 

Thom sat on the floor, head bowed long after she'd left the cells of Skyhold. He’d betrayed her. In his stubborn mind he'd decided what was best for her. Deeming himself unworthy yet indulging her with his affections only to draw away. 

“Maker's balls,” he sighed. He'd learned his lesson and it was far too late. He only hoped that he could serve as a soldier as he once did in an attempt however weak at penance. She was beyond him, at this point he didn't deserve any kindness from her. From anyone. But he would try, even if everyone hated him. Even if she hated him. 

…

She didn't avoid him, but didn't go out of her way to go see him either. Whenever they crossed paths within Skyhold she’d only say, “Oh, you're still here?” Then go about her business. It cut him to the bone. He deserved it. Maker did he ever deserve it. The first time they'd made love and he'd left in the night like a coward. He hadn't laid with a woman in years, had only dared to dream of being with a beauty like Rosalyn, and he'd gone and ruined what little they'd had together. 

…

It'd been a few months before Iron Bull cornered him. “I'm guessing you don't even see what it is you're doing to her,” he grumbled. “She's focused on little else aside from training. You seen how skinny she's getting? You even care?”

“You know I care for her,” Thom argued wearily.

“Maybe I do. She doesn't though. Might help if you went and saw her once in a while.”

“She doesn't want to see me,” he growled. 

“Have you even tried?” Bull asked, raising a brow skeptically.

“I don't need to. She deserves better than some old man chasing after her asking her forgiveness.”

“Oh because you know what she wants better than she does? Then why are you even here? Move on. The Commander’s been making eyes at her. Bet it'd only take a little push-”

“Why are you doing this?” Thom asked, his hands clenched and head bowed in defeat.

“Who the fuck knows? Maybe I wanna thin out the competition for the lady's affections? She's fucking gorgeous. You ask any of those soldiers in the barracks, they all wanna fuck-” 

Thom didn't let another word leave Bull’s lips before he swung his fist into Bull's jaw.

“I didn't think you'd actually have the stones to do that,” Bull laughed.

“Where is she?” Thom spat.

“In the wine cellar.”

…

Thom knocked on the cellar door.

“Go away, Dorian, I'm not sharing,” Rosalyn slurred.

He pushed the door open.

“Thom? What do you want?”

“To get to know each other better. No secrets, no half truths, no hiding. I want to be worthy of you Rosalyn, I do. You deserve a man who faces you head on, not a coward.”

She smacked her lips after taking a swig of wine.

“Why should I even waste my time?” Rosalyn huffed out a laugh.

“Because I love you, Rosalyn.”

“So because you love me, I'm supposed to just forget waking up in a pile of hay, naked, alone without even a blanket for my fucking dignity?!” She yelled.

“I'm not asking you to forget. I betrayed you, I know. I wish to the Maker I hadn't. I know I don't deserve your forgiveness, and you deserve much better than me. But if there is something I can do for you, something only I can do just say the word and I will. I would move mountains just to see you smile again.”

“I need time, Thom.” She said his name like it was a swear. “I don't know if I can trust you anymore. There's no love if there's no trust.”

“I understand, my lady.”

…

He tended to her horse, polished her armor and wrote poems and letters that oftentimes found their way into the fire by his own hand. He left her flowers and began learning the finer details of smithing and weapon crafting. Thom crafted a bow from ironwood and volcanic aurum. He'd engraved the metal with flowers and carved vines into the wood. Sera offered to help him make arrows but he insisted that he must do it on his own. 

Rosalyn complimented his work, took the bow and left for the Emerald Graves. Thom’s heart ached, he wanted to go with her. Protect her. He trusted their companions certainly, but oh how he wanted to be the one to stand between her and danger. It made his heart soar just thinking about it. To him there was no greater joy than protecting the one you love.

…

Thom crumpled up another letter before tossing it into the fire. He'd never been gifted with the way of words. 

“I don't think Josephine would appreciate you wasting all this parchment,” Rosalyn chuckled softly.

How he'd missed her laughter. 

“My lady. Apologies. I um, I wasn't expecting visitors,” he raked his fingers through his hair trying in vain to look a little more presentable.

“Clearly,” she smirked. “So what are you writing?”

He froze. 

“I doubt it would interest you, my lady,” he chuckled nervously.

“Haven't you learned to not make presumptions about what I want? I thought giving you time would help you reflect on that but perhaps I was mistaken.”

“Love letters. To you, my lady,” he blurted before he could think better of it.

“I will await the finished product then. Deliver it to me yourself when it's ready,” Rosalyn said softly before leaving his quarters. She spared a glance and scowled at the place where she'd woken naked and alone several months ago.

...

My lady is fair, righteous and just. You deserve the world laid at your feet and I'd do all I can to give it to you. I'd pull the moons from the heavens for you. How I would worship you if you let me. I'd sing your praises against your skin. I long to drink from your lips for the taste is so sweet. To taste you is to taste the divine and though I am unworthy, I still ache for you. In your eyes I've found paradise, in your embrace I've known perfection and in your voice, purpose. In all my life I could never hope to love another the way that I love you. My affection for you is unwavering and truer than I've ever been. You inspire me to be a better man, and I can't help but hope that someday I may earn your approval.

Love, Thom 

…

Rosalyn read the letter again. They were in her quarters, her seated at the desk and Thom standing at attention before her. She'd made him stay and wait for a reply. She couldn't deny that she was moved and she wanted to tell him that she spent much of her free time thinking about him and their time together as brief as it had been. But the hurt parts of her drove her to be a little cruel. 

“So, how'd you get Varric to write this for you?”

“My lady?” He looked aghast. 

“You're telling me you wrote this yourself?” Rosalyn asked, her voice detached.

“Yes,” he admitted quietly, a blush colored what little of his cheeks that weren't covered by his beard.

She sighed heavily. “I'm tired, Thom. Really, really tired.”

“I understand, I'll leave you to rest, my lady. Apologies for bothering you,” he nodded and turned to leave.

“I'm tired of pretending that I stopped loving you,” she murmured.

If he had been holding anything he would have most certainly dropped it, instead he just stood slack jawed looking at her.

“You said you wanted to worship me?”

“Yes, my lady. If you'd let me,” he said earnestly.

She stood and began removing her clothes. Once she was finished, she laid on the bed with her legs spread invitingly. “So worship me,” she said coyly. 

[a-shakespearean-in-paris]

Stories

Drabble commission for @the-greatest-catsby featuring their Raycé Lavellan and Blackwall in the early morning. Thank you for commissioning me!

When Raycé wakes in the morning atop the warm furs on their makeshift “bed” of hay, the early light streams through the stables. She grins as she feels him near, and her wandering hands drift towards him. He stirs, and she giggles when light, bearded kisses pepper her face. They are sweet kisses, yet inlaid and engrained are a desperation, and plea. His kisses are always this way now, because every morning they wake together, he makes up for the one time he wasn’t. Each good morning kiss is his way of saying never again, just as her good morning kiss is her declarations of love. To Thom.

“Good morning Thom,” she murmurs, not taking this for granted. Both waking up next to him, and the thrill of hearing his real name. She’ll never take it for granted, the gift of saying it.  It’s not a secret anymore, though only he knows how much she truly adores it. In the morning. Before going to sleep. While making love…

“It seems we didn’t make it to your quarters last night, my lady,” Thom says, hovering above her, eager for another kiss.

“Seems so,” she mutters, returning the kiss, though she’s doesn’t mind, and in fact, quite likes sleeping here in the stables with him. Sometimes they do manage to make it to their quarters, though often they remain curled up by the fire and not on her expansive bed. He teases her about how she has a grand bed that she only sometimes uses, but he loves it just as much as she.

“I imagine your advisors would like to see you,” he mentions, being thoroughly and annoyingly reasonable. “Things have been busy since the battle with Corypheus.”

He may be reasonable, but she has other ideas. “A little longer,” she beckons, knowing “a little longer” will turn into “a lot longer,” as it usually does, because all it takes is a tender kiss, and he surrenders. So she curls closer to him, and he wraps an arm around her as she tells him about the sparring match she and Cassandra had the previous day. She weaves her fingers through his hair and toys with hand, strong and calloused as it is from years of battle and holding a sword, regaling how she and Cassandra had the whole soldiers placing bets to see who would win. And Thom laughs and laughs as her hands demonstrate how she bested the Seeker.

He grasps her waving hand, kissing her fingertips. “Tell me another story” he says.

“Well. I do know another,” she begins, beaming. “A story about a man named Thom Rainier. He was kind, and good, though often self-deprecating. But a hero, who stood by the Inquisitor’s side.” She grins. “She liked him a lot.”

“I know a story too,” he says. “One about the Inquisitor Raycé Lavellan. The one who defeated Corypheus and saved the world. The one I love.”

She practically throws herself on him then, deluging him in kisses. Her Thom. She was fond of Blackwall, liked him a lot, but it’s Thom she loves, as he loves her. It’s Thom she is making another story with now, one told with kisses and tender caresses and not words. Kisses are better suited than words in the early morning anyway, and they are able to say to each other how this is their favorite story.

They continue it for a long while…

[appalachianapologies]

The wild beasts rip and tear at their kill in a frenzy 🤣🤣🤣 these are my idiot dogs Rainier (black) and Storm (brown) with Logan’s legs in the background, and they have succeeded in hunting a wild and dangerous cardboard box that a baby toy came in 🤣

OHMYGOD THEY ARE SO PRECIOUS PLEASE GIVE THEM A BOOP ON THE NOSE FROM ME <3333333 How long have you had them? Is there any story behind them?

send me something that makes you happy and i'll write you a drabble!

"Jack!"

Swerving, nearly tossing the two of them into a barrel roll, Jack shouts back, "Fuck, I see him!"

Desi's out of the door before the car has even stopped moving. Flashlight on, she curses.

And before Jack can even ask why, he sees the face. Sighing, he taps his ear. "Matty, we were too late. Our asset's dead." He can hear Riley give a shuddering breath through the comms, and if he's being honest, Jack can't blame her. The guy's basically the same age as her.

"Looks like a gunshot wound to the head," Desi reports, crouching down next to the asset, careful to not ruin the scene. "Not execution-style though. It looks like-"

"They shot him when he was runnin' away."

After a beat, Desi nods. "Yeah."

"Matty, we ain't gettin' the locals involved, right?"

"Dalton," She warns back.

"Hey, I didn't do anything. I'm just askin' so I can know if we can move him. Get a better look at the wound- if we find a bullet, Ri can use that to help us."

"Go for it."

No matter how many times he was forced to witness it in the army, Jack's never gotten used to seeing such young people murdered. He takes a breath, and then together, he and Desi move the asset from his back to his side.

And then he takes a breath.

"The hell-"

"He's alive," Desi shouts, one hand on her ear. "Riles, we need a medevac, right now! Don't know how much longer he's gonna still be."

Through the flurry of activity that Jack can hear in his comms, he tries to push all of his attention toward the asset. He can deal with Matty and Oversight later.

The asset groans, gurgles as he struggles to take in a breath. Eyes that aren't really looking flirt around the open air.

"Hey, hey, hey," Jack says, doing his best to soothe, "Take it easy. I got you, I got you." It's going to be a lie. The kid doesn't look like he's going to be alive long enough for the medevac. "I'm Jack, can you tell me your name?"

A thin trail of blood runs from the corner of his lips. "M'c."

[patheticnugbaby]

Fright

Hey, remember how I said I wouldn’t be writing because I’m working on DnD?

Apparently, I lied, have some SolmeraxThom, also tagged Bladaar, sometimes Thomera if it’s post-revelations.

At the very beginning of Trespasser, based on the scene where your Inquisitor wakes up and he’s not there and she’s sad and scared for a minute.

Solmera wakes in the middle of the night, eyes slowly flickering open in the dark. The softest beams of silver light fall through dark curtains. Indigo, she remembered, like an afterthought. In the night they looked black but they were blue in the sunlight. She bundles the blankets a little closer to her chin, curling to keep her feet under them. As she turned she smelled him, wood, metal, leather, somehow the scent of hay still stuck to him, though it’d been ages since he slept in the Skyhold stables. She smiled sleepily, ignoring the smallest sound of fabric ripping, a small tug on her head that told her she’d gored yet another pillow in her sleep. She reached for him, closing her eyes as her fingers traveled over the too-soft plush covers.

Nothing.

Something sharp and tight closed in her chest, around her throat long before her eyes snapped open again. She sat up, slowly on shaking arms. Her eyes opened as wide as they could go, seeing nothing except the barest suggestion of shapes against the wall. A wardrobe, couches, a small table with two chairs facing the windows.

“Thom?” Her voice was too soft, unsure and shaking.

Still nothing.

She clenched her jaw, throwing the blankets off and swinging her legs out of bed. Her fingers clenched tightly at the edge of the mattress as she shut her eyes, her breath hissing softly between her clenched teeth. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat, once, twice before she gave up and stood to take a long, steadying breath. That sharp, hollow something in her chest was still there, like shattered glass just barely held together, one breath and it was gone.

Solmera let out the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, slowly unclenching her hands before she curled them into fists again, nails cutting into her palms. She waved her Anchor-hand, lighting the numerous candles, braziers, and the hearth, bathing the room in warm, orange light. She spread her hands out towards the fire but she didn’t feel the warmth. She heard the door open and didn’t turn to face it. That’d be too much to hope for.

“... ‘Mera?”

Her breath caught in her throat but she didn’t turn to face him. Relief, hot and painful rushed through her, her summoned fires spluttered before steadying. The slow shuffle of feet, no, socks on on tiles. She flexed her fingers, jaw clenched tightly against the hot prickling on tears in the corners of her eyes.

Gentle, hesitant hands with rough palms slowly circled her waist, callouses catching on the thin fabric of her nightgown. She spun, almost too quickly, and squeezed him tightly in her arms, burying her face in his tangled mess of hair. Blackberries and sage, he’d used her soaps again.

She chuckled, a broken sound as hot tears raced down the sharp lines of her nose.

“I’m not going anywhere, ‘Mera.”

She laughed, or tried to, it came out like a sob. His arms, strong even for someone so much smaller than she was, tightened around her. She crushed him closer, shutting her eyes and nuzzling into his hair.

They stayed like that for awhile, hugging each other so tightly their arms shook. She moved first. She always moved first now, like he wanted to be sure she wanted him to let go before he did. Or maybe he just liked to hold on that little bit longer.

“I’m sorry, ‘Mera, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” A tentative hand brushing the sleep-mussed hair away from her cheek, the soft rasp of calloused hands on much softer skin.

“I shouldn’t frighten so easily-”

“‘Mera,” He stopped her, thumb lightly stroking her cheek, “I have watched you stare down your nose at gods, titans, dragons, god-dragons and you’ve never flinched, not once. I left you. Because I’m a fucking idiot but I’m the luckiest fucking idiot in the world because you took me back, gave me the chance I don’t deserve,” He sighed, like for a moment the words caught in his throat, thick like molasses, “I love you. Now, what can I do so I don’t frighten you again?”

She laughed, really laughed this time, soft and breathy but it sounded like joy, “Wake me when you get up at night, I don’t care how often you have to do it, just wake me up, tell me you’re leaving and you’re coming back.”

“I can do that,” He reached up with his free hand, cupping her face as he pulled her down to rest his forehead against hers, she giggled a little, stifling a yawn, “Back to bed, My Lady?”

“Back to bed, Ser Rainier,” She lightly kissed the tip of his nose, making him grin.

Solmera snapped her fingers, more for show than anything else, snuffing all the lights at once. Thom laughed, his rough hands easily finding hers in the dark. The green of the anchor flashed brilliantly, once she would’ve called the light eerie but by now it was just light, a fact of being who she was.

She led him back to their bed, scooting over under the covers until she laid where he’d been before she woke. The pillow still smelled like him, leather, metal, wood, the softest hint of blackberries and sage, she wasn’t sure if that was him or her. It didn’t matter.

He slid into bed next to her, pressing close to wind his arms around her again, his head comfortably resting on her shoulder. She grinned wide, pressing a kiss to his forehead, earning a chuckle and a playful nuzzle under her chin. His beard tickled her skin. Solmera laughed a little, wrapping one arm around him and tugging him close.

“Goodnight, Thom.”

“Goodnight, ‘Mera.”

[the-eldritch-it-gay]

may have randomly wrote a half drabble about blackwall (rainier) encountering da abjid

[kiivg]

.Thank you so much! I’m drawing a lot of different things now because why be consistent haha :)c. I wrote a little drabble type thing below.

.(On another note, I’m using this to separate my Chrisker art binge and to ask people not to judge me for my next ship binge haha (once again I make a tiny ship that has exactly three AO3 fics and basically no fandom), please, I’m very embarrassing, but I’m not embarrassed.).

.Dorian/Blackwall beneath the read more, hints super heavily at Bull/Dorian but like, don’t read it for that because it’s not... like... about them... haha. It’s Dorian/Blackwall >:).

...

They had both been dancing around it for some time, too many words said that Dorian had evidently flipped off in that rather nonchalant way that he always had done. Forever acting like things didn’t bother him, when they so very plainly did. Thom wasn’t the same, he’d stop moping in certain company, and he’d always stop drinking the moment he feared he was slipping from the chatty drunk to the morose one. But he’d never deny to himself that he was hurting, and hurting badly at that.

“You made a mistake; Maker knows I’ve my own share of those.” Dorian whispers, wondering if he should have stopped drinking wine hours ago, wondering if he should have stayed in the tavern with Bull and the others. He knows he could be scrambling over the Qunari’s impossibly wide thighs about now, or perhaps, embarrassingly, holding onto his horns whilst the man takes every inch of him between much too familiar lips. But no, he’s here, with the newly announced Thom Rainier. Not Blackwall. Trevelyan wouldn’t stand for it, too noble to let a name be abused like that.

Thom had left the tavern early as he always did nowadays. Too many people gave him a stare over the shoulder, a particularly spiteful glance in his direction, and the threat of spit in his ale was all too prevalent. Dorian was used to it; he’d had worse in Tevinter. Though, Thom couldn’t exactly throw a stinging hex or send the ghost of a corpse’s hand up someone’s spine in retaliation. Thom couldn’t do anything. And he’d chastised Dorian when he’d made the offer. There was no need to upset them any further; though Dorian had wholeheartedly disagreed with that. One didn’t simply roll over and take punishment unless it was the fun kind.

“It wasn’t a mistake.” Thom huffs, a wetted finger circling the top of his glass; hands too calloused to make it sing. Such lovely hands, Dorian thought. The man had no mind for oils, he didn’t care for the skin that hardened under hilts and old leather gloves. He liked the smell of them, the oils, not Thom’s hands, he hadn’t a clue what stable scent they carried. Dorian had caught him eying up the decorated bottles in the few times they were set to share a tent, smelling the air like an interested dog. Too shy to ask for a sniff of such expensive things; something that would have belied the life he had led before he’d taken someone else’s name for his own.

That was perhaps what started this absurd crush off in the beginning. Not the barbaric nature of the other man, for Dorian knew he had a tendency towards the more ferocious kinds of men; but, rather the way Thom had grabbed his hand as Dorian had offered it. His hands still slightly wet, fingers waggling as if showing precious jewels, massaged with oil that he had shipped from Antiva, smelling of something or other; Dorian didn’t speak Antivan, and he certainly couldn’t translate the scent from the bottle. But Thom had held his hand like he was a fresh-faced maiden, and brought oiled fingers to his face. And, for just a moment, Dorian had thought he was going to kiss his knuckles. It would be the perfect time for a princely joke, Thom had a fondness for them, assuming that Dorian hadn’t a hardship in his life.

Thom had said something, Dorian didn’t catch it even in the silence that suffocated him in that tent, something about what the smell of the oil was. He’d nodded dumbly, and pulled back his hand when the staring lingered for too long. There was a joke about hygiene and basic morning rituals that had Thom laughing and waving him off; settling in bed and ignoring the way that Dorian’s heart thundered loud enough to spark magic in his fingers. Embarrassing.

He had thanked the Maker for the night time darkness that too lingered, it was easier to hide how heated his face became at the thought of Thom kissing across his knuckles and up his exposed arm. All bitten lips and wiry beard, his skin would be cut and rough, reddened for an entirely different reason if anything had come of it. Bar that of a few memories that might prevail in more dreams that he would admit.

“Nonsense.” Dorian says. “You’ve no idea what a mistake is.” He laughs, swirling the wine in his glass like these southern fools often did. He could see Thom’s hands now. Naked they were, for a better grip on the glass.

“Course I do.” Thom hunches over in that sagging way he often does. Hiding away in the padding of his coat, in the width of his shoulders. Dorian could have his thighs around Bull’s shoulders, his hips, the Qunari could be bending him in half right now; oiled fingers and all. Bull must know, Dorian realises in the next swirl of his wine, tipping it into his throat with a hum and trying to swallow that thought along with it.

They weren’t official. They’d never be, they couldn’t be. Just a bit of fun. They both knew that. Bull had tried to stop him once, tried to stop him following the chatty drunk that was Thom Rainier, and letting him drink until he moped and grumbled and huffed and then complained of the headaches that followed him through to the morning. Dorian had waved him off, an overt gesture and whisper of insatiable as he left.

Dorian realised then, that they had run out of wine, his perfectly soft hands were empty, and Thom was still trying to make his glass sing to fill the grim aura that encumbered them.

“If you truly know so much,” Dorian whispers, leaning close, pushing himself into the space Thom had already reserved for himself, “then, perhaps you’ll be able to tell me if I’m making another now.” He’s acting far more drunk than he is, and it’s something he’s done many times before. A reason to excuse such behaviour, to blame that press of his lips onto Thom’s own on the wine they had drank in only the company of each other.

Those lips weren’t chapped, or bitten rough, and his beard was softer than Dorian had imagined it to be. Thom tasted like the wine that had run out, and smelt of something faintly Antivan.

[nirikeehan]

first sentences of my last ten fics

Tagged by @anneapocalypse. Thanks!!

I'm just gonna go by date posted or updated to AO3 for these. All are for Dragon Age.

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Blackwall took his meals alone. - Celestine Black, Blackwall & Cassandra.

The wound was grievous deep. - In Love and War, Thalia/Cullen, Cullen & Samson, Thalia & Samson, WIP.

On slow afternoons — of which there are more now than ever — Thalia spends time on the battlements. - Widow's Peak, Thalia & Varric, background Thalia/Blackwall, background Thalia/Cullen.

The banging on the door shook Thalia from a dead sleep. - Stolen Roses, Thalia backstory at the Ostwick Circle.

Pravin liked the Herald’s Rest tavern because it had good food, excellent drink, mediocre entertainment, and a fascinating cross-section of civilization upon which to eavesdrop. - Balancing the Scales, Pravinquistion AU, Pravin & Blackwall, background Thalia/Blackwall, background Thalia/Cullen.

“Come on,” Pravin needles her, “just one song.” - Tongue-tied, Pravinquisition AU, Thalia & Pravin.

Cullen, Here is the latest intelligence analysis report on Corypheus’s campaign. - Letters from Underground, Cullen & Samson, background Thalia/Cullen.

“Rutherford,” said Bann Oswald Trevelyan upon their introduction. “That’s an interesting name for a Fereldan.” - Temperance and Templars, Thalia/Cullen bodyguard au, WIP.

He has imagined her return a thousand times and a thousand times more. - Kingdom Come, Thalia/Thom Rainier post-Trespasser AU, WIP.

It was the professional opinion of Pravin Talavera, also known as — in most civilized circles — Fidencio Frye, that the Inquisition was one rinky-dink operation. - A Warden By Any Other Name, Pravinquisition AU, Thalia & Pravin, Thalia/Blackwall.

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