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somethingwritey · 3 years

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my writing samples!

if you’re interested in commissioning my work (or you just like reading excerpts), i’ve taken some time to prepare writing samples!

more commission information can be found here or you can private message me for further questions!

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💖 dramatic

this is an excerpt from a rangi/kyoshi one-shot i did recently:

Rangi’s exhalation is loud in Kyoshi’s head, but perhaps almost silent in the world. “I used to see you guys around the mansion,” she confesses. “I would… watch you two. It was my duty, of course, to watch him. But not you.”

This isn’t exactly news to Kyoshi. Rangi has spent lifetimes saving her from herself and the world. Her bodyguard before she knew she needed one.

“I know.”

“You wanna know what I thought?” Rangi shakes her head, a strangled bit of laughter escaping her lips. “When I saw the way he’d admire you? I thought… The Avatar and his servant… what a pathetically tragic way to love. So caught up in the power imbalance of it all.”

“Rangi -”

“And then,” Rangi stares up at the sky now, squinting into the brightness of it all. “I fell right into it myself. Only you’re not the servant, Kyoshi. You’ve never been the servant. It’s me. In love with the great and powerful Avatar. Hopelessly and endlessly lost in the difference between duty and pleasure.”

That is absolutely wrong. If nothing else, Kyoshi knows that. “You’re not.”

“In love with you?”

No. That’s probably true, even if Kyoshi still doesn’t know why.

“You’re not my servant. You’ve never been, and you never will be.”

Rangi finally meets her gaze, and Kyoshi is surprised to see a glassiness there, reflecting in the bronze of her irises. She reaches out and runs a hand along the girl’s jawline, gently tracing every scar, every ghost of pain.

“Whoever made me the Avatar was really, really stupid,” she whispers. “You would’ve made a better one.”

“I’m not Earth Kingdom.”

“I don’t care.” Kyoshi knows how the cycle works. And she still thinks the Era of Rangi would outshine any past or future Avatar.

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💖 comedic/light-hearted

this is an excerpt from a jay/carlos de vil one-shot:

“You have a crush?”

Carlos whipped around, staring at Jay who had just come up the stairs. “Where the fuck did you come from?”

“Uh -” Jay blinked, pointing down the stairs. “Downstairs? Look, someone said you go ... oh, you found a friend.” His gaze fell on the cat.

“He’s my new best friend.” Carlos was only half joking. “You’ve been demoted.”

Jay feigned hurt for a moment. On the whole, he didn’t look as drunk as Carlos would’ve expected. “So, this crush of yours,” he said at last. “Is he the reason you agreed to come?”

The irony wasn’t lost on Carlos, and if he weren’t too busy wishing the earth would swallow him whole, he might’ve laughed. “Uh - I don’t -”

“Come on,” Jay laughed. “I won’t tell anyone. Not even Mal. What’s he like?”

Carlos made a face. “The one time you’re not hammered at a party, huh? Just my luck.”

Jay shook his head. “Come on, man! Just give me a hint!”

Carlos mimed zipping his lips.

Jay is here. With you, his brain whispered unhelpfully. Not downstairs. Maybe you have a chance.

Jay smiled, oddly genuine. “I get that parties aren’t your thing, ‘Los. Must be one hell of a guy if he’s worth all this.”

“Yeah, well,” Carlos mumbled, picking at a spot on the carpet. “He looks cute when he says please.”

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💖 alternate universe/timeline adjustment

this is a sneak peak of an unpublished equalist!asami/korra fic that i’m currently working on :) so stay tuned for more of this:

“Miss Sato,” a voice called from beyond the reinforced door. “You have a visitor.”

Her father, surely! Or one of his associates. But when door slid open and someone stepped inside, it wasn’t Hiroshi.

Asami turned towards the wall. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Asami, wait.” Korra didn’t try to get any closer. “I just -”

“Just what?” Asami muttered. Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “Wanted to see me put away? Make sure they’d gotten the right girl? A non-bender standing on the sidewalk at night is so dangerous, see. Glad you’ve got the police force cracking down on the issue.”

She could feel Korra’s frustration and revelled in it. She liked being able to get to Korra.

“No! That’s not! Ugh!” Korra paced, her footsteps heavy. “I don’t have much time! I just wanted to ask you to meet me! Away from anyone listening! Under the Silk Road Bridge.”

“I’d love to, but you see,” Asami gestured around her cell. She still hadn’t dropped the cynical act. “I’m kinda busy at the moment.”

“Your father is already trying to buy your way out,” Korra told her. “You’ll be released before most of Republic City wakes up. I know you, Asami. You wouldn’t… you’re not -”

“Not what, Korra?” Asami finally looked at her. Hard. “Like the rest of the non-benders? One of the good ones?”

“You betrayed us!”

“And you couldn’t save those people from being rounded up like animals!”

Korra opened her mouth, but no words came out. She threw back her head in frustration. “Fine! I’ll leave you alone! But tonight, at midnight, I’ll be under that bridge. I hope you will be, too. I just want to talk.”

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💖 angst/pining

this is an excerpt from a casey/izzie fic:

Casey couldn’t breathe.

She was used to the breathlessness that came with running, the burning and tightening of her lungs as she demanded more from them. But when her feet skimmed across the pavement, racing, racing, like her heartbeat, it didn’t scare her. Rather, she relished it, craved it. The way her whole body felt alive, how she could feel every tingle in her arms and legs, how everything seems to still and grow quiet around her - she loved it.

This was different.

Her vision tunneled, entirely swallowed by Izzie and the boy in the corner who had his tongue in her mouth. The people around her suddenly felt too close and the music too loud. She wished she had Sam’s noise canceling headphones.

Casey wasn’t even trying to inhale anymore as she stared, watching the girl whose lips she’d taken a chance on kiss a boy - a stranger. She could feel her chest burning, could feel the rest of her body screaming at her to take a breath, to do something. But she couldn’t. She could only stare until the need for air became too much.

She gasped, her feet moving against her will. The room smelled like too much weed, stinging her eyes and nose. Casey began to back towards the door.

It wasn’t that she was heartbroken; no, she knew what heartbreak felt like, and right now, that space was occupied by Evan.

This was on her. She’d decided to break off something good and consistent and wonderful to chase after someone who played hot and cold like Evan played video games. She had no one to blame but the person in the mirror.

Somehow, after being jostled around by several other bodies, she made it to the hallway. It was quiet, thankfully, the noise of the party muffled to the pulsing of the base inside the hotel room where she knew Izzie was still liplocked with that tall stranger.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

How could she have thrown away something so good for this?

She wanted to go back to being normal; to the time when she looked at Evan’s eyes and didn’t see Izzie’s reflecting back at her.

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💖 hurt/comfort

this is an excerpt from a nico minoru/karolina dean fic:

“You’re still glowing.” The words came out low. Nico’s eyes flicked up and down her girlfriend’s illuminated body, taking it all in. She knew Karolina could control her light now, which could only mean one thing.

“I wanted you to see it,” Karolina admitted, ducking her head. Now that Nico’s eyes were open, she could see just how much fear flickered behind Karolina’s warm glow. She had removed her arms from Nico now and twisted her hands together in front of herself anxiously. “I needed you to see it.”

Nico swallowed hard, unable to pull her eyes away. The light brought so many emotions flooding back. The first time she’d seen Karo glow. Early nights at the Hostel when the power would short out and Karolina walked around like a glowing flashlight. All the times Nico ran her hands down her hips and kissed her neck and watched her glow brighter than all the stars in the sky.

“I see it,” Nico promised.

“You’re not scary,” was Karolina’s response.

They were words Nico had said many times to Karolina, but never had anyone said them to her.

“Then why am I… like this?”

“Nico.” Karolina shook her head. “Your darkness isn’t evil. It just… is. And I know you can master your magic without the Staff. You’re more than its power.”

“Am I?” Nico didn’t know what she was. She’d been trying to figure it out for a lot longer than she cared to admit.

She was the Dead Girl’s Sister. She was That Goth Bitch. She was a loner, an outcast, a freak.

“You’re Nico Minoru,” Karolina said quietly. “And that’s… that’s enough.”

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💖 fluff

this mal/evie moment is an excerpt from longer fic titled In Loco Parentis:

Evie had really outdone herself. She’d managed to put together a figure cutting, sapphire satin dress that fell off the shoulders in the most tasteful way possible. With her dark makeup and striking updo, Evie could’ve passed as at least twenty-five. And Mal had never wanted to kiss her more.

“I’m proud of you,” Mal said during a quiet moment, rubbing the other girl’s shoulders gently. “You look great. You did good.”

“Well,” Evie laughed, tipping her head back. “I did well.”

“Whatever, princess.” Mal’s voice had gone soft, her chin resting on Evie’s shoulder. Unable to help herself, she pressed a gentle kiss there, glancing up to see if she’d overstepped. But Evie didn’t look upset; on the contrary, her eyes were wide and her cheeks pink.

“So that’s what it’s like when a girl kisses you,” she breathed, tucking Mal’s hair behind her ear.

“Believe me,” Mal purred. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.” She waited for Evie to correct her grammar again, but instead, the girl pulled Mal gently out from behind her, capturing Mal’s lips with her own.

And just like that, Evie was kissing her.

“You’ve got lipstick on your face,” Evie whispered as she pulled away, doing her best to wipe it off.

“I don’t care.”

“I can’t fail you today.” Evie tugged at the hem of her dress, sighing. “I can’t. Mal, this means so much to you.”

But for the first time in a very, very long time, revenge on her mother was the last thing on Mal’s mind. Evie’s eyes and lips and voice took up all the space, blooming in her chest. “You can’t fail me,” she promised.

And that was the sheer and utter truth.

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💖 single character-centric

this is an excerpt from a catra-centric exploration:

She’s lost count of the nail marks.

When Hordak first threw her in this cell, Catra resolved to count every single tally Shadow Weaver left on the walls. But now that she’s fifty-two marks in - or maybe fifty-three? - her determination is beginning to waver.

She also doesn’t remember Shadow Weaver being locked up for fifty days. Maybe the nail marks don’t represent days at all - or maybe the old lady is as crazy as she is evil.

Lowering her gaze to the green glowing shackles around her hands, Catra tries - not for the first time - to wriggle out of them. Their buzzing is growing increasingly irritating.

How dare Shadow Weaver leave? Did she stop to think what would happen to Catra? Did it even cross her mind that she might be thrown in this cell as her replacement? Or maybe she did and just didn’t care?

Catra’s face twists in a grim smile. Of course her own fate hasn’t given Shadow Weaver any pause. She got what she wanted.

She tries to think back, to find the place where she went wrong - a single moment she can pinpoint where her plans went to shit. But the pieces just don’t fit. Nothing adds up.

Because Catra has done everything right. She’s climbed the ranks. She’s done her job well. She’s accomplished everything Adora could have and more. She’s surpassed even Shadow Weaver’s authority!

And yet, here she is. In chains. Awaiting punishment.

Adora always comes out on top. Hasn’t that been beaten into her since day one? Adora gets to walk away unharmed, with her new best friends and glowing hair. Adora gets Shadow Weaver, despite being a defector, a traitor, a failure!

I would’ve stayed for you.

Catra kicks out with her back foot and pushes away the tray someone delivered to her earlier. She’s not that hungry anyway - and certainly not for brown ration bars.

The tray makes a satisfying clatter as it skids across the floor, and Catra bares her teeth in a halfway smile. If she’s going down, she’s going to go down fighting. She’ll make it as difficult and as painful for Hordak as she can - right until the very end.

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💖 second person

this is an excerpt from a summer/tessa fic i wrote by request:

She’s happy now, you know.

She’s brighter and happier and just really fucking in love.

You can see it. You can hear it in the way she talks and the way her eyes light up when she walks into the room. You notice how she perks up when her name is dropped during casual conversation and how she makes a point of talking about her at every possible offhanded moment.

And honestly, you’re happy, too. You’re happy for her. You’re happy for them. Because they’re just so cute, and everyone says so.

And if you notice that Tessa is wearing her sweater - the one you used to wear because it made her mad and got those sparkling eyes to fix on you for just a few more seconds - you don’t say anything.

Because it wasn’t like the sweater belonged to you or was anything other than a polyester cardigan with a small hole in the elbow.

It’s not like when you draped it over your shoulders, she would roll her eyes and grumble and demand you give it back. Your heart wouldn’t jump, and your mind wouldn’t rush with the adrenaline that came with shooting a snarky response.

It’s not like you memorized the way she used to scoff - that sound in the back of her throat - or how she’d wave her hand dismissively while you wondered what it would be like to hold it and never let go.

It’s not like you’ve ever wanted anything from her - attention or otherwise.

It’s not like that sweater gave you an excuse to touch her shoulders, to catch a whiff of her perfume, to pretend the old sleeves were a good substitute for her arms.

When words finally do form in your mouth, they’re not the ones you want to say. They’re snarky or sarcastic or snide. They’re perfectly in-character for you, the airhead, the fair-weather friend, or just The Bitch.

Plain and simple. Easy to categorize and even easier to overlook.

You won’t think about what it feels like to hug her or how comforting it is to rest your head on her shoulder for those brief, world-stopping seconds - so close you can smell her shampoo and whatever else she uses to make those curls behave themselves. Those moments are meant to be locked away, to be kept safe, where they can’t become anything they shouldn’t. Because the two of you have come so far, but nowhere near far enough.

Yeah, you’re not my type.

It’s confirmation of a dead end.

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if any of these pieces catch your eye and you want one of your own, please don’t hesitate to reach out to me! i’m in the process of working on some really cool commissions right now, and i’m more than happy to add yours to the mix!

♡ ♡ ♡

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queen-scribbles · 3 years

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The Thing About Darktown

Just gonna post my Secret Santa fic for @jarinodragonage over here, too, now that she’s seen it. ;D

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“Stop rubbing, you’ll make it worse!”

“It itches!”

“Better that than festering and falling off- Hawke!” Aveline growled in exasperation as the younger woman flinched away, half-done bandages fluttering. “You know, this wouldn’t even be an issue if you’d brought Anders.”

Leigh snorted wryly, rubbing the injury in question with a fervor that hastened the unraveling of the bandages. “There’s a sentence I never thought I’d hear you say.”

“Why not?” Aveline narrowed her eyes and moved after her, cornering Leigh against a boulder and getting a better grip on her arm to redo the patching up that was all but undone now. “Most people would consider it wise to bring a healer if you have one at your disposal. Especially given you usually include him on your... adventures.”

Leigh grinned, hearing the ‘mis’ Aveline clearly wanted to slap in front of the last word. “You’re not enjoying girls’ night out?” she said drolly, waving to where Isabela and Merrill were examining what remained of their foes. “I’m just happy the bad guys are dead and we aren’t.” She grimaced as Aveline pulled the bandages just a little tighter. “Aveline! Are you trying to fix my arm or amputate it?!”

“The former,” Aveline said sternly. “But if the bandages slide, you may wind up needing the latter. There.” She tied off the bandages, tucked the trailing ends under so it wouldn’t snag, and let go of Leigh’s arm. “That should hold you until you can get it seen to, at least.”

“My hero,” Leigh said with a cheeky wink and darted over to help Isabela rifle the corpses for anything good.

“Not leaking any more?” Isabela asked playfully, shifting so Leigh could crouch next to her.

Leigh snorted. “Not for now, at least.” She tested her range of motion and wiggled her fingers. “Kinda stiff, throbs a little, but I can make it back to Kirkwall without drawing down wolves on us in addition to... whatever these gentlemen were supposed to be.” She rolled the body at her feet on its stomach with her good hand and started checking the pouches around the back of the belt. Nothing more valuable than a small collection of pretty pebbles.

“Good to hear,” Isabela laughed. “I’d rather not have anything to do with wolves if we can help it.”

“Oh, but they’re so pretty t’ watch when they hunt,” Merrill piped up, then wrinkled her nose as she processed the context of the remark. “Though they’d be huntin’ us, I suppose, wouldn’t they? Best to avoid that.”

“My thoughts exactly, kitten,” Isabela said with a wink. It only took a few more minutes of searching for her and Leigh to be satisfied they’d found everything of any value. There wasn’t much; this lot were clearly poor and desperate. (Of course, they’d have to be, to attack such a clearly dangerous group as the four of them.) Pretty baubles, a few coppers, and some rusty weapons were the extent of “treasure” they carried. If the poor bastards hadn’t attacked them first, Leigh would have felt bad about killing them. Under the circumstances, however, sympathy was a little hard to come by. She rubbed at the bandages again and pretended she didn’t hear Aveline sigh.

---

To Leigh’s vast relief, they were not hassled by wolves or anything else on their way back to Kirkwall, despite the setting sun and lengthening shadows. Her arm was starting to really ache, and she wasn’t sure how much help she’d be in a fight. Still, she waved off the others’ concern when they reached the city, insisted they go their own ways. “I think I can make it to Anders’ clinic by myself,” she said glibly when Aveline offered to come with her. She turned a grin toward Isabela and Merrill. “Save me a seat when you get to the Hanged Man? I’ll be over when I’m done.”

“You got it, sweet thing,” Isabela laughed, then looped her arm through Merrill’s as they headed for the tavern.

Aveline hesitated a moment longer; until Leigh made a shooing motion toward the Viscount’s Keep. “Go on, Avs, I know walking Darktown is more exciting than all the paperwork sitting on your desk, but I’ll be okay. Promise.”

Aveline shook her head and huffed (yet) another sigh. “Just... be careful, Hawke.”

“The very model of,” Leigh promised with a glib wave. “See you around, guard captain.”

Sh waited until she was well out of sight from all of them before rubbing hard at the bandages again, directly over the stinging gash across her bicep. It itched, worse than well, pretty much anything she could remember.

“Good thing it’s not too far to the clinic,” she muttered, balling her hand into a fist as the wound started to throb more pointedly, keeping time with her heartbeat. “Sooner I take care of this, the better.”

Leigh knew the safest route through Darktown to Anders’ clinic. She also knew the fastest route through Darktown to Anders’ clinic. This injury was enough of an annoyance that today she went for speed over safety. She could handle herself, after all, and was very clearly armed. She doubted anyone would fuck with her in the first place, and she’d deal with them if they did.

Still, she kept her eyes open and on her surroundings as she walked, tried not to let her thoughts wander.

It’s a good thing those were just common bandits, still wormed its way through her brain. Skilled as they all were, she was less accustomed to fighting alongside Aveline, Isabela, and Merrill. They’d lacked the synergy she had gotten used to. There were times it was as if she and Fenris read each others’ minds in a fight, they knew Varric’s rhythm and could avoid being skewered by the bolts meant for their enemies, and Aveline had been correct--it was very useful having a healer along.

She missed a step and almost tumbled. Right. No wandering thoughts, Leigh reprimanded herself as she caught her balance. She’d drawn some attention from a knot of hard-faced individuals with her near-fall, but fortunately her cloak hung over the evidence she was wounded. Still, no reason to linger.

Leigh curled her hand around the hilt of a dagger when one of the loungers kept staring her direction a little too long, but the sense of eyes on her faded when she rounded the next corner, so she relaxed her grip. She kept her pace brisk, and the wariness had faded somewhat by the time she passed the [waste] chute that marked halfway. While she didn’t rub the still-itching wound again, she did press her hand over it and bite her lip. The pressure felt good. She’d have to mention that to Anders, see if it meant anything bad he should know about before healing her up.

It was after the next corner everything went to shit. She rounded it too tightly, and her injured arm rammed against the edge precisely where the two walls met. Leigh let out an instinctual yelp at the burst of pain that flared through her arm and set stars dancing behind her eyes. She gritted her teeth to clamp down on it, but the damage was done.

“Need a hand, lovely?” The speaker, a rangy elf with a shaved head and facial tattoos, leaned against the wall and flashed an indolent grin.

“I’m fine, thanks,” Leigh shot back with a decent tinge of snark. “Just tad clumsy.”

“Sure? Darktown’s no place to be wanderin’ alone.” The contrast of the deep red tattoos curving up his cheekbones made the glint in his eyes seem all the more dangerous. And as he spoke, two other figures--another elven man and a human woman--sidled up with a faux-casual air that had goosebumps prickling Leigh’s arms.

“That’s why I’m trying to get it over with, Red-- Can I call you Red?” she said with a cheeriness she didn’t really feel, sizing them up as she spoke. Red had picked his spot well; even leaning against the wall he was close enough to grab her unless she was very fast. The other elf would be in the way if she went for her original path, and the woman now stood just enough to the side she could back up either of her friends handily.

“Oh, a funny one,” Red chuckled, not deigning to comment on her assigning him a nickname. “Y’know, it might go faster--definitely safer--if you hand Cob there” --a nod toward his fellow elf--”all your coin.”

“It might, huh?” Her arm twinged, and Leigh shifted the odds a few points in their favor. Good thing I tend to beat the odds... “If I had any on me, I’d be sure to share it with such a beleaguered innocent as... Cob.” She arched her brows toward the elf. His scraggly blond hair and jaundiced complexion actually did bear passing resemblance to a corncob. “Sadly, I think I left my coinpurse in my other cloak.”

“Bullshit,” the woman snarled, hand drifting to the short-bladed sword. “Who the fuck travels without any money?”

“Me, the fuck,” Leigh returned brightly, shifting just a little. If she got very lucky and timed it just right, she could probably slip away. “But if you don’t believe me, you can look for yourself.”

Her good hand yanked the clasp of her cloak and pulled it free to toss toward Red and the woman as Leigh lunged low and outside past Cob.

He snagged her elbow and tried to hold her back, but she tore free, stumbled a few steps before catching her balance.

Just in time to trip over the booted foot that appeared in front of her ankles. Leigh cursed under her breath and lurched semi-sideways as she was forced to balance again. Her instincts proved good; a pitted blade swung uncomfortably close to her shoulder. She freed one of her daggers with her good hand and spun to parry the next blow. She was just barely fast enough to redirect it into the moldering wall. Her other fist was already swinging after it, and she connected with the female thug’s cheekbone and sent her reeling into Cob. Pain flared in Leigh’s knuckles and up her arm, but at least she’d gained some breathing room--

The hairs at the nape of her neck prickled. She jerked sideways and there was a frustrated growl as Red’s swing went wide.

“Amber, Cob, get it together and help me gut this bitch!” he barked as he lunged forward in another swipe at Leigh’s midriff. Apparently he’d meant it literally.

The two of them grumbled as they recovered, glaring at her and circling to pen her in.

Leigh fought back a grimace and ran through her options. What few she had.

She feinted left, then went straight, ramming a shoulder into Cob’s chest and her dagger cutting a shallow scarlet line across Amber’s arm. They pivoted after her quickly, but at least she wasn’t pinned against a wall any more.

Red lunged forward, and even as she parried his dagger, he punched the bandaged portion of her arm. Hard.

Leigh spat a curse and slammed her elbow into his jaw. Her dagger slashed across his cheek as she followed through, and she kicked the inside of his knee for good measure.

Three on one meant no respite, however, and even as she spun away from Red, Amber closed in. Leigh ducked under the blow aimed at her head, but wasn’t quite fast enough to avoid the other woman’s buckler. The edge of the small shield caught her in the jaw with a crack.

Leigh ran her tongue over the new cut, tasted copper, and lunged. For Red, not Amber.

None of them were expecting that, and Red’s reflexes were just a little too slow as a result. He didn’t get his blades up in time to parry and Leigh’s dagger sank in the hollow of his collarbone.

He gave an airless gasp, then a wet cough, and dropped.

Crimson flew in an arc from Leigh’s dagger as it came free and she spun to face the other two. Amber and Cob charged her from opposite directions and she backpedaled, angling to the right and pivoting she she could gouge the back of Cob’s thigh as he passed her.

She didn’t cut deep enough to hit anything vital, but he still toppled with a curse. He lashed out and the pommel of his dagger slammed into the side of her knee.

Combined with Leigh’s momentum, it took her down and sent her rolling into the wall. She banged her head hard enough to see stars, and when they cleared, Amber was standing over her, grip tight on her sword and a sneer curling her lips

She raised the blade even as Leigh scrambled mentally for an out. “You could’ve avoided this if you’d just done as you were tol-”

The gloating words cut off, her shoulders jerking forward as the front six inches of a greatsword emerged from her chest.

“She’s never been good at that,” Fenris said dryly as he pulled his sword free, gaze shifting from the slain thug to Leigh, concern and amusement mingled in his eyes. “despite ample evidence it is not always a bad thing.”

“What can I say, I’m a rebel,” Leigh returned glibly, pushing herself up to a sitting position and leaning her head back against the wall. “Not that I’m unhappy to see you, Fenris, but where the fuck did you come from?”

He chuckled and let his sword hang loosely in one hand as he offered her the other. “The Hanged Man. I was meeting Donnic for drinks, but Isabela mentioned you’d been injured-”

“And you wanted to check on me?” Leigh teased, grinning playfully as she took his hand. “I’m touched.”

Fenris snorted and hauled her up, so fast it almost felt like flying. “I figured you would head for the clinic,” he corrected. He maintained a steadying grip on her forearm when she wobbled. “I wanted to ensure your safe arrival, knowing what Darktown is like.” He punctuated the words with a glare at Cob.

“My hero,” Leigh said, with a little more sincerity than when she’d tossed the same words at Aveline. “Normally I’d protest I’m a big girl and can handle myself, but today I think I’ll go with ‘thanks for the rescue’.”

Fenris nodded, then tipped his head toward Cob, who now sat glaring up at them with a hand pressed to the back of his thigh. “And what of him?”

Leigh shrugged, not liking the soreness already settling in her muscles. I really need to see Anders. “Eh, just leave him be.”

“What?!” Cob barked. “You kill my friends, cripple me, and you’re just going to leave?!”

“Hey, you lot attacked me, asshole,” Leigh fired back, grasping Fenris’ arm to hold him back when his markings flickered and he tensed. “After I tried to avoid a fight. You’re lucky I’m not askin’ him to finish you off. My cloak’s somewhere around here; you can have that to patch yourself up. But I need to be on my way. After all, it’s not safe to linger in Darktown.”

She went to make a dramatic exit, and her knee almost gave out. Fenris caught her, pulled her back upright, and only paused to sheath his sword before draping her arm around his shoulders for support.

“Thanks,” Leigh whispered, limping heavily as they walked away.

“You are most welcome,” Fenris replied, in that soft, low murmur that sent warmth curling all the way to her toes. “Let’s get you to Anders.”

---

The rest of the walk was uneventful, which Leigh credited to the protective air radiating from Fenris. Anders was, thankfully, not busy when they arrived and immediately turned his attention to fussing over her. He and Fenris exchanged the occasional sniping remark, as the latter insisted on ‘hovering’ nearby, no doubt concerned about the fresh blood seeping through Leigh’s bandages.

The battering from her alley scuffle was easily healed--and she did mention Cob to Anders, just in case he’d feel inclined to help the man. But Anders frowned when he unwrapped the bandages around her arm. “Hawke, this is from today?”

“Just a couple hours ago,” Leigh nodded. “We were already on our way back to the city, and I headed here soon as we made it. Why-” She turned to look and grimaced at the angry red edges to the wound. “Oh.”

“It’s good you came straight here,” Anders said, then glanced at Fenris. “Well, nearly. There must’ve been something on the blade, deliberately or not.” He murmured a quiet spell, fingers tracing through the air before he laid his hand over the wound.

The spell rolled through her with a cleansing prickle that gave her goosebumps for a minute before fading. But the near-insufferable itching was gone. Anders’ hand flexed again, and healing magic chased the cleansing spell to knit flesh back together.

Leigh’s slumped with relief. “Thanks, handsome,” she winked as she gave that shoulder an experimental roll. “Much better.” All better, there wasn’t even a scar.

“Always happy to help,” Anders said with a tired smile. “Your knee might still be sore,” he cautioned as she started to stand. “You might want to take it easy for a day or two.”

“I will accompany you,” Fenris offered, soon as she’d made it to her feet. “To be safe, of course.”

“Of course,” Leigh chuckled. Her knee seemed alright, but she’d never pass up his company. She thanked Anders again, then she and Fenris headed out.

“Hawke, it’s this way,” Fenris commented when she walked past the turn that would lead back to Hightown.

“I’m going to the Hanged Man, not home,” Leigh said with a smile and a shrug. “Promised I’d join ‘Bela and Merrill. And I can take it easy there just as well as at home.” Better; at the Hanged Man she’d be around people. Friends.

His shoulders tensed, and she could almost see his overprotective instincts winding up, before he relaxed and nodded. “I shall accompany you there, then, instead.”

Leigh snickered. “That worried about me tumbling in a ditch somewhere, are you?”

“There are plenty to choose from in this city,” Fenris deadpanned. “Or perhaps I wish to offer back up in case anyone is fool enough to attack you.”

“Oh, thank you. Whatever the reason, I’ll happily take your company.”

She hadn’t really meant to say it, no matter how glib her tone,and he clearly didn’t know how to reply, so they walked in almost-awkward silence for a minute.

“So, how many poor sods did you inadvertently terrorize on your way down through Darktown?” Leigh finally asked, playfully nudging his shoulder, before the silence became too much.

“I... do not know,” Fenris admitted. He glanced at her. “I was too preoccupied to notice.”

Oh. She bit her lip and cleared her throat. “Bet you get turned into a phantom in children’s stories now,” she teased, struggling to make the words light-hearted. “You know, the ghost who’ll snatch them away if they get out of bed in the middle of the night.”

“Just what I’ve always wanted,” he said dryly, and Leigh couldn’t help but snort a laugh.

“It would fit, though,” she said, flashing a mischievous grin. “You glow, you... pass through things--or people, at least.. Practically writes itself. I should tell Varric.”

Fenris groaned, but there was something half-hearted about it, and she caught the smile he tried to hide. “I’m certain he has better things to do.”

“Better, maybe. But not more fun.”

Their easy pace during the conversation had carried them to within a stone’s throw of the tavern, and Leigh paused, turning to rest a hand on Fenris’ arm. “All joking aside, I am truly grateful you came swooping to my rescue.”

Fenris caught her gaze and held it as he took a breath, then slowly exhaled. “Anytime, Leigh.”

He leaned ever so slightly into her touch, then stepped away and headed inside the Hanged Man. Leigh’s hand curled into a loose fist, and she closed her eyes to take a deep breath before trailing after him.

Isabela and Merrill greeted her cheerfully, and Leigh was all too happy to let their company and the general tavern cacophony distract her from... anything else.

(She caught a glimpse of silver-white hair across the bustling space and hastily focused back on Isabela’s challenge to a hand of Wicked Grace.)

Anyone else.

#queens fic #fenhawke #leigh hawke/fenris #da2 #jarino dragonage

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everlind · 7 years

Text

I was going through all my unfinished and rejected text files (there’s… quite a few). So, instead of leaving them to collect dust on my computer, I decided hey, why the hell not. Think of these as the roughest of rough doodles. Doodles that might be missing hands. Or are all drawn in side-profile. Most of these are NOT finished.

This one is actually finished!

FOOL ME ONCE

Pale skin, scruffy clothes, blue eyes. Human. Your eyes catch and stumble, but he’s already lost in the busy throng of the market. There’s no reason for you to come to a complete stop, but you do, skimming the crowd.

Gone. A beefy rustblood nearly knocks into you into a cart with de-spined slimeslugs. “Walk much?” she sneers.

You bare your fangs on reflex. It’s merely the usual polite half-distracted scorn twaddle, because she moves on and you turn toward the cart.

“Wow, what was her problem huh?”

You start, look to your left and there he is. All elbows and knees, hair like a bird’s nest, sly smiling. There’s no way you’re not noticing that half translucent skin, the blue-not-blue running in clears streaks like fucking targets. With effort, you drag your eyes up to his face. He grins wider.

Smooth, Karkat, you groan inwardly.

“You don’t look from around here,” he says, winking.

It’s one of the stalest pick-up lines in the pitch book. A quip about conquering Earth is in your camp, but he’s standing there, glowing in the red wash of the sun’s fading light, all bare-throated and human fragile, with only a single sinkhole of a quadrant accounted for.

“Yeah, and I suppose someone like you would know all about that, huh?” you sneer, eyes lingering over ragged hems of his jacket, his untagged ears and sharp, hungry face.

“I do actually,” he retorts. “What’s the moirail of the Grand Highblood-in-waiting looking for in the slum district, hm? I’m betting it’s not to buy a quad of slimeslugs.” He gestures at the cart.

“How d—“ you begin, and swallow the rest back down like a mouthful of acid. Too late, the other guy’s smiling so brightly all his flat useless cud-chowing teeth are on display.

“Ah!” he taps the side of his nose. “I have my ways. Also the pin in your lapel, dumbass.”

Fuck. You look down, hands moving up to tuck it back out of sight but it is, still meticulously hidden away under the gray silk tie. How—?

“Hehe,” he winks again. His irises are the purest indigo you’ve ever seen, even on a goddammed highblood. Weird. “So mister moirail, maybe I could help you find what you’re looking for? I know my way… around.” His eyes sweep you up and down, linger.

Is. Is this guy flirting with you? You don’t even know if he is, but it’s working, why is it working? And then, right on the heels of that, understanding slamming into your pan like rail runner: an pretty thing like him willingly approaching you, a troll? Hah. Not even in your dreams. Although… he doesn’t seem dressed like a conciliatory hire and he’s a bit too tall and rangy, most trolls like ‘em smaller and softer than that. Still really attractive though.

Damn it. Yeah, there’s no way, just no fucking way, he’s just messing with you. Rage and humiliation helps wash away the tingling, naive warmth already high up enough to warm your cheeks. Enough of this bullshit.

“Something you wanted?” you snarl, allowing your vocal box to thrum a subsonic warning at him; back off unless you have a cull wish, runt. He’s untagged, unowned, unwanted, worthless, human, nobody would care if you clawed open his bowels like hatching day present.

The idiot just continues to smile at you, aggressively amiable, like he’s perfectly aware of that, but isn’t worried at all, the cocky pink shit. Or maybe he’s just fucked in the pan, it happens sometimes. “Maybe,” he answers. He’s close. When did he get so close? Quirks an eyebrow. “Depends on what you want,” he offers.

The words fall like hot lumps of carbonized vegetable matter into your gut, and you have to swallow before you can answer. “You’re really forward, aren’t you.”

He grins, and it’s not altogether nice. “You have no idea,” he breathes, touching blunt-nailed fingers to the side of your jaw and leaning in. His mouth is fever hot, mammal warm and sultry, he’s kissing you full on the mouth, steady and firm, with just enough catch at the sweet inside of his lips to make your bloodplusher beat hard around the sudden surge of sheer, flushed wanting.

It’s been so long since you were touched like this.

You kiss him back, make a little noise you didn’t mean to make, reach for his face— only to find he’s slipping through your fingers, stepping back, stepping away. You get a glimpse of the look on his face, wide-eyed and startled, before he turns and takes off. He’s gone before you can blink, swallowed by the meandering stream of marketgoers.

You stare after him in numb consternation, thinkpan revving uselessly.

“Better holler for the patrocullers, kid.” It’s the slimeslug swindler, shaking his head at your glubcurdling idiocy. “He got ya good he did.”

What the fuck is he talking about… oh. Oh no. No, no no no ohnohefuckingdidn’t. Did he? You pat your pockets. Pat them again. Fondle the ones on your glutes for good measure and he fucking did, he did, he stole your wallet and you’re going to-

“—fucking wring that grubnugget’s little bobblehead straight of his shoulders and slide his squeal pipette full of my fresh, radioactive hate until he chokes on it. DO YOU HEAR ME?” You scream, shaking with fury. “I WILL SLICE OFF YOUR OILY, MALFORMED HUMAN NETHERS AND SET UP A STALL RIGHT HERE, PANDERING YOUR MALODOROUS GENITALIA SO ALL THESE UGLY FUCKS CAN HUMP THEMSELVES THOSE FINAL PRECIOUS INCHES INTO OBLIVION.”

“Hey now,” the swindler says.

“Fuck you, fuck you with a rusty culling fork I cannot believe you stood there and let him rob me.”

He seems wholly unimpressed with both your plight and temper. “First time to th’ market, ey?”

You stab a finger at him. “Stay. Stay right the fuck there because I’m going to fucking kill that little crotch sniffer and then I’ll be back for you.”

“Aight,” he agrees, easy as you please. “Better up an’ get yer legs marchin’ if you wanna play tag.”

Livid, you storm off, in the approximate direction you think he went. Hope he went. Probably went. Fuck. Oh sweet shrieking Gl'bgolyb, you’re going to kill that fucker, your hemochrome card was in there. The quote-unquote “special” one Sollux made for you so you wouldn’t get your mutant ass culled as soon as you farted loud enough for the drones to smell it. If you get ID’d on the way home you’re grubloaf. Which, of fucking course, is extremely likely as you need to cross into the first precinct. You’re so dead.

Past you is a complete idiot.

As the shadows lengthen and pool between the houses lining the streets, lanterns wink to life. All the colors of the hemospectrum united as paper-encased lights, strung overhead. The dusk market falls apart around you, merchants packing up and hurrying to perform their proper caste-assigned duties. There’s more humans out and about than you’ve ever seen in either of the other two districts and every flash of dark hair and pale skin turns your head, has you ready to charge, but it’s never him.

At midnight, you find yourself as good as alone in the deserted streets, right back where you started and empty handed. To think you ventured all the way to the third precinct to see if you could get your hands on a kaleidoscope. Only humans waste their already short, pointless lives making trinkets for grubs and you wanted to buy one for your moirail so badly.

Instead you got robbed.

Fuck your hot life.

“Still here, huh?”

Tired, you turn to face him, find the street empty. Look up.

There he is, backlighted by a rainbow of lanterns, perched on a stack of crates, crunching an apple. He doffs an imaginary hat at you, grinning.

“If I ever get my hands on you I’ll fucking strangle you.”

“Aw shucks,” he goes, pouting. There’s a smear of powered sugar near the corner of his mouth. At least you know where your boonbucks went. “And here I thought you liked me.” And then he leaps down from the crates, landing with a hollow thud on the filthy cobblestones, right in front of you.

“I could kill you right where you stand and nobody’d care,” you inform him pleasantly, all your fangs on display.

“Very true,” he nods. Cocks his head at you with clinical interest. “Are you going to?”

He’s got nerve, this one. Shit, you… you like it, you like it a lot. You envy it, because he has nothing, yet somehow everything, and it’s all right there standing before you with a droll little smile on his face, scraping the last meat from the apple’s core and waiting for you to do your worst.

And you realize, with a horrified pang, you’re going to do exactly jack fucking shit. Because you like him. You like the thieving shitheel. A lot. Damn it.

Something on his face goes from mischief to some kind of… of wondering comprehension. And when his mouth goes slantwise to crook up into a smile, it’s genuine. It’s real, no act. You think. You hope.

“That was a really nice kiss,” his voice has gone all soft and shy, too sincere suddenly. “Here.”

He tosses you something, and you catch it. Your wallet.

You turn it over between your paws, shaking your head a little. No need to check for your money, it won’t be there, for all he’s showing you that pretty smile. “Wow. Gee. Thanks for returning my empty wallet to me after you robbed me. How thoughtful.”

“Heh,” a rueful huff of sound, barely a laugh. “But I got you something nice to make it up to you.”

When he reaches behind his back your first instinct is to grab him by the throat and crack his skull open on the unforgiving ground -which you don’t, you don’t, even though your hand shot out, you don’t, because his chin comes up and he goes very still and you can see his pulse fucking wave at you from under that damnably fragile skin.

It’s not a weapon. Of course it’s not a weapon. Well. Actually, you’d be less than surprised, with how unpredictable everything about this… this… whatever the fuck this even is has been. But still, not a weapon.

Oh fuck. That bastard. You resist the urge the smack him. Smack yourself instead, clapping your palm to your pan. “Flowers,” you deadpan. “I wonder how you paid for those.”

“Aw, c’mon,” he holds them out to you. “Looksee, they’re kitten lilies, like your name. Karkat, kittykat, crabbykat.”

At ten sweeps you’ve seen a lot of weird shit, but this is really one of the fucking strangest moments yet. You accept the flowers, bought with your own money stolen by the same stranger that kissed you, and still somehow, stupidly, feel flattered. They’re fresh enough they still purr.

“…fuck,” you breathe out, swallowing around the sudden knot in your throat.

“Uhm,” mister pickpocket suggests ever so eloquently. “Maybe. Maybe we could kiss again. Sometime.”

You stare at him, clutching the bouquet to your chest. The lilies mew plaintively. “You robbed me.”

“Only a little.”

“You’ve probably done this to a whole stack of equally moronic losers.”

“Just a few.”

“You really think I’m a goddamn idiot, don’t you?”

He looks at you, almost wistfully. “I promise I won’t steal your wallet. You know. Again.”

“You already took everything,” you point out through gritted teeth.

He makes a ‘there you go’ sort of gesture, eyes bright and amused. Then amends it with a shrug. “I meant like, when you come back.”

You scoff, loud with derision, and take quite some vicious delight from his guilty flinch. “Give me one good reason.”

That uneven smile is back, the real one. “I wasn’t lying earlier you know. I could help you find what you’re looking for. I know a dude who makes real nifty kaleidoscopes.”

And again the “How—“ is out of your mouth before you stop yourself.

“I’ll tell you how,” he promises. The whole hemospectrum is painted across his face in soft, glowing patches. “If you come back.”

It’s not good enough a reason to come back, and you both know it. But you’re going to, and you both know that, too. It wasn’t just your wallet he stole.

#Homestuck #johnkat #fic #mine #drabble #this was someone prompt #like centuries ago #WELP HERE YOU GO HAHAHA #DOn't look at me

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