dorinda: Cutter and Skywise, believing they're about to part for good, share an intense hug. (Cutter-Skywise-angstyhug)
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posted by [personal profile] dorinda at 02:12pm on 20/01/2017 under , , ,
Already I am finding joy from my reading list, so thank you all very much, and I will try to chime in!

First off, I encourage participation in the thread on sdwolfpup's journal, asking for "some pure, unadulterated ship squee" (friendship included!). Go forth and comment and squee!

Second off, I'd like to copy movies-michelle's offer to write little comment fics. So:

Give a fandom and a one word prompt, and I will write a little comment fic for you. Suggested fandoms include (in alphabetical order): Almost Human, Master & Commander (movie or books), Ocean's 11, Peacemakers, Person of Interest, Rejseholdet, Sinbad, Star Trek (TOS), The Sting. But if you have some other request, run it by me, you never know. :D
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movies_michelle: (Katherine)
posted by [personal profile] movies_michelle at 07:56pm on 20/01/2017
Sinbad/Gunnar, sleep

ETA: Also, I should mention you are awesome. :-)
Edited (Awesomeness acknowledgement) Date: 2017-01-20 09:33 pm (UTC)
dorinda: Sinbad turns his head back toward Gunnar, both looking grave. (sinbad-gunnar_srs)
posted by [personal profile] dorinda at 09:55pm on 20/01/2017
The giant serpent patrolled back and forth before their hiding place, its belly crackling in the leaf mold. Sorcery gleamed blue along its scales and glittered on its spread hood.

"The ship won't leave without us," Sinbad said. This time he almost believed himself.

"I am sorry to say you're right," said Gunnar. He was hunched uncomfortably beneath the cave's low roof.

"You're saying you *want* to be stranded on Snake Island?"

Gunnar gave him a speaking look. "Do *you* want the others to come looking for us?"

They both regarded the huge viper outside.

"Maybe not," said Sinbad.

He settled on his haunches. Gunnar crouched, and eased the muscles of his neck.

"I don't suppose you have a mongoose in your pocket?" Sinbad asked.

Gunnar shrugged. "Not right now."

"At home," said Sinbad, "when we came across a snake, we pinned its head with a forked stick."

"I don't have a forked tree trunk in my pocket either," said Gunnar. He spoke so solemnly that Sinbad couldn't tell if he heard his own innuendo or not. And people said the Northmen were jolly, all drinking and dick jokes. What did they know.

Sinbad sighed.


Shadows lengthened, the sun settled, and the air began to cool off--especially inside their little cave. They leaned against each other, shoulder on shoulder.

The third time Sinbad's head nodded and jerked up again, Gunnar said quietly, "Go ahead. I'll wake you if something happens."

Sinbad scoffed, and pinched himself to keep the drowsiness at bay. "Don't snakes ever get sleepy?" he complained. "Magical snakes are the worst snakes."

He stared gloomily at the serpent. It was moving more slowly now, but still moving, the rising moon painting it silver.

"Huh," said Gunnar.


"Magical snakes," said Gunnar.

"Yessss?" Sinbad asked patiently.

Gunnar crept forward in the cave, getting a little too close to the opening for Sinbad's comfort.

"You are not going to try to feed yourself to the snake so I can get away," said Sinbad at once. "So stop it."

Light eyes flashed at him in the dusk, and for a moment Sinbad could have sworn he saw a laugh in them. "Magical sleep, for magical snakes."

"What, like--" Sinbad wiggled all his fingers sorcerer-style-- "SLEEEEEEP."

Gunnar paid no attention to that, which was what it deserved. He busied himself with something in his hands, looked like a flat rock and a sharp rock.

Sinbad moved up warily to take a closer look. Gunnar was carving something into the flat rock with strong, straight strokes, scraping them good and deep. Fresh white scars appeared against the dull stone.

"What is it?"

"Svefnthorn," said Gunnar.

"Bless you," said Sinbad.

Gunnar looked to the ceiling for a moment. "Svefnthorn," he repeated. "I heard about it in stories when I was a boy. Its sting brings magical sleep."

"For magical snakes?"

"We'll see."

He finished the carving, which was jagged with hooks on one end, and neat with a curlicue on the other. It did look like a stinger, of sorts.

"Now," said Gunnar, and dropped onto his belly. He wormed his way toward the little cave opening, like Sinbad's own personal giant serpent.

*Careful*, Sinbad wanted to say, and didn't. He wouldn't permit himself to think about anything happening to Gunnar. Instead he stared at the viper with all his might, thinking sleepy thoughts.

Just as the giant tail passed all the way to the side of the opening, right before the viper doubled back on itself to turn around, Gunnar poked the runestone out beneath the leaf-mold and right into its path. Then he crept backward until his shoulder pressed Sinbad's again. Sinbad let out a tight breath and wrapped a hand around Gunnar's wrist. *Sleep,* he thought, *Have nice snake dreams.*

The snake slithered right over the hidden stone, got all the way across, doubled back on itself for another pass across the cave-mouth. Sinbad's stomach dropped. He had almost thought it might--

The crackling of scales in the leaves slowed. Slowed. Stopped. The hood folded in, the great head sank down.

If snakes could snore, this one would have.

Sinbad squeezed Gunnar's arm gratefully, and scrambled out of the cave. He hauled Gunnar out through the little opening much as he'd originally hauled him in--it was more of a Sinbad-sized hiding place--and they leapt over the giant tail-tip and ran pell-mell down the slope leading to the sea.


After the fifth round of toasts to Snake Island--more specifically, toasts to never seeing it again--everyone scattered slowly to their berths, Tiger on midnight watch.

"Sleeping?" asked Sinbad, poking his head into the little cubby Gunnar had claimed for his own. Gunnar finished pulling his tunic off over his head and blinked at him. The great muscles of his shoulders gleamed in the candle's light.

"Me neither," said Sinbad, when Gunnar didn't answer. "How come you never mentioned Saveffen-- thing-- before?"

"It was only a story," said Gunnar. He hesitated a moment, holding his tunic in front of him like a bashful bride. Then he turned and hung it on a hook. Below his trews, his feet were bare on the smooth deck. He turned back, looked steadily at Sinbad, his pale eyes gentle.

"I want to hear your stories," said Sinbad. "Even the unpronounceable ones. Haven't you figured that out yet?"

"I admit," Gunnar said, "I had hoped."

Sinbad came forward and into the circle of his powerful arms, which held him gently and almost tentatively. Sinbad grasped Gunnar's shoulders, stretched up into his kiss, and suckled fiercely at him until the arms tightened with a surge.

"There," said Sinbad against Gunnar's panting mouth. "Come on, then."


Lying across Gunnar's expanse of bare chest, the hammock swinging beneath them, Sinbad yawned.

"Go ahead," said Gunnar, much as he had in the cave.

"You'll wake me if something happens?" Sinbad echoed wryly. "Don't you ever get to sleep?"

Gunnar shrugged, his eyes lazily searching Sinbad's face with a peaceful full-fed look Sinbad had never seen before.

"How about *I* wake *you* if something happens," Sinbad said firmly. "How about *you* get some rest from saving my ass all the time."

Gunnar stroked Sinbad's ass without comment, his fingers broad and warm across the sensitive skin. Sinbad grinned.

Then he lowered his head to Gunnar's chest and slowly traced a shape with his tongue, the best he could remember it, the many sharp edges and the long line sweeping down to the graceful curl.

By the time he finished, Gunnar was asleep, his hand gone limp in the small of Sinbad's back.

"Well, what do you know," Sinbad whispered. He watched him long into the night.

Edited (put an 'end' at the end) Date: 2017-01-20 09:58 pm (UTC)
movies_michelle: Nuns in the surf (Nuns-Yay!)
posted by [personal profile] movies_michelle at 11:01pm on 20/01/2017



I really need to up my commentfic game now. :-)
dorinda: Someone writing at a desk while wearing a large helmet with an oxygen tube attached (a device called "The Isolator"). (isolator)
posted by [personal profile] dorinda at 11:13pm on 20/01/2017


Words to live by.

...also, pshaw on upping your game: 1) Your game is already upped, and 2) Any commentfic from you is wonderful commentfic from you!
sakana17: minwoo and dongwan (shinhwa-mw-dw-ear)
posted by [personal profile] sakana17 at 01:13am on 29/01/2017
Eeeee! I love this! Magical snakes! I love your Sinbad POV. It's cheeky and funny and in love with Gunnar and perfectly Sinbad! This, OMG: And people said the Northmen were jolly, all drinking and dick jokes. What did they know.

Huge *happy sigh* for this:

"I want to hear your stories," said Sinbad. "Even the unpronounceable ones. Haven't you figured that out yet?"

♥ So much love!
dorinda: Gunnar and Sinbad at the ship's rail, smiling. (sinbad-gunnar_smile)
posted by [personal profile] dorinda at 11:23pm on 29/01/2017
Yaaaaay, thanks! I liked Gunnar getting to save the day, without sacrificing himself. :D
dorinda: Gunnar and Sinbad at the ship's rail, smiling. (sinbad-gunnar_smile)
posted by [personal profile] dorinda at 11:11pm on 20/01/2017
YOOOOU are awesome! ♥
marycrawford: 13 hour clock icon (Default)
posted by [personal profile] marycrawford at 08:36pm on 20/01/2017
Ooooooooo what a nice offer. *hums*

Kirk/Spock, desert
dorinda: A little clam made of pink and grey yarn, peeking out of its shell with googly eyes. (clam_cute)
posted by [personal profile] dorinda at 11:03pm on 20/01/2017

The suns swept down through the yellow sky of Novus II, the greater following the lesser beneath the horizon.

"Should be easier now," said Jim, pausing to flex his injured foot. It felt tighter, more swollen against the inside of his boot--it must be worse off than he'd thought. Bones was going to kill him when they got back.

"The heat will lessen in severity," said Spock, in his habitual form of agreement that to the uninitiated sounded like a lecture. "However, according to the fragmentary initial scans, the great desert of Novus II shares the crepuscular climatic decline of many such deserts."

Jim carefully limped around a spiny thornvine where it curled innocently in the sand. "You mean it starts getting cold at dusk."

"I believe that is what I said." Spock was obviously trying to cheer him up.

It was working.

The same thing couldn't be said of Spock's tricorder, their only remaining equipment. Even Spock couldn't reassemble those fragments, not down here with nothing but a wounded captain on his hands. So as the last reflections of the suns slipped away, all they had was the moonless dark and its thick blanket of stars. Not for the first time, Jim was grateful for the stars.

"Reminds me of the Sonora," he said after a while, nursing some scratches on the back of his hand. "I got these same slices from an ocotillo."

Spock looked down at the broken tricorder at his hip as if by instinct, then pressed his lips together. "I am not familiar with it."

"It looks--" Jim's hurt foot knocked against a stone he hadn't seen, and he stumbled slightly, pain stabbing up his calf. "--looks like a bunch of dead sticks. Most of the time. Upright, stuck into the ground in a bunch."

As quickly as the suns had fallen, so rose the chill, sliding remorselessly down the back of Jim's collar. He knew Spock could surely talk about the precise mechanics of the cold desert night, and how this particular one related to Novus II's atmosphere and axial tilt. That was a comforting thought.

"If you look close enough, they're green inside," he went on. "And when it rains, leaves pop out all over the place. Flowers, too. Bright red, like something out of a painting. You'd never have known it."

Spock stopped for a moment, a warning hand held up. They went single-file through a shadowy cleft between two rocky outcroppings. Jim kept an ear out for rattlesnakes, though he had no idea if this planet even had anything like them. "Fragmentary" initial scans indeed.

Walking behind Spock's familiar silhouette, he could see that his thin shoulders were drawn up against the cold wind, his uniform tunic drawn snug again the tight muscles of his back. The desert didn't do anyone any good, seemingly, no matter what world they were from.

"But the plant in question also gives 'slices'," Spock said when they were side-by-side again.

"Yes. The sticks are absolutely covered in thorns--they're pretty clear about wanting you to keep your distance." He smiled, remembering. "Walk too close to one on your way back to camp and you just might regret it."

They walked in silence for some time, always angling according to the stars.

Then Spock said, as if no time had passed, "You would find similar flora on the margins of the *Sas-A-Shar*." He used the Vulcan term for the desert Jim had learned as "Vulcan's Forge," that great wasteland of war and survival.

Jim could hear in Spock's voice the same tightness he'd seen in the shadows of his back. It said that if Spock were the sort of being who allowed himself to shiver, he would be shivering even to his molars.

"I'm not surprised." He walked--limped--closer to Spock, until their arms brushed. He could feel the heat there being remorselessly stolen by the desert night.

He was not even surprised when Spock moved in echo to him and put his arm around Jim's shoulders. Spock was isolated, aloof, creating a constant self-protective space...except when it came to Jim. Then there was a hand, an arm, a touch, a look, all offered without hesitation and without comment.

Jim pressed in against the warm, thin side, putting his arm around Spock's waist, letting himself lean on him. The pain in his foot subsided.

As for Spock, Jim could feel the tension in him ease slightly, as Jim blocked out the wind and kept their warmth safe between them.

No thorns here.

marycrawford: 13 hour clock icon (Default)
posted by [personal profile] marycrawford at 10:27am on 21/01/2017
Eeeeee *sigh* that was lovely. The warmth, the understanding, the mutual comfort, a bridge between worlds!

in his habitual form of agreement that to the uninitiated sounded like a lecture. dawwww, Jim knows him so well, and knows Spock is trying to cheer him up with a carefully chosen mix of facts and snark.

And Jim wants Spock to not be cold, and Spock would quite like Jim to not hurt himself worse, and so it is ONLY LOGICAL that they should cling to each other. <3 Thank you!

sakana17: junsu and jaejoong after secret code concert (jaesu-tohomobile)
posted by [personal profile] sakana17 at 01:16am on 29/01/2017
Mmmmm, yummy h/c, and I loved this to bits:
Jim carefully limped around a spiny thornvine where it curled innocently in the sand. "You mean it starts getting cold at dusk."

"I believe that is what I said." Spock was obviously trying to cheer him up.

It was working.
dorinda: A little clam made of pink and grey yarn, peeking out of its shell with googly eyes. (clam_cute)
posted by [personal profile] dorinda at 11:25pm on 29/01/2017
I was most nervous about this one, I think, because I haven't written these guys before (well, there's a story in sloo-o-o-o-w progress, but I mean written them for public consumption) so I don't feel confident about their voices. But I love them so much, and enjoy the thought of them looking after each other while discussing symbolic botany. :D Ocotillo, the clam of the vegetable kingdom!
mollyamory: SPN - Impala going green (Default)
posted by [personal profile] mollyamory at 09:07pm on 20/01/2017
You knew I was gonna do this:

Varric/Hawke - homecoming

But if that's not in your heart right now, you can also maybe try Dorian/Iron Bull - negotiations!
dorinda: Someone writing at a desk while wearing a large helmet with an oxygen tube attached (a device called "The Isolator"). (isolator)
posted by [personal profile] dorinda at 12:09am on 21/01/2017
M!Hawke or F!Hawke?

*pets Varric*
mollyamory: SPN - Impala going green (Default)
posted by [personal profile] mollyamory at 01:27am on 21/01/2017
Whatever makes you happy! I love both. :)
dorinda: Cutter and Skywise, believing they're about to part for good, share an intense hug. (Cutter-Skywise-angstyhug)
posted by [personal profile] dorinda at 02:26am on 21/01/2017
Then I will choose somehow!

I won't be able to write it tonight, as I am wearing out and I have things to do tomorrow. But then tomorrow night I will come back and gladly collapse into the warm embrace of Hawke and Varric. ♥_____♥
mollyamory: SPN - Impala going green (Default)
posted by [personal profile] mollyamory at 02:28am on 21/01/2017
Woooo! That sounds ideal =D No rush!
dorinda: A vintage b&w shot in which one man whispers in the ear of another as he holds him. (whisper)
posted by [personal profile] dorinda at 02:14am on 22/01/2017
When they got back from the latest mopping-up operation in the wake of the downfall of Corypheus, Varric didn't even stop at the baths. He yanked off one boot, hopped across the room while yanking on the other, and landed hard in his writing chair. His armor went one way, his helm another, and then it was just Varric, in shirt and breeches and socks with holes in them, bending over the parchment he'd left behind.

"You said this village wasn't big enough for the both of us," Jeon laughed. He crossed his arms over his chest, the big muscles sleek against his leathers. "Don't tell me you've changed your mind already."

Illikor backed up a step, his eyes shifting narrowly to the right and the left. But there was no hole left for the rat to run to, and the help he was looking for never came.

*whizzzz-THOK!* came the sound, and Illikor staggered under the impact of two flying daggers piercing his chest, one in each of the shiny bronze nipples on his famous enchanted breastplate.

"Bullseye," said Jeon in a whisper.

Illikor fell in a heap. He died as he lived: like a sack of dirty laundry.

And as the villagers began to celebrate the death of their evil lord, Jeon turned his mount away toward the north. There was no place here for him, but maybe somewhere in the snowcapped mountains

Varric growled, chewing the feather on his quill. He scratched out in the snowcapped mountains and wrote somewhere, maybe down the coast, in a city big enough for him to get lost in--

He scratched that out too. He felt like crumpling the page into a tiny little wad and using it for crossbow practice, but parchment was expensive, especially up here away from everything. In the snowcapped bloody mountains.

"Dammit," he said, and wrote quickly, somewhere out there, far away, he'd find the place of his true destiny. The End.

He dashed sand across the ink and smacked the page onto the top of the stack. Then he sat and stared at it for a while, glowering. He'd been so excited to get back and put the finishing touches on the book, but now he mostly wanted to finishing-touch it right into the fireplace.

Why couldn't the stupid character stay where he was put? No, all that work to get him face-to-face with the bad guy and into a final battle, and afterward there he went, waltzing away into the wilds to...~~do good~~ or ~~fight the good fight~~ or ~~be brave~~.

Screw Jeon, anyway. That big dumb brawny nug-licking Fereldan. That hero.

Varric shoved himself away from his writing table and went in search of a mug of ale the size of his head, without even putting his boots back on.


"Mmm-hmm Mphrss?" came the tentative voice. But Varric's head was under a pillow, so that was all he got. He was good and smashed, sodden with it, mother-naked but for one of his socks. And he wasn't coming out, not for anything.

The pillow lifted slightly. "Master Tethras?"

"He's busy," Varric groaned. The flickering light from the servant's candle had started the bed spinning again. "Go away."

"But Master Tethras...there's someone here to see you."

"I cordially--" Varric hiccuped as the bed took a slightly faster spin-- "invite them to kiss Andraste's left buttcheek."

"Um." The servant leaned down, holding the candle closer. "He told me-- Uh, he said, if you said that, I was supposed to say, 'Why so stingy, why not both?'"

The bed spun Varric right out and onto the floor, clutching his pillow and staring up at the servant through his tangled hair. "What did-- What did you--"

"I've always preferred the right one anyway," said a well-remembered voice from the doorway.

"You," Varric managed, clawing himself to his feet and staggering forward. The servant fled. "You son of a...piece of...calcified...tusket-dung!"

He tripped on his flapping sock and fell, right into the arms of his own personal big dumb brawny nug-licking Fereldan.

"Hawke," he said, his face mashed against Hawke's sternum.

"Varric," Hawke said, his voice rumbling through his body and into Varric's. "You smell terrible."

"And you smell like a fresh Dawn Lotus tenderly picked at sunset. Came here straight from the stables, I see." But Varric still held Hawke tight around the waist and kept his face right where it was.

He felt one of Hawke's hands resting on his head. "Guess I didn't want any more delay."

Varric punched Hawke companionably in the ribs and let go of him, sniffing. "So now I have a houseguest. Lemme put my other sock on."

"Not on my account," said Hawke. He peered out from under his unkempt black hair, eyeing Varric from top to toe.

"See anything you like," Varric grumbled, tottering back to the bed and sitting down in a whirlpool of blankets.

"Always. But you have a fresh cut, too, right--" he traced a finger along his own ribs and then around behind, arm twisting awkwardly-- "there."

"Uh. Yeah. I guess."

Hawke turned Varric's writing chair around backward and straddled it. His extra ridiculous height cocked his bent knees way up. "Well, what about the healers? I have it on good authority that Skyhold is absolutely crawling with mages."

"I've been busy," said Varric. "You know, darkspawn this, dragon that, keeps a guy away from the important things. Like finishing his book."

Hawke's eyes absolutely lit up, and Varric cursed himself. "Really? Can I see?"

"It isn't done."

"But you said you were finishing it," Hawke pointed out.

"It's finished. It just isn't... *finished*."

"You always say that, and I always love it." Hawke peered back over his shoulder at the table. "Is it another Hard in Hightown?"

"Not really," said Varric.

"Come on, then," Hawke urged, his hands clenched on the chair-back, his eyes wide and pleading. "Tell!"

On the one hand, Varric could put Hawke off until Hawke rode away again to do whatever heroes did, and that would put the whole question to bed. On the other hand, Varric could...nope, there was only the one hand.

But Hawke looked so eager. Back when they'd been battle-brothers, or whatever Varric had Jeon call it, Hawke had always loved to hear Varric's latest scribblings right off the quill with the ink still wet. He gasped at the scary parts and laughed at the funny parts, and Varric had never met a non-Dwarf who'd even *gotten* all the funny parts before Hawke.

He might not have Jeon to himself anymore... but then, he surely wouldn't have Hawke to himself anymore either, not once the next call of destiny came flying in to leave Varric here alone. So why not say goodbye to them together?

Besides, who could resist those great big mabari-pup eyes, anyway.

"Oh...*fine*, ugh, go ahead," he said graciously, flopping down on the bed.

He pulled a pillow over his face again and cringed as he imagined what Hawke must be reading now. Jeon's shining black hair, his soft black beard, his arms the size of tree trunks but with hands as deft and gentle as a summer wind. He had a particularly shapely ass in the bathing scene, if Varric did say so himself.

*Might as well have named him Jarrett Jawke and gotten it over with,* he thought, and wished he could start the bed spinning again just by force of will.

It seemed to take a long time. Hawke was no scholar, he supposed...maybe Varric should have read it to him after all, as he used to, the two of them with their stocking feet up in Varric's suite in The Hanged Man, drinking and laughing over some damn story or other. But could he have managed it without choking on his own tongue and blushing himself to death? Surely a question for the sages.

At last, he felt the mattress sag next to him. It sagged a long way...Hawke was a big boy.

"I like this part best," Hawke said. "Where Jeon meets the rugged little bronto-herder in the saloon, and they end up taking on the whole crowd together in a fistfight."

Varric moaned.

Hawke's weight shifted, and his leather belt rasped against Varric's bare hip. "Can't say I think much of the ending, though."

"Well, *me neither*," Varric said loudly into his pillow before he could stop himself. He was probably still drunk.

Hawke put a tentative arm over Varric's chest. And when was the last time that Hawke had done a tentative anything?

"It's not...carved in stone, though, is it? I said it wasn't finished."

"Finished enough," said Varric, warily.

"But not *finished* finished."

Varric breathed in and out under the weight of Hawke's big arm. "No," he let himself admit at last. "Maybe not."

The corner of the pillow peeled up, and the grubby face of his own personal Fereldan poked in close and hopeful, hair askew and beard needing a trim.

So Varric kissed him, which is not something the rugged little bronto-herder had ever managed to do. Poor bastard.

Hawke kissed him back, holding him more and more tightly around the chest until Varric could hardly breathe. Or maybe the breathlessness was for other reasons.

"Well," Hawke said against the corner of Varric's mouth eventually. Varric could feel the tingles of incipient beard-burn. "Move over and make room. If I'm helping you with your book, I'm going to need a place to sleep."

But neither of them got to sleep for a good long while.

torch: legs of a pinup girl, red high heels (Default)
posted by [personal profile] torch at 09:04pm on 24/01/2017
Aww, Varric. (I'm just going to pretend this was for me!)
dorinda: Cutter and Skywise, believing they're about to part for good, share an intense hug. (Cutter-Skywise-angstyhug)
posted by [personal profile] dorinda at 09:41pm on 24/01/2017
"Aww, *Varric*" is totally what goes through my head all the time when I consider Varric. Especially having just finished Dragon Age: Inquisition! I'm like...AW VARRIC HE MUST MISS HIS HAWKE SO. snf.
mollyamory: SPN - Impala going green (Default)
posted by [personal profile] mollyamory at 03:49am on 26/01/2017
Oh Rindy. You need to come live in my attic and do nothing but write me Varric/Hawke for the rest of my days. I'll treat you well, I promise! Kittens and bonbons and feasts served to you upon our finest Costco stoneware, every day!!

So the thing I love best about Varric, as we have discussed, is his weird combination of Han Soloesque snarky goodguyism paired with an extremely thinly veiled mothering streak. And this tiny story is like the pure hi-test distillation of that! He's so brace and needy and protective and sweet and awesome! And also I love that you wrote me little bits of Varric-writing and it's totally on point, it's EXACTLY like the little bits of his novels you find lying around all over Thedas and beyond.

But then there is my HAWKE who is his personal grubby Fereldan and all hopeful about maybe finally getting the best present ever and I am like. HOW DO PEOPLE LEAVE HAKE IN THE FADE I DO NOT GET IT!!!!!

Snf. Thank you party for my rugged little bronto-herder!!!! Someday when work lets up on me, we will gather in a place and do a great deal of speaking about Hawke/Varric fandom and your future role in it. **beams**
mollyamory: SPN - Impala going green (Default)
posted by [personal profile] mollyamory at 03:51am on 26/01/2017
Lady. Not party. Sigh. Talking to type is not as easy as it looks!
dorinda: Someone writing at a desk while wearing a large helmet with an oxygen tube attached (a device called "The Isolator"). (isolator)
posted by [personal profile] dorinda at 11:30pm on 29/01/2017
I said this privately already, but it bears repeating: your handses are more important than typos! Besides, I figured 'em out just fine. Except maybe for party, but it's good to have a mystery to chew on. :D

Anyway, I am sooooo glad and relieved you enjoyed it! Sorry for hunting you down and whining at you. *g* I love Varric SO MUCH, and Varric without Hawke is a sad sad Varric indeed. As you say, he needs someone to Han-Solo with and also to mother-hen. Someone to admire and love so much that he develops serious heart eyes, and someone he can't help sighing privately over. ♥_____♥ Ohhh, VARRIC.

sakana17: persuaders brett and danny credit: sdwolfpup (persuaders-drinks)
posted by [personal profile] sakana17 at 01:18am on 29/01/2017
Not a fandom I know, but I greatly enjoyed reading this! :D
dorinda: The Persuaders: Brett gently holds Danny's chin. (Persuaders_chintouch)
posted by [personal profile] dorinda at 11:34pm on 29/01/2017
Aw, thank you for reading it! This is the Dragon Age videogames, specifically Dragon Age 2 and its sequel Dragon Age: Inquisition. Varric is a scrappy smart snarky dwarf who writes books (hard-boiled detective fiction, sweeping romance-adventure novels, all kinds of stuff), and Hawke is the main character in DA2 and a minor character in DA:I. Varric loves Hawke sooooo muuuuuuuuch, but for some reason the game won't allow you (as Hawke) to romance Varric, the way you're allowed to romance so many other characters. So fan writers must remedy the wrong!!
msmoat: (Default)
posted by [personal profile] msmoat at 09:20pm on 20/01/2017
Master & Commander: quiet.

*rubs hands in anticipation* on a day that really, really needs more joy!
dorinda: a tall ship with all sails set (sailing ship)
posted by [personal profile] dorinda at 02:19am on 21/01/2017
Stephen left the island's little hospital at dusk, his sleeves turned up and blood still drying around the edges of his fingernails. Most of the casualties were likely to live. The final trephination, with reflectors set up around the patient's open skull to catch the fading daylight, was not perhaps as neat as those he had managed himself aboard ship. But it would do.

The hospital was not near the shore. Yet he heard the ocean as he walked up the road, waves pounding on the beach like distant gunfire. The sound followed him inland, through the little town full of happy, drunken seamen, who swept off their hats as he passed, or bowed so deeply they fell into a sodden, laughing heap.

Stephen caught the flash of a midshipman's white patches as one of them ducked into a house of ill-fame. He made a note to stock up on his venereal ointments.

The inn most frequented by those who could afford it was nestled in a grove set apart, as if the ornate building were an elegant lady who would not let the roughs of the town muddy her skirts. Stephen wearily mounted the stairs to the private parlor between his room and Jack's.

Jack, however, was not there. Signs and portents, to be sure--an empty coffee cup, a saucer with one lonely scrap of cheese, crumbled nutshells surely cracked between two powerful hands. Stephen rang the bell, ordered a good supper, and sat heavily in his chair, his head on one fist.

After a time, he went to the basin and scrubbed the dark crusts from around his fingernails. There was no Jack here to pointedly avoid looking at his hands as they ate, but Stephen washed well nevertheless. He felt rather virtuous.

He fell asleep over the bone of his chop and the last of his wine; in his dreams, the chop bone had a compound fracture, and the wine stained his arms to the elbow.


It was not the tiptoeing of a burly sea captain that woke him in the middle of the night. Rather, he had the confused impression it was the *cessation* of the tiptoeing--Jack standing quietly in the middle of the parlor with his shoes dangling from one hand, his stockings glimmering white in the last of the fire's glow.

"I was not asleep," Stephen informed the great shadow. Jack's teeth showed in a smile.

"Of course not. They fed you, I hope? You shouldn't have waited for me--poor Surprise needed all the decisions I could make and then some." He gave a mighty stretch, broad as a bear. "But the shipyard fellows have her well in hand, and I have great hopes of her recovery."

Stephen suppressed a yawn, brought on no doubt by Jack's tired air, carried in on his very clothes like rain. "I am delighted to hear it," he said.

"And you? The wounded?" Jack set his shoes by the door.

"The same," said Stephen. "Well in hand, with great hopes." He squinted up at Jack, but it was too dark to see the bandage at his neck and make sure there was no seepage of blood.

And before Stephen could inquire, or make himself stand to find out, Jack had passed by and opened the door of his room. "Good night, then, Stephen. Well done."

He was gone, his bedroom door closed behind him.

Stephen sat a while longer in the fading warmth of the coals. In the pitch darkness at last he rose, groped his way to his own door, and went through into the silence.


He lay in his nightshirt in the middle of the bed, covers heaped to his chin. The mattress was soft, the blankets woolly; the bedframe had thick embroidered curtains drawn close all around. He lay in a strange muffling quiet as if he were underwater.

Or, rather--even underwater there were sounds, this much he had learned from swimming with Jack. The bubbles from Jack's laughing mouth; the creak and splash of Surprise cleaving her stately way along; the water lifting and dropping him with its comfortable muttering swirl.

This was like being under the earth, instead. Buried, ears and nose filled thick with soil. He had seen the unlucky few carried out the hospital's back door toward the churchyard--no hammock-shroud and final splash overboard for them, but a hole in the ground and a heap of dirt atop.

For some time, he thought about the taste of laudanum, bitter and sharp.

Then he struggled through the bedcurtains and got up. His feet were cold on the carpets as he felt his way to the door.


His eyes well adjusted to the moonlight slanting in through Jack's window, Stephen found a chair and sat in it, realizing too late that he was sitting on something that crumpled beneath him--Jack's coat, perhaps. Preserved Killick would not be best pleased.

Jack was bound to be asleep, of course. Days on his feet, a running battle, the ship nearly sunk beneath him, then hours upon hours at the shipyard to look after his dear Surprise. Not to mention the loss of blood from his wound. But no harm in Stephen sitting here for a little while, listening to his breath.

"Why, Stephen. There you are."

Jack raised himself on one elbow, and the silver-blue light picked out his rumpled, unbound hair and his beaming face.

Stephen had no explanation for his presence, so he did not offer one. Nor did Jack ask. "Still awake," Stephen said, intending it for a question.

"So I see," said Jack, taking it for an answer. "And no dressing gown. Ain't you cold?"

Stephen shook his head. "I do not mean to disturb you."

"As if you ever could," Jack said with a laugh in his voice. He lifted a corner of the counterpane. "Won't you come in and get warm, Stephen?"

Stephen had no answer to that--or none in words, anyhow. He followed Jack's smile instead, like a signal lamp glowing in a dark sea, and slipped under the blankets into the comfortable animal heat of his body.

"That's it, old Stephen," said Jack. Then he yelped. "Your feet! Icebergs ain't in it."

Stephen remorselessly captured one of Jack's big warm feet between his own and remedied the issue, as Jack whined like a dog left in the dooryard.

Jack eventually offered him a pillow, punched his own back into shape, and lay blinking drowsily at Stephen. "You'll stay, won't you?"

Stephen laid a hand on Jack's shoulder, rubbing the good linen nightshirt with his thumb for a moment. Then he leaned in close and looked hard at the bandage around Jack's neck. Moonlight was not ideal for inspection, but with the full moon, Stephen's night vision, and Jack obediently tipping his chin under Stephen's direction, it was enough. The bandage remained snowy white, cleaner than any of Jack's other daytime linen had been, not a speck of blood to be seen.

"It feels better, honestly," said Jack, his jaw moving beneath Stephen's fingers. "I don't even notice it."

"You never do," said Stephen. He heard a catch in his voice instead of the scolding he had meant.

Jack caught Stephen's hand in his and held it. "You were there to whip one of your bandages round it before I even knew what was what. No splinter can hold a candle to you."

Not thus far. As Jack had bulled and roared his way through every battle, sword and bullet and splinter leaving their marks, Stephen had been there to find the wounds and stop them. He touched the bandage, then the strong hinge of Jack's jaw, the vee of his collarbone, life coursing beneath his hand.

"You could still use some warming," Jack said, leaning into his touch.

Stephen held him by the nape and kissed him. The eager, joyous heat of Jack's mouth made him forget about the bandage at his fingertips--Jack's hands under his nightshirt made him forget about everything else. Everything else but Jack.


In the pale hours before dawn, Stephen lay with Jack's head heavy upon his breast. Jack had begun to snore. Often, Stephen would roll him over when that happened; push him easily onto his side, perhaps, and curl up behind on the same pillow.

But this time, he listened, and the rhythmic sound followed him into sleep, blending with the voice of the sea.

Edited ((took out the prompt)) Date: 2017-01-21 02:19 am (UTC)
lynndyre: Fennec fox smile (Default)
posted by [personal profile] lynndyre at 05:42am on 21/01/2017
'signs and portents' hehehe and Stephen feels virtuous for washing his hands~

Remorseless foot warming is love, and this is such sweet joy, all of it. ♥♥♥
dorinda: Cutter and Skywise, believing they're about to part for good, share an intense hug. (Cutter-Skywise-angstyhug)
posted by [personal profile] dorinda at 11:35pm on 29/01/2017
I just realized I did not say Thank You for this!! Thank you very much...I am delighted you enjoyed it. :D And I will still be writing the other one, as well, with the hug in. Because I must see that hug!
msmoat: (Default)
posted by [personal profile] msmoat at 01:14pm on 21/01/2017
You are the BEST EVER! This is fabulous, and just what was needed on the day. (I actually read it on my phone last night, in bed. Commenting now, though! I'm so glad I asked for this! It fits the prompt perfectly, and I love, it turns out, a hurt Jack (when is he not?) and a fretting (in his own way) Stephen. And, yes, foot-warming! And just general closeness and bonding and quiet that is just them. Thank you so much!
dorinda: a tall ship with all sails set (sailing ship)
posted by [personal profile] dorinda at 11:38pm on 29/01/2017
Hooray, thank you for saying so!! I'm so happy you liked it--I've only written Jack and Stephen a few times so far, but it does seem that they're always some mixture of hurt and fretting, doesn't it? *g* And when one of them is hurt, the other one suffers just as much. *pets them*
sakana17: dongwan kisses junjin's cheek (shinhwa-jin-dw-kiss)
posted by [personal profile] sakana17 at 01:10am on 29/01/2017
This is so, so lovely! Beautifully written. The description of Stephen waking up in the "strange muffled quiet" was wonderfully evocative. Although I've never taken laudanum *g*, I have experienced that uncomfortable state in the middle of the night. And Jack so welcoming and "You'll stay, won't you?" Awwwww! *happy sigh* ♥
dorinda: a tall ship with all sails set (sailing ship)
posted by [personal profile] dorinda at 11:41pm on 29/01/2017
Thank you thank you! ♥ I was telling [personal profile] msmoat, the few times I've written these guys so far, I do seem to keep exploring the idea that when one of them is hurt, the other suffers just as much, or worse. Poor old Stephen. But Jack is eager to reassure him! Aw, boys.
arduinna: chibi Finch and Reese from Person of Interest (POI - Finch <3 Reese)
posted by [personal profile] arduinna at 09:40pm on 20/01/2017
Oh, so hard to choose! But:

POI, soup
dorinda: From "Person of Interest": Reese gazes at an unseeing Finch, with a pink heart in the air between them. (POI-gazing)
posted by [personal profile] dorinda at 02:29am on 21/01/2017
Awww, yay, happily will I do so!

As I mentioned to molly above, it'll have to be tomorrow evening, though--I'm wearing out, and have to get some sleep in advance of tomorrow's thing. But then I will definitely enjoy running home to John and Harold and soup!!
arduinna: chibi Finch and Reese from Person of Interest (POI - Finch <3 Reese)
posted by [personal profile] arduinna at 02:42am on 21/01/2017
That is totally yay!
lynndyre: Sarah Jerand smiling (sarah)
posted by [personal profile] lynndyre at 01:26am on 21/01/2017
I love that icon, with Cutter and Skywise. Can I prompt that kind of hug for Master and Commander?
dorinda: Skywise and Cutter, bare to the waist, and with an arm around each other, look out at the viewer. (Cutter_Skywise_bare)
posted by [personal profile] dorinda at 02:23am on 21/01/2017
Does it have to be as angsty as the Elfquest hug was in context?

Mmmmmm, giant hugs. ♥
lynndyre: Porthos holding Athos (hug!)
posted by [personal profile] lynndyre at 03:45am on 21/01/2017
Nope! Not at all. Just that level of glomp~ Giant hugs sound really good today.
dorinda: Cutter and Skywise, believing they're about to part for good, share an intense hug. (Cutter-Skywise-angstyhug)
posted by [personal profile] dorinda at 04:42am on 21/01/2017
They surely do.

I have to get to bed now--going to the big march tomorrow--but I foresee Jack and Stephen and a giant full-body hug in our future!
lynndyre: (eucharist)
posted by [personal profile] lynndyre at 04:53am on 21/01/2017
Sleep well and good luck tomorrow! I'm not near DC, but I'm cheering for you and everybody attending.
sakana17: junsu leaning on yoochun (yoosu-arm)
posted by [personal profile] sakana17 at 12:59am on 29/01/2017
I have not been online except email for almost two weeks(!) but this post and the comments were definitely a MUCH NEEDED JOY to come back to! \o/ Huzzah!
dorinda: Someone writing at a desk while wearing a large helmet with an oxygen tube attached (a device called "The Isolator"). (isolator)
posted by [personal profile] dorinda at 11:43pm on 29/01/2017
That use (or rather non-use?) of the internet is an EXCELLENT idea, and I cheer you on! I'm glad you eventually managed to see these, though, if they help with general levels of cheer. I definitely found them tremendously useful for managing my own morale levels--the concentration and the hard thinking about characters I love got me into a very soothing state of flow.

And I still have a couple of requests left to do--POI and another Jack/Stephen--which I am looking forward to!


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