#drabble alert

[inkjam-moon]

heyyyy i'm a lil tipsy send me a halloween themed drabble idea~

[motleysins-blog]

Drabble prompt: the bigger the smile, the sharper the knife.

“So? Do we have a deal?”

Zevran looks up to where the trader hovers, eager to make a sale. The assassin’s gloved fingers spread over the cover of the books he is holding—they are battered things, well-loved and well-read, and though they have no great coin value he knows how much they had meant to the woman who was forced to sell them to feed her children. “Four silvers?” he says, feigning foppish ignorance. “For these?”

“Ser, these are rare editions,” the trader beseeches; seeing nothing beyond the fine cut of Zevran’s clothes, too blinded by the clink of coin in the elf’s pocket to notice the blade up his sleeve. “They would command twice that price in Orlais.”

“Hmm, so they truly are valuable.” The elf turns them over in his hands, and when he looks up again, there is none of that harmless interest in his eyes; only dark threat and a thin, sharp-toothed smile. “Valuable enough that you would only pay their last owner two coppers, I hear. That when she tried to bargain, you made certain to see her evicted from your store; without her belongings.”

The trader’s face has turned white, and Zevran presses his advantage. “The people in this town are good people, or so a friend tells me,” he says, and with a silent, practised ease those books are replaced by a blade instead, its thin, sharp edge catching the light.  “And good people do not take well to extortion, my friend.”

Neither, he finds soon after, does the floor take well to blood. It is a horrible, clashing colour against the carpet, and he side-steps it with disdain, wipes the blade clean, and pockets the books.

He does this for the Warden. For the Warden’s overly-kind heart; for the people he wants to help, although Zevran cannot always fathom why. 

He will not tell the man where he has been, or whatever became of the corrupt trader this night. But he will be there to see him hand those books back to their rightful owner, and the Warden’s smile will always be worth the fresh blood on his hands.

[spiritflux]

gimme the H baby

Her shoulders are stooped, thin,and he wonders if he has ever seen her like this before. He is not so foolishas to believe that his Hawke is always the bright, shining thing that shepresents to the world—there is a hidden sobriety beneath her skin, a seriousness that heloves as sincerely as he loves the jokes and laughing smiles—but he does notoften see it quite like this, written as clearly as the tremor in her hands andthe tracks of salt on her cheeks.

He does not know what to say, but he is there.

He settles himself on the edge ofthe bed, as lightly as if he were a bird, afraid that if he makes himself toosolid, to real, that she might shatter and he would find himself incapable of piecingher together again. She has no such fears, for the moment that hesettles himself she curls into him, grieving and frail and small, so small, and ashe takes her into his arms he presses his face to her hair, loving her infinitelyas he lets her cry.

[hopes-ultimate-journey]

((Sorry for being so quiet tonight, everyone! I seem unable to focus long enough to post properly, so I've been working on some assorted drabbles! I'll probably post them tomorrow, so look forward to them!))

[therealyamaguchitadashi]

RusCan- Trust

[ RusCan Drabble. Warnings for cheating. Obviously pairing is RusCan but Ivan is the one getting cheated on soooo yea.. Mention of amecan] ————————————-

"It was only one time" Matthew tries to explain, his eyes on the floor. "Just that one time, it wasn’t anything serious. It didn’t mean anything"

There’s a pause before Ivan looks up from Matthew’s phone. “Do you think I’m stupid Matvey?”

Matthew feels the temperature drop.

Ivan is cold today. Frigid. Icy. Unrelenting. Unforgiving.

"Your password..was not too difficult" Ivan says it casually, but even his expression doesn’t soften as his tone turns to honey. “You’ve been acting strange, and I wondered why….”

Of course Ivan had figured it out…had known…Matthew played with the hem of his jacket. He always noticed /everything/.

"I-Ivan I-"

"/I-I-I/ Shut up Matthew. You fucked him. Take responsibility"

His expression is unreadable, but Matthew is quickly reminded of the warnings he received from the other countries when they’d started dating.

Don’t make him angry. Don’t mess up. Don’t fuck up. Don’t fuck up because he will hurt you.

How could he have fucked up so bad.

"He’s my brother…"

"And you think that makes it alright?"

Ivan gives a small laugh, mocking Matthew with his next few words.

"I look like him so it won’t count? I’m so forgettable Ivan won’t figure it out? I’m so starved for attention….it’ll be alright?"

It’s a testament to Ivan’s maturity that he hasn’t lashed out physically, or even emotionally even though he could break him. (The satisfaction of that fleeting thought, comforts Ivan.)

"I’m sorry"

The words are useless, empty, and flat. Meaningless against the situation. Matthew knows this but he says them anyway, so quiet he has to say it one more time, and then another

"I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I love you, I’m sorry"

Eventually the floor becomes fuzzy through his tears, and when he feels like he can’t cry anymore, when he looks his worst with snot dripping down his chin mixed with saliva, he feels Ivan’s arms around his shoulders, and he cries some more.

"I love you too"

——-

Ivan waits until Matthew is asleep to log on to his boyfriend’s email, check his phone, and any instant messages every other night.

"I just don’t trust you"

[spiritflux]

“Who did this to you?” //-spams u-

Fighting off a wave of exhaustion, he lifts his head from his arms and fixes his lover with a baleful glare. “You did,” he reminds him, his voice gritty from a night spent sleeping in the bathtub, washroom door barricaded against the monster who shares his bed. He does not try to hide the bloody rents in his arms, the shadows under his eyes, and the only thing that he regrets is that he did not shoot the creature before he let him devour his heart. “Do you not remember?”

[spiritflux]

“If you keep struggling like that I’ll have to punish you.”

Stupid.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He knows that he is a fool for ever trusting Anders; they have all read the fairytales where hunter falls for vampire, and even a child could have told him the ending. But he is a fool – he knows this now – and he also knows that he will not be able to free himself before the monster’s thirst for blood destroys what is left of his sanity. Still, he strains against the cuffs; still, he contorts his spine and tries not to grimace when the metal cuts into his skin.

"Come near me, and it will be the other way around," he hisses. "They will bury you in pieces, and I will not even mourn your passing."

[spiritflux]

“What have you done?”

His breathing ragged, he stares down at his hands. There is so much blood – some his, most not – and though he does not want to look he can see past those dripping fingers to the mangled body beyond. Instantly his throat closes up, and he cannot press a hand to his mouth fast enough to stifle the sob that claws its way up his throat.

"I—"

Maker. Maker, what had he—

"I— I am so sorry, Zevran…”