#saladruiner

[shouldaspunastory]

Thank you @saladruiner, for @dadrunkwriting

Cullen Rutherford x Dorian Pavus (SFW, Post-Trespasser, Established Relationship) 731 words.

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"Cullen," Dorian begins softly, but Cullen shakes his head.

"No, I heard what you told the Inquisitor," Cullen interrupts, crossing his arms. "You have unfinished business in your homeland, I understand. I've always understood that. And someone like Lavellan, they've too much notoriety. The attention they'll bring will cause more harm than good, however great their desire to help and well-meaning their intentions might be. But I'm not the Inquisitor," Cullen protests. "And I'm not letting you go back there alone. No one in Tevinter knows who I am or would give a damn about me. If I can't help you make your homeland better, at least let me watch over you while you're doing it."

Dorian's throat feels dry, his heart hammering in his chest as Cullen swallows, not waiting for a response before he continues.

"You don't have to tell anyone about us. I know you said things between two men... that's- not how things are done there. You could say I'm your bodyguard," the Commander offers with a shrug, though there's a hint of pleading, perhaps even desperation in his voice that betrays the suggestion is not as nonchalant as he might wish to make it seem. Dorian shakes his head and Cullen's face falls.

"Dorian, please," Cullen whispers, and he's definitely begging now. Maker's breath, the man actually drops to his knees in front of him, clasping Dorian's hands in his.

"Amatus," Dorian says gently, waiting until those gorgeous amber eyes lift back up to meet his own. "I'm not telling my friends and countrymen that you are my bodyguard."

"But I-" Cullen begins, but Dorian shakes his head, and the former soldier bites his lip and tongue obediently.

"You can watch my back," Dorian continues. "I doubt I could stop you doing that if I tried," the mage smiles fondly. "But I'm not going to pretend you're just someone I employ," Cullen's eyes are wide, full of hope and disbelief, as he continues to stare up at Dorian.

"Then you'll- you'll let me come with you," Cullen whispers.

"Vishante kaffas," Dorian mutters with a chuckle, shaking his head, tugging at their joined hands and urging Cullen back to his feet, rocking up onto the balls of his feet to loop his arms around the taller man and crush his lips to his. "Of course, I want you with me, Amatus," Dorian whispers fondly, a hand gently reaching up and caressing his lover's cheek. "But your friends, your family, they're all here."

"You're my family now too," Cullen replies, as if this is the most obvious and simplest thing in the world. As if these simple words don't shake Dorian's own world to its very core. "And I can still write them, and visit," Cullen replies undeterred.

"And if you hate Tevinter," Dorian asks softly with a small frown.

"It can't be all bad. You'll be there." It's an oversimplification and both of them know it, but Dorian can't find it in his heart to protest any further, and Maker knows what positively mortifying public display of affection and devotion Cullen will try next if he does. Dorian sighs, and Cullen's answering smile says that he knows he's won. As Cullen wraps his arms around the mage and pulls him in close, Dorian allows himself to melt into the embrace and nuzzle into his lover's broad chest.

"Festis bei umo canavarum," Dorian curses under his breath, there's affection in his tone, though, as Cullen's answering chuckle vibrates through him. "You'd best hold yourself to writing those letters," Dorian says finally, lifting his chin to meet Cullen's gaze, but remaining flush against him, happy to hold and be held by his lover. "I wouldn't put it passed Mia to storm Minrathous to come find you if you don't."

"You're probably right," Cullen laughs shaking his head. "Perhaps we should stop by South Reach before we head back."

"Might be safer," Dorian nods with a wry smile, before his bravado slips ever so slightly, hugging Cullen for the briefest of moments just a little bit tighter. "You don't think they'll resent me? A man? A mage? A Vint stealing their brother from them?" Cullen shakes his head, before gently tucking Dorian's beneath his chin, and offering him a reassuring squeeze.

"They're going to love you, almost as much as I do," Cullen promises, kissing the top of his head.

[lasatfat]

Hawke/Anders for "coming here to see you is the only place I could go"?

hurt/comfort dialogue | two-part drabble game | @dadrunkwriting

So, I hope you don't mind me answering this with a drabble. also @axelauras I think I actually managed to cover all four of the possible prompts here, so. Go me? Yeah, go me!

Sanctuary

The knocking comes abominably late, or abominably early. Rian storms down the stairs and throws the front door open. Anders is on the stoop, holding a broken flowerpot. “I swear, it was an accident.”

“My mother will have your head,” says Rian, then smirks. “Unless I kill you first, for waking me up in the wee hours.”

“I know it’s late, but I don’t know where else to turn.” Looking at Anders properly, he looks, frankly, terrible. “I just…don’t want to be alone.”

“You’d best come in, then,” they say, stepping aside to let him walk over the threshold.

[lottiesnotebook]

happy DADWC! for your Valentine's day collab, could you maybe pick one of your OC couples and each write your character's POV while they prepare a romantic surprise for their partner?

Thank you so much for the prompt! As we worked on this together, it's here!

[inky-does-art]

Commission for @saladruiner thank you so much, I had a lot of fun drawing the Dreadwolf 🧡

[adainesjacket]

happy DADWC! for your Solas/M!Trevelyan rivalmance: mean smirk- teeth bared grimace- scowl.

thanks @saladruiner! @dadrunkwriting

solas/m!trevelyan (unhealthy rivalmance, solas is abusive), 769 words, sexual tension/angst. cw for manipulation and implied abuse. also featuring cole and dorian, for some reason.

"Now, Cole, about introductions." Dorian is perched on the sideboard of the spacious room the men of the Inquisition have been given to prepare for tomorrow's ball, examining Cole with a sort of hopeless affection. "When someone asks you for your name-"

"It's Cole," Cole says, unecessarily.

Dorian pinches the bridge of his nose. "Yes, I know, but that's not how people talk here. You need to say something impressive."

"Leave off, Dorian," Seong says, smiling. "He's plenty impressive on his own."

"What do you say?" Cole asks, blinking up at Dorian earnestly. "When you introduce yourself?"

Dorian puffs up like a peacock, and sweeps a magnanimous bow. "Altus Dorian Pavus, recently of Minrathous, at your service."

Cole sighs, head hanging low. "That's so many words. 'Dorian' is the only one that matters."

"I think that was rather sweet," Dorian says after a moment. "Oh, dear. They're going to eat you alive."

"Dorian," Seong says again, warning, before Solas can say something cutting and protective. "Cole, you're just fine as you are. If you want other names, we can make something up. Just don't ask Sera for suggestions." He crosses to the bed where Cole is sitting, cross-legged, like a young man at a sleepover, and slings an arm around his shoulders - partly because he wants to, and partly to remind Solas that Cole is his own person who can form bonds with whoever he likes.

He's not sure why he even brought Solas on this journey, come to think of it. He certainly hadn't planned to. Since they arrived at Halamshiral - no, since Seong had encouraged Cole not to take the amulet - Solas had been surly and possessive, less prone to hiding his true feelings than usual. He sees it now, when he looks up to catch Solas's eye and is met with a scowl in return. He's ashamed at the heat that flares up in his belly at the sight of someone who despises him so.

"I think I'd like a surname," Cole muses. "Just for the night. I like how people use them like flags."

"Well, you can borrow mine," Seong says brightly, breaking Solas's scorching stare. "There are so many of us scattered across the South, no-one will notice an extra."

"Cole Trevelyan," Dorian pronounces. "A good a name as any. Now we just need to work on your outfit."

Cole laughs, and doesn't protest when Dorian drags him to the antechamber with the hastily-unpacked wardrobe and full-length mirror. Neither of them see the way Solas straightens up from the shadows and catches Seong's waist in a vice-like grip.

Seong doesn't give him the satisfaction of flinching. "Problem?" He asks coolly, not turning around.

"Yes, as a matter of fact." Hot breath on his ear. "It is the height of arrogance to dress up a spirit of compassion like a doll and claim it as a brother."

"Cole is human too," Seong reminds him. "And unlike you, he actually likes me. Why shouldn't he belong to a family, if he wants to?"

"Yes, Inquisitor," Solas drawls, putting a condescending emphasis on the title. "Why shouldn't everything belong to you?"

"Don't you ever get tired of twisting my words?" Seong demands, breaking the hold on his waist. He turns around, hands on his hips. He hates that Solas has several inches on him. "I don't know why I brought you with us."

"Perhaps because you know you need a lesson in humility," Solas counters. "I will give you one tonight."

Seong risks a look back over his shoulder to where Cole and Dorian are distracted by an affectionate argument, and hopes the movement conceals the shiver that runs through him as Solas's voice darkens and becomes as rough as his insults. "And if I say no?" He asks, defiant in the face of the inevitable.

Solas allows himself the luxury of a mean, hungry smirk, before he arranges his face back into its usual cool mask. "You won't," he says. He runs an elegant finger over the day-old cut on Seong's lower lip. "You never do."

Seong tells himself he will. Throughout dinner, througout the late preparations for tomorrow's ball, he tells himself - and his companions - that he will retire early and rest. He even makes it as far as his own room before the weakness sets in.

Josephine fusses over his split lip and dark undereyes in the morning. Solas smiles kindly at him as he passes a teacup across the table, and tells him he should get more sleep. The tea does not wash the taste of lyrium and copper out of his mouth.

[midmorninggrey]

WIP Wednesday

tagged by @shivunin! Thanks! <3

I'll tag @asexualtabris @carnalapples @miladydewintcr @saladruiner and anyone else who wants to share what they've been working on!

I'm going to step out of my comfort zone and share a rough snippet of a more "experimental" fic I've been trying to get out of my system. It follows Celeste & Dorian's relationship through Inquisition and Veilguard, and it's coming together with a lot of angst!!

-

Warning: vomiting

-

Crowded around the Redcliffe throne, they had been 5. The number 5 is a good number; the number 5 has possibilities. When she was very little, she learned to count with a jar of beans at the kitchen table, and propped up on a tall stool, she found 5 to be endless. The jar of beans was gobbled up at a steady, confident pace, and even though the multiples swung back and forth between odd and even, something about 5 always turned out feeling right.

Now Solas, Cassandra, and Felix are gone. They have been reduced to only 2. There is cold water around her ankles.

Their snap through the portal has sucked all the air from her, flattening her lungs to her ribs. Dorian appears unaffected; the man is already theorizing, casting his hands and eyes around the dank room, and Celeste has the sensation that the world is spinning around him. Unsteady, she tries to gulp in a breath and tastes bile floating on her tongue. She is sick on his boots.

Wiping her sour mouth with the back of her hand, the girl does not apologize. He makes a joke – she does not think it is funny, but later, when she is older, she will wish she could remember what it was.

They make a plan – or Dorian makes a plan, and Celeste manages to nod along.

1st, they must get up the stone stairs, the only escape. Above, the shadows loom, and they feel immeasurable. She tries to count the steps as her soggy shoes hit them.

1

2

3

4

She falters on 5. She worries she is going to be sick again.

Dorian goes up 10 steps before he looks back for her. In 1 hand, he holds his staff before them, a fancy thing that looks flimsy against the heavy dark, and for a moment, Celeste is struck by the possibility that he could be brave.

Bouncing back down, he holds his free hand out to her.

“Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.”

On the hand that holds the staff, she counts 3 rings; he wears 2 more on the offered hand. He has 5 golden rings.

Celeste takes that as a good sign.

[sapphirebunnyart]

Dragon age commissions for @saladruiner . Thank you so much for the support!

Commissions are open 💗

[ruiningsalads]

hey so, I finally published chapter one of my fic with the daughter of Rook/Emmrich and son of Hawke/Fenris.

tagging @midmorninggrey who was very nice to let me bounce ideas off of him, and who I will pester until he reads this chapter. 👀

The Silence in Between (2154 words) by SaladRuiner

Chapters: 1/?

Fandom: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character

Characters: Original Fenris-Hawke Child(ren) (Dragon Age), Original Emmrich-Rook Child(ren) (Dragon Age)

Additional Tags: Dragon Age: The Veilguard Spoilers, Future Fic, Professor Manfred

Summary:

More than twenty years after the Final Blight, Elannora Volkarin, daughter of the famed Rook, struggles to find her place in life. She isn't interested in following in her parents' footsteps, but after meeting the son of the famed Champion of Kirkwall, she finds herself caught up in a story of her own.

Title taken from the Florence and the Machine song "No Light, No Light".

[crabs-with-sticks]

Thanks for the tag @meg-does-art !!

rules: without naming them, post a gif from ten of your favourite films, then tag ten people to do the same

Tagging (only if you want to ofc): @pennabeast @inquisimer @nokdurbs @cat-appreciator @skinwalkingxana @saladruiner @oxygenforthewicked and I'm counting on three extra people seeing this and doing it and tagging me because I feel bad tagging people lmao

[dadrunkwriting]

DWC: Team Americas/Aus/Asia Head Count!

Tagged Writers,

Please reply to this post from your writing blog by 4:00pm PST (7:00pm EST) if you would like to participate tonight!

Writing will ONLY be reblogged if posted ON FRIDAY (or in the wee hours of Saturday morning)

If you have questions about DADWC, check out our FAQ here! You can also send questions to any of our friendly admins:

Team NA: @dreadfutures | @inquisimer Team Europe: @pinkfadespirit | @highwayphantoms

Other Info:

If you want to join DWC, please contact any admin! We are here to help. Anyone can join DWC - there are zero barriers to entry. You can also check out our FAQ here.

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Thank you! <3

@about2dance @blarrghe @bluewren @breninarthur @broodwolf221

@carnalapples @contreparry @crabs-with-sticks @demawrites @dreadfutures

@exalted-dawn-drabbles @galadrieljones @ghoulsbeard @glowing-blue-feathermage @highwayphantoms

@inquisimer @kiastirling-fanfic @melisusthewee @nirikeehan @oxygenforthewicked

@plisuu @rosella-writes @saladruiner @shouldaspunastory @sky-fire-forever

@starswritteninourscars @sulky-valkyrie @sweetmage @thedastrash @theluckywizard

@theruleiwillmostcherishbreaking @tobythewise @vivispec @wildercrow @zencetera

[seigephoenix]

I got tagged by @saladruiner to do this challenge with creating your DA characters in this Picrew. This was pretty fun! I didn't do any of my Inquisition ladies because I wasn't happy with how they came out.

First one is: Elaina Cousland. My warrior Cousland that specializes in the Champion subclass along with Spirit Warrior later on. She fights with mostly a sword and shield, but will switch to dual blades when the situation calls for it. Her main ship is Nathaniel Howe but in canon, she is the Queen of Ferelden.

Second up is an original character: Kalinda Marsh captain of The Medusa's Revenge. A fic that I'm still working on but eventually Kalinda and her crew wind up working for the Inquisition. The only thing I couldn't get right were her eyes. The creator didn't have the exact color I wanted which is a sea-green color. Kalinda is a rogue and sailor who does whatever it means to survive. Loyalty is what she looks for and she does not tolerate betrayal well.

Third is: my beautiful Salem Hawke. She's a mix of purple/blue Hawke. Rarely does she use aggressive choices. Salem is a mage who specializes in spirit healer. For elemental magic she mostly stays with fire and ice magic if the situation calls for it. She romances Anders but is heartbroken with how that ended. Salem chose to let him go regardless of what happened to her. She volunteers to stay in the Fade during the Inquisition, stating her time was done in Thedas and she would like to choose how she goes out.

Tagging: @briarfox13, @shaken-veil, @starsandskies, and whoever else wants to play! I like seeing all the creations!

[lasatfat]

I was tagged by @saladruiner to make my Dragon Age OCs with this picrew, and I have far too many of them, so I just went with my protags. And in the case of Rook, planned protag. All of them are mages, because mages are cool.

Top left: my Warden, Eireann Surana. She/her. Arcane warrior, wielder of Spellweaver.

Top right: Rian Hawke. They/them. Force mage, wielder of Legacy.

Bottom left: Gideon Lavellan. He/him. Knight-Enchanter, and primarily a storm mage.

Bottom right: Luceo "Sunny" Aldwir. He/him and they/them. Veil Jumper, not sure about their spec yet. He's actually the adopted child of Eireann and Alistair, but he took the name "Aldwir," both to protect his family and because his parents cast very long shadows. Their moniker came about when they tried to communicate their name by drawing a sun ("Luceo" means "to emit light").

As far as tagging goes, I'll tag @carnalapples, @cryptidglitter, and anyone else who wants to share!

[lottiesnotebook]

happy DADWC! for some horror, how about “There is something at work in my soul, which I do not understand.” for Hawke/Anders/Justice?

So this turned out to be way more than a snippet, which always happens when I start to write these three! I hope you're alright with a longer fic than usual, because editing it down is not in the spirit of the evening… I also thought this would end up slightly more horror than hurt/comfort, but… Anyway, please enjoy Justice experiencing the Horrors of his first ever crush (with a lot of angst for Anders on the side.)

Rhiannon Hawke/Anders/Justice, pining, angst, hurt/comfort, the mortifying ordeal of being known, pre-relationship, Justice character study

@saladruiner | @dadrunkwriting

a hole in my soul

Mortals do not love as spirits love. Justice has always known this, at least in theory. To love, for a spirit, is to be drawn to another's nature like a moth to a flame, whether out of similarity or compatibility or fascination. To love, between spirits, is to entwine, to commingle, to merge and perhaps become something greater than your individual parts, until your mutual purpose is fulfilled and your natures pull you apart. Mortal dreamers use the same language for their desires, but the deeds and emotions they associate with them are so different as to be unrecognisable - to be drawn to a fellow spirit or mortal soul has never driven Justice to consume or possess them, to take from them until there is nothing of what he loved that remains. It has never left him raw and agonised in its removal, its absence. He is- he was complete in himself. There was no space for yearning for anything beyond his purpose within his nature.

Since he was cast from the Fade, he has learned much of mortal love in absentia. He feels it in the ache in Kristoff's breast when Aura looks at him with revulsion, the ghosts of a thousand smiles and tender moments that exist now only in stolen memories. He feels in the frantic beat of Anders' heart when he wakes from a nightmare or a different sort of dream weeping Karl, Karl, Karl. He feels it when they let their magic burn through the man he loved, and through the Templars who killed him. It is an open, unhealing wound, and no matter how much magic or lyrium or vengeance he pours into the space it left, he cannot heal it. Love, to mortals, then, is an injury that never heals, and he will protect Anders from suffering it again at all costs.

He cannot, therefore, tell him I love you in good conscience, for all that what they have become- what they are, monstrous though it may seem to his mortals, is love incarnate to spirits and demons alike. They are united in form, in purpose, in goal, and there is no being in the Fade or the mortal world he would prefer to be entangled with than Anders, now that they are one.

It pains him, that the name mortal tongues give to what they share is abomination, that Anders can only call what they share as corruption rather than love. Not the lack of reciprocation, exactly - mortals do not love as spirits do, and the emotions Anders feels towards Justice (guilt, warmth, shame, affection) are a pale shadow to the searing grief of Karl's absence - but the fact that Anders cannot see the beauty in what they share through the horror, and that is in part Justice's fault. His rage, his vengeance, after all, destroyed the Templars who sought to tear them apart, for all that Anders blames himself.

All this, though, he can accept. Love, even unrequited, is as ancient as mortal hearts and dreaming. It will not destroy him, and he will not permit it to destroy Anders. Desire is an entirely different matter.

He feels it spark beneath Anders' skin the first time Rhiannon Hawke brushes her fingers against his arm, the warmth of her fingers tangible even through the thick fabric of their sleeve, and he flinches back from it. Anders' surprise mingles with disapproval, mingles with irritation.

"Am I not even allowed to enjoy looking at beautiful people any more?" he complains to their reflection, and Justice feels himself twist in confusion, in shame.

I did not- she was a distraction, he defends himself. The contact was unexpected. I did not know you would welcome it.

"From Hawke?" He can feel Anders' disbelief radiate through both of them. "Have you seen her? She could touch far more than my arm if she wanted- if things were different," he amends, his gaze sliding away from his own reflection, and he feels it pulse again - the agony of love's absence, where Karl Thekla used to sit between his ribs.

I do not wish you to be hurt, he offers, and Anders makes a scoffing sound low in his throat.

"You don't want me distracted," he retorts.

The two motivations are not in conflict, Justice says, tries to flood their bond with the affection he feels, the worry, but Anders cannot accept them. Our purpose cannot be fulfilled if you suffer.

"I've been suffering all my life," he grumbles, "Why should this be any different?"

It is not a question that Justice can answer, and so they fall to silence, the bond between them an uncomfortable, fractious thing that he cannot soothe, however hard he tries.

Hawke could soothe it, he thinks, bitterly, with her glib tongue and bright smile and warm hands that make Anders' nerves sing like lyrium beneath his skin, but Justice, at least in this world, this place, cannot be soothing, cannot be ameliorative. Justice in Kirkwall is a broken bone never set, a gnawing hunger never sated, and this does not make for a comfortable life to share, however much he wishes Anders to be comfortable, however much his beloved deserves comfort in a world that has too often been cruel to him.

He feels the ache for it secondhand, through their shared skin, whenever Rhiannon Hawke laughs or smiles or reaches out a tentative hand, awaiting permission to touch them again, and, if not for the pain that lay in wait after such tenderness, he would almost be tempted to surrender, to say: go to her, let her give you what comfort she can.

But he knows the agony of love when it is taken away, and it will be taken from them, as it was from Kristoff, from Aura, from Anders when he lost Karl. It is a beautiful, impermanent thing, but its beauty is not worth the havoc it wreaks in its wake, and Anders has faced far too much of that havoc in his short mortal life to suffer further from it.

So yes, he knows that desire is a danger, both for his host and for himself - he has seen how it has warped others of his kind, twisting them away from their purpose, and he does not intend to be so transformed. He is guarded, he is wary - and still he is unprepared for it when it comes upon him, when Rhiannon Hawke reaches out to seize his hand mid-battle and press it to the side of a frightened apprentice mage who'd just attempted to set fire to her hair.

"Heal him!" she orders, and he does, but first, he feels himself burn beneath his skin with sudden, fearful want. She is not Anders - she does not have his intimate knowledge of the world's injustice, or the rage and loathing they both feel when it is enacted, but in this moment, he sees every bit of the warmth, the beauty that has drawn Anders in like a moth to a flame. He sees Mercy incarnate, and the urge to keep hold of her hand, to entangle himself with her as he would if they were both spirits, rises up to choke him.

His love for Anders is as much a part of his nature as his purpose, now, but this- this is something alien, some flaw in his nature, or that of the body he inhabits. It is well to be drawn to Rhiannon for her mercy, for her fairness, but he should not long for the touch of her hand on his, should not meet her eyes and feel the song of lyrium burn through him, should not see her dark hair cling to her sweat-streaked skin and itch to smooth it to order again. These are not desires a spirit of justice should possess.

I think, he murmurs to Anders, one morning as he shaves, when he can see his lovely, beloved face well enough to read the emotions that flicker across it, you were right, when you said I was becoming corrupted.

Anders' hand jolts as he speaks - the razor draws a line of bright blood against the red-gold of his stubble, the pale foam of the soap. Justice forces his fingers to open. The razor clatters into the basin with a splash. Anders stares at its palm as though it is no longer his own.

"Right." His voice is shaking, and Justice can feel his lips peel back into a smile that feels hideously, monstrously false. "I suppose now I get to say 'I told you so', right?"

I did not say you corrupted me, Justice corrects him, hastily. This is not a burden Anders must bear - he cannot help Justice's weakness, or the flaws of his own flesh. I meant- there is something at work in my soul, which I do not understand.

Anders flexes his fingers again, then, cautiously, covers its wrist with his other hand. "My anger-" he begins, and Justice interrupts, before he can spiral into self-loathing once more.

Not your anger, he corrects. Wrath and Justice are far closer than you like to acknowledge. This is… something else.

"Tell me," Anders demands, and, when he does not respond immediately: "Justice, please. You can't tell me you're becoming a demon and just- leave it at that!"

The words start off as falsely light and playful, as Anders always begins when he is covering up some darker emotion, but something harsh and unhappy breaks through towards the end - fear, he realises. Anders is afraid for him.

I do not have words for this, he says, and it is true. There is no language he knows for this- wanting that is far more of the body than of the mind. Mortals speak of it, he knows, but till now, he's had little cause to listen.

"Then show me," Anders demands, and - blessed, cruel, overwhelming - opens his mind fully to Justice, and for a moment the bliss of connection, of love fulfilled if only for a moment, and he feels Anders gasp, the weight of Justice knocking the breath from his lungs.

This, Justice says, when he can surface long enough to pull together the images, the sensations - Hawke's face glowing with fierce determination, her voice taut but determined: Heal him!, her lyrium-bright eyes, the brief heat of her hand on his-

And Anders, bewildering as always, begins to laugh. To laugh so hard, in fact, that he shakes, that his knees buckle, that he has to sit down right there on the floor of the clinic, holding his knees as if otherwise the laughter will shake him to pieces.

This is not amusing, Justice informs him. I am- becoming warped by carnal desire! I am no better than the demons who misled the unfortunate souls of Kinloch Hold! Anders, I- I want. Beyond the bounds of my purpose, I want her.

"Justice," Anders informs him, when he catches his breath, "As a healer, I am afraid the diagnosis is far more dire than that."

What, pray tell, could be worse than corrupting my own nature and yours into a warped perversion of our true selves?

Anders lays a hand to his cheek, and Justice feels the warmth of connection surge through him, of comfort, something he has never wanted- never needed before, and something like an echo of the lyrium-song flashes through his skin. He flinches back from it, and Anders, gently, tenderly, returns the hand to his cheek anyway.

"Justice, my friend, my better half," he says, though he is still trying to swallow his laughter, "I suspect you are suffering from lovesickness."

This is not a joke!

"I am not joking," Anders soothes. "I've taken a look at your symptoms, and- Justice, you have a crush."

That seems to be the right word for it. Justice feels truly crushed by the mortification of the revelation.

Spirits are not meant to have- crushes, he says, resentfully.

"Yes, I know, you're above all that, with your glorious ethereal commingling of natures-"

I did not say they were base or foul, merely- antithetical to our nature.

"Not so very antithetical, apparently-" Anders pauses, takes a breath, seems to calm: "This is really what you fear corrupting you? Not my anger? Not- what we did, when we left the Wardens?"

Anger is a part of my nature, as it is yours. This… this is something alien to me.

Anders joins their hands, then, and Justice squeezes them together, making him laugh. "Not so alien," he says, soft and wondering. "You- you love me. Even now, knowing what you know."

I always have. He lets it flow through him, now that the walls between them are eroding, lets it spill over the aching wound where love has always sat within him, hopes it will dilute some of the pain. This would not be possible, if I did not.

He does not expect it to be reciprocated, but he feels it nonetheless - the secondhand lyrium-song that rushes through him, its sweetness, its familiarity.

"This is how love begins, for some of us mortals," Anders tells him.

It is not so, for spirits. He shows him flickering images of Anders as he has always seen him, his stubborness, his resilience, the wrongness he sees within the world and longs to put right, all the things that drew Justice to him like a moth to a flame, less desire than magnetism, the inevitable pull of their natures to each other.

"But your body is mortal now," Anders reminds him. "Is it corruption, to take on some of its traits?"

Is it corruption, Justice echoes, for your soul to carry the weight of my anger? For mine to hold some of your bitterness?

They do not know the answers any more - the truths their worlds tell them are too different, too disparate. But for once, the bond between them is a flood of joy and affection rather than a tightrope to walk, and surely there can be no evil in that, for all that they do not understand it yet.

[midmorninggrey]

First Line Challenge

Rules: post the first line of your wip, the first line you worked on today, or any other “first line!”

Tagged by @theluckywizard! Thank you!!

I've been poking at Celeste Trevelyan X Lucanis (X Spite) a bit, so here's the first line of the first scene I wrote that feels like it has some potential. (But man I think they are doomed.)

In one of the narrow brick buildings that teetered on the edge of Treviso's Drowned District, there was a humble two-room apartment, tucked away on the second floor above an old cobbler's shop.

tagging @saladruiner @carnalapples @librivore42 and anyone else who would like the chance to share just a little something!

[midmorninggrey]

See, this was a very hard decision, but I would love to know more about Gissy_PLUCK HIS CHICKEN and also M V. M in the Court of Law!!

Hey! Yay - out of the chaos, you managed to pick two of my favorites!! Thanks.

And tagging @saladruiner because Kestrel also asked about the chicken plucker.

Gissy_PLUCK HIS CHICKEN is a short little Isabela/Hawke fic. It's mostly them fighting, actually! I've always written their relationship as Gillian Hawke being absolutely head-over-heels for Isabela. Since Gillian prides herself on being in control of her feelings (and those she has feelings for), she doesn't handle love/infatuation/jealousy with much grace.

But here is an outline snippet for the "pluck his chicken" scene

“Then woosh! She was knocked overboard by a stray elbow. Drowned.” “And that’s the end of your story?” “Yes, sadly. I never even got to see her naked.” If she glared hard enough at back of Isabela’s head, Hawke thought she might catch her curls on fire. “What a pity.” “It is,” Isabela chimed over her shoulder, unsinged, and leaned closer into Fenris’ shadow. “It’d be a shame if you and Cal ended the same way.” Fenris’ steady steps were knocked short. Hawke nearly walked into his sword, wobbling back on her heels. “What? That’s not - no.” “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it,” Isabela said, her glossy smirk spreading. “I know he has.” “Isabela!” Hawke hissed, pushing her way between them. At one dreary banquet, she had been seated next to an alchemist who claimed to have once been the personal physician to the Nevarran court. Over dribbles of carrot soup, he had explained in great detail the symptoms of the fit that had killed his last noble charge. Fenris appeared to be exhibiting all of them. Isabela, as always, was undeterred. “Would you make that canary sing?” “Isabela!” “Have him read between your lines?” “Isabela!” “Pluck his chicken?”

M V. M in the Court of Law is not a modern courthouse AU, but that would be cool! I feel like Merrill would wear corduroy.

So Magaleth is a Grey Warden OC of mine. She also happens to be a Blood Mage who was exiled from her Dalish clan. I got to thinking that it would be interesting to put Mags and Merrill in a room together. That room ended up being my OC Cal's head (or memories.)

Their general philosophy towards spirits is similar, and they share that incredible drive for knowledge. Their motive for that knowledge? Very different.

I don't know. I like contrasting kindness with cruelty, and trying to find the thin line that splits them.

(lmao that sounds so pompous)

This fic is also pretty short, but I want to take my time; I really love Merrill's character.

(I have no recollection on why I put "in the Court of Law" there.)

[midmorninggrey]

Tagged by @saladruiner and then @dungeons-and-dragon-age to make some OCs in this Picrew. Thanks!!

Featuring Gillian Hawke, Celeste Trevelyan (post-DAI), Warden Antonia, and Arden Trevelyan.

Tagging (with absolutely zero pressure) @carnalapples @theaceofdragons @contreparry @miladydewintcr and anyone else who might want to play dress-up with their OCs!

Self-Indulgent OC Trivia under the cut

Gill would love Picrews, ok? She doted on her dolls when she was little. As a teenager, she claimed she'd given them all away, but she really kept them hidden beneath her bed, and some nights she would take them out and play with them again. Then one day Carver found them and cut off all their hair. Gill never forgave him.

She also fought the Arishok one-on-one in her stocking feet. This is because she had to shuck off her high heeled boots right before the duel (Gill has never loved a practical shoe.)

Celeste is a picky eater. Cheese sandwiches and pumpkin pie (just the custard not the crust!!) are her main food groups.

During her time as the Herald, Cece had a bit of a crush on Krem. She's still a little embarrassed about it 10 years later.

Toni had not one, but two Mabari tattoos. (And yeah, she could make them both bark.)

Toni was also a pretty good seamstress. She had a pair of patchwork pants that she originally made when she was twelve and just kept mending and altering over the years. Arden was convinced they were held together by magic.

Because of Cece's taste for cheese sandwiches, Arden has learned to fry up a good one (even though he doesn't eat dairy himself.) They may have become a bit of a cult classic among the Inner Circle.

On a sentimental (and possibly drunken) whim, I think Dorian gave Arden a pair of turquoise earrings. He was appalled when Arden actually wore them and he couldn't convince him to switch to emeralds.

I also made Loran and Mags because I have no self control but I'm hiding them down here