#midnightprelude writes

[oftachancer]

Thank you, @maxkennedy24, for this incredible portrait of Anders, Karl Thekla, and Cecily Hawke, from Aisles of Memory and Regret!

Also reposting for the fans of @tranquilweek!

[shouldaspunastory]

For @midnightprelude and @dadrunkwriting

June Lavellan & Dorian Pavus (SFW, pre-relationship, Hurt & Comfort) 531 words

-------------------------------

"If It's a trap, we escape and kill everyone. You're good at that."

June watches the scene unfolding before him, feeling his stomach drop as Dorian identifies the man that walks out of the shadows of the tavern as his father. Definitely a trap, then, the elf thinks with a frown. Though, killing Halward Pavus might prove something Dorian would regret later.

"I apologize for the deception, Inquisitor, I never intended for you to be involved," Halward says addressing June. June nods.

"And I had no intention of lying to your son." Dorian glances back at him briefly, an undiscernible expression crossing his face, before his gaze and attention snaps back to his father.

"This is how it has always been," Halward sighs, glancing passed Dorian to where June still stands by the door. The magister seems to be looking for an ally, someone to cosign this sentiment that Dorian is somehow difficult, unyielding, as if the altus is still a child, and Halward is somehow to be pitied. He doesn't find one, though, as June continues to frown, his gaze and his concern reserved for Dorian. June may not know the particulars of why, but even he can tell from the way Dorian talks about him, and the fact that the normally chatty mage says so little, chooses his words so carefully, that whatever wounds his father caused run deep.

"You tried to change me."

Dorian's voice breaks, and June's heart breaks with it. The elf has never been anything less than awkward when it comes to physical touch with most people, but June cannot recall the last time he wanted to hug someone this badly, to make his body a wall, a kind of shield between Dorian and his father.

"You wanted the best for you. For your fucking legacy. Anything for that," Dorian counters bitterly as Halward tries to argue that his actions had been in the best interest of his son. June never knew his father, he died before he was born. His relationship with his mother had always been a strong, good and supportive one. But June imagines that it must be difficult, with all the pressure of expectations society and cultures tend to put on family being the end all be all, to stand up to a parent like this, regardless of how bad the hurt, or how much in the wrong one's parents might be. It's hardly the time to say so, but June feels... proud of his friend for sticking up for himself.

He makes his way to stand beside him as Dorian leans against the nearby table turning his back on Halward.

"He's your father, Dorian. What and how much that means, I wouldn't presume to tell you. I'm here for you, not him," June offers quietly. "Whatever you choose, I'll support you." Dorian's eyes are wide for a moment, as though he expected something different, though what that might have been exactly, June doesn't know. Finally, Dorian nods, a fleeting twitch of a rueful smile from behind his mustache as he looks at the elf.

"Let's just go," Dorian says softly. June nods, walking out beside him without a backward glance.

[dadrunkwriting]

DWC Housekeeping - Team NA/AUS/Asia

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Reminders

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[perlen-gold]

Mood Board Tag

💗 Thank you SO much for the tag 💗 @gauntletgirlie (I love writing your username x3)

This was fun <3

Tagging @saintstars @gracefallingart @melkor-did-nothing-wrong @sauron-kraut @althanair @privatebooth @just-an-elf-with-the-socks @trash-ainu @winds-of-zephyr416 @barbex @midnightprelude @aidanthecryptid @teine-mallaichte @pinkfadespirit @spicywarl0ck and @glowing-blue-feathermage

...and anyone else, of course, who feels like playing!

Have fun!!! 💗💗💗

Template below:

[storybookhawke]

FIRST LINE CHALLENGE

I was tagged by @barbex to post a first line, thank you!

As with all things, I will use my first line of my Handers War AU prequel WIP.

Anders has never seen the Frostback Mountains, not until the coal train that wound through their deep valleys took him there.

I'm tagging: @dalish-rogue @hollyand-writes @midnightprelude @sulky-valkyrie

[sulky-valkyrie]

Happy Friday!! I am always in love with your Alistair/Dorian, can I perhaps get "things you said with too many miles between us" for them?

Happy Friday to you and to @midnightprelude who gave me the same prompt and pairing 💙 I hope you are having a wonderful Friday and enjoy this rather alarmed letter for @dadrunkwriting

Amatus,

I never thought I’d miss snow.  I never thought I’d miss much of anything, or anyone, if I’m honest.  I could wax about that at length, but this letter is going to go through too many hands, and it’s mortifying enough that I ever said it to you in the first place.  A magister-to-be falling in love?  And with a man?  Too many tongues will wag.  Best I never say it again, or write it down.

Anyway, the purpose of this letter is to lodge a formal complaint that you haven’t responded when I’ve tried to reach you on my your our sending crystal for a week straight.  If Leliana is to be believed, by the time this message reaches Weisshaupt, it will have been a month since I've heard from you.  Hopefully, by the time you read this, we've already spoken and I've apologized for sending this at all.

Hopefully you’re alive.

It may be that whatever Blight magic there is interfering with the resonance, so the back of this letter has instructions for how to reset and retune the crystal to compensate for it.  At this point, you’ve studied nearly as much magical theory as I have, so I have every confidence that if the crystal isn’t actually shattered, you can get it working again.  And even if it is broken, I won’t be upset - I just want to be certain the Wardens are treating you well.  There’s been no news from the Anderfels other than our conversations, and Trev is concerned.

 Alistair, wherever you are, whatever you are doing, please write back soon if the crystal isn’t can’t be fixed.  All this worrying is in danger of giving me wrinkles.  WRINKLES. Wrinkles which will do ghastly things to my aesthetic.  Furthermore, I refuse to be a rich widower before I’ve even been married.

All my aggravation,

Dorian

[barbex]

Books of 2024 (2023 or close to it)

@hoochieblues tagged me to list books and in that moment I immediately forgot about any book I have ever read. Did I even read a single book in 2023? But thank you for tagging me, I'll do my best.

“the game is to share 9 of my favourite books from the last 12 months, or 9 books on my tbr list for this year”

I'm tagging: @mareebrittenford, @dyrewrites, @tryingtimi, @tsuraiwrites, @midnightprelude, @lesetoilesfous, @tarysande

Let me list nine books I liked, I don't know if I read them all in the last 12 months, I just went to my Kindle and picked what sparked a good memory.

Band Sinister by KJ Charles M/M romance, regency historical Lots of pining and repressed feelings in this one, until it leads to wonderful sex and love. Kj Charles knows how to do it.

A Game of Hearts and Heist by Ruby Roe F/F romance, fantasy Fast paced and very sexy fantasy heist. So much sex that even I, certified smut queen, sometimes thought "Now? Really? Don't you think you're kind of busy right now?" But I enjoyed it a lot and there's two more books in the series.

Legends and Lattes by Travis Baldree cozy fantasy with a little F/F romance, fantasy This book has started a whole new trend of cozy fantasy. This is a story about what happens if the barbarian warrior lady hangs up her sword and opens a cafe. The romance is not the main story. I would have wished for a bit more introspection from the main character but I know how difficult it is to write a stoic character who doesn't want to think about feelings.

The Calyx Charm by May Peterson M/M romance, trans main character, fantasy, magic Beautiful prose! Sinister magic, darkness and families at war. Two characters so very much in love, the transwoman loved and accepted by her lover. This is the second or third book in a series but I read another book in the series and it didn't feel all that connected. And the prose was not as pretty as in this one.

Unmasked by the Marquess by Cat Sebastian NB/M romance, regency historical The main character uses she/her pronouns but I read in an interview with Cat Sebastian that, would she write the book today, they would probably use they/them pronouns. But it really doesn't matter much for either main character, the main male character already falls for the nb character when they dress and act like a man. A high stakes regency romance with the expected societal problems and lots of love.

Taji from Beyond the Rings by R. Cooper M/M romance, science fiction This book is so good! Cultural differences between species making romance and connection dangerous, feelings, sex, and politics raising the stakes every minute. I read this book again right after I finished it, it was so good.

The Elf Tangent by Lindsay Buroker F/M romance, fantasy A fun story about a human princess who loves mathematics and an elven warrior, trying to stop a war from happening. Nerdy and clever heroes with a bit of enemies to lovers.

The Hidden Moon by Jeannie Lin F/M romance, set in historic China This is like book five of a series but that didn't hinder my enjoyment. A woman, too smart for her own good, trying to solve a crime in a time when women were not allowed to do anything, especially not investigate assassinations and talk to street scoundrels. Or fall in love with said scoundrel.

---

Phew. That was a lot. Happy reading.

[ruiningsalads]

phew. I don't think I've ever tried writing about addiction before, so this was new for me.

thank you to @theluckywizard @dreadfutures @midnightprelude for the prompts from last week! I wanted to ruminate on this one for a little bit :)

for @dadrunkwriting

"Inquisitor!" Cullen's shout was lost in the din of battle as he carved his way through a group of red templars. One moment, she was by his side, and the next, she was simply gone. Was she hurt? Were they trying to separate him from her? If only his head didn't ache so fiercely that it was difficult to focus, even with adrenaline surging through him.

How easily would he have been corrupted, had he remained with the templars? Would the red lyrium have found purchase in his blood, driving him to madness and death? Or would taking the normal lyrium have helped him fight off these bastardizations of true templars? At the very least, it would have eased the pain that was his constant companion in his waking hours. If only he could think clearly...

"Evelyn!" His voice cracked in desperation as he struggled to push away the thoughts of lyrium. He usually always kept to titles with her, except in the stolen moments when their breath mingled and their troubles were forgotten for a time. But his thoughts were so jumbled and scared that he slipped, reaching for the comfort of familiarity rather than propriety.

He felled a red templar, but more were surging towards him like an endless red tide. He was alone and surrounded and --

A shout pierced the air as the Inquisitor buried her daggers into the neck of one of the approaching enemies. When the templar fell, she charged onward, fighting her way to him.

"Cullen! Are you alright?"

His fear evaporated as she took up position beside him. "I am now."

She grinned at him, and it was like seeing the sun after days of rain. "My incorruptible commander. I can't wait to see how Varric romanticizes this."

His answering smile was more like a grimace, but he didn't have time to respond, as the red templars were on them. Cullen and Evelyn moved in sync, weaving around each other as though they'd always fought together. Their dance led them to safety beyond the keep's walls, where Inquisition soldiers already surged past them to finish the fight.

Cullen fought to catch his breath as he watched his troops rush past. "Hey." His attention zeroed in on his love, whose concerned gaze was locked on him. "How are you holding up?"

His face heated with embarrassment. "I... I very nearly lost myself. If you hadn't come when you did--"

"You would have fought your way out, just a little slower." Her smile was warm and understanding. "You're stronger than you give yourself credit for, Commander."

Though he usually tried to avoid displaying their relationship in front of his troops, he couldn't resist this time. He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her to him, then kissed her thoroughly to remind himself that he was alive, that he had reasons to live. When he pulled away, she was pink in the face and grinning. "And it's not even my birthday!"

[perlen-gold]

WIP GAME

❤️ OooOOOOOooooh Thank you so very much @winds-of-zephyr416 for tagging me!!! <3 ❤️ I'm following your lead and rambling a bit about my writing for once 😍 (which I'm usually too shy for) but UNDER A CUT so you don't have to read it! iI do not expect anyone to express any interest in these but here are my current fanfic WIPs anyways 😏

The Silmarillion/LOTR/Tolkienverse

(it's all Angbang, yes!!!)

Lust

Gold

And Darkness Bind Them

WIPs for Ainurweek 2024: The Flame Imperishable The Two Trees The Door of Night The Void War of Wrath Timeless Halls

Dragon Age

(it's all m!fenhawke, yay!!!)

Crimson

Sans Respirer

An Incense of Blue and Gold

Ablaze

Tagging @saintstars @aidanthecryptid @gracefallingart @fuckyeahmhawkefenris @midnightprelude @teine-mallaichte @pinkfadespirit @spicywarl0ck @midnottart @cilil @sauron-kraut @melkors-defense-attorney @haedre @glowing-blue-feathermage ... and OF COURSE everyone who feels like playing! ❤️

Now, here comes the rambling:

I also don't have a classical WIP folder. All my writing is handwritten so my whole appartement, every room, bag or book is my WIP folder 😂 Once I find time to work on a story which usually takes me weeks I spend the first 12 or so hours of these searching frantically and with increasing desperation for all the little snippets and notes and slips of paper scattered throughout the chaos that is my life (including my appartment) which usually involves a few tantrums and fits of weeping.

(Writing the story afterwrds is a complete mess itself: imagine hundreds of slips of papers strewn across my table covered with writing pads and coloring pencils. I tend to write and rewrite many parts and have different versions of many, many sentences.)

But of course I have to typewrite them eventually (which involves a lot of more rewriting) so the folders on my writing noteboook ARE sorted into fandoms. (My notebooks may be the only space of my life that isn't COMPLETE pandemonium! 😅😅😅)

God, I'm so chaotic it's a miracle they still allow me to be a teacher... unleashed onto kids... 😌

WIP folder game!

I don’t actually have a WIP folder, I just have folders for different fandoms I’m in cuz I (mostly) remember which ones are complete or not lmao

But, anyway, here are four of them! I know the rules say “share all of them”, but most of my writing is very self-indulgent and I am anxious about sharing it for the most part, so I’m not gonna do that sadly, apologies ;-;

Also technically I’m not breaking the rules since I don’t actually have WIP folders… loophole exploited

Bg3:

- Elden Gate

- Serene Moments

Tolkien-verse:

- Vamir’s Darkness

- Different (WIP name as well for this one)

Tagged by @loki-is-my-kink-awakening :3

Rules: make a new post with the names of all the files in your wip folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Tag as many people as you have wips. People send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, then post a little snippet or tell them something about it!

Imma tag… @en-art-crimes @marchwardenofmordor @trash-ainu and @raptorrobot ! (Don’t feel pressured to do this tho, and apologies for the tag)

And, of course, anyone else who wants to join in!

[faux-fires]

M!hawke and Anders visiting an empty Kinloch Hold? 🥺

Thanks Middy! This was SUCH a good prompt, your braiiin. Did I have Daughter's Human (my fav song for the Circles) on repeat while writing it? probably!

I don't know how this happened either but the Hawke in this fic ended up being my custom red!Hawke, Leo; he features in my fic Through a Forest Wilderness but you don't need to have read it to get this fic. He's just a grump. :)

(Written for @dadrunkwriting!)

Soft Rains - 2855 words, M!Handers

The island on which Kinloch Hold had been built was an artificial one. In a time long before Andraste, the dwarves and the Avvar had dredged it from the bottom of the lake, and it had for many years been a military fortress - thought impregnable and unassailable, until the Magisters of the Tevinter Imperium had proven how inadequate those words were in the face of magic.

Nothing about it had been redesigned when the Circle took over it. The armory had become the library. The garrison bunks, the apprentice dormitories. The watch-floor, the Harrowing chambers, where mages were taken to battle demons for proof they could be allowed to reach adulthood.

Anders had never thought to be back here, and especially not in this situation. He stood on the dock, their small stolen skiff moored poorly beside it, and stared up and up and up at the tower looming over him - that had never really stopped looming over him. He hadn't seen it since his last escape, just before the blight, when he had stolen some templar armour and convinced poor lyrium-addled Carroll that he was one of them, late to join their brethren at Ostagar; the idiot had waved him off in the ferry, and he had waved back, and dumped the stolen armour piece by piece as he rowed until he'd stepped ashore the mainland in nothing but his thin undertunic, barefoot and cold as balls and so pleased with himself.

The front door had been shattered. One of the great wooden doors had been blasted off its hinges - from the inside; the other was damaged, and lolled half-way open. Years of varnish had protected the outside from the elements but not the inside, and the wood was already swollen and scuffed.

Hawke came to stand beside him. He didn't say anything, but he didn't need to; his eyes were sharp and watchful, and he angled his shoulders towards Anders in a manner both protective and dangerous. "It's been a while," Anders said.

"You alright?"

"Almost." Anders flashed him a smile. "I'll be better once we get what we came here for."

Hawke fished the ward stone out of his pocket. The little rune - carved from a block of solid silverite, inlaid with lyrium-infused gold - glowed faintly, this close to the cache the Mages' Collective had told them it was designed to unlock. "It'll be in his office, you think?"

"Second floor," said Anders, taking it. "First floor's the library and apprentice dorms. Second floor's for the mages and enchanters. Third floor's for meetings."

"And the rest?" Hawke craned his head back, but you couldn't see the top of the tower from this close to the base. Anders knew. How many times had he stood here, shackled, his templar escorts pounding on those grand (broken) doors and demanding admittance?

"Templars are - ... were on the fourth floor. Top's for the Harrowing."

Hawke snorted. Anders chanced a glance at him - his companion, his lover, his freeborn mage partner who had never seen the inside of this terrible, cold building - and said, "Most of us kept to the third floor down. Not much call for a mage to go beyond that."

"It's a tall tower," Hawke allowed. He turned, to look back over his shoulder at the inky black waters of Lake Calenhad, and his scowl deepened.

"Hey," Anders nudged him, "What're you thinking?" He could normally follow Hawke's train of thought, but this was... this was Kinloch. Anders had lived it, and survived. Hawke and his sister and his father had all lived in fear of it.

In response Hawke turned away from him and made his way back to the dock. Their boat floated gently below them; Calenhad was too small to have waves, and its inky blackness stretched out in all directions disturbed only by the ice floating across it this late in winter. From here you could barely make out the haze of lights that was Redcliffe village, far to the south. "Fuck me," said Hawke, "Can't believe you fucking swam this."

"It was spring," Anders allowed, and didn't say: drowning in the lake in the pursuit of freedom was infinitely better than living without it.

He didn't need to. He hadn't died. He'd kept swimming, for spite, for a life without oversight, because the templars would have been glad if he'd stopped and Anders wouldn't give them an inch when they expected a mile, and he was so fucking glad he had when Hawke turned, and looked at him, and smiled one of his rare wolf's smiles even as he said, "You're incredible."

"I was desperate."

"Same thing." Hawke had a wolfskin draped over his shoulders that looked something like a larger, bulkier, warmer version of the armour he'd worn as Kirkwall's Champion. He rolled a shoulder idly and huffed out a breath that fogged in the winter air, and said, "Every day you amaze me more and more. Come on. Let's find what we came for."

He went first, and hesitated only slightly at the threshold of the shattered doors. For a moment Anders watched him - his smooth, easy gait; the the solid figure of his build; the focused, predatory cast to his golden eyes; the greys in his hair and his beard and the scar cutting through his eyebrow; the staff he carried like a spear and used like one, too - and tried to imagine taking something so powerful and free and wild and shrinking it, maiming it, forcing it to live stifled within Kinloch's austere stone walls, and couldn't.

The apprentices' dormitories were on the right as they entered, and in disarray. The fleeing mages had stolen everything that wasn’t nailed down as they fled, even the bedding; crows warked at them irritably from nests built in the high stone windowsills. Anders couldn’t resist poking his head into the older kids’ dormitory. He’d only known this one - the other was reserved for the real babies of the tower, the children of ten years and under, not that there was any difference in furnishing.

His old bunk had been the third row from the left, top middle. He didn’t know what he expected to feel when he saw it. Rage, perhaps, or disgust. How many nights had he curled under the blankets there, sobbing into a pillow whose embroidered colours had never been designed for that level of grief? It had faded by the end of his first year, but now…

He’d fucked Karl in this bunk for the first time. They’d bribed the rest of the dorm to pretend they didn’t hear, but even so he was acutely aware with every thrust, every grunt, every sharp intake of breath of the whispering in the dark, the giggling. That wasn’t normal, he knew now, but at the time it had been what he’d known - what they’d all known. He ran a hand over the wooden post at the end of the bed, feeling its unevenness under his palm, generations of graffiti and none of it familiar, and let the fire bloom into being.

Hawke said nothing when Anders rejoined him at the dorm entrance. He jerked his chin at the burning bunk and lifted his eyebrows, and when Anders shrugged at him, nodded. He didn’t share, Leo. He’d bitten Varric’s head off for asking questions. He’d had experience in bed, at least - Anders was far from his first - but neither of them had ever expected how precious they were concerning something that was new to them both. To be loved, as well as lovers.

The tower had never been this quiet. It had eaten many of the sounds of its inhabitants - the rustle of finely woven circle robes, the tread of soft circle slippers, the rustling of paper, the susurration of hushed conversations in its variable common areas - but had rejected others. The clanking of plate armour. The sounds of enchanters drilling people in the practice areas. The sobbing in the night. Anders glanced down at his boots - cracked, scuffed leather like something these floors had seldom known - and smiled in grim triumph.

The library door was still closed, and when Anders pushed the door open it still smelled the same. The shelves had been depleted but not emptied - plenty of almanacs and tedious histories left behind, but the mages had taken all the herb compendiums, and the entirety of Brother Genetivi’s travelogues were gone, as were most of the books on practical spellcrafting. Anders touched the empty shelves where the books on the conjuration of potable water had been kept and smiled despite himself. Beside him Hawke had pulled out a tome on the lives and wives of Antiva’s assassin-queens.

“I had so much sex in this library,” Anders said.

Hawke barked a laugh, which he quickly smothered with his sleeve. “I’m sure.”

“In fact - here, come on.” He gestured for Hawke to follow him, and Leo did, with a curious expression. He slid his hands up over Hawke’s broad shoulders and turned him, gently, so that his back was to the Lucrosian section; the Anecdotes of the Great Accountants had rich, buttery leather bindings and had always been a faithful cushion to an apprentice in a hurry. Leo let himself be positioned with a trust Anders still wasn’t sure how he’d earned, watching Anders with that same intensity he’d always loved.

He leaned against Leo, so they were flush, chest to chest. “If we were both trapped here,” he said, “And if the librarian was in our favour, they’d stack the bookshelf at the end with books slightly larger than usual. That would give you just enough space to hoist up your robes, and for me to reach… what needed reaching.”

Hawke glanced around - at the ceiling, all the way above them; at the end bookshelf, now filled with gaps like missing teeth - at Anders’ face. His mouth was tight. Angry, but not with Anders. On some level that was heartening, to know that what he had thought normal was not. “No templars in the library?”.

“At the doors.” Anders nudged at the corner of his jaw with his nose. This close Leo smelled like sweat and snowmelt, and that odd, slightly electric smell all mages had, like lyrium in the blood. “If you were lucky, you’d get a couple of old, run-down bucketheads too bored or lyrium-addled to patrol. The young ones would, though. They had more to prove by interrupting… “

“Interrupting what?” Hawke reached up and gently caught one of Anders’ wrists, tugging it from his broad chest. “Two mages having a talk? You couldn’t spin this any other way, surely.”

Many mages had been beaten for it. Anders had been beaten for it. Twice in one day, even. But Anders didn’t know how to explain to Hawke that this was what they had, and on some level, the mages of Kinloch Hold had known it was worth a beating to be close to someone when this closeness was all you got. Karl had been his first; there had been hundreds between him and Hawke, and not a one of them had ever come close to what he had with Hawke. He drew back, shrugged, and said, “We said whatever we needed to say.”

“To survive,” said Leo. He was scowling again. Anders pressed a gentle knuckle to the furrow of his brow, and smiled when it smoothed under his touch. Hawke stooped forward and bumped their foreheads together, which Anders knew from long experience was one of the most surefire ways he had of expressing affection; his breath was warm on Anders’ face. They were fully clothed, and it still felt more intimate than all the times Anders had wanked someone off right here, in this spot.

“I escaped this place,” Anders said, into the quiet space between them. “Hawke, it doesn’t hold any power over me. It hasn’t for a while. Especially not now.”

It was just a library. There were no templars at the doors, and the mages had picked it clean of things they thought would help them survive, because they were gone and free and he had helped make it happen. He had been the chisel and this building, this empty shell of a building with the shattered doors and the crows in the windowsills and the bunks burning behind him, this was just part of the crack.

“Too bad you don’t have any more of those explosives,” Hawke said. His lips quirked again, such a small sign it might have been missed had Anders not been so adept at reading him. “Would’ve been nice to bring the whole thing down.” He leaned back. “We lived in Redcliffe, you know. Six months or so. I was twelve, I think - don’t really remember, just remember this fucking tower on the horizon. Father signed onto the Crimson Oars to help some bann in Orlais take over his neighbour’s land, so we stopped to wait for him to return from the fighting.” He paused. “Or if he didn’t, to decide what to do next.”

Anders caught Hawke’s hand, turned it over. “I’ve only been to Redcliffe once. My first escape. They dragged me through it after they caught me… the townsfolk hated me. It took an hour of arguing for the templars to convince the innkeeper to let them stay the night, and he made them chain me to the bed while they did. He charged them extra for the chains, too, which I thought was very funny.” He rubbed soothingly at Hawke’s wrist. “The Collective say that most of the escaped mages headed to Redcliffe. The Arl invited them in, for whatever that’s worth.”

“Whatever it has to be,” Hawke said.

“There’s no place safe for mages,” Anders agreed. “They’re feared throughout Thedas. But that is because they are not known. Hopefully they can show the people that they’re people too.”

“Yeah.” Hawke’s eyes were on him. “They are. Anders, whatever happened to you here...”

“Happened,” Anders said, and shrugged. “I didn’t have it the worst. I didn’t have it the best, either, but it doesn’t <i>matter</i>. Love, it’s… it’s a thing that happened, and it won’t happen again, not if we can help it.”

Leo glanced around at the library. “It never should have,” he said, and placed his other hand over the back of Anders’, trapping it between them. His mouth was a flat, unhappy line; Anders leaned in and kissed him, slow and careful until he felt some of the tension bleed out of Leo’s shoulders and into the boring books he leaned up against it, and smiled a little as he did so. Another victory for the accountants.

“Let’s get what we came for, love,” he said. “Then, if you like, we can look and see if there’s anything left in the alchemical storeroom. I can’t make what I used in Kirkwall, but I might be able to whip up something satisfyingly ruinous.”

“Threatening me with a good time,” Hawke said, but he smiled - really smiled, in that way that transformed his face from the near-perpetual scowl to the man Anders had fallen in love with, who had stood over Ser Karras’ bloody corpse on the Wounded Coast and dragged a hand through the gore on his face with the simple satisfaction of a job well done.

Maker’s breath. Anders didn’t know what it was like to grow up outside - to see the tower on the horizon, and never know what happened inside it - but it didn’t matter. Inside or outside, this place had touched them both the same; and so he leaned forward - bracketing Leo with his arms, kissing him slow and sweet and unhurried in a way he’d never kissed anyone, not in these high cold walls, and said, “I’ll do more than that when we get back to Denerim, my love.”

It was just a building. They didn’t have the tools to burn it down, but maybe they didn’t need to. Perhaps it was enough to forget it - to let the ivy creep up the walls, swallowing the memory of the things that had gone on here; to let the crows creep down from the windowsills, building their nests on the bunks and the vanities and in the washtubs; to let the enchantments holding this impossibly huge building together fail, long after he and Hawke were gone, to let the windows cave in and the rains wash through these halls and cleanse away all the ghosts left behind, in every library crook and secretly shared bunk and all the other little places the mages had built here.

They weren’t necessary. Not any more. Mages were right now walking the docks in Redcliffe; waking to their own rooms, perhaps even learning the luxury of taking time with a lover. The Circle had fallen. The building was all that remained, and in time, that too would pass.

And in the meantime, he had Hawke, and Hawke had him, and together they had work to do. For the Collective. For the mages. For their love of each other.

And that was all that mattered.

[oftachancer]

It’s launch day! That means you can read Spirits and Sunflowers 🌻 today. This book — written by myself and @midnightprelude — tells the story of a grieving necromancer, a grumpy, protective single father, and the way they change each others’ lives for the better.

Spirits and Sunflowers is the first in the multipart series Maligned Magic. Each book explores a world where magic is real and tightly regulated by an organization called the International Arcane Order through the eyes of a different couple, each with their own personal struggles.

You can buy our debut novel on Amazon here. You can also read it for free on Kindle Unlimited. Reviews are welcome and encouraged, as this helps other people find us. Thank you for your support! 🏳️‍🌈

The amazing cover art was created by the one and only, immensely gifted @lethendralis-paints. The busts over the cover were the work of @kf1n3. Giant thanks to both incredible artists for bringing our boys to life.

You can find us on Instagram @austindanielwrites and @adarmisteadwrites.

[luzial]

4. “Come back with me.” Nighttime + fight for Solavellan?

Thank you for the prompt! Here’s some relationship Solavellan in Skyhold. I’m back on the angst train for 2021.

Read on AO3 || @dadrunkwriting​

They had lingered late in the Rotunda, working with maps and texts spread across Solas’ desk as he and the Inquisitor tried to determine the location of a temple buried long ago. The later they stayed, the more people retired for the night and the more precarious his situation became. Their hands would touch. Their lips would meet. And, inevitably, Solas would be forced to make a choice.

“Come back with me.”

He had refused her once before. In truth, Solas had not expected her to ask again, and had no excuse prepared. He hid his oversight beneath an agonizing silence as he hurriedly scribbled one final, unnecessary note on the map they’d been using.

“I cannot,” he said, finally.

He thought, from her silence, that perhaps that would be it. But then she spoke again.

“Do you not want to?” Lavellan asked gently. “I don���t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Of course I want to,” Solas answered before he could stop himself.

“Then, why?” she asked, entirely reasonably.

“The Orlesian delegation we are hosting never retire before dawn,” he said, offering the excuse he’d only just concocted. “They will see us if we enter your quarters together, and such a scandal would do you no credit in their eyes. An elf in a position of power is detestable to Orlais, and yet Ambassador Montilyet has convinced them to overlook it. Were an elven advisor appear to be too close to you, I doubt even she could preserve their support.”

“And who says we need to go to my quarters?” Lavellan asked, leaning back against his desk.

The invitation was more appealing than she could know. But still, he shook his head.

“It is too much of a risk. For all the reasons I’ve already stated.”

“You know Skyhold better than I do - better than any of us,” she countered. “You must be able to think of a dozen places where we could find some privacy.”

And, fenedhis, but he could.

There was an alcove at the tip of the rotunda, deserted at this time of night, when even the Spymaster had finally retired for the few hours she allowed herself to leave her desk each day. Then there was the room below the kitchens, warmed by its hearth and yet far too secluded to attract attention after dark. The loft of the stables, if the Warden could be distracted to a game of Wicked Grace in the tavern. Any of the three currently unoccupied rooms in the guest quarters where foreign dignitaries slept. Pressed against a wall beneath the stairs at the edge of the gardens, he considered with agonizing clarity.

And if - if only - he could shape this place with a thought the way he used to, Solas would sculpt a room just for her. Hidden behind a stone wall that would give way only for them, he would carve a balcony that overlooked the frozen lake and seal it with a spell to keep the cold at bay while allowing the snow to swirl into the room for a brief moment of fragile beauty before it melted away. The hearth would be ornate and enormous, large enough to hold a fire that would warm them all night long, even after it crumbled to embers. He would build the fire himself, with his own hands, choosing the branches from the nearby woods and finding the herbs to scent it.

He would craft her a bed made from the twisting branches of the white-barked trees that grew only in Arlathan Forest, and weave them into an intricate knot that conjured protection and devotion with each twist. The bedclothes would be Fade-touched silk - the only material that could come close to matching the softness of her lips. Time would pass slowly, if at all. He would steal each minute that he could and savor her touch, her taste, her voice. He would forget himself in the press of her body against his, and hide from the duty that lurked just beyond the door, threatening to drag him back out into the cold.

Solas had built such a place in his mind a hundred - a thousand - times. So he did, again. But this was not a world that could be shaped to his whims. And so he dismissed it, again. He chased the thought of it away, because he knew what must come first.

He could not ask such a thing of her without first telling her the truth. And he could not tell her the truth.

Candles and moonlight lied. Desire lied, most of all. It tempted one to believe that it alone was enough.

Solas knew that if he viewed the situation in the harsh light of day, his choice was really no choice at all.

He had been silent too long. Lavellan stared at him with eyes that saw too much.

“It is impossible,” Solas said.

“Only because you’ve decided it’s so.”

Her rebuke was not gentle, and he could offer no response that could adequately counter it. So he said nothing.

She shook her head at him and let out an angry breath. She was halfway to the door when Solas caught up to her, his hand tight upon her elbow.

He kissed her once for every five steps they took, darting from shadow to shadow as they made their way clumsily to the deserted guest quarters above the gardens. And when he laid her down upon the bed and drank in the sight of her, Solas began to understand that there was really no choice at all.

[uchidachi]

Well, the first line of today's wip is very boring (might have to change that) so here's the first line I wrote on it today:

“Taash!” Rhea cried out, unable to hide her relief.

(I swear it's only light angst don't worry don't worry...)

Ok now who's writing that I can tag hmmm... @fanfoolishness, @blarfkey, @midnightprelude, @rowanisawriter, @serbarris

Anyone else who likes getting tagged in these games, (I never remember who likes them or doesn't)

'The First Line' Challenge

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

{ ALSO : tysm for the tag @sunny374940 ! BTW anyone following me should go check their Tumblr and Ao3 rn esp if you like Emrook! }

This is from one of my {way too many} WIPs - this one features the start of my Rook's 7 year Fade Prison experience 👀

Cool air nips at the exposed skin peaking through the tears in Az's robes, the chill setting deeper into his bones as he stares down in abject horror.

Tagging @thedissonantverses , @andthekitchensinkao3 , @ofcrowsanddragons , & anyone else who wants in on this :3 💕

[dadrunkwriting]

DWC: Team Americas/Aus/Asia Head Count!

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If you cannot participate today, please do not reply! We'll see you again next week🥂

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

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Thank you! <3

@anonymous-inquisitor @blarrghe @bluewren @breninarthur @broodwolf221

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@plisuu @rosella-writes @ruiningsalads @seigephoenix @shouldaspunastory

@sky-fire-forever @skinwalkingxana @starswritteninourscars @sulky-valkyrie @syrupwrit

@sweetmage @thedastrash @theluckywizard @tobythewise @vivispec

@wildercrow @zencetera

[perlen-gold]

WIP GAME

(once again I can't see my own reblog so I'm reposting this)

❤️ OooOOOOOooooh Thank you so very much @winds-of-zephyr416 for tagging me!!! <3 ❤️

I'm following your lead and rambling a bit about my writing for once 😍 (which I'm usually too shy for) but UNDER A CUT so you don't have to read it! iI do not expect anyone to express any interest in these but here are my current fanfic WIPs anyways 😏

The Silmarillion/LOTR/Tolkienverse

(it's all Angbang, yes!!!)

Lust

Gold / Flawless (I haven't truly decided on the title yet)

And Darkness Bind Them

WIPs for Ainurweek 2024: The Flame Imperishable The Two Trees The Door of Night The Void War of Wrath Timeless Halls

Dragon Age

(it's all m!fenhawke, yay!!!)

Crimson

Sans Respirer

An Incense of Blue and Gold

Ablaze

Tagging @saintstars @aidanthecryptid @gracefallingart @fuckyeahmhawkefenris @midnightprelude @teine-mallaichte @pinkfadespirit @spicywarl0ck @midnottart @cilil @sauron-kraut @melkors-defense-attorney @haedre @glowing-blue-feathermage ... and OF COURSE everyone who feels like playing! ❤️

Now, here comes the rambling:

I also don't have a classical WIP folder. All my writing is handwritten so my whole appartement, every room, bag or book is my WIP folder 😂 Once I find time to work on a story which usually takes me weeks I spend the first 12 or so hours of these searching frantically and with increasing desperation for all the little snippets and notes and slips of paper scattered throughout the chaos that is my life (including my appartment) which usually involves a few tantrums and fits of weeping.

(Writing the story afterwrds is a complete mess itself: imagine hundreds of slips of papers strewn across my table covered with writing pads and coloring pencils. I tend to write and rewrite many parts and have different versions of many, many sentences.)

But of course I have to typewrite them eventually (which involves a lot of more rewriting) so the folders on my writing noteboook ARE sorted into fandoms. (My notebooks may be the only space of my life that isn't COMPLETE pandemonium! 😅😅😅)

God, I'm so chaotic it's a miracle they still allow me to be a teacher... unleashed onto kids... 😌

[sulky-valkyrie]

WIP Whenever

Thanks for the tag, @rosella-writes! 💜

I'm pretty ass-deep in working on stuff for @dacreateathon but here's something that I've been slowly poking at for months

Alex sighed and flopped over, putting his head next to Anders’ knee.  “How'd you know my… I mean, they don't even know it.  Or they forgot it.  Or they don't care.  Dumb name anyway.  They just call me the Anders boy.  Been doing that for almost fifteen years.” Anders let his hand wander to Alex's hair.  He'd always loved having it played with, and, as he got older, it became a rarer and rarer treat.  Sex had been easy to come by, after all, but intimacy was another matter.  Alex scooted closer with a quiet sigh as Anders tugged the tie loose, then ran his fingers through those pale locks.  They were blonder then, no doubt from how little sun he'd seen, and incredibly soft. “A spirit told me.”  Not quite a lie.   “A spirit?” Alex looked up.  “They talk to you?” “One does,” he chuckled.  “More often than I'd like, some days.” That is rude. Hush.

No pressure all love tagging @becauseanders @midnightprelude @highwayphantoms and @zeph2flowers