till human voices wake us and we drown

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[theplotchickensfic]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Yippee first fic ever is up! After many many years of saying I'd never start posting a fic until it was finished I decided to just go for it anyway and hope it will give me the motivation to finish something for once. Enjoy!

[retquits]

there is something so crazy and powerful about having art of your oc that was made by anyone other than yourself. like oh my god you actually exist outside of my own brain that's WILD

[ravioliet]

[namamumumu]

So I'm not very good at interiors but I wanted to draw The Hug from @glitter-gel-pens's sharp knives, soft edges. I think it's fairly decent, but for funsies here's a simpler background-less version as well.

I also did a general prep sketch for height and getting a sense of the OC builder's hair (and I love drawing hair).

[glitter-gel-pens]

HOLY SHIT THAT'S MY SON !!! You did such a good job, literally nailed it, tysm 😭❤️❤️❤️ it's so cool to see how someone else visualizes him hehe

[glitter-gel-pens]

better left unsaid

Dorian x Lavellan

Helping the Inquisition save the world turned out to be a much more cut and dry ordeal than Dorian had anticipated. He went back to their quaint little village, joined a small army of mages gathered in some ghastly cold, crumbling ruins, and almost — but not quite — helped said small army kill the supposed Herald of Andraste by forcing their combined arcane power through his little body like a pissed wyvern through a peephole. For all of Dorian's certainty that they were making a martyr of him, the poor man handled the surge as well as he could, hair crackling like a thunder cloud as he forced the frayed edges of the Fade back into place and pulled tight the seam between worlds. And then, ta-da! The green light faded, the breach was closed, and the world was saved. All in all, Dorian had only had to commit a few days of service to the cause.

And sure, the little hero had fainted rather dramatically onto the Nevarran as soon as they stopped funneling their power through him, a puppet with his strings snipped. And sure, rather than celebrating, everyone in that damned ruin fell silent while the bald one rushed over, speaking quietly to the woman. And fine, yes, when he nodded and the woman turned her dark eyes to the mages and declared he breathes, he lives, Dorian had let out a sigh of relief with the rest of them before cheering, but he was just caught in the moment, swept up in the exuberance of a world well and truly saved.

It's not as though he'd been worried about the man. He barely knew him, had only caught glimpses of tattoos and stern eyes through dark hair.

But, maybe, if he'd lived, it could give Dorian a chance to change that, no? Get to know him properly? They'd worked alarmingly well together in that blighted future, after all. Though he'd have to wake up first. This "herald" — though he could have sworn he'd heard the Dwarf call him Lavellan — it was taking him a rather concerning amount of time to wake back up and join the revelries in Haven.

Just as he thought it, the world's largest elbow nudged into his side, nearly spilling Dorian's wine. He tore his eyes from Lavellan's door and found the Qunari merc he sat with smiling fondly down at him, something sparkling in his eye. "Boss is going to be alright," he sighed, setting down his stein. "He's little, sure, but I've seen him walk it off after a dragon knocked him clean across a field. He's tougher than he looks."

"I'm not worried about him," Dorian sniffed. "He's the perfect picture of a hero. He'll make it, we'll all mythologize it, and there will be no end of songs about it, I'm sure. I'm just wondering if I'll have a moment to say goodbye."

"Taking off already?"

"Soon. Tomorrow, most likely." He swirled his glass and took a sip, watching out of the corner of his eye as the mercenary visibly sized him up.

"Why the rush?"

"Why linger?" he countered, shrugging. "We did it, didn't we? Closed the Breach. That's all I signed up for, anyways. Whatever Chantry nonsense the Inquisition focuses on next is none of my concern." He'd been debating, somewhere in the back of his head, if he could stomach a visit to the village's surely-tiny cell block to say goodbye to Alexius one final time before his departure. The party would likely be the best time to do it, with all but the guards distracted, but the idea turned his stomach even more than the swill that the Singing Maiden passed off as wine. "Besides," he sighed, "I'd rather not lounge about where there's a target on my head, no? You're sure to get sick of the Vint eventually."

The Qunari laughed into his cup, setting it down on the table with a satisfyingly strong thud. Before he could say a word, however, movement in the corner of his eye tugged Dorian's attention back to the cabin. Sure enough, the herald himself was stumbling out of his cabin, looking rather dazed and confused for a hero.

The mercenary's men shuffled around them as one left the table, presumably to refill the pitcher that their boss had drained. "Pardon me," Dorian said as he stood, "but it seems I've an opening. It was a pleasure not being gored on your horn."

"That what they're calling it these days?" the Qunari fired back, but Dorian only rolled his eyes, not dignifying him with a response.

The herald — Lavellan — hovered in his doorway for a beat, hair messy and dried black lipstick smudged at the corner. He glanced around the party with those piercing dark eyes, confusion clear on his face, until —

"Ah, and the hero rises to taste his victory," Dorian said, ambling up to his side.

The poor man startled slightly, evidently still waking up. "Pavus," he said simply, voice rasping over the syllables. "What... happened?"

"Well," Dorian started, leaning against the wall, "you saved the world, for starters, and then you passed out very dramatically. Nearly made a martyr of yourself, from what the bald one said. But you saved us, and you lived, so..." he gestured back to the state of the village. "Time for a party, no?"

"It's over?" The gears in his head seemed to be turning now, his shoulders relaxing just slightly. "Oh, well, that's... lovely."

"Isn't it?" Dorian chimed. "Now, I'm sure that your scarier friends are going to want to talk to you as soon as they hear you've woken, but I wanted a quick word with you, if the o so holy herald could grace me with a few minutes of his time."

He winced, frowning slightly. "Please, Renan is fine."

"The o so holy Renan, then?" Dorian teased, laughing when his scowl twisted further. "I simply wanted to inform you that, since our work with the rift is done, I'll be moving on come morning. I've no interest in participating in the religious aspects of an Inquisition, and as I'm sure you're aware, there are still Venatori to track down in the area."

"Right," Renan sighed, something rueful in his eye. "Well, for what it's worth, it's been a pleasure fighting with you, Dorian. You're quite talented."

Dorian grinned. "You flatterer. Do go on."

Renan combed his fingers back through dark hair. "Don't think I have the time right now, but feel free to infer whatever you'd like to hear," he said, the barest hint of a grin on his lips. Dorian raised a hand to wave and probably make some blasé comment, but the sound died in his throat as Renan's hand — not the glowing one, thankfully — landed on Dorian's bicep, squeezing gently. "But truly, none of this would have happened without you," he continued, inky eyes darting up to meet his. "We won't forget that. If you need anything, whether that's a place to rest or support against the Venatori, let us know."

Dorian swallowed thickly, those intense eyes reaching further into him than he'd like. "Right, of course, as if I'm the savior here," he quipped, dropping Renan's gaze to focus on a dancer nearby. "But noted, and appreciated."

"Creators guide you, Dorian," Renan said, and then his hand fell and he was gone, off to take his place among those in charge.

Dorian sighed and nodded. That was the end of that, then.

Within the hour, he'd packed his bag for morning, announced his departure to the few people he cared to inform, and snuck a bottle of wine to encourage the rest of the night along its course. As he uncorked it on his shitty little cot, he could have sworn he heard a yell outside, but surely, it was just another drunk reveler. Yet as he poured a glass, another came, then a third, until finally the irritation set in and he stepped outside, glare ready for whoever was causing such a commotion.

But then his eyes caught the rows and rows of torches between the mountains, marching in formation, and he finally made out what they were all yelling: We're under attack. Inquisition! With the herald!

For your lives! For all of us!

As his wine glass bled the snow red at his feet, Dorian almost laughed.

Perhaps this would not be so cut and dry, after all.

xxx

Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment / reply and let me know what you think. You can find the rest of chapter one and an interlude from Renan's POV (about 2800 more words, all in all) here on Ao3.

[glitter-gel-pens]

just reposted this via my new dragon age sideblog @serjory! future updates will be posted about on that blog instead of this one :^)

[glitter-gel-pens]

better left unsaid

Dorian x Lavellan

Helping the Inquisition save the world turned out to be a much more cut and dry ordeal than Dorian had anticipated. He went back to their quaint little village, joined a small army of mages gathered in some ghastly cold, crumbling ruins, and almost — but not quite — helped said small army kill the supposed Herald of Andraste by forcing their combined arcane power through his little body like a pissed wyvern through a peephole. For all of Dorian's certainty that they were making a martyr of him, the poor man handled the surge as well as he could, hair crackling like a thunder cloud as he forced the frayed edges of the Fade back into place and pulled tight the seam between worlds. And then, ta-da! The green light faded, the breach was closed, and the world was saved. All in all, Dorian had only had to commit a few days of service to the cause.

And sure, the little hero had fainted rather dramatically onto the Nevarran as soon as they stopped funneling their power through him, a puppet with his strings snipped. And sure, rather than celebrating, everyone in that damned ruin fell silent while the bald one rushed over, speaking quietly to the woman. And fine, yes, when he nodded and the woman turned her dark eyes to the mages and declared he breathes, he lives, Dorian had let out a sigh of relief with the rest of them before cheering, but he was just caught in the moment, swept up in the exuberance of a world well and truly saved.

It's not as though he'd been worried about the man. He barely knew him, had only caught glimpses of tattoos and stern eyes through dark hair.

But, maybe, if he'd lived, it could give Dorian a chance to change that, no? Get to know him properly? They'd worked alarmingly well together in that blighted future, after all. Though he'd have to wake up first. This "herald" — though he could have sworn he'd heard the Dwarf call him Lavellan — it was taking him a rather concerning amount of time to wake back up and join the revelries in Haven.

Just as he thought it, the world's largest elbow nudged into his side, nearly spilling Dorian's wine. He tore his eyes from Lavellan's door and found the Qunari merc he sat with smiling fondly down at him, something sparkling in his eye. "Boss is going to be alright," he sighed, setting down his stein. "He's little, sure, but I've seen him walk it off after a dragon knocked him clean across a field. He's tougher than he looks."

"I'm not worried about him," Dorian sniffed. "He's the perfect picture of a hero. He'll make it, we'll all mythologize it, and there will be no end of songs about it, I'm sure. I'm just wondering if I'll have a moment to say goodbye."

"Taking off already?"

"Soon. Tomorrow, most likely." He swirled his glass and took a sip, watching out of the corner of his eye as the mercenary visibly sized him up.

"Why the rush?"

"Why linger?" he countered, shrugging. "We did it, didn't we? Closed the Breach. That's all I signed up for, anyways. Whatever Chantry nonsense the Inquisition focuses on next is none of my concern." He'd been debating, somewhere in the back of his head, if he could stomach a visit to the village's surely-tiny cell block to say goodbye to Alexius one final time before his departure. The party would likely be the best time to do it, with all but the guards distracted, but the idea turned his stomach even more than the swill that the Singing Maiden passed off as wine. "Besides," he sighed, "I'd rather not lounge about where there's a target on my head, no? You're sure to get sick of the Vint eventually."

The Qunari laughed into his cup, setting it down on the table with a satisfyingly strong thud. Before he could say a word, however, movement in the corner of his eye tugged Dorian's attention back to the cabin. Sure enough, the herald himself was stumbling out of his cabin, looking rather dazed and confused for a hero.

The mercenary's men shuffled around them as one left the table, presumably to refill the pitcher that their boss had drained. "Pardon me," Dorian said as he stood, "but it seems I've an opening. It was a pleasure not being gored on your horn."

"That what they're calling it these days?" the Qunari fired back, but Dorian only rolled his eyes, not dignifying him with a response.

The herald — Lavellan — hovered in his doorway for a beat, hair messy and dried black lipstick smudged at the corner. He glanced around the party with those piercing dark eyes, confusion clear on his face, until —

"Ah, and the hero rises to taste his victory," Dorian said, ambling up to his side.

The poor man startled slightly, evidently still waking up. "Pavus," he said simply, voice rasping over the syllables. "What... happened?"

"Well," Dorian started, leaning against the wall, "you saved the world, for starters, and then you passed out very dramatically. Nearly made a martyr of yourself, from what the bald one said. But you saved us, and you lived, so..." he gestured back to the state of the village. "Time for a party, no?"

"It's over?" The gears in his head seemed to be turning now, his shoulders relaxing just slightly. "Oh, well, that's... lovely."

"Isn't it?" Dorian chimed. "Now, I'm sure that your scarier friends are going to want to talk to you as soon as they hear you've woken, but I wanted a quick word with you, if the o so holy herald could grace me with a few minutes of his time."

He winced, frowning slightly. "Please, Renan is fine."

"The o so holy Renan, then?" Dorian teased, laughing when his scowl twisted further. "I simply wanted to inform you that, since our work with the rift is done, I'll be moving on come morning. I've no interest in participating in the religious aspects of an Inquisition, and as I'm sure you're aware, there are still Venatori to track down in the area."

"Right," Renan sighed, something rueful in his eye. "Well, for what it's worth, it's been a pleasure fighting with you, Dorian. You're quite talented."

Dorian grinned. "You flatterer. Do go on."

Renan combed his fingers back through dark hair. "Don't think I have the time right now, but feel free to infer whatever you'd like to hear," he said, the barest hint of a grin on his lips. Dorian raised a hand to wave and probably make some blasé comment, but the sound died in his throat as Renan's hand — not the glowing one, thankfully — landed on Dorian's bicep, squeezing gently. "But truly, none of this would have happened without you," he continued, inky eyes darting up to meet his. "We won't forget that. If you need anything, whether that's a place to rest or support against the Venatori, let us know."

Dorian swallowed thickly, those intense eyes reaching further into him than he'd like. "Right, of course, as if I'm the savior here," he quipped, dropping Renan's gaze to focus on a dancer nearby. "But noted, and appreciated."

"Creators guide you, Dorian," Renan said, and then his hand fell and he was gone, off to take his place among those in charge.

Dorian sighed and nodded. That was the end of that, then.

Within the hour, he'd packed his bag for morning, announced his departure to the few people he cared to inform, and snuck a bottle of wine to encourage the rest of the night along its course. As he uncorked it on his shitty little cot, he could have sworn he heard a yell outside, but surely, it was just another drunk reveler. Yet as he poured a glass, another came, then a third, until finally the irritation set in and he stepped outside, glare ready for whoever was causing such a commotion.

But then his eyes caught the rows and rows of torches between the mountains, marching in formation, and he finally made out what they were all yelling: We're under attack. Inquisition! With the herald!

For your lives! For all of us!

As his wine glass bled the snow red at his feet, Dorian almost laughed.

Perhaps this would not be so cut and dry, after all.

xxx

Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment / reply and let me know what you think. You can find the rest of chapter one and an interlude from Renan's POV (about 2800 more words, all in all) here on Ao3.

[glitter-gel-pens]

better left unsaid

Dorian is used to being a secret: a hand under the table, a sly smile, an alcove tryst. It's a funny thing, then, when the most secretive man he's ever met — Inquisitor Renan Lavellan, a cagey Elf that frowns when you so much as ask whether he enjoyed dinner — resolutely refuses to hide him, unconcerned with how their friendship might impact his image. Renan, on the other hand, is used to going unnoticed: a cloak in an alley, a healer in the forest, and now, a polite inquisitor in Chantry finery. It's a deeply unsettling thing, then, when the most ostentatious man he's ever met — Dorian Pavus, a proud Tevinter mage that not only brightens but commands every space he enters — sees through the regalia and into the core of him. Even worse, seems to like what he finds there. They both see it for what it is: an impending disaster. And yet… And yet, and yet, and yet.

Chapter one of my pavellan fic is up :) Let me know what you think!

[catadromously]

the dubious philosophy of salmon

[inkskinned]

she asked me if i believed in god and i told her that when i was four i almost drowned in a public pool and in my panic mistook a stranger for my father. i clawed my way up his leg. four years later he’d send my parents a picture of the scars alongside a tin of cookies. he said, “i hope she’s still okay. i carry her with me. it isn’t every day you save a life. it isn’t every day you feel like you were here for a reason. when it does happen, you have to cherish that memory. for once, i had a purpose. just being there was enough. she tore me open but she taught me a lot about love.”

[nutnoce]

to get into the thick of it again

[eucalyptus-sage]

being known is being loved

"i know your pizza order" "you have freckles on your ears" "you make this face when you're tired" "you order green tea on a good day black on a bad day" "you always make that face before you try something" "the tips of your ears turn red when you're angry" "i knew you'd say something" "you must be exhausted to miss the class" "your favorite pie is pumpkin, right?" "i know your phone number, don't worry" "you miss me, i can tell" "you fiddle with your pens when you're bored" "you don't like converse unless they're high tops" "your favorite cereal is cinnamon toast crunch and you first ate it when you were 8"

being known is being loved.

[goddamnitkastle]

[ladyartemesia]

[glitter-gel-pens]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

In the beginning, he treated it like a game. Not the superhero-ing, no. Not the world-saving, nor the city-defending. He took that seriously from the start, even if he had to do it in a leather catsuit. But his partner in crime—Ladybug, infuriatingly familiar and mysterious in equal measure, impressively level-headed at the worst of times, the sweetheart of the city, the savior of the people? Kevin—no, Chat Noir—couldn’t help but slip in a pick-up line here and there, a sly joke, a wink in the middle of combat, a raunchy pun as the wind was knocked out of him. It was fun to see the composed superhero lose his cool, to see him squawk in surprise, to see him flushed under his mask, even if all he got in response were exasperated sighs and demands that he focus on the task at hand. It was playful, it was fun, it was a game— At least, that’s what he’d told himself.

Part three of my Kevamie Ladybug & Chat Noir AU is up on ao3!

This is my entry for @nicorii‘s Kevamie Week. There were only supposed to be three parts, but uhhh, there will be at least one more haha. Hope you guys enjoy! Leave a kudos/comment if you do :)

[grendelmenz-deactivated20200929]

[heavensghost]

(Georgia O’Keeffe, in a letter to Russel Vernon Hunter, from Georgia O’Keeffe: Art and Letters)

[glitter-gel-pens]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

In the beginning, he treated it like a game. Not the superhero-ing, no. Not the world-saving, nor the city-defending. He took that seriously from the start, even if he had to do it in a leather catsuit. But his partner in crime—Ladybug, infuriatingly familiar and mysterious in equal measure, impressively level-headed at the worst of times, the sweetheart of the city, the savior of the people? Kevin—no, Chat Noir—couldn’t help but slip in a pick-up line here and there, a sly joke, a wink in the middle of combat, a raunchy pun as the wind was knocked out of him. It was fun to see the composed superhero lose his cool, to see him squawk in surprise, to see him flushed under his mask, even if all he got in response were exasperated sighs and demands that he focus on the task at hand. It was playful, it was fun, it was a game— At least, that’s what he’d told himself.

Part two of my Kevamie Ladybug & Chat Noir AU is up on ao3! 

This is my entry for @nicorii‘s Kevamie Week. There should only be one more part after this unless it gets wildly long haha. Hope you guys enjoy! Leave a kudos/comment if you do <3</p>

[unpardonablesins]

the orange, wendy cope

[inkskinned]

I have been thinking of the ways we tell people things. My father's hands shake, but he holds the phone up so I can watch the video from six feet away. My mother emails me the recipe of her beef stroganoff at 6 in the morning with the comment - woke up and didn't want to forget to do this! On the highway, we sing so loudly my voice grows hoarse; on the beach I sneak nice rocks into people's hands so they have something to hold; on the floor we all sit quietly in the same agreeable silence. We are all saying the same thing.

My friends say "Oh you know, keeping busy." This means they are having a hard time but making themselves survive it. I ask them to help me walk me dog; this is me telling them it's okay sometimes to just be present and talk about young adult fiction. When I cancel again because I can't get out of bed, she tells me she's on her way with cookies.

I point out the sunset. She shares her fork before I ask for it. He calls me at 1 AM just because I'm on the road alone, we talk about stupid shit. She waits for me to get indoors safely before driving away. He says - nah, forget it, I'm happy to do it for free.

People are saying it, you know? They say it often and loudly. Sometimes, you know - you just have to be listening.