The Iron Bull is a firefighter with scars and history to spare. Dorian keeps setting things on fire- like curtains, and dates. Or, the one where two messed up people find each other, Solas is a righteous avenger, Cullen really needs to stop online dating, and everyone gets a happy ending but not without some pain to go with it.

Short fics originally posted to my Tumblr, edited and collected here.

Wei Wuxian is ready, waiting. The front and back doors of the Jingshi wait open, allowing the early summer breeze to pass through the house, bringing with it the scent of the flowers from the back garden. He has rope, crimson and smooth and well-worn, coiled in a neat pile. He has tea, perfectly brewed, the lightly flavored (nearly tasteless) kind that Lan Zhan likes, waiting in a pot with a warming talisman. There’s a comb, fine-toothed of carved white jade. There’s fruit, for later, perfectly ripe. There’s a small knife with a curved blade, still sharp as anything but stained with years of sap. There’s the garden, lovingly tended and fully in bloom in waves of pinks and purples and whites. There’s him, lounging against the frame of the back door, limbs sprawled about in the languid way that looks careless to an outsider but is actually carefully choreographed to put as much of himself on display as possible. He’s technically fully dressed, red inner robe and black outer, but the black outer robe is unbelted, half-hanging off one shoulder, and he’s decidedly not wearing trousers. His bare feet poke out the red folds, pale against the wood of the Jingshi deck. Or: Rope bondage as the deepest expression of affection.