Jack's just taking pictures whenever he sees something worth photographing, something that seems to fit what he's being told in class, about line and shape and color and beauty. It's like the camera knew before Jack did.

Eric’s never had a postgame breakdown of sex before, but he’s not particularly surprised when, before they’ve even caught their breath, Jack says, “Tell me how I can do better.”

The blood spurts and streaks sharply across Cole’s face, landing on his tongue, salty and sweet and coppery, before it pools and spreads, steaming, shimmering, a stark slash of red staining the once bright whiteness of the snow. With each stuttering throb of an increasingly desperate heart, Cole’s own heart beats faster, white-hot heat pooling low in his stomach, the ache stealing his breath.

A podfic of "Greatly Approved" by damalur. "An apostate's guide to popular fiction. (Or: Hawke runs headlong into Cassandra's book club, Varric comes along for the ride.)"