(THEN AT LEAST I COULD STILL HAVE HAD THAT VARRIC HOPE GOING ON FOR TONIGHT)

Chosen

FINALLY!

Chosen (Ao3 link HERE)

Chapter 1 of 5

4000 words

Rated E

Cullen has been a regular at the library where Dorian works for a while now, and when Dorian notices that Cullen has been spending a lot more time there, he bites the bullet and asks him out. But life never runs smoothly for Dorian, and this is no exception.

art by @dankou! :) and thanks to @just-some-random-face @somanynugs and @redxluna for advising, guiding, and just plain encouraging me. you guys are the best. <3


“He’s back,” Varric said, nudging Dorian.

“Who?”

“Your Buffy fan.” Varric pointed towards the corner of the audio visual suite, where a distinctive mop of long, curly blond hair was just visible over the top of one of the cubicles.

“Is this is the fourth day in a row?” Dorian hissed. Until now, Dorian had been lucky to see Cullen once a week, but it seemed the man had been here almost all day, every day, for the past four days. Not that Dorian was objecting; he had been harbouring a painful crush on Cullen for months.

“Yeah, Cassandra said he was here while you were off. He’s up to season three now. He must be getting through half a season every day.”

Dorian watched the top of Cullen’s head for a moment before sighing and getting to work shelving DVDs from the trolley. During his shift he kept glancing back to the corner of the room to make sure Cullen’s hair was still visible and he wasn’t passed out on the desk. Apart from the occasional trip to what Dorian assumed was the bathroom and a lunch break in the middle of Dorian’s shift, the guy barely moved the whole afternoon.

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anonymous asked:

Some Orlesian noble visiting Skyhold and being like "Ew, gays" and "Ew, relationship between races" during the dinner and Quizzy being really upset because they're dating someone of their gender and different race, but doesn't say anything, so Dorian and Bull decide to pretend to be in a relationship to piss the noble off. And well, they realise they may kinda like it. (Wow, this is so specific.)

Sera had already informed Dorian that the newest noble-in-residence was a ‘prat who needs a bed full of nug shit’, but having to sit across the table from the man at dinner was still proving to test his patience.

“You must understand Inquisitior, it is just so unusual to see an elf in a position of power,” Monsieur D’Agecer drawled from behind his painted mask.

Dorian watched as Ellana drew a deep breath and put on her best Inquisitor face.  “Oh, no, I quite understand Monsieur.  To find out that you were all human hiding behind those masks was shocking to say the least.”

Dorian snorted into his wine glass, forcing him to play it off as a sneeze a moment later when the noble’s eyes shot to him.

“And you sir, you are Tevinter no?” The man asked, as if inquiring about something distasteful he’d found on the bottom of his shoe.

“It’s Altus actually,” Dorian purred, his tone nothing but honey.  “Dorian Pavus, Altus of House Pavus, heir inherit of Asariel and most recently of Minrathous.”

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Seventeen

Idk if I have the energy to finish my WIP today so instead my last contribution to Fenhawke week is gonna be the polished-up version of Seventeen, which is still the best shit I’ve ever written. Only a few, small changes but I think they’re good ones. If you like AO3 better it’s over here.

The decision to polish this one was inspired by today’s theme, hope (hA ha)

———

“…but then she wouldn’t have been a fishmonger, would she?”

Fenris bursts out laughing, then claps a hand over his mouth. He hadn’t mean to be quite that loud. In the opposite armchair, Hawke giggles, taking another swig of wine. “I can’t believe you actually laughed at that. No one’s ever laughed at that.”

“Perhaps they hadn’t had enough wine yet. Speaking of which…” Fenris reaches out.

Hawke leans forward and slaps the bottle into his hand. “You know, we should really get going. They’re probably wondering where we are.” He grins.

The innuendo ghosts between them like a shiner through the shallows, vanishing into darker waters where it dissuades pursuit. Fenris takes a long pull from the bottle and lurches to his feet. “You’re right. Let us depart.”

Hawke darts forward and catches the bottle as it dangles from Fenris’s careless grip. “I can’t believe you finished off the entire thing.”

“Pardon me? I was not alone in my efforts.”

Hawke snorts. “I drank a third of it. Maybe.”

He’s right. Fenris shrugs. “It saves me from having to get drunk off that vile substance they try to pass off as ale.” Then he descends the stairs, grasping the banister to keep his balance.

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write me

For morie91, for being so lovely and wonderful, and for bestowing this little fanbase with such amazing artworks for these two. Cass/Varric.

Prompt: letters exchanged over the course of a long absence. Set mid-Inquisition.

[read on AO3]

She is not unfamiliar with long expeditions; has spent many years of her life between fragile homes, travelling. The Inquisition has asked no more of her in this regard than the Seekers, but there is a difference to be found in her leader’s expression now – a reluctance, almost, as she delivers the specifics of their assignment.

“It’s a long one,” she says, and through the stark simplicity of the statement, Cassandra reads her intention clearly. “We’ll be gone from Skyhold for some time.”

She does not bat an eye. “I will manage.”

“At least a month, maybe more. I understand if–”

I will manage.”

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Breaking the Divide 7/?

Previous chapter | AO3 link

Haven was gone. The buildings glowed like dying embers, the contents and citizens reduced to agonized ash.

Cullen hefted Kaitlyn’s scorched trunk—the only thing that had served her cabin—as he stalked down the side of the mountain. There’d been nothing that the scouts hadn’t already reclaimed, leaving Haven behind them like a picked-over carcass. Cullen gritted his teeth as he paused to collect another handful of Elfroot. He thawed out the leaves with his breath and fingers before storing the collection into the trunk with the rest of Kaitlyn’s things.

Grey began spilling over the mountain peak: the warning of the oncoming dawn. He grunted, quickening his pace as he trudged to the encampment below. Dying fires licked the cracked remnants of burnt logs, casting long shadows over the handful of soldiers who paced throughout the camp. The only other light came from the healer’s tent.

“How is she?” Cullen asked as he set the trunk inside.

“She’s fucking cold!” Bull snapped from the bed.

Kaitlyn—now wrapped in bandages—was draped across Bull’s front. The qunari’s hands rubbed along her back in slow, circular motions. Cullen had never thought of Kaitlyn as small until that moment. Bull could miniaturize anyone who stood beside him but Kaitlyn, with her bandages and shallowed breaths, appeared closer to a sick child than an injured warrior.

“Um…” Cullen cleared his throat and glanced away. Bull was the proper choice to keep Kaitlyn warm. He was large enough to cover more of her skin and his size made him run hotter than the average human but it still felt… off to see Kaitlyn in his arms. He shifted from one foot to another as he tried to shake the nagging emotion off. “Has the Herald improved?”

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