Waxplay for cassandrashipsit! Nothing says “Happy Holidays” like waxplay, right? :> from @serenity-fails
Cold Nights, Warm Hearts
Title: Cold Nights, Warm Hearts (subtitle: and other novels by Varric that Dorian refuses to admit he’s read)
For: @doozer-doodles
From: @redeemer-headcanon / @coveredinfeels
Beta: @chocobofangirl
Warnings/etc: mild Trespasser spoilers/references.
prompt: ‘Snowed in’
Ferelden, late autumn, winter nipping at its heels.
There are times, in these years, when Dorian can spare time to come south, not merely over the border into Nevarra, but South, times when excuses of diplomacy give them weeks together at a time, Bull playing bodyguard and joking about what Varric’s books would have to say about well-muscled bodyguards.
He enjoys these trips. He could have done without the snowstorm that appeared to have blown up overnight and sealed them in the little mountain hut they’d stopped at to rest themselves and their horses, but only because if he’s going to be shut in somewhere with Dorian, he’d prefer that his Kadan was happy about it.
“I should have listened to my mother.” Dorian mutters, staring out the window– or at least, attempting to. There wasn’t much to stare at.
Bull has never met Lady Pavus, and doesn’t particularly expect to any time soon, but from what Dorian has told him of her, directly and indirectly, that statement doesn’t really fit the context. “Had a lot to say about coping with blizzards, did she?”
“Not as such, but she did always insist that one should never step foot inside any accommodation described to one as quaint.” Dorian says, giving the carved mabari bootscraper by the door a look of utter contempt. “At least there are no holes in the roof, I will give it that.”
“We’ve got firewood, food, and a fairly nice bed.” Bull points out. “You know what one of Varric’s novels would have to say about the situation, right?”
Magister Pavus, highly respected luminary of the Tevinter Magisterium, turns on him and expresses his opinion on that in language that would make a Rivaini sailor blush, ending with “…and stop helping the dwarf!”
“So, we’re not going to conserve body heat?” Bull asks, and laughs when Dorian’s response is a rude gesture, wreathed in flame, before he stalks off to investigate their food– and wine– supplies for himself.
Dorian’s concerns about missing the various important meetings his presence is probably required at aside, it doesn’t look as if they’re really in danger of much more than a slight delay. Once he’s settled down, he uses the sending crystal to contact the Inquisitor, and Red’s networks are more than able in the matter of getting word to whoever needs word got to.
Secretly, Bull’s a little glad. It’s not as bad as it once was, but he thinks Dorian still fears that if he takes his eyes off his homeland for a moment, it will slip back into the madness of the old days, the Tevinter of the Venatori and of Corypheus. That he, alone, is the sea wall holding back the flood, and shit, that sounds pretty damn poetic in Trade, but it’s none less true for it.
So he thinks it does his Kadan good, this, to accept that there’s little he can do about the situation except complain about the paltry amount and undistinguished quality of the wine he fishes out of their luggage, and then relenting when Bull offers to mull it for him.
“One of the few good things to come out of the South.” he says, smiling. It makes his scar curve in a way that reminds Bull of a Tallis he knew, in another life. He still wishes he’d been there to see it, Dorian striding into the Magisterium the day after with the wound still bright and fresh, breathing more fire and ice than all the dragons the Inquisitor had hunted down put together. But reminding Dorian of it makes him frown, still, makes him too self-conscious.
So, he holds his words. Says it without words, instead, when despite his earlier protestations against 'sharing body heat’, Dorian curls his hands around his mug of mulled wine and his body against Bull’s own. Tries to say: wouldn’t have ever thought I’d be here. Not sure what 'here’ means. For one: stuck in a mountain hut with a gorgeous, grumpy mage who against all odds appears to still be in love with me, certainly, beyond anything he’d ever been able to consider a possibility.
But also: wouldn’t have thought I’d be in love. Wouldn’t have thought I’d be Tal Vashoth, clear and free of mind and happy for it. Would probably have given even odds I’d even live this long. Some days, would have given even odds I’d live to see the sunrise.
“Amatus…” he hears, and looks down to see Dorian’s fingers against a scar of Bull’s own. No points for guessing which one he’s fussing over.
You risked yourself, and the Chargers–
“Yeah.” he says. “Me too.”
A Simple Silver Band
From @dichotomous-dragon to @eugenideswalksintoabar
Bull wants Dorian. Dorian wants Bull. It should be that simple, and predictably isn’t.
Tags:
Mutual pining
Misunderstandings
Sera
Krem
The Bull’s Chargers
Happy ending (?).
It wasn’t the first thing he noticed.
The first thing Bull noticed: the man…no, the mage, was poetry in motion, staff cutting down demons in as martial a display as Bull himself had provided cutting down ‘Vints on the Storm Coast. Bull could smell the ozone in the air that meant ‘magic’ but the man in the Chantry wasn’t using it. Either tapped out or holding it in reserve, didn’t seem to matter. The bladed end of the staff tore into a demon as he spun, smashing an attacking shade with the focus stone at the apex of the same movement.
The second thing? He was fucking gorgeous. Chiseled jaw, broad shoulders, well-muscled, if the chest peeking from below the white silk cloak was any clue. His skin was a rich golden shade even in the eerie green light of the rift, his hair somehow perfect despite the rigorous activity. High maintenance and higher breeding stock, Bull snorted. What was it about Redcliffe that seemed to be drawing Alti these days?
The third was the voice; pleasant in timbre, cultured in accent. It resonated in the wrecked building, the tone easy, almost relaxed. But there, underneath the eloquent mannerisms and obvious flirtation was a cadence of desperation, maybe of sadness and betrayal. Bull wondered at the ease with which the mage swept from fighting to flirting; from one to the other in a blink. He was good, better than good, and knew it, every iota of his expression and movement calculated to produce the most stunning effect.
The ring was, in fact, the fourth thing Bull noticed. Thick silver and unadorned, noticeable on his left hand amidst the intricate gold on most of his other digits, it flickered in the sickly green glow. A wedding band. It was a shame Dorian of House Pavus was married, the Bull thought, as the five of them leapt into battle with the demons. He might be a double-agent, one more back-stabbing ‘Vint in a damn sea of them, but something about the mage was alluring in a way that had nothing to do with how hot he was.
“Watch yourself. The pretty ones are always the worst.” Bull growled it out loud, as much a warning to the others as to himself. He had an unhelpful weakness for ‘pretty’ and it wouldn’t do to forget it.
Even if Dorian was on their side, he was clearly off-limits.
Fic | My Heart is Breathing
A very merry Adoribull exchange to @dichotomous-dragon ! You suggested (among others) hurt/comfort, or someone taking a blow for someone else, and I decided to smush the two together as best I could. :)
1.9k! T-rated, I suppose, for brief mentions of Bloody Stuff. This is set after their individual character quests, but before the end of the game.
From @labarkour
*
My Heart is Breathing
*
The Bull shouldered his way into the tent. The rain pattered noisily against the canvas.
Dorian, back bent and given up to the healer, looked over his arm. He’d filth caked in his mustache, the hairs plastered.
“I hope you brought wine,” said Dorian. The Bull spread his hands. Dorian made a show of sighing.
“Close it,” said the healer. “And you. Stop moving.” The needle flashed. She tugged the thread. The stitch settled beneath Dorian’s shoulder.
The Bull stooped beneath the first support. The canvas flap dropped into place again. He lingered there in the entrance, on the mud cloth.
“What thanks,” Dorian said. “I risk my life, and you come empty-handed to watch this barbarian sew me up like a soldier playing at housewife.”
“All right,” said the healer. She sat back with the needle still in hand. “How about you finish up?”
“Fetch me a mirror and I’ll do it.”
“You know,” said the Bull, “I heard the Avaar pour piss on their wounds. Keeps ‘em from going bad.”
Dorian made a tremendous face. The healer laughed and leaned in again.
“Perhaps I spoke in haste.”
“Did that, did you,” said the healer.
“I should hate to use barbarian so freely no word remains for that.”
FIC: In Good Keeping
GIFTEE: @maliwanhellfires from @hobbitkaiju
PROMPT: Arranged Marriage AU!
RATING: Adult, contains some semi-explicit sex
LENGTH: This is Chapter 1 of 2, and is 17 pages (rest will be posted/linked on AO3)
CONTENT WARNINGS: Halward appears in the beginning of this fic, being his awful self. Heads-up about that. Also, this particular scenario implies that Sebastian Vael died in the Chantry explosion in Kirkwall, so I suppose this needs a warning for background character death. It’s only mentioned in passing, and never in any detail. And finally, this fic makes use of the idea that all Qunari are essentially one sex and are thus all capable of several means of reproduction. Thus, male pregnancy is alluded to as a possibility though never portrayed. Credit for this idea goes to @twelve-colors (twelvicity on AO3)
The Redeemer
Chapters: 7/7 + Epilogue
Written for: @falsechaos and @ichigo-otaku for pinch-hitting
By: Nessa_T
Prompt: Spy AU, canon setting. Dorian is an agent
of the Venatori, determined to bring them down from within and joins the
Inquisition as a double agent. Bonus points for covert shenanigans with Bull.
Warnings: Death, Blood, War, Reference to Torture
/ Mutilation, Abuse, Death by Blight
Notes: Inquisitor Adaar sided with the
Templar and did not meet Dorian at the chantry when Felix gave him the note. He
feared ambush from Tevinter, specially when the Redcliffe village was crawling
with them and mages allied with them.
Read on AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/5672797/chapters/13068511
The Redeemer
Chapter 1
The dreams returned as always and it was no different tonight.
His hand was pressed against his face, left cheek stinging and lip bleeding where his father had struck him with an open palm. “Get out,” his father had said. “You are no son of mine.”
“Father,” the boy began to say, voice shaking, and tasting copper in his mouth.
Magister Halward turned his face away. Eyes hard and lips pressed together in a grim line. The boy left his father’s study and a part of him died every night since then.
***
Bull had expected the first ball of fire that was flung in his direction. He did not, however, expect it to hurt as much as it did when it singed the top of his shoulder. The inky blackness of the night was momentarily illuminated by the fiery display as the mage, Dorian, dodged and sidestepped away from the Qunari’s grasp.
“Stop it,” the Bull snapped, his voice low and annoyed, one of his hands hovering above the hilt of his axe. If the mage were to charge in his direction, he would be ready to defend himself. His experienced eye narrowed upon the man before him.
“Stay away from me, Bull,” Dorian retorted. His voice was even, yet there was a feverish look in the mage’s eyes that Bull did not like. Eyes wild, breath heavy and hand gripped tightly around his staff – Dorian had the look of a man who was driven to act by keen sense desperation. Desperate men were dangerous men.
“You’re stealing supplies from the Inquisition’s cache,” Bull continued, attempting reason. “We’ve just arrived in Skyhold, and I don’t think Adaar would take lightly to someone stealing from him when there are so many who are in need of them.”
The mage had, upon his person, precious medicine, food and water when Bull caught him sneaking out of the castle hours ago in the middle of the night. Equipped with nothing but a pack containing rations and his staff, Bull had watched with interest from the dark corner of the tavern as the mage cloaked himself with magic and snuck past unsuspecting guards.
Considering that the Inquisitor had left at first light earlier in the day to search for Hawke’s mysterious Grey Warden friend at Crestwood, Bull had figured whatever it was that Dorian had intended to pursue, the mage had taken advantage of Adaar’s absence to do so.
Dorian stood before Bull, back straight and proud while the crystal on his staff glowed ominously in warning.
“It is none of your concern,” Dorian said, his eyes locked onto the Qunari’s, body tense and ready for flight. They stood like that for a few long seconds, eyes to eye, before Bull snarled, ducked his head and charged forward to take him down. “Kaffas!” the mage cried, eyes wide and arm rising to conjure another fiery ball from air.
Yet he was no match against sheer brute force. There was a fierce scuffle and a few balls of fire blazing in the night before Bull finally outmaneuvered the smaller man, pinning him to the ground. Face pressed against the dirt, and arms pinned behind his back, Dorian cursed and swore as he struggled before Bull wrapped an arm around his neck.
Bull squeezed, slowly cutting off the mage’s air supply while Dorian clawed at him, gasping for air and nails raking red grooves upon the Qunari’s arm, face and neck. One minute passed and Dorian slumped unconscious in Bull’s arms.
“Sorry, big guy,” Bull muttered, setting him gently down on the earth before rummaging around in his pack for ropes.
Chapter 2
The dream changed, like a picture of winter transitioning into spring. The boy, now in his teens, was in the brothel in the slums of Minrathous. Head heavy with brandy, body hard and flushed with desire, he stood naked by the bed, watching two elves pleasuring each other.
The door to his room came open with a crash. It was Alexius. The boy raised an eyebrow at the look of disapproval presented before him.
“Ah, lads. We have company. Such a distinguished one too,” he said, giggling as the elves regarded them with some alarm. Then, simpering, he staggered towards the newcomer, wrapping his slender arms around Alexius’s neck.
“You can watch if you like,” he slurred into the older man’s ear, “Or join us. There’s always room for one more.”
Alexius stepped back, sighed and shook his head, tugging at the boy’s earlobe. Not enough to hurt, but enough to chastise. The boy yelped in protest.
“You’re coming home with me, Dorian. Right now.”
Saarefluff
Rated: PG
Wordcount: 1704
For: @chicaaago from @fwolflingPrompt: -A litter of kittens lost their mother to the cold, and are rescued just in time by whomever. They can hardly take of them all, and enlist Skyhold for help, including Bull. He is quite fond of his kitten, Dorian not so much. He grows to love the little thing, but he denies it at every turn, even when Bull catches him cooing at it.
The first time Dorian laid eyes on the cat, she was a tiny ball of black fluff curled in the Bull’s large hand, even he had to admit she held a certain cuteness. Mostly though he was amused at the baffled look on Bull’s face when Cole had placed her there. Baffled and confused was not an expression that Bull wore very often after all.
“She likes your horns, The Iron Bull,” Cole told him and Dorian watched Bull’s expression go from baffled to bemused to an openly affectionate smile in just as many heartbeats.
“Does she now? She’s got good taste, ” Bull said, raising the hand the kitten was sitting in up to his face. The tiny creature met his gaze solemnly for a long moment then her tiny mouth opened in a yawn. “Aw.” Bull grinned, enchanted. “Look at all those sharp teeth. You’re going to be dangerous when you grow up aren’t you?”
Dorian couldn’t hold back a snort of disbelief. “Dangerous? That thing is literally a ball of fluff with eyes.”
“Yeah, but she’s going to be a dangerous ball of fluff,” Bull argued, still grinning at the thing. Carefully he stroked her fur with a single finger and was rewarded with a rumbling purr that was entirely too loud to come from something so small.
Bull’s eyes went all soft and affectionate at that. Looking back, Dorian would pinpoint that as the exact moment it became inevitable that the kitten would become a permanent part of their lives.
Swimming prompt for @damnyoualex from @grenoiulle
Dorian loathes the water. Liquid, he feels, is for consumption only - and intoxication preferably - and under no circumstances should he actually be immersed in the stuff.
Even more than the water, he loathes the cold. And while it never occurred to him to add ‘being stranded on a shoddily constructed raft in middle of the Waking Sea with only a Qunari for company’ to the list, he’s beginning to suspect he loathes it most of all.
“I think I’m going to be sick again,” he announces.
“Well, you know the rules. Do it over your edge of the boat, big guy.”
“You’ve strapped a handful of planks together with - what is this? Rope? Seaweed? This qualifies as a boat as much as those,” Dorian gestures vaguely in his unfortunate raftmate’s direction, “qualify as pants.”
The Qunari shrugs. “They’re comfy.”
“Well I’m not.”
A particularly choppy set of waves hits their raft and Dorian groans, retching for the third time over the edge. His stomach is long empty, but it makes a truly valiant effort at regurgitation regardless.
A massive, soothing weight settles itself between Dorian’s shoulderblades, rubbing small circles as he coughs. It takes a moment for Dorian to register that it’s the Qunari.
“Shit, you really don’t mix well with water travel, huh?” he says sympathetically as Dorian dry-heaves a last time. “Was it this bad for you on the ship?”
Dorian shakes his head. He spent the last of his birthright money on a third-class ticket aboard the ill-fated Caspar’s Pride, and a pouch of small pills that some Nevarran merchant swore would keep his stomach calm.
Concentrated nug shit, most likely. But against all odds they’d worked, up until the point Dorian was forced to jump ship without them.
The constant gentle pressure on his shoulders feels unexpectedly good, and eventually the nausea subsides.
“Thank you,” Dorian manages.
The Qunari’s arm falls away and he nods. “No problem. I’m the Iron Bull, by the way.”
Dorian stretches out on his back and throws an arm over his face, in the vain hope that perhaps obscuring the sight of the sea, the raft, and the Iron Bull will make the lot disappear.
“Cremisius Aclassi. Charmed,” he says.
MY GIFT for @disturbed-katten! The prompt was, “Something fluffy and Christmassy.” from @goddamnbees


