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See, that’s what the app is perfect for.

Sounds perfect Wahhhh, I don’t wanna

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.”

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Adoribull Adoribull Holiday Exchange blood canon submission

Distant Smoke on the Horizon

Bull falls in love. Slowly.

To @cyber-fairie​, from @zythepsary​. I hope you enjoy! <3

Prompts:

  • Hurt/Comfort from either of them
  • First time they each realize what they have is maybe love
  • Reunion after separation (prefer pre-Tresspasser)
7k words | Adult | Brief mentions of violence

Something is wrong with Redcliffe.

The rifts are weirder than usual, the Grand Enchanter is acting like she didn’t run into Lavellan in Orlais, and there’s way too many mages around for Bull’s comfort. All the Tevinter people are mages, even the ones in full armor; the way they hold their swords gives it away. Some of the southern mages still try to hide their staves under their cloaks, like the shape of a staff isn’t recognizable, and they’re all tired and hungry. That won’t end well. People do things they regret when they’re desperate, and a frightened mage can do more damage than one strong man with a sword.

Bull can’t believe this town hasn’t gone up in flames yet.

“I don’t like it, either,” says Lavellan, as they exit the tavern. He reaches over his shoulder towards his quiver, absently tapping each arrow. “While we’re here, we might as well walk into the trap.”

It’s not a trap, but adding another Vint to this mess doesn’t help. The man they meet in the Chantry is all smiles and quick wit, addressing them with an odd kind of grace, like he’s on stage. He’s fascinated by Lavellan and the mark on his hand, and Bull doesn’t trust that for a minute.

“Watch yourself,” says Bull, keeping his eye on Dorian. Four against one. One exit. He could bring the Chantry down on their heads with his fire, but Bull knows that mages can’t cast as well without their hands. First: the hands, and then the throat. Keep his axe ready, in case a demon claws its way out. “The pretty ones are always the worst.”

Dorian takes that as a compliment, beaming. His smile falters when he glances at the axe on Bull’s shoulder.

“Suspicious friends you have here,” says Dorian, and then the Redcliffe problems get weirder.

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Adoribull Adoribull Holiday Exchange canon submission

Adoribull Secret Santa: A Paw-us and a Puppy

For @goddamnbees, by oopsbirdficced/dreamychaos

Prompt: -anything about dorian bonding with the chargers – slowing being integrated into their ranks and becoming ~*ONE OF THEM*~ clenches fist
-Anything with dogs. :|a Is Dorian shocked to learn that there’s something to the southern obsession???? DOES HE ADOPT A THREE-LEGGED, ONE-EYED DOG THAT IS WARY OF BULL AT FIRST???? Does Krem find a box of puppies in the snow???? I trust your judgement

(The dogs featured here are loosely based on Pyranese mountain dogs. I will probably write a coda at some point with the bath scene.)

~

“Keep your guard up, Krem!” Dorian sighed dreamily as he watched. Bull being commanding was delightful to watch.

“If my guard goes any higher, it’ll be in the sky with the damned Breach, Chief.” The slightly acerbic reply came courtesy of one Cremisius Aclassi, who was also very easy on the eyes. There was a reason Dorian hadn’t objected too much to being asked to fling the occasional spell for them to deflect. There was a bright, high chuckle from across the fighter’s ring, where Dalish leaned against the fence, also enlisted to spell flinging duty.

She and Dorian met eyes and shared a moment of perfect accord, before they both smirked, and Dorian flung some low level lightning as Dalish called vines to wrap round their legs. Both men were reduced to swearing viciously. Krem had leapt out of the way of the plants and gotten zapped by the lightning, while Bull had blocked the lightning and gotten snared by the plants.

They got themselves sorted out, and we’re about to re-engage, when a small bundle of russet hair and brown and green clothes bolted out to the ring.

“Krem, Krem!” The person who had neatly vaulted to sit atop the low fence was none other than the Inquisition’s own lead scout. Dorian couldn’t quite remember her name. It had something to do with Varric’s books, he was certain. Krem lit up, and with a brief glance at Bull, loped over to greet her.

“Lace, what’s up? Is everything okay?” The man bent to give her a kiss on the cheek, and Skinner wandered up to lean beside Dalish. Maybe not one of Varric’s books then? And he’d been so sure. Bull was going to be disappointed, he’d been trying so hard to get Dorian to remember people’s names. Called it ‘spoiled brat reconciling to the people’ - at least, that had been the last silly moniker. Dorian called it the school of hard knocks’ version of showing him how to be what the South considered to be a decent person. It was definitely an uphill struggle, and the very definition of culture shock. Dorian tuned back in to the conversation.

“…and this great huge idiot decided to give us puppies! I’m not sure if it was out of thanks, or like, some misguided idea of tribute or what, but puppies!” the usually quite level-headed dwarf was practically squealing at the prospect. He’d thought, up til now, that the Fereldan preoccupation with dogs was mostly just exaggeration, and a fondness for displaying national pride. He had a sinking feeling it also extended to the actual furry wiggly beasts. She sounded far too excited about this prospect.

“Okay, then. Shall we go meet some puppies, Chief?” Krem was smiling. Dalish actually looked excited, and Skinner was actually displaying human emotion on her actual face, a faint smile to be precise. And Bull wasn’t objecting, no, he’d turned around and yelled for Grim, Stitches, and Rocky. Dorian had a moment of fleeting horror, looking at Bull, whose face was light, happy, and expectant, and realizing he was actually going to have to go meet the drooling monsters. Ugh.

Krem and Bull departed briefly to remove their weighted armor, and returned in casual clothes. Dorian had recognized this as the prime moment to escape, but Dalish, tricky elf that she was, had engaged him in an interesting magical theory debate, and now he was stuck. Dorian was beginning to suspect a conspiracy.  

He trailed after the excited crowd, dispirited, and Bull dropped back to check on him, chuckling when he saw the other man’s expression.

“Don’t look too excited there, Kadan.” He laughed. Dorian sighed dramatically. “Puppies, Kadan. Puppies shouldn’t make you look like you’re walking to the gallows.”

“Puppies are slobbering, clawed, hair-shedding monstrosities.” Dorian grumbled. “My outfit is going to be ruined.”

“Ah.” Bull nodded sagely. “Which means that you’ve secretly wanted one your whole life, but your parents and society being what they were, you couldn’t have one?” Dorian sputtered and huffed. Bull looped an arm around his shoulders and Dorian leaned into his solid, steady bulk, grumbling.

“I’m assuming they’re Mabari?” He asked, resigned. Bull shrugged.

“Hey, Harding! Are they Mabari pups?” He called up to the scout, and Dorian experienced a brief flare of pride. Her name did have something to do with Varric’s books! Sort of.

“We have other dogs than Mabari, you know,” she complained. “These dogs are better than any silly old wardog. These are Frostback Herding Dogs.” She proclaimed, and Stitches visibly brightened.

“You’re joking! Someone just gave us two litters of Frosties? Those dogs are most Fereldan farmers’ most prized possessions!” Stitches was wide eyed, and Harding, Dorian could swear, had little hearts on her eyes. She started gushing about something he couldn’t fillies related to breeding and working dogs, and Dorian sighed slightly, leaning more firmly into Bull’s side. Not cuddling. At all. He was faintly disappointed.

“If they’re not Mabari, they don’t do that weird mystical bonding thing, do they, Amatus?” He asked softly, not wanting to show the extent of his ignorance. He hated being ignorant. Bull chuckled lowly.

“That’s a predominant trait in the Mabari line, yeah, but that sort of loyalty is something they breed for. They might not have a ‘mystical bond’,” here Dorian elbowed his lover for making fun of his choice of words, receiving a smile, a squeeze, and a slightly sore elbow for his trouble. “But they are loyal to a fault. That’s all the fabled Mabari bond is, you know. Unwavering loyalty. In Mabari it’s bred to the extreme, creating a dog who will literally follow one person until one of them dies.” Bull finished his explanation, and Dorian wondered idly on what occasion he’d chanced upon learning this random factoid. He hummed thoughtfully.

He followed the rest of the Chargers through the barn door, and into a stable that had been ringed in hay bales to, presumably, prevent and escapees. He resigned himself, then and there, to replacing his current outfit. He clambered over the hay and through the stall door with the rest of them, and was confronted with the sight of eleven enormous, fluffy white clouds, decorated with straw and dirt. They quickly resolved into giant, young, fluffy dogs, and Dorian gaped slightly.

“Those aren’t puppies! They’re enormous!” He yelped, and Bull positively melted.

“Yes they are, Kadan, just look at the size of their feet!” He gushed, and dragged Dorian down to the floor with him. Dorian yelped again, as a puppy bounded up to him and knocked him over to enthusiastically bathe his face.

“Amatus, help!” He sputtered, flailing uselessly. Bull laughed, pulling the puppy off and propping Dorian up against his side. His moustache was absolutely wrecked, no two ways about it. Dirt and dog slobbering spiked it out oddly, and part of it was sort of smeared up his nose. Bull chuckled, but not unlikely, and leaned over to kiss him. Dorian squawked and tried to redirect him.

“Don’t kiss me, I’m hideous!” He cried, and the Chargers, to a man, laughed. He shot them all glares, but their expressions weren’t malicious, just fond and slightly exasperated.

“Kadan, a bit of dog slobber doesn’t make you hideous. Come on, Dorian.” Bull cajoled, as a small, soft, wet something dabbed gently at Dorian’s hand. He looked down and saw a pup, smaller than the rest, and strangely missing a leg.

“What happened to this one?” he asked, tentatively rubbing one of the puppy’s velvet-soft floppy ears. Harding looked over and her expression softened.

“It’s a birth defect. It happens sometimes, even when the breeders are careful. It’s odd,” she said, with a smile. “That little girl’s the runt of the whole pack. She’s so shy, but she’s cuddling straight up to you.” Harding’s smile grew. “I think you just got claimed, Tevinter.” She teased, and Dorian looked down grumpily at his lap, onto which the three-legged girl pup had curled, filling it perfectly.

“Perfect. A shy pup for a shy man.” Bull proclaimed, and any other day he’d draw around himself a cloak of indignation, and declaim the fact that he was not shy, he just had more refined tastes than any of his present company. He didn’t though. Instead he tucked himself more firmly into Bull’s side, muttering about a cold draft, and skritching his new puppy’s ears. Bull chuckled fondly, pressing a kiss, finally, to Dorian’s pouting mouth before changing the subject.

He held Dorian a little tighter, though, and Dorian relaxed, drifting into a safe, calm brain-space as he combed through thick, tangled, curly white fur with his fingers.

“You need a bath, little one,” he murmured, and there had been an unfortunate lull in the conversation just then. Harding looked up with an unholy grin.

“You know what, Tevinter? You’ve got a good point.” She said slowly, and that grin was contagious. Bull was grinning too, though Dorian had to crane his neck strangely to see.

“Chargers, we have a duty to the Inquisition, and a job to do! Horns up!” Bull laughed, a little manic, but mostly just because. The Chargers were all grinning and figuring out how to organize eleven puppies and a bath, and Dorian just sighed softly, gathering his lapful of slightly smelly, fluffy giant dog a little closer, much to her delight. He dropped a surreptitious kiss atop her head, before leaning up to press a fond kiss to Bull’s jaw.

“Thanks, Amatus.” He murmured. Bull tilted a little further and pressed a brief kiss to Dorian’s lips, despite a small, fussy noise of protest.

“Anytime, Kadan.”
“Anytime, Kadan.”

Adoribull Adoribull Holiday Exchange canon submission

A Bad Night, A Better Morning

for @labarkour

Rating: T
Summary: In which Dorian experiences two semi-polite awakenings within only minutes of each other, which he probably deserves.

[link to AO3 will go here]
-

A long day, a bad night. Dorian had found himself outside the Bull’s door, which has ever had been left unlocked, and had opened it without much input from his thoughts. At the desk by the hearth sat the Bull, head resting on his left hand, quill dangling uselessly from his right. He’d looked up, and sighed.

Dorian…

Not – not that. Will you allow, that is, may I

A grey morning. Dorian wakes slowly to warmth to his front, cold to his back, and identifies the warmth eventually as the Bull, still slumbering beneath him. A pang, then. Last night he’d been an intruder, creeping into the Bull’s bed for some kind of comfort – and whenever had he begun to find comfort there? Dorian had woken just briefly as the Bull settled in beside him, just long enough to press closer until the Bull wrapped a hand around his back to hold him there.

“I should go,” Dorian says, all but silently, a test of the words. His voice rasps in his throat.

The Bull stirs then, and Dorian stills. Warmth against his left shoulderblade, then, as the Bull wraps an arm around him once again. “Mmm. Morning.” In a slow movement the Bull drags his hand a short way up and down Dorian’s back, soothing until Dorian recognizes the nature of the act. He doesn’t stiffen, but his heart sets to pounding. The Bull must feel it, pressed together as they are.

It’s too much, after the frustration and despair of the night before. Sequestered from morning to evening in the forge with Dagna, delicately prodding at Calpernia’s crystal, and not a thing to show for it. Another snide letter from the Head Librarian of the Minrathian Circle refusing his requests in the most insulting means possible without directly condemning him. The perpetual distaste and distrust of a keep full of southerners who manage never to notice his commitment to the cause. A cold night, and a dragging sorrow, until there’d been nothing for it but to give in, and—

“I should go,” Dorian says, and his voice is rough, and he says it with his face pressed into the Bull’s shoulder.

The Bull says nothing. He’d said little the night before. Dorian, and sure, and that had been it. Something despondent in the curve of his back, and Dorian hadn’t thought to ask—no, that isn’t it. Had not wanted to ask, in the expectation of being rebuffed. And the Bull had held him all night, is holding him now, despite whatever it is that weighs on him.

Selfish, to have come; selfish yet, to linger. Selfish once more, to angle his face up to say, “Unless…”

“Go,” says the Bull, and something sharp stabs through Dorian’s chest even as the Bull continues, “or stay. It’s your call.”

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Adoribull Adoribull Holiday Exchange canon submission

Forever is a State of Mind

My gift is for @serenityfails, from @ohgodsalazarwhy

Prompts filled: Dorian taking care of Bull and: Dorian and Bull happy and retired and alive long after the events of Trespasser

Rating: G

———————–

The wind this time of year was cold, but not biting. Not quite yet. They still had a few more weeks before the chill sank into the ground and killed the last of the stubborn plants in their modest garden. Right now the wind was blowing his hair about as he spread out kernels of corn for their clucking chickens. Dorian watched idly as they scratched through the dirt and chased each other around with loud angry burrs and screeching. Horrible animals. Dorian could hardly believe they owned them.

If asked as a child what sort of home he’d live in as an old man he would have confidently replied that he would die in the Pavus estate, surrounded by wealth and comfort. Dorian smiled to himself as he pictured his younger self’s reaction to being told he’d live in a comfortable, but modest, cottage with a little garden, some goats, a stubborn donkey, and a flock of screeching chickens; and that he was content, no, happy.

The Imperium held many wonders and Dorian had been happy to indulge in his youth. He’d almost had to as a Magister. Those days were done, and the Pavus homes and lands were given to the burgeoning Lucerni. His seed had sprouted, and it was strong enough to go on without him. The Pavus name? Dorian could have passed it on to any one of his many apprentices, but he thought it best that it die with him. Dorian would be the final Pavus, and his vanity demanded he remain the greatest.

The tin bucket was finally bereft of corn, so Dorian set it aside. He squinted up at the sky, trying to gauge how much time had passed since The Bull had gone into town to grab some supplies for winter. He should return soon. Dorian grabbed his staff and a pair of big tin buckets, hoisting them by their handles over his forearm so he could walk slowly to their well. His body ached these days, and the cold did him no favors, but his back was still straight and his mind still sharp, so he couldn’t complain too much. He did, but that was beside the point.

The well had been a project that they’d worked on together many, many years ago. A summer spent with The Chargers and dirt always under his fingernails. Dorian smiled fondly at the memory, pulling up water and dumping it into his tin buckets. The work had been well worth it, Dorian was hardly a young man anymore, he couldn’t walk half a mile every time he needed water drawn. When both buckets were filled to the brim, Dorian waved his hand and both floated three feet off the ground, drifting gently just ahead of Dorian as he walked them to the house.

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Adoribull Adoribull Holiday Exchange canon Trespassers submission