How about "If you dye your hair, your soulmate’s hair color changes as well and you swear the moment you see your soulmate you will choke them because you just woke up with your hair colored like a rainbow and it’s your first job interview at a prestigious company what the fuck. Oh, and your best friend just took a picture to post online and wait—what, how many likes is that?" for Cullrian, or any pairing of your liking (Because Dorian with bright hair is a hc of mine)? :)
x
That Cullen had avoided having his hair dyed before now was only though sheer force of will. He had already endured the far too frequent reminders from Leliana or even Josephine that his hair was ideal to hold the various colors. But, honestly, he had already enough to handle without dealing with the upkeep.
And, besides, it seemed an awful lot to put on whoever out there was tied to him.
So, honestly, he didn’t think he was much out of turn to want to strangle that person at the moment.
“No need to fuss.” Leliana hadn’t so much as batted an eye at helping Cullen reshape his entire interview outfit. Although, to be fair, she wasn’t doing much to keep Josephine from snapping photos on her phone either. “And, no, you aren’t going to wear a hat, Cullen, it will look ridiculous.”
“No more ridiculous than this,” Cullen grumbled. “I want them to take me seriously. Not remember that I’m still fresh out of college.”
“Then wear it with confidence,” Josephine said. “Look how many likes these shots are already getting.”
It was difficult for Cullen to keep a scowl on his face when she was so obviously pleased for them both. “I’ll try then,” he said, “but no promises.”
Particularly not when any confidence Cullen had managed to collect on the way over melted away when confronted with his boss with the same hair.
The slow slide of green to blue seemed to look far better on him, though.
“I just dyed it today,” the man said, as if in challenge.
“I, um, noticed?” Cullen squeaked.
“Oh.” The man’s face dropped all at once, the tips of his ears turning a bright red. “Well...can I at least take you out for lunch?”
“You better,” Cullen said. “I spent all of today thinking I’d be tossed out on the spot.”
He really shouldn’t have been so charmed by the man’s---Dorian’s---rant about how a person’s appearance had no right to affect job opportunities, but...well...you know what they said about love and all that.
"16. things you said with no space between us" with Cullrian <3
Of course, I would be given a prompt that just begs to be smut and turn it into angst =P
“I love you.”
He stops, hands lingering over the pale flesh they had been tracing. He feels the Commander—hard and aching in his trousers, hips trapped beneath the still fully clothed mage straddling him—but it’s those words, whispered softly in a moment of reckless impulse, that makes Dorian abandon his task of disrobing his current bed mate.
With no space between them, there’s only one place for those words to go: they press to his lips as the mage breathes heavily, a confession spoken without abandon, as earnest in its delivery as every other awe-laced remark the Ferelden has ever made in the midst of their intimacy. Maker, you’re amazing or You’re unlike any other man I’ve met are words that Dorian could preen to, relish in his self-proclaimed prowess beneath the sheets.
But this?
He doesn’t quite know what to do with…this.
He looks down into Cullen’s eyes, heart hammering so loudly it’s deafening, the roiling thunder of an oncoming storm. He sees sincerity where he expects deception, words he’s heard before in his more vulnerable youth, a tool as a means to lure him into a false sense of security, make him believe he’s worth more than the occasional tumble in bed, to keep him coming, keep him devoted to a game he’s become more reluctant to play because he always loses.
And when he loses, it’s always more than another handsome face to bed. What little hope he had for being worth another man’s heart died months before he began this illicit affair with the Inquisition Commander. Trevalyan saw to that, discarding the mage quite carelessly after having his fill of him.
Dorian’s been broken more times than he can count. And he’s not about to let someone else do that to him again.
“You must forgive my horrible carelessness,” the mage says, forcing a laugh and pointedly ignoring what was just said. He dislodges himself from the Commander, nearly crashing into the desk behind him, leaving Cullen seated and looking somewhat confused and hurt. “I’m in the middle of some research and as much as I like a good distraction, I really should get back to it.”
A distraction.
That’s all Cullen is.
Distractions don’t fall in love with the disgraced sons of magisters.
Before he lets the Commander say anything, Dorian’s already out the main entrance, feet carrying him swiftly to the battlements. He may have heard his name called but it’s easy to convince himself it’s just the wind, that the disappointment he had seen in the ex-templar’s eyes had been from walking out before either could get off, and not from the silent rejection of Cullen’s affections.
Dorian knows there’s only one way this could end. And so help him, if it means ignoring the way his heart flutters every time the Commander so much as looks at him, then the mage will do just that.
He has a very selfish and keen interest in protecting that which has already been shattered beyond repair.
Ignoring Cullen is easy.
Ignoring his own guilt, a betrayal of those desires he’s forced to bury…well, that’s another beast entirely.
Each morning he wakes up ridiculously late, spends an equally ridiculous amount of time meticulously preparing himself to face another day in Skyhold, and then takes the most roundabout way from his private quarters to the library, all in avoidance of certain parties.
He hardly gets dragged out of Skyhold these days, the tension between him and Trevelyan enough to leave their companions walking on eggshells when the two of them so much as greet each other. And with the way the Iron Bull loves to flirt at the most inappropriate of times or pry into the mage’s psyche (often, some combination of both), Dorian has to ignore the lure of alcohol and drown soberly into his own state of misery he’s put himself in.
With his most recent bed mate lost, that leaves only one distraction: books.
“Another blasted account on Tevinter history by that damned Brother Genitivi…oh, how lovely, a collection of Divine Joyous the Second’s sermons on the Tevinter clergy,” Dorian mumbles, picking though the titles and tossing each of the offending books somewhere behind him. He normally isn’t so abusive, even with “knowledge” that lacks any objectivity and subjugates readers to a biased and skewed perspective on Thedosian history, but this isn’t what he had in mind when he asked for books on Tevinter.
“Ow.”
Dorian freezes, finger brushing the leather spine of another book he’s preparing to toss off the shelf.
He smells it then: elderflower and oakmoss, hears the footfall of heavy boots that stop just behind him. It’s enough to make his pulse begin to race, heat that percolates low in his abdomen whenever he’s heard that voice moan and gasp, groan his name each time he’s made the man come undone by his own tongue and hand. It makes him want to turn around and sink into the Ferelden’s arms, their audience be damned, because this is the one luxury he’s allowed himself, even when the whispers gossip of how that fucking Tevinter has corrupted ‘noble’ men like the Inquisitor and Dorian knows better than to let such poison tarnish the hard-earned respect of someone like Cullen Rutherford.
Cullen, who he has made believe harbors unrequited affection in the week since he began his vigil of ignoring the Commander.
Dorian feels it then: the panic, the urge to flee, because he may say he wishes to become a better man but he knows deep down that he’s a coward and if there’s one thing he can’t do, it’s feelings.
But he can’t move. He’s trapped in this purgatory of everything left unsaid and knows that if he turns to face the Ferelden, his resolve will crumble and he will give in once again, diligently remaining at Cullen’s side until the Commander also inevitably becomes bored of him.
Dorian knows there’s nothing about himself worth loving. So why entertain such delusions?
“If my presence here offends you so much, I suggest a weapon more terrifying than Divine Joyous the Second’s sermons,” the Commander says lightly, reaching around Dorian to place the book back on the shelf. His hand hovers close to where the mage’s rests on the book beside it, his breath tickling the back of Dorian’s neck. “It’s said Beatrix the First was a shrewd woman and could put the fear of the Maker in you. Had you tossed that at me,” and he indicates to a book not far from Dorian’s hand, on the Divine’s writings, “I’d have run out of here in fear of my life.”
It’s a poor attempt at a joke, bringing levity to a tension so thick, the mage nearly chokes on it when he shakily inhales. And he regrets it immediately: this close, he not only feels Cullen’s warmth behind him but gets a good whiff of the man and it only stirs that ache for him.
“Divine Pladius,” Dorian says, ignoring the desire to bring their hands together, feeling lost and helpless as his tone remains cool, the storm in his chest one that silently rages, “Not that I would expect to find such writings on that heretic here in the south but the man wielded Andrastian guilt more devoutly than a qunari warrior their sword. He was said to have brought the Archon to his knees in devotion, though I prefer the more colorful interpretations of such commentary.”
He’s not sure if he expects Cullen to carry the conversation in the tone he has set. It would be easy if the ex-templar would just comply but Dorian isn’t all that surprised when he doesn’t. He should know better than to be given the easy way out.
“Dorian…”
His name is a collection of syllables uttered nearly against his skin. It’s that same problem once more: with no place to go, they remain trapped in his flesh, a claim he hadn’t asked for when he began bedding the man purely out of convenience and to mend the damage wrought by their most honorable Inquisitor.
Leave, he knows he should say but the demand is lost somewhere between his fragile resolve and thirst for something more than just convenience.
“Is there something you need help with, Commander?” is what he settles on, says with an indifference that cuts him as much as it cuts the Ferelden.
Cullen is quiet. There’s the hesitation, the one Dorian knows so well because whenever he feels it, he listens to it, stops himself from doing or saying something that would make him vulnerable.
But the Commander doesn’t have that same kind of filter, not when he has shown himself to be the kind of man who whispers of love when they should have been fucking.
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
“I thought that much was obvious,” Dorian answers, tracing his fingers over the spines of the books on the shelf, pretending to take interest in the titles.
His heart thuds dully in his chest, a dirge to everything he is afraid to want.
“If this is because you don’t feel the same—”
“Fasta vass,you think it’s that simple.”
“Then what is this about, Dorian?”
And he makes that mistake he promises himself he won’t.
He turns around.
It’s easier to break something off when one doesn’t have to face the man whose bed they’ve shared, whose body they’ve been pressed against, been inside, felt shudder and tremble beneath their hands, mapping every gasp like a landmark to a hidden trove of secrets, unveiled for their ears alone.
How Trevelyan had been able to look Dorian in the eyes and tell him he is nothing but a distraction is a cruelty the mage can’t bring himself to do to Cullen.
Because Cullen isn’t a distraction.
And seeing him now, face grim, golden eyes filled with that same sadness Trevelyan had once put in Dorian’s, made the mage realize that by denying himself everything he wants, he has become just like the men who have hurt him.
“I’m a fool,” he says, reaching with his trembling hand to cradle Cullen’s cheek.
It’s his way of apologizing because Dorian may have a lot to say but he always has a way of saying everything without saying anything at all.
So instead, he shows him, closing what little distance remains because the space between them has always been the barriers he has put up. But slowly, through the patience and affection Cullen has shown him, those walls have chipped away, leaving Dorian vulnerable, exposed. Yet everything about the way the Commander kisses him back, pulls the mage into his arms, presses him tightly and protectively against his armored chest, lets Dorian know that he is safe, that he no longer needs to hide behind the facade of careless indifference.
When Cullen breaks off the kiss, his scarred lip curling into a smile as it ghosts against Dorian’s own, he whispers once more those words that have been the mage’s undoing.
“I love you.”
And they sound so earnest and hope-filled, that Dorian has no choice but to believe them.
“Will that be a problem?”
He senses once more the hesitation in Cullen’s voice. The Commander is giving him one last chance to bail, to run, to satisfy the mage’s flight instinct that often bubbled into anxious panic at the fear of being misled and used once more.
But Dorian ignores it, looks into Cullen’s warm eyes, and though he is brave enough to stay, he still isn’t quite brave enough to voice how he truly feels with the same conviction.
So instead, he answers, “No, I don’t believe it will be, amatus.”
16. Are you going out of town soon?, 49. Is your life anything like it was two years ago? :)
Hey Love! Thanks for being curious! *cuddles gently*
16. Are you going out of town soon? - Not that I know of, no.^^ I don’t have anyting grand planned for the holidays, actually. Just realxing at home, playing games, hopefully streaming a bit more ... the general stuff, really. And I’m looking forward to that seeing as I don’t have to prepare for another exam just yet. That can wait until the beginning of next year.^^
49. Is your life anything like it was two years ago? - In some regards it is and in some it isn’t. Two years ago, meaning in 2015, I dreaded Christmas time. It was the first Christmas that I spent without either of my grandparents. Grandma died in 2012 and I’d just gotten used to her not being there anymore. Grandpa left us at the beginning of 2015.
His death was also a turning point for me. Before that I’d concentrated on caring for him, alongside my mother. I left my studies behind and just worked at a side-job to pay for gas to get to him almost every day. It’s an hours drive after all. Doesn’t sound like much but it is.
I floundered for a while. Aimless, emotionally drained. Anyway, in the middle of 2015 I started applying for apprenticeships and actually got one fairly quickly. Which isn’t that common, given that I was already 27.
So yeah, I can say that my life is more stable now. I’m almost done with my training - I mean, I shortened it to 2,5 years instead of 3!^^ I still have days and sometimes weeks where my emotions go on a rollercoaster ride but I’ve learned to deal with those. Mainly through writing because that’s the way I can express myself the best.
44, 58, 73 for the Dragon Age Meme (Sorry/not sorry for these challenging questions) :)
One romance you just can’t stand/doesn’t make sense/etc?
Sebastian (not hatin’, just like ??)
Who has the best character arc overall?
Hawke, if they count. They go through so much shit and change so much and have such an effect on Kirkwall and honestly a huge chunk of Thedas, and they’re the PC so of course they’re well developed. Otherwise, I’d say Alistair or Fenris.
Dépaysement, Cullrian. Cullen has a dépaysement of Dorian's ass ;D
x
It wasn’t that Dorian regretted joining the Inquisition. Someone had to be an example of the good that Tevinter could churn out. It wouldn’t be fair to leave that burden up to Felix alone, after all.
Except he would have thought that, by now, the whispers that gathered up whenever he passed would have settled. Even the courtyard wasn’t entirely safe from such things, although that might have been due to the Chantry sisters that seemed to love to flock there.
He might have turned on his heel to go, pride be damned, were it not for a voice calling out his name. That it turned out to be the Commander of the Inquisition, openly happy to see him, only made it all the harder.
“Commander, are you...” Dorian’s brow furrowed as he took in the set laid out before the other man. “Are you playing then?”
“It’s Cullen, please. And...ah...” Cullen raised a hand to rub at the back of his neck. “Were that I had a partner.”
“Well then.” Cullen’s eyebrows lifted when Dorian sat down across him, but he didn’t try to shoo him off, which had an absurd amount of relief bubbling up in Dorian’s chest. “Look no further, my dear man.”
Cullen chuckled until he caught Dorian narrowing his eyes at him. “Excuse me,” he said. “It’s not that... I just get the distinct feeling that I’m inviting trouble.”
“Well, Cullen,” Dorian declared as he lifted a piece, “that’s what keeps life interesting.”
“As soon as I think I’m in control, you make me laugh or say something so smart, and I feel like I lose a little bit of myself.” please, perhaps Carvrian?
Dorian was entirely aware that he had a “type”. So when Carver Hawke strode through the doors of the Redcliffe chantry like he owned the place already, it was obvious what he was in for. At least it was nothing that couldn’t be worked out within the confines of fantasy.
Or, at least, it should have if the other man didn’t insist on being so incredibly frustrating.
“Can’t say anything for sure, actually.” Carver leaned back against the alcove, smile far too bright as he crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s the thing about the future, you know that, don’t you?”
It should have been far more irritating to have his own words tossed back at him, but Dorian only shook his head with a faint chuckle. “An optimist! Such a rare breed. I’ve stumbled across a unicorn!”
Carver snorted, trying (and failing) to cover up his own laughter by pressing a fist to his mouth as his shoulders hunched over. “Now that’s something I’m not called often.” He reached out to squeeze Dorian’s shoulder, smile small but firm. “I won’t make you regret siding with us, that much I can promise.”
Dorian smiled to cover up the lump threatening to rise in his throat. “Careful with that sort of talk, Hawke,” he said. “Anyone would think you like me.”
“Ah, well.” Carver pushed off the wall, grin far too sharp. “There are far worse things for people to think than the truth.”
"You like it when I do this, admit it. You like it when I pull your hair and pin you down, you like when I take control over you." For Iron Lion. :)
x
It was more than a little disconcerting to find the Iron Bull waiting for him in his loft once he finally dragged himself up to bed. More than anything, though, that was because of how difficult it was to trace just when Bull would have found an opening to sneak up unseen.
Cullen dragged a hand across his face, the exhaustion that had brought him here settling into his bones all at once. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but---” Anything else came to abrupt end when Bull dug his fingers into his hair, yanking backwards.
“Ah, there we go.” Bull only chuckled when Cullen did his best to glower up at him. “You like it when I do this to you. Pull your hair and pin you down. You like it when someone takes control over you. Admit it.”
Cullen swallowed hard before rasping out, “You still haven’t done the second part yet.”
He probably should have been far more concerned with the grin Bull pressed into his neck before tossing him onto the bed, but, really, he had already been weighed down by his concerns for far too long.
