That’s some GOOD SHIT RIGHT THERE. Cullen’s face would be perpetually pink being around such a giant, strong, handsome man who could not only best him in battle but also bench press him and carry him up that stupid fucking ladder to cullen’s quarters
Layla sleeps in Cullen’s bedroom that first time, but when she wakes up cold the morning after, she’s like “next time, this happens in my room or not at all.”
ars amatoria by amurderof
Adoribull / DAI / T / 4123 / Dorian wears vitaar, wedding, fluff, Chargers
It's not so much a fully-formed plan as a want, when the idea first comes to Dorian. The Iron Bull returns to Skyhold, axe slung over his shoulder while he swaggers into the courtyard as though he's some great conquering warrior, vitaar painted across his chest and shoulders and back in intricate patterns. Dorian greets him before he can run off to do anything other than take a much-needed shower, the lug, and he lays his palm flat over Bull's stomach because the rest of him's covered in bloody poisonous paint. Bull grins down at him, and Dorian knows later that they speak to each other, but all he remembers is the thought that eclipsed all others — how he’d wanted Bull to take him in his arms then, and how bloody awful it would’ve been to be poisoned because of it.
Not Quite Copper Marigolds by temporalis
Cullen/(m)Inquisitor / DAI / G / 3530 / fluff, wedding, mabari, proposal
Corypheus is defeated, the Breach is sealed, and Cullen decides to complicate his life by proposing to Trevelyan. The problem is: how?
All You Are by nyagosstar
Cullrian / DAI / M / 50309 / arranged marriage, slow burn, angst
Inquisitor Trevelyan isn't above using every advantage he can find to help win the battle against Corypheus-including arranging the marriage of his followers.
Okay guys, I need help! I'm looking for a particular piece of Dragon Age Inquisition fan art. It had Cullen and a female inquisitor as they would be if they used red lyrium. Anyone got any ideas about this? I found it once and failed to reblog/save it.
Alais Lavellan feels out of place in the Inquisition, and the Commander fails to convince her that she’s exactly where she needs to be.
[ao3]
Cullen had gone on his fair share of walks around Haven and the surrounding wilderness. Whenever he found time between training recruits and attending meetings with the other advisors, he would wander the many paths that surrounded the frozen lake. However, his walks were usually fairly late in the evening, and he therefore rarely encountered other people.
He hadn’t been aware that Lavellan enjoyed a similar trail, and had the letter from her clan not arrived, he never would have found out. He wasn’t sure how he’d been the one volunteered to go find her, but he didn’t mind. He’d need to walk past his troops on his way—which would allow him to make sure they were still focused—and he wasn’t about to turn down a chance to get a bit of fresh air; he swore they’d been in the War Room all day.
Despite his reluctance to return to his duties with the other advisors, he walked quickly with his back straight and his chin held high. His troops acknowledged him as he walked past, some giving him a bow and salute and others increasing the strength of their blows against the shield of their comrades. He stopped to ask a few if they’d seen which way Lavellan went. With vague directions given, he thanked the recruits and went his way.
The forest was quiet. He appreciated the lack of loud clangs or arguing voices as he got further and further from the camp and focused on the sound of the snow crunching beneath his boots. Out of sight of everyone in the village, he allowed his shoulders to settle. With one hand resting gently on the pommel of his sword and the other running through his hair, he took a deep breath, clearing his lungs.
The dock he found her on was roughly a third of the way around the small lake. Her sword and shield sat next to her, leaning against one of the tall posts that stretched down beneath the ice, and he could faintly hear her humming.
“Herald?”
She didn’t jump—not quite—but he knew that he’d startled her when she quickly turned to face him. As she looked up at him, he couldn’t help but compare the color of her eyes to the blue clarity of the ice behind her—the two colors were startlingly similar.
“Oh, Commander,” she began quietly. “Is there… something you need?”
He stepped closer to her and offered her his hand like the gentleman he’d been raised to be. “The advisors request your presence in the War Room.”
Her brow furrowed as she took his hand and allowed him to help her to her feet. “They do? Why?”
“A letter arrived from your clan. We didn’t want to respond without your input.”
“Ah…” She reached for her sword and began strapping it to her waist. “I see.”
While she fiddled with the buckles, Cullen reached down to grab her shield. It was weighty in his hand—much more so than he’d expected—and he flipped it around, his fingers running over the edges as he admired the craftsmanship. Lavellan cleared her throat, and Cullen was quick to shift his gaze to her and pass the shield between them.
“Harrit’s work?” he asked as she strapped the shield to her back.
“Yes,” she nodded. “It’s a wonderful shield, but it’s definitely going to take some… getting used to.”
Cullen nodded and stepped aside, gesturing for her to lead the way back to Haven.
For a few moments, neither of them spoke, and Cullen couldn’t stop himself from glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. She looked… different. He couldn’t place it exactly, but she looked more at ease than he’d ever seen her. Her eyes were softer and she breathed slower, and she started humming again. This time—with her nearer to him—he recognized the tune as one of the many songs the bard in the tavern played.
Out here, in the wilderness, she looked like a completely different person, and Cullen was slightly in awe.
It was at this point that Lavellan noticed what he’d thought was a subtle stare, and the tips of her ears visibly reddened. Her demeanor changed quite suddenly, returning to the way she normally looked.
Cullen’s own face flushed slightly, embarrassed for having been caught, but he knew his would be passable as being due to the cold instead. The quiet between them quickly became very awkward. For the first time in a very long while, he felt the urge to run from a social situation.
“How are—” Cullen cleared his throat. “Are you… well?”
“I… suppose so, yes.”
Cullen was upset to find his blush deepening to the point where he knew he wouldn’t be able to pass it off as being a result of the chilly mountain air.
“I just—um—you always seem so… You just seemed very relaxed a few moments ago.” He knew he was rambling, but that didn’t stop him. “I apologize—for making you uncomfortable.”
Lavellan looked like she wanted to smile, but couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. Or perhaps she was trying not to. Cullen couldn’t tell.
“It’s quite alright, Commander,” she said, latching her hands behind her. “Most things make me uncomfortable.”
Cullen swallowed. “But… not the woods?”
This time, Lavellan did smile. “I am Dalish, after all.”
He wasn’t sure what it was, but this comment did much to ease the tension he was feeling. “Do you miss them? Your clan?”
She shrugged. “I was never around them much, anyways.”
Cullen’s conversations with her were limited and those about her clan even more so. He’d met very few Dalish in his lifetime, so the age old stereotypes regarding them were more or less his understanding of her life before the Inquisition.
“What do you mean?” he asked, his curiosity making him a bit bolder.
“I spent most of my time in human cities. I sold clan goods and brought back items we needed to get from someone else.”
“You were a merchant?”
“Of sorts, I suppose.”
“And now you’re killing demons in your day to day,” he jested awkwardly.
Cullen had expected a smile at the least and a laugh at the most, but he got neither nor anything in between. Instead, her face fell. She no longer looked uncomfortable—she looked guilty.
“Herald?”
“Please don’t call me that.”
Cullen took a few more steps before realizing that she’d stopped in her tracks. He turned to her, his eyes carefully flicking across her face and posture. She was trying desperately to make herself smaller.
“I… I was not aware the title bothered you.”
“It doesn’t. I mean, it does, but I…” Lavellan sighed, reaching up to rub the heels of her palm into her eyes in frustration at not being able to express herself clearly. Her hands dropped, dragging over her face, and then folded in front of her. “I shouldn’t be here.”
Cullen frowned. “You… What do you mean?”
“I mean, you and Josephine and Leliana all have these impressive histories of service and titles and you’re all some of the best at what you do,” she rambled, wringing her hands together anxiously. “And I’m a merchant who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Creators, I’m not even that good with a sword! The only thing I have to offer is this bloody thing.” With that, she violently shook her left hand, glaring at it.
Cullen wasn’t sure how to respond. While he wanted to offer reassurances, he felt awful admitting—even in the safety of his own mind—that she was right on nearly all accounts. Lavellan had very little war experience, and her skills with a blade were nowhere near as strong as they should have been. She had nearly nothing that qualified her as the leader the advisors were allowing her to be.
“I… You…” Cullen began stumbling over his words, searching for something to say.
“You don’t need to reassure me, Commander, I know where I fit,” she said as she began down the path again.
“Wait!” he called, stepping in front of her quickly. For a moment, he found himself staring into her eyes.
They would forever remind him of this damn lake.
“You’re right,” he began, praying to the Maker that his brain would catch up with his mouth. “You don’t have a long list of qualifications, but you’re not meant to. Leliana and Josephine and I, our job is to see that the Inquisition operates efficiently. That’s our purpose.”
Lavellan made an attempt to step past him, but he side-stepped so he was once more in her way.
“We see to the Inquisition. You… see to everyone else.”
“What are you—”
“You have a way with people, Alais. You… You give them hope. Even if they don’t believe in the Inquisition, you show them that they can believe in you.”
Lavellan was shocked for several reasons. First of all, she hadn’t expected this sort of outburst from anyone, least of all the Commander. Then there was the fact that he’d called her by her first name. Her jaw flapped, attempting to find words and failing horribly. So, she settled on staring at him.
As her eyes trained on his face, he felt the blush begin to come again. He hadn’t intended to offer quite so many words—in fact, he wasn’t completely sure where they had all come from. And now she was staring at him. His own eyes drifted off to the right, attempting to get away from her gaze, and he coughed into his fist.
“I…” Even when her soft voice hit his ears, he kept himself from looking back to her. “We should get to the War Room.”
Cullen had completely forgotten his initial purpose for stepping into the woods in the first place.
“Indeed,” he started, thankful for an excuse to step to her side instead of standing directly in front of her. “We’ve kept them waiting far too long.”
The two began walking again. It was just as uncomfortable as it had been when she’d caught him staring at her, if not more so, and he found himself anxiously fingering the pommel of his sword. They’d almost reached the camp when Lavellan spoke once more.
“Thank you, by the way,” she started quietly, her ears turning crimson. “I’m not so sure you were right about any of that, but it was still nice to hear.”
Cullen’s fingers itched. “You’re welcome…” He licked his lips and sheepishly rubbed at the back of his neck. “And, should you ever feel the need to get better with that sword…”
He was thankful when Lavellan smiled slightly, signaling that he need not finish his sentence.
