“Small package of murder, huh?” He laughs. “I knew they’d tell you that.” “It’s the best compliment I’ve ever gotten.” “I’m sure I can think of better ones.”

I love Krem and Bull's banter :D

Iron Bull is almost certainly playing games with him. Dorian is particularly sure of this when he's been drinking.

Afterward, Dorian cannot recall what he had expected, only that it had not been this.

Cullen can't get it up and it turns out the Inquisitor doesn't want that anyway. Funny how these things work out.

A Doribull Story! "...and as you gripped my horns, I. Would. Conquer. You.” The Bull's words to him on the road that afternoon had wormed their way into Dorian's mind, and try as he might he can't seem to rid himself of them... - My exploration of how the in-game relationship between Dorian Pavus and The Iron Bull might have come to be, based on in-game banter and the conversions you can have with both characters. This story is very much a case of 'sex first, feelings after'.

Cole grows increasingly confused by gender and seeks out advice.

Flowers have meaning and, sometimes, not knowing them can be beneficial.

"It's awkward and confusing all over, because he's not sure he should find something attractive in the way the soft light of the tavern softens Krem's cheeks. That a few dark drops of wine on his lower lip should be worth of study, or that Cullen can perfectly recall the crooked angle of his smirk when the Chargers are away. "

This is a metafic about a disabled Inquisitor and the changes the disability not only brings for them, but also for their companions, their advisors, the Inquisition as a whole, and the people of Thedas. One of my goals for this was for it to be as inclusive as possible: your Inquisitor's race and gender don't matter. Every possible class is addressed. Topics include: addiction, amputation, bigots, blindness, depression, muteness, tranquil mages, transsexuality, veterans, withdrawal.

Cullen struggles with his lyrium addiction. Some days are better than others. Or (if you prefer a silly summary for a not-so-silly fic): In which Cullen is suicidally depressed, Dorian is a high-functioning alcoholic, and Bull just wants them both to be happy, except when he wants to crack their heads together for being emotionally stunted idiots.

The slow love song of Josephine Montilyet and Cassandra Pentaghast, on the side of running the Inquisition and saving the world. Each story is standalone but they might be best when read together.

Dagna makes Harding a present. Dagna has no concept of reasonable scope.

He keeps the aqun-asala powder in a jar on his dressing table. Every three months he spoons some of it into a mug and mixes it into the water with his finger. It's supposed to be tasteless, but when he swallows it down it lingers on his tongue, affects the taste of anything else he eats for the next couple days, mutes everything. He gets a kick outta eating spicy shit all lackadaisically and offering it to people, and acting surprised when it burns their mouths. (When he explains it to Sera, after she's stopped crying and threatening to stab him with one of his own horns, she thinks it's hilarious — tries to talk him into letting her have enough to prank people, actually. He knows exactly how much is left in the jar though, and he's not sure he's ever gonna get more... so she has to make do with sitting next to him and watching.) "So it keeps you from losing it, huh?" she asks, glaring down into her empty flagon like she doesn't know where the beer got off to. "No squishy pffff—" she puffs up her cheeks and sets the flagon down, curving her hands into a circle and then moving them apart, "—for the qunari pokers?"

A group of qunari seek refuge at Skyhold, and Dorian's life gets wildly out of hand.

You really can buy anything on the internet.

Josephine is not a flirt, really.

The Antivan language and sex on the war table: just two of Bull's varied interests.

She is good at such things, and those smiles, crystal-brilliant as sun on snow, are reward enough.

Leliana figures it out first, quite possibly even before Josephine does—and definitely before Cassandra does, but then, Cassandra can be very selectively dense. Certainly she figures it out well before either of them says anything to the other.

Josephine smiles, and Cassandra smiles back with a reflexive happiness that sends warmth spiraling up from Josephine's belly to her heart. The thing it has taken her a long time to learn about Cassandra is that quite often her impatience and sarcasm are a thin layer, fragile as the skin of ice over a lake--and the emotions they conceal are as drowningly deep as that lake.

On the longest night of the year, Cassandra goes to the chapel to pray.

What do you get for the girl who already has everything and really doesn't want to marry you? A kidnapping, apparently. No, that doesn't actually make any sense, but as The Iron Bull is about to find out, Dorian Pavus and Livia Herathinos don't appear to actually consider themselves bound by the rules of common sense. Isabela just can't believe someone's actually paying her for this. Lucky!

"You turned," Adaar said, "into a fucking dragon." It was good that she said it, because someone should, and to be honest the Bull was feeling a bit beyond actual words at that exact moment. "A small dragon," Dorian said, as though this was somehow relevant. He was quite a small dragon, it was true—he stared down at them now, but most of that height was the arch of his neck, the curve of it covered in shimmering black and gold scales. "A small dragon! Who saved your life!"