She is beautiful but it doesn't seem right to notice. Holy scriptures don’t make note of the shape of their prophet’s mouths or record every full and soft feature. He shouldn’t see her as a woman. He mustn't.

“Varric has a whole army down there,” Siv assures him. “They’re reviving the Inquisition. Much safer than us wandering the back alleys of Kirkwall.” But it still feels like she’s announced her intentions to switch the sun and moon in the sky, to alter the natural order of things by removing herself from Fenris’s side. By the time she’s ready to leave, Fenris still feels that something terribly wrong is happening but it’s all happening around him rather than to him. Like he’s in a dream but awake enough to know it’s not right. - A series of letters tracking Hawke's journey to Skyhold.

The bathroom seemed unfamiliar as Gale prepared for sleep. Evie’s vast collection of skin care bottles was gone. That blasted loud device she had, like a hairbrush with an engine, was also missing. The space felt sterile and empty. It only felt like his space when it had been theirs. Without Evie, it was just another vacation rental. Temporary.

Evie miserably hurled objects into her beach bag. Sunscreen, a sweatshirt, the one book she had been allowed to bring (a romance that she now wanted to tear out of the binding).  She had a very important schedule to get started on. First, she would go to the hotel’s restaurant and eat an enormous cheeseburger for lunch. Then she would sit on the beach until the sun went down, staring at the happy couples and families from behind her sunglasses and imagining all of the secrets and lies waiting to tear them apart when they went home.

1. Quips! I can never resist a bon mot.
2. Characters choking on their feelings until the last possible moment and then letting too many feelings out at once.
3. Making out sloppy style
4. Romantic tension, heightening, raised pulses, blushing, YEARNING (this counts as one)
5. Some guy crawling on his knees (literally or metaphorically) to please a beautiful woman he's obsessed with

“Because I can never make it right! I can hurt one Templar who harasses me but I can never reach all of the people who decided to put me in his path and gave him power over me. For fifteen years, the Chantry and the Circle took my freedom and I can’t ever undo that. I had one life, one - childhood. And it will always have been that life.” She let out a frustrated (sound) as she swiped at the angry tears in her eyes.  “And now my life is just this,” she opened her palm and the green mark throbbed as if it were connected to her heart. “When is it ever going to be my choice?”

The bathroom felt strange as Gale prepared for sleep. Evie’s vast collection of skin care bottles was gone. That blasted loud device she had, like a hairbrush with an engine, was also missing. The space felt sterile and empty. It only felt like his space when it had been theirs. Without Evie, it was just another vacation rental. Temporary.

“Normally, I would find talking like this a little archaic but I want to be as blunt as possible. Gale -” Jaheira turned to him. “Kiss her like a man, okay?” “I know how to kiss someone,” Gale said. Evie tried not to roll her eyes during a director meeting. Jaheira smiled. “We’ll get a few takes just in case, Stanislavski."

Evie was the first thing Cullen saw when he opened his eyes in the morning. She was so close, still asleep on the pillow beside his, drifting in and out of his vision as he struggled to wake. He set his hand against her hair and gently scratched her scalp before letting his eyes drift closed again. Warm, drifted across his thoughts. Gold. Soft. Warm. He took a long, slow breath and settled deeper into the blankets as Evie shifted closer. One more filament of morning alertness filtered through to Cullen's brain and his whole body jolted as he realized what he was doing. Unfortunately his hand was still resting against Evie’s head and he also jostled her sharply awake. "Ahh," Evie protested weakly. "Why?"

“Here -” she lays her hand flat below Evie’s ribs “ - breathe. Through here, like singing. I know you know how to do that.” She feels the other woman hesitate but then she inhales slowly, raising Maeve’s hand along with the expansion of her body. “Good,” Maeve says. “Do you want to go back to your own tent?” “No,” Evie answers. “Then why are you nervous?” “I’m not,” Evie says but Maeve’s hand is still against her abdomen and she can feel the uneven pace of her breathing, the way her heart hammers just from some kissing.

Wyll had been away from Baldur’s Gate for some time but he was from the same echelon of society as Evie. Perhaps they were childhood friends that had reconnected and fallen in love as adults. She seemed very close with Shadowheart and often pulled her aside for clandestine conferences. Could they be confessions of love? Reassurances that they were still connected, even in secret? Gale couldn’t yet determine why Evie would purposefully keep any of those from him, or why that other person would agree to be hidden. Perhaps Evie has sensed it would be too big of a change from Gale’s home universe and wanted to shield him from that confusion or awkwardness. Maybe she really was like the Evie from his world and simply didn’t trust him. 

“Perhaps there’s more to the verbal component that we’re missing?” Gale wondered. “Some direction we can provide?” “What would we say?” Evie asked. “You're still from the mortal plane, your realm doesn't have a name we can tell it. As far as this fork is concerned, you are Gale Dekarios and you're in the Elfsong Tavern, right where you should be.” “Oh.” All of the unspoken tension between them seemed to dissolve for a moment and the clouds parted from his expression. “You know my full name.” “Wh - yes,” Evie looked back down bashfully at the tuning fork in her hands. “Of course I do.” After Tara revealed it, Evie had spent the rest of the day referring to Gale as Mr. Dekarios in some exaggerated, silly version of the tressym’s accent and enjoying the way it made Gale roll his eyes and smile while he blushed.

“Don't,” Raphael slurred through all the blood. “I can gi-give you anything.” Goneril crouched down above him. She tilted her head, studying what was left. “He was a child,” she murmured softly. “You shouldn’t have hurt him.” The remains of his face shifted, furrowed. “Who?” She nodded. Why would Raphael remember one traded soul above the others?  She didn't want him to remember now. She wanted Enver so far away that he wouldn't even enter the devil’s thoughts. Goneril put one hand below his jaw, one above his crown, and twisted until everything cracked, and split, and broke, and ended.