#( 𝑹𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒔 ; asks (( Cullen ))

[sharp-teeth-and-archived]

intothewildsea asked : (where our hands touch): our muses hands touch accidentally causing them to pause mid conversation. (cullen or varric...i couldn't decide LOL)

ROYAL ROMANCE AND SPICE PART TWO. / @intothewildsea -- selectively accepting

        𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐅𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞. He had Templar training to hone his skills as a leader in a fight, but the Chantry wasn’t eager to offer training on how to be a good husband. Templars were sworn to their service, though there were no rules against pursuing a relationship (as long as it wasn’t with a mage). In a way, Cullen was married to his service. He had toyed with the idea of marriage, but he was always busy with his responsibilities to deepen any relationship to a romantic level. It was work, work, work until that work made him believe he was tainted, unloveable in a twisted way. He had made choices he regrets, but he was going to change the ways that twisted him to a horrible degree.

        Yet, it was scary for him to imagine that in the middle of his redemption, he was pursuing a marriage. He hadn’t come to terms with that yet.

        Cullen had tried to create chemistry from an awkward tension. Niamh was easy to trust, but there was so much she had to learn from him that he was slowly unwrapping himself ribbon by ribbon. Taking the slow route, he assumed, and building a relationship from its groundwork would prove favorably for himself and the Inquisition.

        The wind rolling through Skyhold had ruffled Niamh’s blonde curls, but he didn’t mind as he stood before her, a large sword lying across his hands. It was the sword straight from his side, the one he nervously fidgeted with when they were in close quarters.

        ❝ This sword has kept me company from my Templar days, ❞ he explained, staring down at the sun-shined metal. The metal was clean as if it was newly made, but the various cracks and scratches along its surface showed its age. Cullen hadn’t managed to smooth it out, but he figured he truly didn’t want to. In some way, his sword was an extension of himself and everything he had gone through.

        Niamh leaned forward, Cullen hadn’t noticed. He reached ahead to rub a gloved thumb over one of the nicks in the metal, only to brush his finger along the knuckle of Niamh’s finger. His breath hitched and he stood up straight, darting his hand away with a nervous cough caught in his throat.

        ❝ Uh… ❞ He felt like a schoolboy, mumbling to himself after the brief contact. He felt a jolt of electricity run through his system when they touched, but all of the emotion in his body was nerves, anxiety, and fear. Fear of overstepping, of taking this relationship quicker than they were ready for. ❝ My apologies, ❞ he finally supplied, looking down at the grass next to them. ❝ The sword is showing its age, but it’s reliable all the same. ❞

[sharp-teeth-and-archived]

eritvita asked : ❝ Knight Commander Cullen. it’s nice to finally put a face to the name. ❞

The witcher s2 sentence starters. / @eritvita​​​​ -- accepting

      𝐀𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐩 𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐤 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝’𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬. Of course, he had no ill will using that title, he certainly hoped so, but now he wanted to think of anything but Meredith and his time in the Chantry as a loyal Templar, cutting through the darkened evil that corrupted it and chasing away the possibility of it being tainted. Rather, he found more corruption within the order itself than the mages (half of the time, he still held his hesitation towards magic close to his armor-clad chest).

     It was Knight Captain, not Commander, he wishes to correct despite both titles not mattering anymore.

      He cleared his throat, rising to his full height and straightening his posture that still felt all too rigid. He clasped his gloved hands together behind his back, hoping to anchor the intensity brewing inside him there within his grip. 

       ❝ Commander Cullen, if you will. That title doesn't matter anymore after I left the Templars. ❞ his words still held that authoritative intonation to them but if one listened close enough, they could notice a softness coating his words that were rather unusual for him. Almost a plea than a command to call him that title instead. ❝ Roland, is it? You are one of the Inquisition’s researchers, correct? On the hole in the sky? ❞ Finally finding a steady beat to his tone, he could feel his grip loosening bit by bit as he pushed onwards from his previous (and rather unwanted) title. ❝ We need all the insight we can get on that quandary. ❞

[sharp-teeth-and-archived]

enastrcs asked : ❝  tonight is for celebrations.  ❞ (Lasair to Cullen?)

Ballroom dialogue prompts. / @enastrcs​ -- accepting

      𝐅𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝, Cullen’s smile is influenced by Sera’s infectious laughter echoing off the castle walls, watching as she spun around in the middle of the floor between two crowded tables with the inquisitor. Hearing the presence of Lasair beside him, he looks upon the other woman with a soft smile.

       ❝ Clearly, Sera is making the most of it. ❞ Cullen tried to push away the odd feeling in his chest. He wasn’t exactly a partier and whenever the inquisition did host a party, it tended to be a small group playing Wicked Grace. This time, he wasn’t looking to return back to his office naked for all of his soldiers to see. Cullen tended to stay by the sidelines, usually humored by Varric’s observation of the events before them. Sera tended to make things interesting.

      A small smile drew his lips upwards. ❝ Is this your way of nicely saying I am boring, Lasair? You and Leliana would both be in agreement on that one. ❞

[sharp-teeth-and-archived]

archaeval asked : ❝  do you not dance, commander?  ❞ // for cullen

Ballroom dialogue prompts. / @archaeval​ -- accepting

      𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐚𝐳𝐮𝐫𝐞 ��𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐫. He would much prefer the lone, dark comfort of his office mapping out troop movements, but this task at the palace is much more than all of them. Cullen never found himself suitable for the finery of high-class parties, especially ones with emperors, leaders, and higher-ranked commanders than Cullen himself. He was trained on securing safety and stability from the harms of magic, grew up on the Chantry’s teachings, and how to make the most out of a battlefield. His graceful movements were the sword in his hand, not his hand in another’s to the rhythm of a tune.

      Ruby’s standing beside him is hard to ignore and he tries not to linger his stare once he spots her. She looked breathtaking with no flaw in sight as his eyes swept over her pinned-up hair and attire. Here he was, in his rather bland blue, gold, and red outfit on the sidelines, not as well put together and refined as she was. The only uniqueness in his appearance from what was usual besides his clothing was the small single curl in his hair resting on his forehead.

       ❝ Uh, no. Hardly. ❞ In fact, he never even attempted to dance. He assumed dancing alone would only worsen his skill with no trained eye to give him pointers. No one has asked him to dance and it seemed as if Josephine perhaps assumed Cullen was a lost cause for not imposing any dance lessons onto him. He hated how stiff and hesitant he sounded to his own ears. ❝ It wasn’t Templar custom to teach the art of dance as much as it was to teach the art of swordsmanship. ❞

      His eyes glance towards the main floor as the topic of dancing starts to slowly lace itself into his thoughts. Maybe he should have practiced. He can’t ignore the way a lump of anxiety forms in his throat at the idea of being asked to dance by Ruby. But isn’t that what she wanted? It would be rude not to acknowledge it if that was the case.

      Shyly, his eyes land back on Ruby. ❝ Were… you wanting to dance with me? I’ll be honest that I have two left feet when it comes to dancing. You would have better luck with Varric. But I’ll try. ❞

[sharp-teeth-and-archived]

archaeval asked : ❛ i’m real. i’m here. ❜ // for cullen

𝐡𝐢𝐭 ‘𝐞𝐦 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬. / @archaeval​ -- accepting

      𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞’𝐬 𝐚 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐂𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧’𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞. As if he’s a boulder tossed into the sea, the silver armor draped along his body offers little for protection. Instead, its weight is suffocating, along with the pressure of his mind. There’s screaming, muffled by the waves, muffled between solid stone walls. The structure, wherever he is, ocean or building, appears to hold the extensive sound from rendering him deaf, but it does little in terms of comfort. Mischievous entities wisp around him like snakes, they won’t stop talking. They won’t stop taunting him. They don’t stop.

      He’s confused, puzzled that he can’t make any sense of where he is, but he can register the world around him growing crimson. It’s engulfing him, he can feel a tension knocking against his head. Everything is blank, there's nothingness around him, but in all of his other senses but his eyes -- he can register something. Screaming, voices, smell of gore and decay, smoke that plugs his nose. There’s a metallic taste on his tongue. He can feel his face tighten, but has no motivation to relax.

      He opens his eyes to a piercing light. It surrounds his vision until he gets a few blinks in, then his world finally envelopes around him.

      I’m real. I’m here.

      The Commander turns to his side and his eyes land on the woman with the mask. Ruby. He’s in bed, he finally remembers, the blankets snug around his body reminds him of that. Cullen twists his body to loosen himself from the blankets taking hold and sits up. The throbbing of his head remains, dream or not.

       ❝ I didn't heard you come in, Ruby, I was- uh, resting. ❞ Stating the obvious, though napping was not a hobby for Cullen as much as it was for Sera. But when Cullen exhausted all the remedies he could imagine for this headache, he assumed his unnatural sleeping patterns were the problem. Now, he remembers why he hated sleeping at all. 

      He shifts in his bed, tossing the blankets off him, and gets to his feet. ❝ I apologize. Were you needing something? ❞