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kumeko · 4 years ago

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For @dickgraysonexchange2020, for courage_boss! I had a lot of fun with this one.

Prompt: Dick gets a coupon book for his bday and uses all but the last one.

…

If there was one good thing about Bruce Wayne’s string of adoptions, it was that events were never a quiet affair. No matter how much Jason or Damian might have wanted them to be. Dick, on the other hand, embraced the fullness of the manor. The place felt too empty and stuffy on a normal day, what with most of the family out and about.

It was only for special days, like his birthday, that everyone gathered together again. Between his friends and family, every room felt full, the manor bursting with sound and life. A far cry from the dreary dinners when it had just been the three of them, with Bruce awkwardly figuring out parenting and Alfred kindly filling in the gaps.

Walking around with a slice of cake, Dick spotted Alfred and grinned. He meandered over. “Alfred, one of these days, you’re going to realize just how much you’d make running a restaurant.”

Alfred chuckled. “Perhaps, Master Richard, but the last time I left, the manor collapsed.” His expression was fond. “It’s too much work fixing it after.”

“That…” Dick couldn’t even argue. Anytime Alfred left on vacation, sabbatical, whatever, nothing went right. The kitchen burned. Bruce forgot to eat or sleep. Mold and dust became new tenants. “It’s all a ploy to keep you here longer.”

“Then it is certainly working.” His smile looked more amused than weary. “You certainly do keep me on my toes.”

“Dick!” Tim poked his head out of the study. Spotting him, he gestured for him to come. “Got a sec?”

“It’s only a party,” Dick teased, nodding to Alfred before going. “Not like I have anything important to miss.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “You could have been talking to someone.” Despite his cavalier words, his cheeks reddened from embarrassment.

Dick didn’t press the matter, storing it away instead for later teasing. “What’s up?” he asked as he stepped into the study.

There was no such thing as a small room in the Wayne manor. Yet, crowded with Damian, Cassandra, Tim, Bruce, and Jason, the study suddenly felt cozy. Dick grinned, unable to help himself. “The whole gang’s here!”

Jason clicked his teeth. “Let’s get it over with.”

“For once, I agree with the failure,” Damian added, crossing his arms.

“Aww, don’t be like that.” Dick sidled up to them, planting himself in between. Before they could react, he loped an arm around their shoulders. “You both came, after all.”

“I made sure of it,” Bruce said simply. Dick wasn’t sure what that entailed. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to.

Damian squawked. “I didn’t—”

“Don’t you—” Jason growled, tossing off Dick’s arm.

“We got you a gift!” Tim interrupted, before a fight could erupt. He held out a small, neatly wrapped box. The wrapping paper and ribbon were a soft blue, matching his Nightwing costume. “Everyone chipped in.”

“Chipped in?” Dick reluctantly let go of the two to accept. Ignoring how Damian and Jason immediately escaped to the other side of the room, he carefully pulled the ribbons and unwrapped. What could it possibly be, if everyone chipped in and it was so tiny? Tickets? A gadget? A thick wad of cash?

Oddly enough, none of those. Instead there was a small book inside, roughly the size of a chequebook. Scrawled neatly on the top was Coupons.

“A coupon book?” Confused, he looked up at Tim. “You guys chipped in for a coupon book?”

“Look inside,” Tim encouraged, his smile so wide it nearly split his face in half.

“Okay…” Still bemused, he quickly flipped through the pages. Defeat your enemies. Do a chore. Take the night off. Massage. The writing differed from page to page, from Damian’s neat, cramped writing to Cassandra’s messy flowing one. Most of them were made by Tim though, and they were of course all the normal ones.

It was better than anything he’d imagined. Feeling utterly soft, he quickly hugged Tim. “Thanks.” Without missing a beat, he pounced on Damian and Jason. Despite their protests, they didn’t squirm out of his grip. Finally, he rounded on Cass and Bruce, both of which hugged him back awkwardly, as though they weren’t sure quite how.

“I can’t believe you made this,” he said, finally untangling himself.

“Well, considering everything we have, it’s hard to buy gifts.” Tim shrugged. “Steph had the idea, actually.”

Well, that made sense. She always had the fun, interesting ideas. Dick made note to thank her later. “I can’t believe you two agreed to this,” he said, looking at Damian and Jason.

“A little strong arming from Cass,” Tim explained.

“I did not get threa—” Damian protested, glaring at Tim. Hopefully this didn’t lead to the two of them stabbing each other in the batcave later. Then again, there was a clean the batcave ticket too, maybe he could have them clean up after their mess.

“I did not have to…convince Damian,” Cassandra replied stiffly. Despite how much time had passed, words were still her second most fluent language. “He was…agreeing to this.”

“Really?” Jason guffawed.

“That’s because no one can strong arm me,” Damian growled, his lips curling into a sneer as he glared at Jason. “And that means she did strong arm you.”

“Stop,” Bruce warned, rubbing his forehead. “We’re in the middle of a party.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I have that covered.” Dick whistled as he flipped through the coupon book, stopping at one of them. Tearing it out, he grinned. “Now, one of you two has to compliment me…who should I pick?”

-x-

“You…want me to cook?” Cassandra’s brow furrowed as she stared at the little slip of paper in her hands.

“More or less.” Dick grinned as he led the way to his kitchen. His apartment was a small thing compared to the manor, but it was home, and there was something energizing about having someone over. If there was one thing he loved about the coupon book above all else, it was that it gave him an excuse to invite his far-flung family over.

She cocked her head, still looking troubled. “I am not…good at it.”

“That’s fine!” Dick hummed as he pulled out two aprons from his cupboard, handing one over to her. “As long as it’s edible.”

“You…have one too?” Cassandra awkwardly stared at the bird-print apron, then at him.

Laughing, he slowly put it on, demonstrating how to tie it all together. He should have expected that; his family was more comfortable fighting than they were in the kitchen, and it showed. “Yeah, we’ll cook together. It’s more fun that way, right?”

Cassandra smiled, a small thing, and nodded. “Yes.”

-x-

Standing next to the old grandfather clock, Bruce crossed his arms. Honestly, he didn’t need to wear a mask to intimidate; his scowl was more than enough to scare off any random two-bit goon. “This isn’t what they were intended for.”

Despite his words, he still hadn’t opened the passage to the batcave, and Dick considered that victory. It at least meant that Bruce was willing to hear him out. Holding out the paper, he shook his head. “How? I’m using them.”

Bruce’s frown grew deeper. “Dick, that is supposed to be a night off for you.”

“No, it just says night off.” Honestly, Bruce should have known better: Dick loved arguing semantics. Finding loopholes in Bruce’s rules was what he lived for. “So I’m giving you a night off.”

“I—”

“Babs and the Birds of Prey agreed to cover.” Dick pressed the coupon on Bruce’s chest confidently. “You’re not in the middle of a case. Perfect time for a night in.”

“Dick…” Bruce ran a hand through his hair. Another push and he’d cave in. “Look, I appreciate it, but…”

“Master Richard, Master Bruce.” Alfred stepped into the room and while Dick would never accuse him of something as underhanded as eavesdropping, the timing was suspect. “I have prepared the living room for your marathon. Master Timothy and Miss Cassandra are already there, though Master Damian has refused to join.”

“Et tu, Alfred?” Bruce sighed, giving in. “Fine, but drag Damian down too, Dick. He’s not allowed to worm his way out.”

“The if I go down, he goes down with me gambit.” Dick grinned. “I got it covered.”

-x-

Tim stared at the fruity mocktail he was holding, worrying his bottom lip. “I don’t think this is what Jason had in mind.”

“I never go by what Jason has in mind,” Dick countered, drinking his own cocktail. Sipping from his ridiculously curly straw, he leaned back in his seat. “It’s always more fun that way.”

“That’s…true,” Tim reluctantly agreed, surveying the rest of the batcave.

Honestly, there couldn’t be anything better than relaxing by the computer, eating popcorn, and watching Damian and Jason handle all of the cleaning. Sure, they had automated robots and machines to handle this. This chore had been struck from the list years ago, after Bruce had upgraded the whole cave.

Yet, sometimes Dick just wanted to see things done the old-fashioned way. Like Jason washing the batcar. Or Damian scrubbing the costumes. Both of them were quietly swearing as they worked, occasionally shooting him a dirty glare. He didn’t have to read their minds to know he’d have to watch his sleep for the next week; if they could murder him, they would.

“Don’t forget the bat droppings,” he added cheerfully.

If he was going to die young, might as well go out with a bang.

-x-

Dick sighed as he stared at the coupon book. In the span of a month, he’d managed to use almost all thirty of them, most of them in the most frivolous way possible. He didn’t regret it; it had been fun. No matter what ridiculous thing he came up with, his family had done it. Begrudgingly, at times, but they’d still done it.

The whole thing had given them so many excuses to hang out, no matter what else was going on in their lives. And now it was all over. All he had left was a single Do whatever you say for a day ticket. One last one and the gift would be done.

He sighed again. This gift was far too precious to use on a passing whim. Carefully, he folded up that last coupon, tucking it in securely into his wallet. Dick would save it for the best opportunity, for the final memory that couldn’t be replaced. A rainy day when he needed a pick-me-up.

More importantly, it literally would force someone to do whatever he said for a day. Power like that had to be considered before he used it.

#dick grayson #tim drake #damian wayne #cassandra cain #jason todd #nightwing #robin #batgirl #batman #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #dc comics #fanfic

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moltenhair · 5 years ago

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Since I’d gotten a few asks asking about my continuation of the story.... I wrote a little more. I combined ideas for 2 different things into one long addition. Taking place after they get the Captain of the Guard back from Terapi Island and exploring more of the backstory I gave him and Cass.

Also I gave him a name.

[Part 1] [Part 2]

Memories

Corona… A sickening saccharine symbol of corruption and greed. Where the every-man is tricked into believing their king cares for their needs and wants what is best for them. Where they are forced to love their ruler or face the consequences. Where anyone who dares shine a light on that ruler’s misdeeds is vilified and cast out.

Cassandra had seen it before. Seen it and stood by to let it happen. She’d been a part of the problem as much as anyone, hadn’t she? She had defended the beliefs of their king, had charged into battle in his name. Never realizing then how the system that cared so little for her had been exploiting her for its own gain.

She stood at the forest’s edge, looking out over those vibrant hills to where the castle towers stood proud against the sky. Those towers she once called home… And she would again soon. Once she cleared out all of the obsolete leaders and established a new order. One where people like herself could finally thrive.

But first…. She had a stop to make.

“Captain, I know this must be hard for you… Coming back without Cass..” Princess Rapunzel put a hand on the man’s shoulder as their balloon carried them across the sky and away from Terapi Island. The world beneath them peaceful despite what has happened. Blissfully unaware of the rising darkness. “But we’ll figure this out. We’ll stop Cass before anything else bad can happen. We’ll talk some sense into her-”

“Cassandra has never been the ‘do as she’s told’ type.” The captain spoke at last. His first words for the entire journey back to Corona. And he said them with a sorrowful laugh as he recalled his child. The fondness of a father in his eyes. “Even when I first found her she was a fighter.”

Rapunzel pulled back her hand slowly, glancing over to Eugene with a shared knowing look. This was the first time anyone had ever spoken of the day Cassandra was adopted. There had always been some understanding that they didn’t need to know.. It never mattered where she came from.. Until now, at least.

“I always assumed Cass got that from you.” Eugene moved to the Captain’s other side, leaning on the edge of the balloon’s basket. “No offense, but you seem like a dad with a lot of rules.”

The captain laughed brighter, looking sidelong at the former thief, “Haha- No, no. Cassandra was always a brave girl.. I just taught her to be brave for the right reasons. Why, when I first met her, I was amazed at the strength this sweet, little thing was hiding.”

A smile curled Rapunzel’s lip as she watched the Captain talk about his daughter. Her best friend before all this happened. It was a side of Cass’ life that the Princess had never gotten to know in the past. It wasn’t Cassandra’s style to reminisce like this. In fact, there were few things Rapunzel knew about her childhood at all.

“Captain.” She began, putting her petite hand over his as she smiled warmly up at him. “Would you… tell us that story?”

There was a pause, a thoughtful silence that hung in the air like their balloon. The Captain of the Guard hummed, his eyes locked on the horizon in contemplation… But soon enough he looked at the Princess and returned her smile.

“I’d be happy to.”

It was a dark and stormy night. Weren’t they always when something bad was doomed to happen to an innocent person? Lightning flashed and thunder boomed in the skies of Corona. Rain fell heavily on rooftops, cooling them from the harsh beating of the summer sun just hours before. Out in the streets bakers stowed their bread carts and women ran with their aprons held over their heads to keep themselves dry. But in short time the stone roads were empty.

The rain had a way of lulling Corona to sleep. The kingdom always seemed to fall with the sun. Soon enough the citizens were tucked in their beds to the rattling lullaby of the rain. All except the royal guards of course… And one curly haired little girl.

Cassandra stood tip-toed on her mattress, fingers curled around the high windowsill to pull herself over it. Her olive green eyes peeked out through the rain spattered glass at the kingdom beyond. At the castle she could always see from the orphanage windows. She wondered if everyone in the kingdom could see it from their houses or if she was just one of the lucky ones.

Beyond the rain and fog, Cassandra could see familiar armored shapes. A recognizable crest of a helmet she’d seen almost every day since she was brought to this place. A Guard on Patrol. It was raining cats and dogs but he was still out doing his job. The guards must have been really good people. They protected Corona even if it meant they had to get wet. Cassandra was only five and a quarter , but she already knew… She wanted to be just like them when she was big.

There was something else familiar about those Uniforms, too… Something she felt like she should remember but couldn’t.

The little girl let go of the window and dropped backward onto her bed to sit atop the covers. Around her the sparse other children slept comfortably. Dreaming of the parents they someday hoped to have. Or maybe of the parents they once had. In the next room, the director of the orphanage had drifted off, embracing a bottle of ‘mead’. Cassandra didn’t know what mead was, but she figured it was something that made grownups sleepy. The director drank it only after the children went to sleep. Nothing ever woke her in the middle of the night.

A sudden racket made Cassandra jump with a start. A thumping clatter like wood rattling against wood. The girl hopped up once more to look out the window. She could see that same guard as before but he was moving much faster. Frantic as he spoke to another guard before splitting off to run separately down the dark Corona alleys. But there was no one else in sight.

Then the sound came again. But, if there was no one outside, that sound had to come from inside. Cassandra climbed out of bed slowly and quietly. She reached under her bunk to pull out a wooden sword she’d won from one of the boys in a wrestling match. She held it high the way she’d seen the Guards do as she treaded carefully toward the hallway.

When she rounded the corner, she couldn’t see anything. It was pitch black as far as the eye could see. Which wasn’t very far with all the lanterns out. But there was a flickering of orange fire light from beneath the crack of the door of the director’s room. Cassandra walked toward that light on tip-toe, planning to pass it and go to the kitchen… But then she noticed a shadow crossing that orange light from inside the room. The shape of legs carrying a person back and forth.

Was the director actually still awake? Were they the one making noise?

Cassandra lowered herself to the floor to lay on her belly. With her hands pressed to the old floorboards she did her best to look under the door. What she saw almost made her gasp loudly, but she put a hand over her mouth to silence herself.

There was a stranger in there! A big ugly one. Looking through the director’s things while they slept! Taking her jewelry and coins and putting them in a bag. The child watched in horror as this person- this criminal- uncovered the safe where the director kept all the money she used to take care of the children.

He was gonna take the money for the kids!

Not on Cassandra’s watch, he wasn’t.

In moments she was back on her feet, sword in hand. She scurried quickly and quietly away and toward the kitchen where she’d originally heard the noise coming from. When she got there, she found the window left wide open, rain pouring in from the outside. Ew, and he’d tracked mud in from outside.

Think, Cassandra, think. What would a Guard do? A guard would keep the bad guy from escaping! The lock on the safe will only keep him busy for so long.

She ran to the window and jumped up to grab it and pull it closed.

As Cassandra climbed down she set her hand in something really GROSS! A bucket of cooking grease the director sometimes used to cook. It made her hands all slippery. Yuck! … Wait a second. She could use this. If only she also had some… string!

In the corner was a roll of thick twine used for preparing roasts. It wasn’t cuffs but it would do in a pinch. And to a child it was as good as rope.

Cassandra gathered her items and hurried back down the hall. She could hear the groaning of the safe’s iron door as this thief managed to finally break into it. All without the director stirring an inch. Not wasting any time, the little girl turned over the grease bucket and let it slop out down the hallway. It was thick and goopy, but it covered enough of the floor that there was no way this crook wasn’t going to step in it. Then, Cassandra took a length of the twine and strung it across the hallway a few inches from the ground. She’d seen the boys in the orphanage trip each other like this all the time. Hopefully it also worked on grown ups.

When the door began to open Cassandra ran behind it and hid against the wall. She held her breath as this larger person came into view, carrying a sack of things that didn’t belong to him. He didn’t even consider looking down at where she hid. He probably didn’t think anyone was awake. And why would he worry about a KID catching him?

He was about to learn to be worried.

Outside, the guards were searching the alleys high and low. They’d spotted him. A serial robber who had robbed five families in a week. Taken everything of value they owned in the dead of night. But he’d vanished from under their noses somehow.

Dammit!

Was this how the new Captain of the Guard was to be known? As the man who took over and couldn’t even catch a common thief? He was better than this… But he needed to prove that as the new captain he would take care of the people’s best interests while also fulfilling the will of his king. He inherited this position after a great tragedy. His first year as captain had been nothing but struggles.

Captain Roland wiped the rain from his face as he glowered through the fog. His crossbow hung in his hands, relaxed. His boots creaked as he crept quietly behind the businesses and homes of Corona. His eyes, piercing and narrow, flicked high and low.. He was getting closer. He could feel it.

The sole of his boot slipped against the wet stone and he looked down. Muddy footprints. Headed down a second alley and behind the orphanage. He followed the steps and found they led to a window. Shut. But he could see the mud trail ended inside.

Gods… No. Roland shuddered to think about a criminal breaking into a building full of children. Children who had already lost so much.

The Captain tried to yank the window open to pursue the criminal inside. But it must have latched when it was shut. It wouldn’t budge. And the captain wasn’t about to break the window of an orphanage.

Instead he ran as fast as he could around to the front door. He took the handle in his hands and pulled. Locked. Of course it was. He rattled the door, he hammered his fist against the hard wood.

“Open up! This is the Captain of the Guard!”

There was.. Some kind of sound inside. Then the smallest of footsteps drawing near to the door. He raised his crossbow as he heard the lock click. He was prepared for anything when that door opened… Everything but a curly haired little girl. She was smiling up at him so brightly. His crossbow lowered immediately as he glanced around. There was no one else, just this child.

“You’re finally here!” she grinned, bouncing on her little legs before grabbing him by the hand to pull him inside. “C’mon, c’mon!”

Roland followed, hunched over with his hand in hers. He looked about as this child led him towards a back hallway. Nothing looked damaged. He could see children peeking out of their bedrooms, rubbing the sleep from their eyes. Woken up by whatever had happened. Same as the director who seemed far less coherent. And then… the Captain found his criminal.

Laid out on the floor, feet tied together. He was covered in what looked like… lard. And it appeared that he’d slipped in it quite a bit while trying to make his get away. Beside him his bag of stolen goods was spilled across the floor. Everything that was taken from the Orphanage and more. The man himself… was unconscious. Out cold from what looked like a blow to the head from a wooden toy sword. He was going to have a bump, but he’d be fine.

“I made sure he didn’t get away. All by myself!” The little girl proudly boasted before moving around the Captain to push on his legs from behind. Urging him on, “Now you can arrest him!”

Roland was… impressed! He’d never seen a child stand up to a criminal like this and come out unscathed. It would have been so much easier for her to hide and wait for an adult to show up. The Captain would have shown up regardless… But it might have been too late if she hadn’t acted like she did.

“You did very well, little one.” He praised, kneeling down and putting a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “And you’re not hurt?”

“Nuh-uh.” She shook her head, her mess of dark curls bouncing.

He couldn’t help but chuckle. This was one special kid.

“You acted very bravely tonight.. What’s your name?”

“Cassandra.”

The corner’s of Roland’s eyes wrinkled as he warmly smiled down at her. He held out a hand to the child. Her small hand landed in his, gripping his fingers tightly as they shook hands.

“Thank you for your help... Cassandra.”

Rubble.

All that remained was rubble.

No one had even come to claim the land in the twenty years since Cassandra and her Mother left it. It wasn’t rich enough soil, or a big enough plot for anyone to want it. They hadn’t even bothered to clean up the mess.

Fractions of walls remained of what once was a farmhouse. Cass’ farmhouse. The home she had forgotten. The home she knew before her mother was given no choice but to leave her at an orphanage. In the hopes that someone, anyone, would find her and be able to afford to give the child a better life. A happier life.

Where her mother went after that… Cass wasn’t sure she’d ever know.

But someone had found her, just like Mother planned, hadn’t they? At least one of their dreams came true.

Cass could vividly remember each visit he made to get to know her. She remembered the moment he walked back through those doors to tell her she was going to be living with him from now on. At the moment she never wanted anything more in her whole life… Because she’d made herself forget the life she’d had before… She never even realized she was adopted by the newest leader of the guards that chose their king’s orders over her mother… The people responsible for the way her life turned out.

Cass scowled and stomped at an old plank of wood, breaking it into splinters. She kicked the remains aside then paused at what she found beneath.. A little wooden cup. Somehow it survived the fire and all these years in the elements..

The woman bent to pick it up, holding it in her armored palm. It was so tiny compared to how it once looked in a four year old’s hands.

She stood in somber silence, her eyes prickling with tears she stubbornly refused to share.

Without a word, Cass walked to what remained of her mother’s old dinner table. The cup was set at its center neatly and then… Cass picked one of the purple wildflowers that had overtaken the homestead. Grown healthy and strong in the ashes of her life…The only good thing to come out of this mess...

Cass left the flower and the cup in the center of the table….

And left to finally fulfill her destiny.

#rapunzel's tangled adventure #tangled the series #Cassandra #the captain of the #season 3 minus gothel #my art #fanfic

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jentrevellan · 5 years ago

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Believe Again: Chapter 3

Rating: Mature Fandom: Dragon Age Inquisition Relationships: Cullen Rutherford x Female Trevelyan Tags: slow burn, slow build, slow romance, mage/templar dynamics, family drama, templars, mages, enemies to friends to lovers, angst, lyrium withdrawal, crisis of faith, loss of faith, The Chantry, sexual tension, innuendo MASTERPOST: A/N: Tags to be updated. Chapters posted on the 1st Thursday of the month.

<- PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER ->

CHAPTER THREE- Elsie

My dear sister Elsie,

Firstly I want to apologise. I’ve spent such an awfully long time practising my penmanship skills (as my tutor insisted upon) and as such I was forbidden to reply to your last note until I had mastered the perfect flicks on my lettering. Well, what do you think?

I am thrilled to hear you’re going to be an Enchanter! I confess that I know very little of Circle hierarchy, but I assume that it’s a promotion of sorts? If so, then hurrah! You deserve it. You’ve always worked hard.

I actually have news of my own. As you know, my studies at home are coming to an end (finally!) and I’ve been deciding what I want to do with my life. Lucetta and mother have always said I could stay at the estate and become a sensible gentlewoman and find a nice husband. Oh, but how dull! I’ve been humouring them for sure. Honestly Elsie - can you imagine me hosting tea parties and soirees?

No… so I’ve had somewhat of an epiphany, I think. I would like to say that I’ve always been a faithful follower of the Maker. So… I’m joining the Chantry. For mother, I think it’s the next best thing so she should be satisfied. But I’m not doing this for her, or even for myself. I truly want to help spread the Chant of Light and help those who aren’t as privileged as us. It doesn’t feel like the noble or honourable thing to do; just the right thing. That’s how I know it’s what I must do.

- A letter from Cecelia Trevelyan to her eldest sister Elsie Trevelyan at the Ostwick Circle. 9:36 Dragon.

3. Elsie

When Elsie awoke the morning after the official forming of the Inquisition, she sat up in bed, felt her head hammer with an awful hangover and flopped back down on the feather mattress, pulling the covers over her head. I never should’ve let Varric Tethras buy me drinks all night , she thought miserably. What made it worse was that whilst she had felt giddy and tipsy, Varric had been jolly and yet Solas - who had consumed just as much ale as the pair of them - had sat all composed with a sly smile on his face, as if he couldn’t feel the effects of alcohol. As such, Varric had continued to buy more rounds of drinks, just to see if the elf would waiver but Solas had only chuckled and drank away whilst maintaining his sober composure. Some of Elsie’s closest friends in the Circle had been elves and none of them had held their liquor particularly well at all.

With a groan, Elsie rolled over, wrapping herself as tight as she could in her cocoon of blankets. Thank the Maker we aren’t travelling today , she thought. Even thinking about the motion of riding on horseback was enough to make her feel -

She gagged and shuddered, pushing all thoughts of motion out of her mind and instead tried to get comfortable again. After another wave of nausea crashed over her and she not-so-elegantly stumbled out of bed and retched in her chamber pot, did she collapse into an almost comatose state on the bed. Oh, if only my noble family could see me now…

Suddenly she sobered and sat up, her breath catching. Family. Her family. Three out of the four Trevelyan daughters had attended the Conclave. All who had attended were dead, except for her. So her sisters -

It was finally hitting her. Her sisters Cecelia and Evelyn were gone. Snuffed out in an instant and yet she remained, her alone. Thousands had died, yes, but to lose not one but two of her sisters…

Elsie pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them. It didn’t feel real and yet she had always been pragmatic and faced the facts. That's what her father had always loved about her - her pragmatism and ability to look at the wider picture, to think forward and not back. But how could she do that when two of her sisters were instantly killed and she was unable to remember a thing? Not one damn thing! She cursed. Guilt clawed into her belly, pulling uneasily at her gut. Perhaps Cassandra had been right to have her in chains. Maybe she had done something but couldn’t remember?

Idly, as she turned those thoughts over in her mind, she weaved a trickle of fire through her fingers, her movements as delicate as if she were playing keys on a piano forte. Elsie had always been the best at that instrument when they were children, despite the tough and sometimes bored exterior she exuded. The piano forte had been Elsie’s preferred instrument and before her magic had quickened, she and Evelyn would regularly hold small concerts to the servants in their home. Evelyn had been particularly talented with the lyre. But then Elsie remembered that Evelyn was dead and it didn’t matter how good a musician she had been. She was gone, and they had never truly got the chance to reconcile.

A harsh rap at her cabin door intruded her dark thoughts and she absentmindedly said “enter”, even though she was still sat curled up on her bed in little more than a loose fitting shirt and breeches.

The door to her cabin opened and a blast of cold air swept inside, but not enough to extinguish her flames tickling her fingers. Her visitor shut the door behind them and stomped their feet on the mat to brush the snow off. That’s when Elsie snapped her head up as the visitor was not someone she would’ve expected.

The templar - well Commander now, apparently - was dusting his boots off and was not looking at her as he began to speak.

“Herald; my apologies for the intrusion, but I’ve brought with me the latest reports from Corporal Vale-” he stopped abruptly when he finally came into the cabin fully. He stared at her and was transfixed at her control of the fire magic she was still weaving between her fingers.

A lick of anger flared in her stomach and her flames sparkled in response. So she snuffed them out with a wave of her hand. That little action earned her an ill-concealed flinch from the commander, and Elsie wasn’t sure if that was a small victory over him or not.

A thick silence fell between them until Elsie sighed and stood, wrapping her arms around herself. “I’m not an arsonist, don’t worry,” she muttered, taking the papers from the commander's hand.

He seemed to snap out of thoughts when she spoke. “I never said you were.”

Elsie snorted. “And yet you’re looking at me with your other hand on the hilt of your sword as if I’ve grown two heads... or about to turn into an abomination.”

He let go of his grip, as if scolded by fire and frowned at her. “Old habits die hard,” he eventually said but Elsie had turned away to read the reports. She continued to pretend to read until he took the hint. She heard him sigh and leave her cabin, closing the door behind him with a firm thud.

Elsie slouched her shoulders and stared back at the closed door. She had been short with him, but what was she supposed to do? Pretend to be fine with him pretending not to be keeping an eye on her and her magic when he clearly was? Still, as she set the reports aside and looked around for her clothes, it had been rather unfair of her. She thought back to when he had escorted Cecelia to her, before the Conclave. If they had never found Elsie, then perhaps Cecelia would’ve stayed in Haven and avoided -

No. Elsie shook herself. She couldn’t think of maybes, ifs, and what could've been. The Templar had been helping her sister. Surely she would’ve done the same in his place? And it’s not like he knew that there was going to be an explosion, killing thousands…

After getting washed and dressed, Elsie braided her hair down her back and slung her old staff over her shoulder. As she stepped outside of her cabin into the crisp midday sun, she turned her eyes upwards towards the Breach and exhaled slowly. The mark on her hand had flared a little, but had also been stable since their attempt to close the hole in the sky. But it hadn’t been enough and she needed more. The Inquisition needed more.

Putting one foot in front of the other, Elsie made her way through the village, pushing aside all thoughts of the daunting challenge ahead and how it felt like she was tiptoeing on a precipice of change, of something bigger than themselves.

“Dimples!”

Elsie looked up to see Varric waving her over near the Chantry. Cassandra stood with him as well as - oh perfect, she thought. The Commander.

“Finally joined the world of the living?” Varric said lightly. She could feel the Commander’s judgemental gaze on her, but decided to not even acknowledge his presence and focused her attention on Varric.

“I see you’re chirpier than usual, even though you drank just as much,” she replied with a frown.

The dwarf chuckled. “Now, now, you only think I drank as much as you and Chuckles. It’s one of my many talents.”

“And is one of your so-called ‘talents’ to also be a smug know-it-all?” Elsie retorted, using her hands to exaggerate her point. She heard something like a snort come out of Cassandra. Was that a suppressed giggle? Surely not…

“Why Dimples; I pride myself on it,” Varric grinned and Elsie couldn’t help but smile back and shake her head.

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “Must you give ridiculous nicknames to everybody, Varric?”

Cullen finally spoke. “Yes, I was wondering the same thing. And why ‘Dimples’ for the Herald?”

Varric pointed at her, making Elsie’s face flush involuntary as they all looked at her. “Because surely you’ve noticed Curly, that when our beloved Herald smiles, she has dimples on her cheeks.”

Elsie finally looked at the Commander and took her opportunity to have a little fun. Without missing a beat she deadpanned: “And those aren’t my only dimples either, Commander; but not many people have been lucky enough to see those .”

To her great satisfaction the burly and stoic Commander’s cheeks reddened and he looked away, rubbing the back of his neck, whilst Varric burst into booming laughter and Cassandra smirked.

“Ha! She got you there, Curly!”

Elsie didn’t take her eyes off Cullen. Oh, what she would do to be in his head right now to know what he was thinking. “So, Curly is it?”

He refused to meet her gaze. “No.”

Varric pointed to Cullen’s hair, which was a warm golden blonde with a slight wave. “His hair used to be curly, back in Kirkwall.”

Elsie froze. Kirkwall? She thought, her gut twisting.

“The Commander spends more time on his hair than any of us ladies,” a new voice said from behind them. The serious Spymaster Leliana had stealthily approached and even she had a small smile on her face. “Isn’t that right, Cullen?”

The commander stuttered before dismissing himself and headed into the Chantry. Varric laughed again and Elsie plastered on a good-natured smile. Kirkwall eh? She thought. That’s something I need to pick up later.

Later that day, after the final arrangements were made to ready their departure to the Hinterlands, Elsie entered Ambassador Montilyet’s office, following a request for a meeting. With a sinking heart, Elsie knew this was going to be about her family and had already put off meeting Josephine twice already.

She pushed open the office door to find the Ambassador talking with -

Oh perfect. Again?

Commander Cullen looked up at the same time as Ambassador Montilyet. He frowned at her, making her insides lick irritably. It seemed that her little flirtatious joke hadn’t been as warmly received as she had hoped. And yet he was always so cold and impassive; maybe seeing a disapproving or even mildly angry side of him would be more interesting, even if just to convince her he was actually human, capable of some sort of emotion.

“Ah, Lady Trevelyan,” Josephine said, clearly missing the glare they were sharing or choosing to ignore it. “I’m so glad you’re here. I was just reiterating to Cullen the importance of securing more noble allies.”

“So they can clog up the village and come crying when their satin shoes get spoilt?” Cullen scoffed. “We need more troops, not some spoilt arsehole who’s had everything given to them on a golden platter.”

Oh, he really is just asking to be vexed, isn’t he? Elsie forced a smile.

“Normally I would be inclined to agree with you, Commander,” she said, and he blinked in surprise but it soon turned to a frown as Elsie continued. “We aren’t all silk slippers and dainty cakes. What a wide assumption you make of nobility; especially when you - a templar - are so quick to stop rash assumptions of yourself.”

They stared at one another, the air thick with unsaid arguments and tension like earlier that morning.

“What do you mean ‘we’?” he said slowly. “You’re a mage from a Circle, I thought.”

Elsie bristled. “Yes, and I lost all rank and respect when I was forced into the Circle.”

Josephine cut in, sensing a heated argument on the verge of disrupting her calm office. “Lady Elsie is the eldest of the Trevelyan daughters, and was-”

“Was heir, until it was all taken from me: because I’m a mage.”

Another silence, thick and heavy filled the room. Commander Cullen regarded her coolly, his eyes dark with anger and something else, she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Finally he inclined his head. “I’ll leave you to your meeting, Lady Ambassador. Lady Trevelyan,” he said stiffly.

As soon as the door swung shut behind him, Elsie let out a breath and exchanged a look with Josephine.

“What an infuriating man,” Elsie muttered. “He does it on purpose,” she continued, taking a seat opposite Josephine.

Josephine’s eyebrows shot up. “What makes you say that?”

Elsie pinched the bridge of her nose. “I barely know the man, but he baits me at almost every chance he gets. And I can’t help but get riled up.”

“Try not to worry, Herald. Just let him do his job and he will let you do yours.”

Elsie shook her head. “I don’t think it’s possible. As a templar, he can’t help but watch mages. Oh yes, he may say he isn’t one anymore, but just because I’m no longer in a Circle, doesn’t mean I’m no longer a mage.”

Josephine shifted. “What you said to Cullen, about you being the Trevelyan heir… well I think we can use that fact to our advantage.”

Elsie didn’t comment on Josephine’s excellent diversion in conversation to get on to the matter at hand. She looked at the Antivian with renewed respect.

“I was disinherited, my lady. There may no longer be Circles, but there is no chance of my position in my family being restored. Nor would I want it to: I couldn’t do that to my sister Lucetta, when she is on the cusp of taking over from my father.”

Josephine smiled. “That is a noble gesture indeed, but you are right, there is little chance of you being restored to your former position.” She spread her hands. “That being said, now that you are the Herald of Andraste, your situation is somewhat unique, and the Trevelyan name does carry some weight, even in Orlais. If you are happy, I would like to freely distribute your family name when spreading the word of the Herald of Andraste.”

She nodded. “Of course. Whatever I can do to help.”

The ambassador made a mark on her ledger. “And your family: would they be satisfied if we were to contact them? Would they help our cause?”

Elsie smiled humorlessly. “My father loves politics and my mother loves to gossip and both are as devoted to the Chantry as the other. I can’t see it being a problem at all.” Indeed, Mother may even forget the shame I brought to the family as a mage, Elsie added silently. Well, probably not, but maybe she won’t pretend I’m dead anymore.

Josephine sensed something left unsaid and looked at her kindly. “Would you like me to write a letter to your parents? It can come from me, or I can ghostwrite one for you…?”

She smiled with relief. “That would be appreciated, Lady Ambassador. I’m sure you can say things more… eloquently than I could ever hope to.”

“You’re too kind, my lady,” Josephine smiled warmly. “I will have a draft letter drawn up today for you to review and sign before you leave for the Hinterlands in the morning”.

The rest of the day was spent preparing for her departure from Haven. She had been used to travelling light from her time as an apostate following the fall of the Circles, so had little to pack in the first place. However, as she looked around the cabin, she felt suffocated by the small space and the lack of freedom she had in the tiny village. Things had changed so considerably, that she just wanted to be herself again, if just for a moment.

Elsie picked up her staff by the door of her cabin and pulled on her boots and a new thick coat which had been given to her for her journey. Outside, the light was beginning to fade and the evening was drawing ever closer. It was the perfect time to slip out of the village and head for a walk without being disturbed, as the soldiers and almost everyone else in the village halted in their activities and listened to the urgent growl of their hungry bellies.

Since she had been in Haven, her appetite had dwindled. She had always been known as the girl with the hearty appetite back in the Circle, and her robes had clung to her quite tightly in places, but she had been happy and eating had been something to pass the time when there was little else to do sometimes. Now after a year of being on the run and having to work or hunt for her meals, her robes had begun to hang loosely and her new outfits courtesy of the Inquisition, were very different and also much smaller… and yet comfortable. She knew that she should eat more, especially in Haven, where food was thankfully plentiful for everyone, despite their remote location. The next few weeks would be different but even so, she couldn’t find it in herself to be hungry. Not when it was a feeling her sisters would feel again.

And they won’t feel anything. Because they're dead.

Elsie kept her head down and pulled up her hood and walked down to the edge of the lake, arms wrapped around herself. Already at the shore, the noisy bustle from the village grew distant, and as she continued to walk further away, it all but faded, so all she could hear was the crunch of her boots in the fresh snow, and the water lapping quietly. She slowed her pace once she was on the far side of the lake and for the first time in a very, very long time, she was totally alone. No one could see her and no one was watching her.

She smiled bitterly. Oh, how she had longed for this solitude when she had been in the Circle. There had been a modest courtyard garden at the Ostwick Circle, but there was always someone else there. A templar, or a mage or a tranquil. You were never truly on your own in a Circle. And on the run she had always stuck with fellow apostates, as it really was strength in numbers. But now…

Finally Elsie came to a stop and looked across the lake. She may have been alone, but she still felt far from it. She didn't need to look up to know about the gaping hole in the sky. Especially when its eerie green hue was reflected in the otherwise calm waters of the lake. No matter where she went, Elsie knew that the Breach would follow her, like a giant eye boring down on her every move.

But she paused at that thought and slowly lifted her head up to look straight into the Breach. Was the Maker there? Was that the reason why she felt this heavy presence ooze from the sky??

Perhaps she truly was the Herald of Andraste. What a ridiculous notion, she thought. If anyone had any right to be the Herald of the Maker’s Bride, surely it would’ve been her innocent and pious sister, Cecelia?

Cecelia. Her lovely round face, dotted with freckles and her bucktooth smile filled Elsie’s mind and she let out an involuntary sob that startled her. Cecelia, whose life was just beginning, was dead. And was it her fault? Why had Cecelia - sweet and innocent Cecelia - died, and she survived?

And Evelyn. Evie, her templar sister. She had also been a faithful woman, bounding herself to the Maker by joining the Templars. And yet her life had been snuffed out too. Evie, with her strong jaw, her cropped hair and her rare smile. She had possessed an intelligence and wit that many underappreciated or took for granted. Their relationship had been strained due to the war, but blood was still blood, and sisterhood was a bond stronger than one could describe.

Tears were streaming down her face now and Elsie clenched her fists, glaring at the Breach. How dare the Maker take their lives from the world. In a world already dark and foreboding, why had He designed to snatch their lives away? The pair of them were worth more to the faith than Elsie by far. And yet here she stood. The lone survivor. The Herald of Andraste.

Her anger flared, her clenched fists shook and without warning her fingers began to tingle and fire licked her hands and forearms. It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t just.

Elsie screamed in rage and fell to her knees in the snow. The fire at her fingertips hissed as they were extinguished. Her body wracked in sobs and her chest heaved, struggling for breath as the reality of her loss, of her survival, of her burden, became a harsh and brutal reality for her.

She may not have believed she was the Herald of Andraste, but as she looked over towards the village of Haven, where the Inquisition banners flapped in the wind, she realised that all of those people did believe she was sent to save them all. That she had survived for a reason. And yet she did not have a clue what to do.

When the tears on her cheeks and dried and the cold air was sharp in her lungs, her breathing steadied and she slowly rose to her feet. Elsie dusted the snow off her breeches and inspected her gloves which were a little singed. She brushed the hair out of her eyes that had come loose from her braid and slowly made her way back to the village.

A shiver down her spine made her look up in the evening light and she stopped in her tracks when she saw that she was no longer as alone as she had initially thought.

Commander Cullen stood on his own, looking right at her, with his sword half drawn. The steel caught the green light of the Breach and Elsie’s gut twisted at the sight of him and his stance. There was absolutely no doubt in her mind that he had been a templar of some authority, and all at once she felt like a shy apprentice, closing in on herself.

But she was so exhausted that she couldn’t even begin to want to fight with him again, or tease him. A wave of cold washed over her as he simply looked at her; his face, as always, an unreadable mask. She wanted to run. She wanted to hide. She wanted to pretend they hadn’t seen each other.

Instead, she walked towards him, never once breaking eye contact, before stopping when they were level with one another and did something that surprised even her. Elsie placed a hand on his arm.

She meant to say something - anything - but no words came to mind. Perhaps she was offering some prospect of peace between them. But as her hand rested just a little longer on his arm, she felt the heat of him. She needed a human touch to not feel so alone and for one ridiculous moment she had wanted to fall into his arms. A funny thought crossed her tired mind that he would probably be a good hugger. He smelt... comforting. Elderflower. Oakmoss. And it startled Elsie that she felt his presence could be to not just foreboding but also a little comforting. She wanted to say more, she wanted to lean in, but she didn’t. She wasn’t sure which thought scared her the most.

Elsie dropped her hand and left Cullen staring after her. But he did not say a word, nor did he follow. Something in Elsie’s gut twisted again, and it terrified her.

<- PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER ->

#Fic: Believe Again #Believe Again #my writing #long post #elsie trevelyan #cullen #cullen rutherford #culsie #cullen rutherford x inquisitor #fanfiction #dragon age

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patricianandclerk · 5 years ago

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Particular Arrangements

My Ask | My Ko-Fi | My Ao3 | Requests always welcome!

The Dalish don’t sleep alone. Cullen never really thought about that, until someone else mentioned it.

(Platonic bedsharing with the Inquisitor and the party. Some very lightly implied Solavellan.)

Leliana had picked the tower. Josephine had decorated it.

It was… lovely, really. There were balconies on each side, and even with the fortress still in a state of relative disrepair, it was beautifully decorated. The bed was Orlesian-made, with shimmering blue silk sheets, and Lavellan didn’t think he’d ever seen a desk so grand in his life.

“It’s away from the rest of Skyhold,” Cullen said. “So that you can be alone, and it is easily defensible. No assassins will be able to reach you up here.”

“Yes,” Lavellan said. “Yes, I… I see.”

It was some weeks later that it came up in conversation.

They were settled around the biggest table in the cellar for a card game that Cullen couldn’t remember the name of, because it was a tongue-twister in Nevarran. It was rare, that so many people were here in fortress and actually willing to play. Josephine and Cassandra weren’t here, which was a shame, because Josephine was in Val Royeaux with Cassandra acting as her guard, and the Herald was out around the fortress with Krem and the Chargers, checking in with refugees. He liked to do that sort of thing personally, which Cullen could respect.

He looked around the table, sipping at his beer. Varric and Dorian were sitting at one end of the table; the Iron Bull was leaning back beside Vivienne, with Sera perching on the back of his chair with her hands braced on his horns to keep herself balanced; Rainier was turning to speak with Cole, explaining the cards to him as Cole looked over his shoulder at them. Solas was sitting beside Cullen, which was…

Well.

He had never actually said anything rude to Cullen. He was just odd.

“Where is the Herald sleeping tonight?” Solas asked during a lull in the game, not looking up from the cards he was examining.

“Ain’t he sleeping with you?” Bull asked, turning his head.

“I don’t believe so,” Solas said. “I will be walking from the fortress some time after midnight, to take my sleep elsewhere. He oughtn’t sleep in the elements with me, not when you have the long ride to meet the Ambassador and the Seeker tomorrow morning.”

“Shit,” Bull muttered.

Cullen felt himself frown.

“Your bed, I presume, is unfit?”

“Well,” Bull said. “It’s…” He glanced to Dorian.

Dorian cleared his throat. “It is rather crowded, with three of us. Varric?”

“I’m, uh,” Varric said, scratching the back of his head. “Meeting a friend.”

“A friend?” Dorian asked, arching an eyebrow. “A friend like—”

“A friend, Sparkler,” Varric said, waving him off. “What about the Iron Lady?”

“I have a meeting to attend via sending crystal,” Vivienne said quietly. Cullen thought he actually saw regret in her face. “It is urgent, I fear, but I will need my bedroom for the night – the magic and the noise would keep him awake, anyway.”

“I’m getting laid,” Sera said. “Least twice. No room for another elf in my bed tonight. Well. Not him, anyway. And Blackwall won’t say, but he’s got this stable girl from—”

“Blackwall can say it himself, thanks!” growled Rainier.

“I’m sorry,” Cullen said, “but, um, what’s wrong with the Herald’s own bedroom?”

There was a long silence as everyone turned to look at him, and Cullen kept his place, pressing his lips together. Bull and Vivienne looked at one another. Dorian narrowed his eyes, looking thoughtful. Varric wiped a hand over his mouth.

Cole whispered, “The silence sticks to the skin, crawls inside and calcifies, so cold, so quiet, like a crypt, no one living in it, no one… He can’t do it, not like this, can’t sleep in the silent sorrow, and so he creeps down the stairs to where he will be safe. He’s safe, with someone else there. It’s where he can find peace.”

Cullen stared at him. It was the most, he thought, that Cole had ever said to him.

He didn’t really know what to make of it.

“The Inquisitor is Dalish, Commander,” Solas said finally. “He was raised in an active clan for the whole of his life. The Dalish are nomadic by nature, moving their aravels and sleeping in caravans, tents, or under the stars. It is rare for most Dalish to sleep alone. Until coming to Skyhold, Lavellan had never had his own tent before, let alone a secluded bedroom in a tower. Sleeping alone in an empty room is as strange and unnatural to him as you might find sleeping in a tree canopy, or curled against the side of a halla.”

“But…” Cullen started, his lips parting. “But I always— I mean, I always slept in dormitories, it’s a luxury to have your own room, isn’t it? It’s… nice.”

“I bet you dreamed of having your own bedroom since you were a young man,” Dorian said softly. “It’s a sign of independence, of authority, of richesse. Not so, for him. If someone sleeps alone with his people, it’s a sign that they’re in exile.”

“The married sleep together,” Vivienne murmured, “but even the Dalish elders sleep with the clan’s children curled beside them, in groups together beneath the stars. Perhaps a widow sleeps alone in her tent; perhaps the Keeper sleeps some nights alone, but never with walls between them. Never in a tower, away from anybody else.”

“You shoulda seen him, Curly, the first night he was in the tower,” Varric said. “He hadn’t slept the night before. Looked like nug shit warmed up. He sat down next to me at breakfast and just—” Varric snapped his fingers.

“So, everyone has just been… He just sleeps in your beds?” Cullen asked. “All of you?”

“Sure.”

“Indeed.”

“Yeah.”

“Duh.”

“Yes.”

Cullen was quiet for a second.

Rainier said, after a moment, “Couldn’t he just sleep in Cassandra’s bed, in the barracks?”

“Raises too many eyebrows,” Varric said, shaking his head. “At least when he sleeps with one of us, there’s deniability, you know. That it was a meeting or a discussion that overran. And there’s security in it, I guess. Is Lace Harding here?”

“She’s in Crestwood,” Dorian murmured.

“Why didn’t he just… say?” Cullen asked. “Why didn’t he just ask?”

“My dear Commander,” said Vivienne, “have you ever known Inquisitor Lavellan to ask for anything that wasn’t for somebody else?”

“I… No,” Cullen admitted. “I haven’t, actually.”

“Er,” Cullen said to Lavellan, who turned to look at him as he undid his gauntlets. They were ceremonial, really – according to Leliana, he wore them because they were thick enough to hide the glow of the Anchor underneath, whereas normally it showed through his leather gloves. He didn’t like people to stare at it. “Inquisitor.”

“Cullen,” Lavellan said.

“Problem?”

“Um,” Cullen said, “well. Everyone in Skyhold seems to be having a lot of, er, that is to say, you know…” Cullen lowered his voice. “Sex.”

Lavellan stared at him. “Right,” he said, finally. “Well, I’m afraid there’s not much I can do about that, Cullen.”

“What? No! No, I mean, I don’t want you to tell anybody to stop!”

“Good, I wasn’t planning to.”

“No! I just meant… Our… friends. Varric, and Bull, Dorian, Sera, Blackwall…”

“All together? That’s ambitious.”

“And,” Cullen said, trying to ignore the increasingly hot glow that was burning his cheeks, “Solas is doing one of his Fade things, and Vivienne has a meeting. So there’s no one who can… And Solas mentioned, well, everybody mentioned— You could sleep in my bed, if you wanted. I have work to do, so I can just, you could just sleep up in my…”

He trailed off.

“I don’t want to keep you from sleeping, Cullen,” Lavellan said quietly, with a small smile. He looked embarrassed, Cullen thought, but he did a good job of hiding it as he focused on taking off the gauntlets, and Cullen could see the green glint at his palm. Lavellan quickly turned it over, turning away. “It’s no bother. I’ll sleep in camp with the Chargers.”

“I’ve never shared a bed with another man,” Cullen blurted out.

“It’s very dangerous,” Lavellan said sagely. “As I’m sure you can imagine, if our feet even brush against one another, we’re obligated by law to have sex at least twice.”

Cullen swallowed. “What?”

“Joking,” Lavellan said, patting his shoulder.

“I would… It really wouldn’t bother me,” Cullen said. “If you wanted to sleep with me. I know you didn’t, you didn’t ask before, which means I’m probably not someone you want to… Not that it’s really a thing of wanting, but I—”

“I didn’t mention it because I didn’t want to put you or Josephine in a strange position,” Lavellan said. “I know you didn’t prepare to have a Dalish elf with such odd habits as your Inquisitor. It’s bad enough that I don’t wear the expensive boots that Josephine keeps buying for me.”

“You can stay with me,” Cullen said, glancing down at Lavellan’s feet, the soles wrapped but the rest bare. Sera had painted his toenails green. “Really.”

Lavellan smiled at him. It was a very small smile, but it was genuine and warm. “Thank you, Cullen,” he murmured. “It’s very kind of you.”

Lavellan slept shirtless, in just leggings. He barely moved, in his sleep: he slept on one side, facing in toward the bed, and he actually untied his hair. There was a lot more of it than Cullen expected – it was very long, and thick, when it was allowed out from the bun, and fanned out on the pillow.

“You were joking,” Cullen had said when they were lying down. “About having sex.”

“Cullen,” Lavellan mumbled, eyes closed, “do you want to have sex with me?”

“No, thank you.”

“Are you even attracted to men?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then if you don’t mind,” Lavellan had said, yawning, “I’ll be taking sex off the table.”

Which was fine. It was fine.

Except…

When Cullen woke up, he was curled right up against Lavellan’s body, his face pressed into the elf’s hair. He didn’t know what shampoo he used, but it smelled wonderful, sweetly fragrant, and Lavellan himself was warm and lightly muscled.

“Oh, Maker,” Cullen said. What time was it? Still the middle of the night, still—

“It’s fine,” Lavellan said, voice thick with sleep.

“I’m so sorry, I was asleep, I didn’t mean to—”

Lavellan patted his shoulder. “Dorian uses my chest as a pillow. Sera always sleeps on top of me, usually with one of her feet shoved into my armpit. Blackwall holds me against his chest like some people hold a pillow. This is fine.”

It was… surprisingly nice, actually.

Feeling Lavellan’s body beside his, even when he extricated himself, it was… It was comforting, in a way. Warm. Lavellan smelled nice, and when Cullen leaned into him, he stroked Cullen’s back through his pyjamas, and it was…

Nice.

“Who’s your favourite person to share a bed with?” Cullen asked, one night.

“Solas,” Lavellan said, without missing a beat.

“What?” Varric demanded.

“Why?” Dorian asked, looking more fascinated than offended.

“He hums old songs, sometimes, in his sleep,” Lavellan said. “It’s comforting.”

Solas coughed, delicately.

“Do your feet ever touch?” Cullen asked.

Lavellan threw an apple at him, and Cullen laughed as he caught it. His ears went red, but it was fine – so did the Inquisitor’s.

#as defined by dictionary #cullen rutherford #lavellan #dragon age #fanfic

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lookslikechill · 6 years ago

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WIP Intro: Between His Fingers

➤ Title: Between His Fingers ➤ Genre: Historical Fiction, Murder Mystery, Romance ➤ Tense: Close Third Person ➤ Status: First Draft/Planning ➤ Setting: Port Cassandra, Northern Coastal California, USA//late 1940′s ➤ Rating: 18+ for sexual content, violence, and just some heavy-ass content. ➤ Themes: personal struggle & growth, PTSD/mental illness, internalized homophobia, institutionalized homophobia, toxic masculinity, flawed/ineffective government/police, police accountability, familial relationships, gay male romance, secret relationship, murder mystery. ➤ Featuring: secrets & mysteries - old city - underfunded police force - different kinds of romantic relationships - The Ocean & The Forest - car troubles - men being stupid - Angst(tm) - Passion - drunken nonsense - Everybody Smokes(except Miles) - And Swearing

➤ One Line: Two cops in late 40′s coastal California try to solve crimes while also being secretly super gay for each other.

➤ Summary:

With state of his knee, damaged in the war and making it impossible for him to pursue anybody or anything on foot, Alistair James Sheep is lucky to be an officer with the Port Cassandra Police Department in the first place, never mind the anxious state of mind he keeps tucked under the rug. He is unlucky to be divorced, a fairly uncommon status in the late 1940′s. The matter of luck is a bit more complicated when it comes to the forbidden relationship he somehow managed to slip into with Miles Crawford, his very male crime-solving partner of almost two years.

The modest city of Port Cassandra had not been the most squeaky-clean, crime-free place since Alistair had lived there, but a sudden spike of murders and arson cases has the city on its toes. It wouldn’t be that much of a problem, if it wasn’t for the department’s outdated and old resources, lack of organization, and dismissive and ineffective Captain. If that wasn’t enough, some of Miles and Alistair’s fellow officers seem to be more interested in causing more problems than solving them.

➤ Characters:

Alistair Sheep(pov), 28, male(he/him); reserved & sharp-tongued, anxious & paranoid, mechanically inclined, introverted, detail-oriented, always the driver, great shot, bad at emotions and sharing.

5′10″, white man with a build on the narrower side of things, lean, very dark brown, wavy hair and a short, full beard, modest, blunt eyebrows, brown eyes, sharp/pronounced jawline, subtly bumpy nose with a slight curve to the left, straight & alert posture/stance, tends to rest his weight to the left, resting asshole face.

Alistair arrived home before the war ended, in 1944, due to the injuries that left him with a permanent limp and an inability to run effectively. He doesn’t (refuses to) use a cane most of the time now, but most likely will have to give in as he gets older. He and his then-wife and childhood friend, Emily, moved to Port Cassandra in very early ‘46 in a last-ditch effort to save their crumbling marriage, which obviously failed. With the issue of his mobility, he joined Port Cassandra’s Police Department under the condition that he would always have another Officer, capable of running, with him when he was on duty outside of the Station.

Miles Crawford, 24, male(he/him); gentle & compassionate, capable & confident, prone to singing, whistling and humming, a big picture man, the runner of the pair, can be too willing to forgive and lacks skepticism.

5′8″, white man with a sturdy, thick build, bit of a belly, wide through the shoulders, short, curly brown hair, clean-shaven, wide-set dark brown eyes, slightly freckled, round face, thick, tapered eyebrows, small ears, nose small & rather rounded, standing stature usually squared but relaxed through the shoulders, expression open and relaxed on average, smiles often.

Miles grew up in Port Cassandra, in one of the cabins in the woods by the beach on the outskirts of Port Cassandra. He never knew his mother, and his father was neglectful, at best, physically abusive, at worst. He left home at 15 and spent the rest of his childhood living with the PCPD’s second-in-command, Joseph Sawtelle, and his family. He joined the city’s Police Department as soon as he was able, and Sawtelle acted as his mentor throughout the first few years of his service.

➤ Links:

Port Cassandra Location Intro Valentine’s Day Special Playlist & Excerpt Excerpt - Startled FFF: The Move Character Aesthetic - Alistair Sheep Character Aesthetic - Tobias Rigby Character Aesthetic - Daniel Morrin Character Aesthetic - Alistair Sheep - by Farrradays Art & Playlist - Alistair Sheep - by cr0wfood Worst Tag Game Intro - Alistair Sheep Miles Crawford Character Intro Alistair Sheep Character Intro

Excerpt, Cont. Character List, and Taglist below the cut!

Content Warnings: Sexual content, physical violence, gun & weapon violence, police violence (mostly cop on cop), unhealthy coping mechanisms re: abuse of cigarettes and alcohol, avoidance, repression. Homophobic language & violence. Abuse re: neglect, physical abuse, bad dads in general. Also war imagery & mentions. Murder, blood, and gore, of course. Fire, as well.

➤ Excerpt:

Alistair rotated the wheel and pulled into the thin dirt driveway to the left of the shack of a house they had been called to. The house appeared to sink into the forest that surrounded it, the look of it was so raw, wooden, and narrow. It looked like it belonged there, except for the glaring lights in the windows that cut through the twilight gloom.

It would almost be a peaceful sight, worthy of a postcard, if there weren't first responders hanging out on the front porch. An ambulance in the driveway. And now, the police cruiser he sat behind the wheel of. In the passenger seat, Officer Crawford, Miles, was looking at him again. Alistair straightened his back and cleared his throat.

"What?"

"Nothing. You just, you know, you looked like you had something on your mind."

"I assure you nothing is ever on my mind," Alistair said without thinking, and scowled when Miles immediately looked amused.

"Sure. Why don't we head in before they come looking to see whether we've died, too?" He said, tilting his head in the direction of the house.

"That joke is in extremely poor taste, Officer Crawford," Alistair drawled as he cut the engine and popped the car door open.

➤ Cont. Character List:

Emily Castaldi, 28, female(she/her), Alistair’s ex-wife, and childhood friend, with whom he still maintains an awkward and erratic relationship. perceptive, clever/witty, independent, works as a housekeeper at one of Port Cassandra’s struggling hotels.

Arthur Pimento, old(60′s?), male(he/him), Captain of the Port Cassandra Police Department, he was a very successful, heroic officer as a young man and won’t admit those days are gone. proud, strict, close-minded, sophisticated, unwilling to admit he’s not as capable as he used to be, married with adult children.

Joseph Sawtelle, mid-40′s, male(he/him), PCPD’s second-in-command, doesn’t feel as if he has as much of a sway over the department as he should. tired, resigned/reluctant, quiet, bitter, married with two feisty teenage daughters, mentor and parental figure to Miles.

Gentry Sinclair, late 30′s, male(he/him), PCPD Officer, family man who just wants to be friends with everybody. bright/cheerful, asks a lot of questions, wants to know the people around him well, Ken doll attractive, married with three young children, he will show people pictures of his family and babble about them.

Daniel Morrin, early 30′s, male(he/him), PCPD Officer, cocky with an ego the size of Texas and not above bullying behavior to get things his way. selfish/self-absorbed, very big and knows it(loves it), takes up way too much space and gets way too close, kind of an asshole all around, picks on everybody(”jokes”), gets along best with Rigby and Sinclair.

Tobias Rigby, late 20′s, male(he/him), PCPD Officer, served in the war and has never been seen with a woman he wasn’t related to. extremely reserved/quiet, says very little, very blunt and straightforward when he does open his mouth, short/small but can definitely kick your ass, frowny & mysterious.

Conrad Fitzgerald, early to mid-30′s, male(he/him), PCPD Officer, served in the war but was a Prisoner of War for most of it. a bit erratic, brazen, talks a lot, boxes in his spare time, has been seen by Alistair entering and leaving underground gay bars yet to be raided, charismatic in a relaxed way, married without kids.

Rosemary Fitzgerald, mid 30′s, female(she/her), Conrad’s wife. like her husband, considered a bit odd, smiles too much and talks too fast, paints skulls, only seen wearing dark colors, stubborn, comes to the Station too much.

➤ Taglist: @livingdeadwriteblr - @cawolters - @agnesfagen - @the-real-rg - @balletshoe-punk - @lie-hart - @phloxxiing - @teacupwriter - @newdivinities - @omgbrekkerkaz - @soul-write - @elisabethrosewrites - @cirianne - @ladywithalamp (ask to be added or removed!)

➤ Tagged: #Between His Fingers, #bhf, #bhf:wip

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blustersquall · 6 years ago

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Only Make Believe // Chapter 31: New Year’s Eve

Hi everyone! Hope you had a nice October, and you're enjoying the start of November! Here's a new chapter for you. Want to give you a fair warning, this chapter does contain mentions of (or hints at) the following: familial abuse, physical abuse, sexual coercion, sexual assault, sexual abuse, mental and emotional abuse. So, please be aware of that and keep yourself safe. Take breaks. Practice deep breathing and other grounding methods. If you feel yourself getting overwhelmed, step back and take some time. The chapter will be here when you're ready. Your wellbeing is far more important, okay?

December 31st, New Year’s Eve

It was well into mid-morning when Cullen emerged from his bedroom, well rested, washed and dressed comfortably for whatever the day would bring. From the kitchen and living room below he could hear music, the clattering of pots and pans, and Cassandra muttering in her native Nevarran tongue. Her habit of talking to herself was one Cullen found amusing and often teased her about; though he knew if she was speaking Nevarran the reason was probably not a good one.

Making his way down the hall he passed Nevena’s bedroom and saw the door ajar. He took a quick peek inside, saw it was empty and closed the door continuing downstairs. He chose to avoid the kitchen for as long as possible, despite the thought of a hot mug of coffee calling out to him. He ducked into the living room before Cassandra spotted him and roped him into helping.

Varric’s office was a small room that was just off the living room and the door was half-open. Cullen saw his friend in his chair, phone to his ear, two screens alight in front of him. He was talking to someone in a low tone and Cullen couldn’t make out the words. His reason for stopping – Nevena – sat curled comfortably in a large plush armchair, settled in like a cat who had found a sunny spot in which to bask. In one hand she held a stack of papers, what Cullen could only assume was Varric’s newest manuscript, and the other a red mug where she tapped an irregular rhythm with her fingers.

She didn’t notice his arrival, her eyes moving back and forth over the page rapidly. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, eyes wide and gleaming, while she nibbled her bottom lip. Cullen wondered if that was how she always looked when she was reading. So engrossed and as though she was memorizing and absorbing every word and detail on the page. She looked happy, and at home in the big chair that threatened to swallow her. Cullen realised; this was where she belonged. Surrounded by books in warmth and safety, where she could gorge herself on as much literature as she wanted, without the threat or fear of being bullied looming over head.

Cullen approached her, slipping his arms and hands down over the top of the chair to rest upon her shoulders. Nevena jumped slightly, and tipped her head back to look at him. Cullen took the advantage to press a quick kiss to her lips.

“Good morning,” he murmured, lips brushing the end of her nose and her forehead.

Nevena’s expression crinkled into one of contented pleasure. “Morning.”

Not for the first time, Cullen was struck by how easy it was. How simple their relationship had become, and how comfortable he was giving these touches and moments of affection. He loved how openly she accepted them, and how much joy they seemed to give her. He thought if they could begin all their days in this way, with him greeting her like this, then they would be happy days.

“What are you reading?” Cullen came and sat on the arm of the chair. Nevena rose onto her feet and nodded to the space she just occupied. Curious, Cullen slid into it. She started to climb into his lap and he welcomed her doing so. He supported her back with one arm, while she dangled her legs over the opposing arm of the chair. He clutched her waist when she bent to put her mug down on the floor.

“It’s Mr… uh, Varric’s newest book. It’s only a first draft, but he’s letting me to have a look.”

“And?”

“So far, so good.” Nevena shrugged a shoulder. “It’s the next volume of his Swords and Shields series. The last one ended on a cliff hanger, so it’s nice to find out what happens next.”

“Before everyone else.”

Nevena grinned, swinging her legs and returning her gaze back to the pages before her. Cullen reclined against the seat back, casually trailing his fingers along the base of her back beneath her jumper where it had ridden up. He skimmed a few of the sentences on the page in front of her. Despite being close friends, Cullen had only ever read one of Varric’s books. His most popular, Hard in Hightown. And while it was enjoyable, he found it a little farfetched for his tastes. He thought if Nevena owned all of Varric’s books then perhaps he might try reading them again to see what it was about them she enjoyed so much. At least, it made sense for him to read The Viper’s Nest.

“Did you sleep after I left?” Cullen asked after a few minutes of quiet.

“Mhn…” the corner of Nevena’s mouth quirked.

“That doesn’t sound promising.”

“Cassandra came to visit me.” She put the manuscript down in her lap, her expression growing thoughtful. “She went to return something to your room last night and put two and two together when you weren’t there.”

“Oh?” Cullen arched a brow, leaning back. Given Nevena was under the impression Cassandra didn’t like her, he expected more of a reaction from her visiting. Nevena was calm, thoughtful, if anything. “Was she angry? Did she say anything?” He pressed, hoping the answer was no. Or at the very least, they briefly exchanged ‘good mornings’.

Nevena pursed her lips, manuscript now forgotten in her lap as she turned her head to face him and combed her fingers back through his hair. With her head tilted to one side, her expression drawn into one of contemplation she leaned forward and kissed him, curving her hands around his jaw to lift his head. Surprised, but only momentarily, Cullen melted into her, his eyes closing and his hands and arms curving around her body to pull her closer. He breathed steadily, relishing the warmth of her lips and the way she felt in his hands. Each kiss seemed better than the last, and Cullen found himself anticipating them - not wanting them to end.

“That’s…” he chuckled, smiling against Nevena’s lips as she pulled away, “not an answer to the question I asked.”

She brushed her nose against his. “You’re a very lucky man to have someone in your life who cares about you as much as she does.”

“I know.” Cullen cleared his throat, “though I’m now even more curious about what passed between the two of you for you to say such a thing?”

“It’s a secret.” She tapped his lips with her index finger in a gesture of silence. “Maybe I’ll tell you one day.”

“Looks like you’re really enjoying the new book there, Freckles.” Varric’s low laughter broke the warm and cosy atmosphere between Cullen and Nevena. She leaned away, grinning in Varric’s direction. “Not that I blame you, Curly is quite the distraction.”

“M’sorry Varric,” Nevena said, “he wanted to read it.”

“Did he now?” Varric arched a thick brow, “well, sorry to disappoint you Curly, I only allow one person at a time to read my first drafts. Plus, you wouldn’t know what’s going on.”

“I’ll try not to be disappointed.” Cullen retorted with a small, sarcastic grin. “I’m sure your books are a bit too high fantasy for me, anyway.”

“You might find you enjoy them.” Nevena chirped, retrieving the manuscript from her lap. “They’re fun, light-hearted.”

“And there’s some sex thrown in there, too.” Varric added.

“Wonderful,” Cullen sighed through his nose. “Were we disturbing you, Varric?”

“Not at all,” he leaned on the door frame to his office. Cullen realised Varric hadn’t stopped grinning since he entered, and that his expression was smug more than anything else. “Just wanted to make sure you two love birds were comfortable.”

“We’re fine…” Cullen forced back the heat that he could feel beginning to lick up his face.

“Although,” Varric straightened, snapping his fingers as if remembering something, “Freckles, do you mind if I borrow Curly for a minute?”

After a beat or two of surprise, Nevena shook her head. “No, not at all.” She climbed out of Cullen’s lap with his help. He missed her weight immediately, but took solace in the thought he’d return to that comfortable, domestic setting after talking to Varric. “Can I ask a question, though?”

“Of course. Anything for my new favourite proof-reader.”

Cullen got to his feet, “don’t believe him. He says that to everyone.” He told Nevena, smirking in Varric’s direction.

“Don’t lie to the girl, Curly!” Varric jabbed him with his elbow good-naturedly.

“Why do you call Cullen ‘Curly’?” Nevena asked, tapping her bottom lip after settling back into the armchair. “I’ve seen his natural hair, it’s not that curly. I mean, it has a curl to it but it’s hardly his most defining feature.”

“Oh?” Varric laughed, glancing up at Cullen. Cullen quickly rubbed the back of his neck, disliking the glint in Varric’s eye. “What do you think is his most defining feature?”

“Eyes.” Nevena answered, “the day I met him I thought his eyes were kind. That hasn’t changed.” She smiled sweetly at Cullen, meeting his gaze for a moment before dropping her eyes in a coy expression and teasing her hair behind her ear. Cullen felt the flurry of butterflies rise in his stomach, and the dopey smile that took hold of his lips before he could stop it. She liked his eyes… and somehow that was one of the sweetest things he’d ever been told.

“Eyes, huh?” Varric cleared his throat, “well – I’ll bear that in mind. But the Curly thing… Do you want to explain?” Cullen felt Varric’s eyes on him.

“It’s… Varric had the…” Cullen huffed. He rubbed the back of his neck and cleared his throat, “you haven’t seen my hair when it gets humid. It becomes rather… difficult to manage.”

“It turns into a lion’s mane.” Quipped Varric.

“It does not!” Cullen bit back. He took a sharp breath, his cheeks warming when he heard Nevena stifle a giggle. “It… All my family have curly hair. Lots of people do. It’s not exactly unusual.”

“I know it’s not, Curly.” Varric patted him, “but it’s so easy to tease you about it.”

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

“Wish not granted,” Varric gestured Cullen towards his office. “You can have him back in a minute, Freckles.”

Nevena was already settled back into the armchair and finding her place on the manuscript. “Take your time!”

Varric’s office was a room Cullen had only been in a handful of times. One of the smaller rooms in the house, it was lined wall-to-wall with reference books and first edition hard back copies of his own work. There were framed prints of the different book covers neatly displayed in frames above the shelves and a few framed rejection letters that Varric kept to remind him of his roots. His desk looked out over the front garden, the two computer monitors – one currently blank and one showing a webpage – took up most of the space on the desk. There were dried coffee rings covering one specific part of Varric’s work space, too. Cullen knew when a deadline was approaching Varric was no stranger to pulling an all-nighter.

“Y’know, you could have said you guys were a couple.” Varric laughed moving past Cullen to his desk. “Would have saved me an’ Cass setting up a second guest bedroom.”

Cullen felt his face grow hot and quickly averted his gaze to the prints on the wall. “We’re not… I mean, we are but I—It’s early days, Varric.” He cleared his throat, “and I didn’t want you or Cassandra thinking I was taking advantage of her.”

“I don’t think that.” Varric shook his head and sat back in his chair touching his fingertips together. “I knew from the minute you asked about the copy of The Viper’s Nest there was more going on than just a typical client.”

“Hm,” Cullen was still blushing, so he continued to avoid looking at Varric, instead moving around the room and scanning some of the books on the shelves. “Well, it was more Cassandra I was worried about. She… After the phone call on Christmas Day… I didn’t want her to think her advice had fallen on deaf ears.”

“I guess I understand that. She is pretty protective of you… Though whatever Nevena said to her this morning after her run clearly had an impact.”

Cullen faced him. “What did Nevena say? She only said Cassandra went to visit her after I left her room this morning.”

A slow, Cheshire-cat smile came to Varric’s lips, lazy gaze on Cullen. “That’s confidential, Curly.” He said, far too smug. “Needless to say, she’s pretty damn taken with you. Clearly cares about you a lot.”

Cullen glanced at the door to the office. The butterflies returned. “I care about her, too.” Running a hand back through his hair, he laughed. “This is so unlike me. I never go with fast with someone. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

“If I was a cynical man, I’d say it was hormones. But, given that I’m a true romantic at heart, I’m willing to place my bet on love.” Grinned Varric, “but that’s just me.”

Cullen swallowed hard, his throat suddenly going dry. Was it really that obvious? Was it so clear how deep his feelings for Nevena went that his friends could see it? Did that mean she could see it to? Did she know? Did she know, and was she just staying quiet because she didn’t feel the same? His palms were sweaty when he flexed his hands. “Varric— “

“That’s not why I wanted to talk to you, though.” Varric interrupted turning to the screen on his desk that was alight. “You can go back to cuddling in a sec.”

“What did you want to talk to me about?” asked Cullen forcing his anxiety down into his belly. He could dwell on that later. Or not at all, if he had his way.

“There’s some people coming tonight I think you should meet. They’re friends of mine, and I think they could be helpful in either getting you some information about Nevena’s mother, or at the very least, giving you an opportunity to find out information without there being a lot of members of public around.”

“Oh?”

“Their names are Josephine Montilyet and Dorian Pavus. They both work in the Ostwick library archives. Josephine’s the head archivist, and has a background in politics. Dorian is… a bit of a jack-of-all-trades. Knows a lot about everything. Man’s a sponge. Has about four degrees, working toward a fifth.” Varric clicked a few times on the page open before him. Two posed and professionally taken portrait photographs appeared. The first was an attractive young woman with black hair tied back, and gold rimmed glasses on. The second was a man, styled black hair which was shaved at the sides, perfectly curled moustache, and a winning smile.

“Josephine and Dorian?” Cullen squinted at the photograph of Josephine for a moment. “I’ve met her, I think.”

Varric snorted, “yeah. She was there that night we were playing cards. She was the woman wh— “

“Nono—I-I remember… Maker above,” Cullen groaned into his hands. “It would be someone witness to my shame.”

“Yeah,” chuckled Varric, looking at him. “She’s a good sort though – probably won’t bring it up. Dorian has some social and civic specialities. I�� might have explained the situation to them already by email.”

“Varric--!” Cullen groaned. He shouldn’t have mentioned Nevena’s past. He knew Varric wouldn’t be able to keep his mouth closed.

“Hold on, hold on!” Varric lifted his hands as if to placate him. “They’re not going to tell a soul, Josephine is too professional for that, and all Dorian said was that he can relate to having a shitty family life. Anyway, I needed to tell them for the favour I asked.”

Cullen arched a brow, “which is?”

“The two of them are going do to a bit of research on the name Soloman and Trevelyan, gather up what they can. The library is closed over Christmas and New Year’s, not due to open again until the 5th. They’ve agreed to open the doors to you and Nevena specifically, for a couple of hours, on the 3rd. Give you guys a chance to go through anything they find… and if it gets a bit overwhelming for her, then there’s no lookie-loos to stare or watch if she needs a minute or gets upset.”

With a sigh, Cullen ran his hands down his face and then back through his hair again. He wasn’t comfortable with Varric disclosing Nevena’s private history to strangers, but Cullen could hardly blame him. He was doing this out of kindness and to be helpful, and it had been Cullen who talked about Nevena’s past first. The true blame lay with him. Still – having no members of the public around while they looked over information about Miranda would probably be for the best. Cullen wasn’t sure how Nevena would react if they found anything about her at all.

“Alright,” he said after a few seconds. “I’ll tell Nevena myself, I don’t want her hearing this from anyone else.”

“She won’t hear it from me, or Josephine, or Dorian. And Cass doesn’t know.” Varric said, “you can talk to them tonight and go over some of the details I don’t have with them. Then you can spin some tale about how you convinced them to give you and Freckles full run of the library for a few hours.”

“I’m not going to lie to her.”

“It’s not a lie. It’s twisting the truth.”

“She’s been lied to her whole life,” Cullen said stiffly. “I won’t be joining the ranks of people who have been dishonest.”

Varric sighed, “Curly…”

“I’m not ungrateful, Varric. And I know Nevena won’t be either. It’s just a sensitive topic and… I know I shouldn’t have said anything. So… this sits a little odd with me.”

“Pretty sure Nevena will understand. All you did was explain what’s been going on and what brought you all this way.” Varric switched off his screen and stood up out of his chair. He quickly patted Cullen on the arm. “Don’t over think it. Go back to sitting with her and I’ll introduce you to Josephine and Dorian tonight.”

The first of Varric and Cassandra’s guests arrived around that evening. One at a time, and in pairs at first, then a steady stream of people had the doorbell working overtime. Cassandra enlisted Cullen and Nevena’s help in the kitchen throughout the day, and together they managed to put together and lay out an impressive spread of finger food for everyone to nibble on through the evening. Christmas music played from the stereo in the living room, low under the hum of conversation.

Cullen got the impression very quickly that everyone there knew each other in some way. Where ever he looked he saw people embracing and in some cases squealing excitedly when they saw each other. Varric had his hosting hat on, and weaved through the people with himself and Nevena, introducing them to each guest with a quick quip or thoughtful comment. Cullen tried to remember names as best he could, but they began to slip after the tenth or eleventh person he was introduced to.

He was quickly split off from Nevena when she struck up a conversation with a dark-skinned woman about Varric’s books. The woman – Isabela – first complimented Varric on the state of his chest hair which set Nevena off into a peel of giggles. The last time Cullen saw her, she was almost doubled over laughing at something Isabela said.

The amount of people made the whole house feel warmer and Cullen grew a little uncomfortable and sweaty underneath his clothing. The noise didn’t help either, pushing his auditory limits whenever someone talked too loud, or the man with the booming laughter let everyone hear how funny he found a joke. Throughout the earliest part of the evening, Cullen found himself disappearing to the quiet seclusion of the bathroom more than once just to decompress. He was grateful to Varric and Cassandra to their hospitality but was now beginning to wonder if their busy New Year celebrations really suited him.

In the past he either visited his sister in South Reach which was always a simple get together with his other siblings, spent New Year with friends from work, or on his own quietly bringing it in with a beer and whatever he could find on television. Large social gatherings like this were not his forte. He didn’t hate them, he just found them a little draining and his face was already beginning to ache from all the smiling he was doing.

Still, he couldn’t fault Varric for how he and Cassandra celebrated. He wouldn’t. Their way was just different to his. Perhaps the next year he and Nevena could return the hospitality and host Varric and Cassandra for New Year. It would be quieter for certain, but no less enjoyable. Of course, that all depended on where he and Nevena stood in a year’s time. Things were good now because everything was new and exciting and they were still learning about each other. In a year’s time? Six months’ time? That was a mystery to him. He knew there was no point in dwelling on it – no one knew exactly what the future held for any of them. All he could do was hope the next New Year they would be bringing in together.

Around nine o’clock, after reappearing from the bathroom for the third or fourth time, Cullen found himself immediately grabbed by Varric and corralled through the sea of faces, bodies and noise to one of the corners of the living room. Two people stood to one side and he recognised them from the profile photos Varric showed him earlier. The photos did little justice in showing the intelligence behind both pairs of eyes. The woman, Josephine, was smiling and chatting happily with the man, Dorian, but her gaze never remained in one point for long. She wasn’t just looking, she was surveying, measuring up all the guests and learning small details about them they probably didn’t know themselves. The way they stood, or how they held their glass and how those small idiosyncrasies described them to perceptive onlookers. Cullen knew she was doing it, because he did it too – he had done it with Nevena the day they met, watched her as he waited for coffee to measure her up and learn what he could about her from visual cues alone.

Dorian repeatedly held a glass of red wine to his lips but didn’t take a sip, always finding something else to say before he could quench his thirst. He was watching and gauging people just as much as Josephine was, but he attention was more taken by the bookshelf they stood near and the contents on each shelf. He ran long fingers over the spines, the different rings that adorned each finger glistening in the twinkling Christmas lights. The two of them were dressed impeccably, and Cullen found himself wiping his hands on his black jeans knowing he would have to shake hands with them.

Cullen found himself slightly… intimidated as he approached them with Varric. Intelligence was intimidating, and the way these two people looked, in their tailored and likely bespoke clothing had him becoming uncomfortably aware of how untidy he was. He started to consider that perhaps he should have worn a tuxedo to meet them.

It was too late to worry about that now.

“Dorian! Josephine!” Varric called to them over the sound of conversation. The two greeted him with smiles, “this is Cullen who I was telling you about. He can fill in any gaps I left out in the details.” Varric left with a friendly slap on Cullen’s back.

“Nice to meet you,” Cullen feigned confidence as he shook Dorian’s hand first – though his hand seemed more jewellery than flesh - and then Josephine’s to reacquaint himself with her. The only time they’d met before this had been over a year ago and he had not been at his best when a friendly game of cards turned a serious and she took him for everything he was wearing... Literally.

He hoped she wouldn’t bring it up.

Josephine’s expression was warm and open as she smiled and delicate fingers wrapped around his, though there was a playful expression in her eyes that gave Cullen the impression that, yes, she did remember the card game. Cullen noticed the notch against the knuckle of her middle finger – clear signs of almost constantly holding a pen.

Dorian took a sip from his wine glass. “Good to meet you. Dorian Pavus, originally from Minrathous in Tevinter.” He smiled from behind his glass, grey eyes flitting around observing what was happening in the room beyond Cullen.

“It’s good to see you again, Mr. Rutherford,” Josephine’s accent was something Cullen had forgotten. It was strong Antivan and it sounded quite melodic.

“Cullen, please.”

“You know each other?” Dorian asked, looking between the two of them.

“Yes,” Josephine’s disarming smile grew. “Sometime last year. We played cards and Mr. Ruther—oh, Cullen here lost a rather sizable wager.”

Cullen forced a choked laugh. “Uh, yes… Though I lost more of my dignity than anything of real material worth.”

“I would agree with that statement.” Josephine quirked a brow in a coquettish way and then laughed behind her hand. “Not to worry, I have no intention of torturing you with what happened last year. Varric brought us together for an entirely different reason, I believe?”

“Yes.” Dorian drained the wine from his glass. “I admit I didn’t think I’d be working during the holidays, but what Varric described to me sounded very… dramatic. Family intrigue and all that – right up my street! So, how could I refuse?”

“I am grateful to the both of you. I didn’t expect him to call in any favours or— “

“It’s Varric,” Dorian waved a dismissive hand. “He collects favours for occasions such as this.” He placed his glass down on a nearby table and regarded Cullen with his sharp, grey eyes. “So, what is this whole thing? Varric gave us…” he looked at Josephine for a moment while searching for the right way to phrase things, “some information, but it’d be nice to hear the full story from someone directly involved.”

“Yes,” Josephine sipped her wine. “Varric does tend to over-embellish things or leave out the details he does not deem important, and yet those details could be vital to the information we’re looking for. So, can you give us a little more to go on than a deceased family member?”

“Not quite as cloak and dagger as Varric made it sound. I admit to being a little disappointed when he explained a little more when we arrived.” Dorian looked a little put out.

“There’s more to it than a deceased family member,” Cullen breathed out sharply. “It’s… a little sensitive. I don’t really feel like it’s my place to tell you. I’m really second-hand information as much as Varric is.”

“Well, then, perhaps Miss Trevelyan can tell us in more depth.” Josephine smiled.

“Uh…” Cullen’s voice caught in his throat. It was hard to know what information he could and should divulge. After all, these were Nevena’s demons. This was her history they were looking into. Her past, and her true parentage. He could and would support her, but the information needed to come from her. It already didn’t sit right with him that he had explained so much to Varric and Cassandra the previous day. At least they were friends, and he trusted them… But he didn’t know Dorian Pavus or Josephine Montilyet beyond them being friends of Varric’s.

“Is she around?” Dorian craned his neck to look among the faces as if he would be able to spot her on instinct.

“Excellent idea.” Josephine said, “Could you go and get her, she can tell us anything Varric missed out, answer any questions we might have.”

“Ah, yes. I’ll—Just a minute.”

Cullen wandered through the sea of guests, keeping his eyes open for a glimpse of Nevena’s hair, or her face somewhere in the bustle of bodies and voices. She’d been wearing a teal coloured dress, and every time he caught a glimpse of the colour he stopped to double check if it was her or not. He circled the room twice, if not more, and worry started to gnaw away at him when he still hadn’t seen or found her.

He found Cassandra, who told him she saw Nevena go upstairs not long before. The upper floors of the house were out-of-bounds for party goers, so Cullen knew it was quieter up there. That, if Nevena was anything like him, she’d gone up for some peace and to decompress. He followed, pausing outside the door to her bedroom where he could see a light spilling out from underneath.

“Nevena?” he called and knocked at the same time.

“Cullen?” her voice came from within, and then a rustling sound. “You can come in, the doors open.”

He closed the door behind him after entering. Nevena was curled up at the top of the bed, Varric’s manuscript in hand, her legs partly covered by a blanket. She looked cosy and comfortable. Calm. She put the manuscript aside, smiling.

“Hi,” she greeted him, shifting to sit up. She put the manuscript aside. Cullen noticed her skin was a little flushed on her cheeks and her neck.

“Hi…” Cullen smiled, relaxing in her presence and under her gaze. “What are you doing up here? You alright?” He perched at the end of the bed.

“Too many people, and a lot of noise. I just… needed some time to de-stress.” Nevena explained, “everyone is asking me how I know Varric, and you and… It’s a bit much.”

“You’re not alone. I’ve disappeared into the bathroom for some quiet so many times I’m sure some of them think there’s something wrong with me... or the food.” Cullen smiled a little, then clasped his hands together in his lap with a sigh, his expression growing some serious. “Varric introduced me to some friends who work at the Ostwick library, Josephine and Dorian.”

“Oh?”

“The library and public records are closed until January 5th, but Varric being Varric has managed to get them to allow us a couple of hours on the 3rd to look into your family history. Into information about your mother, if you want.”

Nevena ran her teeth over her bottom lip thoughtfully. Uncurling her legs, she stretched and the started to fiddle with a thread from the collar of her dress. “That’s kind of them.” Her voice came out soft, almost as though she was speaking to herself. She stared off into the middle distance, eyes wide and unblinking.

“Nevena,” Cullen moved towards her and reached out to take one of her hands. His touch seemed to jolt her from whatever place her mind had gone, and she quickly covered his hand with her own, smiling attentively. His chest tightened, the words he was about to say tasting like ash in his mouth. “I… yesterday, while catching up with Varric and Cassandra I… I told them what had transpired at Haven. About--”

“--everything?”

He gulped, “yes.”

“It’s okay,” she closed the gap between them, shuffling over the covers on her knees and lifting one hand to cradle his cheek. He leaned into her touch, lips touching the palm of her hand in a brief kiss. “After everything that’s happened, I would have thought you needed someone to offload to. To talk to. Someone impartial to everything that’s happened. I’m not cross.” The vice-like grip of the worry in Cullen’s chest weakened a little. Her touch, the warmth of her skin acted as balm to soothe the anxiety inside him.

“Dorian and Josephine want to meet you. To… go over the details about what they’ll be looking for. I think to narrow things down a bit.” Cullen sighed, “I suppose I didn’t specify to Varric not to go blabbing to anyone else. Honestly, I didn’t think he would, but his effort is coming from a good place. He—“

“It’s okay, Cullen.” Nevena moved closer, curling hair behind his ear in an affectionate gesture that had Cullen’s spine tingling pleasantly. “Everyone has been so welcoming and nice to me, it’s kind of strange to get used to, really. Varric and Cassandra have been so hospitable, letting me stay even though they don’t know me – I think whatever he did, or told them, was what he considered necessary.”

Cullen chuckled, “you give him too much credit.” He rubbed his thumb along Nevena’s knuckles. “Really, you do. He’s a terrible cad. He’s just trying to make a good impression on you.”

“I like your friends, Cullen.” She said, her voice teasing and soft at the same time. “Almost as much as I like you.”

She kissed him, or maybe he kissed her… It didn’t matter, because after a moment they were kissing each other. A pleasant mix of lips, and teeth, and tongues which had Cullen’s task flying from his mind and entirely replaced by Nevena’s mouth on his. Her voice in his ears, the scent of her skin filling his head, and her body filling his hands. The fingers of one of Nevena’s hands slid through his hair, while her other hand curled into the front of his shirt. Cullen shifted, for comfort and to be closer. He shuffled up the bed on his knees realising only when he put a hand out to take his weight that Nevena was lying back, that he was lying above her, slightly elevated, one of her legs between his.

The positioning was not lost on him, and he quickly moved, flopping onto his side choosing to lie beside her, instead. Nevena rolled onto her side so they faced each other. She gently raked her fingers through his hair, fingernails lightly moving over his scalp. The sensation delightful shiver to ripple over his skin, and he quivered at the feeling moving through him, making the hairs on his arms stand straight.

“Is it terrible that I’d much rather spend New Year’s like this?” Nevena snuggled closer to him, sliding one of her legs between his and continuing to wind strands of his hair around her fingers. “It’s kind of boring that I don’t really want to socialise, isn’t it?”

“No,” Cullen sighed. He left one arm lazily draped over her waist, the other curled up under one of the pillows and out of the way. He drew patterns on her back with the tips of his fingers. He remembered being like this with his first girlfriends as a nervous teen. Trying to have a moment of privacy in his busy home, with his siblings yelling at each other and his mother singing off-key in the kitchen. The bedroom door always had to be open. “It’s quite tiring, all those people. I’d be quite content to go to bed now.”

“We sound so old.” Giggled Nevena, “I can’t remember the last time I really did anything for New Years. I think the last few years I just watched the firework display in Denerim on TV and went to bed. This is a nice change of pace, if a little…”

“Draining?”

She chuckled, “yes. A bit.”

Cullen sighed. He could quite easily fall asleep with her right there. The room was warm, the bed was soft and deep, he had Nevena in his arms… It was a tempting thought and his body agreed by the way he could feel his eyelids drooping.

“Were you reading before I disturbed you?” he asked, hoping that speaking might keep him awake.

“More of Swords and Shields.”

“How’s it going? Have the good guys won yet?” he smiled at the slightly reproving looking on Nevena’s face.

“There’s a lot more to it, than that!” She chided, batting his shoulder. “In the last book, the Guard Captain was falsely accused of a murdering the High Magistrate, but was proved innocent in this book by one of her subordinates who she’s been in love with for years!”

“Sounds exciting.”

“It is!” She shoved his shoulder again, “he feels the same! They’ve never done anything about their feelings because of their ranking, but he’s just told her he intends to quit being part of the City Guard because he can’t contain how he feels anymore! All this sexual tension was about to come to a climax – no pun intended – before you came in.”

Cullen doubted Nevena realised how much she lit up when she talked about books. As she regaled him with the plot, he saw her eyes brighten, her cheeks grow red, and her smile become an enthusiastic grin. She was adorable when she was excited. And engaging. And animated. And… she came alive when she talked about the books like enjoyed.

“So, I ruined the good bit?”

“Not really,” she shrugged in her lying down position, “I hadn’t really got very far into it yet.”

“Maybe I should read it first.” Cullen stretched over her, reaching for the manuscript beside her head. “Check it’s suitable for your eyes.”

“Hey-- No! Gimme!” Nevena reached up for the pages as he held them up above her. When she sat up to grab them, Cullen moved quickly away, sitting up to keep them out of her reach. He tried to scan the words on the page but was unable to do so while playing ‘keep away’ and laughing at her grunts of frustration with every failed attempt at retrieval. “Cullen! Give me the pages--!” Nevena leaned across him, grabbing for the manuscript. “You won’t even know what’s happening!”

Cullen laughed, unable to find air to give voice to the words he wanted to say. On his back, his right arm extended over the floor, clutching the pages. His left hand on Nevena’s back holding her steady as she leaned over him to try and take them. The blankets and covers were a tangled mess underneath them now, but Nevena remained determined, trying to take the precious first draft back. Without warning, Cullen lifted it over his head and waited for Nevena to change position to try and take it back. When she did – throwing him a quick, annoyed glare in the process – he tossed it towards the door to the bedroom.

“Why would you do that?!” Nevena tried to scrabble to her feet, the sheets and covers tangling around her legs. Cullen grabbed her hand, pulled her down on top of him and silenced her quickly and a sound kiss, winding his free hand back through her hair.

His laughter dissipated and Nevena relaxed against him, kneeling over him and laying one hand against his chest. When she pulled away, she was breathing hard and still looked a little annoyed. Cullen curled her hair back around her ear.

“You’re rather lovely when you’re angry.” He stated, grinning.

She narrowed her eyes, “you threw it. If the manuscript is damaged, I’m telling Varric it was all you.” She prodded him on the end of his nose. Cullen paid no mind to the idle threat, instead sliding his fingers down her back pressing either side of her spine. Somehow, in the space of a few minutes, all his tiredness had receded, leaving him wide awake and feeling as though he had excess energy to spend. Nevena arched into the touch of his fingers, her eyelids fluttering closed and a deep, contented sigh leaving her. Cullen had been close to her plenty of times before, and each time he found himself examining her features, trying to imprint every freckle and follicle to his memory. For the first time, his eyes were drawn to a sliver of skin that was paler than the rest of her. It disappeared into her hairline and he reasoned was normally obscured which was likely why he’d never seen it before.

“What’s this?” Cullen reached up and ran his thumb along the mark. “A scar of some kind?”

Nevena’s eyes flew open and her body tensed. She quickly rose, kneeling over him and sat back on her haunches, covering the marking with one hand.

Cullen leaned up on his elbows, “sorry, did I do something wrong?”

“No, no,” Nevena puffed her cheeks out, playing with her hair in what he could only assume was an attempt to hide the scar he had discovered. “It’s just, y’know, you came up for a reason and we’ve been up here a while. We’re being rude.”

“I’m sure they don’t mind. There’s plenty of people to keep Josephine and Dorian occupied.” He sat up straight. “You know, there’s something I’ve wanted to ask you about, since Christmas… but it’s not really come up, or felt like a good time. Now… probably isn’t a good time either, but…”

“What is it?”

“Something you said. I think Ineria went to hit you, you grabbed her hand and told her she’d never lay another finger on you… Or words to that effect.” He tilted his head to one side, his gaze on Nevena’s face as she lowered her eyes and her body seemed to shrink. “In the heat of everything I suppose I didn’t pay them much mind, but… then, when we met with Nevan you mentioned more of it. Visits to the emergency room. More physical abuse…”

“I was serious when I said she was a bully.” Nevena sighed, twisting her fingers in her lap. He watched Nevena close in on herself. Watched as she grew smaller before his eyes. Smaller, and weaker, and more afraid. “It wasn’t just mental or emotional, it got physical a lot, too. And she’s twelve years older than me. She was bigger and stronger than me… And no one ever stepped in.”

“Nev…”

She lifted one hand and touched the thin mark in her hairline. “This was one of her… she threw a rock at me one summer, it was in a clump of dirt, but she knew there was a rock... She knew. I must have been six… maybe seven. I had to have stitches. She told everyone I fell down the patio steps. She pushed me down the stairs in the house more than once. One time I landed and fractured my wrist. She used to scratch, and hit, push me into stuff, and pull my hair or put stuff in it…” Nevena sat back. She’d started scratching the backs of her hands and Cullen reached across to try and stop her. “No one did anything… I was so scared of her when I was a kid. I never understood why she hated me so much.” Her shoulders rose in a small shrug. She looked at Cullen with a grim, mirthless smile. “I guess I do now.”

“You never have to put up with her again, if you don’t want to.” Cullen slid his thumb over her knuckles. On her left hand. “She can’t get you anymore.”

“I know,” a brief smile flickered across Nevena’s lips. “It just… I was a kid. No one ever stepped in to help me. Ineria was just so perfect. Couldn’t put a foot wrong, and it was just Nevena being clumsy. Nevena has another graze on her elbow – must’ve fallen over. She’s split her lip again – obviously biting too hard. Nevena has a lot of bruises popping up on her legs and her neck – she must just be walking into things. I heard all the excuses so many times and no one listened when I said it was her.”

Cullen exhaled, his chest tight and his throat closing as though it was swollen and full. He hadn’t meant to bring up such a heavy topic from something as innocuous as a scar he never noticed before. He was under no illusion that Ineria was nasty and had been physical when Nevena was younger, he never expected the extent of it, or how people around her so obviously neglected to do anything about it.

He kissed her hand and leaned closer, pressing his forehead against the side of her temple. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s funny,” Nevena continued, quickly wiping her eyes with her hand where they had started to water, “well, not really. Morbid, actually – but I always wondered who was worse, Ineria or Rick. I would wonder if I was safer with Rick than with Ineria… I still don’t know, to this day.”

“You don’t need to think about it ever again.” Cullen explained, swallowing thickly, “you’re with me, and you’re safe. Neither of them are ever going to touch you again. Not if I can help it.”

He saw the ghost of Nevena’s smile before she closed the little space between them and kissed him. This time, he knew she kissed him, and he was taken aback by it. By the intensity of it, and how she curled her fingers into the front of his shirt while seeking to deepen the connection caught him off guard. He recognised this… This pattern. This habit. How she used physical gestures like a kiss to distract. Or perhaps she was seeking reaffirmation? He wasn’t sure what the tactic was – a form of defence maybe? – he only knew he didn’t like it. He liked kissing Nevena, that was certain, but not when there was some ulterior motive behind it.

“Holdon- hold on—“ Cullen pulled away, sitting back so she couldn’t simply pursue and kiss him again. Nevena’s gaze was confused and she bit the corner of her lip. “Why do you do that?” He kept his hands to himself, even though he wanted to reach out and offer reassurance when she began to tug at her sleeve.

“Do what?”

“That.” Cullen wafted his hand between them, “I don’t mean… After everything on Christmas day, and when you spoke to your dad… When something… difficult – for lack of a better word – comes up, you resort to kissing me or some kind of physical gesture. Why is that?”

“Why do you think?” Nevena snorted, almost rolling her eyes.

Trying not to bristle at her dismissiveness, Cullen took a slow breath. “My first thought would be it has something to do with your ex.“

“You’d be right. After every… fight, every argument, every blazing row, every event that reduced me to tears he would… The only way he said I could make things better was by… was through… sex, I guess. Eventually it grew to be a constant thing. I guess he conditioned me into it.” She sighed sharply through her nose. “He’s in practically everything I do.”

“That’s not true.”

“You don’t know what it’s like…” Nevena continued as though Cullen hadn’t spoken. She was staring into nothing, eyes wide, her expression one of utter fear as she witnessed something rising from the depths of her memory. “To be forced into-- to perform acts of-- to be… told you’re nothing. To be told that your worth is only in how you can please someone through sex. To have your own body used against you… You can’t know what it’s like to tend the bruises and the soreness and the cuts when he’s finally asleep or when he’s left. To train yourself to cry in silence so he doesn’t get angry again…” Tears in her watering eyes spilled down her cheeks. “What it’s like to hate yourself.”

A sense of disgust over took all of Cullen’s senses. Anger mixing with it, turning into a rage he controlled with deep breathing. Whatever Nevena was remembering he couldn’t take it away. He hated that. Hated how he couldn’t erase the pain of her past. He hated how was the one to cause her to remember this pain and this anguish. More than anything, he despised that man who put her through it all in the first place. The man who drew blood. The man who forced her into anything, who turned Nevena into someone who was afraid and trapped. He made her believe all her value lay in her body and what she could do to satisfy him when nothing could be further from the truth. Cullen swallowed his anger, his disgust, forcing it down like bitter bile and centring his mind on more calming thoughts.

He touched Nevena’s hand, and she started blinking hard and quickly glancing around the room. “Nev—"

“I’ll try not to… If we have serious conversations.” She interrupted, pulling her hand away and wiping her cheeks. “I’ll try not to resort to,” she waved her hand vaguely, “that.”

Cullen wasn’t sure where her head was. Wasn’t sure if she was angry, insulted, embarrassed or afraid. Her expression betrayed nothing, and her voice was still when she spoke, almost robotic. He reached out towards her, but she moved out of his reach as she got to her feet. “I wasn’t trying to—“

“I know.” She replied, picking up the manuscript from the floor.

“Nevena,” Cullen got to his feet and followed her. “Talk to me. I don’t want you to bottle things up.”

“I’m not. There’s nothing to talk about. It’s a thing I do. It annoys you, I won’t do it again.” The sharpness in her voice surprised him.

“It doesn’t annoy me.” He said more gently, following her to the dressing table where she placed the manuscript down. He kept some distance between them, making sure not to crowd her and held his arms by his sides, his posture as relaxed as possible. “I asked only because I was curious if there was a reason.”

“You can pretty much put a lot of my weird behaviour down to Rick.”

“We should talk about it.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Hey Freckles, is Curly in there with you?” Varric’s voice came through the door accompanied by a quick knocking. Nevena turned to face the door, briefly exchanging glances with Cullen.

“Yeah, he’s in here with me.”

“Okay, well – whenever you two are ready, Josephine and Dorian are waiting to meet you to talk about plans for the library. They’re going to be leaving after the fireworks go off, so you’ve got a bit of time.”

“Alright, thanks Varric. We’ll be down in a sec.”

“Take your time.”

Cullen listened for the sound of Varric disappearing down stairs but any footsteps were drowned out by the music and conversation filtering up the stairs and audible through the door and the floor. He and Nevena stood in a heavy, stagnant silence, Nevena staring at the door while Cullen watched her. After a few moments of nothing but breathing, he saw her square her shoulders and take a deep breath – as he had seen her do before in Haven. Was she putting on the same face here?

“We should go and talk to these people. We’re being rude.” She left the room without another word, leaving their conversation unfinished and unsaid words hanging cold and empty in the air. Lingering in the bedroom wasn’t helping in the least. Cullen could only hope that later, perhaps the following day with the New Year fresh as newly fallen snow, he and Nevena might be able to finish what they started and begin making new habits.

Fun fact of the day: this chapter almost made me give up on this fic. I was stuck on this chapter for what felt like months. In fact, I think it was months. I wasn't sure the direction I wanted to go, and every time I tried to write it, I just got stumped. I eventually had to take a break from writing the fic. I think I was burned out a bit and needed to take time to figure it out. So, it's lucky that I wrote ahead of myself and kept plenty of buffer chapters!

That said, I hope you enjoyed this chapter (as much as you can, at least). The nice fluffy start and the... less fluffy ending. Poor Cullen... and poor Nevena. They never quite seem to get a break, do they? To be fair, it was necessary for Cullen to say something about the way she handled stress. It wasn't the most healthy, but I doubt he imagined it would unleash such a can of worms.

Do you think Cullen did the right thing in bringing up her coping mechanism? Do you think Nevena might have over-reacted a touch? Varric getting Josephine and Dorian involved - helpful or interfering? How do you think this is going to get resolved? Would you want to be a guest at a New Year's Eve party hosted by Varric? I sure would.

Please, please let me know what you think in the comments, in tags or in reblogs or on AO3 if you prefer to read there.

Your comments and readership genuinely mean the world to me, and I know this fic is a slog. I know the chapters are long and the updates are really sporadic - I really do appreciate the people who come back and read the new chapters, and who reread chapters, and who leave their thoughts. It's so important to me as a writer to get your feedback. Without it, I'm basically screaming into the void, so please never feel like you're a bother for commenting, or that your comments don't mean anything. They do. They keep writers driven and they feed us. And you matter. I mean that emphatically. You matter, not just as a reader and a commenter, but as a person. And when you comment, we get to make a connection, person to person. And that's wonderful!

So, please let me know your thoughts. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I'll see you in the next update. - Bluster

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ovmatt-blog · 5 years ago

Quote

Chapter 5. The meeting with Eirene Clarine

6 a.m. – the face of my wristwatch was glowing eerily in the early-morning darkness. I was sitting on the steps of Wight Tower in the thick autumn darkness, still not believing that I had managed to return from Ireland in time. The Tower lobby behind my back was a luminous oasis, shining queerly behind the glass doors, promising warmth and shelter from the cold darkness…

At 8 a.m. sharp I was sitting in front of MAGI HR manager, staring at her. I had never seen such radiant hair, such glowing nails, and such stresses, sparkling upon her inch-long eyelids.

She smiled at me, and to my astonishment, I observed two even rows of white glistening pearls in her mouth. Deeply shocked, I could not speak a word, while she jabbered, “Cassandra is on vacation, you see, so I will deal with you instead… Well, this is your Contract and Confidentiality Agreement… Please, read it and if you have no questions, please sign here and here.” She handed a big rolled piece of parchment to me.

I flickered diagonally over the lines, wandering to the bottom of the parchment, but it unrolled and unrolled…

Witnesseth that the said Robert Lex Orion doth put himself an Intern (hereinafter Intern) to the said MAGI (hereinafter Company) to work in Management Consultancy the term of twelve months for the sum of … pounds lawful money during a probationary three months period and for the sum of …, assigns in all manner of lawful employment … beginning the 22 day of September… during which time the said Intern the said Company faithfully shall serve, the Company secrets keep, the Lawfull Commands of the Senior employees Obey, health&safety policy Adhere to. He Shall not Absent himself unlawfully from his Company Service Day or Night, with magic Artefacts, i.e. magic rods, swords… cursed artefacts, i.e. Nibelungen Gold…, Magic Creatures, i.e. Werewolves, Dragons…, bewitched Elements, i.e. Lightning, Floods … without preliminary safety training, but in all things as a Faithfull Intern he shall behave himself towards the said Company during the said Term...

… AND the said Company Best means it shall Teach and Instruct the said Intern the Art and Mystery of Magic AND doth hereby Promise and Oblige itself to provide for the said Intern the working conditions that Health and Safety Requirements Satisfy and against industrial injuries and occupational disease Guard. During the probationary period thes Employment may be terminated by either the said Company or the said Intern. …at the expiration of his term of servitude the said Company obligeth itself to pay unto the said Intern what the law allows in such cases & agreements . . . London, Isle of Dogs, 22nd Day of September…

I raised my eyes to the HR, “The wording is a bit odd … And September 22nd was yesterday…”

“Oh, never mind, the HR assistant is accustomed to the old-fashioned formulae! No wonder, as she has been working here for centuries! And the contract was prepared yesterday, the day of the autumnal equinox! Such an enigmatic day!” her pearls flashed at me in a wide smile.

I shuddered, recollecting the previous “enigmatic” night, and affixed my signature to the bottom of the parchment, which then rolled up by itself and faded into the air. While I was observing the phenomenon, she asked, “Whom should I put as a designated beneficiary in your life insurance policy?”

“Pardon?” I returned to reality.

“Why, the life insurance policy is issued for every MAGI employee as one of your employment benefits. So I need to put in the name of the person who would benefit from the insurance policy in case…”

“Okay, write in my grandaunt,” I snapped nervously, just wanting to be done with it, and spelled my auntie’s name out for her.

“Well, then we have finished… You will be informed about the start of your classes later on.”

“Finished? But… Well, I remember Cassandra mentioning I would be paid a relocation allowance the day I sign the Contract…”

“Cassandra said this?” She looked puzzled, “Well, according to our rules, the relocation allowance is paid with the employee’s first salary… Anyway you should wait until your bank card is issued…”

What could I say? It was a terrible blow! I hoped to get this money from MAGI as I couldn’t take anything from home, as there was nothing to take from there…

… I stood in the street under the autumn sun, recollecting the formulae of the contract… During the probationary period thes employment may be terminated by either said Company or said Intern… The wind was swirling the fallen leaves under my feet. Should I leave right now? Terminate the contract? Suddenly the tightly furled scroll appeared in the air and was suspended directly in front of my nose. And then the parchment, yellowish in hue and looking so ancient, as if it was going to turn to ashes, unfurled before my eyes and a sweet female voice sang the words, appearing line by line on the paper:

Magic Fundamentals classes

will be held at 2 p.m.

in Conference Room 5005,

50th floor, MAGI

Best wishes,

Training Department

I stopped, staring at the parchment in amazement and rereading the lines. The parchment hang in the air for a few more seconds and then rolled back and faded.

It was lunch time but as I was sparing each penny I decided to skip it and have a walk instead. At the appropriate time I set off for the first class, slightly dizzy with hunger…

At 1.45 p.m. I knocked on the white glass doors on the 50th floor. The receptionist smiled to me and the doors clicked open. There stood a guideboard with an arrow indicating the direction to conference room 5005. I went along the corridor until I reached the open-doored room. I entered and … who did I see? None other than rosy-cheeked Tin-Tin, swallowing the piles of double-decker sandwiches at the counter in the rear of the room! And with his mouth packed to final point, he still managed to chat with a bunch of guys!

He noticed me, waved his hand and lisped: “‘Obin, ‘ome ‘ere, ‘ere izz fee food!” “He means ‘free food,’ a blond guy with Ancient Greek statue features and perfect muscles burst out laughing. Then he stretched out his hand, “My name is Laska Valentine.”

“Laska?” my eyebrows lifted upwards.

“Yeah, shortened from Lasquar.”

“And I am Max Vitta,” a slim guy of medium height with curly chestnut-coloured hair and attentive dark eyes turned to me, holding a sandwich in his hand. His grammar was perfect and his very appearance indicated strictness. “Ernst Herbst,” introduced himself. He was the tallest of the guys with a very intelligent austere-featured face. Having noticed a bewildered expression on my face, he added, “Relax, friends call me Ernie...”

“Robin Orion,” I shook the hands of all of them and sprinted to the plate of sandwiches, cursing myself for not coming earlier. “What is the tastiest stuff here?” I nudged Tin-Tin and he started describing the ingredients with an expert air, evidently experiencing gastronomic pleasure, “Hawaiian avocado-and-mango roast beef sandwiches, Corsican rucola-and-peach chicken sandwiches, Mediterranean olive-and-lettuce salmon feta sandwiches…”

“Instead of all these sandwiches should have made Caprese,” snarled Max.

“Caprese, what’s that?” all the guys turned to him.

“It’s as simple as sliced fresh mozzarella, tomatoes, basil and olive oil.”

“Oh…”

“As it features the colours of the Italian flag: green, white, and red, it’s one of the most popular dishes in Italy!”

“Oh, you are from Italy?” everybody became interested.

“Well, my Mum is Italian, and Dad – Norwegian,” the answer followed.

“Cool! I’ve heard about Neapolitan pizza Margherita with the same colours!” Tin-Tin got excited.

“And Farfalle with tomato, spinach and plain flavours, sold together in a mix?”

Stuffing my mouth with all of this food and flooding it with sparkling sweet beer, I looked round the room. It was a hall of generous proportions, and its white walls and ceiling were gleaming slightly. Two lines of white wooden chairs, eight in each row, their bottoms and backs upholstered with dark blue velvet, were standing in the centre of the room.

“Tin-Tin, where do you live? I need to find a place to stay until I get my first wages…”

“They haven’t paid you the relocation allowance? The same story with me and Max. Only Ernie was lucky and caught Cassandra before she left for vacation and she ordered the accounting department to pay him his money in full…”

“Yeah, it was pure luck. And in several days I managed to find and rent an apartment,” said Ernie bit a piece of chicken happily, while everyone was watching him enviously.

“Why, we live in a hostel. Do you want us to show it to you tonight?” Max smiled gently.

“Wha —? Yeah, of course!” I jumped up excitedly.

“Well then, we’ll go after the classes. Don’t worry.”

“Cheers, Max! Blimey, that’s a load off!”

“Ha-ha-ha!” unpleasant laughter startled us and made us turn around. “You guys live in a hostel? And what hole have you come to the City from?” a tall fragile girl with long pure-white hair and eyes of blue ice asked mockingly, holding her sides with laughter.

Tin-Tin’s face immediately turned red and he blurted out, “It’s not your business, herring.” The smile faded off the girl’s face and her eyes narrowed. “No one has ever dared to talk to me like this before,” she said through gritted teeth.

“There's always a first time.” Several guys standing nearby laughed at Tin-Tin’s remark.

“Do you even know who I am? If you did, you wouldn’t be so brave, dunce,” the girl’s eyes nearly iced over. The temperature dropped.

“Whoa, we're so scared,” I jumped into the conversation.

“Yeah, desperately afraid,” Ernie echoed me.

“Oh, guys, you are maybe the bodyguards of this hop-o'-my-thumb?” Iceeye jeered.

Tin-Tin blushed so deeply that he was the same colour as the tomato from the famous caprese salad, but before he could open his mouth to respond to the insult himself, Laska, who was contemplating the squabble, leaning against the wall and chewing gum, intervened, “Hey, hey! Certainly, we all want to know who the Fair Lady is. You really managed to advance our mediocre level of intelligence. The whole room just lit up the moment you spoke. So tell us your name, the girl of my dreams?”

“Jess, you did find common topics to twaddle about with these tramps?” a pale lad came on to the scene. He looked a bit dishevelled – his raised white-blond hair was standing up like wheat sprouts in a field. “Great outfit,” his eyes flit over my ripped jeans “have you bought it for handouts?”

I rushed towards him, but ran into Laska, who moved so close to the Iceeye that his face was some inches from hers, “Jess? And what is your full name?”

“I won’t tell you, a blatant dolt!” she snarled, hiding a smile, and strode away, having pushed him with her shoulder. Having followed her with my eyes I continued observing the lads and ladies entering the room, and then I almost choked, as among them was… last night’s Greeneye from the Firefly Valley! Her brow lacked a flashing jewel and her dress was a simple white tunic, but her jolly dimples, brilliant green eyes, sunny smile…

I was coughing so loudly that she cast a glance at me and then turned away without interest. Having at last cleared my throat, I asked Laska, standing next to me, “Do you know her?”

“Who?”

“That blonde in the white tunic…”

“Why… No, I see her for the first time. By the way, she is cool… but this get-together has other beauties that deserve attention!” And he winked at me as he marched off.

Meanwhile, all present were taking their seats – I had never seen so many beautiful and strange people at once. While I was pondering this, a young woman in a dark blue swishing dress of silk with a long skirt, sweeping the floor, entered the room. Her long hair, shining as gold, was arranged into a huge bulk of tight locks, curling in all directions and composing a feet high and two feet long flowing lion's mane. A deep look from her sparkling sapphire eyes met the eyes of each of the sixteen students in turn, then she smiled and said in a warbling voice, “My name is Eirene Clarine, I am a Partner at MAGI and your tutor. Let’s get acquainted… I will tell you ten facts about me and you will guess which of them are true and which are false.” The sound of her voice made the impression of little bells ringing. Meanwhile, she went on, “So, let’s start. The first fact – I panned gold in the goldfields of Greenland. Is it true?”

Tin-Tin and I exchanged smiles. What could this refined lady do in the goldfields? Apparently the rest of the students held the same viewpoint, as “no” and “it’s false” resounded all around. “Still it’s true!” laughed Eirene, “Consulting projects at gold-mining companies are quite common at MAGI. The next one – I tamed lions in the Argentinian selva.”

I glanced around. The students were exchanging panicked looks. Projects in the Argentinian selva also are quite common? Muttering and whispers swept along the rows, but nobody was hurrying to say anything aloud.

“Don’t think so long! Any guesses?” Eirene gave us a sort of inquiring look. “Yes”, “no”, “no”, “yes” – opinions were divided. “It’s false! I have never been there!” confessed Eirene and went on, “I have lived in the polar circle…” The atmosphere grew relaxed and cries “no”, “no”, “no” could be heard.

“You are wrong and it’s true!” Eirene was grinning at us, “Once I went to Salekhard on a business trip. It’s the only town within the polar circle. And as the project lasted longer than had been expected, I spent there several months... Okay, the next one, I wield a sword equally well in both hands.”

The muttering came to an abrupt end. Students looked taken aback. What is going on? What is this lady talking about? Could fencing be her hobby? I couldn’t decide what to say and said nothing.

In the reigning silence, Eirene looked at us with laughing eyes, “Okay, I’ll answer this myself – it’s true and soon you would also be able to do this!”

Hues and clamour arose and nobody in fact cared her, while she asked the next riddle, “I am the descendant of one of the MAGI founders.” Students were discussing aloud the necessity of martial arts training, while Iceeye exchanged a significant glance with her neighbour, who had tilted her head to the side, coiling a ripe-wheat lock round her finger.

Probably Eirene was in a hurry, as having not awaited for the answer, she went on, “I can speak chirptongue…”

Every head turned to her, the silence only being broken by somebody’s noisy breathing. “No, you are joking, this can’t be the truth!” exclaimed a curly-headed chap, grinning from ear to ear. Eirene smiled in reply, “You are right, I am joking. But it doesn’t mean that this doesn’t happen!”

“What does she mean?” murmur swept along the rows again. The students put their heads together, whispering their concerns in each other’s ears.

Then she asked the next riddle, “I hear what a stream babbles about…” And suddenly, something happened with me, in my imagination I travelled to the dense deciduous wood, overwhelmed with bright sunlight… The birds’ singing, entwined with the sweet melody of the little bells, filled the forest. A crystal clear stream was flowing gaily across the glade. In its purl the whispering voices were speaking about distant journeys…

“Yeah, it’s true,” my own voice said those words. Eirene looked into my eyes with her dark blue wells. I was hypnotized, fascinated… then it was gone… I glanced around. Eirene was looking to the side, “I have witnessed the fall of Rome.”

Dead silence followed this statement. A cold and slithery snake crept into my soul and the grin slid off my face. Tin-Tin stole a frightened look at me. Everyone looked scared. “Oh, guys, do you believe the tales? I am not so old,” Eirene burst out laughing, “Okay, but enough about me. Now I would like to ask all of you to state your name and tell a few words about yourself. Would you mind if we started with you?” she said to the guy sitting on the left side of the first row, who appeared to be wheat-sprouted Jess’s defender. Hastily, I found a scrap of paper and a ballpoint pen and got prepared to copy the names down as I was very bad with names.

The wheat-sprouted guy, exhaling arrogance in every syllable, started, “My name is Vlad Valdash. My family owns an ancient Castle in Rumania…” But I was staring at his neighbour. Laska was right – beautiful lasses were not in short supply here. She had a perfect oval face with an ideal straight nose, almond-shaped eyes with long eyelashes that cast a shadow on her high cheekbones, seeming to be hewn of stone, and full lips, resembling bean pods, shining-creamy in hue. I had never seen such lips and much later I learnt that she never used make-up. This was a principle of hers, and her name was – “Camilla Eel” – which she spoke in a rich voice, “my Mum is the owner of a luxury Fashion House and I …” But before she had finished the sentence, Iceeye (Laska had far-sightedly taken his place near her) introduced herself in a cold arrogant voice, “Jessamine Gevellin.”

“Gui Shantolier,” a guy spoke through his nose, looking like a French aristocrat, but of quite repellent appearance. “My father is French and my dream is to enter the Sorbonne…” Peroxide blonde with mild features, giggling at something with a stupid expression, he was whispering non-stop in her ear, squeaked her name, “Letisia Cay!” and giggled foolishly again, showing her wonderfully even teeth to a fellow to her right. This was a short pumped-up bloke with blond hair, matching his light skin, splashed with freckles, an impudent glance of innocent blue eyes and sensual full lips, that voiced, “I’m Leslie Bello and I go in for body-building…” And with his shameless eyes he had almost devoured Greeneye, who appeared to be called, “Leda Winegrain!”

But I had to divert my attention from them, as my jolly black-haired and crystal-blue-eyed neighbour said, “Diana Dankwert…” And then I focused on a plump jet-eyed and jet-haired Oriental beauty, who was flapping her arched jet black mascara’d lashes like wings. I copied down, “Guiselle Liaison,” and looked at a fellow sitting to her left. That was the curly-headed chap, who hadn’t believed Eirene. A trifle simple, he seemed to be a laid-back guy, relaxed and easy-going, a goofy grin wandering across his thin lips. He introduced himself in a slightly hoarse voice, “Sebastian Gram,” and suddenly burst into contagious laughter. Everybody stared at him, also beginning to smile… Next to him sat a tall, thin fellow, his hair so red that it seemed to be set in flames. “Melwin Medwin,” he creaked and it was Tin-Tin’s turn.

When I copied down successfully all the names, Eirene said, “Now we will glance back at history for a while… There are four departments in MAGI – Murmaiden, Axamit, Gevellin and Ironsky, named after their Founders – great Wizards and Fays – Aquilline Murmaiden, Lato Axamit, Ruby Gevellin and Irik Ironsky.” The names of the departments developed in the air, written in golden letters, and hung there, slightly quivering. Eirene went on, “Maybe some of you know that the first letters of the department names form the acronym MAGI, which is the name of our company”. The first letters of the surnames flew to front and composed the word MAGI. “There is a legend about the founders of the company, according to which they united their talents and efforts, establishing a consultancy, dealing with magic matters, which became famous due to the outstanding skills of its founders,” and she half-recited, half-sang the verses:

Bird with iron wings

Soars through the sky in rings.

Doors he never knocks,

His whizz opens locks.

Weaver’s golden thread

Streams the river’s bed.

Looking through the ground,

He may treasures count.

Maid with gleaming scales

Wanders under waves,

Murmurs soft to sole,

Reading mortal souls.

Jeweller’s fine craft –

Giving stones his mind,

Searching artefacts,

Gets to mountains hearts.

Wonder skills alliance,

Magic knowledge science.

Fair code and ethics

Made the MAGI basics.

“As is told in the legend, Aquilline Murmaiden was a mermaid with the ability to “look into a human soul”, Lato Axamit was a golden weaver, able to find any hidden treasure, Ruby Gevellin was a famous jeweller, capable of adding magic components to gorgeous jewellery, thus endowing it with magical powers, and Irik Ironsky could turn himself into an iron bird and walk through walls... Throughout the centuries MAGI has been helping its clients to solve ticklish issues, i.e. finding lost treasures and creating magical artefacts…”

The students were sitting as quietly as mice, and all ears, while Eirene went on, “What is MAGI nowadays? Each department specializes in a specific area: Gevellin deals with magic artefacts, the Ironsky department copes with magic creatures, Axamit seeks out charmed gold and treasures, Murmaiden masters the Elements… The projects vary from taming miracle creatures to the stock-taking of magic treasures… Today you will start the five-week long Magic fundamentals course and you will pass the exam at the end of the course, which will show whether your skills suit MAGI. Then all of you will work on the projects till the New Year… You will participate in one or maybe two projects and your Seniors will estimate your performance and thus your internship will end with you being promoted to business analysts or leaving the company after the New Year…”

The statement hit like a bombshell. A sigh swept along the rows. Ignoring any reaction to her words, Eirene continued with her speech, “Now I’ll tell you about the career path at MAGI with the example of an ice-cream cake. As intern, you will mostly study on site and will be responsible for specific components of a project, such as conducting interviews and developing the knowledge of the clients' critical business issues. With your findings you will help the team identify the cause-and-effect relationships in the Client’s business.” With these words, she erected four ice-cream mountains on an invisible plate floating in the air, “pistachio flavour for Murmaiden, mango flavour for Axamit, strawberry flavour for Gevellin and bog whortleberry flavour for Ironsky.” Then she went on, “As an analyst, you will be given greater autonomy and responsibility in the projects. You will analyse clients' business issues and their performance, identifying their vulnerabilities and fragilities, as well as strengths and opportunities, and suggest solutions to problems.”

She poured pistachios, mango pieces, strawberries and bog whortleberry and vanilla syrup on each mountain. And when the sun suddenly popped up from behind the cloud and smiled through the windows, the mountains glistened in its bright rays.

Meanwhile Eirene went on, “After three years of project work, having acquired successful experience on the projects, you will be promoted to consultant. You will be challenged to take charge of complex aspects of team work – from performing profound analysis of the insights to conceptualizing solutions to cases and proposing ways to implement them.”

She topped the mountains with mint, melon, wild strawberry and black currant flavoured ice-cream and added marzipan paste to the green mountain, caramel to the yellow mountain, whipped cream to the pink mountain and liquid chocolate to the blue mountain.

“In the next three years you will be promoted to Manager, leading project. And your new challenge will be to coach and motivate project team members and guide the work of the whole team. You will sleep less and less, keeping one eye on the big picture and the other on the details. You will ensure that the project is delivered on time and within budget, while creative solutions to complex problems are developed.” She spri cashew nuts on the marzipan, waffle balls on the caramel, coconut shavings on the whipped cream, and crackers on the liquid chocolate.

“And one day you will be asked to become a Partner… What will you do then?” She paused, “You will be developing the company strategy, defining its culture and identity, with a focus on building client relationships…” She added marshmallow to cashew nuts, tangerine jam to waffle balls, fruit-paste sweets to coconut shavings and raisins to crackers. Now it was difficult to understand, whether these were icy mountains or a palace with towers and turrets in miniature.

“But that'll be a long, long ways off… So let’s return to more short-term matters. Being promoted to analyst, you will need to choose the department where you will work after the New Year. Now take your chance and, while I’m here, ask me any questions to learn more about each department. And by the way, enjoy the cake, and maybe its flavour will help you to decide what your department will be – pistachio and mint flavour with marzipan paste, cashew nuts and marshmallow for Murmaiden, mango and melon flavour with caramel, waffle balls and tangerine jam for Axamit, strawberry and wild strawberry with whipped cream, coconut shavings and fruit-paste sweets for Gevellin and bog whortleberry and black currant flavour with liquid chocolate, crackers and raisins for Ironsky…”

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forthelulzy · 6 years ago

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Heaven By Violence: Chapter 3

Such are promises! All lies and jests Still a man hears what he wants to hear And disregards the rest — “The Boxer”, Simon & Garfunkel

“Varric Tethras. I knew I had heard that name.”

The dwarf in question glances up from the fire, gesturing with his flagon. “Really, Stormy? You didn’t recognize me immediately? You wound me.”

The bags under Irene’s eyes could carry an Orlesian’s powder kit, he sees, but at least she’s still standing. Her hands are on her hips, and she’s blinking at him, clearly taken aback by his jest. She’s been cloistered in with the advisors too much of late, he supposes. Today, two meetings. The rumor is they’re trying to figure out a way to get Chantry support in the wake of Roderick’s denouncement of the Inquisition. It’s all above Varric’s pay grade, but he is curious how it will turn out. He’s already taking notes, after all.

“I don’t read a lot of fiction,” she says at last.

“Okay, most of my stuff is fiction, yeah. But Tale of the Champion? All true! Mostly true.”

“Tale of the Champion…” she repeats, rolling the title around in her mouth. Varric is tempted to joke about her literacy, but that would probably be a bad idea. “That was the one about Hawke, right? Cassandra mentioned something about him.”

“Yep. Seeker was looking for him before the Conclave, wanted him to lead this Inquisition. Until I said I had no idea where he was, and then you fell out of the sky.” He would go into more detail about Cassandra’s rough treatment, but there will be plenty of opportunities for that.

Irene’s eyes narrow. “Until you said you had no idea where he was.”

“Shit, Stormy! Not you too!” he deflects. He reminds himself that though Irene looks like nothing but a thug, he still needs to be careful. “Look, even if I did know where he was, I’d rather have you than him any day. I respected the man, sure, but he and I weren’t exactly the best of friends. He got shit done, but he left a lot of bodies in his wake. Allies’ bodies.” Varric still doesn’t know why Cassandra was so eager to find Hawke; it was all in the book. He spared no one, and Hawke had — has — a lot to answer for.

“He killed his own allies?”

Varric sighs, gulps the rest of his ale. “Not directly, but yes. He sold an escaped slave back to his magister master, after leading him on for years. I thought they had a nice romance going on, right up until the betrayal. He did a lot of backstabbing, towards the end. The only person he didn’t stab — literally, or figuratively — was the guy who blew up the Chantry.” The sick smile on Hawke’s face as it had all unraveled… Practically congratulating a resigned Anders, encouraging him to run. No one had seen it coming. Meredith wasn’t the only lunatic in Kirkwall, she was just worse at hiding it.

Irene’s face has gone through an interesting array of emotions while he’s been talking: disbelief, surprise, anger, disgust. He’s grateful she’s so bad at hiding them. “I can’t… Why?”

It’s not a rhetorical question, but he can only shrug and look down into his empty flagon. “I’ll need a lot more ale to even begin to speculate. Join me if you like?”

She twitches, like he’s just suggested drinking literal dragon piss, says her goodbyes quietly and continues on her way down to her cabin. Varric shakes his head. Irene Trevelyan may be unstable, especially with so much pressure on her, but she is no Garrett Hawke and for that, he could almost thank the Maker.

~o~O~o~

The Hinterlands are huge and strangely boring for a battlefield. Varric wants nothing more than to get what they need — Mother Giselle — and go, but Irene rallies further as the days pass, and he can’t complain about her wanting to help people. Solas complains, mentions the Breach and Val Royeaux more frequently as they linger. He’s only slightly mollified with the discovery of some artifact that is supposed to measure the Veil.

Then he is back to complaining.

Varric thought he had Irene figured out — that she would argue with Solas over her leading them up and down and around the countryside while the Breach was still visible in the distance — but she mostly ignores the elf. She is, for once, in a good mood, though sometimes he catches her staring off into the distance with that expression. The one when she remembers something both fondly and with crushing grief. That one. He thinks about how to describe it in his book, but it will never suffice when compared to seeing it with his own eyes. Such is the nature of writing from life.

(There were some things he left out of Hawke’s tale, for the sake of the story. Things that may better explain how he should never be a choice for leader of anything. One day, maybe, he will write them down. Sod the plot. Sod the flow.)

~o~O~o~

He leaves the tent in the middle of night, Solas still breathing deeply and undoubtedly doing… something Fade-related, to find Irene still sitting alone by the embers of their campfire. He shakes his head at her pensive profile, and wanders off into the woods.

When he comes back some minutes later, she is, unsurprisingly, still there. He sits down next to her. “If you don’t mind me asking, Stormy, isn’t it time you woke up Cassandra?”

“Yes,” she replies. It is a simple statement of fact; she doesn’t sound remotely guilty. She breathes deep and keeps her eyes on the horizon.

“Right. If you, again, don’t mind me asking, is there something you’ve been avoiding? Something important?”

He means sleep, but she turns her head sharply and says, “I am not avoiding meeting with the Mothers! I need to help these people, and time to… Time to… Bullocks.” She turns away again, hands clenching. The mark flares in her left fist, and she hisses and punches the ground.

All right then. “It’ll be fine. Look, you may not be the sweet-talking negotiator Ruffles wanted, or the steady leader Curly wanted… or really, who any of us expected.” She scowls at him, but he shrugs and keeps talking. This is, for once, what he’s good at. “But you are far from incapable. Like she said,” he hooks his thumb over his shoulder in the vague direction of the Crossroads, though Mother Giselle is probably in Haven by now, “you don’t need them to agree with you. What you need is doubt. They think you murdered the Divine. Show them you want justice for her real killer. Just… try not to let them under your skin. They win that way.”

Something in her posture loosens at his words: she lets out a long breath and leans back on her hands, looking up at the stars. She studies them, that expression creeping back across her face. Varric lets her think. He’s said all he wanted to say, and though he could say more, no more is needed.

“Thank you,” she says when the embers have long become cold ashes. “You… remind me of someone. I haven’t seen him in years, but… I hope he’s okay, wherever he is.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You’re friends with another handsome dwarf with irresistible charm and impressive chest hair? What a coincidence.”

She barks a surprised laugh, wiping at her eyes. “No! I’m afraid you’re the only one I know quite like you. He’s almost twice your height, for one.”

“My dear Herald, was that a joke?”

Her smile cracks a bit at the title, but her voice is still teasing when she says, “No joke. He’s taller than me. Only by a fingerwidth, but still. He’s my… my brother. Half brother. One of my father’s many bastards. But he was the only one who let me be myself, when we were young.”

“Sounds like a good brother.” He does not mention that he wishes he had a brother now. It would ruin the mood, and it is not about him, besides.

“He will be so worried that I haven’t written. Everything has happened so fast. I don’t have the last letter from before… before the Conclave, anymore. I don’t remember where he was.”

“Don’t worry.” He pats her arm. “If anyone can find him, it’s our Sister Nightingale.”

He helps her with the first draft that night, and the next day Irene finally turns back toward the Crossroads to ask Corporal Vale if there is anything more that can be done.

He stares at her like she’s bloody Andraste come from on high.

And that is the day she looks back at them, exhausted, blistered, and smelly from days out on the road, and says, “Well then. Suppose it’s time to go.”

~o~O~o~

Brother,

I don’t know how much you’ve heard, wherever you are. Everything has been happening so fast, I can barely keep up myself most days.

And I’m in the thick of it. I was at the Conclave. I’m the only survivor — Colm is dead. I’m the one they’re calling the Herald of Andraste, brother. Symbol of the reborn Inquisition, closer of the rifts, a bloody Chosen One. I’m having enough trouble just trying to stay sane in all this, I can’t begin to live up to their dreams. I can’t begin to live up to my own.

I am going to Val Royeaux. My advisors — I have advisors! — insist that I need to get the support of the Chantry, or at least divide and conquer. I hope you don’t believe their stories about me. I didn’t kill the Divine.

I miss you.

Irene

~o~O~o~

Irene’s mood does not sour as they near Val Royeaux, but she does grow tense. The four of them haven’t stopped in Haven for more than a day to rest before they are out on the road again with the advisors’ blessings. Whatever they’d said in that war room, Irene holds herself like a giant is pressing down on her shoulders.

Her mood does sour when they enter Val Royeaux. A Mother grandstands in the square, decrying the Inquisition for all to hear. Worse, she recognizes their party immediately, and confronts Irene. She, however, dregs up the past she seems determined to escape — daughter of a Bann — for the confrontation, and remains surprisingly tactful. Varric wouldn’t blame her, really, if she got into a shouting match with anyone and everyone who still thinks her a murderer. But they have not seen what he, what the whole Inquisition, has seen. The Mother isn’t anywhere close to doubting, but the Sisters nearby are, and the templar with them wears it openly on his face. Herald of Andraste.

Then the other templars arrive and it all goes to shit.

She lives up to her nickname on the ride home — though only Solas and Cassandra seem truly comfortable on a horse, they are pressed for time after gallivanting around the Hinterlands for weeks — quietly building up a storm. The other elf they’ve picked up, Sera, keeps sending the rest of them quizzical looks, but she doesn’t leave, at least. Irene found someone else, ‘the First Enchanter of the last loyal mages’ (that part is said with contempt), but he hasn’t met this Lady Vivienne yet. He is told she needs to wrap up unfinished business before joining them in Haven. Probably involving an entourage and about seventy-three suitcases, if she’s a true Orlesian.

He chats with Sera, trying to distract her from poking at the Herald literally and figuratively. She is… an odd duck, but she’s funny at least. He’s glad she hasn’t run screaming into the hills yet.

They reach the valley without incident, and arrive at Haven to find the Commander waiting for them. He is tenser than usual. No wonder; Cassandra has sent word ahead.

“Herald!” he calls as Irene swings off her horse with all the grace of a druffalo. “I heard… that is… are you all right?”

She stumbles getting off, but bats his hands away when he reaches to steady her. Interesting. She brings her shoulders back, and though they are of similar height he seems so much smaller in the moment. “Fine, Commander. I’m fine. Val Royeaux won’t be. I did get approached by Grand Enchanter Fiona, though. Seems we have a better alternative to your precious templars,” she snarls.

He reels back as if struck. Varric winces. It’s a low blow, and the long road between Orlais’ capital and Haven has done nothing to soften her fury. A crowd is gathering, too, whispering among themselves.

Irene huffs and shoulders past him, heading for the gates, but stops short when Leliana, waiting on the steps, speaks.

“It’s more complicated than that,” she says calmly, voice ringing. She produces a folded paper. A report? “Your letter bore fruit. We have received a reply. You should read it before deciding.” She saunters back inside.

Irene takes a deep breath, then sprints after her.

~o~O~o~

Sister,

I believe a lot of things, true enough, but I could never believe that you would harm a hair on Colm’s head. He was a good man and I am sorry.

We hear very little, but what gets through is worrying. The rumors are vicious and I fear the Lord Seeker has done his best to promote them. What goes on outside fills me with dread, but what is happening here is worse. It is a thousand times worse. I do not wish to alarm you, but it is difficult to overplay the situation.

I am at Therinfal Redoubt, sister, with the remaining templars. The loyal templars, as we called ourselves at the start of the war. Oh, how arrogant we were. Our loyalty has been twisted. I don’t know what’s happening, but something stalks these halls.

I am sorry.

Julien

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #da:i #dragon age fic #dragon age fanfiction #heaven by violence #lulzy writes

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guessillcallitart · 2 years ago

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map

"Do we need a map or something?" Percy asks conversationally. He wraps his jacket more tightly around him, then loosening it up and wrapping it around Cassie instead. "You can't read a map", Samuel snickers. "Well, you couldn't when we had orientation in school."

"Well, excuse, I'm not Mr. Perfect like you. I'm not good at everything." Samuel begins to protest but I can't hear it because I lenghten my strides and reach Skai. She swipes at her eyes. Her cheeks are streaked with tears and she's shivering in her t-shirt. I take off my hoodie and wrap it aroud her. She looks at me with a mix of gratitude and confusion. "What did you see?" I ask in a low voice. "My parents", Skai says with a voice full of sorrow. "I'm sorry", I say. We walk quietly for a while. Everything has a bluish hue around us. There's thick, blue fog everywhere. "They were so happy." Skai blinks back tears. "What did you see?" I feel my face growing hot. "You don't have to tell me", Skai says quickly. "It's okay. I think it's about time I come to terms with some stuff." I take a deep shuddering breathe. "Cassie told me she loved me and kissed me. I'm in love with Cassie. I have been for ages."

This bit is inspired by City of Heavenly Fire by Cassandra Clare

challenge

"Blackmail", I say as we begin to descend a set of stairs. "Real classy. What is it that you know, anyway?"

"How the hell should I know?" Florence shrugs. "I was just playing mind games with Nike."

"Wouldn't it have been easier to just ask someone else? It wouldn't have involved being mean either." I ask, astounded at what lengths Florence would go just to get what she wanted. "Nah, I don't do easy. I like challenges", she says, grinning. That I can believe. "And Nike is a jerk to me all the time. I'm sure you've heard crap like 'be kind to everyone even if they don't deserve it'. Well, guess what? You don't have to be kind to everyone. It doesn't make a big difference if you treat people like they treat you. Mean people come and go. The kind one's stay."

suspect

I plop down on the sofa next to Samuel. Instantly, his cat leaps into my lap. With a smile I begin to stroke his soft, white fur. "So, are there any suspects yet?" I ask. "One of the guys doesn't have an alibi, you know the shifty, tall guy with black hair." Samuel stares intently at the tv screen. I find myself looking at him, over the huge bowl of popcorn, drinking in every detail. His hair is black and curly, reaching his slender shoulders and his eyes dark brown, like coffee beans. He begins to smile when his favourite character appears on the screen again. "Drew!" he gushes excitedly. "Are you watching..." He notices me staring at him. I surprise myself and probably him by giving a kiss on his cheek. "I like you, Samuel." I smile at his baffled look. He leans in, our lips meet and it's like fireworks are exploding inside me. "I like you too", he says breatlessly when pull apart.

Tagging: anyone who wants to do this

New words: surprise, fear, the sky

(I forgot to write these lmao)

#original story #original character #victorianshannon #fantasy #fiction #original characters #ocs #wattpadstories #wattpad #writerblr #tag game

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nathans-tales · 7 years ago

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The Nightingale’s Song

So I finally finished another fic! And we all know how in love I am with Leliana/Josephine, so of course this fic is about them. It’s also posted to my AO3 here

The crackle of the fire resonated through the dim office as Josephine stifled a giggle. “Leliana please, I need to focus on these trade agreements,” she said as the redhead reached over and toyed with her loose locks of hair. Leliana was sitting on the edge of Josephine’s desk with a sly grin.

“You can work on those while I’m here, no?” Leliana asked while she twirled one of Josephine’s dark curls around her finger.

“You know very well that I cannot, you are distracting and it is difficult to focus when you make me—”

“Flustered?” Leliana asked teasingly.

“Yes, precisely,” Josephine replied with a huff.

“Oh but you’re so cute when you’re flustered,” Leliana insisted. “Your cheeks turn a lovely shade of red and you stumble over your words in the most endearing way.” She leaned over and whispered into Josephine’s ear, “It’s all so very tempting.”

Josephine’s face darkened to crimson and she fumbled with her quill. “Well-I, uh—oh goodness,” she stammered.

Leliana laughed brightly. “See? Just as I said.”

As Josephine cleared her throat and tried to stop blushing, the office door opened and Varric peaked his head in.

“Hey Ruffles—oh, hey Nightingale—we’re about to start a game of Wicked Grace and we need our star player; you in?” he asked.

“Oh, yes! I nearly forgot you had planned that for tonight, I will be there as soon as I put away these documents,” Josephine answered, organizing the parchments into a pile.

“You’re welcome to join us too, Nightingale. Maybe you’ll be able to give Josephine a run for her money,” Varric added.

“Oh no that’s alright, I’ll—” Leliana started as she stood from the desk.

“Join us,” Josephine finished for her, grabbing her hand to keep her from leaving. Varric nodded and closed the door with a smirk. “I will not let you spend another night alone in that cold rookery, Leliana.”

Leliana sighed and sat back down on the desk. “Josie really, I have work I must do.”

“Oh? And here I thought your only job was to make me blush. We can make time for a game with friends,” Josephine countered. “You used to love playing Wicked Grace; you taught me everything I know, after all.”

“I don’t know, Josie…”

Josephine leaned in close, teasing her lips against Leliana’s before whispering, “If you join us, I promise I’ll make it up to you later.”

It was now Leliana’s turn to feel flustered, her breath catching as Josephine’s lips traced along her jaw.

“Alright, let’s go,” she said, making Josephine laugh as she grabbed her hand and led her towards the door.

* * *

When Josephine and Leliana walked into the Herald’s Rest, the Inquisitor and most of his companions had already taken their seats around a large table by the fireplace. Varric sat at the head of the table, already enthusiastically regaling the group with one of his many stories. When he noticed them walking in he ushered them over to the open chairs beside him.

“Nightingale, you decided to join us!” he said, smiling as he handed them each a fresh mug of ale.

“I figured Josie could use an audience when she wins everything you have to your name,” Leliana called back to him over the group’s commotion.

“Hey, I’m not the one who thought it was a good idea to bet my clothes last time, that was Curly!” Varric laughed, defending himself. Leliana smiled back at him and took a swig of ale. The group finally settled down after a few more jokes and drinks poured.

“Alright, now that everyone’s ready; Josephine, do you want to be dealer again?” Varric asked as he handed the deck of cards to her.

“Maker, no! Don’t give her that kind of advantage again,” Cullen protested from across the table.

Josephine smirked. “Scared, Commander?”

“No, don’t be ridiculous! We just deserve a fair chance, is all,” Cullen defended.

Leliana nearly rolled her eyes. “Don’t bet what you aren’t ready to lose, Cullen.”

“So don’t bet your clothing this time; no one wants to see that again,” Layne Trevelyan teased from where he sat beside Cassandra.

“Speak for yourself, Inquisitor!” Dorian replied, eliciting laughter from around the table. Cullen groaned and dropped his head to his hands.

As they played, pitchers of ale were passed around the table and stories were shared to receptions of uproarious laughter. As Varric finished a tale about Hawke and Isabela running from the Kirkwall city guard after being caught for ‘public indecency,’ Josephine pushed a small pile of silvers into the center of the table.

“Would anyone like to raise?” she asked with a sly smirk. Everyone groaned, knowing this meant they were doomed for this hand.

As the game continued, Cassandra quietly observed her red-haired colleague, noticing how Leliana would occasionally lean over and whisper comments to Josephine, making her laugh and pecking her ear and cheek with small kisses. When Josephine won a round—which was more often than not—Leliana would reach over and squeeze her hand with an encouraging smile.

Cassandra felt a warm fondness as she watched the two women; she hadn’t seen Leliana smile that purely, that truly since their early days working together under the Divine. She supposed she knew about their relationship prior to now, but she’d respected their privacy enough not to pry. She was pleased to see them happy. She hoped it would stay that way.

The Inquisitor’s voice captivated the table as he regaled the tale of a happier experience in the Circle of Magi. The game continued on, cards moving fast and coin flowing freely, as everyone’s attention fell on Layne. During this distraction, Leliana noticed Josephine give up a couple rounds, although she had the cards needed to win. She smirked as she realized what her Antivan lover planned to do.

In rapid succession, Josephine laid out winning hands round after round, a smug smirk donning her lips. The piles of coin collected by her companions came streaming back to her amongst a chorus of defeated groans.

“Well shit, Ruffles! You’ve managed to fleece us all yet again,” Varric said with a laugh. “You’re truly just as crafty as you look.” He turned to Leliana and winked. “You’re one lucky lady, Nightingale.”

Leliana smiled broadly. “Oh, I absolutely am,” she replied before leaning over to kiss Josephine’s cheek.

Josephine flushed red as a small giggle escaped her. She turned as Leliana pulled away, pressing their lips quickly together, eliciting playful cheers and whistles from the group surrounding the table. They’d been trying to keep their relationship private; Leliana feared that being connected to her in such a way would put Josephine in danger, and nothing Josie said could dissuade her of this fear. Josephine had assumed that this secrecy included the Inquisition’s inner circle as well, but if they already seemed to know and Leliana was willing to acknowledge it, why not have some fun?

After a final round in which Cullen’s armor found itself lost to the group, the festivities simmered down and everyone disbanded for the evening. As most players went their separate ways, the Iron Bull and Dorian managed to slip away together to the teasing laugh of Sera. Cassandra stood with the Inquisitor, and turned just in time to see Josephine grab Leliana’s hand to lead her out of the Herald’s Rest, a mischievous hint to her smile.

* * *

“I know your secret, Ambassador,” Leliana teased as she followed Josephine into her quarters.

“Is that so? What secret might that be?” Josephine asked. She stole a glance back at Leliana before leading her to the bedside.

“You had the cards to win those rounds.”

Josephine looked up at Leliana through her lashes, the picture of innocence. “I don’t have the faintest clue what you are referring to.”

Leliana let out a bright laugh and laid across the bed, bringing Josephine down with her. She positioned herself over Josephine and leaned down, pressing a slow kiss to her lips. “Well, what about the promise you made me earlier? Do you recall that?”

“Oh, now that I do remember,” Josephine murmured, her lips finding Leliana’s as her hands slid beneath her tunic. “I must say, I was surprised by how open you were tonight.” Leliana quirked her eyebrow in question. “About us, I mean.”

“Ah, yes. I’ll admit, I was hesitant at first. But I love you far too much to keep it to myself, Josie,” Leliana replied, brushing Josephine’s hair from her eyes before losing herself in their rich amber.

* * *

As Skyhold’s courtyard came to life with the hum of training soldiers and busy scouts, Leliana was already tucked away in the rookery reading through a thick stack of reports from the Hinterlands. Although her dark purple hood was pulled firmly over her head, shielding her face as always, she hummed quietly to herself.

“A night alone with Lady Montilyet always seems to bring out your musical side,” Cassandra stated as she approached the table.

Leliana scoffed without looking up, carefully placing her quill back into the inkwell. “Do you often stalk me after I spend time with Josie?”

“One mustn’t need stalk you to notice the effect she has on you,” Cassandra countered, resting her hip against the table’s edge.

Leliana fell quiet at that, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Is there something you need, Cassandra?”

“Not precisely. I thought, perhaps—I wanted to say…” Cassandra paused, trying to find her words. “I know that it has been difficult for you since Justinia died.” She noticed how Leliana stiffened at that, and proceeded cautiously. “You were much closer to her than I, and I know that she was more than just the Divine to you; she was a mentor, she was family. I won’t pretend to understand the pain you are feeling. I just want to say that I’m happy you have Josephine.” Leliana met her gaze then, surprised. “It’s clear to anyone paying attention that she makes you happier than you’ve been in quite a long time; the happiest I’ve seen you since we became colleagues, in fact.” Cassandra hesitantly placed her hand on Leliana’s shoulder, reassuring. “It’s nice to see you happy again, Leliana. She’s good for you.” With that, Cassandra turned and descended from the rookery.

Leliana sat, looking at where her friend had been standing. A smile slowly peeked out from beneath the shadow of her hood, and she continued humming the tune she knew to be Josephine’s favorite song.

#my writing #my fic #dragon age #leliana #josephine montilyet #leliana/josephine #cassandra pentaghast #wicked grace

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e-commerceonlineshopus · 3 years ago

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Pretty Hair-Ties For Women

When a lady's hair is all tied up, she has the power to change the world. And if you reward her with cute small hair accessories, she'll be thankful and even more eager to help.

1. Printed Scrunchie

Don't you detest it when your hair tie makes an unsightly dent in your hair or pulls your precious hair strands out for no apparent reason? Until the invention of scrunchies, it was a widespread problem among women. They are gentle on our hair but hold three times the volume, which is rather astounding.Scrunchies are also an important component of the list of hair accessories for women because you can't go through life without having at least a few in your drawer. Remember to choose the adorable, patterned ones to create a style statement.

2. Scarf Scrunchie hair ties

Scarf scrunchies are a game-changer in the world of hair accessories for girls, bringing the world a step further with style and delicacy. These hair ties are not only useful, but they're also lovely and easy to wear. It's a scarf, it's a scrunchie, and it's both at the same time.A lovely printed scarf scrunchie fits great with any casual outfit, especially ones that include baggy pants and other denim pieces. To stand out in a crowd, use these on half-tied hair, low or cat-buns.

3. Bow Ties For Hair

Bows are stunning. I can't say it enough. Bows, like headbands and hair clips for girl , make a fashion statement when used as a hair tie. The best part is that you may choose from a variety of colors, styles, and materials. Even with so many options, this lovely hair item for women is hard to go wrong with.Make a high bun, half-tied hair, ponytail, or pigtail with these, and don't forget to keep the bow on the frontlines.

4.Best (less expensive) coiled hair ties

You receive eight of these Kitsch hair ties for the same price as the Invisibobble hair ties, and Tiffany Hunter, owner and master stylist at Damn, Glam!, swears by them. She explains, "These are such a classic for me, and they work on any hair type."She uses many Kitsch goods, but these are the "MVP" of her collection. She continues, "They're meant to not pull the hair or be too tight on the head, but they still accomplish the job effortlessly." If you don't need eight coils, the manufacturer sells smaller packs, but this is a very fantastic price at just $1 per coil.

5. colored coiled hair ties

Because they're more cheap than Invisibobble and available in attractive pastel colors with a matte texture, Beth Weber, hairstylist and founder of Refuge Hair, suggests this collection of eight coiled hair ties from Anthropologie. They have a smaller coil than the Invisibobble or Kitsch hair ties, but Weber claims that this has no bearing on how effectively they perform. If you want to know more click Eucut .

6.Best hair ties for curly hair

Cassandra Normil, a session hairdresser in New York City, believes these might work for any hair type, but they're "particularly fantastic for someone who has thick, natural, and curly hair." Her hair is naturally coily/kinky, so these are ideal because they "don't snag or break and are incredibly flexible."These are Gimme's thickest ties, designed for thick and curly hair, but if the look appeals to you but you don't require such a heavy-duty tie, Gimme offers "various sizes of hair ties dependent on your hair density," according to Normil.For medium hair types, Gimme provides fine, long, and “any fit” fits, as well as a variety of colors. There is a "fitting kit," which is a mix of four various hair-tie kinds, for individuals who aren't sure which choice will work best for them.Then check out pacifierclip

#hairstyle #hairclips #hairclip

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joylessholland · 7 years ago

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Princess In Me (Part 2)

TOMHOLLANDXREADER

(1,730 words) Warning: Pineapple Pizza (lol)

A/N: This is part 2 of my Princess Diaries imagine, I hope you enjoy.

Masterlist Requests Part One Thx again to @kingquackdaddy for the moodboard

Groaning you roll over in the bed feeling the soft satin sheets against your exposed skin. Breathing in the fresh smell of a beautiful morning you push the covers off your body. Looking out the picture window at the beautiful garden outside you can’t help but smile. Earlier this week you were getting up to the sound of car horns not birds chirping. Wrapping your body in a silk robe you open the door to a pair of twin girls in black and white maids’ uniforms “Good you're up, breakfast is served” nodding you slip on a pair of slippers.

“Good morning Y/n” your grandmother chimes as you enter the dining room. “Morning” sitting the maids pour you a cup of tea bowing as they step back, as you gracefully place sugar in the china cup you stir the liquid slowly making sure not to make noise. Looking over her glasses Queen Clarisse smiles softly “Good” she coos as your mother walks into the room running clothes on “Morning, Princess” she jokes grabbing a muffin from the basket on the table earning a gasp from your gran. “Hey, I’m not the princess in training. She is” she says mouth full pointing at you. Trying your very hardest to look proper you scoop some food onto your plate and begin eating.

“So, are you ready for tonight?” Clarisse asks sipping her tea nodding you crunch on a piece of toast. “So, what is this dinner anyway?” you ask mouthful earing a raised eyebrow from her. “It is an annual dinner party, we participate in every year. This year I [N/O/C] has the honor of hosting. It’s the perfect place to introduce the world to you.” She says processing the information you hardly notice the maids take your plate. “Does that ever stop being weird?” you ask watching the maids giggle “Yes, you get used to them” Clarisse says with a small laugh “Is that the time? You need to get dressed you have a meeting in half an hour.” She says standing. Joining her on her feet she kisses pecks your cheek “with who?” “You’ll see” she titters walking from the room getting followed by a small blonde-haired maid. It was your second day who could want to meet with you. Turing on the stairs you see the two maids following you “What are you doing?” you ask them “Do you want us to back up, your majesty” one says “It’s just I’m not used to having handmaidens” you laugh walking up the staircase.

Smoothing the soft pink fabric of the sundress you turn to the girls “What do you think?” you ask as they both nod their heads “If you're going to follow me around, I should at least know your names.” You giggle brushing your hair “I’m Joanna” “and I’m Cassandra” nodding the mirror you smile “Jo and Chrissy, I like it.” Sharing a quick glance, the girls smile and open the door for you to exit.

“He’s out behind the hedges,” Chrissy says as you step outside the fresh air filling your lungs, earning an elbow to the rib she quickly corrects herself “The person you’re meeting, that may or may not be he…is behind the…hedge” smiling your cheeks heat up at the thought of the only “he” you know in this new place. “Your girls can wait here” bowing to you as you skip down the steps into the garden.

The rush of smells hits you like a bus. The sweet smells mixed with the sound of a fountain bubbling in the background lulls you into kind of bliss and you lose all sense of the world around you. That is until you run into someone’s chest. Looking up Tom smiles down at you, realizing his hands are on your waist a blush grows on his cheeks, not letting go. “Hello,” he says still holding your waist “Hi” you stammer getting lost in his eyes. Your heart burst as he ran his fingers through your hair “You look beautiful today” blushing you turn away. “What did you wanna meet about,” you ask getting a hold of yourself “I wanted to see you before tonight, I wanted to talk to you about…something” he says rubbing the back of his neck nervously “Shall we walk?” you ask turning to him. Nodding he holds out an arm, taking it, you stroll through the garden talking and laughing.

“When my mother died, it was just my father and I. Can we sit?” he asks motioning to a small wooden bench overlooking a tiny pond with a pair of swans floating in the water. “The way the sun catches your eyes here is stunning” he smiles “stop it” you joke pushing him playfully. “Do I make you nervous?” he smirks “Not at all. Do I make…you nervous” You snicker placing a hand on his thigh mentally screaming. What the hell were you thinking? Did you really think you could out sly a prince? To your surprise, he smiles nervously “Yes” taking your hand away you fumble over words “Would you give me the honor of taking you to dinner, tomorrow?” he asks grabbing your hand in his. Feeling the warmth return to your cheeks you nod your head. Getting up he plants a soft kiss on your cheek “Till our next meeting” he says strolling off, biting your lip you hold in an excited scream.

Hovering your hand slightly above the railing you slowly descend the staircase into the large ballroom. Smiling outside you mentally scream when you see the sea of people all staring up at you. Stopping for a moment you lock gazes with a familiar set of brown eyes looking at you. Smiling brightly, you strut down the stairs meeting the queen at the bottom. Taking your arm she leads you around the room introducing you to some of the members of Parliament and the court. “And you of course already know Thomas but not his father Dominic,” she says as a curly haired man bows slightly kissing your hand “It is a pleasure to meet the new…princess” he says with a fake smile giving him a confused look Tom lets out a nervous laugh “Father please” he mumbles. Holding his hands up in surrender he gives the queen and you one last snobby smile before walking off “My apologies for my father he’s still a little um, hurt. Abut the whole thing” Tom says placing a hand on your waist kissing your cheek “Tomorrow” he whispers bowing away”

“Hurt about what?” you ask as the Queen grabs a champagne flute “If you wouldn’t have said yes to the throne, Thomas would have crowned prince and soon he’d take over as King. It’s a bunch of political mumbo-jumbo, just do me a favor stay away from him.” “But…” clearing her throat the Queen call the guests to the dining room for dinner.

Due to your grandmother's request, you had written a small note to Tom and had it delivered to his castle. You stated that dinner won’t work and that you needed time to think a few things over. Flipping the page of your book a small knock comes at the door, walking in Jo curtsies to you “If you haven’t a need for anything else I’ll be on my way to supper” she says with a small nod she leaves. Scanning the words of the page your mind wanders to other things, like what you’d be doing with Tom right now? You wondered what restaurant he would have taken you to and what you’d do after dinner? A small tap t the window pulls you from your thoughts, passing it off as nothing you push the thoughts from your head returning to your book. After a few more taps you reluctantly stand from your chair and stride to the window, standing on the grass three stories down was Tom. Throwing another stone at the window you push open the glass “What are you doing here?” you whisper as he motions over to a picnic basket “Please come down and talk to me, I want to know what I did wrong” he says dropping the rocks he held “I can’t, if my grandmother catches me sneaking out I’ll never hear the end of it” “Please Y/n. Climb down the vine, I’ll be here at the bottom” he tried again “Are you crazy” you snap going to close the window “I’m not leaving so you might as well come down” he pleads stepping back the window still open you pull on a pair of shoes. Were you really doing this? Before you could answer your own question, you were climbing down a thick latter of vine.

Leading you down to the shore of the pond Tom lays out a small blanket weighing it down with a rock and the picnic basket. Opening the brown wicker basket, he pulls out a square box. Placing it on the he opens the top “Sausage and Pineapple” you smile as he grabs you a slice “How did you know?” you ask as he grabs a piece “I may have asked your mother” even in the pale moonlight you can see the soft blush appear on Toms' cheeks “I’ve never had pineapple on pizza” he admits as you bite into your slice “It’s the best” you say mouth full of food smiling he raises the steaming food to his mouth “Here goes nothing” he laughs taking a bite. Chewing a little he gives you a large grin “You have a little” you mumble wiping the corner of his mouth with your thumb, leaving your hand on his cheek he puts his pizza down gripping your chin he leans in close “Is this alright?” pressing your lips softly against his you breathe out “Yeah” kissing you again your hand snakes into his curls “I’ve never felt this before, ever” he whispers as you look into his eyes. Remembering your grandmother’s words, you turn away “Did I do something wrong?” he asks panic quite clear in his tone “No, it’s something my gran said” you mumble as he grabs your cheek turning him to you “My father is a jealous, conniving man. Let me show you that I’m nothing like him” he smiles “The pizza is a good start” you joke pecking his lips again.

@midtownvaledictorian@letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked@tiemeupspidey@champagneholland@fangirltopic@marveltomjunkie@kingquackdaddy@panicatttckiss@seilamigliorcosacheabbiamaivisto @casualprincess77 @ging3r-fall@rivedale @holland-osterfield101@parkerscupcake@lanilovespsychos @clairesrainbow@tryn25 @chrisayy3

#tom holland #tom holland fanfictions #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #peter parker #spider-man: homecoming #tom holland fanfiction #hollanders #fanfiction #imagine #tom #holland

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assortedcorn · 7 years ago

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Cullen/Inquisitor OneShot

Hey everyone! This is my first time posting a OneShot kind of deal thing on tumblr. I just love writing and I honestly daydream about Cullen more than I should since he’s fictional. Anyway, I have an account on AO3 but I’ve had A LOT going on since I last updated so I’m just gonna continue writing here. Thanks for reading! <3

••••

“It’s so fucking cold, it’s miserable, and I’m so done with this place.” Belle scoffs, blowing heat between her hands.

“You’re the one that wanted to leave, m’lady’quisitor.” Sera laughs.

“I know, I just, I wanted to clear my head.” Belle sighs. Belle tries to clear the images of the man she swoons over. She tries to clear the images of his godly build, that smile, those eyes, everything. She wants it gone.

“Ya, ya. I get it. You miss pretty boy don’t ya?” She says, a smile creeping on her lips.

“Sera... that’s ridiculous.” She lowers her head, pulling a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I hate that nobility pish you have to put up wit. Cantcha just not follow rules?” Sera asks, annoyed.

“It doesn’t matter, even if I wanted to. The commander and I, we come from two different worlds.” Belle huffs, looking out over the wall that cascades over the snowy mountains underneath them. The sun was slowly making its way into the sky after a long, hard, night of negotiations in Redcliffe.

“Isabelle.” Sera protests.

“Sera, enough. He... he doesn’t think of me that way, anyway.” Belle turns around and crosses her arms against her chest. “It’s just a simple infatuation.” She thinks back to the day in the war room where she was blatantly watching the commander as he spoke about whatever she wasn’t paying attention to. She knew she wanted him, she was just so scared. The way he gripped the firm pommel grip, the way his finger wrapped around it. The way he stood, so strong.

“Infatuation my ass! You know damn well those rich tits don’t give a rats ass about you! Your parents sent you to the frickin’ chantry for fucks sake. Now that you’re miss save the world from damnation, everyone and their mother wants you to marry their half-wit sons. It’s your life, innit?” Sera says, more annoyed than before. “Cullen feels the same way as you. Everyone in skyhold sees it.”

“It might be my life but it will never be MY life, Sera. Let’s go home. I’m sick of this shitty weather.” Belle sighs, pulling her hood full of fur over her long, brunette locks. She pulls the letters from her bag, examining them sadly, then stuffing them back deep down.

“Did we miss something?” Cassandra asks, her and Solas trying to read Belle’s stoic face under her hood.

“Nah, Miss tits over here ain’t in the mood.” Sera says.

The party hops onto their mounts after a good job done and over with, heading back to skyhold to finally be warm and get fed. It’s been two weeks since they’ve been home. They were away not only because Belle wanted to clear her thoughts of the commander but because the mages requested her presence. It was never easy dealing with their constant demands and bitching about the templars.

••

The group returned to a warm welcoming at the gates, they were met by Josie, Dorian, Vivienne, Varric, and the rest of the residents in Skyhold. Everyone always wanted to see Belle, she was the Herald of Andraste! She was everything anyone wanted to be. She was the embodiment of grace, of kindness, and beauty. She was a sight to be seen and a flame never to be dimmed.

Even though Belle wanted to clear her mind of the man she admired, she was disappointed to see that he was not at the gate waiting for her like usual.

“It’s good to have you back home, my lady.” Josephine smiles, greeting Belle as she walks through the doors of the war room.

“Yes, did your negotiating go well, Inquisitor?” Leliana asks, her hands behind her back.

“Mhm.” Belle replies, tiredly.

“Go get some rest, Isabelle.” Josie says, putting her papers down onto the table.

“I guess the commander has decided our meeting wasn’t good enough to attend?” Belle retorts.

“Well, you see, the commander is actually dealing with some paperwork in his room.” Josie replied.

“Oh, yes, Cullen has been receiving marriage proposals from woman all over Thedas. From what I understand he’s turned down four very nice young ladies this week.” Leliana giggles

Belles fingers grip the edge of the table, breaking a piece of wood off. The loud snap echoed through the room as if it was a pin dropping in a silent room. Belle was shocked to see what she had just done, looking at her hands, she throws the small piece of wood across the room.

“I’m sorry, I’m still getting used to this dragon blood shit. Bull has been trying to help me but I’m still not used to the new strength.” Belle sighs.

Belle takes her leave and heads for her favorite spot on the battlements. She practically runs out of the war room. She is angry, fuming actually. What was she feeling in her chest? Disappointment? Sadness? Rage? It was so empty in her lungs, the crisp air of Skyhold greeted her as she whizzed past anyone who walked by her outside. The guards greeted her at every spot they were stationed, it only annoyed her more. “It’s fucking Isabelle!” She yelled inside her head, trying to shake the divine title from her head. She wasn’t anything special, she just happened to get magic, she just happened to fall through the fade, it was all circumstance. Not some divine bullshit.

Belle was so consumed by her thoughts and her anger, she didn’t care who she walked by or who she bumped into. The tears were blurring her vision, the rage blurring her thoughts, her heart was aching at the thought of Cullen getting married. She loves him, from the moment she laid eyes on him fighting demons at the very first rift she closed, he was her salvation. All because of her noble birth, she could lose him, lose the life she wishes for so terribly. It can all be taken away.

Belle started to run, she was almost there, that broken piece of stone over the stables. That was her spot. That’s where she went to scream, to cry, to be by herself because that’s all she can count on. Herself. Life has taught her that many times.

But before she could reach her little piece of peace, a hand gripped her elbow and pulled her off her path. It was like she was being coathangered off of a mount, it took her breath away for a moment. Tears flying out of her eyes into the thin, cold air. Her long hair, flying in front of her face as she is pulled back into someone.

“I’ve been calling you, Inquisitor!” The deep, sweet, honey-like voice echoed through her head.

She stopped dead in her tracks, hearing the ONE voice she was afraid to her coming back home. All she wanted to do was get her thoughts in order but no, mr.handsome hair HAD to come after her.

“Good evening, commander.” Belle replied, keeping her head down and her hair covering the mess smeared across her face.

“I’ve been writing to you while you were away, why didn’t you respond? I was getting anxious.” He said, worry in his beautiful voice. Belles heart cracked even more knowing she caused him any kind of anxiety.

“I, uh, I’m sorry. I might’ve just forgot I had them, we were so busy. You know?” She says, tapping her foot, squirming under Cullen’s gaze. She could feel his eyes on her and it made her heart race and her face heat up like a campfire. “But I gotta go.”

“Wait!” He says, pulling her back again, this time by her hand. “Maker! You’re freezing, Isabelle. Why aren’t you wearing anything for this kind of weather?! Wasn’t it ten times colder in Redcliffe?” He disapproves.

“Commander, with all do respect, you’re not my father. I will dress myself how I wish.” She huffs. “I really have to go now.”

Cullen grabs her by the shoulders enough to stand her still, he wipes her hair from her face and sees what she had been trying to hide the entire time. His chest tightened at the sight of such a strong woman reduced to tears from some unethical reason. Cullen had never seen her cry, ever.

“Isabelle... what happened?” His voice lowers with concern written across his face.

“It’s nothing.” She sighs, looking away from him.

Cullen had just finished writing more replies to the many who were writing him, his hands were bare and untouched by his leather gloves. He missed the inquisitor while she was away. They had always enjoyed each other’s company until now, it worried him.

“Isabelle, come with me to my room and we can talk like we always do? Okay?” He says, trying to smile in reassurance to her. Cullen knew she liked hot black tea, he thought back to the many times they stayed up late drinking it.

Belles heart was beating so fast she could feel it behind her face. The commanders hands were calloused but they felt like heaven resting on her frozen cheeks. She was melting under his skin, oh she wanted him to touch her more but it was only going to happen in her dreams.

She nodded following him into his office/bedroom. He opened the door for her, allowing her to sit in the chair adjacent from his desk as he sat in front of her.

The atmosphere was thick, awakward, and was like watching paint dry. Belle felt stuck and so did Cullen.

“Now talk to me.” He says, staring deep into her.

Belle was fiddling with the pieces of skin on the sides of her fingertips, a nervous habit she always had since childhood.

“How have your many proposals been treating you, Commander?” Belle asks, treading hazardous waters.

“What does that have to do wi- oh.” He says, his face reddening, his breath catching in his throat. “Please tell me I didn’t cause your discomfort so much that it made you cry?”

“Well, no, I-“

Cullen shifted in his seat, running his fingers through his curly tufts of hair, letting out a deep sigh.

“You haven’t been writing to me, you ignored me on the battlements until I chased you down, and you looked like you wanted to kill something. You haven’t even addressed me by name, like we agreed weeks ago. This is my fault.” He says, interrupting her. “I’m sorry.”

“No, comm-Cullen, I’m sorry. I have been imagining stupid things in my head like any young maiden would... just stupid girl stuff. Not your fault.” Belle defends. She felt stupid now that he felt this way.

Cullen rose from his desk, making his way to Belle as he galantly strode across the room. Belle immediately stood up, making her way to the door trying to leave before he could reach her.

Cullen took her by her upper arm and turned her into his chest. He looked down at her, into her tear stained, bloodshot eyes. His beautiful amber eyes pierced through her, it felt like he was looking into her soul. She always felt that with him and nobody else, he was special, he was who she wanted.

He backed her into the now closed and locked door, placing an arm over her head. She was shorter than him, like actually shorter. Belle was at least five foot two and Cullen was a literal beast towering over her.

He lowered his head, his nose brushing hers. A hand snaking up her hip onto her side, pulling her close. “This is my fault.”

“H-how?” Belle stammers, shocked by his actions.

“You didn’t come home when you said you were, you were only supposed to be gone for a week and you were gone for two weeks and three days. I was worried sick, you know.” He smiles, his voice lowering once again.

At this point Belle thought her body was going to spontaneously combust.

“Cullen, I’m sor-“

“Don’t be sorry, I know. Did you think that the way I’ve been with you, I’d be the same with anyone else? I know how you feel, love.” He replies, cutting her off again.

What?

“Wait, what?” Belle asks, surprised.

“Oh, sweet maker. You know I’m not good with words, Isabelle...” he says, frustrated with a smile.

In one swift movement Belle’s lips were captured in one sweet, long awaited, moment by the commander. His strong hands were gently wrapped around her face, his fingertips in between her hair, pulling her into him as close as he could get her. Belle’s hands found their way at his sides, the cold plates shocked her fingertips. Their lips danced playfully together. Both Belle and Cullen had waited too long for this moment, the fire between them only just starting to fully become one flame.

“How long have you waited to do this?” Belle asks, in between breaths.

“Longer than I should admit, my love.” He smiles, rushing back into their heated passion.

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