#ellinor fic

[bitchesofostwick]

7, 14, and 26 for Ellinor please!

yesss thank you astraea!

7. if they had to choose one person most important to them, who would that be? her twin brother, avery! sorry cullen, but avery is kind of her day one...literally... he's her brother and her best friend. she had to live for fourteen years without him in her life before they could be reunited. she never wants to lose him again. everything she's done was for him.

14. who are they closest to from their family? haha that has to be avery again. but i will say, she's grown so much closer to her sister lyssa over the course of the inquisition. she went from hating her guts for being a complicit bystander when avery was taken to the circle to forgiving her and treating her as a friend, sister, and confidante by the events of trespasser. it was an arc meant to reflect cullen's life experiences as well, albeit with different circumstances, but it's important to me and to the story. and also the rest of the trevelyans literally suck.

26. do they get a happy ending? me when someone asks if emilia gets a happy ending: idk! i hope so! lol! me when someone asks if ellinor gets a happy ending: if ellinor doesn't get a happy ending i will literally [redacted] [redacted] [redacted]. (the answer is yes, so help me god. but she has to go through some shit to get there. shameless plug for my trespasser fic lol.)

canon DA worldstate asks // ask box

[mysticstarlightduck]

Happy blursday! 💜💌 What are the fic-y tropes (generally romantic, but not necessarily) that your blorbo(s) would LEAST be able to stand being involved in, and what are they doing to tolerate or to get out of these situations? (e.g., who is sleeping on the floor when There's Only One Bed; who starts going to a different coffee shop to avoid The AU?; who digs their way out of the snowstorm to avoid being Snowed In? Who's out here crushing the would-be Enemy to Friend to Lover's dreams?)- @liv-is

Thank you for the Ask, @liv-is!

This is a very funny question LOL. I'll try to answer using the tropes you've given me here!

"who is sleeping on the floor when There's Only One Bed?"

This one would definitely be Bryn. He hates overt physical contact with others, much less when he is sleeping. There is no way he would let himself share a bed with anyone. The floor it is. (This is especially true since, according to him, most of his travel companions have a tendency to keep moving around while sleeping or snoring. He isn't getting any shut-eye with that beside him on the mattress). This, along with the fact that he feels literally zero romantic or sexual feelings for anyone, makes me sure that if he had to choose between the floor or sharing The Bed, the floor it is. lol

"who starts going to a different coffee shop to avoid The AU?"

This would definitely be Tanwin if he lived in modern times. My boi doesn't do emotions well, let alone the tooth-rotting fluff that accompanies the Coffee Shop AU, he would be running from it like the plague lol. As soon as he sensed The AU coming his way, he would be already going to a shop four blocks away - little does he know that The AU is following him (;

"who digs their way out of the snowstorm to avoid being Snowed In?"

100% Luciya. She hates being forced into being trapped anywhere, or restricted in any way, especially if it leads to a heart-to-heart or talking about Feelings tm while trapped. If her lover wants to talk Feelings, he'd better do so in a free and open meadow, because our claustrophobic girl is already trekking through 3ft of snow in order to not to be Snowed In anywhere. It's not that she doesn't love him, she loves him dearly, but being trapped anywhere is a huge NOPE, to her, in any situation lol.

"who's out here crushing the would-be Enemy to Friend to Lover's dreams? "

You got me there lol because there is actually a working Enemies to Friends to Lovers relationship in my TLW WIP - our lovely battle couple, Nethen and Ellinor. BUT... for the sake of this answer, someone who would be 1000% out here crushing dreams if they were in this trope would be, without a shadow of a doubt, our girl Sybil - because no one holds a grudge for longer than our little feral bard. She'd be crushing her would-be Enemy to Lover left and right without even realizing it, and then she'd want to go out for the medieval version of a strawberry smoothie.

[bitchesofostwick]

thank you so much kayley!! their quiet reservation and the way it gives way to soft warmth and affection is just so perfect! 🥺❤️ i love it omg ❤️❤️

Commission: “The Quiet of The Comeback”

Admittedly I am very excited to share this, mostly because I always enjoy writing Ellinor and Cullen, and @bitchesofostwick is a dear friend (as if it weren’t obvious by now with all our yelling). Thank you so much, Isabella, for giving me the opportunity to write softness for the beautiful, dysfunctional earth sign power couple. I enjoyed every minute. Love you!

–

It had been an hour – maybe two – since she sat down to work on the last reports of the day that lingered stubbornly on her to-do list. The only thing Ellinor did to disrupt it was loosen her layered coat. Being stationed in the Basin for so long she had become used to going in no less than four layers no matter the destination. There, in the heart of Skyhold and a stone’s throw away from a lively fireplace, she nearly broke a sweat. Some habits hastily reinforced would have to be hastily overturned. One aspect that had not yet turned into habit was what it felt like to look up and see him there. Not someplace else, not across the fortress at work or worrying to himself. Over there, also a stone or two’s throw away, sat back on the couch with a boot up on the tea table, a book straddled on his thigh.

She did her best not to grant any clues that she was watching him, or worse, admiring him. Truth was she was still riding the high that began the moment she returned and saw him looking on, ready to embrace her in whatever way he could. They had experienced this multiple times now. Ellinor’s guarded nature lost resolve with them each and every time, as if the act of leaving him could become harder and harder. 

The cover couldn’t last forever, though. There came a point when she allowed her quill to stop writing just long enough during one of her peeks, that he noticed just in time. When their eyes met it was as if they had run into each other in a narrow hallway back in the beginning. Ellinor hurriedly pasted her eyes back on her work and dipped her quill.

Cullen’s remaining attention could be felt from across the room. As always. “Something on your mind?” he asked. 

Maybe a sound would be enough. “Mm.” 

He gave a tired but humorful chuckle, but she only kept writing. That is, she thought she would. Instead she straightened her posture and looked at him. He glanced all-too-readily.

Keep reading

[kirkwallgremlin]

hi this is just a friendly reminder that i think about frankie at least once a day

ily 🥺💕💖

It’s funny, she literally only exists bc I was like ‘I should play a different origin to see what it’s like’ and somebody was like ‘do a dwarf’ and now here I am where I also think about her at least once a day <3

[targaryenfamilyorgy]

I want to replay dai so bad bc of awa but I’m supposed to be playing through ac… but like

[bobbyboops]

My first impression of you was that you're the absolute sweetest, and so utterly kind, which of course hasn't changed because you're amazing 🧡💙

Ellinor ☺️☺️ I just love you so much! I love being the designated old ladies of this fandom hahaha you are so kind, and amazing! Your writing is so beautiful and pure! Thank you for being my friend! ❤️🤗😍🥰

[bitchesofostwick]

GINNY!!! omg this is amazing 😭😭 thank you so much for capturing their weird awkward cute dorkiness. this was the best little gift to wake up to, i love it ❤️❤️

between love and hate

HERE IT IS, @bitchesofostwick!! The Ellinor/Cullen prompt fill, for which I’ve chosen the prompt “Shut up, you’re sick. Just let me take care of you already,” with a teeny reference to, “No, don’t come closer. I’m sick.”

In keeping with your and @veridium-bye​’s modern college AU, I have:

1) titled this fic with a Strokes song. (Did I have to do Google research because this is Not My Type of Music? Yes. Did I find a good one? Also yes.)

2) kept this fic pretty low-key, so it’s not heavily edited/betaed. Just good ol’ fashioned modern college AU hurt/comfort fluff and angst.

Thank you for letting me play in your sandbox! I hope I’ve done your universe (and characters) justice.

~

Ellinor nervously bobs up and down on the balls of her feet as she waits outside the door. She hears voices inside, but no movement that sounds like it’s approaching the door. She’s only just shifted the three plastic bags she’s juggling in order to she could knock again when the door opens.

“Ellinor,” says Cassandra, voice low. She seems to sag with relief as she steps aside to let Ellinor in. “He’s in his room.”

In spite of the urge to run to him immediately, Ellinor heads for the counter and deposits her bags.

Cassandra gives a wet cough, reminding Ellinor of her secondary mission. She looks Cassandra over while she unpacks her goodies, and yikes. Poor Cass does not look great. Dark bags under her puffy eyes, red and irritated nose, and the wadded up tissue she uses to cover her mouth leads Ellinor’s eyes to piles all over the living room.

“Did you” — another cough — “buy the entire pharmacy?” Cassandra asks.

“Of course not,” Ellinor says defensively, though she has to admit that three bottles each of DayQuil and NyQuil, a couple bottles of tylenol, and five large boxes of tissues are probably not necessary, even for two sick college students.

But to be fair, after Cassandra called her, she hadn’t been exactly thinking clearly.

She opens up her final, largest container and pops it into the microwave. “This is for both of you. I’ll come out to get some for him in a few.”

Then she pulls out her phone and sends a text:

Mayday. Get up here.

Cassandra’s eyes narrow at the phone. “Who did you just text?”

Keep reading

[gingerbreton]

Tea is brewed, biscuits ready for dunking, time to settle in and catch up on some latest updates of some fantastic fics.

The Falcon & the Rose by @laurelsofhighever

A World Alone by @bitchesofostwick

Temperance by @allisondraste

All of which are fic recs btw!!

[chaotic-good-hawke]

🖐 forrrrr ellinor?

Oh, okay, here we go. I will answer this for Hela Lavellan. 

1. Hela likes that Ellinor cares so deeply about her brother. For Hela, the closest family member is her cousin, Fenrir. She would understand Ellinor doing whatever it took to find Avery, it just makes sense. Family is important. 

2. Hela would like the tenacity of Ellinor, that she makes herself heard. Her viewpoint is important and valid and she makes people listen!

3. Hela would like that Ellinor is saucy in her relationship (if I am reading her correctly), making Cullen blush as much as possible. Hela is all about sex-positivity and being a little bit naughty. They could definitely swap stories in the Herald’s Rest, probably much to Cullen’s chagrin and Sera’s delight!

4. Honestly, Hela would like that Ellinor isn’t Andrastian. Hela spends so much time around Andrastian humans, it would be refreshing. They could complain together, it would be a lovely time. (yes, Hela loves her Andrastian wife, but she is Dalish and, by Fen’harel’s ass, she believes in elven gods). Now I am just imaging Hela and Ellinor, both lightweights, getting drunk and roasting the Chantry (metaphorically, of course!). 

5. Hela would like how fast Ellinor is, the skill she uses daggers. Why, it rivals some of the hunters! She would definitely try to get Ellinor to teach her some tricks, maybe train with her a bit. 

6. Hela would love that Ellinor is up for pranks and that she is friends with Sera, her love. Just imagining the shenanigans the three of them would get into is amazing!

Send 🖐 for five reasons why my muse likes yours!

[bitchesofostwick]

MAIA IM SCREAMING

this is so fucking hilarious omggggg thanks for taking my shitpost tweets and turning them into something i’m DYING 😂😂😂 drag that boy it’s what ellinor would want omfg

but really omg thank you so much for thinking of me today!! i love this and i love YOU 😍❤️

How do you go about asking your boyfriend why he’s being so suspicious?

Ellinor sits on the end of the bed in Cullen’s room, and she’s only half-focused on successfully braiding her hair while she watches him lounge against the pillows, a pleased smile on his face, his hands clasped and resting on his stomach. It’s not that she’s not used to him being so relaxed, nor is she upset that he is, but they only woke up half an hour ago and he’s been like this the entire time.

“Are you going tell me what this is about or what?” she asks, squinting at him, frowning.

“What?” Cullen replies innocently.

“This!” She drops her half-finished braid and gestures towards him in exasperation. “You’re being so weird, babe.”

He looks offended. “I - No, I’m not!”

“Yes, you are!” She laughs and returns to her braiding. “Was I talking in my sleep again or something?”

Cullen sighs wistfully. “I wish.”

Ellinor leans over to slap his leg and he squeaks, moving it out of her reach. “No, you didn’t,” he answers finally, watching her as she works. “I’m just… happy.”

She narrows her eyes. She doesn’t know exactly what he has to be happier than normal about, and it’s irritating her to no end that she doesn’t know what it is. Forcing herself to focus on her hair, Ellinor stands, crossing to fiddle with the gifts on his desk from her birthday last night.

Well, most of the gifts are there, but Olivia refused to give it to her in front of everyone at the restaurant, and apparently it’ll be waiting for Ellinor when she gets back to her room. She hopes it’s not some cute thing that Olivia and Cullen teamed up to get her, because she’s sure she’d cry, and she really doesn’t want to cry today. And Cullen’s gotten her enough already.

She hopes he hasn’t planned on giving her anything more, because she’d probably make him return it.

When she turns to look at him again, he’s raised his arms and placed his hands behind his head, leaning back against his headboard while he watches her. 

“I hate this,” she says. “Just for the record, I hate this, and I hate you.”

Cullen laughs, low and rumbling, and even though she’s nowhere close to him she swears she can still feel the vibration of it anyway. 

“What?” he chuckles. “I-I’m just sitting here, Ellinor, I’m not doing anything suspicious.”

She secures her braid with the elastic around her wrist and crawls onto the bed, moving across the mess of blankets towards him. 

“You are,” she tells him, drawing herself up onto her knees so she can climb into his lap, where he welcomes her with open arms. “And I’m going to find out what it is, lover boy, whether you like it or not. Even if I had to tickle it out of you.”

Cullen’s face contorts in horror. “You wouldn’t,” he says.

“Oh, I would,” Ellinor murmurs as she wraps her arms around his neck. “Or we can do this the easy way and you can just tell me what’s making you so smug.”

He sighs, resting his hands on the small of her back. “Can’t a man just be happy to be with his lovely girlfriend?”

“Babe…”

He frowns. “Okay, okay!” he exclaims. “I just… Okay… You have to promise not to laugh at me -”

“Cullen -”

“Just promise,” he interrupts. “Please?”

Ellinor sighs, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the bridge of his nose where his skin is wrinkling in thought. “Fine,” she tells him. “I promise I won’t laugh at you.”

He smiles a little, pleased with her answer.

“Okay,” he begins again. “So… You know how… Okay, so you know yesterday at the restaurant, when everyone was talking about my… What did you call it? My boring taste in food? Or was it bland?”

A sound rises in Ellinor’s throat that’s torn between a groan and a giggle. “Maybe,” she says, wincing a little. “But it’s just a joke -”

“Anyway!” He continues on, face straining with determination. “While you were too distracted arguing with Sera, I told the waiter to change my order to spicy ramen. And…” He smirks. “And you didn’t even notice.”

“What?” Ellinor frowns. “What are you talking about?”

“I…” His eyes flicker up to the ceiling as he tries to find the words to explain. “I ate spicy ramen last night, Ellinor, and I finished it without you even knowing!”

Oh, Maker.

He can’t say anything else before she starts cackling, backwards somersaulting out his lap and pressing her face into his pillow, howling and giggling until she’s out of breath. “I told you not to laugh!” he says, offended.

She pulls her face up from the pillow, laughing. “That is quite possibly the sweetest and dumbest thing to be proud of I’ve ever heard.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re mean,” he grumbles.

“Oh, Cullen.” Ellinor raises a hand to cup his cheek. “It’s more sweet than it is dumb, I promise.”

“It was really good, too,” he says with a pout. “Has spicy food been this good this whole time?”

Before she knows it, she’s laughing again, and he’s holding onto her waist so she can’t drag herself away again. “That was a joke!” he breathes, laughing too, now. “Ellinor, please, you know I like spicy chicken wings! Cassandra and I eat them every time the Superbowl is on!”

That only makes her laugh harder, and it feels like a year has passed when she finally looks up at him.

“I can’t wait for Olivia to recount this story at our wedding,” she says softly as the giggles subside, allowing him to pull her back against him.

Cullen smiles at her. “Yeah, I -” And then he stops. “Wait, what?”

—

modern!au ellinor belongs to @bitchesofostwick ! the fic is inspired by isabella’s relentless tweets calling out cullen for being a culinary (cullen-ary haha) pussy:

happy happy birthday isabella!!! so grateful that i met you <3 i hope your birthday is wonderful!!! 

[bitchesofostwick]

17 and 25 for the DA worldstate ask game - for any and all of the gals, but particularly Ellinor? <3

ty alex! hope you're doing well <3

17. what were they like as a child? i guess unsurprisingly, ellinor was a very spunky and sometimes mischievous child! ellinor and her twin brother, avery, were the youngest of five total children, and by the time ellinor and avery were around, their parents (being among ostwick's nobility) rarely spent much time with them. she was raised mostly by her governess and tutors and would act out often for attention or just out of spite. because avery discovered he was a mage when they were twelve, that only gave ellinor more reason to resent her parents and older sisters, who were all devoted to the chantry and order. when avery was brought to the circle, her previous antics and mischief bascically became outright defiance, leading to turbulent teenage years and eventually adulthood, when she finally left ostwick for good to go to ferelden to the conclave!

25. what did they plan for their life to look like before the events of the game happened? going off of the previous answer, ellinor's life kind of changed irreversibly once avery was taken to the circle when they were twelve. she devotes most of her teenage and young adult life to first somewhat naively attempting to free him from the circle and later more trying to find and reconnect with him in any way once he was relocated to another circle from ostwick's. her search for avery is actually what brings her to the conclave: once the circles are broken and ellinor knows the mages are scattered, she decides to travel south to ferelden in hopes of finding avery. i wouldn't say she even had any other "plan" for her life. losing a twin sibling is probably the worst imaginable thing a twin could go through (i am a twin, so that's what i think lol), and the need to find him takes over her entire life. it's her whole purpose as a young adult and going into the inquisition, to the point that now (in my trespasser-era fic), with avery found and safe and with the inquisition at it's end, she's actually really lost because it's the first time in her life that she's so aimless and without purpose. it's the main focus of this story and her arc in it.

canon DA worldstate asks // ask box

[save-the-spiral]

Writing Comparison: 13 vs 16

So, like, it’s no surprise that all artists improve over time, and, as writing IS an art, I’d like to um,,, illustrate that through showing my horrid minecraft fanfiction. I was thirteen when I wrote the original scene, and I’m sixteen now, so let’s see how I do! 

(pls be gentle.)

Warnings for suicide, murder, human experimentation, blood, hallucinations, mind control, me writing like a melodramatic ten year old, minecraft fanficiton, gross abuse of italics, misunderstanding as to how to write a paragraph, and 13 yr old me doing her best, okay.

13 year old me: 

A scene from my first completed fanfiction, The Testing, a Merome Story. Second half of chapter 17, originally posted on Wattpad.

*Mitch’s POV*

I've been assigned to do the climbing wall because they want to reassess my skills.

I climbed the first 10 feet easy. I looked down at Dr. Wing, the one who's supervising my climbing. She's pulling out a remote.

I only have time to think, What's that remote for? when she presses the button.

Immediately I'm in one of my nightmares. No, all of my nightmares.

I see everyone I've ever known. Dead.

Dr. Lock Standing over me in a white room, coming at me with a knife. I only have time to scream when the scene changes again.

I'm falling off a building.

Watching my friends get tortured.

Explosions.

Drowning.

Stabbing.

Breaking.

Choking.

Burning.

Falling.

Every thing is happening all at once, yet not at all. I know it's not real, but part of my mind thinks, This is real. Everyone's dead. You have nothing to stay sane for. 

16 year old me:

A scene I’ve reworked from the bones of what I was given above. I changed it into third person and the past tense, because the day I attempt first person in a fic again is the day you should delete me from the internet.

Mitch had been assigned to attempt the climbing wall because they wanted to reassess his ‘skills��. His only skills included crying, screaming, and sometimes flashing in and out of vision like the chameleon they spliced his genes with, thanks to the endless mental abuse and experiments.

Him and his ‘skills’ aren’t going to get that far up the wall.

He stared up at the faux cliff face, the grainy plastic texture of the dark grey wall rough against his sensitive skin. His stomach dropped when he stared straight up to where a gleaming golden bell hung, the florescent lights of the training facility making the metallic glare all the brighter.

Taking a deep breath, he placed a bare hand on one of the colorful molds of plastic meant to serve as a handhold, and hauled himself upwards. It wasn’t easy. Living off of a diet of fruit and anxiety doesn’t exactly bulk someone up.

Mitch climbed the first ten feet easily, and let himself rest for a moment, panting a bit. He then made the mistake of looking down at Dr. Wing, the professional who was supervising his climbing.

She seemed to notice his small break, and pulled a large remote out of her pocket, pressing a menacing red button.

Immediately Mitch was plunged into darkness, still clinging to the wall. He was blind to everything, still clutching the handholds as he began shaking. Images flashed in his mind, until they settled into showing one small scene at a time, a snippet of every dream.

No, definitely no dreams here, not in his mind. A nightmare. All of his nightmares, to be exact.

And in the past few months, he’s had a lot of nightmares.

They shudder, flashing and layering over each other like the most terribly edited horror film in existence.

The glint of a knife fills him with sharp and freezing fear, the approaching anonymous face in a lab coat cackling.

His hands cupped gently as lukewarm blood drips down delicately, eventually overflowing, sloshing like an inebriated man’s cup of liquor in hand. The blood pools beneath him, slowly creeping upwards, towards his chest, his mouth, as he just stares at his hands.

His stomach dropping as he takes a running leap off of a building- bridge- no, a chair, the noose tightening around his neck, the sharp crack of his spine as it snaps, the vertebrae’s fragments digging into the back of his throat-

He watches each of his friends die, one by one, all of them lining up for the slaughter. Each of them has the same blank smile, the same trusting look in their eyes, a trust that is only betrayed by each of their voices chiming in with the same few words.

“It’s your fault.”

Mitch experiences it all, and he lets go, lets himself fall.

He knows, he knows for a certain fact that it isn’t real, that it can’t possibly be real, but a chilling part of his mind only presents one thought to him.

If this is real, you have nothing to live for. If they’re all gone, you might as well be too.

(if you managed to get this far, please, tell me how you think I’ve improved!! I really want to show that just a few years of (pretty inconsistent) dedicated writing can go a long way in the path of bettering yourself as a writer!!)

[bitchesofostwick]

😍😍😍

thank you SO much, @veridium-bye !! this is perfect, and hilarious as well. the way ellinor is so sour except for cullen, and the way cullen is so soft when they’re alone. ahhhhh!! ❤️❤️

“Saving Face”

I was commissioned by my dear friend, @bitchesofostwick, to write for Cullen and Ellinor – this time, in the Inquisition universe, which is a first for me! I have had a bit of time with them as awkward and adorable College students, so this was a great and fun challenge to draw from her amazing story, A World Alone. I highly suggest you read it if you have not already!

Isabella gave me a lot of creative room to take an idea and run with it, so I am delighted to share it. Thank you so much for commissioning me!

                                                         – – – 

Summary: Sera challenges Ellinor to a game of strict focus and discipline. In the process, Ellinor discovers that while may be a nearly infallible player, but not when it comes to certain participants and their…rather silly, childhood memories. 

Ship: Inquisitor Ellinor Trevelyan x Cullen Rutherford

                                                           – – –

It is a game, or so Sera claims at the beginning of it all. Now, she is far from sure. If she was not worried of looking like a sore sport – which she typically could care less about, but today, things feel different – she would opt out. Only, it’s the principle of the thing: so simple a game. Or, “game.” Try not to laugh, or smile, while someone is telling a ridiculous story. Ellinor can certainly win, she never laughs. It is one of those things that hurts feelings and also provides a point of pride: “I laugh!” and also “no one can make me laugh if I do not wish to.”

Maybe that is how she gets caught up in this ordeal. For whatever rhyme or reason, she must win. 

She makes it through five consecutive rounds of torture. Sera instigates, but the first story is one Ellinor’s already heard a half-dozen times. About a scuffle in Denerim where a man giving her trouble ends up hooked on a tavern banner pole, breeches up and arse crested, as she describes. A fantastic tale, but not new. Sera is impressed, but it only provokes her more, so she tells a second one about a bard who tried to drink out of their mandolin. Then, another about a mysteriously unnamed rogue who –

“Sera, I said don’t speak of that ever!” Ellinor cuts in just before she’s damned. The scowl is sincere when she says it. 

Sera, snorting as she chuckles, grips even tighter on the ankles of her crossed legs. She’s sat across from her on the bench chair, outside the tavern. Cassandra passes by in-between stories one and two, quickly decides it is something she wants no part of, and departs before Sera can ask to play. Luckily, just as Ellinor is about to turn it into a sparring match to defend her own honor, Bull’s shadow overtakes them both. 

“Heard from inside, something about a bard on a banner pole?” he asks, swinging his axe in a circular motion as if he’s come to train rather than tease. 

Ellinor smiles slightly, but then quickly covers her ass: “Pause, Sera! To explain!” she says before turning over her shoulder. “Yes, it’s some kind of game. Sera said so. I’m still unsure about whether it is, or just something she’s got me tied into the pass the time.” 

“Oh, sure, blame me, right,” Sera gripes, “all because I have the bright ideas besides mopin.’”

“I was not moping!”

“Right, you were doin’ one better. Daydreamin’ about–”

“Fine, fair enough, I was moping,” Ellinor gives in once again to save face. Shit.

Keep reading

[longbobmckenzie]

2, 17 and 20 for the lockdown ask list please

Thanks, Ellinor!

2. What fic are you most proud of?

I'm proud of many of my fics for different reasons, but the one that comes to mind the most is 'first impressions.' Just the way it came together, and the fact that it was something I didn't think I'd be able to do but proved myself wrong. It was a lot of fun!

17. What’s the aspect of fanfiction you find most difficult to write?

There are a lot of things that I'm not very good at, even some things that I thought I was okay/good at when I was writing a villa fic, only to start writing AUs and realizing what I thought were strengths were actually weaknesses. I think the hardest thing for me, though, is sexual tension. I see other fics full of it and I lose my mind at how good they are and how effortless the authors make it look to write, but it's a huge struggle for me just because of how my brain is wired and my less-than-frilly writing style.

20. What’s the best or/and worst piece of writing advice you’ve ever received?

"Show, don't tell." I think it fits as both the best *and* the worst writing advice. Yes, it's important to show what's happening, to paint a scene for the readers. But at the same time... readers have imaginations, and those should be encouraged. I think sometimes it's easy to hyper-focus on "showing" when "telling" would do absolutely fine. And as a non-frilly writer who sucks at description and heavily relies on the same gestures over and over again... it's just overrated.

Lockdown Ask List

[deuchess]

💛🌼send this to the twelve nicest people you know or who seem to have a good heart and if you get five back you must be pretty awesome🌼💛

hello ellinor :)

i made a quick Noah for you just to show how awesome i find you (and your fic ofc) 😌

[ginnyq]

between love and hate

HERE IT IS, @bitchesofostwick!! The Ellinor/Cullen prompt fill, for which I’ve chosen the prompt “Shut up, you’re sick. Just let me take care of you already,” with a teeny reference to, “No, don’t come closer. I’m sick.”

In keeping with your and @veridium-bye​’s modern college AU, I have:

1) titled this fic with a Strokes song. (Did I have to do Google research because this is Not My Type of Music? Yes. Did I find a good one? Also yes.)

2) kept this fic pretty low-key, so it’s not heavily edited/betaed. Just good ol’ fashioned modern college AU hurt/comfort fluff and angst.

Thank you for letting me play in your sandbox! I hope I’ve done your universe (and characters) justice.

~

Ellinor nervously bobs up and down on the balls of her feet as she waits outside the door. She hears voices inside, but no movement that sounds like it’s approaching the door. She’s only just shifted the three plastic bags she’s juggling in order to she could knock again when the door opens.

“Ellinor,” says Cassandra, voice low. She seems to sag with relief as she steps aside to let Ellinor in. “He’s in his room.”

In spite of the urge to run to him immediately, Ellinor heads for the counter and deposits her bags.

Cassandra gives a wet cough, reminding Ellinor of her secondary mission. She looks Cassandra over while she unpacks her goodies, and yikes. Poor Cass does not look great. Dark bags under her puffy eyes, red and irritated nose, and the wadded up tissue she uses to cover her mouth leads Ellinor’s eyes to piles all over the living room.

“Did you” — another cough — “buy the entire pharmacy?” Cassandra asks.

“Of course not,” Ellinor says defensively, though she has to admit that three bottles each of DayQuil and NyQuil, a couple bottles of tylenol, and five large boxes of tissues are probably not necessary, even for two sick college students.

But to be fair, after Cassandra called her, she hadn’t been exactly thinking clearly.

She opens up her final, largest container and pops it into the microwave. “This is for both of you. I’ll come out to get some for him in a few.”

Then she pulls out her phone and sends a text:

Mayday. Get up here.

Cassandra’s eyes narrow at the phone. “Who did you just text?”

“Liv. She’s waiting outside in the car.” Ellinor grabs one of the DayQuils and a box of tissues.

“What?” Cassandra snaps, but Ellinor finds her much less scary when she goes into a coughing fit.

Besides, she’s about to be Liv’s problem.

But maybe Ellinor can help them both a little. So she shrugs and says, not unkindly, “Why should men be the only ones whose girlfriends take care of them when they’re sick?”

Cassandra doesn’t seem to have an answer to that, and Liv’s feet are already pounding up the stairs, so Ellinor makes a beeline down the hallway.

She gets to the door just as Liv arrives as Liv often does — loudly and dramatically.

But the sounds she hears on the other side of the bedroom door make Liv and Cass fade into the background, and Ellinor skips knocking altogether.

To find Cullen, retching into a bowl.

“Oh, babe …” Heart in her throat, she rushes to sit next to him on the bed, tossing her parcels aside to rub his back and run her fingers through his hair.

The room is stuffy and too warm, and the smell alone … ick. Cullen’s loose curls are damp with sweat, and though she doesn’t exactly have a weak stomach, she gags as she sees (and hears and smells) his puke hit the bowl.

“Lin?” Cullen whimpers. “What’re you —” He coughs, but seems to be done puking for now. “Doing here?”

“Shh,” she says, removing her hand from his hair to open the tissue box and hand him several. She trades them for the bowl and (trying unsuccessfully not to gag) sets it on the floor out of her field of vision. “Cassandra texted me.”

Cullen wipes his mouth and blows his nose, then tosses the tissues into the small trashcan he’s moved next to his bed.

“She shouldn’t have,” he sighs, even as he relaxes against her, head on her shoulder. “I told her I’m —”

“Cullen Rutherford, if you say you’re fine, I’m going to take that bowl and dump your fine all over your lap.”

He coughs out a chuckle. “Okay, but …” Then he looks up at her, and now she sees just how sick he is — dark circles under his dulled eyes bring the unusual paleness of his skin into stark relief. “I just don’t want to —” A shiver this time. “Get you sick.”

“I’ll be fine.” Ellinor kisses his forehead, which is too warm and too damp. “God, you’re burning up. When was the last time you took something?”

“We’re out of DayQuil.”

Ellinor snatches the bottle from the bed and waves it in his face. “Not anymore. And this bottle’s all for you.”

“But Cass —”

“Has her own, plus, um … several others.” At his frown, she shrugs, mumbling, “I stopped by the store and might have gotten carried away.” But she rallies with, “And I brought chicken noodle soup!”

Amid the evidence of his illness on his face, Ellinor recognizes the intense look Cullen often gives her, the one that — even when, like now, it’s accompanied by the slight smile that gives her butterflies — always makes her self-conscious and want to avert her eyes.

She doesn’t, though, and holds his gaze for what feels like an eternity until he croaks out, “You’re amazing, you know that?”

Ugh, he’s the sick one, but somehow it’s her that’s feeling feverish.

So she kisses the top of his head and says, “You should go splash some water on your face. Maybe rinse the puke out of your mouth.”

He winces, and though his face is already pretty flushed from the fever, his ears go a bit pink. His eyes drift to the bowl on the floor. “Yeah.”

“Are you okay to walk?” she suddenly thinks to ask. Puking one’s guts out doesn’t usually lend itself toward anything but laying flat and moaning, at least in her extensive experience.

He nods. “I’m actually feeling better now.” Rising, he waves toward the bowl. “Could you, uh, hand me that? I’ll rinse it out.”

“It’s okay, I can do it,” she says, though she doesn’t really mean it. She’s not entirely sure she won’t puke herself right now, and she’s just picking up the bowl to hand it to him.

But thank God he’s far too chivalrous — not to mention embarrassed — to let her do that.

“No, I got it, really,” he says, taking the bowl and hurrying (as fast as someone who’s just puked their guts out can) to the bathroom.

She follows to make sure he doesn’t pass out on the way, but he makes it and closes the door behind him, so she heads back to the kitchen for his soup.

Liv and Cassandra are huddled under a blanket on the couch in the common area, Cassandra sipping soup from a mug and leaning into Liv, who’s flipping through channels and with her arm unabashedly around Cassandra’s shoulder.

Until they see Ellinor, that is. Then they both straighten and move apart, like she’s Cassandra’s dad coming in to tell them to leave room for Jesus or something.

Ellinor rolls her eyes. At least they’re cuddling in private, right? She turns her back to them and pours some soup into a mug for Cullen. Cassandra’s got the right idea; spoons are probably too complicated right now.

“So, uh …” Liv clears her throat. “How’s Rutherflu doing back there?”

“Did he throw up again?” Cassandra asks.

Ellinor nearly drops the soup. “Again? How many —?”

“This would be the third.”

Shit. But no, she prepared for this. She dives back into the not-quite-empty bags of goodies and brings out a Gatorade and an apple juice (for backup, in case the Gatorade isn’t great for flu nausea).

“Fuck, Ellinor,” Liv says. “I take back what I said in the store. And the checkout. And the car. I think you might have actually underdone it this time?”

And that’s when the door to the bathroom opens, so Ellinor juggles the two bottles and the mug, calls, “They’re for your girlfriend, too!” back at Liv, and pushes open the door to Cullen’s room just before it snaps shut behind the man himself.

He looks much better than before, though he’s still too flushed for her liking.

“Hey,” he says with the smile that’s always reserved just for her. “What’s —”

“Take some DayQuil,” she orders.

He blinks, his fevered brain taking time to process, so she shoves a Gatorade into his hand, sets the mug and the juice on the desk, and fights with the DayQuil until she’s poured his dose into the little cup.

But apparently she’s still moving too fast for him because he shakes his head and frowns. “I can —”

“Drink. Now.” As he does, she snatches the Gatorade away from him to open it, too. “And shut up. You’re sick. Just let me take care of you already.”

He knocks back the DayQuil like a shot (ew) and trades her for the Gatorade. “If you were sick, you would —”

“The next time I get sick, you can take care of me.”

He pauses in the middle of a giant swing to look at her flatly.

“Promise,” she says, extending her pinky out to him.

He smirks and twines his pinky finger with hers. “I’ll hold you to that.”

She’s already regretting it, but it is only fair. “Cass said this is the third time you’ve thrown up.”

Cullen lowers the Gatorade to rest on his leg and leans his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. “Yeah. But those other times I couldn’t even get out of bed after. Now I feel loads better.” He opens his eyes and rolls his head to look at her, smiling sweetly again. “You were here this time, so it must be you.”

Drugged and feverish Cullen is even more sickeningly (heh) sweet than usual.

She loves it.

But her cheeks heat again, so she nudges him with her shoulder and rises to get his mug of soup. “Just imagine how much better you’d be feeling if you had called me a couple days ago.”

Sticking the Gatorade between his legs, he snatches the mug from her with both hands and inhales. Then he sips and closes his eyes once again, letting out a moan that gives Ellinor more than just butterflies. “You’re right, I should have called you days ago. You’re a goddess.”

Her stomach does a flip, but not unpleasantly. Goddess? No man has ever called her anything even remotely like that in her entire life. And yet here’s Cullen, sipping soup with his eyes closed as if he hasn’t just casually dropped the most precious name he’s ever called her other than Lin.

Nope. Nuh-uh. Too many incredible, awful, wonderful, uncomfortable feelings right now. She doesn’t know if she wants to kiss him or punch him, jump for joy or puke in the bowl he just cleaned.

So she springs to her feet, back to him, clenching her fists and trying to push all these horribly pleasant and pleasantly horrible feelings down where they won’t escape until she allows them to, i.e. never.

“We should watch something,” she says, grabbing the remote from its usual spot on his desk and pulling up Netflix.

“I won’t — I’m tired,” he says softly.

She doesn’t turn around. “So we’ll watch something we’ve both — oh. Weird. It’s asking for your password?”

“Why is that weird? It always does that.”

“Babe.” Now she turns around, tilting her head at him, that weird combination of fond and exasperated she always gets when he’s dumb about technology. “You know you can tell it to save your password, right?”

“Really?” He pulls his mug away from his mouth and looks at her like she’s just revealed the answer to life, the universe, and everything. “How?”

She can’t help but roll her eyes and smile at him as she turns back to the TV. “Don’t worry, I’ll do it. What’s your password?”

He starts to cough, and she rushes to his side, handing him the tissue box.

“Drink some Gatorade,” she says, swapping his (empty, thank God) mug for the bottle.

“I’m — fine,” he coughs, but takes a swig anyway. “But it’s okay, I can put it in …”

Oh, shit. They’ve never shared passwords before, and he’s actually responsible. He probably has a unique password for everything and never shares them, no matter what, because security.

“I’m sorry!” She shoves the remote at him. “I just thought it would be faster, but if you —”

“No, no, I —” One last, weak cough, and he seems to be okay, though his ears are redder than the Fruit Punch Gatorade in his hand. “I just, uh, it’s okay. You’ll probably type it faster. It’s, uh … capital E …”

“Okay …” She drags out the second syllable, but he seems sure, so she goes to the menu and clicks through the keyboard to enter an uppercase E.

“Um, and then lowercase L … L … I … N …”

Oh. Ohhhhhh. Oh, fuck, he’s so adorable she can’t even look at him. “Uh-huh,” she says encouragingly.

“… O … R … exclamation point.” He clears his throat. “Uh, one zero one seven.”

She finishes inputting it, checks the Save Password box — how could he not see that, it’s right there! — and swallows before turning to him.

He’s fussing with the label on his bottle, decidedly not making eye contact.

“That’s the date we finally got together,” she says softly. “Like, for really real.”

“Yeah.” He bites his lip.

And fuck if those feelings don’t start bubbling up again. But she shoves them down deep.

“Cullen.” She places her hand over the bottle, stilling his fingers. “Babe, look at me.”

He does, hesitantly, as if waiting for her to strike him down for blasphemy or something.

Without thinking — about, well, germs — she pecks him on the cheek. “You’re part of my Netflix password, too.”

He grins, and it’s so sweet and precious she thinks she might melt on the spot, and she has to swallow back those stupid, confusing, good, bad emotions.

“Come on,” she says, waving at him to lay down.

With a sigh, he does, resting his head in her lap. She runs her fingers through his curls and navigates to his watchlist, selecting A New Hope and settling back against the wall.

As the opening crawl crosses the screen, he taps the beat of the main theme on her thighs.

“Mmm,” he murmurs. “Good choice.”

She feels him begin to relax — his body seems heavier against her legs, and he twines his fingers with hers that aren’t in his hair.

He can’t seem to get comfortable, so he fidgets and turns in her lap, but she lets him, allowing herself to be sucked into the movie.

When Vader asks, in his distinctive cadence, what the Rebels have done with those plans, she mutters the line with him, grinning at the memory of her and Cullen saying it to each other the last time they watched the movie.

She glances down to find him, eyes wide and watery.

“Are you okay?” she asks, instantly worried.

But he just looks at her too intensely, smiles at her like that, and nods.

“What is it, babe? Do you need something?”

“I just —” He coughs into his elbow — God, even when he’s sick he’s responsible — but that smile she loves so much doesn’t fade for an instant. “Thank you. No one’s ever taken care of me when I’m sick before. Not like this.”

“Well, I told you that you could take care of me when I get sick,” she says, forcing a smile, “so don’t think I’m not sacrificing something big here.”

Ah, humor. The best deflection from inconveniently thrilling emotions.

“I l —”

He swallows, and coughs, and her heart stops.

No, no, nononononono, not now …

“I like you, Ellinor Trevelyan. A lot.”

Her heart starts up again, and then melts, because that’s actually really sweet?

“I like you, too, Cullen Rutherford,” she responds, grinning. “Like, a lot.”

But his smile doesn’t return. Just that intense look again. She’s never seen him so earnest.

“I mean, I really, really, really, really like you, Lin,” he whispers. “More than I’ve ever liked anyone before.”

Her eyes sting. She knows what he means. She knows what he wants to say.

But even when he’s sick as a dog, he won’t say it out loud. Because he knows she’s not ready yet.

And fuck, if all those feelings don’t almost make her heart explode, forcing those words out of her mouth in a burst.

She swallows them down — she can’t, not yet — but nods, sniffing and wiping her cheek on her sleeve.

“I really, really, really like you, too,” she says. “More than anyone.”

Somehow, because he understands her in ways she’s not sure she even understands herself, that’s enough. His eyes flutter closed, and the corners of his mouth twitch upward, and this time she feels all the tension leave him in a rush. He rolls over and nuzzles into her stomach, sighs the softest, most precious little moan she thinks she’s ever heard, and within ten seconds starts to snore quietly.

She bends down and kisses him on the temple. “Feel better, Cullen.”

Then she leans back against the wall, running her fingers through his hair and watching him rest as A New Hope plays in the background.