#poor Dorian....he's going to have to wash his shoe :/

[reaping-cain]

9. An Awkward Kiss for your favorite pair!

I saw this while going through my inbox and it’s been a while since I wrote anything, so here you go. Cullen x Kaeran in Single Fereldan Man Seeks Female Companion verse…set just before the housewarming, because why not?

Fluff and weirdness, 1175 words

Kaeran was running around in a frenzy, getting everything sorted and in place for the housewarming party. She even had Cullen return to the grocery store to exchange a bag of chips because who throws a party and only has the blandest flavour on hand?

“But it says ‘Classic’,” he said defensively.

Kaeran knows that she’s patient and understanding, but with so much at stake, it wasn’t happening.

Sensing her distress, Cullen left without another word along with the bland bag of chips.

She was going to apologize to him when he got back. She had to, otherwise she was going to feel guilty the whole night.

Fortunately, there was help from Cullen’s sisters and Rhona who came early to help with preparing extra dishes, setting the place for maximized party space. She noticed her cousin pushing the couch flush against the wall, leaving a huge gap in the center for people to mingle.

“There, all clear.” Rhona wiped her hands in satisfaction.

“Don’t get your hopes up, I know that look,” Kaeran chided.

“What look?” Her cousin replied a little too innocently.

“You’re hoping that this party devolves into a beer pong tournament.”

“Well, if it goes that way…”

Rubbing her temples, she can feel a headache coming. “Fine, but only a few rounds and only if you can wrangle three other souls into it. I don’t want my first impression with Cullen’s side to include cops showing up because we’re being loud.”

Kaeran knows that it probably won’t come to that, but at this point she’s preparing herself for the worst case scenario, including the unexpected and uninvited appearance of her ex. It doesn’t help that with the slight throb of a looming headache comes the flood of irritation across her face. She had stopped taking the cream for a week and her skin was rebelling; some days the salve helped and Kaeran completely forgot the pain, but when the air was dry she suffered. Today was a beautiful day, especially for a housewarming, but the air was a tad on the dry side and with Kaeran fussing with her face earlier, she could feel how hot her face felt and her skin did not appreciate the extra layer of makeup concealer.

Right now she was desperately trying not to claw at her own face.

The doorbell rang and for a moment her heart stuttered. Was it time already?

She walked to the entranceway and frowned at Cullen who looked incredibly (and adorably) sheepish on the other side of the door. He had to hunch over a little to peer through the panel of glass, waving at her and then pointing down to the doorknob. Oh.

Kaeran took the few steps to the door and narrowed her eyes slightly. He must’ve understood her meaning and pulled a different bag of chips for her to inspect. Satisfied, she unlocked the door and let him in. The space in the vestibule now crowded with Cullen taking up most of it and peering down at her with a smirk.

“Rhona must’ve locked the door after you left.” She offered, trying to fill the silence. She wasn’t one to do that, and sort of felt silly now doing that.

“No worries, I’ll just make sure to have my key on me next time.”

“I appreciate you going back out, I’m sorry if I was a bit curt. I’ve got a lot on my mind and I know it’s not an excuse to treat you that way.”

“Hey, it’s alright. I didn’t think you were actually mad at me for my questionable choice in chips, I should’ve asked if you had a preference. I’m not really good at this whole housewarming thing.”

“I’ve never thrown one before, just been to a couple of Rhona’s.”

“Well, I think you’re doing a great job and if you need to delegate anything to me, I’m your man.”

“My man, sirrah?” She bats her eyelashes in quick succession while folding her hands across her chest. How does he manage to diffuse her foul mood? She really couldn’t have asked for a better roommate.

He plays along and bows, when he looks into her eyes he gently extricates one of her hands, nestling it into his larger one. Ever the gentleman, Cullen places a chaste kiss between her first two knuckles; it’s a brief contact, the rasp of his stubble against her skin a mix of shock and warm indulgence. He seems to recollect himself faster and it’s when he straightens that she notices his flushed face.

“I-I, um…” His hand so desperately wants to rub the back of his neck, chasing the flush from spreading further.

“It’s this heat, clearly getting to us both,” Kaeran soothes, alleviating him of further embarrassment.

“Think you two can be any more weird?” Rhona shouts from the kitchen. Her question startles them both, making Kaeran chuckle. She stands taller, leaning against Cullen to give him a friendly peck while trying to grab the bag from his hand.

However, the lines of communication are crossed. While Kaeran retrieves the bag from his grasp and leans up to plant a chaste kiss for his trouble, Cullen clutches the bag to him in reflex and confused, turns his head sideways. The shift causes Kaeran to stumble and her lips miss the mark entirely and are presently fixed on the corner of his mouth.

It feels as though they’re frozen in place for an eternity. In reality, it takes a few seconds for both to register what happened and react. Both give up on the bag of chips (which tumbles to the ground, unimpressed), and while Kaeran moves backwards, eyes wide and fingers pressed to her lips, Cullen crowds into her, hands reaching while slightly out of breath.

“Kaeran…” He wants to apologize but can’t find it in himself to. What was there to be sorry about? Despite the awkwardness of the situation, he didn’t regret it. He could see now that she was at war with herself, unsure how to process. She didn’t recoil from him, only belatedly retreated.

Kaeran was about to say something when Rhona called out again, “Hey, can I use the mortar and pestle to smash avocado?”

That seemed to snap them both out of their trance. Both tried to salvage the situation and failed by interjecting each other with the same thought. A small laugh diffused the tension between them but only enough to allow quick glances at each other while moving further into the apartment.

Kaeran went into the kitchen to scold her cousin and vowed to hide her mortar and pestle (which Rhona seemed very keen on using one way or another) and Cullen went to his bedroom to change. Though what happened in the vestibule wasn’t entirely gone from their minds, both fell into their role as hosts with ease. It wasn’t until Dorian’s arrival that what happened between them came crashing down once more.

“I’m here now, the party has offi—WHO LEFT A BAG OF CHIPS ON THE FLOOR??”

[granma-sweetie]

Come again? *the bar falls silent. No one dares to make a sound, as you have just said a very poor choice of words at a very dangerous time. I remain slumped over the bar, not looking back to you. One hand limply holding an almost empty bottle, the other hand cradling my head. I repeat the question, this time louder.* Come again?! *You can hear me slur the words, the sentence sounds like a real struggle for me to get out. I’m clearly intoxicated. A bead of sweat rolls down your face as you realize you might have just fucked up in a very major way. Everyone else in the bar is pretending not to notice what is going on. The bartender idly washes a mug with a cloth. His eyes are closed and he’s muttering something to himself. A handful of people hurriedly leave. One person looks back at you, a look of sorrow on their face. They almost say something, but shake their head and cast their eyes down to the floor, and leave. But not you. You stand, petrified. A quick look at me reveals I’m still at the bar. You look to the exit, there’s still time. But there’s not, there’s not, there’s not. Your fate was sealed the moment you opened your mouth.* Mother fuck.. what did you say?! *I slowly rise from my stool and being to lumber over to you. I look a mess. My hair is unkempt, and seemingly hasn’t been washed in months, there are dark heavy bags under my eyes, my shirt is stained and has holes in it, and I’m missing a shoe. But the main thing you notice is the gun tucked into my jeans, and my massive muscle arms that look like they were made for punching. You know that song about the boots that were made for walking? Yeah, it’s like that only instead of boots it’s my muscles and instead of walking it’s punching. As I drunkenly sway over to you, you think of your family… Will they mourn you, or will they try and forget this blotch of stupidity, that their child insulted dorian publicly, ever happened to their family? Your thoughts are cut short as I now stand face to face with you. I grab your face and pull you even closer.* Playin?! There was nothing playing… no playing you fuck. No playing… it was real… the realest thing I’ve ever know… felt…Love. I loved them… Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart�� Antonio Salieri... I loved all two of em… but they… *my face is wet with tears and I’m blinking constantly in vain to hold them back* They stopped writing music… stopped… *Almost instantly the sadness leaves my face and is replaced with pure anger.* Playin? Playin?! *My hand leaves your face and starts to head to what you think is the gun. You close your eyes and see God looking at you, shrugging. ‘Pft, you brought this upon yourself, dude.’ He says as he waves his hands at you dismissively. But instead of the gun, my hands grab yours. Your eyes jolt open and the anger is gone from my face. There is only sadness.* Left the music industry…*I fall to the floor and sob.* Wow, grow up. *You say before you leave the bar but are hit almost immediately by a car and are killed upon impact.*

my two composers. and yes they compose music.

[asktheghosthost]

For the what if prompts, can I ask for something cute? What if Tommy had come to the mansion much earlier, like as a little older than a toddler? We talked about this a while back, but it stuck with me. Like, maybe how tiny Tommy would be around Eulalie, Beau or even Reginald. Or maybe baby Dorian, if it were a bit later.

Reginald Gracey stared down at the little boy standing on his porch, as if trying to figure out what he was. 

The child stared right back up at him, lips pressed together in terrified silence, big gray eyes red-rimmed and watery. He was small, thin, hardly more than four. Bramble scratches criss-crossed his dirt-smudged limbs. Without a word, he thrust up a fist. A golden locket dangled from it.

Hesitantly, Reginald reached forward and took the proffered necklace. Eyes still flicking back to the boy, he popped open the heart shaped locket and looked inside. The tiny faces of his cousin, her husband, and the little boy gazed back. With no more than a non-committal grunt, he closed it and handed it over. 

“You... You’re Annabelle’s son. Well, where is she? What happened to her?”

The tyke opened his mouth to speak, but any words were stopped by an onslaught of sobs. 

Oh god, it was so loud. “All right, all right!” Reginald pleaded, holding up his hands. “Come inside. Leave your muddy shoes by the door. I’ll get you some water...” 

The child did as he was told, still sniffling as he followed at Reginald’s heels. 

He had trouble keeping up, staggering and jumping behind the man’s long strides. It didn’t help that he was constantly looking around him at the mansion’s ornate decorations. Busts that were half as big as he was seemed to glare at him as he passed. A suit of armor towered above him, and he was sure it would come to life and chase him at any moment. The thick carpet beneath his socks was so nice, though. He could have dropped right there and napped. It seemed like such a nice idea...

The whole world tilted, and the boy collapsed.

***

“I can’t believe you just--Oh, oh, Reggie, the poor dear is waking up!”

The boy groaned as he opened his eyes. Something was on his forehead, and he tried to bat it away. As his vision came back into focus, he could see a woman pulling a rag from his head. 

“What was I supposed to do?” The gruff, mustached man from before stepped into view. “I invited him in. I was going to get him a drink.”

“You could have carried him to the couch and made him comfortable. He can’t weigh more than forty pounds! And he’s clearly been on his own for days.” 

Reginald twitched his mustache. “Eulalie, he’s filthy. I didn’t want to put my hands on him or have him touching our things.”

Eulalie rolled her eyes and turned back to their guest. “What’s your name, darling?” After pushing his shaggy, black bangs aside, she used the cloth to gently wash grime from his face.

He hadn’t spoken in so long, he could scarcely whisper out, “Randall. Sometimes Randy.”

“Randall,” the man huffed. “She named him after that thieving pirate. Annabelle should have known better than to get mixed up with those no-good Paces!”

Eulalie refused to even glance at her husband. “Oh, hush. Here, let’s get you some hot broth. You must be starving.”

“None of this explains why he’s here. Cousin Anna and I had our differences, but she wouldn’t have let her son wander off like this.”

To be continued...