C O M M A N D E R @feelslikexquiet-blog - Tumblr Blog

[ It’s been like a year, and I’m 100% amazed that I even remembered the e-mail for this account. ]

Wartable is madness

“We will not run from here, Inquisitor.” MLZ Studios just completed a showcase video of my DA:I Cullen cosplay and it gives me life! I’ve watched it about forty times because I can’t figure out how he managed to make me look that cool. Character: Cullen Rutherford (fem version) Series: Dragon Age Inquisition Cosplayer: Enayla Videographer: MLZ Studios Facebook | DeviantART | Twitter

#YO

archdemonsblood

… I suddenly want a fic where Cullen casually mentions phylacteries for whatever reason, and Dorian is like “Hello, Tevinter here. What’s a phylactery?” and Cullen explains and Dorian is like “what the fuck, Cullen, that’s blood magic,” and Cullen is like “No it’s not because … because… well. you see. if you just consider that… uh…”

clairvoyxncy-deactivated2018031

feelslikexquiet:

“I’ve seen a few- but I assumed there must be a formal one, similar to our own? Or…” He frowns slightly as he considers this, reminding himself that the world was not quite so simply written that it always reflected the world around him– that of course Dalish dances would be much different, that cultures do not vary only by physical characteristics. “Right, of course.” Here-in he nods, tilts his neck somewhat so she has better placement on him, feeling the slight, barely-there jab against his shoulder. His hand moves from her knee at her movement and he shifts to fold them in his lap, gazing upwards slightly at the ceiling. He could safely assume they were both equally excited to attend this ball– though this time he was somewhat surprised, it wasn’t often he was the leading expert of anyone in terms of social gatherings that weren’t militarily charged. “–…well, I suppose it wouldn’t matter too much to you, but I keep my hair well groomed–” He is teasing, a slight chuckle, but he shrugs his free shoulder non-noncommittally, about as much at a loss as she is for the particularities of Orlesian culture. “I don’t know, rabbit. I really don’t. It just feels like a heavy burden, and I suppose all it really does is keep the dignitaries entertained enough to stop killing everyone for an hour or two.”

She grins wickedly and tilted her head to look at his hair – quite pretty, by human standards. At least, much prettier than most human men. She hesitates for a moment, then gives into her desire to run her fingers through it lightly, enjoying the smooth feeling. Smoother than her own, anyway. She always tries to run her fingers through her hair and gets stuck in the frizzy, curly tangles. So, she’s given up.

With a huff, she sits up suddenly and gathers the textbooks together, shifting around to stack them onto the floor beside the bed. If there was anything for her to learn, she has learned it, and taken notes onto a scroll that she will pocket for the ball. Perhaps she will be able to duck behind a corner every so often to look over the cheat sheet, to remember how to behave… or she’ll simply give up and let Josephine take care of the following disaster of bringing their own Dalish ditz to an Orlesian ball.

“ Well, I believe my job is to be doing the killing for them. I am better at that! Killing assassins. Saving the world. All that. Easier than trying not to offend people. ”

She gives a pleasant little smile and shifts to plop in front of him, reaching forward to unbuckle the first outer layer of his armor. Human armor – not very comfortable.

“ You will have to attend, as well. You can just… stand there and look pretty, I suppose. Try not to forget me in the face of all the Orlesian beauties. ”

feelslikexquiet-blog

Very not comfortable, impractical if you’re trying to be stealthy, or light of foot. Strapping molten rocks to your body simply does very little for mobility, let alone comfort. “...The face?” He questions, turning, twisting just enough that he could face her, intent on his feet remaining off the bed- manners, and all. “What do you mean by the face? All they wear is masks.” This is accompanied by another sigh, as he knew well in advance he’d be dragged into yet another of these useless events. He never saw the point to them-- but then again, he never though too hard to the intricacies of certain cultures, should they differ too greatly from his own. ...Even still, the game was a massive waste of time. It was like a war spread out, instead of a battle of three days with millions of causalities, fatalities, it is as though the Orlesians took war and spun it into a life-long art, a war dragged out over years- the same causalities, it just took longer. And Cullen, well, he hated every angle of it. “I suppose I don’t know, with the killing. I do think it’d be easier if we simply posted guards around Célene.”

venviru-blog

Orphan in the storm, that’s a role I’ve played before I’ve learned not to tremble, when I hear the thunder roar I don’t curse what I can’t change, I just play the hand I’m dealt And when they lighten up the rations, I will tighten up my belt Because I am bound to walk among the wounded and the slain And when the storm comes c r a s h i n g down on the plain I will dance before the lightning to music sacred and proclaim:

❝ I am not a stranger to the rain. ❞

sweetnemesis

Actual Lion of Skyhold

#yes. it is him.#big scary lion.

clairvoyxncy-deactivated2018031

feelslikexquiet:

Plans to meet every other night keep Cullen sane; it’s something he can plan for in advance, less of a trial obligation than when he used to simply try to show every night. See, it’s been planned. He can prioritize it as legitimate as he would prioritize a meeting. (Which is what he called this, anyways, should any nosy scouts try to pry any further information out of him– Cullen somehow not fully realising the relationship was both well known and glaringly obvious.) “You are a lady. I don’t think your actions need dictate that.” When he reaches the tops of the stairs he chuckles, her voice carrying through the vast room. It was endearing and somewhat validating how frustrated she got over social outings, as he often felt the same way when put in situations where you needed social graces and dignified manners to last the night– swords were much easier. He could hold a sword and get through a night. He could not simply pick up and carry manners to survive a night in Orlais. And Val Royeaux, at that! He sits at the edge of her bed, leather pressing against the down of her blankets and he opts to place a hand on her knee, eyeing the books surronding her– as they often do, their titles often explaining her latest obsession- or if he was careful enough to look, her latest emotional state. “What’s bothering you? The manner of dancing can’t be too different from your own customs.”

“ You have not seen many Dalish dances, have you? ”

A sarcastic giggle bubbles forth before she catches it, looking up at Cullen with a smile of disbelief. She can never tell if he’s preciously innocent, or just oblivious. She loves him, Creators save her, so she tries to help. She hums softly and sits up to rest her chin on his shoulder, enjoying the sensation of the fur against her cheek, and flips mindlessly through her books. Lifting one up, she plops it onto his lap and points to one of the illustrations.

“ ’How to ask a lady to dance. How to accept a dance from a gentleman. How to decline a dance from a gentleman. How to have a discreet tryst with a gentleman. How to fix your hair in public.’ Really? These are concerns? ”

Humans. They invent such silly concepts for socialization. A reason she is so endeared to Cullen – what does a man who speaks with the sword need with proper social etiquette? Orlesian, no less?

feelslikexquiet-blog

“I’ve seen a few- but I assumed there must be a formal one, similar to our own? Or...” He frowns slightly as he considers this, reminding himself that the world was not quite so simply written that it always reflected the world around him-- that of course Dalish dances would be much different, that cultures do not vary only by physical characteristics. “Right, of course.” Here-in he nods, tilts his neck somewhat so she has better placement on him, feeling the slight, barely-there jab against his shoulder. His hand moves from her knee at her movement and he shifts to fold them in his lap, gazing upwards slightly at the ceiling. He could safely assume they were both equally excited to attend this ball-- though this time he was somewhat surprised, it wasn’t often he was the leading expert of anyone in terms of social gatherings that weren’t militarily charged. “--...well, I suppose it wouldn’t matter too much to you, but I keep my hair well groomed--” He is teasing, a slight chuckle, but he shrugs his free shoulder non-noncommittally, about as much at a loss as she is for the particularities of Orlesian culture. “I don’t know, rabbit. I really don’t. It just feels like a heavy burden, and I suppose all it really does is keep the dignitaries entertained enough to stop killing everyone for an hour or two.”

#is that even a fuckign word 'militarily' what the fuck val

clairvoyxncy-deactivated2018031

@feelslikexquiet

Typically, beds are for sleeping. It is what is expected, anyway, yet Enya has decided to use hers for a different reason. She forgets that Cullen is coming tonight, as they have agreed to do every other day, but she is busy. Surr- ounded on all sides by texts of etiquette, manners, social- izing techniques, Orlesian history and politics, femininity… The journey to the Winter Palace is coming, and Enya is quite sure she is about the most unkempt woman to venture into its great halls under Orlesian occupation.

At the sound of Cullen’s heavy footsteps, clunking their way up the stairs to the Inquisitor’s chambers, Enya lets out a huff and lays back, wincing as a book on how to properly refuse a gentleman’s hand to dance pokes into her backside.

“ Cullen. I will never be a lady. This is hopeless. You like me even though I am not a lady. Can I not simply act… normal? Who even dances at these events? Josie showed me. They seem so… ridiculous. ”

feelslikexquiet-blog

Plans to meet every other night keep Cullen sane; it’s something he can plan for in advance, less of a trial obligation than when he used to simply try to show every night. See, it’s been planned. He can prioritize it as legitimate as he would prioritize a meeting. (Which is what he called this, anyways, should any nosy scouts try to pry any further information out of him-- Cullen somehow not fully realising the relationship was both well known and glaringly obvious.) “You are a lady. I don’t think your actions need dictate that.” When he reaches the tops of the stairs he chuckles, her voice carrying through the vast room. It was endearing and somewhat validating how frustrated she got over social outings, as he often felt the same way when put in situations where you needed social graces and dignified manners to last the night-- swords were much easier. He could hold a sword and get through a night. He could not simply pick up and carry manners to survive a night in Orlais. And Val Royeaux, at that! He sits at the edge of her bed, leather pressing against the down of her blankets and he opts to place a hand on her knee, eyeing the books surronding her-- as they often do, their titles often explaining her latest obsession- or if he was careful enough to look, her latest emotional state. “What’s bothering you? The manner of dancing can’t be too different from your own customs.”