inadequatematerials-blog - Tumblr blog

inadequatematerials-blog · 8 years

Text

Kissing Cassandra Pentaghast ||| Chapter 7: Surprises

\\ Archive Of Our Own \\

Summary: She was searching for the perfect man, but instead, found the perfect woman.

Cassandra is a single, straight, successful newspaper editor who finds herself questioning just how straight she is when she meets the grounded but scintillating Amala Lavellan.

“You don’t believe in the Maker?”

Cassandra had received two differing opinions on bringing up religion on first dates. Her friends told her it was inappropriate. While her parents adamantly felt that no date should even be set without a full detailing on one’s interactions with the church.

She could almost hear her parent’s anxious questioning. Where were they baptized? What denomination? Does he follow the white divine or the black divine? How often do they attend service?

Lavellan, the one who started the conversation in the first place, innocently shrugged. “I don’t NOT believe in the Maker.”

Cassandra grabbed an olive to pop it in her mouth while narrowing her eyes.

Lavellan put a hand up in defeat. “I’ll stop toying with you. If I must give myself a label then I identify as spiritual with values heavily informed by Dalish heritage and culture.”

“What does that mean exactly? I am not trying to be superfluous.”

Lavellan smirked. “You like things to be clear...I can get that. I grew up on a Dalish reservation, and had a Keeper, observed Dalish holidays, and was surrounded by our Gods, stories, and everything everywhere. But, not everyone in a clan is a hundred percent ‘I believe in all the old ways.’ It’s not too different from how folks here can grow up in an Andrastian society, and may not be devout or even following, but they still have all those messages and holidays that shape their life.”

Cassandra’s face reflected understanding. “What was your family like?”

“My Grandmother was our Keeper most of my life,” she said, sounding wistful. “My family was more serious about upholding tradition, but it made sense, we’ve lost so much and my family has always been a strong pillar of the community. They let me decide for myself though, freedom of thought is big for my clan.”

“I can appreciate that,” Cassandra began, snickering lightly. “Freedom of thought is not a phrase my parents entertained about most things.”

Lavellan laughed softly but her eyes turned serious. “I love and cherish traditional elhven religion, but I just don’t believe in one religion over the other. I believe there is a life force, something bigger than us all, where we all come from and go back to. It’s complicated. I might need more time and less wine to explain.”

“I understand, it makes sense to me,” Cassandra replied quickly to assure Lavellan.

Lavellan snorted. “You don’t have to lie! That was rambling.”

She put her hands up in defense. “It does! The confusion on my face comes from how different my household was.”

“You did mention that. How did that play out? You don’t come off as someone who would be subservient to their parents.” Lavellan asked, eyebrows raised mischievously.

Cassandra smiled knowingly. “Yes, that must be obvious. I had many a disagreement with my parents. They wanted to raise me as a traditional Nevarran woman of a higher station. That kind of woman is demure, dependent, and a symbol of tradition. My parents have little left of their homeland but memories and tradition...I try to tread lightly where I can.”

Lavellan’s voice softened, “Did you parents come after the war?”

Cassandra did not typically talk with anyone abot her family’s escape from Nevarran, but Lavellan made it easier to speak about. “They actually fled during the war. They thought the President would peacefully concede power. It was a shock to them when he didn’t; they realized quickly anyone who had supported the opposing candidate would be in danger.”

Lavellan’s eyes softened. “I’m sorry, I know that phrase is empty sometimes, but I do mean it.”

Cassandra shook her head, she was not ready to go deep into her family history. “Thank you. I understand, but we had more than most. We had a Nevarran community to embrace us here. My father was back practicing law in two years’ time. We had privileges of class that many others did not.”

Lavellan nodded. “That is amazing perspective; good looks and wisdom, why do you have trouble finding a good date again?”

Cassandra shook her dismissively. “Because I bring up religion and civil war in polite dinner conversations”

“No, that was all me. Thank you for not playing by the rules of social etiquette,” Lavellan said. She grabbed the bill on the table and put down cash.

She passed the bill to Cassandra who put down her half of the bill. “I have never been one for them. It drives my mother mad.”

Lavellan rubbed her hands together excitedly. “You’ve got the momma drama! I usually have the rows with my father. And by rows, I mean heated discussions with no hurtful language but plenty of hurt feelings.”

“But,” Lavellan continued, finishing the wine in her glass with a flourish of her hand. “that is enough talk of family.”

Cassandra got up from her seat. “Thank you for taking me here. I have heard such good things but always forget to come. Would you like to go to the park down the street? Get some ice-cream?” She wasn’t ready for the night to end.

Lavellan looked surprised but pleased at the invitation. “I can never say no to ice cream on a nice night like this. But, the ultimate question, Toscanini’s or Mr. Freezies?”

Lavellan handed Cassandra a strawberry cone. She was surprised that Cassandra even ate ice-cream, her body was so toned and the woman had somehow resisted the second helping of bread on their table at dinner. She had assumed no unnecessary carbs or sugar entered that body.

They had playfully argued during the ten-minute walk over where to go. There was Toscanini’s, the fancy micro-creamery, or the neighborhood relic known as Mr. Freezy’s ice-cream truck. Toscanini’s was good, there was no denying it, but soft serve out of an old timey truck was a magic all its own.

Cassandra argued that her newspaper had covered several health violations at Mr. Freezy’s. She had countered that these food inspectors likely had their pockets lined with urban developer cash bribes. Cassandra had easily conceded after seeing the line out the door for Toscanini’s. Lavellan deduced Cassandra was more opposed to gentrification and long lines than food poisoning.

“I would not have initially taken you for a strawberry fan,” Lavellan said, slowly licking where the ice cream dripped on her hand. She noted that Cassandra somehow kept her ice-cream from dripping on herself. She felt a complete mess beside her.

“I tend to surprise people with my tastes.”

“Oh, really,” Lavellan sang, eyeing Cassandra impishly. “This sounds interesting, please tell me more.”

Lavellan could feel Cassandra’s hand brushing next to her own as they walked. This would be the perfect moment to hold her hand. They were in the third part of their outing and walking around a park with ice-cream. Could it get more picturesque?

She let her hand stop in Cassandra’s palm to give her the opportunity. Cassandra’s fingers flitted on her palm, but they pulled back after a second.

Lavellan noted the redness on Cassandra’s neck, sighing inwardly.

Cassandra pressed forward with their conversation. “Where do I begin, alright, I have a deep love for romance novels. The good, the bad, and the very very terrible.”

Lavellan dog whistled and motioned to a bench they could sit on. “Oh, trashy romance novels? How did that start?” She could swear a twinkle appeared in Cassandra’s eye as she sat next to her.

“I found my mother’s collection when I was ten and it was right around when I was starting to have my own romantic yearnings. My family was very conservative, so these novels, they were my escape. It was the beginning of me being a romantic through and through.”

“A romantic? I figured.” Lavellan replied, taking a quick bit of her cone as she spoke. “I don’t think you’re like a gumdrops and glitter romantic. You’re like...boldness, passion, emotional rawness...that kind, right?”

“You’ve figured that out after a couple hours,” Cassandra asked softly, not looking directly at her.

Lavellan leaned forward to catch her eye. “It’s been more than couple hours. I would say we’ve spent three hours together. And to think you tried to ditch me.”

Cassandra finally looked her in the eye. “I don’t know why you came after me, but thank you. I haven’t had this much fun with someone in a long time.”

A stillness came between them, the first since they had started their evening. Lavellan leaned a bit closer. Cassandra’s eyes closed and Lavellan could feel her heart about to burst from her throat. She closed her own eyes and waited.

She heard Cassandra clear her throat, puzzled, she opened her eyes. Cassandra was sitting back against the bench staring at the park’s marble fountain. The heat of embarrassment flooded Lavellan’s face and she sat back up.

“I’m sorry,” Cassandra said. She groaned and put her head in her hand.

Lavellan stopped herself from putting a hand on her shoulder. “It’s fine. You said you weren’t sure. I understand. Do you feel more sure about, well, whether you might like women? Or a woman ever?”

Cassandra took her face from her hands. “I just don’t know and it’s not fair to you. If you were a man I would have...gone for it. That must mean something, right?”

“I think only you can know that,” Lavellan said, barely above a whisper. She felt her tear ducts activating. She was such an idiot getting emotional over a woman she just met. Why did this hurt so much?

Lavellan got up from the bench and extended her hand to Cassandra. Cassandra put her in hers and she gave it a firm shake.

“It was fantastic to meet you, really. I wish you the best.” She turned on her heel and started speed walking to the next subway entrance. She could hear Cassandra following her.

“Wait,” Cassandra called to her, catching up as they exited the park. “That’s it? We can’t be friends?”

Lavellan stopped suddenly and held the straps of her purse in a nervous death grip. “We could, but it would be terrible, because I could really fall for you. I know I am already starting to. It would only lead to me pining for you like an idiot.”

Cassandra opened her mouth to speak but Lavellan put her hand up. “I’ve been here before, waiting around for someone to feel about me the way I feel about them. I can’t do that again to myself. I’m sorry. I’m not trying to punish you.”

Cassandra ran a hand through her hair, clearly embarrassed by Lavellan’s honesty. “No, I know you’re not. I just wish we could be friends. Please call me if you change your mind.”

Lavellan walked backwards a couple steps and nodded her head. “Likewise.”

She continued briskly away from Cassandra without a second glance. The rock she carried in her stomach grew to her throat. Was she a complete fool? She could have stayed friends with Cassandra and maybe she would have changed her mind! But Lavellan only had to spend a couple moments ruminating to realize how tragic that would be. She couldn’t be someone’s second fiddle again. She couldn’t.

As she descended the subway stairs she felt the buzz of her phone. She grabbed it from her purse to see a txt from Dorian.

D: How did it go? Is the voice as alluring in person?

She let her head rest against the subway sweat and began texting him back.

L: Better. She was amazing. Best date I ever had. And now I will likely never see her again.

It took only a second for Dorian to respond, and in her romance gloom, she felt grateful for friendship.

D: This calls for brunch tomorrow. You bring the OJ. I have the champagne.

Friendship and champagne.

#dragon age fanfic #draon age #cassandra x lavellan #cassandra x female inquisitor #cassandra x flavellan #dragon age au

5 notes · View notes

inadequatematerials-blog · 8 years

Text

Kissing Cassandra Pentaghast ||| Chapter 6: Connect

\\\ Archive Of Our Own \\\

Summary: She was searching for the perfect man, but instead, found the perfect woman.

Cassandra is a single, straight, successful newspaper editor who finds herself questioning just how straight she is when she meets the grounded but scintillating Amala Lavellan.

It was difficult for Cassandra to recall the last time she shared an evening with a stranger and didn’t consider crawling through a bathroom window after the first ten minutes. She had spent an hour with Lavellan without once thinking she should try to induce vomiting as an excuse for an early departure. It was truly something for the personal dating record book.

Cassandra searched her mind for why she wasn’t trying to discreetly hit the back of her throat with a straw. It wasn’t the wine, but she thought it could be the intimacy of the bar. The small basement, formerly an underground train stop, made for loud acoustics and lighting so low it required a cell phone to see the menu. It left patrons with little choice but to be practically on top of the person they wanted to speak with if they wanted to see or hear them. Whatever the reason, Cassandra found herself more at ease with Lavellan than anyone else she’d been set up with in the last two years.

Lavellan practically knew all of this after an hour with Cassandra. She didn’t know Cassandra felt better with her than previous dates, but she did know what a failure the whole process had been lately. She knew this because Cassandra had spent the larger part of their time together detailing her dating woes.

They had spent the first thirty minutes of their times together detailing their jobs and what brought them to Skyhold. Lavellan had attended University in Minrathous, and after several years living and working as an art dealer, found the environment too traditional and elitist for what she wanted in an artistic community. Cassandra was surprised to find out Lavellan owned an arts venue that her own paper had covered years ago, it had caused quite the stir with its name: The Heretics. The name was made more scandalous, to the less satirically inclined, because it was so titled and owned by a Dalish elf from an isolationist clan and former member of the Tevinter aristocracy.

Cassandra’s own life seemed boring by comparison, though Lavellan had seemed genuinely interested in her work as an editor for one of the last newspaper agencies in the city. It was a gift that the woman could transition their conversation from the merits of print over digital to Cassandra’s love life. It made Cassandra want to recruit her as a reporter.

Lavellan scoffed, the golden hoops in her ears dazzling in the light. “So, wait, did he count it by item and their domestic value price? He could have also done it by the portion you ate. But that’s some bullshit because if you’re going to eat all the raspberries and goat cheese and I only ate the leafy greens...”

Cassandra shook her head. “I don’t know what he was basing it on. I saw the calculator and blacked out from shock, maybe rage, by the time I came out of it I was walking home and missing a hundred dollars.”

Lavellan appeared more shocked at the mention of the calculator than his behavior. “Like, a real calculator? Like the graphing kind?”

“Yes!” Cassandra shouted, laughing at Lavellan’s face of horror.

“I know he was an accountant, but to carry that around, did he bring a briefcase? Was it in his pocket? Those things were pretty big; where the hell did he keep that thing?”

Cassandra was still amused, but looked at the woman pointedly. “Why does the calculator fascinate you more than him wanting to evenly split down to the last pecan?”

Lavellan put her hand to her chest. “Oh, please, I am in shock and awe over it all. I just get stuck on details like that, maybe it’s the curator in me, but I am all about that weird little shit.”

Cassandra grinned. “No, you are right, no detail is too small. He didn’t have a briefcase. It was in his back pocket.”

Lavellan started breaking down how she analyzed the man’s personality based on the calculator being in his back pocket versus a briefcase. She was making what had seemed a trauma for Cassandra now a farce she was glad to have experienced for the story.

It wasn’t like she’d planned to talk about her dating woes with Lavellan, but she felt like an old friend. She had an openness and honesty about her that was refreshing. She kept conversation flowing with a steady stream of interesting but non-intrusive questions. Cassandra felt jealous of what she was sure was Lavellan’s natural way with all people she met. There were people who’d known Cassandra for years that probably did not feel as comfortable with her.

Cassandra didn’t feel completely comfortable. The butterflies in her stomach reminded her that this was not a purely platonic outing. The ease of talking with Lavellan was met if not surpassed by unbelievable nervousness. Were her nerves due to actual attraction? Or was it just the situation she found herself in: On a date with a woman trying to figure out if she was attracted to women?

Anyone would feel excited and nervous around Lavellan. She’s beautiful, intelligent, and charming. It could be admiration.

Lavellan was beautiful, in a way that was more interesting than conventional. Her dark brown hair cascaded in tousled waves from her shoulders to almost her waist. It was the kind of hair that Cassandra’s mother had tried so hard to keep on Cassandra. Lavellan’s complex was a dark russet with a brass undertone, unlike Cassandra’s olive and gold.

Her face was strong and striking. She had a long nose, pointed chin, rounded cheeks, and large eyes under straight thick brows. Her most notable feature, to Cassandra at least, was her top lip. It had no indent, but instead, was completely rounded and smooth. It was the romantic in Cassandra, she had always been most attracted to people by their mouths. What they looked like. How they moved. What they felt like.

Lavellan laughter shook Cassandra from her rambling train of thought. Her laughter was an infectious thing; the way it rolled without a pause for air, and was followed by two hands over her mouth.

She took her glass and tipped it slightly towards Cassandra. “That guy owes you money. I have friends. I can call in a favor. They’re mostly artists but some of them have very scary power tools at their disposal.”

Cassandra chuckled. “No, it is fine. I would have paid more for it to have never happened in the first place.” She sighed heavily. “I hate dating.”

Cassandra was displaying the kind of neurosis that every friend, family member, and short lived therapist had described as self-destructive. The detailing of her dating woes to the person she was originally supposed to be on a date with was textbook self-sabotage. She was also frantically trying to figure out whether she wanted this to be a date while being scared that Lavellan had no romantic interest in her.

Cassandra was unsure about wanting to be with Lavellan, but she certainly did not want Lavellan to not want her.

But why would Lavellan want anything to do with her? Lavellan was, as her mom would put it, the kind of woman who likely had a full dance card. She could have her pick of anyone. Cassandra didn’t have low self-worth, but she knew that she was more than most likely wanted to deal with. She was intense, blunt, and unrelenting at times.

Lavellan would surely found Cassandra to be too much...Cassandra...for her liking.

Lavellan was, from what Cassandra could deduce from an hour, not a difficult person. She was warm, energetic, and easy going. She went after Cassandra like she did which could only mean she was exceptionally forgiving. She had started describing to Cassandra the last horrible date she had been on, it involved a fishing trip on a rinky dink boat.

“He had heard my clan was known for its fishing,” Lavellan said. “He whips out these fishing poles with a big smile on his face. I’ve been a vegetarian since I was thirteen!”

Cassandra groaned. “Why would he make such an assumption?”

Lavellan’s face stayed bereaved. “It’s so hard for shemlen men and even city elves to realize the Dalish are not just walking talking relics of the past. I can just see the disappointment when Dalish girls don’t live up to their fantasies. I could tell from the look on his face that he thought he was going to get the full elven goddess experience.”

“I can only imagine what you go through. Ignorance only seems to take new forms as the ages go on. I get some of my own fetishizing, being Nevarran, but it can’t compare.”

Lavellan sighed with knowing. “Do people ask you to speak Nevarran to them?”

She nodded. “Yes, that most of all. I usually comply.”

Lavellan’s eyes beamed. “So, how do you insult them?”

“I usually saying something about them probably terrible in bed.”

Lavellan giggled. “Yes! I do the same. Except I just string a bunch of random Dalish words together. They don’t know the difference.”

Cassandra joined with her own laughter. She was pleased Lavellan enjoyed dry humor and sarcasm. Lavellan was witty, but also silly, it was an endearing zaniness.

Lavellan stopped giggling and looked at Cassandra intently, like she was gearing up to ask her something.

“What are you looking for in a man? Besides not being an ignorant ass.”

“I don’t know if I’m looking for anything in particular,” Cassandra stammered. She stared at the bottom of her glass like it was hiding something.

“Come on! Give me the dream list: personality, hobbies, body hair percentage, anything at all.”

“Fine,” Cassandra replied. “I want someone that is smart, funny, and who has faith.”

Lavellan stayed nonplussed. “That’s not a tall order. I mean besides the faith. I’m thinking you mean Andrastian?”

Cassandra shook her head, “I want smart as in trying to know things to better oneself and the world, not smart like learning just to feel superior. Oh, and humor, that is a hard one! I want clever funny but not pretentious. I want funny that isn’t about proving how funny they are. As for faith, that one is the hardest. I am Andrastian and I’m the never miss a Sunday in the Maker’s house kind. But I don’t need someone to be of my faith, they just need a faith in a greater purpose for themselves with values I align with...well that is a different conversation.”

Lavellan’s eyes widened as the description continued. “That is a fine specimen you are describing, but what about the physical? Tall? Skinny? Muscular? Beard?”

“I become physically attracted to people based on how we connect, and no body shape or hair percentage can predict that for me.”

Lavellan’s hands gathered her long hair behind one ear while her eyes looked shyly away. It was only a couple seconds, but Cassandra thought she saw a tender awkwardness behind her actions. She was surprised to feel so happy at the thought.

Lavellan stared back at Cassandra with her previous confidence. “I know you said you had something to go to at 8:00 and its 8:20. I’m sorry if I made you late! Should you be going?”

“I had nothing to get to. I lied just in case…” Cassandra sputtered out.

Lavellan interjected. “You needed to escape the weirdo you tried to meet through a personal ad? I know this great Riviani place down the street if you’re interested.”

Cassandra nodded but a frown formed. “Yes, I would like that. But you don’t have to spend your night who had a near nervous breakdown in the street.”

Lavellan rose from her stool the moment Cassandra said yes. She slung her purse over her shoulder and gestured to the door. “People have public nervous breakdowns in this city every day. It’s all a part of the urban experience. I once cried at every stop on the green line with no pause in between.”

Cassandra wanted to apologize again for her apology, but held back. She followed Lavellan outside where she then watched the woman trying to hail a taxi with her whole body in the street.

Lavellan must have noticed the worried expression on Cassandra's face, because she looked back at her with a smile. “I know it looks dangerous, and it probably is, but if I get hit at least I can pay off my student debt!”

Lavellan whooped excitedly when a cab stopped in front of them. “In under thirty seconds! That’s a personal record.”

Cassandra got into the cab after Lavellan. The feeling of Lavellan’s body next to her own made the butterflies want to escape out of her throat. She tried to focus on something besides Lavellan’s long legs peeking from the slit in her dress. She noticed, as she had seen in the bar, that Lavellan had tattoos on her wrists. They looked like bangles with different etchings.

“Looking at my tattoos?” Lavellan asked.

“Yes, I am sorry I didn’t mean to stare,” she replied apologetically.

Lavellan held her wrists closer to Cassandra. “It’s OK. I like talking about them with friends. They are different patterns you’d find in Dalish fabrics and items, specifically my clan. I chose to not do a Vallassin. I wanted to honor my culture, but in my own way. They’re on my wrist so no one will think I’m ashamed of being Dalish.”

“How did you choose what patterns?”

“You’ll have to wait for that story. The actual pattern meanings are very personal and sacred for my clan.”

Cassandra felt her face flush with embarrassment. “I shouldn’t have asked. I am sorry.”

Lavellan patted Cassandra’s hand beside her. “No need to be sorry. It is just something to look forward to as we got to know each other better.”

Cassandra thanked the Maker in that cab and promised to thank him again that Sunday. That sentence had made her face flush harder than her mother’s favorite red sauce recipe.

#dragon age fanfic #dragon age #cassandra x lavellan #cassandra x female inquisitor #cassandra x flavellan #dragon age au

0 notes