notyouraveragecullenite

[notyouraveragecullenite]

I am not struggling with my senior thesis research first draft that is due this week

I am Reed Richards frantically trying to figure out how to de-rubberize himself

romanticizing your life is such a powerful tool and it’s a shame that it’s mostly used by people on tiktok to justify the purchase of expensive breakfast smoothies when there are few better ways to force oneself through unpleasant shit than imagining a cinematic backstory for your extremely quotidian suffering

[notyouraveragecullenite]

A Midnight Distraction

It's been far too long since I've done one of these, and I fell asleep trying to finish it so unfortunately it's after the deadline. Still, I wanted to share, @flashfictionfridayofficial

As usual, the associated song

Word Count: 944

Pearly moonbeams snuck in like mercurial thieves, stealing over golden curls sprawled across silken pillows. But heavy and restless was the head that bore this celestial improvisation of a crown.

She shifted against her sheets and pillows to catch the aroma of the bouquet beside her bed; zinnia and hydrangea, mint and pine. The scent had become familiar to her, its place of honor in her chambers, its natural habitat. Yet it did not belong.

It was of another world as surely as the man who gave it to her was. Just as he had become a man, so she had become a woman. The children they once knew, had once been, were but a nostalgic memory. She could still catch glimpses of the cheerful boy with the drake, but if she so much as blinked, he would disappear. 

Despite his every reassurance, she was completely perplexed by him. He was unreadable, unknowable, and yet utterly familiar. They shared so much in common, but somehow this great divide had grown between them. At every turn, she anticipated what was to come, and he managed to upset and surpass her expectations.

He was not hard like his father, nor elastic like his younger self. He was stronger somehow, as if he would bend but refused to break. And ever so much older. Not only the sheer number of years that separated them, but leadership had begun to eat at him, to chip away at the soft lines of his face. 

Ever since their first meeting less than a fortnight ago, Crown Prince Valerian had managed to charm his way into her every waking thought, and now he kept her even from sleep. 

Genevieve turned over in her bed, facing the moonlight. Its cool glow illuminated her skin, making her look ethereal. She looked up at the moon itself. He would see the same moon, whether he was within the walls of the palace or hunched over his desk in Castellus Manor. He would have seen the same moon for those long years before, regardless that she was in Tevintar, and he, in Karas. 

Her mind slipped back to seeing him again. How he held her gaze as he presented her with the bouquet. How gently he’d taken her arm and helped her onto Nimue. How warm his hands were. She clung to these precious moments when she was left alone with her thoughts, as was now the case; the moonlight and the quiet silhouettes of her trappings her only company.

As tired as she was from the long day, her mind would not rest. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his face once again before her; his polite little smile, the intensity of his gaze, the sound of his voice, it all came bobbing up from the depths of her thoughts. Every time it did, there was a warmth that pooled in her chest, right above her heart. 

Despite this, it was poor comfort to ferry her to sleep. There were too many unknowns, too many questions as of yet unanswered that plagued her when he was in mind, as he always seemed to be these days.

Would he love her? She didn’t know if she could answer the question in reverse. But if this never-ending distraction was any indication, there was something growing inside her as surely as any blossom, a feeling to which she could not quite give the name love. He was ever so attentive and thoughtful. Any need or passing fancy she could have, he insisted on seeing it fulfilled. But she did not know if this came from a dutiful piety, a dedication to his duty to crown and country, or if it was rooted somewhere deeper, more personal. 

If he was to love her only in public, then she could not fault him. This choice was not one either of them had made. The strings of fate had pulled them back together once more. But to be condemned to a life filled with only duty and an obligation humility and piety made her feel very lonely indeed, as if moonlight and silhouettes were to be her only true company. Even though she had grown up with the knowledge that the sort of fairytale romances she read about would never be hers, confronting the cold reality face to face left her shivering.

But then again, even the smallest seed could grow and bloom into something beautiful if given proper time and care and resources. If she could give him time, perhaps. If she could give him the type of quiet support he seemed to crave, a space where no one was watching; to prove to him she did not need him to be Crown Prince, nor Duke of New Orlese, nor even the child she knew; to be only Valerian, to learn who he was now. Maybe then, something would have the room to grow.

The thought eased tension in her throat and the doubts floating in her mind. She looked back over her shoulder to the bouquet again. Thoughts of absent friends, gratitude for being understood, piety, humility, and warmth of sentiment. He had told her all those things in fewer words, and the glance they had shared was confirmation that they both knew what was being said, that they both understood. She would have to have faith that he meant what he had said.  Her midnight distraction could provide her no more clarity nor reassurance than that.

She sighed again, turning over so that the light of the moon rested along the swell of her back. At long last, sleep shed itself over her heavy eyes.

[notyouraveragecullenite]

Flowers in Her Hair

I had time this week after skipping last week, and I'm glad to be back, @flashfictionfridayofficial

Here's the song that's been stuck in my head and part of the inspiration for this piece

Word Count: 675

It had been a wonderful day. Highharvestide had always been one of her favorite festivals ever since she was a child. The warm reds and oranges of the leaves and squashes were so vivid, and always heralded copious amounts of delicious food. 

Her troupe always returned to Baldur’s Gate for Highharvestide to perform for Baron Whitetill, their major noble patron. This performance was the largest of the year for them since the Baron heavily subsidized their travels. It was quite the affair. Every one of them put forward their best foot and greatest effort. Siobhan’s fingers were still tender from the many consecutive hours of playing on her lute, and her throat was sore from reciting countless lines and lyrics.

But resting here, against an orange tree in the Baron’s garden as the sun set, she was happy. She had forgone her usual bun in favor of a long plait, woven with chrysanthemums and marigolds. The flowers in her hair reflected the same bright shades as the world around her. 

She smiled to herself as her fingernails dug into the soft peel of a tangerine. It pulled away smoothly, the oils seeping into the pads of her fingers. Gently tugging apart its sections, she savored them as she watched sunset become dusk, then dusk become night. 

It was tranquil here, a stark contrast to the frenetic energy in the rest of Baron Whitetill’s manse. She closed her eyes, listening to the rustle of leaves. The melodies of the day trickled back through her mind, twirling and weaving around each other like a ballroom full of dancers. In the center of that dancefloor, her mind’s eye found none other than herself among the dancers. 

Her hair was still braided with yellow chrysanthemums and marigolds, but she was no longer wearing her trouper’s colors. She danced in a rich viridian gown, swirling skirt a contrast to the bright blooms in her hair. Her dance partner matched her every step, perfectly in sync. His hands clasped hers, the other gently resting against her waist. Each movement was accompanied by one in response from the other partner, intuitively harmonized.

She could feel her sense of security in this man’s arms, how even their breathing matched, his posture accounting for her every need and comfort. But as she tried to peer up at his face, she could see nothing. The dance continued, the two of them step for step in the middle of her mental ballroom but she couldn’t make out anything about him. He was a mystery to her.

Sighing, Siobhan slowly let go of the thought, focusing on the cool breeze across her face instead. When she finally opened her eyes, the whole of the sky rushed up to meet her gaze, unfolding the myriad constellations: Correlian, Esetar, the Shard of Selune, and the Crown of the North. She murmured the name of each as she spotted them. But just behind the starry web that crisscrossed the night sky was the space beyond, glistening with a million unknown things. Some called it the Milky Way, for its translucent white appearance.

As she gazed out upon the night sky, she grasped some sense of its sheer enormity. It bothered her that she couldn’t make out who the man in her mind was. But looking up at the untold fathoms of Selune’s domain, she set that feeling to rest. She might not know who her dance partner was now, but she would know with time. She had to sit with that uncomfortable tension between the present and the future.

Her hand ran over her braid, intermittent petals brushing against her fingertips. There was so much out there that she hadn’t yet known or experienced, so much waiting for her with each step she took. She would just have to continue, one step at a time through this Milky Way. Somewhere along the way, she knew she would find him. She also knew, that whenever she did, she would still have many dreams to pursue, with a partner by her side.

[notyouraveragecullenite]

Varric: *about to do something stupid by directly confronting Solas with his newest pack of queer weirdos*

Aveline and Cassandra, each in entirely different corners of Thedas: something just happened

[notyouraveragecullenite]

Muted Colors

@flashfictionfridayofficial back at it again with the stellar prompts.

The performance that informed this writing piece

Word Count: 717

She desperately wanted to be happy for her sister. She wanted nothing more than to be proud of her. But all she felt was a tiny seed of envy blanketed in a shroud of loss, like she hadn’t even realized she was missing something until she looked at everyone heaping praise on Saoirse. 

She had been as proud as anyone else when Saoirse had passed her examination to become a full member of their troupe. But as the congratulations and free drinks and gifts had piled up around her glowing, perfect younger sister, all she could think about was how she hadn’t received anything like this when she became a full member. Everyone had always expected her to pass with flying colors, and she had, even younger at the time than Saoirse was now. 

She stood on the sidelines, a soft smile playing around her lips that couldn’t quite reach the depths of her stormy green eyes. It felt like all the color in the vibrant world of the troupe slowly leeched towards Saoirse as she watched. The world was muted, dull as the ache that pulsed in her throat.

As the throng slowly dispersed, her sister looked over at her with those same stormy green eyes, questioning. All Siobhan could do was just shake her head with that same actor’s smile before turning and slipping away into the crowded streets. 

Siobhan felt something welling up inside of her that she knew she needed to get out, needed to let escape before it festered. Saoirse couldn’t know about this little envy that was eating her up, much as she had tried to fight it. 

While she was wrapped up in her thoughts, her feet skillfully navigated the streets to the outskirts of the city where their troupe was playing. No sooner than she had taken a few steps into the forest, tears began to well up in her eyes. She started running as the first sob slipped out of her mouth, terrified of anyone else seeing her like this. She ran and ran, her lute bouncing rhythmically against her back, chest heaving from the exertion and the sobs.

Gradually, the run became a jog, then the jog became a walk. Her breath calmed, and her tears subsided. She followed the sound of a stream, seeking out its bank to dry her tears in its waters. After a few sips of its cool, clear water from her cupped hands, she exhaled slowly. The forest was quiet here, save the gentle burble of the stream. 

She dried her hands on her tunic and mounted the rock outcropping that hugged the stream’s bank. Breath even and hands steady despite the tremor that lingered in her heart, she unslung the lute case from her back and carefully popped open the clasps. The case was beautiful and had been a gift from her parents when she came of age. Her long, slender fingers ran lovingly over the oat-colored body and ebony fingerboard. 

She lifted the lute into her lap, hand supporting its neck as her fingers splayed out across its strings. Siobhan closed her eyes, trusting her muscle memory. Her right hand tumbled across the rose, pulling the first chord into existence where it hung and shimmered briefly in the air. Her fingers shifted fluidly from chord to chord as the fingers and thumb of her right hand worked in tandem. 

It was a contemplative tune; somber, melodic, and graceful, somehow both melancholic and hopeful. A mirror and release for this thing inside, a catharsis. 

As the final cadence trickled from her fingers, her eyes slowly fluttered open again. The leaves and bark and stone that surrounded her were not sharp and vivid, but a muted tapestry, each color in harmony with the other. No one element was stronger than another, they relied upon each other to survive, to thrive here in this quiet corner of the world. 

As she gazed at the forest, an oak leaf fluttered down from above and settled on top of her lute. She looked at the trees around her, but none of them were oak. Beech, ash, and elm, but no oak. 

Then, Siobhan smiled, a real smile. Sylvanus was reminding her of her oath. She was grateful for the reminder and for these muted colors.

[notyouraveragecullenite]

In Her Heart

Getting recognized in the master post last week gave me such a rush that I'm back again. Plus, @flashfictionfridayofficial's prompts are really excellent. It feels so good to write what I want to be writing.

Word Count: 422 Content Warnings: implied/contextual NSFW (non-explicit)

A gentle breeze rustled the overly opulent curtains. She glanced out the window but a moment at the setting sun before returning her gaze to the face of the man sprawled out beside her. The sweat from their efforts still clung to his brow, but his breathing was even and reassuring, his face as calm as she had ever seen it. Her hands, calloused from a warrior’s hard use, gently brushed the stray hair from his face. 

Even though they were reunited, Fernand’s words pierced her heart like a lance. The dear friend who had helped them conceive of a Zofia free once more had cast his lot with the tyrants he had sought to destroy. Clive had seemed distracted ever since Fernand’s revelation and she could not blame him. Despite Alm’s offer of leniency, the blow their old friend had struck them was greater than any during the battle for the fortress they now occupied. 

It made them consider all the nasty possibilities, that they may have incited precisely what they sought to prevent. She had a hunch Clive’s distraction stemmed not only from Fernand but also, from his guilt. Guilt for leaving her to Desaix’s mercy when she had already told him that his judgment was sound, and blame for her capture lay with her carelessness rather than any shortcoming of his. 

But it was for that bleeding heart that she adored him. He was the soft thoughtfulness to her steely command, her perfect complement. She knew, deep down, that even if she had died in that cell, she wouldn’t have held it against him. She knew, too, that it would have been a knife through his heart. But she loved him far too much to let her life stand between Clive and the hopes and dreams of all Zofia. 

If she had to die for the cause, that was a sacrifice she was willing to make. She had decided that what seemed like a lifetime ago, when it was just three friends with a hope for deliverance. As she looked down at this man she loved, she knew-

Her thoughts stopped abruptly as his eyes fluttered open, still sending her heart racing after all this time. They simply gazed at each other, olive and indigo perfect mirrors reflecting the same sentiment.

They needed no words. She bent down, their lips meeting in a kiss more passionate than any they had shared. As she kissed this man she loved, she knew in her heart that she would die for him.

[notyouraveragecullenite]

Horizon Line

I stumbled across @flashfictionfridayofficial a while ago but haven't been free on a Friday to actually write until now. I think I probably missed the deadline because of time zones, but have this anyway.

Word Count: 535 Content Warnings: mentioned past abuse

The sun painted a bloody smear across the sky as it rose above the ruins of a city that refused to die. It struck the shards of shattered Chantry windows, painting lucid reflections of its macabre ascent. It struck the man kneeling in the rubble, dying his hair and plate armor crimson.

He knelt where votive candles would have burned brightly at all hours, where incense would have suffused the air. The large statue of Andraste that had once stood in the middle of the sanctuary was nothing more than shards of brass, scattered across the floor.

Cullen didn’t know to whom he was praying anymore, if he was even praying at all. Nothing made sense. His whole world lay fractured amongst the glass and brass and stone. 

They had broken him in Kinloch’s Hold, and he had sworn to never let it happen again. To never let a mage accomplish such atrocities. Meredith had been as stalwart an ally to that cause as one could be. Yet, she lay dead, a slave to her own madness, and the Chantry in ruins. Not just the physical Chantry here in Kirkwall, but the Chantry as an institution all across Thedas. 

He had chosen the Chantry as his calling, and found comfort in its teachings. But, all he had ever wanted was just to help people. Now that it was all over, serving Meredith here in Kirkwall had been as far from that purpose as he could have trod, a perversion of his good intentions that had died a wicked little death all those years ago. 

He looked to the sky through what remained of the arching window frames. He felt his throat tighten and his eyes begin to water. There had to be more than this, there had to be. 

The tears slipped down his cheeks as silent sobs wracked his chest. Andraste, forgive me, he mouthed, over and over again. He felt powerless again, just as he had in that accursed magical cage, torn between his deep-seated desire to do good and his dedication to the Templar Order. 

All those who had survived the events of the past few days would be looking to him, to lead them, to guide them into this strange new era. He didn’t know where he would find the strength to go on. 

Slowly, his tears subsided as he focused on his breathing, an old Templar trick for calming emotions. Meredith hadn’t been right about everything, especially not at the end of her tenure. Perhaps there were some things the Templar Order had wrong as well. But that didn’t need to stop him from leveraging what they had taught him, reusing those skills for a new purpose. Templar or no, Kirkwall needed as many able bodies as possible to rebuild and Aveline couldn’t mange the effort entirely by herself, as much as she may think otherwise. 

With a deep breath, he stood. The sun had risen in the sky, doffing its red sheen in exchange for its usual golden glow. The soft warm light of early morning seemed to round the hard lines of his face. His eyes burned with a new hope as he looked towards the horizon line.

[notyouraveragecullenite]

Me, violently me. I feel so seen!

[notyouraveragecullenite]

I got tagged for this Picrew Tag game by @nightgnome, and it's so cute! I haven't actually made a picrew in ages, which is so odd since I used to make them all the time, for everything.

Here's the link for anyone else interested since I don't have anyone else to tag

[notyouraveragecullenite]

Survey Time: If you played both Dragon Age and BG3, put your biggest ships for both in the tags.

[notyouraveragecullenite]

OCs as Obscure References

I got tagged by @turboweenie to do this and was delighted! I don't have that many active OCs, but I decided to do my current BG3 girlie

Siobhan

Half-Wood Elf, Oath of Ancients Paladin/College of Swords Bard

ANIMAL: barn owl

COLORS: sage, taupe, chestnut, viridian, marigold

MONTH: October

SONGS: Siobhan by The Tossers, Like the Dawn by The Oh Hellos, Soldier, Poet, King covered by Cullen Vance

NUMBER: 8

PLANTS: cremini, sage, oak

SMELLS: patchouli, soil, pine

GEMSTONE: demantoid garnet

TIME OF DAY: late afternoon right before dusk

SEASON: Autumn

PLACES: the open road, Inverness

FOOD: butternut squash, brown bread, apricot

DRINKS: matcha, bailey's

ELEMENT: earth

ASTROLOGICAL SIGN(S): Virgo

SEASONINGS: sage, capers

SKY: cloudy but with the sun peeking through

WEATHER: a light drizzle

MAGICAL POWER: accelerated healing or talking to animals

WEAPONS: hand and a half sword, longbow, poison

CANDY: spearmint gummy leaves

METHOD OF LONG DISTANCE TRAVEL:  trouper wagon

ART STYLE: Audubon watercolor

FEAR: solitary confinement

MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURE: ent or centaur

PIECE OF STATIONARY: recycled paper

CELESTIAL BODY: Chiron

[notyouraveragecullenite]

Gale class swap 🔪🥷 Collab with @cranity !

We each sketched a rough, then swapped our compositions for lines and colours! Here's the other half ❤️

And here's the comp and the critter that I sent to Roxy! This fit was heavily inspired by the Weave set in BG3, in Astarion's signature colours and with an undershirt that is more rogue-like and modest. A tiara and jewelry because he's a fancy boy 🥰

[notyouraveragecullenite]

I need your opinion!

I made 8 new paintings for my Affectionate Animal series, and I need you to help me decide which painting to turn into stickers.

For newbies to my art, this is a series where I turn vintage photographs of (mostly) queer couples into storybook characters.

With order minimums being what they are, I can only afford to make stickers out of a couple of these designs, so please help me pick which to go with. If you feel ok reblogging for more exposure, that would help me get a clearer picture of what might sell (but ofc I totally understand if reblogging isn't your thing).

The Paintings:

The 8th panting was one I already knew I had to make a sticker of. 🐭🏴‍☠️🧀 Some of you might recognize the character in it!

Calico Jill finding a love that's better than cheese!

[notyouraveragecullenite]

me, at any point in the day, resisting the urge to talk about dragon age:

[notyouraveragecullenite]

my bestie would do the same and that's fine ☺️

[notyouraveragecullenite]

romanticizing your life is such a powerful tool and it’s a shame that it’s mostly used by people on tiktok to justify the purchase of expensive breakfast smoothies when there are few better ways to force oneself through unpleasant shit than imagining a cinematic backstory for your extremely quotidian suffering

[notyouraveragecullenite]

I'm reading The Calling for the first time David Gaider needs to stop giving me stupidly brave blond men with emotional angst

the theirin and mac tir families! i feel like every time i draw maric he gets more. dilfy