#alas my fire seems to have finally decided it's going to properly settle so now I can stop babysitting the woodstove and focus but

[essektheylyss]

trying out some Midst fic as a warm-up to see how hard it is to match voice and it really is so fun, not gonna lie

There is, for some reason, someone in Jonas Spahr’s house.

Well, it’s not exactly his house. It’s the Prime Consector’s house. ‘Residence’, is the proper term for it, maybe ‘manor’ if you squinted really hard, and it’s technically the Upper Trust’s house, but Jonas does live there. For now.

He is trying not to think about what comes after the ‘for now’.

Luckily, a sophisticated burglar is a great immediate problem to focus on, and it’s one that Jonas Spahr actually knows what to do with, which is a nice change of pace from the couple of days he’s been having. And this burglar does seem to be sophisticated—Jonas doesn’t think anyone else would’ve noticed the slight divot in the planter that he’s never once maintained, except that his garden—the Prime Consector’s garden—is always pristine, and right now there’s a single tall flower—a daffodil? A tulip? Well, fuck if he knows—that’s been broken at the stem.

He peers into the dirt beneath it. There’s also a very distinct toeprint in the dirt underneath it, not even half a shoe, clearly someone trying very hard to leave no trace, but Jonas can in fact identify a Company boot track when he sees one.

Really? Some kind of practical joke, now? This week, of all weeks, his men think he’s developed this kind of sense of humor?

Unless it’s not a practical joke. Unless it’s somebody who knows he’s already on the chopping block, and maybe… has been waiting for this? Has harbored some grudge against him for… something?

Whatever it is they want, what they get is not going to be him timidly inching his way into his own fucking house.

So he marches up the walk like he owns the place—which he does, more or less, if you don’t look too hard at the fine print—and opens the door.

[ahlis-xiv]

journal 50.4

G’raha sat alone, semi-hunched over a piece of parchment as he worked. Although he did not show it, the drafting he ambitiously began was nothing short of a place between fascinating and downright tediousness. The solution to tempering that nestled within his mind and finding a proper way to convey it into some sort of physicality that others could understand took time and a level of focus that brought him back to his Studium days.

He did not mind the effort, really, yet part of him couldn’t help but feel he could be applying himself to something else...namely figuring out why his dear friend decided to depart in such a hurry without so much as a word.

G’raha sighed, and scratched out part of the formulae he attempted to use as a proper proof. It wasn’t correct or, rather, not good enough, and he knew it: it almost felt like he had to somehow invent a whole new notation and he was second guessing every attempt. That, he knew, was as strong a sign as any that he needed a break.

Abandoning his work for the more welcoming sight above Mor Dhona proper, he took to his usual perch and leaned over the ledge to watch the activity below. Ever since he arrived there—since waking up, really—G’raha found the habit of people-watching a welcome one when it came to clearing his head. It had also been an old habit as well from his time as the Exarch. It was difficult at times to not be reminded of it when he went there to be alone--not that it troubled him, but rather his thoughts inevitably wandered to those he had to let go. To old friends and, naturally, to her.

What would Lyna think, he wondered. Of everything? Despite assurances, both given and told to own self, he knew it was a question not quite answerable. He was unfettered, free—free to live the life he wished. A second chance. Yet something gnawed away at his heart that only grew in the wake of what occurred in Ala Mhigo. And the Warrior of Light was nowhere in sight.

He didn’t wish to admit it, but that this point most of all prickled his thoughts. She had been wounded in the confrontation: not severely but enough to warrant considerable healing, namely for her arms. She berated herself for not properly handling the situation, that it was foolish to not deal with Fandaniel and his summoning there and then somehow. When the dust settled with wounds seen to and mended, she slipped away and out of his reach.

G’raha’s hands clasped together in front of him, fretting as his anxiety swelled. Ahlis said many things in the aftermath at the menagerie; much of which he knew was said in a fury he rarely witnessed. He also knew he ought to not dwell on it, as it was not directed towards him—but it felt personal, watching the anger and the walls that suddenly erected around her, forbidding his approach. Surely she knew, she must’ve known that he cared—that they all cared? G’raha understood what it meant to seek solace, to lick one’s wounds after a poor bout in battle, yet to shut him out? Why?

He huffed a frustrated growl, and pouted to himself. This is not about you, G’raha, his more sensible self spoke in his mind. It did little to help when he knew naught what to do with his...feelings, with no soul to utter them to. For the moment, all he had in certainty, was himself.

Looking above to the darkening sky, stars were beginning to sparkle in the deep blue, the gloom weak and unable to hinder their shine. He hoped that wherever Ahlis was, and however she felt, that her safety was sure and her healing swift.

---

Ahlis suddenly grasped the pillow within her bare arms as a sneeze escaped her nose and immediately regretted it.

“Bless you, dearest,” Aymeric spoke above her, his hands gently working her back’s aches and pains into a soothing massage.

“Augh, no,” she said, voice muffled by soft cotton where she shoved her face into it. The great debate of whether she should lift her head up or not kept her in place, lest she reveal a potentially not-so-graceful mess. “I think I ruined it.”

Wordlessly and only with a soft chuckle of amusement Aymeric rose to retrieve a handkerchief as if reading her mind in her current discomfort. When he returned Ahlis was already sitting up, the pillow still pressed to her face. He did not know how to assure her that there were far worse things that could ruin one’s bedding, but seeing the flushed look upon her face while she cleaned herself as discretely as possible encouraged him to say nothing.

“Are you feeling better?” Aymeric asked, once she seemed satisfied to show herself, the pillow and handkerchief no longer covering her face.

“Yes, thank you,” Ahlis spoke, relief entering her voice. “I am sorry, about this, though.” Her hands still held onto the pillow until he reached for it himself, lightly tossing it aside and back onto the bed.

“It is of no consequence. My home is yours, including the aforementioned pillow.”

That made Ahlis laugh, as he hoped it would, and Aymeric took this moment to join her again, sitting side by side upon the edge of the bed. It was useless however to ignore the wrappings around both her palms and forearms, both of which had been kept out of sight when lying on her stomach. Catching his glancing eyes, Ahlis took that moment to adjust her bandages.

“The pain is mostly gone. Now it’s just itching,” she spoke, more annoyed than in any sort of true discomfort. “New skin takes some getting used to and breaking in, imagine that.”

“May I see it?” Aymeric asked after a moment’s pause, his voice careful in its near-whisper like intensity.

For a second, she hesitated. Unraveling them didn’t hurt much anymore, so when she did reveal the newly healed burns that rested beneath she didn’t hold back in extending her arm in front of him. If only her heart that thumped heavily in her chest agreed! Nerves, however troublesome they proved to be, would do little in assuaging his concern.

“There you are,” Ahlis said with an exuberance she hoped sounded sure and confident. “It’s not so terrible now, aye?”

It was not her intent to fool him, rather, it was better than the ire she felt deep within at how it happened, and better still than to appear caught off-guard or foolish to have been struck at all by such an injury. It had been a mistake, one that could’ve gone even more horribly wrong in an instant if not for…

“Oh, Ahlis...”

Her thoughts stopped, everything stopped. She was helpless as she watched the shock that touched his eyes turn to despair, to pain that flowed into the tenderness that came with his touch as he cradled her wrist to his cheek. There was a knot of scarred tissue just below where his lips met her skin; the first kiss was given there, then another just above it towards her palm.

Such sensations, intensified against her freshly healed wounds, rendered her voice frozen within her throat. It was almost too much; she released a heavy, shaky breath that gave him pause, and Aymeric turned to look upon her so intensely, so painfully, she dared think she might cry herself.

“It’s fine,” she found herself saying, finally, unsure if it truly was after all.

---

Later, long after they had gone to bed, she would wake to see the stars out in the beyond just outside the window, the silhouette of spires cutting across the dark. A rare, clear night in the city. Gripped by the sight, she stole herself away to find a place to write...

Evenings have proven to be the best, and only time, to write clear-headed these days. As if I do not need sleep.

The itching has finally subsided enough to carry on without thinking about it and now I can finally sit for half a bell to write while at the same time not wishing to scratch my skin off. I’ve had lacerations, all manners of bruising and concussive injuries. I’ve even been shot at! But note to self: never get fucking burned like that again.

I’m going to kill that bastard with his own medicine, and I will enjoy it

[there is a drawing here of a figure in a robe with a sword skewering it all the way through, who is also on fire]

The healing has progressed as it will, and I trust Krile and Alphinaud’s hands more than any other—although granted my sourness over it all could have been a little less scathing, I guess.

But what can I say, a lot of bullshite has been happening these days. I’m getting a mite bit enraged that these Ascian arseholes aren’t leaving me alone, and yet I am not entirely surprised. It’s not over until it is over.

gods when will that be never ah ha ha ha

In the meantime I have made good on my own promises to make my own self comfortable as best I can, heal as best I am able, and spending what time I can in Ishgard. The others are probably wondering when I’ll return to the Stones but until G’raha outlines our approach on implementing proper protocol on the tempering solution I honestly don’t want to hear about anything else. Alisaie should be helping, I am sure, as is Alphinaud too I think. It’ll be fine! And fast too.

I mean I would help more too but I don’t have a crazy as all hells academic background as they do seven hells I’d love me a curriculum found in the Studium within those stupid halls and their even stupider “zero involvement” stance on bloody everything

share your goddamn science you twits

I am far more tired than I thought. But! I am also finally able to think about the impending reconnaissance we’re bound to have soon once Thancred and Urianger return.

if something happens with them I swear to ever loving shite I am going to boot them back to the First with my fist

Without my Stupid! Arms! Annoying me!

OH is that little

[the writing stops here with an ink blot, as if the pen was dropped and left there, the smeared and distinct shape of a cat’s paw crossing part of the page]

[miyuki-scourgeofthefirenation]

Bop to the Top

Oh boy what have I done? I wrote fanfic, that’s what I done. Basically, I was just chilling, minding my business, when I came across this YouTube video:

I then had an idea for a fanfic that would not let me go until I wrote it. So I wrote it. Please be nice, this is my first time writing fanfic ever. It also became longer than I anticipated so here it is in all its unedited glory. Enjoy! Story begins under the cut, because yikes, why is this over 2000 words?!?

(Set roughly five years after the end of the war. Zuko brought in a special team to help with Azula and her situation, because Zuko is a sweet boy who still loves his sister and wants her to be okay. The comics? I don’t know her.)

Sokka was spending a perfectly pleasant afternoon strolling around the gardens at the palace when he was unexpectedly tackled by someone sneaking up on him. Actually, make that two someones sneaking up on him.

“Ooof,” he grunts as his body makes contact with the ground. Any hope he might have had for regaining his breath is dashed when the two someones who tackled him promptly fall right on top of him as well.

“Sokka!” a giddy voice shouts, followed by peals of laughter. Sokka opens his eyes to find himself face to face with a chirping lemur. The pressure on his back disappears as his two attackers stand up.

“Sorry, sorry!” another voice rings out, reaching down to help Sokka to his feet. “We were just so excited to surprise you!” Sokka turns around to see his sister Katara, and Aang standing there.

“Guess we got a little carried away!” Aang adds with a sheepish tone in his voice that somehow doesn’t match up with the light in his eyes or wide grin on his face. Sokka doesn’t say anything, just reaches out to scoop Katara and Aang into a hug as Momo scurries up to perch on his shoulder.

“I had no idea you were coming for a visit,” Sokka says, releasing the others from the hug after a few moments.

“It was a last minute decision,” Katara explains. “We were charting our course to the next destination on our itinerary, and realized that it wasn’t that far out of our way to stop by here en route. Thought it would be nice to come see you and Zuko for a day or two.”

“And I thought ‘What would be more fun than making this visit?’ Making this a ‘Surprise visit!’” Aang crowed happily. “Hope that’s okay,” he said then, a bit more tentatively, as if it was just occurring to him that maybe advance warning of their arrival would have been a good thing.

“Of course it is!” Sokka beams, “You know I’m always excited to get to see you two!” A slightly angry chirp comes from the direction of his shoulder. “And you too Momo. I couldn’t forget about my favorite flying lemur.”

It is at this moment that two palace guards come running up to the group out of breath. “Master Sokka,” one pants, “Your sister and the Avatar have arrived unexpectedly and wish to see you immediately.” 

Sokka exchanges a brief look with Aang and Katara at this obvious statement, but decides not to comment on it out loud.

“We apologize for not leading them here for a proper greeting,” the other guard says, looking somewhat miffed as well as quite sweaty. “But…” He trails off looking at the two visitors, neatly conveying the hesitance of the guards to attempt to stop the waterbending master and Avatar from going anywhere they might want.

“That’s quite alright,” Sokka states, addressing the red-faced guards. “If you could please see to it that appropriate arrangements are made for my sister and Aang to stay here for the next few days. Thank you.” With that the two guards make their bows to the group and depart.

Katara and Aang loop their arms through Sokka’s as they begin to walk towards the far end of the garden. “So,” Katara begins, “how have you been? How’s that Fire Lord fiancé of yours?”

Sokka grins at this. “I’m good, he’s good. Been keeping busy with Ambassador duties, and Fire Lord duties for him. There have been a couple of small uprising plans discovered recently, but nothing like the turmoil of the early days…” he said trailing off. He still didn’t like to remember those difficult months after Zuko assumed the throne, which featured a steady influx of plots to remove him from power and resume the war. Based on the looks on Katara and Aang’s faces, they didn’t like this reminder either. The three quickly shook themselves out of their momentary gloom, focusing back on the present. “I know he’ll want to see you as well, he’ll be so thrilled you’re here!”

“Where is he?” Aang questions.

“He’s spending some time with Azula,” Sokka explains. “She’s been doing really well recently,” he adds after seeing the dubious expressions on their faces. “Ever since we got those new healers in and the new chambers in the hospital wing set up specially for her she’s been showing a lot of improvement. Way fewer rants about taking back her rightful place as Fire Lord!” Katara and Aang still don’t look convinced, and he supposes he can’t blame them for that. If he didn’t live here and see the daily workings of the situation he probably wouldn’t believe it either. “It’s just about time for Zuko to be finishing up with his visit to her,” Sokka says somewhat hastily, eager to move past this particular subject. “I’ll go over and get him, let him know you’re here. Then we can all have dinner together, properly catch up.”

“Great!” Aang exclaims. “Me and Katara should go see about getting Appa settled in, he can be very picky about how he wants things you know!” Katara gave a slight roll of her eyes as Aang bounded off with Momo flying behind him. 

“We’ll see you at dinner!” she calls with a wave as she follows her boyfriend. Sokka smiles at their retreating backs. He’s so happy that they’re here, and he knows Zuko will be as well. With that thought in mind he heads off for the hospital wing of the palace.

As he rounds the corner leading to Azula’s chambers he hears something extremely unexpected. Typical noises that can be found in the hallway are soft talking, loud screams about Azula finally breaking free and reclaiming her place, tears, or silence. This is none of those things. This seems to be… music? Sokka is confused, and quietly pushes open the door to the room. He learned the hard way that making his presence known immediately was not necessarily a smart idea. Who knew a hairbrush could be such a powerful projectile weapon? 

Sokka instantly freezes at the sight that meets his eyes. Zuko and Azula are in the center of the room and they seem to be doing some sort of… choreographed dance routine? There is an entirely unnecessary amount of jazz hands and shimmying that seems to be happening and Sokka is absolutely thrilled. He breaks out into an unbelieving and slightly wicked smile. This is good, this is just the sort of low level embarrassing incident he can use to tease Zuko for ages. The two dancing firebenders haven’t yet noticed Sokka’s presence, they’re too focused on the dance. The song continues to play in the background, something about bopping and glory. Sokka isn’t paying close attention to the words of the song, the sight in front of him is far more entertaining and deserves his full attention. The song comes to an end, and Zuko and Azula make their grand finale on a ladder (where did they get a ladder from? Sokka muses briefly). It is only then that Sokka makes his presence known, by beginning to clap. He knew that they would instantly stop dancing if they were aware of him earlier, and he was not about to sacrifice seeing this for anything. The two whirl around at the sound of his clapping, as well as the muffled laughter he’s been holding in this entire time and is starting to lose control of.

Zuko flushes red. “How long have you been standing there?” he asks, a slightly panicked look in his eyes. He knows his fiancé, and he knows full well the amount of teasing he can expect to get from this sort of situation. At this point he can only hope for the damage to be minimal, and that Sokka didn’t see too much of the routine. He knows he’s lost when he sees the evil gleam in Sokka’s eyes.

“Oh,” Sokka laughs, “I’m pretty sure I caught most of that, and let me say I am very happy I did. When can we expect to see performances of it in the theaters around town? Personally, I think all Fire Nation citizens should have a chance to witness that. It would probably be very good for morale.” He crosses his arms and grins at the siblings, who have since come down off of the ladder. Surprisingly Azula hasn’t said anything yet, and has kept her face aimed downwards towards the floor. Both Sokka and Zuko dart their gaze to her, somewhat nervously gauging her reaction.

She looks up abruptly, her gaze moving back and forth between the two. A small smile spread across her lips. “What do you think Zuzu? A couple more months of practice before our grand debut?” Zuko looks shocked for a minute before getting his expression back under control. She turns to Sokka. “You know,” she drawls to him, “I could be ready to perform for the masses tomorrow, but you know Zuzu, he’s not as fast a learner as I am. He needs more time to practice, and I refuse to perform if the routine is not perfected! But, alas, it is now time for dinner, and so perfection shall have to wait another day at least. We can pick up with practice again another day Zuzu,” she states imperiously, laying a hand on his arm as she walks into the small dining area off of the main room. When she gets to the doorway she turns her head slightly to look at him. “Thank you,” she murmurs softly, “I had fun.” Then she sweeps into the other room and out of their sight.

Wordlessly, Zuko and Sokka exit her chambers and begin walking back towards the main part of the palace. “Wow,” Zuko mutters.

“I know,” Sokka says, “She was actually… nice for once. Glad to see the new environment and healers are helping her so much.”

“Me too,” Zuko says quietly, lost in his own thoughts.

“And you,” Sokka blurts out. Zuko looks up at him questioningly. “You’re really helping her too. Clearly,” Sokka rambles. “She seems to be coming around to trusting you a lot more. I know that’s important to you.”

Zuko smiles a bit at that. “Yeah, yeah it is.”

“Sooooooo, about that dance….” Sokka grins at him

“Oh no. No, no, no,” Zuko whines. “I just had a major breakthrough with my sister, can’t I get a pass on the mocking for once?”

Sokka looks vaguely affronted. “Do you know me at all? I am very happy about the whole ‘Breakthrough with formerly evil sister thing,’ but if you think you’re gonna be able to get out of this on the strength of that alone…” he scoffs. “That dance routine is the best material that has fallen into my lap in years, there’s no way I’m about to pass it up!”

Zuko groans affectionately, he knew that was gonna be the answer, and despite his embarrassment he can’t find it in himself to be too upset. He goodnaturedly puts up with Sokka’s shrieking about it as they begin to make their way to dinner. He’s only half paying attention when Sokka says “Oh man, Katara and Aang are gonna love this! Dinner just got so much better!” That snaps Zuko out of his trance right away.

“What do you mean ‘Katara’ and ‘Aang’ and ‘Dinner’?” He demands.

“Oh,” Sokka says slyly, looking at him out of the corner of his eye, “Did I forget to mention? Katara and Aang have dropped in for a surprise visit. We’re headed to dinner with them right now. And trust me, this story, is gonna be the highlight of the evening!” With that Sokka gives him a quick kiss on the cheek, flashes a wicked grin and runs away down the hall and into the dining room. Zuko huffs indignantly, realizing Sokka had run away before he had a chance to respond. Grumbling, but still smiling slightly, he follows his fiancé into the dining room, looking forward to seeing his friends.

[jeonggukingdom]

mots démoniaques, 2 | excoriate

▽ Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

▽ Genre:  [mythological!AU, demon!AU] | Angst, Eventual Smut, Romance

▽ Summary:  You can sense from miles away the sin that dances on his tongue, the words that he so loves to shape into sinister thoughts and morph into sickening outcomes aimed at tainting and wrecking all things mundane and innocent. Kim Taehyung - a voice of honey and features of a cherub - is nothing but a monster. He has lived millenniums, yet, he has never found such a fascinating creature as you are and polluting your very being has slowly become his entire life motive.

▽ Word Count: 5.456 words

▽ prompt word: excoriate

▽ AN: The Amanojaku is a small demon that finds its roots in the Japanese folklore. Everything besides his name and his power - aka the ability to instigate people into wickedness with his words - is entirely the fruit of my own imagination and doesn’t have anything to do with the original myth.

▽ ▽  WARNINGS: non-consensual acts are performed through the story  (not intercourse), use of alcohol, metaphors that allude to physical violence and pain, swear words.

« Previous | Next  » 

“Still upset about Monday, I take it?”

Nausea fills your stomach as you toss and turn in the tangled mess that were once your bed sheets. His voice of honey keeps ringing in your ears even hours after his disappearance.

Rationally, you are aware that Taehyung is nowhere to be seen, probably miles and miles away from your apartment doing God-knows-what to corrupt innocent souls of fellow human beings. Your heart, though, refuses to calm down and so does the rest of your body, tense and shivering in the darkness of the room.

You have been playing this game of turning on and off the light for literal hours and the deepest part of you, the most pride-filled one, refuses to turn it on again and succumb to this nonsensical fear lodged inside your chest.

With one simple question, Taehyung has stirred awake the memories you so hardly tried to repress in the past few days. You have tried to forget, to let go and move on, to put this behind you just like many other things in your past but, alas, it has all been in vain. It took him only a second to break down the walls you had so carefully rebuild around yourself and throw you back into those atrocious moments.

Your mind drifts to last Monday night for the hundredth time tonight and, before you can stop yourself, you are re-living every dreadful instant of it.

The bracelets around your wrists tingle as you walk through the apartment, desperately searching for your car keys before you are far too late to the dinner for it to be acceptable.

The night is pretty chill and the breeze evokes goosebumps on your skin as you practically run to your car whilst hugging yourself in a vain attempt to keep yourself warm.

Admittedly, you did choose a dress far too short and far too light for the current weather but it does hug your curves to perfection and that was a compromise you just had to make.

A few years have passed since you were still in college, trying to jungle yourself between exams and a part-time job and a very demanding boyfriend. Many things have changed since then, including you.

Something that hasn’t changed, though, is your need to impress the people around you, especially the ones you do care about.

Tonight it is one of those nights where you wish to prove yourself not only to those people but, most importantly, to yourself.

Many things that could have gone wrong since college did, in fact, go horribly but your job tonight is to show them all that, despite it all, you still came out not only alive but victorious.

Despite your doubts, you manage to arrive at the restaurant perfectly in time and with a deep smile stretched on your face, you enter the restaurant to greet your former friends from college.

It is odd to realize that you need a few long seconds to associate their names with their faces; it is also weird to have a hard time recognizing some of them now as if a lifetime has passed since the last time you’ve seen each other. In a certain way, it has.

Those people, those faces that were once familiar and as dear to you as your own family almost feel like strangers now and it makes your heart squeeze in sadness. How volatile are human beings and their feelings for each other? You would have easily given your life for some of these people back then and now... Now you don’t even know how’s their life like.

You do not voice out any of those thoughts though, in fact, you act as if not a single day has passed since graduation, as if you all had been talking not too many hours ago about the most random things.

You rejoice in how those faces light up in recognition as you approach them, you relish in the sound of their voices and the feeling of arms engulfing you in a brief embrace. It is warm and it almost feels like homecoming.

Your heart swells as your old best friends fill you in on their lives, as they show you pictures of little kids you had no idea existed prior to tonight and even though a little part of you envies them, you are quite happy for the way their life turned out.

You do notice that they’re all very careful not to pry into your life. His name never gets mentioned in those conversations and you are immensely grateful for it. You all know this was supposed to be you: happy and married with a cute pair of kids running around the house. There had been a time when everyone expected you to be the first one to achieve the dream life—well, your version of it at least—and succeed in every aspect of it. Of course, back then, nobody had any idea of how surprising and cruel life could be.

You can see in their eyes the hint of curiosity that sparkles there, the hesitation into asking what they all want to know and hear from you: what truly happened? But you cannot tell them. You can’t tell the truth and you don’t even want to, not that they’d believe you even if you decided to, of course.

Hyojin opens her mouth after a few seconds of silence and you can already anticipate the question that will roll off of her tongue. She was always the bravest and most curious one of your group, after all.

The question, though, remains stuck in her throat as the man of the hour approaches your table, a little grin spread on his gorgeous face.

“Taehyung...” you whisper out his name before you even realize it and when you do, your cheeks seem to catch on fire alongside with the rest of your body.

Of course, he’d show up. How could he ever miss the occasion to be the center of attention and torture you, all at the same time?

A part of you suspected it, a part of you hoped to be wrong and even though you’d never admit it out loud, a part of you even wished for him to be here tonight. Why? Because that tiny part of you still had feelings for the monster standing before your very eyes. Even after all he had done, a sick and twisted part of your heart still wanted to beat only for him.

Your eyes are glued on him as he takes the last final steps to your table and takes the seat right across from you, feigning an innocence that does not belong on his face in the slightest.

You can sense the eyes of your former friends on the both of you as you greet each other and it takes all of your best effort to not look at any of them and break the facade of the unfazed ex-girlfriend.

The air is tense all around you even after everyone at the table resumes their conversations and goosebumps gather on your skin every single-damned-time Taehyung even hums in response to someone else. His proximity, the way his eyes land on you every now and then, the fear that clutches your heart every time he opens his mouth are almost too much to endure but you do push through and that is your first mistake.

You should have left before it all went downhills, before it became too much for you to handle without a little help, before you allowed some of your walls to come crumbling down. But you don’t leave, even if your heart is begging you to do so and that is simply because you are stubborn, and pride. Oh, so fucking full of pride.

The drink suddenly clutched in your right hand feels heavy and doubt fills your mind as you recall how much easier is to fall for Taehyung’s spell once your mind is already hazed by alcohol but even still, you gulp it down quickly hoping that the burn will ease up your nerves a little bit.

If someone would ask you right then and there what you had been talking about for the last couple of hours, you would have no idea. You know you have been talking the whole time, feigning interest in listening to your former friend’s stories and anecdotes from a life distant light years from your own, but you do not retain a single word that has been said to you or that left your mouth, for that matter.

Your mind is too focused on Taehyung and the effort of not focusing on him to allow anything else to settle in.

It is then that you make your second mistake. A few drinks have passed and gone down your throat in the meantime and you’re already feeling a little bit unsteady on your legs as you stand up. That should have been your cue sign to leave and retire to the safety of your own four walls.

Instead, when the guys suggest bringing the dinner party to a club you all-too-quickly jump on the ‘yes’ wagon and tag along with them.

It doesn’t even properly register in your mind that this is definitely not a good idea and, most importantly, you fail to notice the fact that most of the girls have declined the offer—most of them out of obligation towards their kids more than anything else, really.

Also at that point in time, you fail to catch on the fact that Taehyung, the wicked demon you’ve come to know and hate in the past few years, has let slip through his hands the chance to coax these girls into going anyway. It is what he does best, after all: induce people into wicked things they wouldn’t normally do, stir up drama and bring pain to lowly humans, slowly bringing their souls into eternal damnation.

That should have been your red flag. If Taehyung could pass up an opportunity as succulent as that one it could only mean he had a far worse scheme up his sleeves. And of course, the center of that scheme had to be you: his favorite prey.

At first, nothing is out of the ordinary: people yelling at each other over the music, a few drinks being passed by between old friends, a few dances down the dance floor.

You let your guard down completely during this time frame, relaxed by the fact that even though your nemesis is standing there, barely a few inches away from you, everything is going smoothly.

It is exactly in this moment, as you sip on your Moscow Mule, that everything starts crumbling down.

You hadn’t noticed prior to this very second that the rest of your company had all went down to the dance floor or the bar to get another drink leaving you alone with Taehyung.

You’re made aware of his proximity the moment he takes a step forward and his body heat seems to radiate and engulf your entire frame.

His breath feels hot against your skin as he whispers right above your ear:

“Good evening, sweets.”

He chuckles as he quickly takes notice of the goosebumps that spread on your skin like fire and you hate how easy it is for him to read your body. If only you could do the same with him, if only you could peep behind those black as coal eyes and that smirking mouth, you could bring him down to his knees as easily as he can with you. But of course, it is only wishful thinking.

“What do you want?” Your words slice like knives in your mind but they come out in a confused slur when you pronounce them, retaining nothing of the angry or unfazed tone you wanted to deliver.

He laughs at your question and takes another step forward, successfully pressing his lean body on your back. If you had thought his proximity had made you warmer before, now you were feeling feverish hot. It felt almost as if he was awakening a dormant volcano in the pit of your stomach.

“I’m a little bit bored, aren’t you?”

A shiver shakes your frame as those words leave his mouth. The implications laced between them makes the question feel like a bucket of ice cold water over your flushed body. It renders even the gesture of gulping down the remaining of your drink without dropping the glass in your hand a great effort. Oh, how much you hate the ascendant Taehyung has on you and your feeble heart.

“Not particularly, no.” Your words are strained as you push them out, your heart beating fast in your chest as you desperately try to gain back some control, build up back those walls you let slip somewhere down the line. You are supposed to know better than this, you are supposed to know not to let your guard down around him but oh, you simply never learn your lessons right when they are about Kim Taehyung.

You’d never admit it out loud but even to this day, you still yearn for his touch, the feeling of his hands all over you and in your current intoxicated state, resisting him feels like a greater mountain to climb than you are possibly able to.

One of his arms circles your back as he slowly turns you around, forcing you to truly face him for the first time tonight. His free hand comes to your face then, his slender fingers pulling your chin upwards so you cannot escape the depth of his coal stare.

“Oh, but I think you are a little bit bored, standing here all alone, sipping on your drink.”

His words feel like warm honey on the tip of your tongue, melting as you gulp it down and scorching your very core and you know this feeling, you know oh-too-well what it means but you cannot fight it. Especially not when you’re not even sober, to begin with.

“Maybe you’re right,” you whisper, your body aching as you try to pull at your own consciousness and not slip into his words, the wickedness they are about to suggest.

“I think we should make it a little bit more entertaining for all of us here, what do you think, love?”

The endearing name makes your heart tumble in your chest and even though a little part of you hates him for it, the rest of you is so far gone there is simply no hope to see Taehyung for the monster that he is at this point. No, now, he is your God and you will inevitably end up doing whatever he wants you to do. You’re nothing but a puppet in his hands and there was a time when that felt great and it seemed like that was what loves was to be about. But it is not love and it is not great. It’s control that results in pain and heartbreak.

“How?”

Your voice is barely above a whisper and it would equal to silence to human ears in the loudness of the club but to the demon standing in front of you it is loud and clear and, most importantly, it is music to his ears.

His smirk sends a shiver down your spine for all the wrong reasons. There should be fear and dread there but, instead, the feelings have been swapped with expectation and adoration.

“I love your dress,” he says, whispering right in your ear and you shiver at the sensation, licking your lips automatically, still unaware that at some point they went completely dry, “Did you wear it for me?”

“Maybe”, you concede and in the morning you’ll remember this not even being a lie or your attempt to please him. It is nothing but the truth and it doesn’t matter how much you hate yourself for feeling like this or worse, for saying it out loud. The hate cannot erase the fact that you have picked your dress for him, just in case he really showed up.

He smiles and caresses your cheek with affection, his eyes shining once you lean into his touch and inhale deeply, trying to impress the smell of him in your senses.

“Then what do you say about making a show out of it?” He suggests after a few seconds and you open the eyes you hadn’t realized you had closed to peer into his.

“What do you want me to do?” You whimper out eagerly, your heart beating fast in your chest as you wait for his instructions.

He hums, pensive, and even in the state you’re in you can tell it is all an act to keep you waiting, make your heart throb a little bit longer waiting for him to open up his mouth again.

“I’d love for you to show them all what they are missing on,” he finally says, making you twirl around so he can take a good look at you in your form-fitting dress.

By instincts, you know exactly what he means, or maybe that is how his power works, maybe his thoughts really slip into your mind and turn into your very own. Maybe he doesn’t even need to speak those words out loud in the first place and all he needs to do is think them and your soul will be wrapped around his little finger.

You do not know how it works, really, what you do know is that it works every single time and before you know it, you start swaying your hips as you walk to the dance floor, careful not to bump into anyone that could stop you to try and dance with you. Tonight you are to be looked at, not to be touched.

You realize in that moment that the club choice was made by Taehyung and for a very purposeful reason: the club has four big illuminated platforms across the dance floor with a few dancers lined up there to keep people moving and having fun by putting up a show and that, that is your destination.

With no hesitation in your movements nor inside your heart and mind, you reach the platform right at the center of the club and smile up at the male dancer performing on it.

“Can I come up?” You say as loud as you can, mimicking your words with your hands to get your point across.

The look of stupor that falls on his objectively handsome face his fuel to the fire burning in your heart and once he extends his arms towards you, helping you up on the stage, you are far too lost in the excitement and adrenaline rush to realize the depth of what you’re about to do.

The male dancer introduces himself as J-Hope—which you assume to be his stage name—and you smile at him in response, swaying your body towards him as seductively as you possibly can.

“Well, nice to meet you, J-Hope,” you purr in his ear and relish in the way he evidently gulps down, taken aback by your shamelessness, “Let’s dance the night away, shall we?”

He doesn’t need you to ask him twice before his hands are carefully wrapped around your hips, guiding your movements to match the upbeat tempo.

You can’t see yourself in those people’s eyes but you know you are giving them quite the show. The dance feels sensual as you press your body onto the dancer’s and your chest seems to constrict a little bit further every single time the space between your bodies thins out to almost nothing at all.

His touches remain professional and purposefully driven by the desire to give a good performance rather than to seduce you but on your part, the effort is quite the opposite.

You do want him to put his hands on you, you do want him to kiss you and scorch your lips with his passion for everyone to see. What you want is to be desired, stripped naked and claimed right in front of everyone. That is the fantasy you’re aiming for, that is what would truly excite him.

You find his eyes in the crowd and for the first time you notice how many people have gathered there to watch you and the dancer behind your back.

This feeling of being watched, envied, desired or even judged by so many people is inebriating and it’s with this feeling swelling in your heart that you decide your next move.

You turn around to face the young dancer, startling him again for the third time tonight, and with a wicked smirk, you start twerking your ass for your public, not caring a single bit of the fact that your dress is riding up, exposing your butt cheeks to all of them.

You are barely aware of the phones that are being drawn out of pockets to record the scene, of the people’s eyes glued on you as they talk to each other about what they are witnessing or even of J-Hope, trying to salvage the situation before he is forced to call security and simply kick you out of the club.

The drawing point for him must be the instant you pull the dress up from your frame and kick it somewhere far away in the club, remaining in nothing but your underwear.

Almost as if you came prepared for the night, you sport a black laced set that barely covers the most important parts and the approval of the crowd comes in the form of whistles and excited screams that only seem to fuel you all the more.

You turn around for all of them to see, swaying your hips and spreading your legs to give them all a show they didn’t know they needed tonight.

With a glance to the crowd you notice your former-friends there as well, staring at you as if they don’t even know who you are and when that should make you realize what you are doing or at least make you feel shame for all of it, in that state of mind it only turns you bolder, more desperate to imprint this show in their memory for the rest of their lives. Be remembered by all of them, be the one they’d talk about from time to time even when they are old, recalling back to the days when they were young and wild. You want to be immortal for all of them.

With that thought recurring in your mind like a mantra, your bra falls off from you and you’re about to remove your panties and salute the last bit of self-preservation when the security finally reaches you and brings you off the platform.

The events of the night seem to become fuzzy at this point, maybe too chaotic for your own mind to process or maybe it is the demon’s power radiating all around you to control every single living creature inside the club.

You do know that you walk out of that club wrapped up in a coat that is not your own without the report for public indecency you deserve. Not even a strong warning or a fee to pay for it and you do know, that is all Taehyung’s doing.

It is him that walks you home, carefully guiding your steps so that you don’t fall and hurt yourself in the process.

It is also him that tugs you in your bed-sheets and lulls you to sleep, thanking you for the great show you gave him.    

Your eyes open and it is already Tuesday afternoon when you do so, at least according to your phone lying next to you.

Morning comes with your sobriety and the feeling of your head being split open by an unknown force.

Your eyes close right after you dare to look at your phone screen, the white light almost burning your retinas after so many hours of pure darkness. When you try to open them again you feel them pulse as they catch up on the light filtering through your windows and you grimace loudly, closing them for a few seconds once again.

When you are pretty much awake and ready to open them you quickly notice how sore your body feels, how bad your mouth tastes and, a few seconds later, your memories slowly start resurfacing in your consciousness.

You spring up from your bed as soon as the recollection of last night comes to you with the force of a tsunami. Your head spins with the sudden movement, the air gets kicked out of your lungs and for a moment you fear you may collapse. Maybe that would have been a gift from God: to indulge some more time in unconsciousness and forget yesterday ever happened.

You phone chimes from the bed right as you ponder the idea of simply returning back to sleep and postpone the inevitable, signaling you the income of a new text. With dread, you pick it to see who is it from and you are instantly met with hundreds of notifications sent to your number from last night up to this very moment.

Your eyes scan through the text messages quickly, deeming anything that doesn’t have to do with last night unimportant and a sigh of relief is about to escape your mouth when you dismally reach what you were dreading to find. A video.

One of your former-friends has created a group chat for your college group from last night and sent the video of you dancing and undressing yourself on the platform of that stupid club with a string of text attached to it. ‘Thank you for the great performance, ______ .”

Your steps are quick in the apartment as you rush to the bathroom, barely making it on time for your puke to hit the toilet bowl and not make a mess of the rest of the room, which would have really been the icing on the cake.

You cannot believe you did that. No, that he made you do that. And that there is one video proof of it. Hell, probably a lot more than a single one of them. And they’re probably online as well, available for every single person that wants to see it—and probably masturbate to it.

A new wave of nausea hits you at the thought and you spend the next hour crouched on the bathroom floor, your head propped up on your hand as your stomach churns and revolts every few minutes.

You feel gross, your body feels gross, even your soul feels gross.

You crawl inside your shower and let the water wash over you, scorching hot. All the sweat and the smell of vomit and alcohol get replaced by the feeling of being clean and fresh and perfumed but the water cannot erase how dirty you feel on the inside.

You have been scrubbing your skin for almost an hour now, trying to get rid of that feeling lodged inside your heart but you know, even if you could successfully excoriate your skin or even remove it from around your bones, the feeling of being soiled and disgusting would not withdraw from your soul.

It is after you realize this, after your skin has turned hot and sensitive to the touch, after these hours of pure misery and self-pity that you finally break apart.

The tears and the sobs erupt from you like a waterfall and not even the sound of the shower can successfully cover the one of your mourning.

The things you’ve said and done under the control of Taehyung’s words are simply one too many today and too much for you to handle them anymore. Last night was just another stone to the mountain of things he has made you do and that now you regret.

It’s in one of the darkest hours of your life, at the peak of your heartache, that he appears again in front of you.

You’re still wet from the shower, your face swollen from all the crying, and you have just stepped out of the bathroom in nothing but a bathrobe when you notice him sitting on your bed, his face neutral as he watches you.

“You,” you grit your teeth, bile filling your windpipe, almost strangling you from within, “You fucking son of a bitch!”

The scream that erupts from you scratches your throat and brings tears to your eyes but you do not relent.

Looking as fury itself, you launch yourself at him, nails pointing out to scratch every inch of his skin you can possibly touch. You want to rip him to shreds just like he has done with your whole existence, with your mind and soul. You just want, no, need revenge.

You land a hit to his face, a kick on his stomach and a spit right in his eye and some scratches all over the exposed skin of his head and neck before he manages to grab both of your wrists, reverse your positions and trap you down on the bed by straddling your hips with his own.

“Let me go, you bastard!” You squirm under his grasp trying to bite his arms and kick his legs with your knees but to no avail.

“I didn’t know you had all of this in you, sweets.”

His words sound taunting to you, working as fuel for your hatred and resentment for everything he has ever done or said to you ever since you’ve known him. This monster trapping you under his body was a man you once loved and now, now looking at him hurts like your body is being ripped apart by feral beasts.

“I hate you.” You say through gritted teeth, your words coming out as slaps across his face.

You notice the slight shift in his eyes, the semblance of an emotion hidden in his irises but he erases it far too quickly for you to be able to name it. But you hang up on it, seeing a tiny crack on his facade to aim at until he breaks apart just like you did, because of him.

“Do you hear me? I fucking hate you! You’re a monster and I will never forgive you. I HATE YOU!”

Your scream scratches your throat anew but it is not the cause for the tears gathering in your eyes. It’s the words you speak out loud and the way his eyes shift again for a split of a second, letting his regret and pain flash through those impossible eyes.

It’s the fact that they seem to turn into black pools as quickly as you recognize those feelings behind them, it’s the fact that his face is as immobile as ever and the fact that he disappears just like smoke once the words have settled in.

You don’t know why it feels even worse for him to be gone, you don’t understand how you can hate him and still yearn so much for him at the same time and as you lie in bed in the same position he has left you for hours, staring at the ceiling without knowing what to do with yourself and the confusing feelings swirling inside your chest, that you break apart once again.

You love him. No, you hate him. You will never forgive him, not this time. But even so, you will never truly forget him and that’s what’s really sad.

Copyright © 2019 by jeonggukingdom. All rights reserved.

[kagetsukai]

Six Dates And How To Fail At Them [Cullen-centric]

Pairing: Cullen Rutherford/(??)

Metaverse: Dance Like No One Is Watching (modern AU/dance!fic)

Synopsis: Cullen Rutherford is not completely incapable of finding himself a date, but he just doesn't have time to look. When his friends catch the wind of it, they volunteer to help him improve his love life. To various degrees of success, of course.

Read on AO3

Over the years Cullen had tried – really, he did - to find a woman who would put up with his particular set of peculiarities. That being said, he wasn't exactly keen on approaching random women, perusing online sites, or putting himself at a bar on a Friday night. All of that sounded worse than spending a whole day calibrating a finicky trebuchet. So when some of his friends decided to help him find female companionship, he was almost relieved.

He should have known better than to trust Varric with these choices, but he learned that lesson a tad too late. As he sat at a booth of some disreputable dive, the dwarf in question sitting across from him, in came a woman that he could only have been described as 'The Sex'. Her luscious brown body completely filled out her skimpy white dress and the overflow boldly spilled in all the right places. She immediately spotted him and he felt like prey pinned down by a hungry vulture.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” she purred at him as she sat down and slid uncomfortably close. “Varric never mention he had such sexy friends.”

Panic set in Cullen's chest as he desperately tried to signal to Varric not to leave him alone with this temptress, but the dwarf handily ignored him, going as far as throwing a parting wink.

Perhaps the whole date would not have been such a sound disaster if it wasn't for the fact that Isabela – that was her name – had insisted on getting super close and personal, which put him on the edge the entire evening. Cullen would keep trying to start a conversation, anything between a local sports team to something about politics, but she would dismiss him with half syllable responses and low, throaty giggles. It all ended abruptly the moment he felt a not-so-subtle touch on his right thigh. At first he thought it was an accident, but when a warm, solid hand aggressively fell between his thighs and squeezed, a startled yelp escaped his throat.

“Ooo... you're a big boy,” she whispered while he fought to remove her hand as quickly as possible. “Wanna take this somewhere more... private?”

“I don't think so,” he growled in reply and moved himself as far away as he could. Which wasn't far enough. “Let go of me.”

In the following commotion Cullen somehow managed to remove himself from Isabela's tight grip, settle the bill, and make a hasty retreat out the diner. Later, he would hope he didn't come off as too rude, but at that moment he wanted to run off to the other side of creation.

The voice message he left Varric that night borderlined on belligerent and uncouth, but he was too enraged to care. Sensing that, the dwarf didn't dare speak to him for two weeks straight.

===============================

When Varric approached him next about a potential date, Cullen refused immediately. Just the mention of the name Isabela – and he did come across her more often that he liked – brought on burning shame and terrible discomfort. Still, the stubborn dwarf shrugged and pulled up a picture on his phone.

“I think she's more your speed, Curly,” he said and casually pointed it towards Cullen. “She's super sweet, really easy-going, and I guarantee she won't try anything untoward.”

The face that looked back at him was beyond beautiful, Cullen noted. This woman had lovely dark hair - almost black - ivory skin, and piercing brown eyes; she was looking at something off camera and laughing without restraint. He swallowed around a lump in his throat as his heart did a weird little stumble.

“What's the catch, Varric?” he asked. There was always a catch.

Varric gave him a level stare.

“The catch is that if you break her heart, I will break you harder.”

Cullen frowned around a pause.

“I don't understand. If she's so precious to you, why try setting her up with me? I'm not exactly desirable.”

Varric gave him a look that was both bewildered and incredulous.

“Really, Curly?” he asked and without missing a beat, he continued. “Her family is a little too crazy, if you ask me, and I'd love to see her with someone who could take care of her when the eventual shit hits the fan. She seems to like a man in armor and you're not exactly difficult on the eyes. You have the chance to not fuck it up.”

The finality of the statement bode no further discussion and Cullen didn't press it. Instead, he agreed to exchange numbers with this woman and see where things went.

All in all, their first date went great. Beth was a sweet and gentle soul who volunteered at the local clinic for the needy while she studied to become a licensed physician. They seemed to have a whole lot in common and he was pleasantly surprised she was a devoted Andrastian. Their conversation had a wonderful ebb and flow to it, and Cullen was slowly understanding why Varric took a shining to this delightful woman. When he finally walked her home at a horribly late hour, he wondered if the little smiles she kept shooting him were an indicator he would be able to kiss her goodnight. Alas, it was not meant to be.

“Bethany Hawke! Where in the Void have you been?”

The rough and gruff voice that assaulted his ears sounded entirely too familiar and Cullen closed his eyes in resignation. Of course it was too good to be true. There was always a catch.

“I'm an adult, sister. You don't get to give me a curfew.”

“And who are you with? Wait...” the woman paused in her tirade. “Is that Cullen? Ser Cullen? As in, you are dating a Templar now?”

“Yes, we went on a date! What of it?”

Hoo boy, this was getting more than Cullen had bargained for. In his line of work he had constant run-ins with a ragtag group of misfits that he always found involved in something and Marian Hawke seemed to be their leader. She had a reputation of a stubborn and willful woman who defied authority at every corner, though it seemed her younger sister had some of that fire as well. The two women were having a row in front of their house and Cullen fervently begged the Maker to send a raging dragon as a distraction. It didn't come.

“How about I just leave you to it,” he cut in once he realized there would be no other way to interrupt them. “It seems like my presence here is unwelcome. Have a good night, ladies.”

He bowed and left the two Hawkes behind. When he got home, he did not call Varric to yell at him, but instead poured himself a glass of whiskey and sat there, mourning all that could have been and never would be. As he steadily drank the liquor, he vowed to never agree to any more dates with Varric's acquaintances.

===============================

Cullen was having a severe case of deja vu while sitting at a tall table inside of some swanky lunch place. It had an Orlesian name plastered all over the walls and menu, and he felt significantly under-dressed.

“This is a bad idea,” he mumbled to Cassandra under his breath. “I've told you--”

“Nonsense! You're overreacting,” she scoffed at him. “ I did not propose you marry the woman. This is just lunch between adults.”

Cullen tried hard not to roll his eyes. “I know nothing about this woman,” he hissed.

“Which is why I'm introducing you here, on neutral ground,” she pointed out and suddenly spotted someone at the door. “Ah. She is here.”

The next several minutes Cullen spent on introductions, subversive – and clearly mutual – checking each other out, and ordering of their respective lunches. He noticed that Threnn ordered something heavy on the meat and light on the 'frill'. He hummed with approval.

“I don't know why Cassandra chose this place,” she whispered to him conspiratorially. “I'm pretty sure we're both so Fereldan we might already have matching Mabari tattoos.”

Cullen coughed into his hand in an effort to mask his laugh and looked down at the woman as if seeing her properly for the first time. Her mouth was quirked in a cocky grin and he found himself returning it.

“I'm still working on getting mine, I'm afraid,” he quipped back.

His optimistic mood did not last long. Once Cassandra excused herself to make a 'very urgent, work-related phone call', Cullen got to converse with the woman in earnest. While Threnn seemed perfectly nice, albeit direct, she soon started sharing opinions he didn't even ask about.

“I really don't understand why Loghain had to be executed. He was single most decorated general in Ferelden's history. He would have been a perfect asset to this administration.”

Cullen frowned, trying to will his impending headache away.

“He was a traitor to his country, in case you forgot.”

“He made one strategic mistake. One!” she exclaimed louder than he was comfortable with in a public place. “That's not enough to kill the man.”

“There were charges of aiding and abetting Tevinter slavers as well as involvement in orchestrating an elven genocide,” Cullen ground out in the most level tone he could manage.

“That was fake news and you know it,” she decided with a glare. “And even if he did do it, so what? There's been too much riffraff in our country for too long. If we could ship them all away, we could make Ferelden great again.”

At that point Cullen chose to focus completely on his food, in case the words that wanted to come out didn't stay behind his teeth. He waited patiently for Cassandra to return, making only non-committal grunts when prompted.

Later, once alone with Cassandra at her desk, he repeated the whole interaction and made her promise to never set him up with anyone else again.

===============================

In a true fashion of perpetually inept and unlucky he found himself drunk and alone one Friday night, desperately craving companionship. Samson, his roommate who somehow had no issues finding women to be with, had suggested trying out the newest dating app that seemed to be all the rage. Fueled by liquid courage Cullen signed up and started browsing what looked like an endless stream of female faces, one lovelier than the next. When he set up a date for the next evening, he fell into bed feeling like the luckiest man alive.

The next morning brought a horrifying case of a hangover and several text messages from a girl that was saved in his phone as DalishFlower. Memories came back slowly, and with a fuzzy sheen that didn't match his mood, so he went through each and every name he contacted to make sure he didn't make more mistakes. With the app scrubbed from his device, he stared at the influx of cutesy messages that kept coming from a clearly elven girl whose name he could not remember. She seemed like a sweet girl, albeit eager, and Cullen felt guilty for accidentally leading her on. His mind made up, he set out for their meeting spot.

The Dalish restaurant – Halla Good – was quite to his liking, even if the meats were a bit gamier than what he was used to. There were a lot of vegetables as sides, both pickled and fresh, and everything seemed to be roasted on an open fire. If only his dinner companion was equally as agreeable. The elven girl that bounded through the door was incredible: she was an exotic beauty painted in dark hair and green eyes, she had a fantastically quick mind, and she seemed like the sweetest person on the planet. That being said, Cullen knew within the first five minutes he would not ask her for a second date.

“My Keeper is convinced I've made a mistake in devoting my life to preserving the eluvian – that's that old mirror I already told you about. It's a piece of Dalish history and she would have me keep it away as if something was wrong with it. She keeps telling me it's blighted, as if it was a living thing! Preposterous. She knows nothing on the topic. Besides, it's not like I'm going to make human blood sacrifice to fix it,” she rattled off in one breath and stopped. She looked at his face and frowned. “Do you get pedicures? I hear humans really like to have soft feet. Is that something you do?”

“I--”

“Oh, I'm sorry, am I being weird again? I'm being weird again, aren't I. Here, let me pour you some tea!”

The entire evening consisted of in-depth dissertations of Dalish culture, intersected by random comments about humans that Cullen had no rebuttal to or was genuinely surprised to be asked about. While at first he tried to insert even a full sentence of a reply to anything, he soon gave up and instead applied himself to devouring all sorts of grilled meat, steamed vegetables, and fresh cheese. Besides, the girl didn't need a conversation partner for most of the things she was talking about, anyway.

When the evening came to an end, Cullen stood with her just outside of the establishment's doors, trying really hard not to come off as a raging asshole.

“So, Merrill...”

She looked up to him with an intensely verdant stare. “Yes, Cullen?”

“I had a good time today--”

���Is this where you ask me to your place and we have sex?” she blurted out.

Cullen felt his face flame with a shade of red he hadn't experienced in a long while.

“What? No!” he exclaimed a little louder than he wanted. “That's not what I was going--”

“Oh.” She sounded confused. “But my friend Isabela told me that humans went on dates then they had sex. Is that not how it works?”

Why was Isabela still haunting his life? A variety of conflicting emotions danced through Cullen's mind at this revelation and he cleared his throat.

“That does happen with some people who are a little more... ummm... flexible with their... ummm... preferences.” Sweet Andraste, he was going to combust from embarrassment in front of this girl. “There's nothing wrong with that, of course! I just... I don't do that.”

“Oh.” Merrill still sounded a little confused, but no longer eager. “So, no sex?”

Cullen reached for his neck and prodded the painful knot that already started to form there.

“No, I don't think that's a good idea,” he said in the softest voice he could come up with. “Also, while I enjoyed our time together tonight, I don't think we are compatible enough for... ummm... future dates.”

For the first time that night Merrill stayed quiet and just stared at his face with an unreadable expression, as if searching for some secret meaning hidden there. She may have found something, because she nodded to herself, as if in confirmation.

“Of course. I understand. Have a good night, Cullen,” she said.

She abruptly turned on her heel and walked away into the night without any other explanation or without giving Cullen a chance to say goodbye.

Not even a week later he found his Templar protective gear covered in itching powder along with a note 'That's for making Kitten sad'. It was soon followed by a visit from Varric with not-so-subtle questions about whether or not he was prejudiced against elven women.

That's when Cullen vowed he would sooner die a celibate bachelor than agree to another blind date.

===============================

It took several years, and a fair share of trauma, but the sting of failed dates wore off, dulled, and joined all other things he would rather not think about. With the rise of the Inquisition he had a new set of responsibilities to worry about and his personal life took a distant back seat. Which most likely was the reason why his newest, and largest, work companion showed up in his office one evening with a suggestion of a date.

“She's fire, I can tell. All redheads are,” the Qunari extolled her virtues. “I did offer to let her ride the Bull, but she declined. I'm not one to force a woman, but maybe she wants a man who is more her size?”

Cullen pointedly ignored the backhanded comment about his manhood and side-glanced at his companion.

“I don't have a good track record with women, Bull” he felt he should mention. “I seem to attract a very particular kind of crazy.”

The Qunari shrugged.

“Crazy can be good. Crazy chicks tend to know some fun things in the sack,” he chuckled. “Not that I know much about Lace's proclivities.”

Shocked, Cullen raised his eyebrows.

“Lace? As in Lace Harding, Leliana's chief reconnaissance lieutenant? You're trying to set me up with a woman who can probably stab me if I look at her wrong?”

Bull chuckled somewhat lecherously.

“I have a feeling you could handle a woman like that,” he said and winked. “Plus, she doesn't strike me as bloodthirsty as her boss. When out in the field, she's cool as you please and nothing really fazes her. I think you two can absolutely hit it off.”

That was how Cullen ended up connecting with a dwarven woman with an impossible schedule that rivaled his own. They did eventually exchange phone numbers due to Bull's subtle meddling and messaged each other on a regular basis; they got to know each other through a series of topics, like favorite movies, current hobbies, or the first live concert they went to. Cullen found it extremely easy to chat with Lace and became increasingly more hopeful for the success of their first date. If it ever happened.

It was she who managed to come up with a solution.

 Lace: How would you feel about doing something informal and active? :)

 Cullen: What did you have in mind?

 Lace: I'll be in town this weekend. Would you like to join me Saturday morning for rock climbing?

He stared at the words and a sudden feeling in the pit of his stomach tickled at his nerves. This could be it.

 Cullen: I could make it.

 Cullen: I've never done it, though.

 Lace: No worries! I've got you covered. Just make sure you wear workout clothes you don't mind ripping or getting covered in talc.

 Lace: Would 7am be okay or is that too early? :P

Cullen actually laughed out loud, startling his assistant that sat in the office with him. He felt a blush prickle at his ears and cheeks, and he coughed to cover his embarrassment.

 Cullen: Please. I'm a career military man. It will feel like I slept in.

 Lace: Great. It's a date then?

 Cullen: It's a date.

He once again stared at the words and felt an increasing sense of panic as it trickled down his spine. Perhaps this could go well - they had been casually texting for several weeks now - but a nagging feeling that something would go wrong refused to leave. He took a few deep breaths and willed himself to relax; this was just a date.

Saturday morning Cullen woke up almost an hour before his already early alarm and spent most of the extra time fussing with his hair, his clothes, his phone, then his hair again. He almost texted Lace twice to cancel, only to berate himself for being foolish and a frightened child. It would be fine, he kept telling himself. He almost believed it, too. When he got into his car, it was with plenty of time to spare and he arrived at the spot almost half an hour early.

When Lace pulled in fifteen minutes later, she jumped out of her Mini Cooper with energy of a woman used to early mornings. She wore clothes that looked comfortable and practical, and Cullen allowed himself to briefly look her over, appreciating her sculpted shoulders and clearly muscular thighs. This was a woman with functional strength and a confidence in her body.

She stepped closer and a lovely smile split her face.

“Commander.”

She stopped, immediately screwed her eyes shut and reopened them, clearly apologetic.

“I'm sorry. Cullen. It's still a little difficult to separate you from the name on my paperwork.”

He chuckled.

“That's alright. As long as you don't start saluting me, we should be fine.”

It was her turn to laugh.

“I'll keep that in mind.” She pointed to the duffel bag in her hand. “I've got my stuff. Shall we go in?”

“Let's do that.”

Cullen had always thought himself to be a fit individual, especially since he had spent most of his professional time training recruits and getting them ready for the field, but the two hours he spent rock climbing with Lace taught him otherwise. Even with her direction and support he kept putting extra strain on muscles he didn't know he possessed and it didn't take long before he was covered in sweat, dirt and talc. That being said, when they decided to call it a day, he could not remember the last time he felt this free or this happy.

“So, what did you think?” she asked him as they slowly walked towards their parking spots.

“That was fantastic, but I will definitely feel it in the morning.”

She nodded. “The first time is rough on just about everybody. If you decide to keep up with it, you'll build up callouses and your body will get used to the strain.”

He was going to say something in return but then they stopped at her car and she turned to him, pinning him in place with a stare. Suddenly Cullen remember this was a date and his gut did a weird flip. Was he supposed to kiss her? They were both covered in filth, and they haven't really flirted while climbing, and he wasn't even sure if she liked him that way, and--

“Cullen, I'll spare you the guesswork,” Lace tripped his trail of thought and she tilted her head with a smile. “I think you're a great guy, I really do, and I did enjoy spending time with you, but... I think we should remain friends.”

Relief that flooded his senses was tangible. He chuckled nervously and reached to massage a knot in his neck that wasn't even there yet.

“Oh thank the Maker,” he exhaled. “I had no idea how to say it so I'm glad you're better at articulating your thoughts than I am.”

Her already sweet smile widened and she raised an eyebrow.

“Commander of the Inquisition who doesn't know how to speak his mind? I find that hard to believe.”

Cullen shrugged.

“It's one thing to yell at soldiers all day long. It's something else entirely when I'm faced with a pretty girl whom I'd like to stay friends with.”

She chuckled.

“Well, since you're being so sweet, I'll let you off the hook,” she announced and reached out her hand. “Friends?”

He took it and shook it once.

“Friends.”

They parted with friendly waves and promises to keep in touch, Cullen then returned home and decided he was just hungry enough for a late breakfast. While he prepped his meal, he grinned happily at having made a friend. He wondered briefly if Lace would let him tag along the next time she went rock climbing and he reached for his phone. Her reply was quick and to the point.

 Absolutely.

===============================

“Maybe you should try something different?” were Bull's exact words and the phrase had put Cullen's teeth on edge at once.

When the Qunari found out about the platonic nature of his ongoing relationship with Lace Harding, he got a strange look in his eye that did not bode well. The results were more ridiculous than he could have expected.

“Iron Bull!” he roared as he stormed into the Chargers’ quarters. “I need a word with you. Privately.

He stomped into the closest empty office, which happened to be Cassandra’s, and slammed the doors closed once the other man walked through.

“Did you think it was a good joke?” he hissed at Bull. “What the world possessed you to… to…”

“What?” the Qunari asked with a shrug. “Did you not have a good time at your date?”

Cullen wiped his face with both hands and groaned.

“For the first and last time, Bull: I am straight,” he said through his clenched teeth. “And please, no more set ups. I am done.”

Bull frowned. “Why?”

“Because you set me up with Fenris, you ass!” Cullen exclaimed and immediately clamped his mouth shut, afraid he could be heard outside the office.

For a brief second the two men just stared at each other, but then the moment broke as Bull guffawed in a booming voice and reached to clap Cullen’s shoulder.

“And that upset you?” he roared with laughter. “C’mon. It couldn’t have been that bad?”

Cullen screwed his eyes shut for a moment, recalling the awkward date from the night before, and ground his teeth again.

“It was worse! He clearly knew what he was getting into, I did not. Once that awkward conversation happened, he proceeded to order a lot of wine and getting shit-faced drunk. I had to help him get home and he threw up on my shoes.”

The Qunari was in a fit of such intense giggles that there were tears streaming down his face and he had issues drawing a breath. He kept trying to get a word out, but nothing would come. At that point, Cullen chose to cut his losses and stormed out of the the office in a huff, hoping that whatever else the Iron Bull had in mind, he could just… ignore it.