highly new, slightly improved open post

[appliances]

assorted morons

☆ @ the muselist

optional prompts/ideas

☆ caught in the rain meme ☆ little steps meme ☆ affectionate physical contact meme ☆ picture prompt also acceptable but link them so it's tidy ☆ AU ideas: soulmates AU, reincarnation AU, Bad End AU, canon divergent/roleswap AU, dorky college AU, crossover AU, super indulgent high fantasy AU ☆ melodrama is ultimate tier ★ SHIPPING AND FUCC: ☆ non-fluffy relationship types I'm down for: codependent, master/servant power imbalance type ships, "we're bad for each other but worse for anyone else," other things I am failing to think of tbh ☆ things I am not into: noncon (includes "dubcon"), incest, tsundere shit if your tsundere is just verbally abusive, gratuitous torture porn, you'll probably have to ask me about harder kinks and they will vary by character ☆ I don't have a kink list so pitch me an idea if u thirsty ☆ if you would prefer a locked post I can also make that happen

Comments

idk what i'm doing but here i am, anyway - me or cullen? you decide

[makersbreath]

[There isn't enough of anything.

And that's nothing new, really. Even when Cullen was a member of the Templar Order, it wasn't as though Cullen lived, like, a luxurious life—but the Chantry provided its Templars with what its Templars needed. No one went without, so long as they did what was expected of them, and is it so bad for Cullen to want the same for the Inquisition's forces? He wants them fed; he wants them armed; he wants them clothed; he wants them sleeping beneath proper shelter when they turn in for the night, and yes, of course he realizes that the Inquisition isn't as, ah, well-established as the Chantry. He doesn't understand everything that Josephine does—or how she has the patience for even half of it—but he knows that she is doing her best, and that acquiring resources is... a game, of sorts. A test of patience. It's all about shaking the right hands and saying the right things.

He loathes it, naturally. Finds himself venting to Varric late one evening, because Varric is, to his credit, a good listener—and because too many of the Inquisition's men are sleeping without blankets, which should be such a simple fix. It should be! Varric agrees, even, before Varric suggests that Cullen should, oh... send a letter to a certain choir boy they both know. Write it quickly enough, Varric oh-so thoughtfully adds, and it could arrive in Starkhaven before the end of next week, much to the delight of their shared acquaintance.

It shouldn't be a surprise when Cullen beats a hasty retreat. It should be even less of a surprise that Cullen goes out of his way to avoid Varric for a few days afterward, and it isn't because Varric did anything wrong? Cullen knows what Varric is like, after all; it's hardly surprising that Varric heard tale of... some aspects of his life in Kirkwall, even if it is, like, mildly irritating. Just like the dwarf himself.

So it's... shame that keeps Cullen away. Maybe. Something akin to it, at least, because Varric mentioning Sebastian in his roundabout way made Cullen think of the small stack of letters tucked away in a drawer of his desk. Simple things, those letters. Containing updates on Starkhaven, rumors regarding the Inquistion, questions about Cullen's well-being, snippets pulled from the Chant—brief conversations that have, for the most part, remained unanswered, because when it comes right down to it, Cullen has always been a terrible communicator. Sitting down to write a long letter has always struck him as a luxury, of sorts. He rarely has the time, and even when he does have all of thirty minutes to himself, finding the right words is a struggle. He's not good with them, because...

...Well! Because. How does one capture one's emotions? It's relatively easy to write I am glad you are well; it's much, much harder to write other things, like I think of you often, or Your presence is a comfort that I sorely miss, or I heard a laugh that sounded similar to yours, and my heart ached for the remainder of the day. Cullen has tried; Cullen has made many an earnest attempt, but everything he manages to write sounds so very trite—and that isn't what Sebastian deserves. Not at all.

Better, then, to simply not write. Cullen is a busy man, after all; there's always something for him to do aside from sit at his desk and frown at parchment like a schoolboy, and so Cullen loiters by the war table. Sees to hi—to the Inquisition's men. Reads every letter Sebastian sends him before tucking it atop the rest, safe and sound, because this is what's best.

Until what's best comes back to bite him in the ass? In the form of a delegation from Starkhaven arriving, quite unexpectedly, in the middle of an otherwise mundane day, and as the messenger bursts into the war room to announce its arrival—ah, but it's strange how Cullen's stomach sinks even as his heart soars. He doesn't need to be told who's leading the delegation; he's well aware which person is currently standing in—pacing about?—the courtyard.

Cullen is soon well aware of several other things, too, like the fact that Sebastian's blue eyes are as piercing as ever. Devastating, honestly, even as they bore through him while he stands to the side, half-listening to Josephine's masterful greeting and trying not to awkwardly shift his weight from one leg to the other. So Sebastian is angry with him, then. Understandable. It would have been nice to have more time to... prepare for it, but this is a fitting enough punishment, Cullen supposes—and it doesn't make him any less relieved to see Sebastian standing before him, obviously in fine health as he returns Josephine's everything with practiced ease. Is it bad that he missed that voice? That accent, Maker preserve him—

Or: Cullen is distracted by several things, and thus Cullen is caught entirely off guard when Leliana suggests he grant the Prince of Starkhaven™ a tour of the battlements while the meeting chamber is prepared. Cullen isn't quite sure what he says, honestly. A jumbled something that sends Josephine hastily bringing a hand to her mouth and earns him a knowing look from Leliana, and Cullen knows, in this moment, that they know. They know. How wonderful.

But they make an effective team, he has to admit. They manage, somehow, to pull the rest of the party off for something or another, leaving Cullen and Sebastian standing in the middle of a rapidly emptying courtyard—and that in and of itself is fine. Cullen thinks, stupidly, that he could stand here for an hour, suffering through Sebastian's Judgment if it meant savoring Sebastian's presence, but... ah, well. It's a nice dream! Especially as the silence stretches on, resulting in Cullen feeling the need to clear his throat before looking back Sebastian's way.]

It's— [Whew. He straightens, managing a small cough in the process.] I trust your journey was an easy one? Our patrols have indicated trouble is concentrated farther to the west—provided you approached from the coast, of course.

[He is rambling. Falling back on shit he knows.]

you're writing the next great american novel apparently

[quickprayer]

[The Chantry can provide, for its followers, a certain measure of faith and purpose; ruling a Free Marches city state can provide a certain measure of responsibility unto one's people, a drive that may not have been so easy to find while mucking about in Kirkwall for the better part of the decade. But nothing in all of Thedas can gift Sebastian with impulse control, and so it is for that reason that he winds up marching all the way to Skyhold on a whim.

Mostly. Kind of. In his defense, he lasts longer in Starkhaven than one might have expected. A city with competent leadership can run itself, after all, and for all his past doubts about what he ought to do, there is no question that he's more than competent at the actual doing: Starkhaven, this long after Sebastian's passionate return, is doing just fine. Better than fine; good enough to reach out to Kirkwall, to other cities having a Circle problem, and put good resources to work there.

Still: it's not overnight, and so Sebastian does not begrudge it much, when his earliest letters to Cullen go unanswered. He'd be faintly embarrassed by them now anyway, far too much putting to paper every little doubt he might have felt about his ability to rule, rude things about local nobles that should not ever see the light of day— it's fine. He lets those go.

But the rest. The months and months and years that pass, and yes, the Inquisition has sent Starkhaven some polite missives, correspondence in a hand that is not Cullen's but nonetheless has some of his influence underneath the niceties, Sebastian can tell— but Cullen has not returned a single letter to him, and as the dust settles somewhat (somewhat) in the Free Marches, it starts to... grate. Chafe, even. Missing Cullen's presence becomes part of the routine, and while it would admittedly make that feeling more if he were to write, it would be better than nothing at all.

He still writes because of course he does, and when a letter from someone in the Inquisition for him finally arrives, the surge of joy in his heart is completely unbecoming from a prince and— and it's from damnable Varric, Maker, spare him. Sebastian has poor impulse control; his party is mounted up and headed for Skyhold the very next morning, and oh, did he forget to send a message in advance? Pity.

The journey is what it is and Skyhold is remarkable, really, Starkhaven is all but a city fortress and so he likes Skyhold at once, earnestly he does, but— well, nothing quite compares to the moment the front doors open and the Inquisition's esteemed leadership comes down the steps to greet his delegation. Specifically, nothing quite compares to seeing Cullen among them, there and in one piece, and Sebastian had known he wasn't injured or anything because Varric would have mentioned it, but it's still... a relief.

It doesn't soothe his temper. No, what eases the anger that sent him marching all the way here in the first place is Cullen just standing there, letting other people do the talking, catching his eye in a completely overt way and fumbling over being left to give him the grand tour. Sebastian performs all the requisite bows and polite thanks and then finally really looks at Cullen when they're alone.

Listen to this guy... Sebastian holds up a couple fingers, humming.]

Right. I can see how that much would be difficult to fit on a single page to send all the way to Starkhaven.

[Punk. He's still kind of mad and he will continue to lean on this point until it pops but first, because, hm, because:]

It's good to see you. [And then,] You're supposed to show me the battlements?