I’ll stop reblogging this when it stops being funny
so never
me too Bilbo
when someone with a really deep voice is reduced to little high-pitched moans (⊙‿⊙✿)
Pixar can never top this.
Can we take a moment to appreciate the fact that the best loved line from this movie comes from a character we never even got to see?
“i’m sorry. i know it hurts. here, hold my hand.” for sidni/cullen DESTROY ME WITH FEELING
Cullen takes a deep breath and sets his tankard down. He hadn’t even noticed her slip away. Again.
Bull claps him on the shoulder and says, “You married the former thug. You should be used to it.”
“Yes, but in these circumstances, it worries me,” he grimaces, rolling the suddenly stinging joint.
“For good reason. Go find her. We’ll all hold the fort down here.”
He leaves the fancy little tavern where the Inner Circle gathered after the last council meeting and makes his way to their rooms. With tensions high and the Qunari threat looming, but stalled, they’d taken the moment to relax. Sidni had insisted on everyone being there.
Like she wanted to say …
He rubs the back of his neck, hoping it will ease the knot of doom in his gut. They knew this Exalted Council would be a nightmare. But with everything else going wrong, he supposes it was too much to hope for their peace and joy to last.
We will endure. As we have done.
With Sidni guiding them, with everyone back together, they will make it to the other side. Perhaps battered and bruised, but they will stand tall. If there’s one thing he knows, it’s that his wife has no tolerance for puffed up politicians. She will never bow to them.
He freezes when he enters their drawing room. It’s dim, only the fireplace having been tended to. His Mabari – he really must think of a name soon – paws at the closed bedroom door. As soon as the hound is aware, he turns to Cullen, a plaintive whine in his throat.
He barrels across the room, hand on his sword. He calls her name, listening. There’s no answer, not even as he yanks the door open.
The darkness gives him yet another pause. Stillness and silence greet him, no signs of a threat leaping toward him. He blinks, realizing it’s not quite pitch black. There’s an eerie glow.
His heart sinks.
“Sidni.”
He finds her sitting on the other side of the bed, back pressed to it, legs drawn into her chest. Her left arm rests across her knees, her right hand locked around the wrist. Green light illuminates her clenched eyes, the tightness of her mouth. He sits in front of her, fear stealing his breath.
With her gloves finally discarded, he can see the poisonous vines crawling up her arm. It cracks and spits hostile energy, each new wave causing her to tense, her jaw locking against it. His hands hover uselessly, afraid to add to it.
“Sidni.”
When her eyes meet his, he just barely resists scrambling backward. They glow just for a moment, but it’s enough to show him the tears in her eyes. Never has he seen her cry for her own pain until now. And the fear that flashes in her gaze.
She pulls her hand into her stomach, hiding it behind her legs. It doesn’t muffle the way it sparks, worse than the few he’s witnessed. She gasps, heels scraping against the floor, her unmarked hand covering her mouth as the gasp turns into a cry. Her body hunches over her arm, ragged sobs causing the Mabari to lay on his belly and whimper. Cullen fights his own tears, swallowing past the choking terror and dragging her to him.
He cages her legs with his, settling his arm around her stomach to keep her close. Her head falls back against his shoulder, her breath heavy as she’s given a sudden reprieve before the next wave. He brushes her hair away from her face, kissing her temple. His eyes are drawn to her left hand where it lies limp on his thigh.
It’s killing her. The Council, the Qunari … it doesn’t matter. The magic she used to save them is slowly tearing her apart. His conversation with Dorian echoes back at him. They’d underestimated it. They believed the front she’s put up.
“Cullen–”
“No.”
“But if it–”
She chokes off a scream, pushing back into him. He squeezes her, setting his cheek against hers. He can’t lose her. He won’t. Not now.
He locks his fingers with her right hand, holding tight. Her response is a death grip, nails dug into his skin. As the Mark hisses and lights the room around them, he tries to give her something steady amidst the chaos.
“I’m sorry,” he breathes, vowing to find a way out of this, no matter what it takes. “I know it hurts. Hold my hand. Don’t let go.”
‘ you need stitches. ’ for Sidni and Dorian :D *runs away*
TW: Abuse Mention, sort of
“Dorian–”
“No.”
She sighs, sitting back on her heels. He glares at her. Were she anyone else, she might have quailed under it. Instead, she just stares back at him, expressionless. He tries to hold his anger, but it falters under her impassive gaze.
“Do you have elfroot potions left?”
“No.”
“Lyrium?”
“No.”
“So there will be no magical healing. I can’t carry you back, not in either of our states. And you’re still bleeding. You need stitches.”
Her fingers are stained with his blood and growing more slippery by the minute. He wilts and nods. Sidni breathes a sigh of relief and sends out a quick prayer of thanks before she can stop herself.
Cullen’s habits are rubbing off on her.
She finds the last clean bit of her tunic, ripping it free and dabbing at the gash on his calf as best she can. Wiping her fingers on her own trousers, she frees the little emergency kit she keeps hidden against her ribs and sets to work. He winces the first few stitches, but eventually settles into sharp breaths.
After several moments of watching her, he asks in a strained voice, “Where did you learn such frighteningly perfect stitching?”
She falters before shaking it off and continuing to close up his wound. It will be enough to tide him over if they can get back to the camp by tomorrow.
“I had to get creative back when. Apparently my own attempts were appalling and a healer from a caravan I was helping guard taught me. I had a lot of practice.”
He holds his breath. She braces, knowing the question will be personal. Invasive. But it’s Dorian. He asks because he cares.
“You weren’t healed when you were … hurt?”
The scoff that escapes is probably too loud and too forced. “No. Healing didn’t let it set in. Wouldn’t’ve reminded me of my failure. But when you’re trying to survive …”
She ties off the last stitch, feeling his eyes on her. The last bit of bandage from her kit just barely reaches around his leg, but she stitches it closed to make it hold. Tucking everything away, she settles next to him, ignoring her own hurts. He leans against her, reaching for her hand. She lets her head drop against his shoulder, taking the offer of comfort and squeezing his fingers between her own.
“Tell me, do we get to go father hunting when all of this is over?”
Her laugh echoes in the cave as the night closes in.
‘ you need stitches. ’ for Sidni and Dorian :D *runs away*
TW: Abuse Mention, sort of
“Dorian–”
“No.”
She sighs, sitting back on her heels. He glares at her. Were she anyone else, she might have quailed under it. Instead, she just stares back at him, expressionless. He tries to hold his anger, but it falters under her impassive gaze.
“Do you have elfroot potions left?”
“No.”
“Lyrium?”
“No.”
“So there will be no magical healing. I can’t carry you back, not in either of our states. And you’re still bleeding. You need stitches.”
Her fingers are stained with his blood and growing more slippery by the minute. He wilts and nods. Sidni breathes a sigh of relief and sends out a quick prayer of thanks before she can stop herself.
Cullen’s habits are rubbing off on her.
She finds the last clean bit of her tunic, ripping it free and dabbing at the gash on his calf as best she can. Wiping her fingers on her own trousers, she frees the little emergency kit she keeps hidden against her ribs and sets to work. He winces the first few stitches, but eventually settles into sharp breaths.
After several moments of watching her, he asks in a strained voice, “Where did you learn such frighteningly perfect stitching?”
She falters before shaking it off and continuing to close up his wound. It will be enough to tide him over if they can get back to the camp by tomorrow.
“I had to get creative back when. Apparently my own attempts were appalling and a healer from a caravan I was helping guard taught me. I had a lot of practice.”
He holds his breath. She braces, knowing the question will be personal. Invasive. But it’s Dorian. He asks because he cares.
“You weren’t healed when you were … hurt?”
The scoff that escapes is probably too loud and too forced. “No. Healing didn’t let it set in. Wouldn’t’ve reminded me of my failure. But when you’re trying to survive …”
She ties off the last stitch, feeling his eyes on her. The last bit of bandage from her kit just barely reaches around his leg, but she stitches it closed to make it hold. Tucking everything away, she settles next to him, ignoring her own hurts. He leans against her, reaching for her hand. She lets her head drop against his shoulder, taking the offer of comfort and squeezing his fingers between her own.
“Tell me, do we get to go father hunting when all of this is over?”
Her laugh echoes in the cave as the night closes in.
* hurt prompts
- ‘ are you bleeding? ’
- ‘ take it easy. you hit your head. ’
- ‘ where does it hurt? ’
- ‘ sit still and let me take a look! ’
- ‘ how did you get that black eye? ’
- ‘ you should see the other guy. ’
- ‘ did i say you could get out of bed? ’
- ‘ that’s going to leave a bruise. ’
- ‘ i’ll get some ice. ’
- ‘ that’s what you get for picking fights. ’
- ‘ are you trying to give me a heart attack? ’
- ‘ what’s wrong with you? ’
- ‘ you can barely stand. ’
- ‘ did you throw the first punch? ’
- ‘ that’s a nasty bump. ’
- ‘ get in the car. you’re going to the hospital. ’
- ‘ at least bandage it. ’
- ‘ no, you’ll get an infection. ’
- ‘ wet floor signs are there for a reason, you know. ’
‘ you’re lucky. that icicle could’ve killed you. ’
‘ where’s your gratitude? i rescued you! ’
‘ i’m calling the nurse. ’
‘ was that stupid dare worth it? ’
‘ what happened to you? ’
‘ sit down. i’ll make some hot chocolate and fix you right up. ’
‘ are those bandages? ’
‘ you need stitches. ’
‘ look out for that tree branch. ’
‘ i’ve got you. just stay awake. can you do that for me? ’
‘ lean on me. ’
‘ you got two choices: let me carry you, or die out here. take your pick. ’
‘ shit, you’re burning up. ’
‘ you’re not dying. it’s only a sprained ankle. ’
‘ lie down. ’
‘ i’m sorry. i know it hurts. here, hold my hand. ’
‘ you’re in no condition to be walking around. ’
‘ wake up! wake up! ’
‘ i don’t feel sorry for you. ’
‘ look at your face! ’
Send them in! I’ll be working on them all day. They can be just Sidni or her and companions/Cullen/whoever. Gimme that angst!
Maker's Breath 