Marvel : Loki is dead. It’s permanent. No return this time.
Me, an intellectual :
Day 1: Cullen Finds Sidni Wearing His Shirt – prompt by @kagetsukai
Hello all! Welcome to another month of madness. I know this was supposed to be May, but life was not going to let me write. So I am taking all of those amazing intimacy prompts you sent me and doing them this month! Without further ado, here’s day one!
She doesn’t know why she does it.
At first, she blames her tendencies to steal. She’s done it for so long, she can’t help it. But that’s a lie. And she knows it. Stealing was … well, not exactly second nature. More like fifth nature. And she hasn’t stolen since well before the Conclave.
She tries to blame it on not having enough clothes, but that excuse lasts for perhaps ten seconds. She has more clothes than she knows what to do with. Stone’s sake, she owns more now than she has in her entire life combined. Not that she wears even a quarter of them. Vivienne can turn her nose up all she likes.
Then she attempts to fool herself into thinking he left it behind. He didn’t. He’s ridiculously neat and conscious of everything. Most of the time, there’s very little sign that he’s been in her room for longer than a few moments.
She has to be honest with herself. She accidentally took it with her things leaving his loft once. And found it surprisingly comfortable and smelling strongly of Cullen. She kept it until the smell faded, had it laundered and returned, and then took it again when he wasn’t looking.
The cycle continues as her little secret. When everything is too much, when she tries to keep from falling apart, she retreats to her quarters and slips into the tunic. It’s ridiculous and everything she’s ever been trained against.
Which is how she’s now found herself, dressed only in said tunic, with her knife pressed against its owners throat. His startled gaze has taken on a different heat as he glances over her body, pink dusting his cheeks. She’s frozen, wondering if she can make it over the balcony before he can catch her.
“Is that … a-are you wear … you’re …”
She tucks the knife away, straightening. Her chin lifts, features smoothing. He’ll see through her – he always does when it comes to matters like … this – but she’s not about to make it easy.
“I wasn’t expecting you, Commander.”
That damn smile appears on his face, small and mischievous. One of his brows quirks. She hates that expression. He knows what it does to her. She turns on her heel, striding purposefully back to the bed. Luckily Dorian’s book is still on her bedside table, offering itself as a shield.
The sounds of Cullen shedding his armor echo across the room. She keeps herself hidden behind the book, knees holding it open as she stares unseeingly at the pages. She wishes she could change, but it would just draw his attention.
He sits on the edge of the mattress next to her. The abrupt dip under his weight knocks her legs askew, the book flopping uselessly to the side. He does that strange nuzzling at her cheek, breathing her in. And though she wants to lean into it, she can’t.
“I’d wondered where it kept disappearing to.”
Her face is about to burst into flames. He’d noticed. She goes rigid, a voice in her head that sounds very much like her father cursing her weakness.
“This is my shirt, Cullen. I don’t know what you’re implying, but if you’ve lost one of yours, don’t come blaming me.”
When he leans back, she catches the flash of hurt on his face. It’s gone before she can address it, one of his sighs filling the silence.
“When you leave and I’m left wondering every day if you’re alright or what you’re doing, I carry your letters in my coat. It feels like a piece of you that I can touch. A promise that you’re … still alive. That you will come back to me.”
Her heart trips. His head tilts to the side, crooked grin lighting up his eyes. She launches herself into his chest, hiding her face as his arms come around her. He kisses her forehead, fingers smoothing the fabric of his tunic across her back.
They don’t speak of it again, nor does he comment on several tunics disappearing more frequently.
The next time she leaves Skyhold, she finds a suspiciously large tunic, smelling of Cullen, tucked haphazardly in her pack.
She’d done her best to hide how his sharp words and her own admission of caring had felt like a knife slicing her open. Vulnerable. But those words … It was fine for Shokrakar to care. To love her?
Her ribs protested her sharp breathing. Didn’t he know that anyone she loved, anything dear to her, was inevitably ripped away? Loving her was as good as placing a bounty on his head.
She tried to pull away, but he was having none of it. She had gone by herself to protect him and he was throwing himself into the fire. If she couldn’t keep him safe–
“You can’t … you …”
“I can,” he growled, his hands tracing a path from her shoulders to her cheeks. He cupped her face, forcing her to look into his silvery blue eyes. What she saw there was undeniable.
“It’s not safe,” she breathed. “Don’t …”
His chuckle rumbled through her, edged with remnants of anger and fear. “You’re still an idiot,” he said, pressing a kiss to the cut on her nose.
She wanted it. Stone, she wanted him. She cared. Please, she thought, let me have this.
last line meme
I was tagged by @star–nymph and I was trying to put off answering until I had written more, but I haven’t so….
The smirk on his face says he knows exactly what popped into her brain when she saw him with the golden horned helmet on his head.
If you see this, I’m sorry and consider yourself tagged. *runs away*
(Please be aware this is not a happy post. Seriously. Abuse warning. Read at your own risk. I’m sorry.)
(Also, please forgive the lack of arts of baby Sidni. I have no artistic talent.)
Who named them/Significance of their name:
Sidni was named by her mother. It sounded pretty and less harsh than anything her father suggested. If Keeva could have no control of her life or marriage, she at least wanted a say in Sidni’s person.
Home they grew up in:
With Lorcan (her father) being the head of the clan and one of the top dogs in the Carta, they moved frequently throughout the hideouts in the Free Marches. Each one had a little home for them to stay in, but since the length of time spent in them was never very long, Sidni never grew attached to any of them. Her mother was her home, until she lost her.
Relationship with parents:
Sidni adored her mother. They would huddle in secret places and her mom would whisper wonderful stories about the world outside the Carta hideouts they frequented. Keeva would compare the traits of legendary heroes to those she was trying to save in her daughter. Sidni held them close for the few years she had with her mother.
Her father is the only person she fears and hates and cannot read. He saw Sidni as a weapon to be honed and controlled, and he bred it into her slowly. When her mother got in the way, he took care of that. He kept Sidni in line by any means necessary. Denying her basic necessities, taking her small joys, and violence. Lots of violence.
Three Words to describe them as a child:
Determined, curious, angry
Childhood friend(s):
Sidni was kept isolated. She had “colleagues” in the Carta, but no one she was allowed to get very close to.
Favorite Toy:
Any toy (or even places/books/stories) she latched onto was promptly removed in a way that made her regret letting something work its way into her heart. She learned quickly that staying distant gave her father less to hurt her with.
Childhood Trauma?:
When she was young, her father never hesitated to strike her. It would usually only be once and her mother tried to keep her safe. After her mother was gone, at age 13, it’s the first time he really takes a switch to her back. Not too much – she’s still a precious dwarven child and he needs her to be in top shape – but just enough. It’s ten lashes, but not delivered with a ton of force. It’s punishment for trying to find her mother. And when she rebels, the same follows.
When she’s nearly killed on her first solo smuggling run, her father doesn’t hold back. He lets her heal to the point where she’s not in danger of dying and carves six “strikes” between her shoulder blades, one for each of her attackers, and sends her out to finish the job while still wounded. And any time she tries to fight against what he wants her to do, he beats her. Resisting her first assassination assignment leaves her out of commission for a good week. Sometimes he uses the switch, sometimes it’s a knife carving her open, or even a whip, but he no longer holds back. And she’s never allowed access to proper healing. It takes about nine years before he doesn’t have to beat her (she’s 25 at that point). And with each one, that hopeful part of her dies away.
Hobbies:
She loves to sneak into places she shouldn’t be and her father would disapprove of. Opera houses, balls, Orzammar (once). She will also trade protection to caravans if they will teach her songs and stories, which she uses to entertain herself when she’s alone. She’s also learned to whittle wood, and – though she is poor at it – frequently does it on the road so she always has a knife in hand. (Secretly, she likes using the blade for something non-violent.)
Childhood fear(s):
Her father. Losing her mother.
Quirks:
She takes to blades easily and is able to be completely still. It unnerves a lot of people. In the early years, she’s caught between wonder for the world her mother tells her stories of and the duty and violence of the world her father forces her into. It makes her disposition a strange one.
Maker's Breath 