#disciplinebreached

   “Solas–I’m FAR from in the mood for–” He was on EDGE, that much clear in the drop of venom tainting his voice to retort at the inherently CALM words leaving the apostate’s lips. Always, however, the commander knew when to STOP himself–a self-awareness still alive (if not all but CONSUMED by thickening frustration) to remind him when he set foot in territory that needn’t be hostile. A reminder that the world, try as it may, wasn’t ENTIRELY out to get him.

   And there were some who extended a hand to HELP.

   Far too ragged, the sigh that scraped past his teeth as he turned his attention away, brushed a hand over his HEATED brow. Restless. Anxious. Cullen fidgeted where he stood like one ready to leap to defense even when no threats currently EXISTED. “Truthfully the world KEEPS pushing, if we’re going with THAT. It’s enough effort on its own just to keep it at BAY.”

      Perfectly at home in hazel eyes and matched in essence and tonality by cocked head was the caustic sarcasm burning in Solas’ eyes, if one cared to look deeply enough to see the serpent tensing itself for the strike. Yet as the moments passed, it never came, and with several more, so too had the all-too-common attitude about him. For his was never a bite of malice; hard as it was for many to swallow, his was well-meaning even at it’s angriest. ( Do you not see the folly of the path you tread? The needless hurt? Allow me to show you, to guide you to better, if only by way of thought. ) In its stead seeped in natural calm -- albeit alertness all the same, lest causation spring up, and he be caught unawares and unprepared. “Is anyone?” Admittance, some might have called it, but Solas himself merely called it self reflection; there was a time even he had been unwilling to taste of wisdom’s bitter waters, and yet had been in desperate need nonetheless. As Cullen was now, he had been a voice for others: any choice was never to be his alone.

After denying herself of physical contact for so long, Elsa is mildly touch-starved, and therefore extremely sensitive to nearly all types of physical touch, whether it be someone touching her or her touching someone (a noteworthy exception being shaking hands in formal or business contexts). This is especially true in romantic relationships, and with unobstructed, skin-to-skin contact. 

In romantic relationships, Elsa will have very strong reactions to even the simplest contact: handholding, brushing shoulders, the light caress of fingers through her hair, etc. Her pale, naturally cold skin flushes easily under the warm touch of another. 

The first precursor that should have required immediate attention was the omission of speech on her part, the fact her sentence had been so short and withheld unlike everything prior. In fact, the words should have been taken as a threat, as a command, given the obvious stated fact on his part; the hour. Though that would not dissuade her, not as the distance held between the two was closed as she neared his desk.

She would never cross over to be on the same side as him, however, with no where given to sit, she planted herself on one of the free spaces of the desk. Her arms behind her and propping herself up, legs crossed and that cat like grin never subsided into her features; if anything it amalgamated itself into more of a smirk then a smile as she looked at him over her shoulder. Was it to further test his boundaries, to simply get rise out of his features; more likely than anyone could have ever known. 

@disciplinebreached

At five years old, Bryton wasn’t meant to wander Skyhold unsupervised.

Unfortunately, he’d become very adept at sneaking off in search of his favourite members of the Inquisition - the warriors.

He’d already listened to tales of the Blight from Blackwall, almost been given an axe by the Iron Bull (the scolding his mother had given the leader of the Chargers had been something to behold) and learned about the discipline it takes to wield a blade from Cassandra, who had been more than happy to keep an eye on him while his mother assisted Josephine with her ambassadorial duties.

This time, however, Bryton’s minder had been an unfortunate stable hand and it’d been easy enough for him to slip away and explore, in search of someone with stories to tell of great battles they’d fought and enemies they’d defeated.

Coming across the Commander of the Inquisition as he strode through the gardens of Skyhold had been a stroke of luck on the boy’s part - Ser Cullen was famously busy at all hours of the day, and most people rarely saw him outside of his office. Despite knowing all of this, Bryton was unperturbed - he ran right up to Cullen and tugged lightly on what little of the fur pelt wrapped around the commander’s shoulders that he could reach, bright-eyed and smiling in the way that only a child in the presence of his heroes ever could.

EXCUSE YOU