Independant, Multi-Muse side-blog. Currently using my Dragon Age muses: Inquisitor/Companion Myrna Lavellan, Cole, and Maren “Rook” Mercar; the Prisoner from Outer Wilds; and TTRPG OCs: Enilasor Mistfield/The Wanderer, Jalon, Chandler, Lyke Clockwork, Vi'tal, Biscuit, Natalie Albright, and Cecil Albright.
“I can’t see it yet!” Norrim replied. The little girl worked carefully on Cole’s hair, giggling as he tried to braid hers. She’d gotten it started, just like her Mama had taught her, then let Cole braid once she was done with the section closest to her head. “It doesn’t hurt, though!”
It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Cole; she trusted him completely, and with everything, every thought that went through her mind, every step in their strange journey from Kirkwall to Skyhold, and every pain and joy she experienced. He made her feel safe, and sometimes she wondered if that was what having a big brother was like.
She kept going on the braids she put in his hair, two little short ones framing his face, and when she was done, she stepped back (as much as her own hair would allow her to) and grinned. She’d put flowers in it next, but she wanted him to see how it looked first.
“There!” she cried. “Miss Bard will love those!”
Good, at least he wasn’t pulling on her hair too tightly. That was a step in the right direction, he supposed; it meant that he may just be getting it. He’d take the win, if it could be called such a thing.
“I’m glad it doesn’t hurt.” It was a good feeling to know that she trusted him not to hurt her too, he guessed. Cole would never intentionally hurt her; she was so precious to him.
It filled him with an ache and longing for family that was both familiar and new to him. Familiar because of what the real Cole had felt for his little sister, and new because he’d never felt this way on his own. It was warm and sweet.
He felt his face warm at that. Would she like seeing him with braids in his hair? That was…good? Maybe? He didn’t want to be noticed, but…acknowledgement was also nice on occasion.
He leaned to the side, careful to not pull Norrim’s hair, and peered at himself in her mother’s floor length mirror behind her. It was a silly style on him, but he liked it.
“You did a wonderful job. They’re very neat.” Not a single hair stuck out that he could see.
“Demain, dès l'aube, à l'heure où blanchit la campagne, Je partirai. Vois-tu, je sais que tu m'attends. ” - Victor Hugo
A study in the embodiment of Death. Fandomless, different verses open from fantasy to mythology, oc and duplicate friendly. Penned by Bubblz. Mutuals only. Will contain triggering themes, reader’s discretion is advised.
