#and to clarify the woman who was mean to me wasn’t mean to me specifically she was just someone else who works at the school who said

[totopopopo]

The best part about gaining the favor of a group of nine year old girls is that they are 900% ready to throw down for you at ALL times (whether you want it or not)

#these all are events that happened within the past 3 days #and to clarify the woman who was mean to me wasn’t mean to me specifically she was just someone else who works at the school who said #a reaaally nasty comment about our program right in front of me (and unfortunately for her. in front of my girls.) #they were like ❗️WE WILL REMEMBER THIS #and the other dude is yet another adult who also works at the same school as I do but who isn’t part of our program #he was saying nice things abt me to be clear but he kept using the wrong pronouns and holy fuck. I’ve never seen anyone so murderous #I had to mouth to her ‘it’s fine’ to keep her in check but she rly looked like she was about to vault across the table and bite him

[suashii]

୨♡୧ SWEET POTATO — iwaizumi hajime x f!reader. sfw. fluff. reader is pregnant.

“you know, i’m perfectly capable of going to the grocery store on my own,” you tell iwaizumi, lingering a step behind him as he walks down the aisle, scanning the items neatly lined up on the shelves. he only hums in acknowledgement. you click your tongue in mock annoyance because, despite your resistance to his assistance, you don’t mind having him around. still, you’re not used to being coddled like this. “being pregnant doesn’t mean i can’t walk. my feet aren’t defective.”

“just hush and let me help,” hajime speaks, resting one hand on the top of your head while the other reaches for a bag of brown rice. the weight on your head is comforting, a reminder of why iwaizumi is really here. ever since you read the positive test and the man who was meant to be with you walked out, iwaizumi, your best friend, stepped up and became your lifeline—attended all of your appointments, started reading baby books in his free time, calmed you down whenever you were feeling overwhelmed. he made sure you weren’t making this journey alone.

“can i at least push the cart?” you attempt to negotiate. you may not mind having him here with you, but you’d be lying if you said that following him around while he did all the work wasn’t getting boring. “wouldn’t it be safer to have something in front of me in case i trip?”

“how could you trip?” he asks, more humor in his voice than usual. “you just told me that your feet work fine.”

you groan at the way he twists your words, hands coming up to unconsciously rub at your belly. it’s become a habit of yours, caressing the steadily growing bump whenever you’re stressed or bored. it gives you something to do and floods you with an immeasurable amount of contentment.

“oh, congratulations, dear.” you turn at the sound of a frail voice. an elderly woman on the opposite side of the aisle looks at you through squinted eyes, a gentle smile pulling at her lips. you figure she’s referring to your stomach.

“thank you.”

“how far along are you?”

“eighteen weeks.” you smile. iwaizumi intently watches your interaction—the way your eyes light up and how your hands protectively cradle the little bulge. “this little one is the size of a sweet potato.”

the fruit and vegetable comparison was always a little silly to you but it came in handy during moments like these. this specific week actually helped you remember something that slipped your mind while you were making the list of items you needed.

“oh!” you snap and point at iwaizumi. “that’s what i forgot earlier. i’m going to go grab a few.”

“hold on, i’ll-” your hand shoots up, palm out, to stop him from finishing his sentence—one that you’re positive would include him insisting on joining you.

“hajime.” you’re more than grateful to have someone to lean on but at this rate, you’re going to forget how to live as an independent being. “i can walk a couple aisles down and bag some vegetables on my own.”

“right,” he curtly nods, “i’ll stay and wait for you here.”

you hurry off to grab the sweet potatoes your obstetrician recommended adding to your diet and leave iwaizumi to aimlessly shift back and forth on his feet.

“you must be excited.” the familiar voice catches the man’s attention, leading him to face the nice old woman.

“i’m sorry?”

“about becoming a father,” she clarifies.

his lips part in understanding and he nods. there’s no harm in letting one woman neither of you will see again think that he was the baby’s dad. it happened quite often but you always brush off the assumptions by jokingly saying “i wish.” it’s never bothered iwaizumi—people’s first thought being that he was the father or the fact that you corrected them. he expected as much when he offered a helping hand. what he didn’t expect was that his heart would jump every time he heard any variation of the word. he kept that to himself, though.

the woman slowly approaches iwaizumi and places a soothing hand on his arm. he has to look down to meet her eye but when he does, he’s met with nothing but warmth. her eyes crinkle with her smile. “i’m sure you and your wife will be great parents.”

she continues down the aisle, leaving iwaizumi with her words. his arms rest on the handle of the cart as the woman’s statement echoes in his head. parents. at the moment, hajime’s a support system—driving you around on errands and helping with chores around the house. the two of you haven’t discussed what his role will be after you’ve given birth, but, despite that, he knows he wants to be there for you and your baby every step of the way if you’ll have him.

“i’m back and bearing potatoes,” you announce your arrival, dropping the vegetables in the cart. your gaze falls to iwaizumi who’s staring ahead, his eyebrows knit together in deep thought. you reach out to smooth the crease between his brows with your thumb. “what’s wrong with you?”

“nothing.” what’s on his mind is a conversation better had not in a supermarket. “come on. let’s wrap this up and get you home for lunch.”

“gosh, you sound just like a dad,” you comment through a laugh, hooking your arm around one of his.

like clockwork, iwaizumi’s heart skips another beat. it feels different this time; he figures it’s because you’re the one who said it.

thanks for reading! consider commenting or reblogging if you enjoyed ❤︎

#₊˚ପ⊹ signed: haikyuu #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #iwaizumi fluff #haikyuu fluff #iwaizumi drabble #haikyuu drabbles #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #iwaizumi x you #haikyuu x you

[comradekatara]

i do feel kind of bad for the person who made that biggest bottles post because she was far from the only person who shipped makorra and was really pissed off, loudly, on the internet for months after the lok finale aired. i remember this due to the sheer schadenfreudic glee i used to feel scrolling through people’s rants about how makorra was supposed to be endgame and korrasami was just lazy pandering to seem progressive and wasn’t even established well, unlike makorra, who were clearly perfect for each other if you only ignored the majority of books 1, 2, 3, and 4, including their many fights, fundamental incompatibility as a couple, and their pretty final breakup at the end of book 2.

but people didn’t care about any of that as long as they finally saw the fire nation guy get the water tribe girl. i mean, admittedly, mako is like a slightly more sympathetic zuko (autistic and swagless) and korra is just a slightly more powerful katara, so if you’re into that, i can see the appeal. but at the time, i had no sympathy for makorra shippers, and assumed they all just didn’t get the obvious sublime beauty of korrasami because they were being homophobic and for no other possible reason, so i derived a lot of enjoyment through witnessing their melodramatic shippers' laments.

but we really dogpiled on this one woman in particular, huh? like, her post is a meme to people who have never even seen lok. and her greatest crime was simply liking a straight ship in a show that had never before implied that they knew what gay people are. even among korrasami fans, the percentage of people who genuinely expected it to actually happen onscreen were in the vast minority. nothing like this had ever happened before in a kids’ cartoon. it wasn’t even a decade ago, but 2014 was a vastly different time, and both avatar shows had been painfully heterosexual up until that point.

i expected makorra to happen in the finale, and resigned myself to that eventuality, despite not liking them as a couple. most of us did. so that post is such a beautiful thing specifically because it documents the excitement we all experienced upon witnessing this monumental paradigm shift wherein korrasami had suddenly happened. if you weren’t there, i cannot convey the sheer joy so many of us felt, and the bitter tears of people who really wanted heteronormativity affirmed for the millionth time only further enhanced the rich flavors of our victory soup.

but this woman had no way of knowing that korrasami would happen, and she wasn't actually being intentionally homophobic. her only real crime in this post was displaying questionable taste in ships. yes, of course, we all know that she doubled down hard on her stance after the finale, but if you were being harassed by thousands on the internet for an ultimately insubstantial reason, wouldn't you double down too?

we're only a year away from that post being a decade old. i'm sure she no longer cares about being harassed online back in 2014. but i nevertheless want to clarify something: when i look back on this post today, the joy it brings me is not the joy of schadenfreude, not any more. it is a joy of celebrating the wonder in the unexpected, the poignant affirmation in a beautiful surprise that paved the way for so many other lgbt characters in media. and whether or not she likes that this is how her post has been read over the years, i am celebrating with her, not against her. no one deserves to be subjected to such vindictive mockery for such a truly negligible reason. so i wish her all the best, the author of one of my favorite posts on the entire internet. and i am popping the BIGGEST bottles.

#truly cannot even begin to explain the impact korrasami had on my psyche a decade ago #i know that these days i barely talk about lok but at the time. OH BABY #forget the feudal lord handmaiden shit #i can dredge up lok discourse you’ve never even HEARD of #anyway. tumblr user avatarskorra you will always be famous

[mariaofdoranelle]

Faking Yulemas — Part 3: Chestnut Roasted

For 12 Days of Rowaelin

Prompt: Accidental Mistletoe

Fic masterlist

Look, I’m not taking Lyria very seriously here. You’ll understand what I mean soon.

Also, I’m going to defend myself by saying that I’m not putting women against each other because there was never a competition lmao

Warnings: language, a bruise, haircut without consent

Word count: 3k exactly

Aelin was incredibly cranky after a completely restless night and dodging the cuddle monster that took over Rowan’s body while he was asleep, but she was fine. Rowan asked his doctor cousin-in-law to bring her sleeping pills on his way here. It would be fine. She could do a lot of things today, but let her bad mood ruin this for Rowan wasn’t one of them.

It was hard to play nice little girlfriend with someone as bitchy as Maeve, but she would manage.

“So you really can’t do anything?”

Aelin’s jaw was sore from the clenching she tried not to do during breakfast, but it was useless. Deep breaths. Where the hell was Rowan? Deep, deep breaths.

“Aelin’s super smart. She actually reads things that aren’t on a Twitter thread. And it’s not like we can do a lot either, auntie.” Sellene tried to defend her between sips of coffee. She didn’t need to, but Aelin’s eyes still softened a little to hear that.

Even so, Maeve sighed. “I didn’t choose to be attached to you all, Sellene.”

Her friend snorted and went back to her breakfast, probably used to Maeve by now. Aelin wasn’t. She wore a false smile and focused back on her food. It would be a terrible move to snap at Rowan’s old aunt that didn’t look like a criminal, but surely was bitchy enough to be. For Mala’s sake, that woman stood out like a sore thumb between the Whitethorns.

To make a good impression, she needed to think. She couldn’t cook, often messed up her laundry, barely had the skills to take care of herself. Was she really that useless?

Then Aelin’s eyes lit up and she looked directly at Maeve. “I can play the piano.”

That owned her a close-lipped smile. “I have a piano upstairs. I want to see what you can do with it before dinner.”

Aelin nodded, her heartbeat starting to pick up, but the smile on her face didn’t falter. She had sold Uncle Orlon’s piano out of necessity when it became just Aedion and her, and didn’t get to play much after that. Aelin was making a mental note to find that piano and practice a little so she wouldn’t look that rusty when another person with silver-hair and pine green eyes came in.

“Enda!” Sellene’s eyes lit up and she almost fell over while rushing to hug him.

Oh, thank Mala. If Enda was here, that means his husband was close-by, hopefully with her sleeping pills. Aelin would give herself the luxury of sleeping early today, after she proved her worth to fucking aunt Maeve by playing the piano.

When Aelin got up to introduce herself, Enda was already looking at her with a fond smile. “You must be Aelin.”

After exchanging a few pleasantries and receiving a small plastic bag with her salvation pills, someone cleared their throat near them. A girl with chestnut eyes and curls that Aelin had no idea who she was.

“I’m Lyria. You probably heard about me already.” She extended a hand.

Wait. Wasn’t she supposed to come only tomorrow?

Aelin flinched for a millisecond, but it was enough to make Lyria’s smile grow.

“Okaaay,” Enda dragged it out as he slowly left. Good for him. Aelin would be leaving too if she hadn’t specifically signed up for this. Helping Rowan with his ex.

She cautiously shook Lyria’s hand. “I thought you were coming tomorrow.”

“Rory texted me yesterday to clarify the guest situation, and slipped that Enda was coming today. He was kind enough to give me a ride.”

Aelin’s eyebrows raised. “Is that so?” She’s desperate enough to come earlier once she hears Aelin’s there. Interesting.

Tossing her curls back, Lyria’s smirk never faltered. “Of course! I didn’t see any trace of you on Rowan’s Instagram, but I understood it on the car ride. It’s very honorable what Rowan’s doing.”

Fuck. They needed to sort the Instagram thing fast. But Aelin tilted her head, trying to fully understand what she’d said, when Lyria’s smile grew as she pointed a look at the bag with pills on Aelin’s hand.”

“Dating the mentally ill. It can be a handful.”

“Excuse—“

“But it’s Yulemas, after all! Everyone has its own way of doing charity.”

What the actual fuck?

“Wait a second.” She tilted her head, frowning in mock-confusion. “Is that why he keeps rejecting you? Because the charity deadline is over?”

Lyria gaped, and when she opened her mouth to speak, they were saved by Sellene asking if they wanted to have more food. Thank God.

“Sure, but can someone grab a plate for me?” Lyria pointed at the cabinet and aimed doe eyes at them. “I’m too short.”

Sellene seemed to try not to sigh too loudly and pointed at a nearby table. “There’s literally dozens of plates piled up there.”

“Oh!” She giggled. “Sorry, I didn’t see them.”

It was very hard not to, but Aelin had many things to fret about already.

First, the fact that Lyria was a complete nightmare. A fucking pick-me girl that she had to deal with the on the day she hadn’t slept all night—and not for a good reason.

And there was also the Instagram issue, but their “relationship” was new enough that it wasn’t a huge deal for now.

Rowan finally appeared, wearing a mouth-watering white shirt and a small smile aimed a her, his green eyes sparking under the sunlight that came through the window.

However, his joyful expression faltered when a high-pitched voice squealed, “Rowie!”

Lyria got up in a bolt and hugged him, trying to wrap her legs around him, but Rowan didn’t pick her up. Instead, he wordlessly unwrapped her arms off him and gave her two taps on the shoulder.

Sellene seemed to be choking as she tried to suppress her laughter. But Aelin didn’t check on her friend, too busy staring at Lyria’s hand gripping Rowan’s arms.

And it was okay to glower, Aelin thought. She was his girlfriend, after all. That’s what a girlfriend would do. Maybe her acting skills were so good that she was doing it without even planning.

Acting or not, Aelin wanted to burn Lyria’s hands off Rowan.

The feeling partially vanished when he quickly ceased the conversation and sat by her side, though. Good. Aelin knew she was only playing fake girlfriend so Rowan could avoid his ex, but she didn’t want to look bad because he was giving too much attention to Lyria. Her slightly alarmed state was just Aelin trying to protect her dignity. No biggie.

˜˜

Even the winter was hot in Doranelle, so Sellene decided to go to the pool and demanded that Aelin and Rowan would come with her. She would rather stay inside and see how she’s doing with the piano, but Owen saved them by inviting Lyria to finish decorations along with him and Rory, and she’d give anything to stay away from her.

Now Aelin was in the bathroom near the pool, changing. She had brought two bikinis, a red one and a green one. Her first instinct was to get the red, but she stopped herself. It wasn’t like Aelin was trying to seduce anyone. Who was there to be seduced, old aunt Maeve? Nuh-uh. No one. Did she want to wear something extra to maybe, just maybe reassure Rowan that there was more in the world than pick-me girls and bouncy chestnut curls? Yes, but it wasn’t like that. Aelin wanted to look hot for him as a friendly reminder, that’s all.

In the end, she chose the classic triangle tie side set, plain dark green. She looked hot, but not teasing hot. Aelin was adjusting her hair and retouching her very natural, I-woke-up-like-this makeup for herself. In a feminist, self-love way. Definitely not because she wanted her not-boyfriend drooling over her.

She went outside and Sel was already at the pool, but where was Rowan? She could hear a sound of water falling, so she followed the sound and—

Dear Mala.

Her not-boyfriend was in the pool shower because of course drill sergeant, neat freak Rowan would hop in the shower before jumping into the pool. Aelin held in a breath when she noticed the trail the water did around muscles she thought were myths, how good the tan skin of his naked upper body looked under the Doranellian sun. She unconsciously licked her lips just to think how good all of this would look underneath her.

There was no time to chastise herself for these thoughts, because when Rowan looked up and saw her, his eyes darkened just the same. Aelin was walking towards him with purposeful steps, and she didn’t miss how the rhythm of his breathing changed, by the movements of his chest. How he shut off the water without taking his eyes off her, and then ran a hand through his wet hair, sending the blonde strands away from his eyes.

Aelin had her own completely trained on Rowan when she slipped and fell straight into the pool.

Well, not straight into the pool. She managed to bump her hip against the edge before going all in.

“Oh my God!” She faintly heard Sellene scream from underwater, and both her best friend and not-boyfriend were coming her way and checking if she was okay.

“I’m fine, I promise,” Aelin reassured them, “I might’ve bruised my hip, but it barely hurts.”

Sel and Rowan exchanged a look. “I’m getting an ice pack,” her friend said before going towards the mansion, leaving her and Rowan alone.

He mentioned for her to get closer, and then picked Aelin up from the pool and sat her by his side. After that, he got up and extended an hand so she could do it too, but didn’t release it. He led her hand in hand towards a pool lounge chair and mentioned for her to sit there. Once she did, Rowan crouched on her side and slightly moved her bikini’s feeble string, making her skin burn whenever he touched.

It was just so he could assess the damage. Rowan was being respectful. There was no need for her stupid blood vessels to make her blush like that.

He probably didn’t notice it, by the frown he had while staring at her hip. “You’re injured.”

Aelin snorted. “I have one bruised hip.”

“One very bruised hip.”

Before she could prove her own well-being, she saw Sellene coming their way, holding the ice pack.

“I also brought the speaker. taylor swift: petty jilted lover edition?”

Aelin hummed and tapped her chin, thoughtful. She did listen to that playlist a lot this year, but she wasn’t in the mood for it.

“I made a new one. It’s called labyrinth by taylor swift type of shit,” Aelin answered.

Sellene’s eyebrows went up, and Aelin narrowed her eyes. It would look like a battle of wills if the corner of her friend’s lips weren’t tugging up, a sign that she was biting back a smirk.

Instead of insisting on this weird exchange, Sellene turned to her cousin. “Are you okay with Taylor Swift this time?”

Rowan shrugged and sat on the long lounge chair. The same one Aelin was currently in.

Sellene opened her mouth to speak, but closed it when received a long look from Aelin. Instead, she just smirked and left to set the speaker.

“You need to actually put the ice pack for it to work, you know.”

Aelin blinked and noticed that yes, she was so distracted she ended up only holding it, without pressing against the bruise.

When she started to move, Rowan adjusted himself in the seat, legs opened, and mentioned for her to seat between them.

Oh, God. Her heart picked up again. Aelin carefully sat there, her back against his chest, and it only took a small caress of his hand against her shoulder for her to relax there.

Noticing that she’d become distracted again, he gently took the ice pack from her hand and rearranged their position so he could press it against her injury himself.

“Buzzard,” she murmured while watching Sellene scroll through her phone in the pool.

“What did you call me?”

She turned around to see his widened eyes and smiled. Boldened, Aelin bumped his nose and said, “A very fussy Buzzard.”

˜˜

For someone who practically ordered her to go to the pool, Sellene got tired of it quite early. Aelin didn’t mind it, though. At least it gave her time to practice the piano. Or would.

Rowan didn’t look for his family after the pool, knowing Lyria would be with them. Instead, he said he’d watch Aelin play in the piano room after they took turns in their suite’s shower.

She started with the Stygian Suite and only played it once, because Rowan sat by her side immediately after and asked her to teach him. Aelin felt her chest warming up every time he frowned in concentration or asked her a question, but the hardest part was biting back her silly grins at his clumsy playing. He was cute enough to make up for it, though. Objectively speaking. Objectively, Rowan was cute. Not that it affected her patience with him. Aelin was teaching him the same way she’d teach a cute or uncute person.

Unfortunately, Aelin had to cut the piano lesson short to go to her room and get a few sheets on her iPad. Cheesy or not, she wanted to play Yulemas songs for the Whitethorns. She just needed to discuss which ones with Ro—

“My chest is no an armrest, Lyria” Aelin heard the voice of her not-boyfriend in the hallway.

“We’re under the mistletoe. You’re going to ignore that?”

“Yes? You cornered me here!”

Aelin was grinding her teeth together, heat rushing through her body. That’s it. She needed Lyria gone. Very quietly, she sneaked her way to the piano room. But she needed something first. Thankfully, it was close to the door.

“Ro, I know you. You can’t be this unaffected.”

Lyria was making decorations earlier with Rowan’s parents, and now Aelin didn’t doubt the reason so many mistletoes were added. Good thing they left a sharp pair of scissors behind.

“You think- Stop grabbing me!” Rowan snapped. “You think I care about a mistletoe more than I care about my girlfriend?”

“But it’s a tradition!”

”You dumb. Fucking. Bitch,” Aelin snarled the last word while cutting a chunk of her chestnut curls off.

Lyria’s eyes went wide, watching a strand of her hair fall to the floor. “Oh my God! What do you think you’re doing?”

She gestured to the doors with the scissors. “I’m kicking you out.”

“You can’t do that!” Lyria turned to Rowan for reassurance, but he was grinning like Hellas himself. “I’m Rory’s guest! You literally can’t do that!”

Resorting to Rowan’s mama, huh? Pathetic.

Aelin tilted her head and whispered, “I don’t think she’ll be here when I shave your head bald, Lyria.”

Just to prove a point, she cut another strand of her hair. A bigger one this time.

Lyria screamed so loud Rowan cringed.

Aelin was completely unaffected, though. She grabbed Lyria by the hair with one hand, scissors on the other, and pulled her down the hallway. She didn’t physically fight it, so pulling Lyria by a hair that long was more like walking a puppy that doesn’t know how to use a leash. Easy.

She fought Aelin with words, though.

“OH MY GOD,” Lyria screamed. “SOMEBODY HELP ME!”

Aelin rolled her eyes and turned to Rowan, who was right behind them. “Get her things upstairs. We’re taking her to the bus station.”

“HEEELP!” She looked at Aelin. “You’re… You’re crazy!” Lyria shouted at the end.

She held the scissors dangerously close to the brunette’s hair, making her eyes go wide. “And you don’t want to mess with the crazy bitch on Yulemas, right?”

They kept like this until Enda and his husband came running their way, and then stopped. Rowan’s cousin sighed and screamed, “It’s okay, you can come!”

“SHE’S TRY’NA KILL ME!”

Aelin rolled her eyes. How was Lyria’s throat still intact?

Rowan’s parents arrived looking completely ashen. Sellene had a hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking.

Rory cleared her throat. “What’s going on?”

Lyria’s eyes widened. “She’s mental,” she whisper-yelled.

Aelin sighed and tried to look at herself through someone else’s eyes. Lyria’s hair on one hand, scissors still on the other. Yeah, it didn’t look good.

“This stupid b-“ Aelin paused. She didn’t want to curse that bad in front of Rowan’s family. “There was a stupid glitch. Lyria was hitting on my boyfriend. We’re taking her to the bus station.”

Rory blinked, trying to process this. Owen was biting his lip, and he seemed to struggle with the corners of his mouth tugging up. Interesting.

“Aelin, can you release Lyria, please?” Rowan’s mom asked.

She felt Rowan’s squeeze on her shoulder, and thanked the gods he was back. Aelin complied and let her go, holding her hands—and scissors—up in surrender.

Lyria turned to look at Aelin, a smug smirk in her lips.

However, Rory didn’t stop there. “Lyria, dear, to avoid causing further issues…”

“You’re kicking me out?” she spoke in a quiet voice for once.

“No…” Rowan’s mom trailed, grimacing. “I’ll be glad to have you here once things between you three have… settled. I just think it’s best for everyone to avoid conflict during Yulemas.”

Lyria froze, looking at Rory with shiny eyes, but thankfully his mom didn’t balk.

“Gimme that,” Rowan’s dad quietly said, getting Lyria’s things from his son’s hand. “We’ve got it from here.”

Aelin turned around and started walking like nothing happened. Her job here was done.

”You’re something else, Aelin Galathynius,” Rowan marveled when they were out of earshot.

She had a cocky grin on. “I know.”

Rowan chuckled and squeezed her hand. “Thank you.”

Aelin didn’t do anything. Which means that she also didn’t let go of his hand while they walked towards their bedroom.

There was a possibility that she’d remember this tomorrow and think she could’ve handled the Lyria situation better. But what could Aelin do? Everyone knows she gets cranky when she doesn’t sleep well.

A/N: I did prepare with enough possible scenarios to keep Lyria a bit longer, but she’s too annoying lmao

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#rowaelin #throne of glass fanfic #aelin galathynius x rowan whitethorn #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #tog au #fake dating #faking yulemas

[archeron-nestha]

my thoughts about Psycho Devils (I just finished my second reading because i’m obsessed please don’t talk about it)

1st of all: I would like to clarify that I started these books because I was told that that would be a girl disguised as a boy to fight and it gave me mulan + trans vibes I just had to read it. (that’s not what actually happen but i liked anyway)

Now let’s start:

My queen Arabella is my favourite kind of character because 1. she is depressed af 2. she just feels totally alone 3. her thoughts are generally self destructive but sometimes there are the “i am so beautiful and sexy”, hence totally relatable.

Arabella being enslaved to the kings: she wasn’t, the side effect of the tattoo was actually from the matting bound, her life was now just related to them (which i think is a punishment). The true villan here was her father.

Arabella competing in every challenge: badass (the girl just had the thing). Here I must add that the kings were very fucking dumb and selfish because after the 2nd or 3rd (don’t remember) challenge Mallum said that they had to throw a party so they could have sex and be more relaxed for the next challenge BUT my girl was the only one truly competing (and they have noticed that) and all she could do at the party was get intoxicated because of the curse/spell/enchantment. My very honest vai te fuder.

Arabella’s punishment: pure torture. I believe that it being with John was the only part the gods were slightly merciful (I don’t think she could handle doing it with anyone else), but I think they wanted to see how the curse works and if she could handle such agony. Moreover, it was a humiliating punishment - because of sexism and it implications - and hers teammates could have been a little more comprehensive since they knew the situation.

John and Luka: I really thought that John would have some kind of personality disorder like Sidney Sheldon book Tell Me Your Dreams, but instead there was a twin plot twist (haven’t seen that coming) and I liked it more (nothing to do with chapters 49 and 50 - or maybe it does), when Luka lift her with her wing I was — just my babies.

Arabella stabbing that abusers dick: liked that (I would prefer if she have eaten his tongue but that is just me, maybe she was avoiding the Aran, the cannibal title).

Arabella and Sadie: I just love them, supportive bff that’s how they do.

Arabella and John and Luka: specifically this one I have to thank you the autor I really thought she would end with the devils and that was killing me. John and Luka were hers firsts and only friends, the only people who cared for her in the academy and THEY WERE FUCKING IN LOVE WITH HER SINCE FOREVER. hence the best lovers she could get (i don’t wanna talk about the fact that they are twins and have betrothed the same woman i am voluntarily avoiding that part).

Arabella being the king’s revered: simply perfect her revenge will be sooooooo delicious this is truly my favourite part because i don’t dress for women i don’t dress for men lately i have been dressing for REVEEEEEENGE. but that’s just me. THEY FUCKING DROWNED HER WHILE THEY WERE FUCKING LAUGHING THEY FORCED FOOD THROUGH HER THROAT CALLED HER A HOLE AND A LIAR CALLED HER A SLUT AND A WHORE- i mean that’s just me but I look forward to see they burning in hell. Yes i am ignoring the bound sickness.

yes i will elaborate more i just had to get everything out of my chest.

what else can I say? get up sluts it’s time to sin

important note: I know I should call her just Aran but sometimes I get confused with her male character maybe someday I can to this properly

#psycho devils #spoiler alert #aran’s story #im obsessed please don’t talk about it #as you can see english is not my first language ignore the mistakes

[rgr-pop]

didn’t necessarily want to talk through this because it’s too inside baseball but  - he came to me saying he was working on an op-ed for the caucus about using inclusive language to talk about abortion - caucus is almost all men, but he wasn’t really sure whether they are all straight or cis - he showed me the original offending message, and it’s the kind of thing we actually don’t have a problem with at all (the use of the term “working women” to describe who is being attacked right now) but the hidden context is that this caucus is known to have some coalition with british terf marxists and he’s i think more or less righteously taken it upon himself to make sure that doesn’t creep too far in--so i think this is probably a good fight - so i read the draft and, it’s rough. in his defense he took every single one of my points fully openly but--this was distressing for me to experience. he’s just not qualified to do this. reminder that he was a self described pro life communist until last october. some highlights -- he said that attacks on abortion are stepping stones to elimination of queer people --- he really wanted to emphasize the point (desperately necessary) that being anti-trans is historically fascist so he mentioned nazi policy. i told him i thought it would strengthen his argument to point out that the nazis did both the anti trans and anti abortion stuff we’re seeing now. he did not know that nazis were also anti abortion rights :| -- he is making the argument (which i sort of disagree with but think is good for the audience) that anti-trans politics is dividing the working class, but he specifically said: we need the queer parts of the working class to radicalize the “cis women”  -- repeated use of “radical queer people” vs “liberal cis women” -- including explicitly saying queer people are “embattled” (but cis women are not) -- repeated use of mutually exclusive “cis women” and “queer people” (#1 bisexual erasure category in actuality is the idea that abortion is a straight woman practice primarily lmfao) etc it was very difficult to deal with and this is actually what i mean--- i literally cannot interact with these people right now. i did remind him that the point is actually to clarify the material stakes, so you have to make sure you’re right, and also if it’s true that these guys have been terfpilled (i don’t think it’s the case its’ just that there’s like 2 guys that have been and everyone’s worried about contamination) then they have been inoculated already so you can’t do anything stupid / you can’t be casually misogynist at all actually. also i how many times i had to say like, you can’t combat anti-trans-women ideology by saying “cis women vs trans people who can get pregnant” like

[menalez]

Hey I hope you don’t mind this question but lately I’ve been thinking about me being a lesbian or just bi.

I wanna hear the opinion of other lesbian and bisexual women because I can’t really tell this to my family. English is not my native language so forgive me if there’s grammatical errors.

I had a boyfriend in the past and when I broke up with him I realized how much I didn’t actually liked him, physically and emotionally (i could only do “sexual” stuff with him if I imagined he “wasn’t really there” like my fantasies involved having sex with faceless and sexless people, UNLESS they were women)

For comparison, I’ve been in love with other women and when that happened I was OBSESSED with them, I loved them all so much. Does this mean I’ve always been a lesbian?? I’m confused.

i cant tell u for sure if ur a lesbian or bi so im rly sorry if thats what u want from me, sexuality is a personal thing and ultimately only you can know for sure what ur sexuality is. however, i can tell you that some of your experience is relatable to me. the issue is that the lines can sometimes be unclear between bi women who are strongly ssa-leaning vs lesbians who forced themselves thru heterosexual interactions. if looking thru ur life, u didnt experience any genuine attraction to men and can generally see a theme where u were mostly trying to fit in rather than genuinely interested & ur interactions w them were forced & uncomfortable & traumatic, then there is a high chance ur a lesbian. but i think the clarity on that will clarify for you in some time. id recommend not worrying too much about figuring it out now, things will clarify for you eventually, and id advise just dating women and the answers will come 2 u through that naturally. i think for lesbians w more of a history w men, once ur with a woman its like an Aha! moment sometimes and its clearer to see how u feel about women vs men when u actually have experiences w women.

anyways to answer ur question, its possible youre a lesbian. but it could also be possible that ur bi with a strong preference & that u didnt like him specifically. youll figure it out eventually, i know how stressful and uncertain this must feel for u but try to have trust in urself and in clarity coming to u eventually bc i remember freaking out and obsessing over whether im les or bi when i was coming 2 terms w my sexuality @ 17/18 <3

[anghraine]

gorgeousgirlsspring replied to your post:

author u got read by abigail? i- ur so lucky.

I did! It was pretty cool, even back then.

Abigail and I were part of the same Austen forum in the early 2000s, before people were formally publishing nearly as much Austen fic, and we both had very active comments sections (hers more so, of course) and ended up involved in the discussions of each other’s fics.

It was a cool experience, except for this random person who connected my comments at the Republic of Pemberley site, under a different username, to my Anghraine account that I was posting fic under, and made fairly aggressive comments about what I was going to do in my fic based on my ROP arguments. But that wasn’t Abigail. Abigail was already fairly well-established by the time I showed up, and clearly one of the best fic writers in the fandom, but hadn’t gone pro, so I was actually part of some of the original discussions in the comment sections of the fics she was writing then.

Anyway, I posted my first Austen fic on that site and I ended up getting quite a lot of comments because of the somewhat trolly opening chapter. It’s just a scene in which a woman returns home to her father’s house with a sickly, premature baby. It turns out that her husband, Mr Darcy, has cheated on her (*GASP*), and she got upset and rushed to visit her family with the baby. They speak of her sister Catherine in passing and then her father asks the baby’s name. The woman says she named the baby for him, and he assumes she means his first name. She clarifies: the baby’s name is Fitzwilliam.

The site did not have character tags, btw, so I didn’t break any rules, technically, and the summary was just about Mr Darcy’s wife going home after he cheats on her. A bunch of people showed up to hate-read and ended up either “aha, it’s a twist! I get it!” or being very deeply confused about what the hell was going on until other commenters explained. My original motive was partly just to screw with people’s expectations and partly to push back against the idealized image of Darcy’s parents, the super-healthy-alpha-manly idea of Darcy himself, and the expectation that all fics had to be about Elizabeth.

I don’t remember if Abigail responded to that first post, but I was encouraged to continue the story once people realized what was actually happening in it, and I ended up writing this (pretty meandering) story about a deeply imperfect Lady Anne, her incredibly dysfunctional marriage, and her relationship with adorable tiny Darcy as he and Wickham grow up. I never finished, but I did end up with a lot of commenters who came to trainwreck-read the opening chapter and then stuck around to see how it went, and I did keep turning out chapters for several in-story years. Abigail ended up asking if I had meant to write Darcy as autistic, because a) he seemed like it and b) she had recently read a discussion of that interpretation of him and this reminded her of that.

I was very flattered and I think ended up saying something about how I didn’t have a specific diagnosis in mind, but I could see it, though mostly he was based on my own experiences as a child (I am autistic but wouldn’t get diagnosed for years after this interchange). I think she did leave other comments as the fic went along, but I don’t remember them any more, and maybe also some on The Rich Are Always Respectable, a Darcy/OFC->Darcy/Elizabeth fic that was originally posted at the same forum and also had a very exciting comments section. I was in my late teens at the time and Austen fandom skewed much older and even more female than most fandom spaces, so I was kind of this fandom baby who ended up getting taken under the wing of a bunch of surrogate aunts who gave me college advice and stuff when we weren’t talking about P&P.

I did ultimately end up souring on forum-based Austen fandom, mostly because the forums were often deeply homophobic and gender-normative, and so obsessed with the appearance of civility that there were all these Byzantine alliances and grudges behind the scenes and eventual meltdowns. But my first experience at this specific forum was really good.

#gorgeousgirlsspring #respuestas #austen blogging #austen fanwank #fic talk #long post

[transmascrage]

same anon from this here:

https://transmascrage.tumblr.com/post/694842557484744704/same-anon-from-this-ask-you-answered

I wanted to attempt to clarify some things (feel free to not answer this ask though)

About what I mean by ‘being nice’ - I don’t personally believe anyone inherently deserves niceness because it’s a chore when I’m doing it for a reason (I hardly ever do it for reasons other than material ones), it feels soul crushing, but I’ll do it anyways if I feel like it’s necessary.

of me:

- I was raised by an abusive mother who my relatives and her coworkers/friends think is a saint even though she’s accidentally tried to kill me (I don’t say this lightly lol), was raised in an environment where women are deemed inherently better than men

- I tried engaging with my local queer community when I was 17 (what I had was a queer church that felt performative in how it supported queer folks; Discord servers connected to irl community that were a mess (transmedicalism, literally zero resources for anyone who wasn’t binary trans & in the process of medically transitioning); church drama (I was welcomed into a small interfaith community group who the church I mentioned thought the leader was ‘grooming’ people into satanism); community members having no idea how to support anyone who isn’t a binary man or woman; and genuine problems of ableism and nationalism (that apparently people were just supposed to ignore)

- since moving countries I’ve tried to interact with queer community here but it feels like I’m not welcome as someone who was raised elsewhere; community resources here are specifically for people who were born and raised in this country and don’t have to deal with the nightmare of never being able to legally or medically transition because of needing your identification documents to all match

- I specifically don’t identify as trans because I will never be able to medically transition, I’d rather not be ‘included’ in a sense where people force labels onto me, and I don’t want to deal with people blaming me for being in spaces that I’m not supposed to be in

- not interested in therapy because that is intensely not safe (I have a history of forcefully being institutionalisationalised & sent to RTCs (residential ‘treatment’ centres) overseas simply for being queer + being plural; it’s taken a lot for me to not throw up while making myself interact with any medical practitioners (this includes my GP), I’m not making myself do anything else

‘Queer community’ to me (both online and irl) have shown itself to be fraught with problems, I’m not really interested in speaking to leaders who have the possibility of also just having terrible viewpoints.

I'm sorry you went through all that. It sounds really serious, so don't force yourself to do things that can be triggering for you.

Best advice I can give you (since I'm just some guy and I don't really have any expertise) is to take it little by little.

The queer community around you might suck, so try to find a little group you can feel like you belong to. If it's not possible in real life, online is probably easier.

#ask

[grimdot]

Hey! Um, a long time ago I sent this ask about music taste (“sounds make happy chemicals” etc) and I just wanted to clarify a couple things: 1) I wasn’t a Tswift fan! I was just defending those that were casual listeners and I stand by not yucking the yums of others. I myself only like a couple songs and I do agree Gaylors are pretty deranged. 2.) my music taste is varied! I dont follow artists as people a lot of the time though and just listen to whatever based vibes or my mood (1/2)

or positive association, and they range from the very mainstream to the very obscure (ex: the only reason I like those couple of tswift songs is for fandom reasons. A fic I like used the title!) before I go, a couple follow up questions; is it “good” or “bad” taste to listen to a mixture of mainstream n obscure things? Also, what about small musician cover versions of mainstream things? I admit, most of my mainstream song consumption is through covers and idk what that says about me 😛

hi! thank u for reaching out, this was v nice to read thru & ponder 0:

i rly like your question also! i've been doing a lot of thinking on what is & isn't "bad" taste & i atm i think "bad taste" as a whole is like. a type of relationship you have with a piece of art.

for me bad taste is when you allow art to be meaningless to you. it's when you find you have v little to say about what you consume, when you aren't rly looking for yourself in it, when you aren't rly looking for anything at all! you're just mindlessly gobbling art down, calling it content, actively refusing to think critically about it.

so for example in your case i think listening to a specific swift song bc it reminds you of a fic you like is a sign of "good taste" in the sense that it actually means something to you, regardless of the original author's intent. you are taking something out of it & you are capable of identifying it. that's Good! it makes my soul happy

bad taste is saying swift is one of the most genius singer-songwriters to ever roam the earth bc i think that's simply engaging in some form of extreme delusion where you actively refuse to be receptive to other, better, deeper art bc you've convinced yourself this one artist feeds all of your spiritual needs.

this is a case of bad taste bc like. what are your other points of reference? why are you mythologizing one of the most visible artists in the world? bc for me there's an inherent meritocratic argument that is inseperable from this opinion. that swift is this visible *because* she's good, rather than bc she's white, blonde, blue eyed, skinny, etc.. like objectively speaking - ie in comparison to other contemporaries of hers - the woman is nowhere near the vicinity of virtuosism on any class she performs in. so *why* is she so visible?

it's bc of the neoliberal capitalist matrix of cultural values baby!!! she's the face of it!!! & if you're going to set that aside rather than struggle against it then yeah, that's a rly clear example of *bad taste*. like the relationship you have with the art you consume is actively, noxiously irresponsible & i don't fuck with that!

as for small musicians covering mainstream songs, well... it rly depends on their take on the songs i think. if we're talking ppl who just strum a few chords on an acoustic guitar & croon prettily in an uncritical attempt to be the next ed sheeran then i think they should be dragged outside & shot! we've had enough of that, thanks (:

on the other hand if they're putting their entire genitals into it then fuck yeah, get it small musician covering mainstream song!!!

thanks for the ask, it was rly good to put these thoughts to words! i hope you're having a great day <3

#x #asks #anon

[spencersawkward]

omg I’m so excited you’re on here and taking requests!! do you think you could do something like baby Spence losing his virginity to a close friend & it’s like adorable, goofy, fluffy smut bc he cannot get over the fact that he’s actually having sex with someone

I’VE BEEN WAITIN FOR THIS ONE-- TURN IT UP!!!

on a serious note, i'm so glad you asked for this one bc i really wanna add a scene like this in the fic i'm working on rn. i'm v excited.

summary: when the secret of Spencer's virginity gets accidentally spilled in front of the whole team, reader goes to check on him.

word count: 5.6k

relationship: Fem!Reader/Spencer Reid

content warnings: unprotected penetrative sex, creampie, fluff.

masterlist

hanging out with the team is easily the best part of the week. after spending days in Arizona with our focus entirely on the most recent case, my mind is practically ready to snap. I feel like I've been running on fumes, and when Penelope suggested we take the evening to hit our favorite bar, I was practically already out the door.

so now I'm sandwiched between JJ and Emily as we throw back our first shots of the night. my skin is already flushed with the elation of laughter, the pleasant thrum of conversation that surrounds us.

"that's bitter." JJ makes a face when she slams the empty glass on the table. I screw up my nose.

"why did we pick vodka?" I hate vodka.

"it gets the job done." Emily laughs. I shudder at the aftertaste that sits on my tongue.

Morgan wanders over, Pen on his arm while she totes a brightly colored pink alcohol. they're flirting as usual, but she pauses in her witticisms to grab my arm.

"we're playing truth or shot in that booth over there." she says to me, then gets the attention of the other two women. I let out a disbelieving laugh.

"truth or shot? like truth or dare but without the dare?"

"Reid, is that you?" Morgan says sarcastically. I slug him in the arm with a pout.

"be nice." but I'm giggling. he loops his arm through mine and we head back to the table, Penelope already starting a new conversation with JJ and Prentiss as they follow. Spencer is sitting in the booth with an Arnold Palmer, sipping from the straw like it's his job. I slide into the spot next to him.

"hi, you." I smile. "I haven't seen you at all tonight."

he holds up his glass. "I don't really drink."

"that's fine," I wave it off. "I just meant I wanted to hang out with you."

"oh." he smiles a little. "sorry."

"no big deal. you're here now." I shrug and turn to Pen as she calls my name.

"I'm gonna order a bottle. that okay?" she points to the bar with a mischievous smile. glancing once at Spencer and his slightly awkward position between Morgan and me, I make a snap decision.

"you know what? I think I'll just have a lemonade."

"you sure? Jayge said you spent the whole plane ride back talking about getting wasted--" Penelope's words cause a blush to spread over my face. I cut her off.

"I'm sure. thanks, Penny."

she nods. "of course, sweet cheeks."

I focus back on Reid, who is looking at me gratefully. he would never say it out loud, but I know he feels a little out-of-place sometimes. it's hard enough for him to come out with us to bars; the least I can do is be a sober friend. I open my mouth to start a conversation about an article I read the other day when Prentiss speaks.

"okay, so... who's ready?" her voice, always so certain, carries over the table. all of us make enthusiastic noises of assent, and she grins as Penelope returns with an armful of glasses. Derek gets up to grab the actual alcohol, and then when we're all settled in, the game begins.

"the rules are simple: you tell the truth, or you drink!" the tech analyst explains. the stakes for Spencer and me are lower, but that doesn't really matter. I'm excited to hear the team divulge their secrets.

"I'll start." Prentiss doesn't even hesitate before she looks at Morgan. "Derek, are you still sleeping with that one woman from sex crimes?"

Morgan raises his eyebrows at the question, irises flitting between Emily and the rim of his drink. there's a slight smirk on his face; he knows what a player he is and he's okay with flaunting it.

"Ally? no." he sighs. "things didn't end well between us."

"what? why?" I ask, eyes widening before I look around at everyone. "who is this woman?"

"cool your jets, sparky." Morgan teases me. "only one question per round."

"I'll tell you later." Prentiss raises her drink in my direction and winks.

"uh, no no." Morgan attempts to stop her, but JJ interrupts him.

"speaking of things not ending well," she says loudly. "Pen, why did you and Sam break up?"

"well," Penelope sticks her tongue between her teeth as she thinks it over with a devilish smile. her lips are a ruby red tonight, bright against her pale skin and big eyes. "to be completely honest, he just wasn't... doin' it for me. you know?"

"like--?" Emily glances down at her lap. Pen nods quickly and I snicker. JJ looks awestruck.

"I thought it was going so well."

"it was, but..." Penelope seems to genuinely think this over before she speaks. "if it's right, it just clicks. and it never clicked with Sam."

"profound." I compliment, high-fiving the high-energy blonde. we giggle before she turns to me with a glint in her eye.

"oh, do I have a plan for you," she smirks. "tell me, Y/N: if you had to sleep with one person on our team, who would it be?"

"women included?" I clarify, my cheeks suddenly on fire. how come everyone got easy questions except for me? I'm really just biding time.

"of course." she nudges my shoulder. I mull this over for a minute. I could say the truth, but I don't think that would be the right thing to do. however ironic that is. given the situation, I do something which I have never been good at and which I don't enjoy doing: I lie.

"although all of you are catches," I preface. "I think I would probably pick Emily."

Prentiss almost chokes on her own spit as her head snaps to see my face.

"me?" she asks.

"low-pressure fun." I shrug, the stress of the moment rolling off my shoulders with the ensuing laughter of my team members. Spencer takes a sip of his drink and peeks at me from his spot before I focus my attention to JJ.

we go on like this for a while, our original plan of "truth or drink" really just turning into a game of "truth and drink." as our laughter gets progressively louder, our questions and answers get progressively more provocative. we get into risky territory towards the fourth round, and I can practically feel Spencer's discomfort radiating off of him. thank god everyone has been taking it easier on him with their questions.

that is, until Morgan hits about five shots and decides to throw him to the wolves.

"so, Reid," he asks. there's no malice in his tone and I'm sure he's not meaning to embarrass the boy genius, but the question makes me wince anyways. "have we made any progress on the virginity front?"

it's like a fucking pall over the table. Reid goes rigid in his spot, and JJ's protective eyes dart between him and Morgan. Penelope's jaw drops.

"wait, Reid, you're a--?" her voice is tender, not judgmental, but Spencer's cheeks turn pink and he looks at Derek with a hurt expression.

"not cool." he says, body shifting in my direction. his eyes communicate everything; without a word, I know what he wants. I scoot out of the booth, letting him slip by me to walk outside.

truly, I'm speechless. we all stare at his lanky frame push through the door, but nobody talks until at least fifteen seconds pass.

"what the hell was that, Morgan?" JJ asks.

"I thought everyone knew--" he throws his hands up. "I swear I wouldn't have said anything if--"

"why would everyone know that?" I feel myself get angry for Spencer's sake. "that's an incredibly personal thing, especially to him."

"that wasn't you, my love." Penelope's voice is soft, sobered by the incident that just occurred. the playful air at the table is officially ruined, and we keep glancing at the doorway like Reid will come back in and everything will be fine. he doesn't.

"I'm gonna go apologize." Morgan starts to get up, seemingly beginning to realize the weight of his words. it's one thing to ask about Reid's sex life in general; it's another to point out specifically the entire absence of it. Spencer doesn't seem to be bothered by most things, but this is different. my heart hurts.

we watch Morgan go, the women all looking at each other with worried expressions.

"I feel bad." Penelope says.

"y'know, Spence never told me that." JJ observes.

"he really trusts Morgan." Prentiss says what we're all thinking. Morgan has always been like a big brother to him, and being embarrassed in front of your co-workers like that can't be a pleasant feeling.

we sit in a relative silence for about five minutes until Morgan walks back into the bar. he pulls out his wallet and pays for the drinks, then walks over to us.

"I'm gonna go for a walk. do you need me to call you all cabs?" he asks. those dramatic brows are drawn low over his face, emphasizing his regret. I look between my friends and clear my throat.

"it's okay. I only had one shot about an hour and a half ago. I can drive everyone home."

"okay," Morgan sighs, his head turning briefly to the door before focusing back on us. "drive safe, ladies."

and then he's gone.

"you guys ready?" I start to shrug my jacket on. they all nod and we get ready to go.

...

sitting in my apartment later that night, my head is swimming. even though it's none of my business what happens in Spencer's sex life, I wish I could tell him that it's okay. nobody cares at all if he's a virgin or not. but I know it's still embarrassing.

I hate that I lied earlier tonight, too. I wanted to say Spencer's name when they asked who I wanted, because I meant it. we're close, and I will always love him as a friend. but I've also always wanted more.

nobody, not even any of the other BAU women, know about my crush. I didn't want it to get in the way, or for it to come out and ruin my friendship with Reid. he doesn't like me like that, and that's fine, but what's not fine is not having him as my friend.

he was the first person I really connected with when I came here, and I feel a little protective over him, too.

once the clock hits eleven, I consider calling. he’s definitely not asleep yet. Spencer is a night owl. normally at this time he'd be curled up with a huge book, reading impossibly fast.

when he picks up on the third ring, the air leaves my lungs.

"Y/N?" he asks, more surprised than anything else.

"hey, Spence--" I hesitate, suddenly not sure what to say. sorry Morgan told everyone you're a fucking virgin? “do you wanna come over?"

maybe if I see him face-to-face, I'll be able to collect my thoughts better. the words hang in the air, festering over the line until I'm just about to take them back, before he replies.

"y-yeah. I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

my hands are shaking at my side when I open the door for the tall genius. he's still wearing his outfit from earlier, hair slicked back like normal. I've settled for my usual sweatpants and t-shirt winning combo. it's not like he cares.

"hey." I smile, trying to read his micro expressions. there are two possible outcomes here, knowing him: either he's going to be totally, completely over it, or he'll be able to write a War-and-Peace-length book on why he's upset.

"hi." he gives a wan smile and I let him into my apartment, closing the door behind him and gesturing to the couch.

"I missed this place." he says absently, looking around at the mess of decor and case files. I snort as I recall the last time he was here. he wanted to borrow a book that I had, and we ended up watching an entire docu-series about homing pigeons. it was surprisingly interesting; mostly because his commentary is both informative and funny.

"it missed you." I anthropomorphize my living space, but the phrase hangs heavy. I'm worried about him. I'm always worried about Spencer. he turns to look at me, opening his mouth to say something. I brush past him and walk into the kitchen. "coffee?"

"sure." he follows me like a lost puppy, leaning against the counter while I pull out two mugs and get to work.

"hey," I pause for a moment to look him in the eyes. "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry-- about what happened... tonight."

"oh, that?" he scoffs, waves it off unconvincingly. "it's fine."

I raise my brows the slightest bit, never breaking eye contact. he wouldn’t have come if he didn’t want to talk about it. he cracks easily.

"it's just embarrassing, you know?" he says, staring out my kitchen window to alleviate his own nerves. I gesture for him to follow me back into the living room and I sit down criss-cross applesauce on the couch. he mirrors me, kicking off those cute black Converse.

"I don't think the fact itself is embarrassing, but I totally get why it feels that way. he shouldn't have said anything." I nod.

"like, that's personal. a-and--" he hesitates a moment, gesticulating wildly now. "and it's not like he's got any right! at least I don't go around with so many girls that I forget their names."

the thought of Reid sleeping with that many women is a little bit funny, but it also makes my stomach twist with jealousy.

"did he apologize?"

"yeah, he did. and he was drunk, I know." he rolls his eyes. "I'm overreacting."

"no, really, you're not." without thinking, I scoot closer to him and place my hand over his, which is sitting on his knee. I remember that Spencer is usually pretty averse to touch, but when I move it back to my lap, he seems a little disappointed. I wonder if he gets lonely.

"is it weird?" the question sounds raw, like he's mustering a lot to hear my response. I shake my head immediately.

"well, for one, Spence, I would never judge anyone based on their sex life, period." I chuckle. "and two, no way! if you aren't into having sex at this point in your life-- or ever-- that's totally your choice and you're entitled to it."

his eyes meet mine, pools of honeyed hazel that swim with a slightly amber shade. his face is so pretty, it's sometimes unbelievable to me that he doesn't get more action. bone structure that would make a sculpture envious.

"that's the thing," he licks his lips nervously before averting his gaze again. "I am interested-- I just don't-- well, I don't--"

"don't have someone to do it with?" I suggest with a slight smile. he nods, then clarifies.

"girls don't really seem to be interested in me."

I let out a laugh, unable to contain myself. his head jerks up to frown in confusion. I’m quick to amend myself.

"Spence, that's not true at all. you're such a catch! you're sweet and funny and way smarter than anyone I know. not to mention that you're adorable." I compliment, letting some of the thoughts I've been keeping to myself bubble to the surface. "any girl would be beyond lucky to be with you, sexually or not." Spencer blushes at my words, but the squirming in his spot tells me that it makes him feel warm inside. he smiles a little.

"you think?" it's genuine. he appreciates being praised, and it makes my heart flutter when he gives me that expression like I've made his night.

"I know." more of what I want to say rolls around my mind, unsure of whether or not I should admit it. but I think that right now, it'll only serve to make him feel better. "actually, I should tell you something."

"what?" he's curious now.

"when we were at the bar and Penelope asked who I'd be with... on the team... I lied."

"okay." he nods, somehow not connecting the dots. I guess it doesn't matter if they've got enormous IQs; boys are still clueless.

"I was gonna say you." the truth presses from the inside out, lifting a weight off my chest now that it's out there. even if he doesn't return that feeling, I'm suddenly glad that I told him.

"me?" he gestures to his narrow chest. I nod.

"yeah. I didn't wanna make you uncomfortable or embarrass you in front of our friends." I explain. he breaks into a grin.

"thanks." like I've given him something. I feel myself smiling as well, and then we're just looking at each other. tension that neither of us is willing to break. as much as I'd like to take him right here right now, he hasn't said anything about actually having sex or even about being attracted to me. for all I know, he could be completely indifferent.

"listen, Spence--"

"would you be willing to--" we speak at the same time, both of us stopping and laughing awkwardly.

"sorry, you go first." I offer, and he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth.

"would you want to... um..." he scratches the back of his neck before his eyes meet mine. "try it?"

"sex?" I raise my eyebrows. he nods. I try to find the right response. that’s more assertive than I expected. my pulse is fast, daring me to tell the truth. "I mean-- yes, I would love to-- but are you sure you want it to be with me, Spence? what about a girl that you like?"

"you are a girl that I like." he says this like it's matter-of-fact, like it's obvious. my heart stops in my chest before it starts to hammer.

"really?" a smile makes its way onto my face.

"I thought you knew."

"no." I laugh. my chest is full of sunlight.

"well, you are."

there's a brief silence where I try to get myself back on track. he likes me, too.

"are you sure you want to do this?" I glance at the space between our bodies, which has grown steadily smaller over the course of our conversation. Spencer is watching my every move with an intensity that tells me he's nervous.

"yes." he's unwavering.

"okay, well, you've kissed girls, right?" I inch closer. he nods.

"one."

"oh, Spencer," I sigh contentedly. "I have so much to teach you."

right after I say this, Spencer shifts uncomfortably in his seat. it's only then that I notice his hand covering his lap, the erection that's forming beneath his pants. my eyes flick up to his hungrily.

"sorry." he apologizes.

"don't be." our faces are inches apart and he's practically holding his breath. "I'm gonna kiss you. is that okay?"

"yes." he replies immediately. I place my hands gently on the side of his face, admiring the softness and sharpness of his jaw when I pull him to me, kissing him with a suppressed desire. his mouth is soft against mine, a little anxious to move. after a moment, he starts to relax.

his lips part and I deepen our contact, tilting my head and keeping it mostly mild at first. I don't want to shove my tongue down his throat. our knees are touching and his hand hesitantly finds my waist, the other going to run through my hair. I sigh into him, his fingertips a new sensation that I adore.

Spencer begins to give in a bit more to himself, asserting himself in the kiss and slipping his tongue over my bottom lip. I almost laugh at how quickly he gets the hang of it. he reads my body language effortlessly, not even skipping a beat when I climb into his lap and lace my arms around his neck.

"is this okay?" I pull away momentarily. he nods.

"you're so pretty." an unrelated response, but appreciated nonetheless. I laugh and peck his nose.

"thanks." and then we're back to making out, his hands resting on the small of my back. it's nice. I could stay like this forever, just pressed against Spencer while my fingers thread through his soft hair. he's cautious with me, and it's innocent.

I can feel his boner, can feel from the eagerness of his kisses that he's trying not to bring up the fact that he's literally just throbbing in his pants right now. in order to give him a little of what he wants, I start to rock my hips against his.

Spencer whimpers into my mouth. I stop and look down at him.

"do you want me to stop?"

"no, god, no— never stop." he's mindless in his reply, already grabbing my hips greedily and trying to regain that friction. I shake my head with a chuckle, then resume my actions. he starts to rut up against me, groaning into our embrace while his hands get more adventurous.

I withdraw, breaking the kiss to straighten up. he doesn't stop the microscopic pushes of his hips. I bite back a smile, enjoying the friction, too.

"do you wanna take my clothes off, Spence?" I ask softly.

"y-yes." he replies, gingerly taking the hem of my top and beginning to lift it over my head. when he places it on the couch beside me, his eyes immediately fall to my bra. slender fingers run up my bare waist, his watch glinting in the candlelight. when he doesn't immediately reach to unclasp my bra, I grab his wrist and guide it to the clasps myself. he moves with a surprising ease, unsnapping the thing and grazing over my skin as he slides the straps down my shoulders. I can tell that he’s shaking a tad, but it doesn’t hinder him.

the second that he's discarded the lingerie, he looks up at me with moony eyes.

"can I... kiss you?" he looks at my bare chest. "here?"

"of course, Spence." I nod. he presses his lips to the space between my ribs, drags them up to the valley between my breasts. lingers, then attaches himself to one of my nipples. I sigh, throwing my head back at the way he moves intuitively, sucking and running his tongue over the peak. he squeezes the other breast, plays with the nipple and starts to acquaint himself with the curves of my body.

the whole time, he's straining against my core, rutting helplessly in pleasure. it feels heavenly, with that sweet face of his so devoted to making me feel good, that I nearly stray from the purpose of the experience.

"Spencer..." I breathe. he moans at the sound of his name, then looks up at me from his place sucking on my tits. his teeth graze of my skin and I buck into his lap, causing him to groan appreciatively. my fingers tangle in his soft hair.

"Y/N," he pulls away from my chest, his lips making a soft popping sound. I gaze down at him, a bit lost in the fantasies running through my head. he's a natural. "can we, um-- like, expedite this process a little?"

"expedite the process?” I repeat back to him, giggling at his formality.

"what?" his voice goes up an octave, but he's smiling. "you know what I mean."

"I really do." I lean down, pressing my thumb into his jaw and angling his face up to mine to kiss. while his hands curiously move over my body, I start to push down the waistband of my sweatpants. I break contact just for a moment to peel them off, and he releases a quiet whine. it's cute.

"come back." he says softly, watching as I slide the bottoms down my legs, leaving me in my panties.

"I'm back." I peck his cheek, climb into his lap again. "can we take off your clothes, too?"

"mhmm." he nods. his lips part when my fingers work at the buttons of his shirt, undoing them with a torturous slowness. I can feel his eyes on my face the whole time.

"what?" I chuckle, peeking up at him for a moment before I pull his shirt open and run my palms up his chest, over his shoulders. he nearly shudders at the sheer touch.

"I just can't believe this is actually happening." he smiles in that way of his, like he's suppressing the depth of his emotions, with his brows slightly raised. I take the opportunity to enjoy the sight of him before me, his rapidly rising and falling chest, the smoothness of his skin.

"honestly?" I start to unbutton his pants, and he jerks up into my hand, blushing once he realizes the earnestness of his actions. I smirk encouragingly. "me, neither."

before I pull down his boxers, my eyes flick to his. "is this still okay?"

"Y/N," he groans. "if you don't do something, I'm gonna cum too early." he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment when my hand moves over his clothed erection, like he's holding on. "please."

"sorry." I release him from the confines. it hits his stomach and he waits for my reaction, as if he's afraid that I'll change my mind right now. but I'm definitely not going to. "holy fuck, Spencer."

"what?" he panics slightly, sitting up more. "is it not enough?"

"not enou--" I stutter, almost laugh. "no, it's plenty. I had no idea..."

"oh." he hides the pleased smile on his face, blush spreading over his pretty throat. in the interest of "expediting the process," I wrap my hand around the base of his cock and gently pump him.

Spencer's stomach tenses and he grabs onto the cushion of the couch with a tight fist, sighing.

"mmm..." he doesn't try to word his emotions, but I know. and I like that I'm making him feel this way, sharing this experience. Spencer and I are such close friends, I never thought we'd actually have sex. my assumption was that I'd watch him grow into himself, find a nice girl and treat her like a queen.

but here I am, spitting into my hand before jerking him off to prepare for what’s next. he’s throbbing, sounds coming from his throat.

"I'm gonna sit on it, okay?" I lean down to whisper in his ear. he touches my waist, my neck, kisses a random spot on my chest in the waves of pleasure that I'm giving him.

"o-okay." he mumbles, waiting for me to actually do it. and there's a moment of tense anticipation between both of us, when I sit up and pull my panties to the side. Spencer watches like I'm the only thing in the world, saving the memory of my body on top of his for later.

I run the head of his cock along my entrance, soaking him in the wetness between my thighs. I didn't realize how turned on I'd already gotten, and he lets out a quiet whine when he feels the evidence of how much I want him.

our eyes lock when I sink down. it's a new feeling for him, and the shape of his member as it stretches my walls causes me to bite my lip to withhold moaning too loudly. he whimpers, neck tensing and fingertips digging into my hips.

"o-oh." he sucks in a breath as I reach the halfway point. he's so big, I have to go slow in order not to overwhelm myself. but it feels good, too. like... unbelievably good. I grip onto his shoulders and my head falls forward into his shoulder.

"Spencer, holy shit." I moan.

"does it feel nice?" he asks, concerned for my own pleasure. I feel my chest flutter at the thoughtfulness of the boy wonder even when he's in the midst of losing his virginity, and I lower myself onto the rest of him.

"mhmm," I rest for a moment. "how do you feel?"

"like--" his breath hitches when I begin to rock back and forth on him. "like I've been missing out."

I can't help the giggle that slips past my lips, but then it quickly turns into a longing moan when he starts to thrust up into me like a helpless thing. Spencer is brilliant, but his brain cells go out the window when he throws his head back and begs me to move more.

I nod, raising and lowering myself until we reach a special pace. it's not fast or slow, just the two of us trying to stay in the moment while we hold on tightly to each other. I can feel the cool metal of his watch when he splays his hand out over my spine, the warmth of his breath while he pants against my shoulder.

he hits my g-spot over and over. my moans are torn from my throat by the burning of my lungs. it's like I can't breathe because I'm so focused on chasing the orgasm building in my stomach. and Spencer... I can tell he's almost finished.

the erratic nature of his jerking body tells me.

"I'm gonna cum..." he moans into my neck. "do- do you want me to pull out?"

"no." I arch my back and throw myself into the friction of our bodies. he stares up at me while I ride him, the merciless grinding of my hips because I just can't help myself. "oh my god, Spencer."

he notices how close I am and, in a surprisingly deft move, slides two fingers over my pussy to find my clit. the ensuing noise from me tells him that he's found it, and he begins to rub in quick circles. it's rough and hard, but that's exactly what I need right now.

"cum for me, Spence." I breathe. his free hand grips onto my thigh and pulls me over him, his own words unintelligible within the sounds of absolute pleasure.

"please." he begs for something I don't know, spills his seed inside of my pussy and holds onto me like I'm an anchor to this world while he peers into the next. the feeling of him spreading through my stomach, along with the reckless movements of his limbs and the way he looks at me while he rides out his orgasm, sends me over the edge.

"oh my fuck!" I collapse, grabbing his shoulders tightly and rolling myself down while he removes his fingers from my body. it's jarring, the intensity, like my normal functions can't respond correctly. all I can process is the tightening of my stomach, the pleasure between my legs, vision going slightly fuzzy at the edges. he moans when my cunt flutters around him, the muscles trying desperately to hold him here with me forever. I take deep breaths and slow down, my forehead dropping again while I start to remember my own name.

neither of us speaks. I think I'm still too in shock about what just happened, but in the best way. he keeps running his hands over my skin, then wraps his arms around my torso so that I'm pulled against his chest. I smile, kissing his ear before I finally break the silence.

"hi."

"hi." he's got a satisfied tone.

"do you need anything? water?" I ask, exhausted but realizing that this is still new for Spencer and it's my job to make sure he's as comfortable as possible. he nuzzles his nose into my clavicle and squeezes me tighter.

"stay here with me." there's a slight edge to his words. he's afraid of me leaving. I snuggle down, perfectly happy to remain. heat radiates from his skin, and I like the way it feels.

"of course."

we linger in each other’s arms, both of us coming back into the real world and holding on in an attempt to soften the blow. I just had sex with Spencer.

"thank you." he whispers into my hair.

"for what?" the smile on my face is lazy.

"for doing this."

"well, I really wanted to." I laugh. "so, I guess, thank you, too."

"you're quite welcome." his response is cheerful and then we're both laughing, the sound rumbling from his chest. "can we do it again at some point?"

"I would be happy to." I beam. the contented sigh that leaves his lips, followed by a slight sinking of our bodies down the couch in collective exhaustion, fills me with a joy that's quiet but obvious.

“I’ll last longer next time, I promise.” he says. I can practically hear the blush in his cheeks.

“you did amazing, Spence. don’t worry about it.” I press a few stray kisses to him.

I'll need to go clean up, soon, but it can wait a few more minutes. this is my favorite place on earth.

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #virgin spencer #reader x spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid one shot #baby spencer reid

[booklady7]

Art by ig @bookshemisferium

The War of Two Queens.

This post will have a lot of spoilers.

I read some comments about how people didn’t like this book so much, for many reasons, and, although I respect that, I disagree about some things.

I agree that this book was slow. That the surprise factor was kind of a let down! But if you think about the fact that this series will have 6 books, you realize that this book was more of a bridge and an opportunity to clarify some stuff. Of course it needed some drama and tension, so all the Casteel being taken and shit, that you could clearly see it wasn’t very well planned at all, but ok. I think this book was more like a filler than anything else. I liked it, though. 🤷🏻‍♀️

But ok, let me say some stuff.

1st, and I think most important: Casteel rescue. After the way Isbeth took him, all the shit at the end of last book and the finger delivery, I was expecting a super elaborated plot around his rescue and it ended up being pretty weak! On one hand, I kind of felt relieved because there wasn’t so much stalling around getting to him, and you gotta love a simple succession of events, but I thought it could have gone better, more thrill, or something. Either way, THANK GOD HE WAS MARGINALLY OK. And thank God he’s home again ❤️ Poppy and his reunion was pretty steamy and I love them!

2nd: Malik: Thank God this shithead helped Casteel, I think we all had a feeling he wasn’t bad or anything, and just another victim in all this chaos, but I was glad to be sure and I loved that he left Carsodonia and reunited with everyone! His reunion with Delano and Valyn? Oh, so bittersweet! I need more of him at home, remaking bonds and everything. I really didn’t like the part about him being the one who tried to kill Poppy as a child. It was really bad of him, but I understood his logic, like Poppy did. I didn’t like because for me it seemed a little forced, as if just made to be another - unnecessary - obstacle between Malik and Casteel. But, oh well, he didn’t kill her and Casteel already bit the shit out of him, so let’s move on from that.

3rd: Millicent: That was a curvy ball, and I liked that development. I like her and Malik, I think it has potential for a great storyline here. I’m still a little unsure if I LIKE the person she is, though. She seems not to be a crazy person like the mother, and tried to stop all that shitshow, and Malik appears to like her and believe her to be a good person, but we didn’t get enough of her for me to specifically like her. I bet I will like her if she doesn’t die or something, but not yet. I love the idea of Poppy having a sister, though.

4th, the Prophecy: WTF? I swear I didn’t understand that whole nonsense at all. It didn’t make sense, I’m still lost about that mess and it took such a central part of the book that I really just got annoyed that it really didn’t mean much at the end.

5th, Isbeth: Oh, her death was violent, horrific, brutal and so bloody and I’m here for all of it. Such a piece of garbage that woman. Everything that Seraphena said at that moment was so powerful and real. I was so thrilled about that crazy scene.

6th, that final crazy scene: I was losing my freaking shit. Like, everybody was dying, shit was going tits up and I was so tense and scared. That fucking scene scared the bejesus out of me, welp. When Delano died I was ready to give that book up, I swear. I love that wolf so much! But then everybody errr, resurrected? And I was so freaking thankful that I could get past that very biblical moment.

7th, the Gods shitshow: not much to say here, I really got so confused about Gods and Primals, and primal essence, and amber and one stealing the essence of the other and everybody sleeping like nothing was happening, that honestly I need the next book to help me understand all that mess.

8th, the infamous Joining: I have a lot to unpack here.

I read so much how people hated how Poppy and Kieran’s feelings grew for each other during this book, how they thought it was kind of emotional cheating on Casteel, and how they hated that Kieran kind of got in between the couple. I mean, I don’t necessary loved the growing feelings between them when Cas was away, I was really scared of what that would mean when Casteel got back, but then it got so clear for me that, although Poppy loves Kieran very much, her love for Casteel is the romantic one. I didn’t mind the Joining at all because I really felt at that moment that the bond the three of them share is so real and full of love, but not at all what Casteel and Poppy have. Those bonds are different, one not more important then the other, but different and I understand and respect. What made me really more at ease with this is seeing the love Cas and Kieran have for each other, how Cas wanted the Joining, that it wasn’t him doing it just because Poppy wanted or something like that, and that Kieran wanted to be bonded not just because of his feelings for Poppy, but because he has such strong and sincere feelings about Cas either. So, how can Kieran be between the couple if Cas and Kieran also have a bond that is just so special and strong, and uniquely theirs, too? It felt sincere for me, for them to be bonded, and not romantically so. The sex might’ve made things felt romantic, but honestly, I really believe that they just used the opportunity of the ceremony that kind of makes people horny to enjoy some naughty time hehe! I specially love how sexy Cas is about exploring sex with Poppy, and how into it he was about the joining. I get that sometimes kind of feels like everything is about Poppy. Like, she’s the most powerful, the wolven are now bonded to her, she’s a God, the chosen, the prophecy and so on, that annoys me a little that everything is about her when I would really love for it be just as much about Cas too, because I love him just as much, but the joining I really felt it was about the tree of them and very fair. It made sense either, for me, why they did it! It really settle me too, that after the joining, Cas, Poppy and Kieran were exact the same. And I particularly love that scene when Kieran joined Poppy and Cas on their tent to sleep with them and she remarks how the both of them, Poppy and Kieran, are drawn to Cas very strongly ❤️

9th, Reaver: AND THIS IS A VERY IMPORTANT ONE because is a wish of my heart, ok? But I WOULD LOVE SO FUCKING MUCH if Kieran and Reaver became a couple! All that snark between them scream of sexual tension to me, and honestly, it would be SO HOT and funny the both of them together.

So, that is that, I think I talked about everything of note. I hope the next book is more complete in the sense of well constructed plans and such things, and that nobody important gets separated of their loved ones. And that nobody ever touches Delano again u.u

Ok, so. This one wasn’t the best book of the series, but between 6, some were bound to be weaker. Nonetheless, I’m already waiting for The Heart of Bone and Ash, hopefully next year?!

#from blood and ash #book characters #ya books #book art #booklover #casteel da'neer #casteel #kieran contou #poppy balfour #book rec #book recommendations #the war of two queens #poppy x casteel #the joining #wolven #delano #jennifer l armentrout

[futurewriter2000]

Dysfunctional - pt. 1

A/N: I'm just bored.

XX

Growth is something only a little amount of people know about. Nobody truly wants to grow but they do, whether they choose to or not, through time they change.

And so as a bad man finds a bible, a good woman finds her power.

Who were you in the eyes of most people? - A question that always floated in the back of your mind. Like a pebble in your shoe, the one you could never get rid of. It was the main question that bothered you all years through Hogwarts, up to a point where you pushed it so far down and completely transformed it.

Who are you in the eyes of yourself?

Foolish question that oddly worked wonders for you and your transformation. You change your mindset, you change yourself right? At least that's what all those Muggle books had been telling you.

All Hogwarts dug their interest in you all of a sudden but you haven't thought much about it. For you, it was as if nothing had changed. You thought you didn't interest anybody and that was what made you keep yourself on the right path to focus on you and the little moments life has to offer.

"I can't believe that's her." Sirius leaned over, staring and smiling.

"Wave a whole banner, don't you." Remus retorded, rolling his eyes.

"If only she wasn't a Slytherin- by the way, how could she had got sorted into Slytherin. Since our interactions had always been so... civil and well... she posed no threat what-so-ever. I'd always imagined her being in a Hufflepuff." James added, meanwhile Sirius sat down and grabbed himself a toast.

"She lives not far from us." started Peter and all eyes turned to him. "(Y/n)." he felt the need to clarify. "I had heard loads of shouting in her house... since we lived there, everybody knew her family situation."

"Rich and spoiled?" Sirius rolled his eyes, taking another bite in his toast.

"Rich and... strict... very strict father and mother..." Peter mumbled, looking at his bread.

"Oh, that's right. Met her father once- loud old sod." James looked back, looking at you laughing with some of other Slytherins- the bad kind that caused his heart to be swallowed by his stomach. "Always so angry..." he continued, looking at you until your eyes met and he quickly turned away.

"She's got nice hair." said Sirius as all of them furrowed their eyebrows at him. "It's just an observation." he shrugged.

---

You had been starting to hang out a lot with the wrong crowd of Hogwarts. Everybody started to notice... everybody started to say they were corrupting you and the changes they noticed were quite massive.

You started talking back to the teachers. Something you have never thought of doing, since your shyness was a large part of your childhood personality. But that was just it... you weren't a child anymore, were you?

You were going out of the classroom when somebody rushed right into you, spilling the coffee in your hand all over you and your books.

The boy's eyes widened as he continued to look at the stains that were starting to show all over your uniform.

"I am so sorry, (Y/N). I swear, I didn't mean to- I just- you appeared out of nowhere-" James started to apologize. You were only staring down, staring at him, then back down and just as James was preparing to be yelled at, hexed at or cursed at you let out a laugh.

"Well hell..." you smiled up at him. "Finally a reason to get a new robe." you let out another laugh, meanwhile James only stood there.

"You're not... mad?"

"Well, being mad wouldn't really do us much favour, would it now?" you picked up your books that weren't that much damaged as you thought they'd be. "Shame for the coffee tho. Can't really function without it."

"Coffee?" he repeated. "You're mad about the coffee?" he started to feel a bit relieved.

"I don't joke about coffee, Potter. You should know that." you wiped the books with the sleeves of your uniform. You started to take off the robe so that you would only stand there in front of him with your shirt, tie and skirt. Only then James started to realise how much your body has changed since the last time he had seen you. Your breast, specifically, where he could see your finely shaped lace bra through the coffee stain. He felt his cheeks go red, radiating through his faint freckles and you couldn't help yourself but to smile.

"I'm so sorr- rry." he muttered again, taking off his robe and offering it to you. "Here. Take it."

"Oh, nice. A Gryffindor robe." you took it and wrapped it around yourself. "Though, I always imagined stealing it." you winked and he let out a laugh.

"Would fit your house perfectly."

"Theft?" you questioned. "No. Not a trait for Slytherins."

"No?" he grinned, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back. "If it's not their trait, then whose is?"

"Mine." you winked again, grabbing the bag from the floor as James grabbed your books. "Now, imagine a Slytherin coming into the common room with a Gryffindor robe. God, I'd piss them all off."

James started to laugh. "You hate your own house?"

"Oh, God no." you let out a laugh as you started to walk beside him and notice him looking at you, observing you. "I just find this house thing rivalry real funny." you said, finding him still staring. You stopped and turned around. "What are you staring at Potter?"

"You, clearly." he pointed out bluntly. "It suits you so much better than me and it clearly doesn't even fit you."

You started to laugh. "Well, don't get jealous over it. I'll give it back to you when we reach the dungeons."

"Oh, you can give it back later?"

"Why?"

"Because you can see everything through the stains. Why do you think I offered it to you? Plus, you said you wanted to piss off Slytherins and I'd like to piss of Slytherins as well."

"A common interest."

"Exactly."

"Though, I think they'll live, knowing I wear a bra and that I have... a body. Maybe they'll finally stop thinking I'm half mermaid or something." you started to joke and so did James. "If I really wanted to piss them off, I'd use a tie because a robe looks like any other robe, really."

James was the one that stopped now, shoving the books he held into your arms and untying his tie.

"No way, you're doing that. I was joking."

"I'm not." he smiled with his teeth and pulled it over his head. He untied yours and pulled it over yours, exchanging it for his own, Gryffindor tie. "Tell me how it goes. " he said just before he left, lifting your tie in his fist. "I'll keep on to this- just in case I don't get mine back.

"Alrighty!" you shouted after him.

---

It wasn't until the next day when James was drowsily eating his breakfast before his practice. You came from behind and scared him half to death. His toast flew from his hand and all eyes flew to the two of you. You squeezed between him and the red-head, completely dismissing her presence as you gave James a cheeky smile.

"Want to know?"

"You made my toast fly away." he siad drowsily.

"And you made my coffee make love to the floor. Now do you want to know?"

"How are you so chirp this morning? It's not even seven?"

"Got up at 2am. Had like two coffees since then. Anyway. Do you want to know?"

"Two in the morning? Hell, why did you get up so early- that's not even early... that's like late. And yeah, I do want to know." he started t wake up to the news.

"Been studying all week at night and now I sleep in the noon and am awake in the night. Fun." you chirped.

"Okay- tell me what happened?"

"The looks- oh, my God, you should have been there when I walked it. It was like I murdered their entire family."

"No-" he let out a laugh.

"Mulciber came to me." you started to talk in a more drama-spilling tone and James got excited.

"I thought the two of you were like friends."

"Us? Maybe in another dimension but like-

' *flashback*

"What the hell are you wearing?" he stomped to you and grabbed you by your tie, to which you shoved away in a second.

"Haven't you seen this new trend? I think it goes with- you are what you eat." you started to tease, turning around like a fashion model as you placed your hands on your hips. "Or in this case, you wear what you eat and I eat coffee every day, any day." you winked.

"And the tie?"

"You like?" you continued, seeing the little jealousy burn in his eyes, except you knew far well it wasn't jealousy. It was possessiveness and you'd rather go to hell than be anybody's property. "It's from my new beau." you fanned yourself, wrapping yourself in his robe and peeking through it. "A prince on white horse came to me today-"

"Be serious, (y/n)."

"I am dead serious." you pouted playfully. "He rushed on his horse and knocked me down, spilled my poor coffee all over me. It was like love at first sight. He scooped me into his arms and said 'Oh, dear! How could I have hurt this beautiful creature.-"

"You really didn't say that?" James interrupted the story telling, laughing as the other's who were surrounding you laughed with you.

"I did. Now let me go back."

- "He didn't say that!" Mulciber rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me you're shagging a Gryffindor?"

"I'm not." you started to get more serious. "And if I would be, would it be such a bad thing doing one? I mean, you only live once, why would it be wrong not taking a taste of all four cakes." you teased again, causing him to grow redder in his pale skin.

"You stole it."

"It was pleasantly exchanged."

"Exchanged?"

"A tie for a tie." you smiled.

"Why don't we go, eye for an eye?"

"Because nobody wants to give their eye, silly." you continued.

"You really annoy me, you know."

"I do and I really do not care. I only want to go to my room and take a nap."

"I will find out, you know!"

"I don't care!"

"Who was it?!"

"Dumbledore!"

*end of fashback*

"You're crazy." James continued to laugh.

"A little dysfunctional but not crazy." you winked and got up.

"And my things?"

"Do you got mine?"

"No, I didn't think I'd see you this early."

"Well then... guess they are mine now." you leaned forward, an inch apart as both of you continued to grin at each other, not another word spoken. You didn't dare to look anywhere else than his hazel eyes, such a wonderful mixture of green, brown and yellow. It amazes you how somebody can have such a wonderful eye colour. He didn't even only have one colour but three. "Pretty." you said, still smiling and pulled away, jumping back on your feet as he turned to you, smiling.

"Wait!" Sirius spoke before you could leave. "When did... when did you become best friends?"

"We didn't." James answered and you looked down at him, raising an eyebrow and feeling amused.

"No. We just made blood bond nobody else could break." you spoke mysteriously, putting your elbows on James' shoulders and placing your head on top of his, staring at Sirius. "And now we will secretly plan the end of the world. Muahahah." you joked, standing back up as the others laughed. "See you later Potts." and with that you were gone as the other watched you.

"What... just happened?" Remus started laughing, amazed.

"They made a blood bond." Sirius pointed his finger at you disappearing.

James started laughing. "Maybe now I can ask her about what she does with her hair for you." James got up and winked at Sirius.

"Oh, would you? I really want to know." Sirius stood up and started to walk behind him. "Just... say it's for Lily or something."

James started laughing again, then realising. "Oh, shit!" he turned around, searching for the red-head that was sitting beside him. "She was telling me something when (y/n) appeared. I totally forgot about her."

Sirius started laughing loudly, tapping James' shoulder. "Good luck getting her attention now."

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter imagines #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black imagines #sirius black imagine #james potter imagine #remus lupin #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin imagines #remus lupin x reader #marauders #marauders imagine #marauders imagines #marauders x reader #marauders era

[missjaystone]

Coming Home

Summary: After a year alone, your lover finally comes back home, but he’s not the same. Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader Word Count: 2,270 Warnings: Vague-ish smut, angsty-ish, meh

You stared at the naked man behind you in the mirror with a surprised grin on your face, a quiet laugh leaving you "you can't be serious, Billy." He chuckled and nodded, his own grin adorning his face as he rested his head on your shoulder and pulled your back into his chest "I'm one hundred percent serious, baby, I want you to marry me." "Weren't you ever warned about marrying strippers?" You asked with a hum. "I was, but I know you aren't after my money, and I don't mind your job, makes me feel proud knowing other guys can only look at you and dream, while I get to fuck you senseless every night," he said as he ground his hips into yours. "So you wanna marry me to stroke your own ego?" You asked sarcastically. "And because I love you. You're not only the most beautiful girl I've ever seen but you're smart, funny, and I always feel like the luckiest guy in the world when I'm with you. Not to mention, we'd have some pretty fucking cute babies, I mean, look at us," he pecked your neck softly and grinned.

He picked the ring up from the box on the counter and slid it onto your finger "what do you say babygirl? Wanna be Mrs. Billy Russo?" "I say fuck yes," you said excitedly. You turned around to kiss him and giggled against his lips when he quickly picked you up and set you on the counter. Another round of gleeful, celebratory sex followed before you two showered, which led to another round before he left for work. You found yourself looking forward to planning the wedding. Unfortunately, he went missing five months later. He never came back to your shared apartment, you found his car with several parking tickets, and god knows the NYPD wasn't any help at all, the entire city knew that.

Life without Billy took some getting used to; you weren't even sure it was something you could get used to. It hurt, coming home to a cold bed in an empty apartment. What hurt even more though, was having to watch your stomach grow in the months that followed. Being handed the small brown-eyed bundle with his tuft of dark hair nearly made you break. You heavily contemplated giving the child up for adoption, but when you thought of Billy, you knew that's not what he would have wanted, especially given his own experience in the system. You also thought about quitting the gentlemen's club, finding something more suitable for a mom, you did have a computer programming degree, your student loans were the reason you started working at the club, but nothing paid as well and offered the flexibility you needed. You got back to work when he turned a month old, the elderly woman in the apartment next door offered to babysit him while you were gone.

"Hey, Kitty, you've got a guy in room three asking for you," your manager said as you made your way off stage, giving a small hum in reply. You sighed quietly on your way to the room, already counting down the minutes until you could leave; 43 minutes and 21 seconds. How is it that almost a year since he vanished, he was still so prevalent in your mind? After closing the door behind you, you took in the man's appearance. He wore loose jeans and a dark grey hoodie that obscured his features. You sighed to yourself and thought 'oh great, another creep'. This wasn't a new thing, men in their thirties and forties came in dressed like this all the time, trying to obscure their features so nobody could ever identify them in case any snooping wives came around.

"Did you have a specific song in mind for your dance?" You asked as you picked up the tablet that connected to the room's speakers. "It'll be a bit of an unusual request but, you know that song 'Baby I'm Yours'?" He asked awkwardly. You nearly dropped the device in your hands, biting your lip as tears already began to well; the voice sounded familiar but you couldn't turn and look yet, you couldn't get your hopes up. "There are a number of songs with that name, can you be more specific?" You asked in as steady of a voice as you could manage. "The version by the Arctic Monkeys," he clarified, clearing his throat some. This time, you did drop the tablet; you suddenly felt unsteady in your platform stilettos.

You didn't even hear him get up but you felt his hands on your arms when you started to turn around "don't, please, don't look at me. I need you to remember me as I was." You exhaled deeply and shook your hand, slapping his hands away "no. I deserve to be looked in the eye when you tell me why the fuck you disappeared." When you turned to face him, you were greeted with a white mask that had cracks and breaks drawn on it. He shook his head, gripping your wrists when you tried to take it off "I didn't mean to. I-I was meeting with someone and it turned ugly and next thing I knew, I was in a hospital with memories missing and nightmares. I was there for six months before things started coming back and then I remembered you. I've been trying to find you and say I'm sorry, beg for you back but I'm-I'm not the same man you were engaged to. I barely recognize the man in the mirror now."

Before you had time to think, you yanked one of your wrists out of his grasp and slapped him, the mask falling to the ground. A shocked gasp left your lips as you took in his scarred features, his eyes immediately screwing shut to avoid seeing your expression. "Billy, I-what happened?" You asked quietly. "I was fighting with Frank and uh, he thought this was a fate worse than death. I guess he was right," he answered with a dry chuckle. When you remained speechless, he kept talking "I just wanted to see you one last time, to tell you how much I loved you, but I'm not gonna make you be with someone so hideously, grotesquely disfigured." The way he spoke about himself sent pangs of sadness to your heart. He may not have looked the same but he was far from hideous or grotesque. You were pulled out of your shock when you saw him reaching down for his mask, presumably leaving.

"No." You finally said, looking at him with an angry frown. "I'm sorry?" He asked, his own expression turning shocked when you snatched the mask from his hands. "I said no. You don't get to make that fucking decision for me, Billy! You don't just get to decide if I want to be with you or not! How fucking dare you just show up and decide for me! Do you know how much of a fucking nightmare this past year has been?" You asked, shoving his chest as angry tears began to roll down your cheeks. "I'm just trying to save you the embarrassment of-" he started to say before you started again "I wouldn't be embarrassed because I didn't love you for your looks you egotistical asshole! I loved you for who you were! Even when you were gone, when I thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere, I loved you. Every time I look at our son, I think about how much I love you and would give anything to have you back, only for you to come here and tell me you're leaving to spare me the embarrassment. How fucking dare you," you shoved him again, paying zero attention to how he reacted to anything you said.

Your hand was raised to slap him again but he caught your wrist, eyes widened some "we have a son?" "Yes, Billy! And every time I look into his eyes, I'm reminded of everything we shared, everything I'd give up just to have you back in my life, because I loved you with every fiber of my being. I never cared about what you looked like, you made me feel happy and safe and loved and I thought I made you feel the same but I must not have if you think so little of me, that I'd bolt at the sight of you right now." His stance noticeably softened at your words and he frowned at you "do you really think you could spend your life with someone who looks like I do, now? Children are always gonna point and stare when we walk down the street, men are never gonna leave you alone, your girlfriends are gonna tell you you can do better than someone who looks like Frankenstein."

You sighed quietly and gently cupped his cheeks, frowning at the way he flinched before you even came into contact with the marred flesh. The edges of your mouth curled up in a tiny smile as you looked into his eyes "Frankenstein's monster would be lucky to look like you, Billy." A small groan escaped him at your subtle correction. His hands came to rest on your hips. "You fucking nerd," he mumbled with a chuckle as he let you pull him into a kiss like your life depended on it. His lips only left yours when you fell onto the room's couch, quickly pulling him down with you. Your minimal, barely-there "outfit" was quickly gone, leaving you in only the heels while he shed his layers. The minute he was free, he was back on you, two of his fingers teasing your entrance while his thumb circled your clit, pulling soft, needy noises he'd missed oh so much, noises that got him through the nights he spent alone before finding you again.

And when you finally told him you were ready, it took all of his self-control to go slowly and savor the feelings he'd miss; the way your channel squeezed his member like a vise, the way your legs locked around his hips, and his favorite was the way you peppered kisses along his chest, neck, and face before finally meeting his lips. There were tears in your eyes as he slowly moved his hips, tears he kissed away lovingly while holding you as close as he possibly could. "I missed you so much, angel," he whispered against your lips, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. "I missed you too, Billy," you whispered back as your fingers tangled in his hair.

Once the moments of adjusting to each other's bodies again passed, Billy started moving his hips roughly, almost angrily like he was trying to make up for lost time (which he was). Each moan he pulled from you gave him a little more confidence and made him go faster, harder, deeper; sure, he was seeking his own pleasure, but he was searching his still-scrambled brain for what got you off before. Finally, he recalled the special spots that made you lose it; he angled his hips up a bit so he was repeatedly pistoning into your g-spot, smirking as you louder moans and swears that escaped you. He began kissing just above your collarbone too, sucking and nibbling on the soft skin until a nice, visible lovebite could be seen.

His lips crashed into yours when he felt you tightening around him right before your climax hit, muffling your moans and his as your release triggered his. His hips moved lazily as you came down with him, both of you panting slightly. He looked down at you adoringly after planting a kiss on your forehead "when are you finished with work?" "Any minute now, I bet," you answered happily. You gave him a quick kiss before lazily getting dressed. You checked the time on the tablet and hummed happily "I finished three minutes ago, apparently. Hurry up and get dressed so we can go home." You playfully winked at him before you left the private room. You quickly went to the back and changed into your street clothes before clocking out, meeting Billy by the door.

With your hand in his, you led him to your car and drove him to your tiny apartment. He hung back while you picked your son up from your neighbor, thanking her repeatedly before you led him inside. He followed you to your son's room, swooning over the chubby infant who babbled in his sleep "what'd you name him?" "William Russo, but I call him Will," you answered with a tired but happy smile, moving the tuft of hair out of the baby's face. "Can I-can I hold him?" He asked nervously, hesitantly. Every single one of his muscles tensed as you carefully put the child in his arms. More tears rolled down his cheeks and he bit his lip to stop from crying out loud "he's perfect." You just nodded in agreement as you watched, leaning against Billy's side some. Suddenly, Billy looked at you with watery eyes and whispered "can he sleep with us tonight? I never want to put him down." You smiled at him and nodded "of course he can, baby." You led Billy back to your room and let him get comfortable in bed while you did you changed into your PJs and did your nightly routine. When you stepped out of the bathroom less than ten minutes later, Billy was already passed out, firmly holding the infant on his chest. You smiled fondly at the sight; your love finally came back home.

Taglist: @bdffkierenwalker​

#Billy Russo #Billy Russo x Reader #Billy Russo Smut #Billy Russo Angst #The Punisher #I'm soft for this man #I just- I want him to be happy #Yes even though he's kinda a psycho

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

All Men Have Limits - VII

Character: Dick Grayson x Reader x Bruce Wayne

Summary: A certain bat believes that Y/N is in way over her head, that she’s too naive to act in her best interest. So, whether she wants it or not, the vigilante family is going to help and protect her before she gets herself killed.

Word Count: 3,500+

Warning: Mention of domestic violence

Previously on…

“The Court is holding session two weeks from now,” Y/N announced to the group.

“How do we know they’re going through with it after all the recent attention?” Damian challenged.

“They haven’t missed one in over over 20 years.”

“So, what’s the plan?” Dick asked.

Y/N took in a deep breath, “We need a diversion.”

“Diversion?” Jason asked.

She nodded. “The Court has two kinds of protection: the Talons and then the protection they either buy or blackmail. The Talons are at every meeting, making sure nothing goes down and protecting The Court.”

Y/N eyed all of them before continuing – except for Bruce. The two of them hadn’t spoken since their argument, and Y/N hadn’t so much as acknowledged him.

“We need to do something to drag the Talons away from The Court – something big,” Y/N clarified.

“Like what?” Tim asked.

She didn’t say anything. Instead she just awkwardly shifted her weight.

“No,” Dick shut down, being the first to put it together.

“It’s the only way,” she countered.

By now the rest of them had figured out that Y/N wished to put herself in danger once again.

“They almost killed you,” Dick started to get heated.

“Yeah, and they’re even more anxious to kill me after the trouble we caused them. We all know it. The quickest way to get the Talons out of hiding is to dangle me in right front of their faces. Make it so easy that they can’t say no.”

They all went quiet.

“It’s a good idea,” Jason broke the silence.

Jason wasn’t one to beat around the bush. He was brutally honest. Also, he wasn’t scared of a risk. 

Dick glared at him.

But to his surprise, so did Bruce.

“We don’t use our own as bait,” Bruce finally spoke for the first time.

But he wasn’t even looking in Y/N’s vicinity.

That didn’t stop Y/N from rolling her eyes at ‘our own,’ as if she were actually treated the same as everyone in this family.

“Fine,” she snapped. “So what’s your genius plan for getting the Talons away from The Court and where we want them?”

Bruce was quiet, but clearly because he was thinking.

“B, we only have two weeks to get this together,” Dick tried to reason.

Y/N just continued, “While we’re distracting the Talons, the FBI and Gotham PD can raid The Court’s meeting. Security will be at an all-time low and they won’t be able to fight their way out with the distraction of a Talon defense.”

“We can think of another way,” Bruce said. Then he addressed all boys, “We’re heading out for patrol in 15.”

Dick stood up to join them.

To everyone’s shock Y/N and Bruce simultaneously said, “You’re staying here.”

Dick’s brow furrowed. “I’m fine.”

“You’re still injured,” Y/N argued. “You’re stitches aren’t even out yet.”

“You’re staying here with Y/N,” Bruce added on.

Tim, Damian, and Jason all looked at each other in amusement from seeing Bruce and Y/N gain up on Dick.

Bruce muttered out radiuses at the other three boys for patrolling.

“Just to be clear, I’m going back to being a lone wolf when this Court of Owls bullshit is over with,” Jason announced. “But I have to admit, the drama is entertaining.”

“Aww! Come on, J! You know you love the quality family time,” Tim teased.

“I personally can’t wait for him to go away,” Damian mumbled.

“Do you know what a swirly is?” Jason asked the youngest boy.

“No.”

“Do you want to find out?”

Damian looked at Tim for some kind of hint. But Tim just aggressively shook his head in warning.

“Enough,” Bruce warned, but he wasn’t all that annoyed.

When they all left for patrol, Y/N walked to her computers.

“What are you doing?” Dick questioned.

She gave him a look, “Uhhh…doing my job?”

“You did your job,” he countered. “Give yourself a break.”

Y/N knew he was technically right. She already had everything they needed to show the FBI and Gotham PD in order to take down The Court of Owls. Now they just had to wait – even if Bruce wasn’t on board with Y/N’s plan on playing bait.

“Plus,” Dick smirked. “I need someone to entertain me.”

She playfully glared at him. “Oh, I see. So this isn’t about me needing a break. It’s about you needing attention.”

He had no shame. “Maybe.”

Y/N shook her head at his ridiculous, but couldn’t hide her smirk.

“How about I teach you some self defense?” Dick offered.

“Dick! What part of ‘you’re recovering’ is so hard for you to understand?”

He had the audacity to laugh at her reaction. “Fine. Fine. But you should learn a few things at some point.”

Then Dick started walking to the training area, specifically where all the gymnastics equipment was.

Y/N hadn’t seen anyone using it while she was down there, but she assumed it was mostly for Dick.

Without warning, Dick did a press handstand mount on the balance beam, and then he held the handstand.

“Dick! Stop!” Y/N said in a panic.

And she did exactly what he wanted, leaving her computer and walking down to where he was on the balance beam.

“What?” He shrugged as he now stood on the balance beam. “It’s just a handstand. Relax.”

“I swear to god, Dick Grayson, if you do a fucking flip on that thing…”

“You’ll what?” He challenged with a smirk. “Come up here and stop me.”

Y/N crossed her arms and glared at him. “Fine. I will.”

Dick was beaming from his success.

Y/N might not be a gymnast or a vigilante the same way as all of them, but she wasn’t completely hopeless when it came to athletics. She managed to lift herself up enough to sit on the balance beam.

However, standing up was an entirely different thing.

“Fuck,” Y/N muttered under her breath.

“You got it,” Dick encouraged.

But he was still walking across towards her as if the thing was a runway.

“Have these things always been this fucking narrow? I thought it was like width of bleacher seats.”

Dick chuckled as he offered her a hand.

“I got you. Come on,” he urged her softly.

Y/N slowly stood on the balance beam, but gripped Dick’s hands tightly.

“I have some newfound respect,” she laughed lightly as she looked down at their feet.

“Harder than it looks,” Dick agreed.

“Do you think you could’ve gone to the Olympics?” Y/N genuinely asked.

He shrugged, “Who knows. Probably not.”

But Y/N knew he was most likely being modest.  

Then Dick let go of her hands to grip her waist, “Try walking.”

“I feel like we’re in Dirty Dancing. You know, like the scene where they’re working on lifts and walking across the log in the woods.”

He smiled.

Y/N lost her balance a little bit and panicked.

But Dick’s grip on her waist was strong. “You’re OK. I got you.”

It was hard to focus on balancing and walking when his gentle voice said things like that to her, making her stomach drop and her heartbeat quicken.

And it all proved to be too much when Y/N really lost her balance and there was no stopping her from falling. She shoved into Dick too hard, making him lose his grip as well.

But as they fell, Dick quickly maneuvered their bodies so he took the fall and caged her body protectively.

Y/N instantly sat up in hysterics.

“Oh my god! Oh my god! Are you OK?” Y/N cried out as her eyes went down to where he still had stitches, half expecting blood to be on his t-shirt from the wound reopening.

But Dick was laughing his ass off.

“It’s not funny!” She slapped his chest.

“I’m not made of glass, Y/N.”

She couldn’t keep her own amusement in check much longer and started laughing along with him.

But then Dick’s phone lit up and vibrated beside them. It must’ve fallen out of his pocket when they fell.

Y/N didn’t mean to look. She really didn’t. But her eyes couldn’t stop from reading the name ‘Barbara Gordon’ on the screen.

Her smile dropped for some reason.

But Dick didn’t see the problem.

He casually reached over and looked at the message.

Y/N moved off of Dick. “Texting your ex?”

Dick narrowed his eyes at the framing of her question. “Do you know every woman I’ve ever dated?”

She smirked at that. “Maybe.”

“Yes, I am. She’s a friend.” He tilted his head. “Don’t you stay in touch with any of your exes?”

Y/N shrugged and shook her head. “I don’t really have any ex-boyfriends. Just…” she hesitated, “people I’ve hooked up with or whatever.”

Dick nodded slowly.

“Why hasn’t she been around?” Y/N changed the subject quickly.

“She’s been working her own case – had to go undercover for awhile.”

She nodded. But wasn’t looking at him as they talked now.

“You know…just because that’s what’s happened in the past doesn’t mean that it always has to be that way,” he told her quietly.

“Easy for you to say.”

Dick winced a bit. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Her gaze finally moved up from the floor to his. “You’re a serial monogamist. Being in relationships is easy for you.”

“That’s what you think of me?” Dick couldn’t hide the hurt in his voice. “You think I don’t know how to be alone?”

“I didn’t say that,” she quickly defended.

“But that’s what you were implying.”

Y/N got up from the mats and started to leave.

“No. Don’t do that,” Dick caught her arm.

“Do what?” She challenged as she pulled her arm away from him.

“Don’t make up problems that don’t exist, Y/N.”

She huffed at that.

“Yeah, I’ve been in serious relationships for most of my life. Not because I didn’t know how to be alone, but because I loved them.” He shook his head. “I know men have treated you like shit, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to do the same.”

“What are we even talking about, Dick?” She shot back.

How did they get from messing around on a balance beam to discussing their non-existent relationship?

“Don’t play dumb, Y/N. You’re one of the smartest people I know. Act like it.”

It wasn’t until now that Dick saw how Bruce and Y/N were similar. He’d never met anyone else that could push people away like they did. But it was clear they both thought it was easier and less complicated to isolate themselves. 

Maybe that’s why they gravitated toward each other. Like if the faced it together than they were cheating their way out of their own rules.

Except Dick couldn’t help but wonder what Y/N’s life could look like with someone who really loved her, who showed her that she didn’t have to face the world alone. Obviously he wanted to be that person for her. But his ego wasn’t too proud to allow someone else to do that for her. Even if it hurt like hell.

“Dick, I can’t–”

But he didn’t let her say another word, and his lips crashed against hers.

She tried to be stubborn and pull away, but he wasn’t letting her get away.

Dick deepened the kiss. This wasn’t like the night of the gala. It wasn’t innocent and soft. No, this was filled with fire and infatuation.

Dick wasn’t being polite anymore. His hands slipped under her t-shirt to grasp her waist, needing to feel her and refusing to allow fabric between his touch and her skin.

Maybe he was trying to prove something to Y/N now.

But just when Y/N was about to push it further, Dick pulled away.

Their lips were both swollen.

And he kept close to her, tempting her with another kiss – but not giving in.

“You don’t want to talk about it? Fine.” His voice was raspy.

Eventually he’d push her to talk about them. For now, he’d let her figure things out.

“But don’t convince yourself that I’m no one to you.”

———————

Y/N couldn’t sleep.

Her mind was restless.

She knew Dick had been right: she was trying to point out issues that didn’t exist, picking unnecessary fights.

Getting Dick frustrated was a great way to stop herself from actually reflecting on how she was starting to feel about him.

Instead of tossing and turning in bed, Y/N decided to go to the library. She hadn’t spent much time there – too busy practically living in cave. But it had intrigued her since she arrived. It was so beautiful, and even large enough to hide in.

She was a hour or so into a book she grabbed from the shelves when someone cleared their throat.

Y/N jumped in fright and looked up to see Bruce leaning against one of the book shelves.

His hair was wet and he was wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. Clearly he’d just taken a shower.

“You’re back early,” she noted.

It wasn’t even 4AM yet.

“Quiet night. The boys had patrolling handled.”

She just nodded and went back to her book.

But Bruce’s presence made it impossible for her to even focus enough on the words to keep reading. So, she faked it.

“I owe you an apology.”

Her stare snapped up.

“I should not have spoken to you the way I did.”

Y/N was silent.

“It was unfair, and I was mistaken. I apologize.”

Y/N watched him for a moment before saying, “Apology accepted.”

She expected him to leave after that. He’d checked his little box. Now they could both move on.

“I was scared,” Bruce confessed. “That I was going to find you dead. And then I was scared Dick would lose it and…” His words died out.

“Well… you hid that very easily.”

“I have to.”

“I know. But you don’t realize how frustrating that can be for other people.”

Bruce sighed and frowned. “I understand.”

Y/N finally put her book down and got up from the love seat to slowly walk to where Bruce was standing.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” she apologized softly. “And I’m sorry for scaring you. I was only doing what I thought was right.”

Bruce didn’t even realize what he doing until he pulled Y/N into his arms and felt her bury her face into his chest and hug him back. He tightened his hold around her, breathing in her hair.

Y/N was surprised by his hug, but she was grateful for it.

She closed her eyes and breathed him in. It was either his body wash or his cologne, but Bruce always smelled like musk and wood. Y/N was rarely close enough to smell it this well. But when she did, it instantly soothed her.

“Why are you up so late?” Bruce asked when they finally pulled away.

Y/N let out a long sigh, “Just couldn’t sleep.”

“Come on. I’ll make you some tea.”

“You do not know how to make tea,” she answered while trying not to laugh.

“I am not as hopeless in the kitchen as you’d imagine,” he told her with a smirk.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” she replied, as she followed him downstairs.

True to his word, Bruce made Y/N lavender tea, making it just as Alfred had taught him as a child.

He gave her a smug smirk when he handed her one of the mugs and saw how surprised she was by him.

Y/N never expected he would linger. 

But an hour later, they were still sitting on the barstools at the island.

The conversation was slow, but light.

Now that Y/N had spent so much time with the family, she mostly talked about the boys with Bruce, asked him questions about each of them.

It was easier for him to talk about them than himself – or them. 

Little did Bruce know, Y/N was learning so much more about him from the way he talked about all of them.  

Bruce was subtle, but Y/N could tell how proud he was of all of them – even Jason, who he had a tumultuous relationship with. He loved them with all his heart, even though he was terrible at showing it.

“Damian’s the only one who still lives here. Tim has a penthouse in the city. And Dick is constantly jumping around place to place. But it’s been...nice having them around so much recently,” Bruce admitted with hesitation.

“And what about Jason?” She asked. “He never seems to stay here.”

Bruce hid his sadness and disappointment well, but Y/N could still see it.

“I’m lucky Jason even speaks to me,” he answered darkly. “He tends to like his space and prefers to…keep to himself.”

She nodded, not forcing the subject more.

But then her eyes got a glimpse of the clock. And she looked inside her now empty mug. How long ago did she finish it?

“I should probably attempt to get at least a couple hours of sleep,” she murmured as she got up from the stool. 

Bruce nodded, and did that thing where men stand up as soon as a woman does.

No matter how many times he did it, Y/N was always caught off guard by it.

“Thank you for the tea,” her voice was so quiet, but sincere. She smiled, “I’m sorry for ever doubting your skills.”

He grinned and watched her leave.

But when Y/N reached the edge of the kitchen she turned around. “If I asked you a question, would you answer truthfully? And I mean really answer.”

Bruce observed her for a few seconds. 

He knew she deserved his honesty.

They constantly answered each other’s questions with questions. It was like a dance – or a fight – which one probably just depended on the day.

He nodded.

“It’s okay if I am. Really, it is.” She took a short inhale. “But was I just another one of Bruce Wayne’s conquests?”

The desperation for honesty was so clear in her face and voice. If he said ‘yes,’ it would hurt her, but she would get over it. After all, that’s what she’d been assuming all this time.

Bruce did not have the words. Furthermore, he saw this for what it was: the two of them approaching dangerous territory.

But he owed her this.

Bruce didn’t break her stare as he carefully shook his head.

“Goodnight, Bruce.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

——————

LATER THAT NIGHT/EARLY MORNING…

Bruce knew Dick would be in the gym in the manor.

Everyone trained in the cave, so Dick knew no one would find him there. And he could workout in peace without being reprimanded about resting and being cautious about his injuries.

Dick had been sprinting on the treadmill when Bruce walked in.

When he spotted his entrance in the mirror, Dick stopped the machine.

He was dripping in sweat, proving that he’d been training hard – too hard for his condition.

Wonder where he learned that from…

“What’s up?” Dick asked as he wiped his face with a towel.  

“I had a feeling you weren’t resting,” Bruce said as he crossed his arms.

“I’m fine,” Dick shot back.

But he did a double take when he realized how deep in thought Bruce seemed to me. He was staring off, an extremely unusual thing for him. 

“Bruce?” Dick asked with concern. 

“Y/N’s parents abused her,” Bruce told him firmly all of the sudden. “Her father was an alcoholic – beat her and his wife. Her mother emotionally and mentally terrorized her. After running away countless times, Y/N was finally able to emancipate herself at 16.”

Dick’s entire body froze. “How do you know that?”

“She told me.” 

Bruce didn’t mean to sound smug. 

But Dick still took it that way. 

“For obvious reasons, she didn’t go into great detail. But I filled in the blanks with research – though she’s hid her past well, as you can imagine. She was homeless after that. Broke in where she could. Tried to stay off the streets. Even dressed like a boy for safety.”

Dick felt sick as he listened. Stories like this were all too familiar to their family. 

“One day, she saw someone coding on their computer at a coffee shop. She had always overachieved at computer science in school, and it intrigued her. As you and I both know, she caught on rather quickly.”  

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because she’s not going to,” Bruce replied as if it’s obvious.

Dick scowled, still not putting together the deeper meaning. They had never shared a conversation like this before. And it was confusing him.

Was Bruce trying to shove his past with Y/N in Dick’s face?

“I was the first person she ever shared her past with,” Bruce said slowly. “And it took me far too long to realize that I mishandled her trust. I did not deserve it.”

Dick could see the regret on Bruce’s face as he spoke.

But Dick finally understood what Bruce was actually trying to tell him: ‘If she does you the same honor, don’t you dare make the same mistake I did.’

“I understand,” was all Dick responded with.

Bruce gave a curt nod.

“Need I remind you that the cave has cameras?”

Bruce saw them kiss. But little did he know, it wasn’t their first.

Dick only quirked an eyebrow as if it say, ‘So? What of it?’

-----------

Part 8

Guys, I was 30 minutes early. You’re welcome. 

I want to point out that Y/N’s dark past was always part of the story. But I avoided actually including it because I am not a fan of fanfic writers often romanticizing abuse or mental health issues or other serious matters. I just want everyone to know that I take things like this seriously and I’m not just using them as a plot point. 

So here is a resource if you or someone you know is a victim of domestic violence. 

#all men have limits #all men have limits part 7 #bruce wayne x reader #Bruce Wayne x reader x dick Grayson #dick grayson x reader #dick Grayson x reader x Bruce Wayne #dick grayson reader insert #bruce wayne reader insert #batboys #batfam #batman x reader #nightwing x reader

[qvid-pro-qvo]

tales from the war room

the monster of a dragon age: inquisition fic that i've been working on that almost no one asked for. special thanks to @hotchseyebrows for being a beta and an encouragement, and to FluffyNinjaLlama on YouTube for an excellent playlist i used as a resource.

a female!inquisitor x cullen rutherford fic. verdanna, the inquisitor, is a dalish mage.

word count: 24,397

rating: mature, for the slow build and burn of something greater than themselves (warnings that apply also apply to the game - canon-typical violence, implied sexual content, as well as a healthy mixture of angst and fluff).

link to the fic on AO3.

-

A familiar face enters the room with Cassandra, and it is here Cullen properly meets the Herald of Andraste.

It was quick, the first time he met her, but the impression was immediate. A commander is nothing without his soldiers, after all, and she did her part in saving the ones with him at the Temple that fateful day.

“You’ve met Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition’s forces,” Cassandra confirms, nodding to him. He meets her gaze before shifting to look at the elven woman in front of him.

“It was only for a moment on the battlefield. I’m pleased you survived,” he offers.

Josephine and Leliana introduce and reintroduce themselves, offering themselves as ambassador and spymaster. But the pleasantries are over quickly, as war looms on the horizon. Thus the war room becomes such, and the first meeting begins.

“I mentioned that your mark needs more power to close the Breach for good,” Cassandra tells the Herald.

“Which means we must approach the rebel mages for help,” Leliana answers, too quickly for Cullen’s liking.

“And I still disagree,” he responds, turning to face her, brow furrowed. The Herald’s gaze follows them both. “The templars could serve just as well.”

“We need power, Commander. Enough magic poured into the mark -” Cassandra offers, but Cullen just straightens his spine.

“Might destroy us all. Templars could suppress the Breach, weaken it so -”

“Pure speculation.”

The dismissal is clear, and Cullen finds himself defensive. “I was a templar. I know what they’re capable of.”

Josephine lifts a hand and turns to the Herald, her tone firm. “Unfortunately, neither group will even speak to us, yet. The chantry has denounced the Inquisition. And you, specifically.”

“Didn’t take long at all for them to find an excuse to hate an elf,” she responds, voice dry.

“That’s not the entirety of it any longer,” Josephine clarifies. She holds her scroll with all of her newfound authority and hardwon knowledge. “Some are calling you - a Dalish mage - the ‘Herald of Andraste.’ That frightens the Chantry. The remaining clerics have declared it blasphemy, and we heretics for harboring you. It limits our options. Approaching the templars or mages for help is currently out of the question.”

Cullen can’t help the way his mouth feels glued shut at the revelation. Disparaging the mages, as a former templar, in front of an elven mage - clearly a misstep. But when he looks at the woman before him, there appears no ill will. Simply observation, curiosity. A glint of humor in her eye.

“And how am I the Herald of Andraste?”

The question is a fair one. One Cassandra answers easily, stating the facts - a woman coming from a hole in the sky with a woman silhouetted behind her. But even as the Seeker explains, the logic in her mind clear, it is obvious that the Herald doesn’t quite see the connection. Her face pinches a little.

“Even if we tried to stop that view from spreading -”

“Which we have not.” Cassandra interrupts Leliana, eyes narrowed at her, but Left Hand simply lifts her chin.

“The point is everyone is talking about you.”

At this point Cullen feels inclined to step in. His focus on the Herald has revealed just what he suspected - the word the Inquisition has created seems to weigh on her mind, judging by the way her brow is now furrowed, her jaw clenched.

“It’s quite a title, isn’t it?” he offers. Tilts his head. “How do you feel about that?”

It’s an olive branch, he supposes. One for his misstep earlier, so hastily disregarding the Herald’s own kind. It seems to catch her by surprise as she looks at him.

“It’s… a little unsettling,” she admits.

He can’t help his chuckle, and smiles as she does, a little quirk of her lips. “I’m sure the Chantry would agree.”

But no matter how she feels, Leliana and Josephine make it clear. The hope she inspires is equal to the fear she instills.

“So if I wasn’t with the Inquisition?”

Cullen stops that train of thought with a head shake and the simple truth. “Let’s be honest: they would have censured us no matter what.”

The next steps are decided. Leliana tells of Mother Giselle, a Chantrywoman willing to speak with and hear out the cause of the Inquisition - even if the face is one of a declared heretic, elven mage or otherwise. Cullen offers his own advice, to expand the influence of the Inquisition where she can, while she is in the Hinterlands and wherever she travels. And Josephine is clear in telling her that the more agents they recruit, the more their reach spreads, hopefully for the betterment of Ferelden and beyond.

Thus concludes the first meeting of the Herald and her advisors, and the war room christened. Cullen moves to follow Leliana and Josephine as they leave with Cassandra, but what stops him is the stillness of the Herald, her eyes following him closely.

“Do you need something?” he asks.

“No, no,” she says, but her gaze dips. He sees the light shine on her tattoos, the gentle glow almost making the red markings fade into her skin. There’s something… fiery about them, and just as he thinks it, the supernatural shine seems to dim. “Sorry. Just… thinking.”

Curiosity hits him again. He takes a step toward her. “About?”

She still seems hesitant, just as she did before. But there is a beat less before she answers, a sign Cullen takes as positive. “No one… really asked me how I was doing. I suppose I was just shocked it was the Templar who would be the first.”

His brows lift in surprise, before understanding sinks in. The irony isn’t lost on him, as well as the reality. The title she was given overwhelms all else - even her feelings on the title in the first place. With a little hum, he shrugs.

“I simply know if I was straddled with the hope of Andraste and her followers, especially as someone not of the faith… well. I perhaps would be feeling the pressure of that title, too. The good thing is that the people you have met are here to help moving forward, including myself,” he tells her, offering what he hopes is reassurance.

Her pinched brow seems to release, and her features smooth. It suits her, the relief, release. “Thank you, Commander.” She turns from him, moves to leave the War Room.

“Of course, Herald.” And then something rather embarrassing hits him. Even he is not immune to the hyperbole surrounding the face of their cause. He coughs, swallowing, and when she looks back with a raised brow, he smiles again. His face feels warm. “I regret to say that’s the only title I know you by - so perhaps some of the pressure could be relieved if more knew your name.”

Both of her brows lift, but then she’s smiling, a big grin that makes him feel stunned to his spot. She turns to him, gives a small bow, and nods to him. “Verdanna, of the Clan Lavellan. And as I said before, it’s a pleasure, Commander.”

“Verdanna,” he repeats, with a smile he can’t help. He bows back, and hears her little chuckle. “Cullen Rutherford. And the pleasure is mine.”

She goes, then. Leaves with a grace in her step, an ease to her movement. Something otherworldly, something magical. It seems cliche, considering the rumors about her, but for a moment he fully believes them all. Blessed by Andraste seems right. Fair.

He’s glad to be serving the cause, and glad that she is the one leading it.

(With further pressure, he might admit, even if she wasn’t the Herald, she would be one he wouldn’t soon forget, that smile in his thoughts more than he’d care to say.)

-

The Herald returns with Cassandra beside her, her steps into the Chantry still hesitant, uncertain. Whether because of the religious banners on the wall or the weight of her title, it’s uncertain, but Josephine meets her regardless, urgent.

“It’s good you’ve returned,” she greets them, as Cullen and Leliana strut towards the travelers. “We… heard of your encounter.”

Cassandra is mystified, the Herald similarly so. “You heard?”

“My agents in the city sent word ahead, of course,” Leliana says simply, Cullen close behind.

Cullen’s voice is strong as he looks at them both. His gaze fixes on the Herald. “It’s a shame the Templars have abandoned their senses as well as the capital.” For a moment, he’s grateful that neither have any clear injuries or signs of weariness, but the urgency of the meeting doesn’t fade.

The Herald meets his eyes and nods, the standard greeting between the two of them. She starts to move past him, her shoulder brushing his arm. “At least we know how to approach the mages and templars now,” she says to them. Perhaps even to him, as they all fall in step.

“Do we?” Cassandra says, voice weary. “Lord Seeker Lucius is not the man I remember.” Cullen can’t help but think the same, the report from Val Royeaux troubling in more ways than one. Striking a Sister? Abandoning the city, the Chantry, all together?

“He has taken the Order somewhere,” Leliana says, pensive, “but to do what? My reports have been… very odd.”

A sudden rush of defensiveness floods Cullen. He finds himself addressing Leliana and the Herald, as if to stand up for his former brothers in front of them. In front of her. “We must look into it. I’m certain not everyone in the Order will support the Lord Seeker.”

But it’s Josephine he doesn’t expect, and her suggestion comes in a calm dissent. “Or the Herald could simply go to meet the mages in Redcliffe, instead.”

Cullen whirls on her, walking backwards for a moment before the steps, eyes narrowed. His years of training, the Templar influence, shades his words before he can soften them. “You think the mage rebellion is more united?” he asks, voice sharp. “It could be ten times worse!”

But the Herald, a mage herself, disagrees. She steps forward, the face of their mission, and looks to them all. “I could at least find out what the mages want.”

If anything Cassandra looks even more exhausted. “No doubt what they’ve always wanted. Support for their cause.” But Josephine’s voice echoes the Herald’s sentiment, and even with Cassandra’s warning, the Herald doesn’t hesitate.

“So it’ll be dangerous,” she states, “but I’ve been in danger since I’ve walked out of the Fade.”

A… very fair point. Cullen holds his tongue for a moment more because of it.

“If some among the rebel mages were responsible for what happened at the Conclave--” Cassandra starts.

Josephine is quick to rebut. “The same thing could be said about the Templars.”

Cullen’s eyes follow the discussion, before he lets out a little sigh. The ambassador had a point, whether or not he wanted to admit it. “That’s true enough. But right now, I’m not certain we have enough influence to even approach the Order safely.”

“Then the Inquisition needs agents in more places,” Cassandra relents, turns to the elven woman still shoulder to shoulder with her. “That’s something you can help with.”

The Herald seems to pause. It’s as if Cassandra’s suggestion has taken her by surprise, but she lifts her chin to appraise the room. “A Dalish mage, spreading the good word of the Inquisition,” she hums. “And we’re sure this won’t make us seem… desperate? Or worse?”

The tone is light, but there’s a valid concern there, and Cullen finds himself watching the Herald’s eyes. She doesn’t turn to face him, but he doesn’t miss the way her brow furrows, nor the shift in her feet. Nerves, from her, seem so foreign, already her legend larger than life.

“Not at all,” Leliana counters. “But you are the face of our cause. There is no one better placed to convince those around us of the value of the Inquisition. And the more people we get on our side, the quicker we can truly begin the fight to close the Breach.”

“But surely there are others?” she tries. The red of her tattoos shine in the torchlight, and Cullen sees every line of them, the focus on the forehead. “To help the people see the value.”

“That is what we are here for, as your advisors,” Cullen says. And when she looks up, his voice softens. He sees the concern. The fear. The hesitance. “But you, Herald… you can give this… organization a voice. A name. An understanding to the people, a cause. As the Herald of Andraste, your voice has merit and value. More than the rest of us.”

Cullen is shocked by how much he means what he says. It’s earnest, firm. But that doesn’t discount the way the reality of the situation settles over them all. An elven mage, called the Herald of Andraste by the people, and the Herald is the first to laugh. When Cullen looks over, her eyes meet his. If he blinked, he would’ve missed the little wink.

But he doesn’t blink at all, and so his cheeks pinken at the motion.

“Your Maker help us all, then, Commander.”

-

Cullen can’t help the way his jaw twitches. His days with the Templars, with the Circle, sits heavy in his head, and as he looks at Cassandra, he feels… betrayed. How can they all not see the risk?

“Never mind the problem of the mages,” he finally relents, holding his arm tight against him, one hand on the hilt of his sword. His eyes don’t look towards the Herald, but he sees the way she stiffens. “But the truth of the matter is we don’t have the manpower to take the castle, anyway. Either we find another way in, or we give up this nonsense and go get the Templars.”

He has tried his best, truly, to watch his tongue when talking about mages. He’s told her himself - there were plenty of mages he judged without cause, and plenty more who walk the world without incident. But he can’t help the way it slips out, the problem of the mages… even in front of her, a mage in her own right, and a brilliant one at that.

“Redcliffe is in the hands of a magister,” Cassandra shoots back, and Cullen’s jaw tightens further. “That cannot be allowed to stand.”

Josephine pipes up. The letter from Alexius spread on the table before them all. “He asks for the Herald of Andraste by name. It’s an obvious trap.”

The next sound is laughter. A little chuckle. Cullen lifts his gaze to the Herald who is very carefully avoiding his eyes now. “Isn’t that kind of him. And what does Alexius say about me?”

There is no humor in Leliana’s voice. “He is so complimentary that we are certain he wants to kill you.”

“Not this again,” Josephine sighs out, but Cullen can’t help reemphasizing his point.

“Redcliffe Castle is one of the most defensible fortresses in Ferelden. It has repelled thousands of assaults.” When he turns back to the Herald, his face softens. “If you go in there, you’ll die. And we’ll lose the only means we have of closing these rifts.” His voice matches it, and when it does, he finally gets her to look up at him. “I won’t allow it.”

She looks back at him, steady. Eyes narrowed at him. He feels the weight of his stance on the mages, what he knows to be true, hit him with all the force of Cassandra’s shield. As well as something else. His determination to protect her from death, as well as the cause. But she doesn’t seem moved by his urging, simply lifts her chin as Leliana steps in. “And if we don’t even try to meet Alexius, we lose the mages and leave a hostile foreign power on our doorstep.”

Josephine brushes it off with a wave of her quill. Leliana’s eyes narrow at her, but she does not back down. “Even if we could assault the keep, it would be for naught. An ‘Orlesian’ Inquisition’s army marching into Ferelden? It would provoke a war. Our hands are tied.”

“But the magister -” Cassandra tries.

Cullen stops her before she begins. His eyes are narrowed now. “Has outplayed us,” Cullen tells them all. It echoes in the empty space.

The final tally is three for, two against. But Cullen and Josephine’s words settle over the room like a shroud. Energy ripped away from the three of them. Bitterness and frustration in his and Josephine’s words. It’s the first time Cullen feels out of step with the Herald. The first time he feels… uncertain.

And then the Herald speaks. And she does it with fierce determination, a glint in her eye, her mage’s staff on her back. Cullen finds him just as aware of it as he is her. He’s always so aware of her.

“We can’t just give up. There has to be something we can do,” she insists.

“We cannot accept defeat now,” Cassandra agrees, looking around the room. “There must be a solution.”

The Herald pushes on. Cullen finds himself ready to interrupt before she fixes him with a glare. It is meant to silence him, and it succeeds. “Other than the main gate, there’s got to be another way into the castle. A sewer? A water course? Something.”

There’s a brief pause. From everyone in the room. Cullen can’t help the furrow to his brow - the Herald hasn’t ceased her glaring, and he feels the need to shift in his boots. “There’s nothing that I know of that would work,” he tells her, voice less antagonistic. Placating. She doesn’t seem swayed. His previous words leave a sour taste in his own mouth.

Then. Leliana speaks. “Wait.” The whole war room turns to face her, and Cullen can breathe again. “There is a secret passage into the castle. An escape route for the family. It’s too narrow for our troops, but we could send our agents through.”

“Too risky,” Cullen counters, sighing. “Those agents will be discovered well before they reach the magister.”

“That’s why we need a distraction,” Leliana responds easily, addressing the Herald. “Perhaps the envoy Alexius wants so badly.”

It all clicks for Cullen, then. “While they’re focused on Lavellan, we break the magister’s defenses. It could work, but… it’s a huge risk.”

“Fortunately. You’ll have help.”

A new voice is heard, a surprise to all. Smug, cocky…and distinctly Northern. It makes Cullen’s jaw clench as the doors open, a tall Tevinter stepping forward, mustache curled, hair coiffed.

The dislike settles instantaneously in the commander’s soul. But even the disdain pointed at him from Cullen and Cassandra doesn't stop his stride into the room, the agent with him informing them of his presence.

“Your spies will never get past Alexius’s magic without my help,” the Tevinter tells them, and his eyes fall onto the Herald with ease. Cullen’s chin lifts. Does he know who he approaches? “So if you’re going after him, I’m coming along.”

The presence of the Tevinter. Journeying into Redcliffe, surrounded by enemy mages, a man who has studied the craft for decades. The commander feels his whole body tense, glances around the room before turning to the Herald. “The plan puts you in the most danger,” he tells her. “We can’t, in good conscience, order you to do this. We can still go after the templars if you’d rather not play the bait. It’s up to you.”

It isn’t even a moment later she responds. Voice firm. “Bold of you to assume you can order me at all, but I understand the point.” The Herald’s smirk is clear, and she looks toward the mage like she knows him. It’s almost… warm. “We’ll go to Redcliffe. Cassandra and Vivienne will join me and Dorian.”

Dorian. So she knows the man. It doesn’t ease Cullen’s suspicions - if anything it’s too convenient.

“That’s the plan?” Cullen asks, trying to help her see reason. He wants to turn to the other advisors for backup, assistance, but her eyes are already on the mage again before he can ask further.

“I, for one, can’t wait,” Pavus says. He looks to the Herald with an expectation. “What excursion could be more delightful than going to stop a Tevinter cult?”

And she, much to the commander’s surprise, laughs. It’s boisterous, and loud, and Pavus’s smirk is almost as quick as hers. “Well, then. Let’s get you some armor, Dorian.”

“What? I’ll have you know I’m wearing the finest the North has to offer.”

“How long has it been since the North has seen Southern lands? Come on. Let’s get you something that will actually hold up to a sword.”

Dorian’s laugh matches the Herald’s, and the two of them walk out together - there is more laughter down the hall as they talk.

“Tevinter cult?” Cassandra says, and her jaw twitches with her forlorn anticipation. “The Herald certainly knows how to pick her battles.”

“And her companions,” Leliana offers as well, though there is a hidden joy in her tone.

“His name is Dorian Pavus,” Cassandra fills them in, “and it seems that is… how he is all the time.”

“Our work with the Imperium is minimal,” Josephine says, “but I recognize the surname. Another Pavus is a part of the Magisterium in Tevinter. The house itself is quite powerful.”

Mage. Tevinter. Connected. A recipe for the disaster. Cullen feels his shoulders lift, almost to help his gaze follow the elf down the long stretch of hall to the rest of Haven. “Pavus,” he murmurs, voice bitter. “We must keep an eye on him.”

“If anything, the Inquisitor certainly will,” Leliana intrudes again. There is nothing to miss in her tone and this time it’s enough for Cullen to scowl. He turns his head downward to the map, to hide it, but he can’t help the feeling that Leliana’s keen eyes are on him anyway.

-

“It’s not a matter for debate,” Cullen tells the gathered council, eyes narrowed. “There will be abominations among the mages, and we must be prepared.”

Josephine cuts in, tilting her chin up at him. “If we rescind the offer of an alliance, it makes the Inquisition appear incompetent at best, tyrannical at worst.”

It’s then the Herald approaches. Before he can stop himself, their eyes meeting prompts his anger. “What were you thinking? Turning the mages loose with no oversight? The veil is torn open!”

The Herald’s voice stays steady, even as Cullen’s grows louder. “We need them to close the Breach. It’s not going to work if we make enemies of them.”

“I know we need them for the Breach, but they could do just as much damage as the demons themselves!” He can’t help his indignance, but his memories of the Circle seem to cloud his vision, his mind. He can barely think of anything else.

“Don’t you think I would know that?” Her voice seems to echo around him, clearing his thoughts. He doesn’t shake with it but feels buffeted by the sudden force, and is reminded suddenly and clearly how much of a mage the Herald truly is.

No one else seems to notice. Cassandra pushes on, her hand reaching to gently touch Cullen’s elbow as she turns to him. “I may not agree with the decision, but I support it. The sole point of the Herald’s mission was to gain the mages’ aid, and that was accomplished.”

“The voice of pragmatism speaks,” the Tevinter Pavus interrupts, appearing in his sudden, loud manner. “And here I was just starting to enjoy the circular arguments.”

Cullen can’t help how his eyes roll in response, in part because his anger still simmered beneath the surface. Fresh and hot and vibrant, even as he reels from the Herald’s voice in his head.

Cassandra turns, slowly to face the mage, voice bordering on that same frustration and anger as Cullen at the interruption. “Closing the Breach is all that matters.”

The quiet agreement from the Herald settles in all of them. “I got a taste of the consequences if we fail. Let’s make sure we don’t.”

Solemn. Haunted. That is the Herald Verdanna’s response. Cullen finds himself turning to her. Not even Cassandra’s confidence seems to sway her, and he sees the way that her eyes drop as Leliana takes over.

“We should look into the things you saw in this ‘dark future,’” the spymaster urges. “The assassination of Empress Celene? A demon army?”

Pavus sounds as unbothered as ever, even joking. But it seems to bring a smile to the Herald’s lips, something that Cullen feels a hit of something about. Something he doesn’t have time to process. Not fully, but Leliana’s words from last time settle in his head as the Tevinter speaks. “Sounds like something a Tevinter cult might do. Orlais falls, the Imperium rises. Chaos for everyone.”

Already Cullen sees the way Pavus is wooing her, and it makes jaw ache with tightness. It comes out in his response. Eager to please, reaching out to her, desperate to pull her back to the side of the Inquisition, not the Imperium. “One battle at a time. It’s going to take time to organize our troops and the mage recruits. Let’s take this to the War Room. Join us. None of this means anything without your mark, after all.”

But when she jokes, it’s not toward him. She smiles at Pavus, instead, and it feels quite like getting slapped. “And I hoped to sit out the assault on the Breach. Take a nap. Maybe go for a walk.”

“What is it they say? ‘No rest for the wicked’?” Cullen attempts again. He can’t help the way he tries, perhaps his smirk too wide with it.

Fortunately, it’s the right thing to say, judging by the way her lip curls up for a moment. Unfortunately, it’s fleeting, and once again Pavus interrupts, unwelcome. “I’ll skip the war council. But I would like to see this Breach up close, if you don’t mind.”

No matter what his joke got, Dorian’s words get an even bigger smile from Verdanna. “Then you’re… staying.”

“Oh, didn’t I mention? The South is so charming and rustic. I adore it to little pieces.”

She grins at that, warm. Heartfelt. Cullen wonders what happened in the future, what’s happening now. “There’s no one I’d rather be stranded in time with, future or present.”

Pavus matches her enthusiasm. “Excellent choice. But let’s not get stranded again anytime soon.”

Their back and forth sets the commander’s teeth on edge, and Cullen has to interrupt at some point, to preserve himself. But it earns him a look from the Herald as he does. “I’ll begin preparations to march on the summit. Maker willing, the mages will be enough to grant us victory.”

“I’ll assist,” Cassandra says.

“At least there’s progress,” Leliana offers, turning to the War Room, but when she looks at Verdanna, her eyes are not met. “Herald?”

There’s a pause. “Before we meet, I think I will take that walk. In a moment, Ambassador. Lady Leliana. Commander.”

“Meet us there when you’re ready,” Josephine says with understanding, and then the Herald is gone into the dusk.

The day ends and the next begins, and Cullen finds himself anxious. He supposes that he should expect days of preparation before an attempt at the Breach, but the way her eyes regarded him at their last meeting - his stomach churns with the implications.

Never mind the fact that when he did see her yesterday, it was with Pavus at her side. Joking together, if her laughter was to be believed. Avoiding Cullen’s own gaze as they walked from fire to fire, the Thedas natives avoiding the Dalish Mage and her Tevinter like the plague.

But this is the next day, and Cullen has not seen the Herald once. He finds himself walking throughout the makeshift stronghold to soothe his mind, but as he approaches the bridges with the remnants of that first battle, he finds himself looking at Verdanna.

Her eyes gaze out over the frozen lake, hair braided back to keep it from whipping in her face with the cold. Her clothes seem too thin for the weather, but he sees the fur lining just peek out over the top of her collar as he approaches.

The sun sets. Even more chill ready to settle in their bones. And yet he finds himself no longer moving, stopping at the sight of her profile.

“Commander,” she eventually calls out to him, when the tension between them grows too thick. “I suppose you found me.”

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” he tells her, taking a step back. “If it’s better for me to go--”

“No.” Her voice is a command, and he stops from turning toward Haven once more. “Stay. It’s all right. The view isn’t mine to hoard. I was just… thinking.”

He doesn’t take another step back, instead going back to neutral. Taking a step towards her seems too daring, but he does manage one toward the stone railing, leaning against it as he does, hand at his side. “There has been… a lot to think about.”

Her chuckle is dull. “Oh, Commander. You have no idea.”

There’s a new look in her eyes. As if already she has seen too much. It doesn’t take too many leaps in logic to realize what’s haunting her, especially as she fiddles with the amulet around her neck. Another pendant in her thoughts.

A few minutes pass. Silent between them. Eventually, his guilt from the day prior overwhelms him, and he stands up straight to bow his head to her. “Herald, I sincerely apologize if what I said at our last meeting offended you. Even though I left the Templars, I still - I still remember every moment of my time with them. If my disagreement upset you --”

“I appreciate you saying what you mean, Commander,” she tells him. “And I don’t mind opinions. But don’t you think that explaining the dangers of magic to a mage seems a bit… unnecessary?”

He finds himself lifting his chin. Defensive as he steps closer to where she stands against the rail. “No offense, Herald, but I believe you just came from a situation where a mage didn’t fully reckon with the dangers of his magic.”

“You know what I mean,” Verdanna snaps. Her tone is sharp, but not nearly as biting as he’s sure it could be. The exhaustion seems to undercut it. “The elves have had magic for a long time. We know how to handle it.”

“You know how to handle it,” he counters.

“I meant ‘we,’” she growls out. Pushing off of the stone wall she was leaning against. “My clan has managed it just fine for as long as I’ve been around.”

He sighs, moving to take another step towards her. “And your clan has been around for longer than you’ve been around, Lady Lavellan. But I don’t want to argue with you. Not when you’re obviously…” He pauses to find a gentle word, but finds himself spurred to speech by her glare. “Hurting. From your journey.”

Moments stretch again between them. A standoff. But instead of pushing past him, she simply sinks back against the gray stone, sighing and gazing out again over the frozen lake.

“It was… horrible, Cullen,” Verdanna finally whispers. Her head drops, and one hand lifts to cradle her face. Pushing at her brows, rubbing at her nose. “All of the people around me, withering away. Turning into red lyrium. Going mad. All because I abandoned them. I abandoned all of you.”

All of you. It echoes in his head. “Did you see me?” Cullen can’t help but ask it as he stares out over the rest of Haven with the Inquisitor. “In that future?”

“No… but it wasn’t hard to imagine what happened to the commander of the Inquisition’s forces.” Her voice is hollow, as she stares out over the tents and buildings below the Chantry. His gaze follows hers, but he doesn’t see what fascinates her about the horizon. A few heartbeats pass. “Why do you hate the mages so much?” she finally whispers, and Cullen’s gaze whips toward her.

The question catches him by surprise, though he considers that it shouldn’t. The way he’s acted - he finds himself only able to focus on the great doors to Haven. “I don’t hate the mages. I know it seems I do, but it’s not the mages themselves, but what magic can bring with it. I’ve seen too much destruction to turn a blind eye.”

She lets out a small hum. “So why am I different? You didn’t hesitate to lead the forces of the Inquisition. Behind a Dalish mage as your Herald.”

There are so many reasons, Cullen thinks, looking at her. The light of the sun meets the light of the Breach, the sickly green glow colliding with the warm orange light. It makes the markings on her forehead shine. Her eyes that disarming vibrant green. The Anchor. Andraste herself. The Rifts across the country, the inspiration she brings. So many reasons why Verdanna is different, and yet he finds himself fighting warmth in his face. “You’re in control,” he settles on, voice soft. “And I know what it looks like when someone… isn’t.”

Her laugh is hollow as she runs her hand along her staff. Her thin fingers send sparks along the grip, crackles of purple that makes the hairs on Cullen’s arm stand on end under his metal armor. “I suppose I understand that,” she hums. “But the future of a whole group of people can’t be dependent on how you’re feeling day-to-day, Commander. I need to know that you’ll treat these people with kindness… abominations or no.” But any and all frustration seems to wither in her throat, and she simply sighs. Rolls her jaw. “At any rate… these people are in our camp now, and I’m going to ensure they’re taken care of. I expect my advisors to want the same.”

“I would expect no less of you,” Cullen responds, turning to face her. And when her eyes meet his in mild surprise, he can’t help the way his face flushes. “Or the Inquisition. You’ve started this journey by showing a lot of kindness to all you meet. That won’t be lost on the mages, or the rest of our forces. You show a grace that many don’t possess, including myself, and that’s -- you’re…”

There’s a pause. A small pause, but heavy. Awkward, now, thanks to Cullen’s ever so quick tongue. He tries to rectify it, but the words come out stuttering. “I’m - ahem. Blast, I’m sorry, Your Worship. For what I said before and… the mess I’m making of things now.”

She can barely look at him as she stands straight once more, but speaks anyway, interrupting. “Don’t be… I appreciate the words. I just - I saw what happens if we fail, Cullen. Who I lose. And in that future, mage or apostate, Templar or bandit, it doesn’t matter. It all crumbles before this… ‘Elder One’.”

He follows her lead. Lifts up from the stone. But instead of pulling away, letting her walk towards the Chantry alone, he finds himself reaching for her hand. Catching it. The one the mark rests in.

“I - I meant what I said in there,” he tells her. Watches as those brilliant green eyes lift to meet his. But his grip doesn’t falter with her gaze, and he makes sure she’s listening. “None of this matters without your mark. Without you. There’s more than one reason you’re in the War Room with us, Verdanna. You are more than your mark.”

There it is. Her little smile. The curl of her lips, the scar on them that almost, if he goes a little mad with it, matches his own. He wonders how she got it. Wonders how many more she has, how many more she’ll get on this journey.

But for now, he gets her smile, which slowly grows to a grin. The squeeze of her fingers, the warmth of her hand and the mark.

“Thank you, Cullen.” Her hand drops from his (too soon, his traitorous mind shouts), but he savors the memory of warmth while he can. And before she turns to walk away, she chuckles. “More than one reason.”

His brows furrow. “What?”

“Well, you said there’s a reason I’m in the room where it all happens,” she offers, grin teasing now. “I figured it was just because of my pretty face, but with the Mark and my presence --”

Cullen’s eyes widen, and his mouth falls open. “I - I did say -- but I didn’t mean to imply --”

That earns him a laugh. Low and warm, the same warmth of the Anchor, of her hand in his. The same warmth that seems to settle low in his belly as he looks at her face holding such joy. “I was hoping you implied, Commander.” And with a wink, she turns away, and he feels the color of his face surge as he watches her stroll towards the chantry. “See you back in the War Room, yes?”

At first he is simply left behind. He watches as she waves her hand, and she is suddenly pushed across the bridge toward the edge, all that closer to Haven. Another blink, and she is gone. He, however, stands on the bridge toward the Breach, with his mouth a little agape.

The chantry. Oh, Maker. He’ll have to sprint to make it…

With another few curses under his breath, he begins the hike.

Back in the War Room, indeed.

-

He stands with the other advisors, all of their gazes turned towards one mark on the table. One mark. One focus. The Breach.

“It’s time,” Cassandra says, looking amongst them. Looking lastly at the Herald. She stands next to her, close, eyes narrowed as she leans forward to press her palms on the table. “Are you prepared?”

“Our army is strong. Sound,” Verdanna murmurs. She seems to squint at the Breach, and Cullen watches as she clenches and unclenches her hand. He wonders if it aches. “I just wonder -”

Leliana lifts her hand. “The scouts have already searched ahead. What they see is reassuring, and the Breach awaits your arrival. Closing it now is the right way to go.”

“The best of the mages are ready, Herald. The best of our soldiers are ready. But you must be sure you’re ready for the assault on the Breach,” Cullen says to her, tilting his head as she looks up at him. He clears his throat for a moment, gesturing toward the map once more. “We cannot know how you’ll be affected.”

At last, Verdanna nods. Something seems to be hidden in her eyes, something Cullen wants to squint at himself. But when she stands, her shoulders pull back, and she steps back to twirl her staff, once, then twice. “All right. I’ll get Dorian, and the Bull. We’ll go before the sun sets… arrive when it’s dark.”

Everyone nods. Cassandra gestures to the door, and Verdanna looks up at her. There’s a silent moment, and then the Herald shakes her head.

“In a moment, Cassandra. I’ll come gather you all when we’re about to leave.”

She nods. Cullen blinks, and the two of them are alone, the War Room deathly quiet.

He takes a step around the table. Starts to move toward the door himself while she looks at the map. He figures it’s another moment where she prefers to be alone, a moment where she should tackle it herself. There’s drills to run, things to prepare on his end. After a moment, though, he hears her clear her throat, turns and sees her looking at him with that same narrowed, pinched gaze.

And then he realizes.

She’s nervous.

He pauses, at the door. Still reaches for where he can push. “If you want, Verdanna, I can give you some time. The Inquisition can. We don’t need to go today. We can… wait.”

“Would you wait?” she asks, standing up straight, crossing her arms over her chest. When he pauses again, she smirks. “That’s a no.”

“I think the sooner we close the Breach, the better. However we can,” he tells her. “With whoever we can.”

That earns him a little smile. It makes his heart stop, with how bright it suddenly is. She laughs a little too, and he realizes a bit too late that it makes him stand straighter. “You mean me,” she responds.

“I certainly don’t mean anyone else.”

“I’ll tell Cassandra. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled about being discredited so easily,” she teases him, and he feels his cheeks go pink. It seems to always happen with her. She laughs, and he laughs, and for a moment her pinched brows relax. She looks at ease when she does that, and the freckles from her sunned features suddenly stand out on her tanned skin. But as soon as it disappears, it comes back, and he suddenly has the urge to lift a hand, push her brows back with his thumb -

“Cullen?” she says. He realizes Verdanna’s been asking him something, and he finds his cheeks once more flushing. Always around her. Why is it always around her? “Is everything all right?”

“I apologize, Herald,” he says back. Blinks a couple of times to look at her more clearly. “What were you saying?”

“I was asking if you think we’re ready.” He has a feeling the “we” is hypothetical, as it probably was the first time she asked him.

“I do,” he tells her, firmly. Moves closer to stand next to her. “I think you’re more than ready. I think now is the time, and with you there, we have as great a chance as we’ll ever have.”

“I said we,” she tells him, a little quirk of her lips.

He reaches to squeeze her anchor as it’s flat on the table. The briefest of touches. “I know. But I said you, Herald, and I mean it.”

She lifts up fully. Faces him. It feels the closest they’ve ever stood, especially with her discerning eyes. They seem to rake him over the coals, seem to burn him with how deep they look into his heart, and just like that, the feeling is gone. He wonders if he’s been bewitched, knows the answer to that question even as he asks it. Perhaps she is bewitching… but it’s just because she’s Verdanna. “I’ll have you behind me, won’t I, Commander?” she finally asks.

“Always,” he responds immediately. He doesn’t know why that of all things seems to ease her, but… then again, maybe he does.

“Then,” she murmurs, turning to the War Room door with ease, chin lifting as her hand brushes her braid back behind her ear, “what are we waiting for? To arms, Cullen.”

“To arms, Herald,” he whispers, and just like that, she is gone again, in the blink of an eye.

-

There is joy, there is laughter. There is dancing, and singing and everything that can be praised about Verdanna is. There is hyperbole, and teasing, and suddenly everyone seems to be smiling. Even Cassandra has something akin to a smirk on her face, one that Varric does not hesitate to point out.

At Haven, the delight only grows, as those who were there fill in those who were not. The tavern is full of those taking a drink or two or many, many more, and Cullen walks through them with a lightness in his chest he hasn’t felt since this all started. But with every step, there’s one face he seeks, one he doesn’t find, not in the chaos of the hold.

He hopes she is celebrating. Thinks that she deserves it, along with the best rest she can get. If he finds her, he plans to convince her of that. But there’s a sadness in him, a selfish one. One that wonders if after this, Verdanna will need his counsel at all. Wonders if she’ll want it, or if those… feelings he’s been harboring for too long will simply need the universal remedy of time.

And then the horns blow. The bells ring. Any other thoughts vanish as he whips his head around to the sources. Some yelling from beyond the walls. A scout rushes to him.

“Ser, there’s an enemy force approachin’!” she yells over the noise. “It’s coming right for us! More than our numbers, and with monsters in their midst, and no banners to report!”

“No banners?” he asks her, eyes wide. “Are you sure?”

“I triple asked, Commander.” Her voice is slightly panicked, and he swallows.

“All right. Report to Leliana, go!” With a turn towards those below, he gestures toward the trebuchets. “To arms!” he yells out to his men. “To arms, brethren, prepare yourselves!”

“Cullen?” he hears behind him, whips his head around. It’s Verdanna, and he knows the rest he hopes for her won’t come just yet.

“One watchguard reporting,” he says quickly, turning to her and then Cassandra. “It’s a massive force, the bulk over the mountain.”

“Under what banner?” Josephine asks, but Cullen just shakes his head.

“None.”

Suddenly the door is slammed upon. Cullen draws his sword, but the panicked voice behind it insists it won’t come in. He wants to reach out to stop Verdanna, but she moves forward to open it just as he steps out to stop her.

It’s a massacre outside, a dozen bodies dead in front of the gates. All with armor Cullen recognizes, as if he sees it through a fog. So familiar, and yet…

“I’m Cole, and I came to warn you,” a voice says. Cullen blinks, and before him and Verdanna a young man stands. His hat covers his eyes, and Cullen lifts his sword as he approaches the Herald. “To help. People are coming to hurt you. You probably already know.”

“What is this?” Verdanna asks, lifting her hand to stop Cullen. “What’s going on?”

“The templars come to kill you” is the only answer. A sudden rage fills the commander, indignation as he looks to Verdanna with bewilderment. The armor is seen more clearly now, a defiled Templar’s garb.

“Templars? Is this the Order’s response to our talks with the mages? Attacking blindly?” he shouts, and the Herald shakes her head in shock.

“I don’t -”

The man called Cole simply shakes his head, and Cullen sees eyes paler than moonlight peek out at him. “The Red Templars went to the Elder One.” He whirls to Verdanna, who takes a step back. “You know him? He knows you. You took his mages.”

“His mages?” Her voice seems to shake with something like frustration, but Cole shakes his head again and points up and out.

“There.”

Suddenly fog at the top lifts. Cullen squints to the peak of a ridge, and sees a man he knows all too well. It makes his stomach churn for a moment, eyes that seem so hollow, and behind him, the fog collects to form… someone… something.

“I know that man,” Cullen tells them both, voice soft. “But this Elder One -”

“He’s very angry that you took his mages,” Cole warns.

The forces are clear now. Cullen sees what the scout saw, thousands of soldiers marching towards them in formation. No banners to be seen, simply red detailing that glows with an unholy light. One that makes his blood chill in his veins.

Verdanna’s voice brings his gaze back to the two in front of him. “Cullen! Give me a plan to help the people of Haven! Anything you have!”

He looks out toward the forces again, and feels his jaw click as he rolls it. “Haven - it’s no fortress. If we are to withstand this monster - him - then we must control the battle. Use the trebuchets, hit that force with everything you absolutely can.”

She nods. Her gaze sharpens, and he hears the sound of people running up behind him. Soldiers, mages, the team around Verdanna as she stands at the ready.

“Mages!” he calls out, no hesitation as he looks toward the forces below. “Protect the people! You have sanction to engage them! That man will not make it easy, but this is for your lives!”

There’s shouting. There’s yelling. Cullen wields his sword again, and points it forward. “Inquisition! With the Herald! For your lives, for all of us! To arms! Attack!”

But it’s not enough. Cullen watches the trebuchets rocket off their loads, watches an avalanche swarm the soldiers below. But from above, there’s a new fight, a damned dragon circling their heads and blowing its breath at their forces.

In the end, they slam the gates closed, and Cullen begins leading people away from the entryway. “We need everyone back to the Chantry. It’s the only building that will hold against that beast. At this point just make them work for it.”

“I’m going to clear the camp!” Verdanna calls to him, and when he whirls to face her, his eyes are wide.

“Herald -”

But there’s no fear in her eyes. Only resolution. “Keep leading the others, I’m going to clear the camp,” she states again, voice firm. Dorian nods behind her, along with the Bull and Cassandra. A sudden flash of light comes from her staff and surrounds the party she brings with her. “Go, Cullen! While there’s still time!”

“Be safe,” he says immediately, but her nod does not reassure him.

“Go, commander.”

There’s moments that pass him by next. Dragging a soldier through the doors with his screams of pain in his ear. The sound of swords hitting against his own. Whimpers from people in the depths of the stone walls, echoing around. It’s only when Cullen breaks out of it to the first floor, to see Verdanna once more through the doors, that time seems to slow.

“Herald!” he calls out, rushing towards her. He scans her body, sees no injuries, and manages a breath of relief for that small mercy. “Our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us.”

“I’ve seen an Archdemon. I was in the Fade, but it looked like that,” the strange boy says, eyes up at Cullen and Verdanna.

Cullen feels frustration overwhelm him once again. “I don’t care what it looks like,” he snaps. “It has cut a path for that damned army. They’ll kill everyone in Haven.”

But once again the boy speaks, and the commander turns to him with a glare. His words are anything but quaint - these strike fear at the heart of him. “The Elder One doesn’t care about the village. He only wants the Herald.”

“If you know why he wants me, just say it!” Verdanna tells him, eyes narrowed. But the boy simply turns to Roderick, who gazes at them with pained eyes.

“I don’t. He’s too loud. It hurts to hear him. He wants to kill you. No one else matters. But he’ll crush them, kill them anyway. I don’t… like him.”

It’s bizarre, and disorienting. “You don’t like-?!” It makes Cullen’s hands clench in fury as he looks at him before turning back to the Herald. The truth is plain in only his face, and he feels his throat close up with it. “Verdanna… there are no tactics to make this survivable. The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche. We could turn the remaining trebuchets, cause one last slide -”

Verdanna just stares at him. He sees the dots connect in her head as well, watches as she takes a brief shuddering breath. “Cullen. We’re overrun. To hit this enemy, we’d bury Haven.”

“I know.” His hands reach for hers. Hold them tightly in his grip. “But we’re dying. We can decide, here and now, how we fall. Many don’t get that choice.”

She just stares at him. Not breaking eye contact. There’s something there, something that travels through the both of them as he grips her fingers. He opens his mouth, to say anything else, but she just shakes her head, and in that moment he knows she feels it, too.

“Commander -”

Then, the faintest sound from the boy cuts through their thoughts, as if it’s meant to. He turns to face the back of the Chantry, then to face the chancellor again. “Yes, that. Chancellor Roderick can help. He wants to say it before he dies.”

Their eyes turn to face the man. He stares up at both of them, eyes distant even as he looks at their faces. “There… is a path… You wouldn’t know it unless you’d made - made the summer pilgrimage. As I have. The people can escape. She must have shown me - Andraste must have shown me so I could... tell you.”

“What are you on about, Roderick?” she asks him. Their hands are still gripping each other by their fingers, clinging for the moment to what they can.

“It was whim that I walked the path… I did not mean to start - it was overgrown. Now with so many in the Conclave dead, to be the only one who remembers… Herald...”

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen whispers. Verdanna adjusts to face him again, eyes wide.

“If this simple memory can save us, this could be more than mere accident,” Roderick finally gasps out. His eyes open once more, now seeing, it seems, the woman before him. Cullen’s eyes widen, as Verdanna’s fingers squeeze in shock, one hand dropping from his, as Roderick stares with something beyond his hatred. “You could be more.”

“Cullen,” she murmurs. Turns to him, her commander. “What about it? Could it - will it work?”

“Possibly, if he - if he shows us the path.” But then a new thought takes hold, and he pulls her closer, voice softening. “What of your escape?”

In horror, he watches as she does not answer.

Her fingers drop from his. He takes a step towards her as she looks at the doors to the Chantry. “Perhaps you will surprise it, find a way…” he murmurs. But she does not face him again.

“Inquisition. Commander. Follow Chancellor Roderick through the chantry,” she calls to those behind her. And at Cullen’s reluctant nod, they answer, moving with haste.

“I could go with you,” he says faintly, but her head shakes.

“No. No, you couldn’t.”

He doesn’t hear what Roderick says to the Herald, barely sees him as he watches her movements. Dorian, the Bull, and Cassandra step forward once more, and Cullen realizes with horror what waits for them as well. What waits for all of them.

There’s not much he can do. He orders a few men, but they’re more than willing to go with her as well. It’s something, to watch their devotion, something that both stirs his heart and makes his stomach turn with the knowledge that they will not be returning to his command. Will not be returning at all.

And her… the Lady Lavellan, the woman of the Inquisition. She looks at him one last time, nods in thanks for the men.

“They’ll load the trebuchets. Keep the Elder One’s attention until we’re above the tree line,” he tells her.

“How will I know?” she asks, and he nods toward where the chancellor and the others are going.

“We’ll send a signal up. Towards the sky.”

But when he looks back, she is gone. The doors to the chantry are open, and she stands silhouetted in reddened moonlight. There is a rush of clouds above her head, and he watches her and Dorian lift their staffs to the sky, a storm brewing between the both of them.

“Let that thing hear you, Verdanna,” he insists, as she takes her step forward. When she looks back, he has to blink. Her eyes seem to shine. “If we are to have a chance, if you are, you have to let the Archdemon hear you.”

But it seems only he knows what he truly asks her. Because as she leaves his final request goes unspoken. Let me hear you. At least one last time.

The doors close with a final thud, one that shakes the place. Cullen turns to see his men, before pointing towards the path that Roderick has begun to carve out for them. “Go!” he shouts, and they sprint away.

He manages one last look toward the doors. A last ditch effort to see her turn back. But he knows even as he does that she would never do such a thing… and knows himself enough to know that he would never disobey her orders.

-

The wind howls. And with it, a voice. It’s so faint it seems to be beyond their reach, but the breeze carries it to eager ears.

“... Leliana…”

Cullen stops. There are footsteps that crunch in the snow, alongside his own, but he lifts a hand.

“... Pavus. Pavus, do you hear that?”

Others stop, too. The wind continues to roar.

“What, Commander?” Pavus asks Cullen. “What is it?”

Again. And again. Cullen lifts his hand higher. “Quiet! Everyone!”

“Josephine… Solas… p-please…”

“That. In the wind. Is that a… a voice, Cassandra?” he asks, but the faces around him simply stare.

“Commander,” Cassandra whispers. The chill sinks into their bones bit by bit.

“D-Duh-Dorian… the Iron B-Bull… B-Buh-Blackwall…”

“There! That! Do you hear it? Coming from the pass!” His eyes whip around wildly in the direction, and he swears if he squints, he sees the faintest glow from… from a familiar staff...

“C-Cullen… Cullen, please.” It’s so clear now, so clear that he’s sure it’s coming from above. And there, stumbling forward, singed and aching, clutching her arms to her chest -

“There, Cassandra! Look, it’s the Herald!”

“Thank Andraste… thank the Maker!” Cassandra stumbles forward for a second up, before looking towards the commander and turning back. “Go, Cullen -”

His feet carry him forward, and through the snow he stomps, strides as long as he can manage. There she is, there she is. “I’m going! Go back to the camp, get a healer! Maker preserve her, just a little while longer.”

It has to be the Maker. How else does he arrive at her side so fast? “Gods… Cullen… Cullen?” she asks, and he nods frantically before he can manage to speak.

“It’s me! It’s me, Herald, I’m here. Dorian, a potion, anything.” The mage lifts his hand, produces a flame, and the warmth seems to make her shiver harder as she squints at the sudden brightness.

“D-Dorian… Cullen? Can you hear me?” the Herald whispers. He hears her voice again, as clear as day, and one hand lifts to cup her face. A pinched brow, one he smooths aside with his thumb.

“I hear you, Verdanna,” he whispers back, and feels tears drip down his nose and into his furs as he gazes at her. In a sudden movement, he sweeps her ever closer, kisses her forehead at the center of her tattoos, and presses his nose to her skin. She is alive. She is alive and in his arms, and all he can do is thank the Maker above. “Thank the Maker, I’m here. I hear you.”

-

There’s no table to stand in front of, and so they gather in front of a haphazard tent, the wind from the hells whipping through camp. In fact, there is no War Room at all, their solace in Haven left buried beneath snow and rock and ice, the Inquisition as refugees among the northernmost wilderness.

Every night, Cullen’s dreams haunt him. But now, new scenes flash in his mind. Their foe, named and armed and ready, his army stretching across the lands. Row after row of corrupted soldiers, mind after mind turned toward Corypheus’s will.

The Herald’s eyes bright and vibrant - up until she is buried in snow.

He isn’t sure he’ll ever tell Verdanna what their escape looked like. How trudging through the cold was always lengthened a few hours more so he could bring a struggling few with him to search. He’ll certainly never say how finding her slumped in the cold was a prayer answered.

But now, there is no Herald either. She sleeps, as she should, to rest and recover, while the advisors begin the newest battle.

Arguments.

He can’t help the way his voice rings out, Josephine, Leliana, and Cassandra’s so-called advice making his frustration mount. “What would you have me tell them?” he says to them, hands lifted in question. “This isn’t what we asked them to do!”

Cassandra’s eyes flash in the fire, though Cullen suspects there is much more behind the look she throws his way. “We cannot simply ignore this,” she retorts, voice sharp. “We must find a way.”

“And who put you in charge?” he fires back. Certainly not the Herald, motionless in her tent. Recovering, as she needs. Because Cullen couldn’t - the Inquisition couldn’t - protect her. “Without a consensus we have nothing.”

Josephine’s pleading cuts through their voices, looking between the both of them. “Please, we must use reason. WIthout the infrastructure of the Inquisition, we’re hobbled!”

Like the ruin of Haven didn’t do that already. Cullen brushes her off. “That can’t come from nowhere!”

Leliana rises to Josephine’s defense, and Cullen can’t help his step back as Leliana pushes forward to meet his anger. “She didn’t say it could!”

But it’s Cassandra who silences them, voice tight. “Enough! This is getting us nowhere!”

Cullen’s scoff leaves his mouth without a second to lose. “Well. We’re agreed on that much.” He doesn’t wait to see the looks on their faces, simply ducks his head and curses to himself.

This is how it is without her, he can’t help but think. Four people, too stubborn in their own ways to see the way out. The commander pulls back from them, turns away, letting his furs shield him from the howl of the wind, the chill it brings him. Hours upon hours of fighting, bickering, biting... Nothing gets done. The world around them crumbles.

But her. When she stands with them… they see where they need to go. What needs to happen. Who needs to fall. Who shall stand with them against the powers of the breach.

When Verdanna speaks, the world listens.

Cullen listens.

He looks up at the unfamiliar sky. Pushes a hand through his hair. Is this what the Maker wants to reduce them to? Is this the future of the Inquisition? Infighting and arguing until they wear themselves out. His weariness is shared by Cassandra, huddled over her map, by Josephine and Leliana, leaning against each other in the cold.

And then… he hears it. Mother Giselle’s voice, low and clear and sweet.

Shadows fall, and hope has fled

Steel your heart, the dawn will come

If the camp could fall more still, it does. Eyes lift. Ears prick. Hearts open.

The night is long, and the path is dark

Look to the sky, for one day soon, the dawn will come.

Leliana’s voice is next. A sweet, high lilt, vulnerable to the world all at once. More bodies stand to rise, and soon, a guard beside Cullen himself is singing with the two women.

The shepherd’s lost, and his home is far

Keep to the stars, the dawn will come.

Voices lift and raise. The song ascends to the heavens. Soon Cullen’s voice joins in, but he can barely hear his own sound over the unison, unity of them all.

The night is long, and the path is dark

Look to the sky, for one day soon

The dawn will come

Templars. Mages. Soldiers. Spies. Orlais. Ferelden. All for one thing. All for one woman. The final verse comes as one begins to kneel, and another, and another.

Bare your blade, and raise it high

Stand your ground, the dawn will come

The night is long, and the path is dark

Look to the sky, for one day soon

The dawn will come

The dawn will come

The shift is not subtle. The eerie silence over the camp shatters, the laughter of the people echoing around him. Cullen sees smiles on faces, hands clasped together in reunion and joy.

It’s the wind that carries the words to him. Mother Giselle to the Herald.

“An army needs more than an enemy. It needs a cause.”

He lifts his eyes, and he sees Verdanna, her name more in his thoughts than her title, stand in the flickering light of the flame. Sees the crowd gather round her, look at her, kneel before her. And then, her eyes meet his. The truth washes over him like a rising tide, and he is powerless to it.

He is her blade. She is his cause. And if the dawn does come, and if the world they live in is reborn… it will be her doing.

He lifts his arm to her. Crosses it over his chest, bows his head. And when he lifts his gaze once more, her eyes pierce him to his core.

“An army needs a cause. An Inquisition is no different,” he tells Cassandra, as the dawn does indeed rise. “Our cause is hers, is it not? She is our Inquisitor.”

“Because of her decisions. What she has done,” the Seeker agrees. Voice low. “She leads.”

Cullen nods. Thinks to himself once more. Sees her face clear as day, even as she turns away to face the crowd, to walk among them.

Finds his mind wandering as much as his heart. As to what it means… to be her commander. Realizing that he’s hers… in more ways than one.

She is our Inquisitor. She leads. And I follow.

-

Verda -

No.

The Inquisitor calls them to the new war room in Skyhold.

In a formal setting it’s required. A new rule for himself after the lines seemed to blur. But he can’t seem to help it, even in the place where their plans are made. It took so long to bring it together, and still piles of bricks impede their journey to this new war room, but no ceremony seems to insist upon her title. Not when she smiles so brightly at the use of her name.

He made the same mistake in a letter to his sister. Her name so easily on his lips that putting it to paper was nothing. And Mia, quick on the take, caught it instantly. Any reassurance of his survival brushed aside in favor of his slip, curious about why he would toss aside formality for this… woman.

But the fact of the matter is he can’t help it. It’s just so easy to resort to the ease and friendliness, the way he wants to say her name and kiss his off of her lips as a greeting. The kissing is the newest part of the revelation, one that makes his collar tight every time he thinks it. Ever since finding her body in the mountains, watching her collapse into the snow, something has shifted between the two of them, and he can’t help the way he stands at full attention when the door to the war room opens.

“Inquisitor.” Cullen can’t help the way his voice sounds so upbeat, her presence immediately lifting his spirits. He does his best to pretend like it’s simply the inspiration of her valor, her courage, her spirit! “We were…”

Josephine’s retort is immediate. “Eagerly awaiting your presence. Some of us, more than others.”

His face can’t help the way it flushes a deep red. “I wasn’t - I mean, I was…” His sigh is, and he can’t help the way his eyes fall upon her. Glancing up from the statuettes on the table. “We have work to do.”

It’s almost a plea, and surely they all hear it. He can tell that the twitch of Leliana’s lips is a meager attempt to hide her delight at Josephine’s words.

“We sure do,” Verdanna teases, and he can’t help but avoid her gaze as she grins. “To work.”

The weight of the war table settles over them shortly after - unfortunately much lightheartedness gets pushed aside with the knowledge of red lyrium sources looming over them. But he can’t help the way that he lingers over the table, bends over to spread the map out flat at the corners as he hears Josephine and Leliana’s laughter echo down the hallway, as his focus shifts to the way that Verdanna stands with her arms across her chest.

“You’re quite cute when you blush, Commander,” she tells him, a little smile and tilt of her head. He ducks his head with the words.

“I try not to make a habit of it,” he returns, lifting one hand to rub it over the back of his neck. Her chuckle makes his chest warm. “Doesn’t exactly inspire courage and confidence.”

“A shame.” He sees her legs through the multitude of figurines, watches as she walks along the edge of the table until she stands beside him. Leans on the dark wood, her arm brushing his. “Were you? Eagerly awaiting my arrival, that is.”

“Of course,” he answers, and the ease of it surprises him. He looks up at her, green of her gaze hitting him alongside the sudden clarity. And her little laugh after he says it, bright and joyful, immediately puts a smile on his face. “I always… enjoy our time together. Fleeting though it may be.”

He can’t help but wonder if it’s a blush on her cheeks, that travels up to the tips of her ears. But no matter what it is, she radiates warmth and it’s because of him.

“I do, too, Commander,” Verdanna replies, and for a moment he settles into the touch at his side, smiles and bites his lower lip before glancing toward the door once more.

She seems nervous. It’s strange, because ever since Haven’s demise her steps have been so assured. And yet she fidgets before him, fingers fiddling with her belt.

“Verdanna,” he says, but she’s quick to interrupt.

“I never thanked you, Commander,” she says in a rush, and he blinks at the sudden ferocity. “I mean - I realized that, this morning, as I assessed what we managed to save from Haven.”

He blinks again, taken aback. “For what, my lady?”

Once again her inability to meet his eyes startles him. There’s no more stammering, but she still seems nervous. “For saving me. At the pass. At Haven. You… heard me. Somehow, at least, that’s what Dorian said.”

That makes his cheeks blush. Pavus was there, when they found the Inquisitor in the snow. He realizes then, that the magister saw the whole display, and his cheeks are matching hers in their… pinkness. “Ah.”

“Yes. Ah.”

“It was -” he starts, but there’s so much to say and he doesn’t know how to say it. How to even speak, in that moment. It was nothing, but at the same time… wasn’t it everything? After a moment to clear his throat, he starts again. “I told you that I’d be there for you,” he eventually gets out. “Behind you, always. That didn’t stop after the Breach closed. And it… it won’t ever stop, if I have anything to say about it.”

She looks up at him, then, green eyes so wide they remind him of the dinner plates that Josephine lays out for the visiting dignitaries. She seems shocked by what he says, but he means every word. More than perhaps any other vow he’s spoken. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t thank you. You all saved my life, Cullen. You did.”

He remembers how tightly they clung to each other before she went to face the person they now know as Corypheus, remembers how their fingers intertwined as the world around them seemed to shatter. Now, with the world holding together, at least for a moment he craves that touch once more.

So he takes the leap. Reaches forward, to grab her fingers, and as he does she immediately responds. Grips his hand, squeezes it tight, and he feels what he felt before. An understanding. A knowledge.

Dammit, he feels her.

“I’d do it all again,” he murmurs. “In a heartbeat. And if I were in your place -”

“I’d do the same,” she whispers, and his eyes widen like hers did before.

Suddenly she smiles. Drops his hand, but keeps the touch lingering. “Don’t look so surprised, Cullen,” she says. “Do you really doubt my willingness?”

“Not at all,” he insists, horrified. But then she starts laughing, and he realizes that her tone is teasing. He blushes, lifts a hand to scratch at his neck, and ducks his gaze. “We must - I-I mean, I must be going. There are… things to attend to.”

“Of course,” she says. “But… we’ll see each other again.”

“Whenever you would like.”

She chuckles again, low and warm. It makes the hairs on his arms raise at the rush it gives him. “I have a feeling I’ll be seeing you later today, Commander. If you’ll let me.”

And in that moment, there’s not a single reason on his mind for him to ever say no to something like that.

“My time is yours, Lady Inquisitor. And whenever you need me… I’m yours, too.”

-

Skyhold offers more than just a new place to lay Cullen’s head. It offers a new beginning.

Seeing Verdanna later means more than just another passing chess game. Means more than glances across the courtyard, or banter in the war room. It means her coming to his quarters with a purpose, and finally a damned kiss on the battlements. It means stolen moments once the doors close, finally kissing those smirks off of her face, lingering doubt being pushed aside in favor of lingering touches.

But even as the Inquisition grows with every passing day, the truth of the matter is that Skyhold, and its relative safety, still has a threat that looms. Cullen sees the way that Redcliffe haunts her, moments of peace interrupted by a sudden grip on a bannister, a fierce conversation around the roundtable. She reminds them all what looms, the overwhelming threat of an empire crumbling to pieces, and soon (too soon, too damned soon), they’re once again in the war room.

“We’re all in agreement, Inquisitor. We have to reach the empress before Corypheus. The only question is: how?” Cullen tells Verdanna as she struts in, hand gripping her staff.

Josephine glances toward Cullen. “We know how. I have our way in. The real question is: where is our enemy hiding?” The commander doesn’t miss the fond look that Leliana gives the ambassador, pride clear on her features. He also doesn’t miss the confidence that seems to fill Josephine. This is her element. “At the urging of Grand Duchess Florianne, the Empress is holding a ball. Absolutely everyone will be there. During the festivities, Celene will be meeting for peace talks with the usurper Duke Gaspard and the Ambassador Briala.”

“The assassin must be hiding within one of these factions,” Leliana tells them all, and the wheels start turning.

They discuss all the players. Gaspard. Briala. Celene herself. Ideas and conspiracies whirling around them, the reality settling on top of them all like a cloud.

“What better place for an assassin to hide than the empress’s own household?” Leliana finally sighs out, her brow pinched.

Too many people to name float into the picture. The elves with Briala, the soldiers with Gaspard, and the throne all for Celene. Cullen watches as Verdanna lets out a sigh of exasperation, unable to help leaning forward as she rubs at her own forehead.

“Do we need to go to the peace talks? The empress must have a personal guard. We could just warn her that she’s in danger.”

“We’ve made the attempt, but…” Josephine’s eyes dart to Leliana, who scowls.

“It seems that our messages never reached her. Someone intercepted them,” the spymaster admits, and Verdanna gives a short nod. The disappointment isn’t lost - usually Leliana can do the next to impossible.

Cullen speaks up, to remind, reassure. He leans forward on the table again, meeting Verdanna’s eyes with his own. “It is better that we don’t leave this to chance. If Orlais falls to Corypheus, nowhere is safe.”

There’s a beat, and then a small sigh. “We shouldn’t waste any time, then,” Verdanna mutters. “Let’s go to the Winter Palace.”

And with that it’s decided. But Cullen watches the choice do little to ease the Inquisitor’s worry. Josephine and Leliana help her figure out some of the logistics, who to bring, who to leave home (“my lady, if you must insist on Sera, we can figure out… other arrangements for her”), and some early lessons on what to expect at the grand Winter Palace. Figurines are moved around, messages written out for the allies who will be in attendance. There's a plan to follow, though, and then the whirlwind of activity leaves behind an exhausted Inquisitor and fresh worry lines on Cullen’s features.

“You don’t seem reassured by their crash course,” he tells her, as Josephine and Leliana leave the space that he is quick to fill beside her. “Not eager to mingle with the nobility?”

“I don’t think the nobility is particularly eager to mingle with me,” Verdanna counters, sighing as she pushes away from the table and moves to the back of the room. Her eyes gaze out the tall windows. “But, to answer the question, not in the slightest.”

Their privacy allows him to take the opportunity to comfort. Wrapping an arm around her waist already feels like second nature, and he leans in to kiss her cheek, chaste. “Well, we’re on the same page on that point. I don’t think I have a jacket that fits well enough for an Orlesian party.”

Her hum seems to echo in the empty room, and her lips twitch upward. But it falters, and Cullen can’t help his little frown as she turns from him. “You’re telling me. I don’t think anything I wear would gain me any sort of approval given the natural accessories.”

At first, Cullen considers her tattoos. The deep red coloring is warm against the cool brightness of her eyes. He finds himself reaching for them without thinking, tracing her forehead. But when she shakes her head, the self-flagellation clicks, and his fingers drop.

“Your ears,” he murmurs. Heart shattering at her worn look towards him.

“Among other things. Josephine was very clear,” Verdanna tells him. “I’m already starting off on the wrong foot because of my heritage. Being Dalish, an elf, and a mage simply ensures that I’m going to be clawing my way upward in their eyes.” Her laugh is hollow. “Even as the Inquisitor I’m going to get called knife-ear. Potentially to my face.”

A sudden surge of anger fills Cullen at that prospect. Feels himself scowling at the thought. “Oh, no. They’ll simply whisper it. And wish they hadn’t,” he mutters. Her laughter dissipates it quickly, however, especially as her hand lifts to settle on his arm.

“Down, boy. No need to defend anyone’s honor and spark a whole new war. I’ll be fine.”

“Yes, but I wish you didn’t have to be.” He turns to face her completely, suddenly hit with the danger. “There will be assassins. Enemies on all sides, posing as friends. And there’s nothing we can do but run towards the danger and hope.”

Her gaze softens a bit. “I know it feels counterintuitive. But we’re doing the right thing. And you will be there, Commander, along with other friends.” After a moment of letting him mull over that good news, she seems to not be able to help a smile.

“What is it?” Cullen asks, voice pitched low. A bit of concern still seeps through, unable to be helped, but that quickly fades at her fingers gently tug on his furs.

“Well, there is a plus side to all of this,” she finally says, turning back to the window and leaning against his shoulder, watching the sun crawl between clouds.

“And what is that?”

“I do think that I’ll enjoy seeing what formal wear Josephine can scrounge up for you. Perhaps something with… strong shoulders.”

Cullen’s eyes narrow, but there’s something playful in his tone. Playful. In the war room. Who is he becoming? “Oh, don’t think for a moment you’re getting out of anything. Our dear ambassador wants us to match.”

Her laugh echoes, and he feels her fingers scratch at the back of his neck. It makes him shiver. “Just us two? Isn’t that a little on the nose?”

“And fuel for egregious gossip,” Cullen confirms, but his voice goes a little… strained. “Not to worry, though. The whole landing party will be fitted in the finest Antivan tailoring. A proper uniform.”

There’s a sudden moment, when he’s very aware of how close she really is. How her breath is now hot on his ear, and her lips barely brush the edge of his cheek. “Well, I’ll be delighted to see you in a proper uniform, Commander.”

And just like that, she turns away from him. He whips to face her, but her fingers are waving in a cheerful goodbye, a look over her shoulder simply dastardly.

“See you in Halamshiral!” she sings, and then with a flourish of her hand, the door opens and closes behind her.

When he can breathe again, his next stop is his quarters.

-

The teasing does not unfortunately come out of nowhere. Cullen has seen the just short of gleeful looks Leliana has shot him as he passes her in the stronghold, the whispers of his impression on Halamshiral from visiting nobles with Josephine. It makes his jaw clench every time it’s mentioned, especially when he found so many creative ways to refuse the guests at the Winter Palace, out of worry for Verdanna and utter disdain for their company.

So when Josephine mentions it in passing during a Council meeting, their heads bent over a map as they decide how to allocate the resources of the Inquisition, Cullen automatically scowls.

“I have requests for information on your lineage from a few interested parties at the Winter Palace.” He can hear the shuffle of papers, and it seems to hit a particularly sharp point in his head. A headache brews.

“Andraste preserve me,” he scoffs, shaking his head. He doesn’t bother looking up from moving his pieces to a spot in the center of Orlais. “Feel free to use those requests as kindling.”

Leliana’s response is swift. “No! I shall take them. I want to know who pines for our commander. We can use this to our advantage.”

That gets his full attention, feels even more disdain settle in his soul. He stands up fully, looking up to see Leliana’s grin. She reaches for Josephine’s hand while moving to her side, leaning over her shoulder to read the list of names.“I am not bait!” he says to her. .

“Oh, hush.” Leliana’s hand waves him off, immediately reaching for the… not inconsequential stack of requests in Josephine’s hand. “Just look pretty, Commander. Now, where can we send a few regiments to sway our hand?”

The ambassador doesn’t hesitate. “The Marquis of Mont de Glace both took a liking to him -- perhaps another trip to the surrounding settlements to pique interest?”

“And three nobility from Ghislain alone.”

“I did hear tale the Templar connection of our commander struck up some noise at Arlesans,” Josephine adds, and her pitch has soared upward, excitement clear as she holds her pen to her chest, pushes up on her toes.

“Hold on just a moment --” Cullen starts, but the two of them are on a roll.

“And here, the protecteur of Val Royeaux showed interest in… trading strategy?” Josephine reads out, voice pitching upward as she finishes the line. Dawning slowly appears, however, and Cullen finds himself blushing deeply. “Oh. Well. Perhaps that one can indeed go in the kindling.

“I really don’t think --”

“Perhaps the strategy is not just answering one, but answering them all,” Leliana teases. It makes Josephine giggle. Their laughter echoes in the big empty room. High and bright. Cullen’s fingers lift to pinch the bridge of his nose. “A tournament for the honor of the commander, to see who in the end wins his hand --”

“I think we’re done here.”

The dismissal is sudden, and Cullen realizes then how silent Verdanna has been. Her eyes on the table as his have been, never moving, fingers gripping the edge of the map with a strength that he’s afraid will tear the paper. But there’s something more in her voice. The deadpan tone a mask over another emotion.

“Inquisitor,” Josephine says immediately, but she wipes at tears that have started falling from the corners of her eyes. “My apologies. We will continue.”

“No apologies needed, Josephine,” Verdanna answers, eyes narrowed as she stands up straight. “It’s simply clear we’re finished. Everyone’s distracted, and a break… seems necessary.”

Leliana straightens, too, eyes narrowed at her. There’s a dangerous glint in her eyes. A hidden delight. “Are you sure, my lady?” Her voice is carefully neutral, but her gaze flickers to Josephine, who straightens her spine. Peers down at Verdanna’s hands.

“Positive.” Verdanna suddenly stands, and that’s when Cullen sees the tightness in her smile, close-lipped. “Let’s take a break. Reconvene.”

And then it clicks for them all - Leliana, then Josephine, then finally Cullen. The realization moves like a ripple amongst the advisors, who all turn to look for understanding in the others’ gazes, Josephine and Leliana with matching smirks that make Cullen cross his arms over his chest and duck his head to hide his own little smile.

“I simply think it’ll do us all good,” Verdanna says to counter no one but the stretch of silence.

“Well. If that’s the only reason,” Leliana laughs.

It happens then, clear as day. The sun through the glass windows illuminates it beautifully. The Herald of Andraste, the Inquisitor herself, Cullen’s beloved Verdanna Lavellan... blushes. It’s an incredible sight, one that Cullen savors seeing, one that makes him smile despite his previous embarrassment.

“It is,” she replies. The slightest waver to her tone, a betrayal from her own voice. “It’s always good to take breaks.”

Josephine titters behind her quill. “Of course, Your Worship. We’ll reconvene, then, in an hour. Perhaps the commander needs a break as well. To read through the proposals.”

“Or some privacy with the Inquisitor. To find the perfect match, of course, Josie.”

“Oh, of course.”

There’s a growing delight in Cullen, one from the way that Verdanna’s eyes widen, blush grows brighter, and sudden stammer she develops. “I - I don’t need privacy! We don’t - I don’t know what you’re implying, Josephine -”

“Of course you do, Inquisitor,” Leliana teases, nodding as she links arms with Josephine and begins to walk towards the door. “After all, I’m sure you’ll be able to help him figure out what royal he’ll be best suited for. Or perhaps not a royal at all.”

“Perhaps the both of you could go to Orlais,” Josephine calls out as the War Room door opens. “Announce a potential engagement.”

“One that would surely shock the world,” Leliana says as they depart. “And leave a lot of disappointed fans of the commander. Think about it, Inquisitor.”

The door then shuts behind them both with a solid thud. Verdanna’s eyes don’t leave where Josephine and Leliana left from, and Cullen finds himself covering his mouth with his hand to hide his smile. He still gets a glare, however, when Verdanna turns and sees his raised brows.

“Cullen…”

“Are you, then?” he asks, before he can stop himself. “Jealous?”

“I don’t - I just don’t want the commander of the Inquisition to be used as folly for the games of my spymaster and my ambassador.” It’s a shoddy cover up, especially considering that her eyes can barely look Cullen in the face.

“You are.” His voice is a little awed, a little honored, and he takes a step around the table towards her, smiling.

“I am not!” Her voice is sharp, but she doesn’t step back as Cullen steps toward her. “Not at all.”

“Not even a little bit?” he asks, hand reaching for hers, holding it gently to pull her close. There’s a play of a smile across her lips as he does, and he can’t help the way it makes him grin. “The tiniest fraction, perhaps?”

When she looks up at him, that smile is warm, especially as he pulls her against him. “Never,” she confirms. “After all, none of those suitors got the honor of dancing with Commander Rutherford at the Winter Palace.”

“That is true,” he confirms, laughing, “but there seems to be a little something more there.”

“If there is, you’ll never find out.”

Perhaps there’s an ulterior motive in what Cullen prepares to propose. But he can’t help his curiosity, nor the way that her potential jealousy makes his mind… work. “I’ll make you a deal,” he offers, pushing her braid back behind her ear. “Tell you what. If I admit something to you, you admit something to me.”

It gets her attention, that’s for sure. Her brow raises at him as she looks up, weighing her options. “Something?”

“Something about… our feelings. And jealousy.”

He sees his own desire mirrored, then. Her eyes scan him from head to toe, fingers squeezing his hand for a moment before she smiles. “All right, Commander. I’ll bite. When have you been jealous?”

There’s the briefest hesitation, and he can’t help the way he has to clear his throat, drop his gaze to the war table for a moment to gather his courage. “There might have been a moment,” he finally states, “when he settled in Haven, that I was jealous of… you and the mage Dorian Pavus.”

“Dorian?” Her voice is delighted, and he feels a small drop of horror dawn as he realizes that she will not be the only one to know this particular secret.

“I know I’ll never live it down,” he says, sighing. “But, yes. Pavus, when he first arrived, held a lot of your time, and I was - I was jealous of the attention he got. The trust. Not something I’m proud of to be sure, but. It happened.”

Her laughter soon echoes around the room. It’s big and bold and hiccups a time or two, especially as she leans forward in her jest to press her forehead to his neck. “That is incredible. Jealous of Dorian.”

Cullen can’t help his indignance, straightening up. “I will simply say he was very good at being on your side, and the two of you were very fond of each other very quickly. He was also a mage. Traveling in time with you! And unfortunately, he is not… unattractive, so those were the dots I connected.”

It’s a moment before her laughter dissolves into giggles, and soon she is letting out a long sigh of delight. “I’m not saying your reasoning is flawed, Cullen. You don’t need to defend yourself. It’s just… it’s very cute. You’re very, very cute.”

It’s his turn to blush, though he looks down at Verdanna with a raised brow. “So were there grounds?”

Her giggle starts up again, briefly. “Hah, no, Commander. Nothing happened between me and Dorian Pavus. There’s nothing to be jealous about, Commander. Dorian is a confidante and a friend, and that’s all he is.” Verdanna’s hand reaches up to fiddle with the fur lining of Cullen’s armor before cupping his cheek, thumb stroking along his stubble in a brilliant, warm touch. “All he ever was.”

“A confidante, for sure, as I have a feeling I will be hearing this over our next game of chess.” His dry tone makes Verdanna laugh again, a sound he will always cherish. There’s a kiss shared, chaste and gentle. But when Cullen pulls back, there’s something playful he can’t help but show in his smile. “Well? Now it’s your turn.”

“My turn?”

“Admit it. You were a bit jealous at the thought of those nobility clamoring for my attention.”

“I -” Verdanna starts, but at the look she gets from the commander her eyes roll fondly. “Alright, alright. Fine. At the mention of people… desperate for your hand in marriage, I might’ve gotten… a little bit jealous.”

“Only a little bit?” he asks, and her laugh is warm as she pinches his cheek.

“Don’t push it, Commander. But, yes. I was jealous. Happy?”

It’s an ego boost in more ways than one. It makes his heart pound, his blood sing, at the thought of Verdanna coveting his time as much as he covets hers. Jealous of endless faces and names who fight for his attention just as he is the innumerable patrons who seek out the Inquisitor. It makes him desperate for another kiss, one that has one hand gripping hers and the other pulling at the buttons on her coat.

“Only so I can reassure you,” he murmurs, “as you did for me. There is no one in his hold nor in the known or unknown worlds around us that matters to me as much as you, Verdanna. And no one who you need to be jealous about. There is only you and me, no one else.” And then he has to smile. “After all… I do believe only one person got to dance with me at Halamshiral.”

A beat passes. Verdanna looks up at Cullen with softened eyes, a push on her toes to press her forehead to his. “A reassurance indeed,” she murmurs.

There’s a beat that passes as he meets her touch, holding both of her hands now and lifting them to his lips. As he does, however, the familiar light in her eyes is back, bright and vibrant and certainly plotting.

“You know… Josephine and Leliana said an hour,” she tells him. “Whatever could we do to pass the time, Commander?” Cullen feels a warmth flood his body, better than the sun on his skin.

“I bet we could come up with some ideas, Inquisitor,” he murmurs back before crashing his lips into hers with fervor.

-

Cullen’s eyes scan the map once more. There’s only one way forward, and his hand lifts to rub at his chin as he studies it. He considers shaving, as well, but it’s a distant thought. Verdanna tends to enjoy his stubble.

Not the time.

He has to shake his head to clear thoughts of her. To focus on the task at hand. It’s a luxury he shouldn’t allow, especially considering the danger ahead. But he can’t help it, especially as he hears the creak of the door as Verdanna strides in, fresh from her journey to the Forbidden Oasis and looking every title she claims. Her chin lifts in greeting to the room and she smiles, but for the moment, he considers it just for him. And then he remembers there are others in the room as Leliana speaks, clearing his head with her introduction.

“Adamant Fortress has stood against the darkspawn since the time of the Second Blight,” she states, looking at the Inquisitor.

Cullen, ever eager, jumps in. “Fortunately for us, that means that it was built before the age of modern siege equipment. A good trebuchet will do major damage to those ancient walls. And thanks to our lady ambassador…”

He turns to Josephine, who smiles graciously. “Lady Seryl of Jader was pleased to lend the Inquisition her sappers. They’ve already delivered the trebuchets,” she informs them. All the pieces falling into place.

Leliana smiles, too, but it’s tempered. “That is the good news, Lady Inquisitor.”

“And the bad news?” Verdanna’s voice sounds a little worn, and Cullen understands why. Always bad with the good, it seems.

Leliana continues. “Erimond called the ritual at the Western Approach a test. He may already be raising his army of demons in the fortress.”

“The Inquisition forces can breach the gate,” Cullen reassures them all. He trained them well. “But if the Wardens already have their demons…”

Leliana lifts her hand to cut him off. “I found records of Adamant’s construction. There are choke points we can use to limit the field of battle.”

Cullen can smile at that, turns to look at Verdanna. “That’s good. We may not be able to defeat them outright, but, if we cut out reinforcements, we can carve you a path to Warden-Commander Clarel.”

Verdanna snorts, and Cullen raises a brow at her. “So our plan is to lay siege to a legendary fortress filled with demons?” It gets a chuckle out of him, but he leans forward to look at Adamant on the map once more. Narrows his gaze. The threat continues to hover, and he feels solemnity settle on his shoulders.

“It’ll be hard fought,” he admits. “There’s no way around it, but we’ll get that gate open.”

Josephine, ever the optimist, pipes in as well. “It’s also possible that some Wardens may be sympathetic to our cause.”

Leliana agrees, at least partially. “The warriors may be willing to listen to reason, though I doubt they’ll turn against Clarel directly. The mages, however, are slaves to Corypheus. They’ll fight to the death.”

“No matter which way the Wardens go, we’ve built the siege engines and readied our forces, Inquisitor,” Cullen tells her. There is no smile now, the knowledge of another battle looming over all of them. “Give the word, and we march on Adamant.”

“I’ll need some time to prepare,” Verdanna says to the room, “but when it’s time, I’ll let you all know.” With a few nods, looks to each other, the four of them stand tall, Verdanna’s voice clear. “All right. Dismissed.”

Josephine and Leliana leave first, their murmurs for each other and each other alone. Cullen doesn’t mind, as it gives him the chance to walk around to Verdanna’s side of the table, look with her at Adamant’s position on the map. “We have the ability,” he finds himself saying, reassurance for her. “The numbers. Soon, it will be in the Maker’s hands.”

“I find myself unwilling to leave it all up to the Maker,” she murmurs back, sighing as she pushes one of the figurines forward. Cullen’s symbol, the Inquisition’s forces, pushing in towards the fortress.

He nods. Reaches up to push her braid back behind her ear, moves his hand down her back. “It’s a good thing we have you, then,” he whispers. A kiss on her cheek. “Maker or no, we have you.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Commander,” she says, but he can see the small flush on her cheeks. It makes him eager to kiss her again, but he restrains himself. Especially as her lips curl, unsatisfied by something she sees. “You will be there. At Adamant,” she says. It seems to be a dawning realization.

“Right by your side, for as long as I am able,” he promises. “Just like I was at Haven.”

If anything that deepens her frown, and she stands up straight again, takes a step back from him and the table. “I don’t want you taking any unnecessary risks for me. I don’t want the Commander of our forces by my side if that’s not his place on the field. I know you know the strategy, what we’ll need to do, but -”

But he doesn’t let her dart away, push him back. Not now. Not when he can hold her instead. A wonder he’ll never take for granted. “Watching you fight, being alongside you… it’s more than simply wielding my sword while you cast your spells.My place will be with my soldiers. But it also means that I am here,” he murmurs, placing a hand on her heart, “wherever you go.”

As he does so, he feels a raised portion over her sternum. The feeling is… odd against his fingers, until he looks up and sees her gentle smile. “With me in more ways than one,” she whispers. Her fingers lift, and she tugs at an amulet to display for him.

But it’s not an amulet, or at least, not one he’s seen before. There’s no magic coming from the piece of jewelry, and yet as he watches it dangle in the light from the windows, he feels a warmth through his body stronger than potion could give him.

“Is that…” he whispers. Awestruck.

“Your coin,” she confirms. “Luck wherever I go. And you.”

“When did you do this?”

“When we got back from Honnleath,” she murmurs to him. “I can’t go and lose the luck you gave me.”

In that moment he knows. Knows something that he is still afraid to say. Cannot speak, regardless, overwhelmed by what he sees in Verdanna. He reaches for her, pulls her close, against his body.

“Cullen,” she gasps out, surprised. But he can’t help the way he buries his face into her neck.

“Verdanna,” he whispers back, and feels her fingers lift and curl into his hair.

-

There’s a lingering horror that is felt after the siege. Cullen says goodbye to Verdanna at the gates, and later finds out how close he was to losing her forever. She goes in with the Champion of Kirkwall, and leaves without him. A decision she had to make. She comes out mourning, with even more horrors held close to the chest, and in that moment he feels so helpless to her destiny.

What will become of the famed Inquisitor? If the Champion could be lost so easily, what would become of Verdanna? Would she, too, be reduced to a title in the annals of history? The thought of that turns his stomach, the realization that so many will hear her name, her title and not know who she really is.

Needless to say, it’s not the last time he feels his coin against her skin. Not even close. Especially after Adamant.

It seems the coin holds something, if not luck. Something special, that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end when he thinks about it. Every so often, he finds himself drifting off, gaze dropping to her collarbone, thinking about what’s hidden beneath her attire. His coin. His.

(He does limit it eventually, when Josephine’s words blur behind him in favor of remembering where that coin is, what it means for them, and being caught by the ambassador. The blush to his cheeks seems almost fluorescent when she comments on it, and Verdanna and Leliana can’t stop their giggles for far too long.)

But as the days pass, the weeks, the months, it’s clear that Adamant was simply a battle, but that the war continues on.

He watches as the weight on Verdanna’s shoulders causes her to stumble. He watches as more and more places around Thedas call to the Inquisition for help. Ferelden and Orlais crumbling with threats of darkspawn, demons, Red Templars, Venatori, rogue apostates. He watches as people within their camp stumble, too, with her expected to pick up the pieces, Blackwall’s lie sending echoes only he hears in the dead of night, when she wakes with a start about being too late to save him. He watches her fight to control the Rifts and her own magic, and the Anchor become more of a burden than a blessing.

And, on top of all that, Corypheus is on the move.

It is clear the state of the world is in the balance. But what Cullen also realizes, through all of this, is that the Inquisition is not only beloved, but ready. That Verdanna takes all of these struggles through stumble and stride and plans to keep going. And that he, despite every fear, every uncertainty, is ready to follow her.

And so, the War Room beckons.

“It’s time to plan our next attack. What’s the state of the Inquisition?” Verdanna’s voice is strong as she looks among her people.

Josephine’s enthusiasm is not missed. “We’re well-loved in Orlais. Say the word, and the Empire will send her support.”

Cullen has his own excitement. A pride that fills him as he looks at the Inquisitor Lavellan. “And your actions at Adamant denied Corypheus his army of pet demons. With Orlais’ support, our numbers match his.” He straightens his spine, lifts his chin with a small smile. “Corypheus’s followers must be panicking.”

“My agents agree,” Leliana adds.” Our victories have shaken his disciples.”

“Perhaps they’ll rethink following the darkspawn magister from the dawn of time,” Verdanna says. It earns her a small chuckle, but the collective focus is not shaken. “Where is Corypheus now?”

“After Adamant, Corypheus uprooted his major strongholds and sent them marching south to the Arbor Wilds,” Cullen says. “His army clearly wasn’t prepared to flee. Our victories have them on the defensive.”

Suddenly, Verdanna’s eyes narrow with determination. Cullen feels a rush at the sight. “And that’s where we’ll keep them. Unable to flee. If he’s hiding in the Arbor Wilds, that’s where we'll finish him.”

“But what is Corypheus doing in such a remote area?” Josephine murmurs, almost a question to herself more than the room.

Leliana answers. “His people have been ransacking elven ruins since Haven,” she says, which makes Verdanna’s mouth purse. “We believe he seeks more. What he hopes to find, however, continues to elude us.”

“Which should surprise no one, but fortunately I can assist.”

The voice comes from behind Verdanna, and Cullen watches with a raised brow as Lady Morrigan steps forward. He knows of her, aware of her since she joined the Inquisition after Halamshiral. He watches as her keen eyes scan the room, landing on each advisor in turn. Verdanna brings her attention back to the topic, however, with a little bow of her head.

“You have my attention, Lady Morrigan.”

Morrigan’s low tone lilts across the room, and soon her focus is only on Verdanna. It’s unnerving, that singular focus, especially considering what seems to hide behind those eyes of hers. “What Corypheus seeks in those forgotten words is as ancient as it is dangerous. It’s best if I show you.”

There’s a brief pause. Cullen glances at Morrigan and takes a step around the table, but immediately he is trapped by her gaze.

“Not you, Commander. Only the Inquisitor.”

There’s a small, shocked silence in the room. Leliana speaks first. “What?”

“What will be revealed to her she will share with all of you. But as of now, the information I hold would be better suited for someone who knows the elves as I do… as well as the woman who holds the power of the Fade.”

“But you are taking her somewhere,” Josephine says, voice tight. “If you need safe passage to a location --”

“Where we are going, no others will be able to follow.”

There’s a hitch in Cullen’s breath, and he feels his jaw click as it clenches. “So you’re taking her… Without any other observers or people to verify your intentions. Just you and Verdanna?” he asks, her name slipping from his lips instead of her title. It earns him a look from the Inquisitor herself, as well as a raised brow from Morrigan.

“You doubt my intentions, Cullen Rutherford?” the witch asks him, voice low. He dares another step around the table. “Do you doubt your Inquisitor?”

“My concern is protecting the Inquisitor… and the Inquisition,” he states plainly, though the undercurrent of frustration peaks through. He can’t help it. There’s a part of him that dreads the idea of Verdanna losing herself, her life, because he trusted someone who shouldn’t be on their side. Blackwall’s betrayal sings in his head as he looks at Morrigan, her journey to the fade and the loss of Hawke clear in his mind -- but it’s Verdanna who stops his thoughts in his tracks.

“Lady Morrigan’s services were offered to the Inquisition. I believe she offers her knowledge to help, not to hurt,” she says. Cullen knows the brunt of this statement is directed at him, to drop his guard. “But the truth is that we need as much as we can get on Corypheus to beat him. If this offers us a leg up, we need to take it.”

“Unfortunately, Lady Lavellan is right. The longer we sit and bicker, the longer Corypheus has to find what he seeks.”

There’s a brief moment when his eyes meet Verdanna’s. Communication between them silent. After a pause, her hand lifts to her chest, where his coin rests, lifting and pulling her shoulders back.

Understanding fills him. I’m always with her. And while he reaches to settle his hand on the hilt of his sword, he looks toward Morrigan with a nod.

“Very well, Lady Morrigan. We will be here when you return.”

The waiting, however, is torturous. Cullen finds himself pacing back and forth, driving Leliana and Josephine from the room to Josephine’s desk for a short time as he moves throughout the space. But soon, Morrigan and his Inquisitor return, and indeed Verdanna tells them all what she saw. Testimony of a mirror, magicked to become a portal to what she and Morrigan call the Crossroads. If Corypheus acquires one, and learns how to use it, he will have access to pathways all across Thedas and the Fade.

“What happens when Corypheus enters the Fade?” Cullen asks them, both, eyes a little wide with the implications.

“Why, he will gain his heart’s desire, and take the power of a god,” Morrigan responds. “Or -- and this is more likely -- the lunatic will unleash forces that will tear the world apart.”

It’s shocking, the realization, but not surprising. If anything it’s a confirmation - in the end, all of them could have reached that eventual conclusion. But there’s a difference between suspecting and knowing. Verdanna echoes that precise sentiment as she looks among all standing there. “In Redcliffe, I saw the future Corypheus built. We can’t have that,” she tells them, and there is no argument.

Morrigan’s voice is sharp. “‘Twas always so, was it not? The madman would bury us all.”

“Pardon me, but -- but does this mean that everything, everything, is lost unless we get to the eluvian in time?” Josephine asks. Her eyes meet Cullen’s, and her question cuts to the heart of him.

He can’t help the way he speaks first. Eyes scanning the map as he spreads the corners with his fingers. “Corypheus has a head start, no matter how quickly our forces move,” he murmurs, looking at all the pieces.

Josephine cuts in, voice firm. “We should gather our allies before we march.”

“Can we wait for them?” Leliana counters, and her fingers move to hold one of her statuettes. “We should send our spies ahead to the Arbor Wilds.”

But Cullen’s voice raises over hers for a moment. “Without support from the soldiers? You’d lose half of them.”

Josephine cuts across him next. “Then what should we do, Commander? Let Corypheus outrun us?” The tension in the room seems to approach a dangerous tipping point, all of the advisors looking at each other for the answer none of them have. But, as always, it is the Inquisitor who leads them, and Verdanna takes her step forward to place her hand firmly on the war table.

“I advise you all work together instead of arguing,” she says fiercely. “Now is not the time for that.” For a second, her eyes scan the board, and then she raises upright once more, her voice clear, confident, commanding. “Josephine, have our allies send scouts to meet us in the Wilds. Leliana, your fastest agents will join them. Together, we’ll have enough spies to slow down Corypheus’s army until Cullen’s soldiers arrive.”

For another moment there is silence, this of a different kind -- respectful. Even Morrigan seems to appraise Verdanna with a greater understanding. This is their leader, and this will be their champion, for the betterment of all of Thedas.

Cullen can’t help the way he gazes at her, mouth a little open as warmth slowly overtakes him. Verdanna… his pride in her has him close to bursting, has him smiling despite what he knows now about Corypheus’s plan. Has him wondering if, despite Verdanna’s own unbelief on the matter, the Maker truly had a hand in bringing Verdanna to them. To him. The thought makes his cheeks a shade of red the light in the room is unafraid to illuminate, one that earns him a fond, loving look from her even as Morrigan brings them down to earth.

“Such confidence,” she says, a little smirk on her lips, “but the Arbor Wilds are not so kind to visitors. Old elven magic lingers in those woods. Beyond your understanding or mine, Lady Lavellan.”

Josephine chimes in, as always, with diplomacy on her mind. “We’d be remiss not to take advantage of your knowledge, Lady Morrigan. Please, lend us your expertise.”

Morrigan seems to not be able to help a small chuckle. “‘Tis why I came here. Although it is good to see its value recognized.”

Leliana’s eyes narrow at Morrigan for a moment, but any comment from her is interrupted by Cullen’s quick tongue. He speaks to Verdanna as the leader of her armies,, as her friend, as hers. “Any further instructions, Inquisitor?” Whatever she needs, he is hers to command.

But instead of a simple dismissal, she clears her throat. Cullen watches as she seems to think, brow furrowed, before looking towards her advisors in turn. First, Leliana, with a gentle smile. “The Inquisition began as a handful of soldiers.” She turns to Josephine next, eyes bright as she nods towards her. “Thanks to you, we’re now a force that will topple a self-proclaimed god.” Lastly, she looks at Cullen, and her smile is now a grin, her hand at her side once more reaching up towards her heart. “I could ask for no finer council, and no better guidance. No better friends.”

Cullen’s voice doesn’t waver as he mimics her motion, hand on his chest. “I speak for all of us when I answer: we could ask for no finer cause.”

No finer Inquisitor, he muses, watching as she begins to adjust the figurines with her other two advisors. A way forward, thanks to Morrigan. Resources thanks to Josephine. Infiltration, thanks to Leliana. Trained soldiers, thanks to Cullen. But belief… hope… a plan, all thanks to Verdanna.

No finer woman, Cullen thinks as well, watching her nod after a moment and look towards Morrigan. They begin to talk to themselves while Josephine and Leliana begin to plot the course her agents should take, and Cullen watches Verdanna’s head bow to Morrigan as she leaves. Always willing to respect the knowledge of those around her, fighting to understand those most would push aside -- Verdanna’s willingness to see her own limitations and turn to those who would help her overcome it is more than who she is as the Inquisitor - it’s who Cullen sees everyday. He thinks of Cole, of Sera, of Thom Rainier, of Iron Bull, of Dorian, all people pushed aside because of one reason or another… and yet brought into the arms of the Inquisition because Verdanna saw something great in them.

And as he reaches for his own figures, he brushes her fingers with his own, finds himself looking into her eyes and seeing something there that makes the world around them fade away. Sees his own struggles, so often at the surface, for a moment seem so small. Feels the constant itch for lyrium, clamoring for his attention, be pushed aside, her magic swirling in his chest, a soothe to his ache for a few seconds before she pulls away to reach for a few papers from Josephine.

These are the last moments of distraction he allows himself before focusing on the issue at hand, but he can’t help the way his thoughts turn once more to her, only her. There is no one like her, and yet the Maker saw fit for Cullen to be so lucky, to put him in her path to legend. The finest woman, the greatest Inquisitor, and as he watches her, he knows.

The truest love.

-

There’s a moment, in the Arbor Wilds, where Cullen sees her.

It’s a brief flash, really. He has soldiers behind him, pushing them forward, closer and closer to the main camp of red templars where Corypheus seems to be. His heart pounds in his ears, and he downs too many men he knows and a surprising amount he doesn’t. There are demons and Venatori and turned Grey Wardens and perhaps even a darkspawn or two. It is chaos and the ringing of battle as they go from camp to camp.

And then he sees Verdanna.

Feels her, really. In a flash of heat at his back, her magefire erupting and disintegrating a demon before it could slice through Cullen’s plate armor. It seems to scorch the back of his neck, and in a whirl of moment he turns to find the source. She stands with Cassandra, Sera, and Dorian, her staff spinning in her hand, and in a blaze of light a wall of fire ignites the forest floor, downing more spirits in its wake.

There is no moment to go to her, not now. Not when the fighting is so thick. But he finds himself drawn to her anyways, feeling a magical barrier surround him, watching the way her lightning is summoned in a moment’s notice. Another flash of purple, this one igniting head after head of soldiers, and then the dust settles, if only for a moment.

There is not much to say, even then. There is still so much fighting, and they both lead the charge, but he sees her, and for now, that is enough. She is safe, and her eyes are alight with her magic as they pass each other, fingertips brushing, hers dancing with prepared spells.

“Be safe, Cullen,” she tells him, and he feels one last barrier form around him. Another wave of demons approaches.

“Inquisitor,” he calls back to her as she turns, Cassandra taking the lead and Sera the rear. “Be well, friends. For the Inquisition!”

His men, like him, are delighted to see her. Energized, eager to fight. Ready to win. It’s long-fought, the journey to push the forces back, but in the end, they manage. And then…

Quiet.

The aftermath. The mourning of those lost, the celebration of victories won. There are certainly things to discuss, but for now he savors seeing you safe.

The journey back home is a long journey north. There’s lots to talk about, some of it serious, and other bits less so.

“Why can’t we have a big flying thing on our side, Quizzy? Not an demon, course, but something else,” Sera calls to Verdanna as she walks alongside the steeds, much preferring the ground. Dorian lets out a little snort.

“If you want to risk life and limb to attempt to train a dragon to fly for the Inquisition, dear Sera, be our guest.”

Leliana’s eyes narrow a little, playful as she glances back at Dorian. “You know, Qunari revere the dragon. Wouldn’t be a bad idea to bring the Iron Bull on an adventure like that, if someone wanted his favor.”

Dorian’s reddened cheeks are quite obvious, making Cullen raise his brow. “Well, I - certainly the Iron Bull’s approval simply emphasizes that it’s a terrible idea. Can never trust those Qunari to know common sense.”

But Sera’s voice shouts louder than the rest, especially as she elbows Blackwall beside her and speaks in the loudest whisper she can manage. “Something tells me we’re gonna be fighting a dragon soon.”

In the end, it gives Cullen and Verdanna a chance to laugh together as they banter, and he feels the comradery settle in his bones. Just as laying next to Verdanna settles, too, warming him from the inside out. Able to be in the same bed once more, able to claim his place beside her as he strokes her hair, watching her ever watchful gaze grow tired against his chest.

When Skyhold’s structure greets them in the distance, Verdanna turns to him, gentle smile as she reaches for his hand. Their steeds ride beside each other, and he glances behind them before entangling her fingers in his and squeezing them. “I’m going to call a meeting of the War Council,” she tells him, voice low. “There are… new developments to discuss.”

“As always, we’re at your service,” he says, voice strong.

Skyhold beckons. Soon their steeds are clopping through the front gate, and Cullen manages a smile through his exhaustion. That smile lingers in the War Room, pride lifting his chin and his chest as he looks over each representative. “I’m pleased to report we won the battle, Inquisitor. When you went through that mirror, Corypheus and his Archdemon fled the field. I’m not sure why.”

Morrigan’s voice is matter-of-fact, but there’s something underneath it that sends a shiver down Cullen’s spine. He does his best to avoid her gaze. “What he wanted was no longer within the temple.”

“Perhaps,” he agrees, humming. “After all, he spent so long trying to get into the Temple, he probably couldn’t have helped his forces at that point.”

Josephine’s answering hum pitches up. “Then Corypheus is finished,” the ambassador says, and Morrigan and Leliana turn to her with serious eyes. Almost nod.

“If he is wise, he will hide and rebuild his strength before he attacks again,” Leiliana says, reaching for a little statuette.

Morrigan immediately shakes her head. “No. He will not hide.”

“Meaning he will attack us directly, at Skyhold.” Verdanna turns to Cullen, and he has a flashback to their conversation at Haven, the way hellfire rained down on them at the place they started to build with the Inquisition. It makes his chest tighten.

Yet Morrigan hums, again, quite quickly. “Not necessarily, but neither will he remain idle.”

Leliana frowns. “And how could you have such insight into his plans?” Her suspicion is echoed by Cullen’s own thoughts, who simply shoots the Lady Morrigan a sharp look.

“The Well of Sorrows held many voices, and they speak to me now across the ages,” she replies. “They hold wisdom, secrets I never deemed possible. But even they fear what Corypheus has become.”

“But he’s not a god, yet,” Verdanna counters.

“Not yet,” Morrigan answers with a nod to the Inquisitor. “He is powerful and immortal, but… he has a weakness. The dragon he calls is not truly an Archdemon. It is a dragon, in which Corypheus has invested a part of his being. He doubtless did so out of pride to emulate the gods of old, which can be exploited.” Her hands spread, the answer laid out before them as she speaks. “Kill the dragon, and his ability to leap into other bodies is disrupted. He can be slain.”

Cullen knows Verdanna can’t help her little huff. It makes him smile, a quick one, as he glances toward her. “Just kill his dragon. Why didn’t we think of that before?”

Morrigan chuckles a little as well, and she turns to face Verdanna as she does. “There is a way to defeat the dragon, Inquisitor, and to match Corypheus in his power. The Well whispers it to me now. Your help will be required, Inquisitor.”

Verdanna nods. “I’ll meet you in the courtyard when I’m ready to embark,” she says, but Morrigan’s low laugh once again echoes in the room.

“No journey necessary. Simply… practice.”

Though ominous, there’s a reassurance to Morrigan’s confidence. “I’ll see to Skyhold’s defenses in the meantime,” Cullen says to Verdanna and the rest. “It can’t hurt to bolster what we have and make new what we don’t.”

“And Leliana and I will ensure that our allies know what occurred at the Arbor Wilds. News of Corypheus’ defeat will certainly help reassure those who still fear his forces,” Josephine says.

The plan falls into place, and Verdanna approves with a nod. “Then it’s settled,” she says. “For now, everyone rest. Our journey was nothing if not tedious and tiring, and there are still wounded to attend to and work to be done.”

“Yes, Inquisitor,” they all say, and with that, it is a dismissal.

She goes to all of them, eventually. Discusses with Josephine and Leliana what will be said and what will be omitted. Visits Morrigan in the courtyard. But she ends with Cullen, as he hopes, his finger tracking the words on a report from one of his men.

“How are the defenses, Commander?” Her voice cuts through his thoughts, and his head lifts to look at her with a smile as she leans against one of the walls.

“There… is good news,” he reports, sighing as he stands straight. “When we came, the decay of Skyhold had not spread to the foundations of the walls. Our boundaries are sturdy. However, walls are not always enough.” As Verdanna steps forward, he sits in his chair, leaning back with a press of his fingers against his temple.

Her steps carry her to his side, one hand on his shoulder as she looks over what he’s written. “At least there’s a place to start,” she says, voice quieter now that she’s next to him. After a moment, she perches on the armrest of the seat, letting one of her hands rub at his shoulder. “Tell me what you need, and we’ll send parties out to find it.”

“Understood,” he says, eyes on her eyes, the shape of her nose, the curve of her lips. “What’s next for you and Morrigan?”

At the mention, Verdanna simply chuckles, and he can hear her disbelief.

“Are you that worried?” he asks immediately. She shakes her head.

“No, simply that… astonished,” she says. “It’s a very complex piece of magic, with a lot of parts.”

“What does the spell do?” he asks, but again, she chuckles. Lifting a hand then lowering it once more.

“I - I don’t think I really know. It’s nothing I’ve seen, though she swears that the origin itself is Dalish in nature. And I don’t think I could describe it in a way that gives it justice,.” She smirks, then, and Cullen groans. “Or at least in words that are less than --”

“I regret ever telling you that,” he says with a wave of his hand, cutting her off as he stands and she begins laughing once more. There’s a flood of color to his cheeks. “More each moment.”

“Don’t be sour,” Verdanna giggles, which only makes his brow furrow more, makes his lips twist. “Cullen. I’m teasing.”

“You know, I told you that in confidentiality, so I surely hope I am the only one who has heard jokes of that nature,” he tells her, and her hand moves to his chest next before she leans down to kiss him .

“I know, vhe’nan,” she tells him. And as always, he believes her, especially as her lips peck against his and then a few more times on his cheek. “Better?”

“Much,” he says with a grin.

“You’re very smart,” she reassures him, hands lifting to cup his cheeks right over the color. “And incredibly brave. And distractingly handsome.”

“Distractingly?” That’s a new one, one that makes his smile only grow. It’s her turn to look bashful, simply turning away as she asks him.

“It can be hard to focus. But while we’re gone, I’ll be thankful for a distraction, I’m sure of it.”

A sudden stab of panic moves through him. He glances toward the door, looking at the way the sun seems to sit in the sky. “Are you leaving tomorrow?”

“Now, actually,” she admits, sighing. “We need Morrigan’s supplies. I came to say goodbye, and that I’ll see you back here, at the fortress.”

“So quickly?” It seems like too little, too late, this little goodbye, one he’s giving a thousand times before. But this journey with Morrigan feels different. Aches in his chest as he watches Verdanna stand and reach for his hand so he’ll stand with her. He complies, and she kisses him sweetly as he does.

“We need these components,” she whispers. “I wouldn’t go if it wasn’t important.”

“I know, my darling,” he whispers back. “I know.”

He hugs her tightly, and his eyes close as he buries his face in her neck, thankful for how she stays close to him as long as he holds her. He pulls back only when he thinks he’s memorized the sweet smell of her hair and the way her fingers feel gripping his sleeve.

“... walk with me?” she finally asks, after what feels like minutes of holding onto each other. There is a battle coming, part of a bigger war, and she looks nervous, even doing her best to push it down for his sake.

“Of course,” he answers, kissing her cheek. “Anywhere’d you like.”

It hits him as they walk down the battlements together, every so often his hands pulling her close for another kiss. It hits again as he watches the big doors open for her and Morrigan to leave, and once more as her figure disappears into the snowdrifts.

This is the endgame. But in war, there are always casualties. All he can do now is pray that what they have is stronger than Corypheus, turn to the Maker and his guidance, to Andraste and hers. But what’s stopping Verdanna’s body from arriving at their home, wrapped up tight in linens for the world to mourn her over and over again?

The answer, then and there, he realizes, is nothing.

And nothing scares him more.

-

The waiting kills him. Slowly and surely, inching through his veins like the craving for lyrium, compounding on each other until his pacing seems to run tracks into the wood beneath his feet.

“They’ll return,” Josephine tries to soothe him, “and soon. We’re almost to the end.”

But her words don’t help, and Cullen doesn’t know how to describe why. Doesn’t know how to admit that it’s the end he’s so frightened of.

What happens when Verdanna faces Corypheus for the last time? What happens when she reveals herself to him, shows her true colors to face his? What happens when she returns, when the war is over and won?

What happens if she doesn’t?

Any joy in each other’s company is soured by the impending end. The very real possibility that one of them won’t return from battle seems to be the only thing that he can think of, the thing keeping him up most nights. A world without Verdanna seems to have no color, no light, no life to it at all, and he worries that is the future that faces them.

And even now, he waits. Waits for her to return, waits for Morrigan to return, waits and waits and waits. The time ticks slowly by and he can’t help but wonder how much time he has left, even as he stands around the war table with Leliana and Josephine.

Those thoughts continue to linger, even as the doors to the war room push open. Verdanna enters with Morrigan close behind, and Cullen finds himself unable to tear his gaze away from the one who has his heart.

“Did you find what you need, Morrigan?” Leliana asks them, and the self-satisfaction in the woman is clear. She lifts her chin.

“I can match the darkspawn magister’s dragon, yes,” Morrigan hums. “As for matching Corypheus… that is up to you, Inquisitor.”

“We don’t even know where he is,” Verdanna says with a sigh, looking around the room. When she looks at Cullen, he manages the smallest of smiles.

“Then all that remains is to find Corypheus before he comes to us,” he tells her, letting himself huff out a laugh. “Simple.”

There’s a gentle sigh from the spymaster. “We’ve been looking for his base since all this began, with no success,” Leliana admits, clenching her jaw.

“Well, his dragon must come and go from somewhere.”

“What about the Deep Roads? We could send word to Orzammar, hire envoys to --”

The light hits them, before the sound. A blast of sickly green energy that shakes the hold to its foundation, and then the sound of thunder all around them. The green is answered by Verdanna’s own hand, the anchor glowing and pulling her forward, and with a shout she falls forward.

“Verdanna!” Cullen shouts, rushing to her side. His hand rests on her shoulder, but when she looks up, all he sees is the tight furrow between her brows, the determination in her gaze.

“It seems Corypheus is not content to wait,” Morrigan murmurs to them all.

Rising to her feet, leaning on Cullen ever so slightly, Verdanna gapes as she looks toward the window. “He’s in the Valley of Sacred Ashes?”

For once, Morrigan’s voice is solemn, not sly. The wisdom beyond her years ripples through her words. “You either close the Breach once more, or it swallows the world.”

Josephine’s gasp is an echo of them all as they gaze at Morrigan. “But that’s madness! Wouldn’t it kill him as well?”

The realization sets in all at once, and he finds himself looking between his compatriots -- from Josephine, to Leliana, and back to Verdanna once more. Finds himself forcing down the terror as he scans her face, the reality of their situation like a gut punch. “Inquisitor,” he says, voice still so stoic. “We have no forces to send with you -- we must wait for them to return from the Arbor Wilds.”

Verdanna meets his eyes, then, and there’s a sadness to them. But she looks past him once more to the storm brewing in the distance. “Just as Corypheus expects, I suppose.”

“We can rally the troops that are left,” Leliana tells the room. Her own gaze turns to Josie, who meets her eyes with a few quick blinks. And our friends will help us, but…”

“It’s you and the magister, Verdanna Lavellan,” Morrigan tells her. “What we do now is up to you.”

There’s another crash of thunder, a flash of green. Josephine ducks with a little gasp, and the whole group moves back from the windows, the foundation of Skyhold shaking itself.

“I know what I have to do,” Verdanna tells the room. “Keep each other safe.”

“Let’s find you shelter,” Leliana tells Josephine, grabbing her hand. With a look towards Verdanna, she nods her chin, deeply. “Good luck, Inquisitor. Maker be with you.”

“Andraste guide you, Verdanna,” Josephine tells her, voice still warm even through the low tremor. And with a final embrace for her ambassador, Cullen and Verdanna watch the two women move deeper into the hold.

Morrigan lifts her chin again. Looks to Verdanna with narrowed eyes and a toothy smile. Something flashes in her, something that makes Cullen tense, but as soon as it’s there, it’s lost in the lights dancing in the Valley of Sacred Ashes. “I will see you in battle, Lady Inquisitor,” the witch hums lowly, and with a turn she is gone almost as quickly as she arrived.

All that is left is the two of them. There is another crack of lightning, one that seems to reach for Verdanna herself. Her Anchor erupts and drops her to one knee in pain. Cullen feels his stomach roll as he watches her gasp out before reaching for her shoulders.

“Verdanna --” he starts, voice fighting to be heard over the magic brewing in the distance, but her head shakes.

“I’m all right, Cullen,” she tells him. “I’m okay.” His hands roam her body, but while no injuries are clear he can’t help the way he clings to her. Lifts her to her feet.

Always strong. For the good of the Inquisition. For the good of the world. But what about her? What if she --

“I have no forces to send with you,” he whispers. It hits him all at once. He is horrified, aghast, and his hands fall into hers, even with the Anchor burning so bright. His words had echoed over the war table, but now they shake and tremble. “No army. Almost no one. I have nothing to send with you --”

“I thought you knew me better than that, Commander,” she tells him. Urges him. “I have everything I need. Sera will stand behind me, Cassandra beside me, Dorian around me… all of our friends on the field below.”

“Let me come with you,” he all but yells over the madness outside. His voice growing evermore broken. His hands grip her arms, yank her close to terror and wrap around her without any thought of releasing. “Let me fight by your side! I will not lose you to that damned demon, do you understand? I will not lose you to him. I won’t -- I-I can’t, Verdanna. I love you.”

“Oh, gods, Cullen,” she gasps into his shoulder, and he hears the shakiness of her voice. “Don’t you realize? You are always with me.” Her hand reaches for his. Guides it up to her chest. She presses it flat, and he feels the etchings through her shirt, no armor blocking him from feeling the coin around her neck.

“Maker above,” he mutters, kissing her temple. And when she pulls back, the green of her eyes is swallowed by sickly emerald light, even more distorted by the faint shine of tears.

“I have our friends. Our family. And I have you, do you understand?”

He presses his forehead to hers. He imagines he feels every etching of her tattoos against his own skin, lifts a hand to tangle in her hair and breathe her in. One final prayer. One final plea.

“Maker guide you. Andraste guide you,” he whispers. The thundering of Corypheus’ presence looms. “Mythal guide you. Back home to me.”

Her last gesture is a kiss, firm against his lips, gripping his hands tight. “What did you say before? In front of Andraste herself? I will be back, Commander. And so will you. That is our destiny.”

With that, she unleashes herself upon the world. Turning from him with that beautiful smile, hair flying back from her face, steps confident and certain as she steps toward the doors of the War Room.

She is fearsome.

She is brilliant.

She is Elven, Dalish, magic, and he has the honor to be hers.

“You will be back,” Cullen whispers yet again, a prayer and a plea, and the wind carries it to her ears. Her back straightens, and with a nod, she pushes through the doors of the War Room, vanishes as the entrance slams to a close behind her.

-

It’s over. All is said, and done, and it’s over.

It feels too good to be true. For a moment, as Corypheus fell, Cullen feared the worst, felt bile in his throat. And yet there was nothing to doubt when he found himself arriving at the Inquisitor’s side, his eyes wide at the heap of precious metal on the ground, Verdanna standing above the burnt corpse of Corypheus.

It’s over.

All in all, the final celebration is nothing more than a party, and yet nothing less. The last party they dared to throw, Corypheus revealed himself, arrived with his army on Haven’s doorstep. Now, the threat is gone, and Cullen gazes over smiling faces and raucous laughter and drinks lifted to Andraste without worry that Skyhold will cave in.

And then she appears. At his side, like a warm summer breeze, gently touching his arm as she speaks. “Commander. What a… pleasure.”

When he turns to face her, he is glad to see her changed out of the armor she donned for the fight.. For the first time in ages, there is no furrow between her brows.

He grins. “Am I imagining it, or do we have a moment to breathe?”

There’s a hint of disbelief in her, too. She lets out a little huff. “We happen to have a moment.”

He can’t help his little chuckle, hand falling to his side as he manages to take in the sight of the great hall. “I think you’re right.”

The laughter fades, however. So does everyone else in the room. The light flickers on Verdanna’s face, and he can’t help but feel his hand twitch. To reach out to her face, brush his thumb along her cheek. How close he was to losing her. Losing this moment, this victory. It surges through him all at once, and he finds himself speaking to her from the depths of himself. “You brought us here. You are proof that the Inquisition has made a difference. That we will continue to do so.”

Her hand reaches for his. Their respectful distance no longer respectful, but Cullen can’t find it in himself to care. The night is young, the dawn will come, and she’s still standing in front of him, eyes bright in the firelight, not a scratch. It’s… all he’s prayed for.

“Our soldiers put their trust in you, Cullen,” she tells him in response. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for the Inquisition. For me.”

It takes him aback. He finds a ferocity in his voice as he squeezes her hand, an urgency. “I should be thanking you. You gave me a chance to… to prove myself. In your place, I’m not sure I would have done the same.” But just as soon as the energy has come, it fades. Eyes start to drift towards them, towards her, and he finds himself relinquishing his hold on her. Just for a little moment more. “I should let you mingle. I’m sure everyone desires your attention, as much as I might want it for myself.”

She nods. Steps away. But he doesn’t dare to miss the way her hand reaches to push her hair back, a mimic of his own action, the way she turns to face him even as she walks toward the other heroes.

The rest of the night seems to crawl at a snail’s pace. Cullen watches Verdanna move with ease amongst the crowd, from friend to friend. It seems all of Thedas is drawn to her, eager to make her laugh, praise her name, thank her for all she’s done. He watches as Varric promises one last game of Wicked Grace, as Iron Bull drinks to her name, as Sera teases and pokes her side and Dorian sends a wink in his direction. But even as his eyes flicker away for moments of praise for himself, for laughter and a moment with Josephine and Leliana, nothing stops him from watching her quietly slip towards the War Room.

It doesn’t take much after all. A whisper to the guard, a little look and smile. “We won,” Cullen hears her say, “relax for just a moment.” Her words are like sugar, and he imagines her lips as sweet, glancing behind him once more to take in the music before the wooden door closes with a clang.

“You managed to slip away,” he calls out to her. Her strides slow as she steps through Josephine’s space, and she turns to face him, chin lifted as the moon shines on her features, smile wide, devious.

“As did you, Commander,” she laughs, waiting for him to approach. It’s when they’re in step that she walks again, purposeful movements toward the far door, the creak drowned out by the laughter in the other rooms of the hold.

It closes behind them with a loud thud. The War Room shines with the stars in the sky, the only light from the window and the moon that shows itself, big and brilliant. The little figurines seem to glisten, and Cullen takes Verdanna’s hand as he walks toward them in the center.

“I thought I might claim more of your attention after all,” he admits when he turns to face her, his own hip pressed against the wood of the table.

“I’m glad you did,” Verdanna tells him, and he can feel the heart behind every word.

He can touch her now, but something holds him back. Perhaps it’s the ethereal light of the room, the faintest green glow of the Anchor on his hand. Perhaps it’s the fear that he will wake from a brilliant dream, and the world and the Fade will crumble around him. Something makes him falter, and as always, she is there to pick him up.

Her hand reaches for his, squeezes tight. “Now, Commander, what did we say?” she teases him. Her voice is quiet, and yet Cullen feels it reverberate down his spine.

“You mean what did I order?” he responds, and it’s with the lowest chuckle, eyes on her. “I said you would be back, Verdanna Lavellan.”

“And look where I am,” she whispers, and her other hand presses to his front, flat and warm, even through the metal of his armor. “I’m right here, Cullen Rutherford. Right… here.”

Right here. The symbol of their fight beside them, all of Thedas on the verge of war, and yet, here she stands. Brillant. And beautiful. And above all, his.

His hand slashes out. With a quick motion, he pushes aside all of the figurines, Josephine’s, Leliana’s, all of his even to the side. They fall to the ground with a clatter, some of them snapping under the drop, others under the weight of his boots as he crowds her against the war table.

“Destroying the property of the Inquisition,” Verdanna laughs, her body pressed against the edge. Cullen lifts her with ease so she sits atop the wood, over Skyhold’s representation on the map. Her Dalish markings seem to glow.

“All to please the Inquisitor,” he breathes. And with a yank forward, he is kissing her, enraptured, enlightened. Her fingers move up to his hair, his hands spread her knees wide.

There is nothing stopping them now. No self-control, no fear of discovery. All that Cullen can think is that in this moment he has her, and she has him, and somehow they have both made it to the other side.

Fuck the sanctity of the table, of the war room and their games of chess. Corypheus is dead. The war is won. Their lives have just begun.

-

i posted this on this blog for more exposure, and to keep my fics all in one place! but for more dragon age: inquisition content and shitposting, follow @inqvisitor.

thanks for reading. <3

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