#i miss my cullens | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gisellelx · 5 months

Text

Twilight Advent Calendar, Day 10

Masterpost/Prompts

Dec. 10 - Pick one of the witnesses in Breaking Dawn. What was it like for them to stay at the Cullens' home for those two weeks? Who did they spend time with?

"Revolutionaries"

(~1300 words)

There was no question about it.

Carlisle’s family was weird.

He’d met them before, but in passing. Now, surrounded, Garrett understood that the meetings had been in the woods, on street corners, at night, not because that was normal for Carlisle’s coven, but for his benefit. He had heard Carlisle say the words “home” and call the rangy redhead his son, but it just hadn’t registered. He thought it was just language, that his old friend was making himself feel better about the state of affairs he lived in. But it wasn’t.

They had a goddamn Christmas tree. When it had been suggested that he go to the Cullen home, Garrett had assumed he’d find a coven playacting. Staying out of the way of the Volturi. Hiding from humankind. And surely, surely there couldn’t be seven of them as perfect in their records as Carlisle.

But, no, here they were. Half a dozen bedrooms, closets with clothes that weren’t purloined from victims. Carlisle, nerd that he was, had a whole fucking library on the second floor, with books he’d been toting for two centuries. Five bathrooms—for what? And a kitchen. Well, that was, oddly, going to use.

Garrett could hear her, humming to herself as she buzzed around, again making some sort of something for the werewolves who were sleeping on the doorstep, and realized he recognized the tune. Penny Lane.

Yep, he needed air.

There was a figure already on the porch when he exited, and even if the scent hadn’t registered before his eyes did, he’d have recognized the silhouette anywhere. The shoulders were slumped in a way that reminded Garrett of two hundred twenty years ago. The body of a man trying to convince himself he was happy, when he wasn’t.

“This is some endeavor, English,” he said, and the head whipped around. Garrett laughed. “Did I startle you?” Absurd.

A long sigh. “Oh, perhaps I was somewhat aware.” The face broke into a tired smile. “I’m just out here cogitating.”

Garrett cocked his head. “You do you know you sound like the most horrible snob when you use words like that.”

This, thankfully, elicited a smile. “Noted. What brings you outdoors?”

“Your woman was singing the Beatles; I had to escape.”

A questioning frown.

“I didn’t care for the first British invasion. I like the second even less.”

His friend’s bark of a laugh was familiar. Garrett grinned in return, and then joined Carlisle at his side, leaning against the thick railing.

“I will say, however, that her taste in music aside, Esme is quite the—”

“Garrett.”

“—lovely woman is what I was going to say,” he finished sweetly, flashing Carlisle a wide smile. His friend shook his head, rolling his eyes, but then they met gazes and Carlisle smirked. Both of them began laughing.

“I am a lucky man; I won’t deny it.”

“Hell yes you are, you bastard.” He punched Carlisle in the shoulder, and Carlisle looked down shyly, a wry smile playing on his face. “And here I thought you were going to go all eternity without ever doing the deed.”

Another laugh. “Truthfully? So did I.”

The moonlight glinted off Carlisle’s hair as they both fell into companionable silence again. They looked enough alike to pass as brothers; it had been something Garrett had liked all those centuries ago. Even though Carlisle was his elder by a century and then some, he had always struck Garrett as naïve. His hope, his steadfast confidence that if he just did things his way, it would all turn out right and well. It was as admirable as it was ridiculous.

And yet it was working.

Garrett didn’t have to work hard to make out the individual conversations going on in the expansive living room as he and Carlisle stared together out into the forest. The sisters—also gorgeous, talking with the Spanish woman. Her mate, locked in a quiet talk with Carlisle’s son. The weird kid, with her even weirder name, reading to her mother while Carlisle’s blonde daughter interjected every now and again. The lawn behind the house twinkled in color from the tree and the lights that went up the banister in the big room; the shadows cast by the roaring fire danced playfully across the porch.

“You succeeded,” he said finally.

“Mmm?”

He gestured widely at the house behind them. “You succeeded. At this. I thought you were bereft of your senses, with that diet and the doctor thing and everything but…you did it.” He turned, leaning against the rail. “Family life suits you. I don’t know why I am surprised.”

Carlisle made a noise somewhere between a snort and a laugh. “It’s not easy. At times, I envy your freedom.” He turned back to Garrett. “I wasn’t out here merely cogi—thinking. I was worrying, while Edward isn’t paying attention. I’m worried about Alice and Jasper, and I’m worried about Renesmee, and I’m worried what that will do to Bella, and what any of this will do to Edward. And then all of you…”

Garrett clapped a hand on Carlisle’s shoulder. “We chose to come. You can’t take that on.”

The brow furrowed again. “I feel responsible.”

“That’s your problem, not anyone else’s. No one is going to hold you responsible for”—he gestured widely in the direction of the field where the clairvoyant had indicated they would need to be—“whatever goes on out there. You’re responsible for this. This gathering. These friends. This…family. This is what you worry about. This is what you can control.”

They both glanced back in the doors. Someone had turned on Christmas music. The Spanish woman was slow dancing with her mate. One of the sisters—the prettier one—had accepted the offer of a a Santa hat. Muffled laughter. The sound of crackling, and the earthen scent of a fresh log beginning to burn.

“And which of you with taking thought can add to his stature one cubit,” Carlisle muttered.

“Huh?”

This elicited another chuckle. “The twelfth chapter of Luke, you heathen.” He grinned. “But it’s a welcome reminder. Thank you.”

The Bible. Of course. That hadn’t changed, either. Garrett stared. Carlisle’s expression seemed to have softened; the strange, amber eyes glowed differently. The two of them stared out into the blackness of the night, the moon glinting off the river so close to the house. They listened to this; the way the water pounded against what must have been much larger rocks further north, where the elevation was even higher, before coming whooshing through the woods behind the stately home.

It was a long while before Garrett got the eerie feeling of being watched. He turned back toward the hulking French doors. Esme standing there, her head cocked, her arms crossed over her chest.

“There’s a beautiful woman looking for you, English,” Garrett said, nudging Carlisle in the ribs.

Carlisle turned. “So there is.” He beckoned, and the door opened a crack as Esme leaned out.

“Your granddaughter wants to say goodnight,” she called. “They’re going back over to the cottage in a few minutes.”

Your granddaughter, Garrett mouthed. The words still felt strange on his lips.

Carlisle didn’t miss this. “It is amazing, isn’t it?”

Garrett stared back at the door. “Like I said. It suits you.” He nodded in the direction of Carlisle’s wife. “Go. Stop worrying. At least for the night.”

In the same instant that Carlisle nodded, he was at his wife’s side. He put his arm around her waist, and she tipped her chin up so that their lips met. It looked…familiar. Garrett watched the way their gazes followed each other’s, the way a hand around the waist slipped slowly over hips to become a hand in another hand. The way she smiled up at him. The blur of knee-high blue that was the little girl streaking across the living room for his knees. The way he lifted her into the air and how she giggled and squeaked as he tossed her before settling her, one-armed, onto his hip. That even amidst the worry, his face lit up as he pressed his nose to hers and she put her palm to his cheek.

He had thought Carlisle boring. Naïve. Even deluded. I envy your freedom, he heard his friend’s voice echo in his head.

But as he listened to the laughter on the other side of the door, and watched the way the colored lights played off the planes of his friend’s face, Garrett wondered if freedom was really all Carlisle imagined it was cracked up to be.

~~~~

Note: A more modern translation of Luke 12:25 reads “Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to your life?” (NRSV). But I feel confident that if Carlisle is going to quote the Bible, it’s the 1611 KJV that he has in mind.

#carlisle cullen #garrett #my fic #twilightadvent23 #The only thing missing when I write these two #Is two bottles of Coors Light #but I try to imagine blocking that includes them cracking open a bottle #and keep that vibe

65 notes · View notes

bluekaddis · 1 year

Photo

(a letter of complaint from Roderick, probably 😒)

#Dragon Age: Inquisition #cullen rutherford #I miss him #commander fluffy #my art #the outfit looks different it is based on my mod

285 notes · View notes

palmofafreezinghand · 5 months

Text

guilt

Esme and Carlisle fight about discuss his motivations to change Rosalie.

twilight advent calendar day seven: Choose one Twilight couple (or an AU ship) and tell us about an argument they've had. How did they resolve it in the end? (prompts here) content warnings: references to sexual assault & domestic abuse.

June 1933.

Esme sat on the back porch step, keenly aware her freshly styled hair was frizzing in the evening rain but lacking all motivation to go back inside. She would have been thrilled about the project at any other point in her life, a mansion that desperately needed life breathed back into it. She should have been content for years exploring the rooms upon rooms of things to do, planning her restoration, and studying the hundreds of years of history haunting the halls. Yet, the hastiness of the move, and the chaos brought by their new unexpected discontented roommate, meant she loathed what her husband believed was a gift.

The back porch was as far as she could go, the vast wilderness she once spent days hiding in was strictly forbidden. The newest housemate refused to be left alone with anyone but Esme and was too new to their way of life to be left alone completely. Esme should have taken it as a compliment and not the death sentence she had come to regard it as.

She heard the back door creak open — a reminder she still needed to oil that hinge — before she detected her husband, her inhuman senses overpowered by her inhuman imagination.

“Hello,” he said, heavy footsteps walking across the porch, she could hear the oak creak under his boot. The porch would need to be replaced, or removed, which was fine it was a horrific addition, not the only one she had faced in recent months.

“You are home early,” she observed.

“I am an hour later than usual,” he responded, taking a seat next to her, the porch groaned, probably termites.

She blinked, it was awfully dark was it not? “Oh, I must have been in my own mind, I did not realize it was so late.” She moved to stand — begrudgingly preparing herself to mediate whatever conflict had arisen in her mere hours alone — but his hand around her arm stopped her.

“Please don't rush off, I feel I have barely been able to look at you without someone threatening to harm me these past few months,” her husband said in a manner he must have believed to be charming.

She sighed, their home had been… tense, to put it politely. Although it was largely due to his own’s action. He was correct, they had not had a meaningful conversation since April. They had briefly run into each other in hallways, or spent mornings playing chess in the living room but always with an audience, and the understanding they could not speak freely. That moment, although lacking the privacy they typically preferred, was the closest they had gotten to a moment alone in months.

“Edward is simply worried, perhaps a tad mad, but mostly worried,” Esme explained. “You know how he gets.”

“He is not the one I am frightened of," Carlisle laughed, his hand landing on her thigh. "I am afraid she will bite my head off every time I touch you."

She attempted to laugh along but even she thought it sounded wrong.

Frightened. She chewed the word, turning the tone he had used over in her mind, it had flowed so naturally. As if the scared teenager currently listening to every word they said from the second story did not have every right to be terrified.

“She is scared, it is not her fault,” Esme said, wrapping her arm around him.

“She could tone it down a notch,” her husband scoffed, “even Edward was not this aggressive .”

“Edward had the flu,” Esme said before she could think better of it. She knew better than to talk back, especially weaponizing what was a traumatic experience of her son’s. ‘I am sorry, sweetheart. I did not mean it dismissively, I know that was horrific, I was trying to provide him perspective,’ Esme thought to the boy who was undoubtedly eavesdropping. She could hear the muffled first ten seconds of her favorite composition and knew she was forgiven.

“You reacted far better,” Carlisle countered. “You have been through similar," he said quietly enough it would be barely heard by those in the house.

“I had wished for death. I recognized you. I did not have my life ripped away,” Esme said. Why was he refusing to understand?

“Edward had his life ripped away, as did I.”

“Not at the hands of someone you loved.”

“I understand that, love, but—”

“Do you?”

Carlisle recoiled at her tone, but followed it by a tight lipped smile. “Are you alright? This is uncharacteristic for you,” he said in his familiar “doctor” tone, comforting, patronizing, a tone that meant to convey ‘I am an authority.’

“I apologize,” Esme said, squeezing his forearm lovingly, “I have had a long day.”

The words burned as she heard herself say them. How many unnecessary apologies was she destined to give when a husband of hers disagreed with her conduct? No, the two were nothing alike.

He smiled forgivingly, nodding in understanding. His hand, large and cold, wrapped around the back of her head, fingers through her hair. She flinched, he frowned and withdrew.

“I apologize,” Esme said, like one of Edison’s eerie dolls fated to echo the same sentiment until their wax record wore out.

“Does she know about?” He asked, dropping his voice to a whisper, gesturing with his hand rather than say the name they danced around as if it was a curse.

“Charles?” Esme asked, speaking at her regular volume, he winced but nodded. “You can say his name. He is not the Prince of Denmark.”

“Macbeth was attempting to be the King of Scotland. Hamlet is the Prince of Denmark,” Carlisle corrected her attempt at levity.

“Yes, I have told her about Charles. Not every detail but many.”

“Do you think reliving that has caused this?” He asked delicately, once again gesturing, this time to her, referencing her previous tone. Heaven forbid she speak frankly to him.

“It did not seem fair that I knew every detail about the worst night of her life, under no account of her own, and she knew nothing of mine.”

“You did not have to share anything with her. That is your story to tell how, and when you choose.”

“Carlisle, I know far too well how dreadful it is to be alone reliving that pain, feeling completely out of control of your life.”

“You felt alone back then?”

“Of course.”

His only response was a hmmph. She had hinted at this compliant many times over the years but had never said it in so few words.

Esme took the silence as an opportunity to continue speaking about the topic they had silently agreed to dance around. “I have been thinking about Ch- him a lot lately.” She noticed the way his nails dug into his palm, his glare at a puddle forming in the backyard, and yet she persisted, albeit less confidently. “I think… perhaps, I buried a lot of my memories in an attempt to move through it, and to not upset you two, but now it is all bubbling back up.”

“You do not have to discuss anything you do not wish to. No matter how much she pries.”

“She does not pry. I share willingly, I am thinking about him anyways, I figure I might vocalize some of it.”

“I apologize. She should not be forcing you to think of that thing.”

Esme considered her next move carefully. Very rarely did she challenge him blatantly, and never in front of others, but this seemed far more important than anything they had ever disagreed about previously and privacy seemed extinct.

“You brought home a young woman bloody and nude, who had been…” she swallowed the venom that felt like bile rising in her throat at her next word, “raped and beaten by her fiancé and his friends. You decided she should be frozen in that moment for the rest of eternity, and you do not believe I am going to naturally think about my husband and his?”

“His friends?” Carlisle stammered, one hand in a fist, the other gripping his knee.

“Do not act as if I have had complete permission to share freely about what went on in that house. You have torn a hole in your pants in your anger.”

He glanced down at his knee where his nails had shredded the slacks. “Do you expect me to enjoy hearing about him? To revel in...picturing what he did?”

“No,” she said definitively placing her hand softly on his torn pant knee, “but I lived it and sometimes I can not ignore that it happened.”

“His friends?” He asked again, quietly.

“We do not have to discuss it,” she said softly, squeezing his knee comfortingly.

“No, you want to. Please, tell me every gory detail,” he practically spat.

“Carlisle.”

“I apologize my tone was inappropriate” he said, in only a slightly softer tone.

The couple fell into an uncomfortable silence, punctuated by raindrops on brick.

“Why did you change her?” Esme asked minutes later.

“We have been over this before. She was far too young to die, I knew she was beyond the realm of medicine.”

“You see young people die all the time. You see young beautiful women die often, I am not jealous enough to suggest that was the motivator. Why not any of them?”

“This was different.”

“Why?” He did not respond, she pressed further. “Why this young woman who had been through such familiar horrors? Why did you feel compelled to save her? Why not a woman like her forty years ago? Why now?"

Her husband did not respond, but he met her eyes briefly, his mouth turning into a frown, and he abruptly looked away. It was confirmation enough.

“That is what I was afraid of,” Esme muttered. It felt as if someone had punched her in the gut. She had suspected this was at least partly his motivation from the moment she pieced together what had happened to the girl. His needless guilt had been a topic of discussion on a number of occasions, had made him act irrationally more than once, but this… was too far.

They fell back into silence, her hand on his knee drawing mindless shapes but it felt more like a rehearsed gesture than a sign of affection.

He moved one arm as if to wrap it around her shoulders but pulled it back to his body before ever touching her.

“You could not save me,” Esme said quietly. It was truth they had never acknowledged but both knew. “You believe you could not save me because you left, correct?”

“It is the truth.”

“But I was not a victim," Esme said plainly.

“Es-”

“No,” she said, moving the hand on his knee to his jaw, pulling his face to look at her. She shifted on the stair to face him directly. “Listen to me, please. I married him. I stayed with him for years. I chose not to knock him over the head with a frying pan and feed him to my father’s pigs. I chose to stay in our home when he was gone for a year. I chose him. A thousand times over.”

“I do not understand what you are trying to say.”

“Even if you were there, even if you had known what he did, you could not have done anything.” The hand on his face moved to his upper arm.

“But I cou—”

“No. If you had given me a choice, I would not have chosen you. I believed that was the life I was supposed to live. I would have chosen him, every single time. Do you understand me?”

“Do you… love him?” Carlisle asked, frowning as if the words burned.

“Don't be foolish, you know I do not," she scoffed, “I never did. But I was not brave, I would not have chosen to escape even if for some reason you were there and offered. The only reason I left was because I had too. You did not fail to save me.”

“You do not know that. If I coul—”

“Carlisle, no. What happened in my life, is no one’s fault but Charles’ and mine. You are not to blame.”

“But if I had—”

“This is not about you!” Esme exclaimed harshly.

He gulped.

"What I went through had nothing to do with you. What happened to her had nothing to do with you. The only way you are involved is because you changed someone because you felt guilty over what you could not prevent me from going through?” She finally asked.

He looked away from her, eyes focused on their feet.

“I do not believe I thought of it that rationally in the moment,” he said slowly, “But logically, yes, that was probably a motivating factor.”

“Do you understand the position that puts me in?”

“I do now, yes.”

“Do you understand the position she is in?”

“I never intended -”

“I know,” she said earnestly, leaning forward so she could look him in the eye. “You never intend. I do not say this to hurt you, love. I do not say this to make you feel guilty, but I need you to understand the consequences this has had, for all of us.”

He bit his bottom lip, a jerky little nod. “I do,” he muttered. He turned, she thought to avert her gaze, but instead his head dropped on her shoulder.

She wrapped her arms around him as she felt his frame shake, “I do,” he trembled, no louder than a breeze.

#carlisle cullen #esme cullen #rosalie hale #twilightadvent23 #my stories #i have had a draft sitting of this fight since 2021 last night i scrapped all but two lines and wrote this in a few hours last night #something is missing so i want to revisit before i post it on ao3 but happy this finally got a full draft #queue

50 notes · View notes

eff-plays · 8 months

Text

Honestly a lot of the romance pipeline joaks just aren't relatable to me at all.

Zevran > Fenris > Solas > Astarion? What is the man of mid Solas doing among those kings? He's nice like they're not, powerful like they're not, and doesn't play into the trope of being mean/"evil" and sexy. He also has so much power over Lavellan, which the others do not have over their love interests. Get him out of there. Yes they're all sad elves but that's it. Surface level reading.

Also I don't think Cullenites who are now obsessed with Astarion like Astarion for the same reasons I do. That is all I will say on the matter because I am seeing a large gathering of people outside my window and they seem to be chanting wishes of my death and gripping pitchforks.

#also fun fact the reason i deleted my old DA blog was because i was an avid cullen despiser and people hated that #so ppl going from cullen to astarion is like oouf ... why #explains why all the astarion fics are like that though #if someone fell for cullen's bullshit they will miss a lot of astarion's depth probably I MEAN WHAT AHHAHA i would never say that #ALSO i actually quite like solas and would've loved to romance him with my trevelyan #he's a great character and i love his demeanor and voice and personality and he was great friends with my trev #so adding a romantic angle to that whole angst would've been delish #solavellan in particular just gives me the ick #esp the popular fandom perception of it #anyway haha *gets shot and killed by the DA fandom*#bg3 #dragon age

54 notes · View notes

worldwithoutmiracles · 23 days

Text

The Most American Things About Twilight

Native Americans are misrepresented and dehumanized (literally)

being 18 years old forever is seen as a desirable thing and not a living nightmare

there is loads of violence but almost no sex

a fetus's life is prioritized over that of a mother

a mother dies in childbirth

rich, evil vampires survive the series while poor, evil vampires are ripped to shreds and burned

children fight a war

a teenager leaves their parents home to start their own life and plans to never return

the school system is so broken and lazy that it doesn't notice when students are literally (un)dead

the death penalty is Good sometimes

cars are characters

the difference between states/regions is emphasized

a vampire coven is seen as powerful even though 7/8 members are less than 100 years old

Europeans Are Weird and coming to the New World is the only way to Be Free

regularly hunting megafauna without a license

baseball

Christianity = morality

the power of the individual: with all of his infinite wealth and influence, Carlisle decides to help people by... being a small town doctor. which, like, he's not wrong about, doctors definitely help people. but it's kind of the Batman problem, right? is that really where he's most impactful? get involved in some aid groups, man. lobby the government or something

#sigh #yes I'm blogging about #twilight #stephanie meyer #don't worry #this isn't what my blog is now #but #twilight renaissance #having thoughts about #bella swan #edward cullen #and the mess that is forks washington #feel free to add ones I missed

18 notes · View notes

asimplearchivist · 2 months

Text

Thinking about Commander Rutherford this fine evening…🥺

#I miss my husband #fisara’s scrawlings #dragon age #cullen rutherford

8 notes · View notes

needahugfromesme · 11 months

Text

Desire

#oh gosh i missed them so much and this one took me too long to finish #and a fanfic is planned #cause I'm still thinking about 1921 carlesme #twilight #esme cullen #carlisle cullen #carlisle x esme #twilight fanart #my art

215 notes · View notes

kwop-kilawtley · 2 years

Text

Perhaps it’s because I dissect this saga & see all of Meyer’s HORRID choices, but I legitimately do not understand people can be so pro edward & anti Jacob. I also do not understand how it’s the majority of the fandom. Like, DID WE READ THE SAME BOOKS????

#team Jacob #Jacob black #i get ripped on over on the Reddit for voicing my opinions #like I can’t stand it lol I get downvoted for saying anything pro Jacob #twilight renaissance #twilight #I’ve debated so many people for fuckkng YEARSSSS and it’s tiring lolol #the cullens r Literallt colonizers #vampires are the enemy??? like ya the cullens r good but how do people hate the wolves #when THE WOLVES ONLY EXIST BC OF VAMPIRES #why do people side w the weird ass predator idgi #i guess ppl do not see Jacobs potential & his character assassination #Jacob is literally more likable? and understands bella #i just don’t get it #what am I fucking missing #Edward is such a stuck up classist little bitch #how can anyone prefer edward in new moon. bella would’ve been killed by Laurent .. cuz edward just left her ass

85 notes · View notes

shivunin · 1 year

Text

The Fire at the Center

(Salshira Lavellan/Cullen | 556 Words | No warnings)

“—Creator, judge me whole,” Cullen murmured, kneeling before the candle on his trunk, “Find me well within—”

He could hear Salshira shifting on the bed behind him. His focus broke at once, turned to the soft sound of her rolling over in the sheets.

“Go on,” she murmured, and her hand trailed through his hair, “Don’t let me stop you.”

Cullen huffed in irritation. It wasn’t that she was stopping him, necessarily, or even that she was distracting him on purpose. Lavellan was steadfastly quiet when he prayed every night, always respectful of this time. Yet somehow, every single time she was in his bed while he got on his knees, Cullen could think of nothing but climbing back under the blankets with her.

“Find me well within your grace,” she said, pressing a kiss to his cheek and shifting away again.

He shouldn’t have needed the prompt.

Cullen shook himself inwardly and began the verse of the Chant again.

“My Creator, judge me whole. Find me well within your grace. Touch me with…fire that I…”

More fabric sounds. She couldn’t be undressing; last he’d checked, she hadn’t been wearing anything to take off. So what was she doing?

Salshira padded past, clothed only in his tunic, draped low over one shoulder. She went to the pitcher on the table, poured herself a cup of water, and turned again, sipping.

She didn’t need to say it. She need only arch one brow before Cullen was sighing again.

“Touch me with fire that I be cleansed…”

Maker, this felt like his boyhood, reciting verses in the Chantry when he got himself in trouble. Though—he couldn’t say he’d ever seen the Chantry Mothers in quite the light that he was seeing his current companion.

“Tell me—”

Lavellan edged the hem of the tunic higher, examining a fresh scar on her thigh with a frown. She prodded it with one finger, and the new skin went white, then red again, both colors stark against the soft brown of her skin.

Cullen cleared his throat.

“Tell me I have sung to…”

From the corner of his eye, he could see her tugging the hem back down again before climbing onto the bed. Unfortunately, this caused the sleeve to slip the rest of the way from her shoulder, revealing the upper curve of her—

No. Focus. He could focus. Cullen squeezed his eyes shut.

“Tell me I have sung to your approval.”

There; only one more verse and then he could…

The soft noise of the bed creaking as she shifted again.

No; he could do this. He could…

The quiet intake of breath, the soft exhalation that followed.

Cullen stood all at once, pivoting and climbing onto the bed.

“You weren’t finished,” she said, a smile curving the corner of her mouth, the candlelight glittering in her eyes, “‘For you are…’”

“For you are the fire at the center of the world,” he finished in a rush, his mouth skimming her cheekbone, “and comfort is only yours to give.”

His palms cupped her cheeks on either side, his lips pressed to hers. This—he may feel shame over his lack of determination in the morning. But now, he could not bring himself to regret the chance to touch her—even though it had disrupted his plans.

She was well worth the change.

(Day 3 for @14daysdalovers "Chant." I couldn't not do Cullen for this one. It was basically tailor-made for him c: )

#cullen rutherford #salshira lavellan #inquisitor lavellan #cullavellan #cullen x lavellan #14dalovers #14dalovers2023 #day 3 chant #da fanfic #my writing #cullen usually manages better but salshira just got back from a long trip and he missed her #tomorrow is fenris and hawke! i am excited c:#shivunin scrivening

51 notes · View notes