#some fluff as an olive branch for the angst earlier

[bby-deerling]

IM NEW HERE I LOVE YOUR WRITINGS, AND CONGRATULATIONS FOR 250 FOLLOWERS!!!🪅🪅 Can I request "remember the time" with law!!?$3(+$+$! thank yew!!🐑

thank "ewe" for the request (you are now sheep anon to me)!!! i also combined that other request you sent me about a reader who is clingy while drunk, if that's okay!

this is also part of my lil' counting coins verse, but this can be read standalone as well! [1] [2] [3] (2 and 3 are nsfw, so mdni with those ones!)

law + remember the time (sfw, gn!reader)

wc: 1.0k masterlist

On his way to Dressrosa, Law is becoming increasingly irritated, grumpy, and restless.  Secretly, he’s relieved that you don’t have to see him like this, on edge and touchy, constantly torn between running through his plans in his head and being caught up in painful memories. He sighs to himself at the thought of you, knowing you would be able to handle his moodiness effortlessly; however, as much as he craved your presence, having you here was too much of a risk to even consider.  Though Law had left you behind with the rest of his crew, that didn’t necessarily mean that you had no role to play in his current plans—in truth, it was quite the opposite.

You were there, albeit only in spirit, to ground him.  Memories of simpler times are kept constantly swirling on the backburner in his mind, keeping him sane and giving him something to hold onto when the emotional weight begins to grow too heavy.

When he’s awake late at night, despite knowing he needs rest, as guilt and grief eat him alive, he latches onto the pink flush that dusted your cheeks during the first time he meets you, the countless number of nights the two of you ended up falling asleep on his office couch together after a long night of work, or the thrill at the beginning of your relationship as you both tried to keep things under wraps for as long as possible.  However, the memory of your seemingly well-hidden relationship coming to light is the one he ends up reaching for as a comfort tonight.

The others were bound to find out at some point—secrets were impossible to keep for too long when trapped between the walls of a submarine, after all—but he was hoping to keep the rest of the crew in the dark for longer than a few short months.  You had been on the same page, not wanting to be the target of teasing jokes from Shachi and Penguin until the heat death of the universe, but Ikkaku had gotten you a bit too tipsy one night, clouding your senses and decision-making.  Unceremoniously, you ended up plopping down next to him in the booth he was sitting at, draping your legs over his lap and nuzzling your tired face into his side.

“Knock it off.  We’re in public.” he scolded quietly, bristling at your touch.

“Law, ‘m so tired… Can you take me to bed?” you slurred, face still buried in his shirt.

“You’re wasted.” he observed, directing his words more so to Shachi and Penguin sitting across from him, trying to salvage the situation in any way possible.  This only sends them both into a laughing fit, making Law let out a deep sigh.

“Pay up!  I knew they’d crack this week!  Bepo owes me too!” Shachi exclaimed with a big grin, holding his hand out to Penguin as he calls the mink over.

“No way!” Penguin protested, “It doesn’t count unless they kiss!”  Bepo made his way over to the booth, nearly knocking over Shachi’s drink, leading him to profusely apologize.

“Shachi’s saying we lost the bet, tell him—”

“The bet was when they would slip up in front of us, not when they’d kiss!”

“But we made the bet when Bepo saw them making out in the hallway!”

Law pulled his hat over his eyes and put his head in his hands in embarrassment; you were still clinging to him, and by the familiar, slow patterns of your breathing, you were fast asleep.

“Sorry Captain…” Bepo apologized, tears forming in the corners of his eyes.  Law let out another sigh, unable to resist the urge to forgive Bepo when he gives him those adorable pleading eyes.

“It’s alright, Bepo.” he said, absolving his navigator of any guilt; mentally, he was still running through all of your sneaky trysts on the Polar Tang, trying to figure out when you two could have possibly gotten caught.

“Don’t get too bent out of shape.  We knew before that, Captain.” Penguin said, as if he was reading his mind.  “You started sitting next to them at dinner.”

“And Ikkaku says they haven’t slept in their bed in months.”  Shachi added.

“Plus, you’re always hovering over them in the lab.”

“You’re always with them on island trips!  And you bought them that little snow leopard plush.”

“Oh—Shachi, don’t forget the coin thing they do!”

“Especially the coin thing!”

Law flicked up the brim of his hat and shot them a glare.  “I get it.” he grumbled, wrapping an arm around your sleeping form, seeing no point in keeping up the façade any longer.

“Aww—” they cooed, much to Law’s chagrin; now that the two of you had been found out, he could only hope that the novelty of teasing him would wear off after a while.

“I think you’re a very cute couple, Captain!” Bepo exclaimed with a smile, eyes sparkling.  Law rolled his eyes.

“Sorry Captain—”

“Don’t apologize.” he said, shifting his weight to pull you into his arms and pick you up bridal style.  “Besides, I’ve got to get them to bed.”

Law didn’t stick around to hear the uproar he caused, swiftly making his way out of the bar and leaving them to argue about who really won the bet they had made at his expense.

“You’re in trouble, I hope you know that.” he said when you stir in his arms on the way back to the Polar Tang and gaze up at him, eyes still glazed over.

“They already knew.  Ikkaku told me tonight.  I thought we were being discreet.” you mumbled, letting your eyes drift closed again. 

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, grateful for the privacy the night sky cast over the two of you.  “So did I.” he said, lips curling into a smile.

Staring up at the stars, laying on his back on the deck of the Sunny, he feels the phantom sensation of his lips on your forehead; the touch from years ago feels fresh, as if you were still curled up in his arms.  He lets out a long exhale, finally feeling deserving of some sleep—after all, he needed to be on top of things mentally so he could make it back to you and the others as soon as possible.

He pictures your smiling face once more before a cloud of darkness swallows him whole, finally allowing him to rest.

#one piece x reader #x reader #law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #one piece scenario #250 follower event #some fluff as an olive branch for the angst earlier

[illyrian-dreamer]

Changing Shadows (Part 4)

Azriel x Reader

Part 3

Rhys and Cassian return home from their mission, but the celebration is cut short when you find out Az has betrayed your trust. Hurtful words are said as you lash out.

Lots of angst with your brother Rhys and Az, of course followed with some fluff.

Image by koike9023

Warnings: Mentions of trauma

Word count: 1,640

Part 4:

∇

Rhys and Cassian returned five days later, tensions in the Illyrian camps proving more difficult than anticipated.

Azriel and you were able to continue mostly-appropriate interactions, the occasional tease or growl-provoking comment had become your new normal. Something you were certain would stop in the face of the rest of your family.

With the rest of the females away, an Illyrian dinner was planned to welcome back the boys. You gathered around the dinner table, Cassian using his steak bones as a sword, retelling how he threatened some Illyrian bastard.

You laughed at his story, and rolled your eyes at his dramatics. You could feel Rhys’s gaze on you throughout the evening.

“And how are you feeling, little sis?” Rhys had asked as Cassian wrapped up his show.

“Much better,” you replied, nonchalantly chewing your food. “All thanks to a magical house and a Shadowsinger who might have considered a career as a healer.”

They all laughed, Az playfully raising his hands in gratitude.

“It seems my orders of house rest might have been sensible?” Rhys teased, so you raised your wine glass to him with an exaggerated smirk. He laughed again before clasping his hands on the table.

“And you’re feeling...,” Rhys paused, it was unlike him to be stuck on words. “...rested enough?”

You stopped chewing your food, and put down your cutlery. You knew immediately.

“You told him,” you accused Azriel, your face pained with the memory of your violent nightmare a few nights earlier.

His gaze matched yours, equally pained. “I had to.”

“Y/N...,” Rhys began.

You ignored your brother. You were furious Rhys knew what happened, but more hurt that Azriel told him after you asked him not to. Your face said it all, a mix of hurt and shattered trust.

“Mother knows that’s my cue,” Cassian murmured before making a break from the room.

Azriel interjected, like he was struggling between two truths. “I was worried about you, Y/N...,” he trailed off. “I’m sworn to protect you at all costs.”

What the hell did that mean?

“I asked one thing of you, Azriel,” you said sadly, tears of frustration threatening to come out.

“As your High Lord and your brother, I wouldn’t have forgiven him if he didn’t tell me Y/N,” Rhys stated plainly.

You shook your head, not wanting to hear it. “It’s no ones business but mine,” you said defensively, tears welling.

“That’s simply not true,” Rhys said calmly. He reached a hand across the table for you, an olive branch. “Why don’t we talk about this in private?”

This is exactly what you were avoiding. The coddling, the condescending care that reminded you that you’re nothing more than Rhys’s fragile younger sister who breaks at the first touch.

So you struck where you knew it would hurt.

“I could not be clearer that I don’t want to talk about it. Just because you didn’t show up in time on that hideous night, does not mean you can undo what was done. Deal with your own guilt.”

Shit. Shit shit shit.

Rhys looked like he had been slapped across the face. Azriel bowed his head in pain, as if he blamed himself for the whole thing.

You breathed heavily, looking down at your shaking hands as if you couldn’t believe your own outburst.

“Rhys, I’m so-”

A rumble of power was felt throughout the house as Rhys raised his palm to stop you talking, his usual cool demeanour stiffened with suppressed emotion. “It’s alright,” he gritted.

It was so not alright. Guilt twinged inside you at the hurt in his eyes as he excused himself to his office to do some work. You watched him stalk out, and before you could turn to Azriel to apologise to him, he was gone too. 

You sat back in your chair, hating yourself.

——

You waited a few hours for your own anger to cool before grabbing a notebook and quill.

Knock knock, you wrote, willing it to Rhys’s office.

No response.

You didn’t want play games, you knew you needed to apologise to your brother properly. But this was the only way you could think to reach him since he had blocked off his office in a 20-feet radius.

If you could please open the wards on your office? I would really love to apologise to your face instead of writing it in notes.

Open, Rhys sent back. Brrr.

He was waiting for you, sitting in his chair with one leg folded over the other. His face pained as much as it was at dinner.

I did that, you thought with an ache in your stomach. After everything he’s done for you.

You slowly walked over to the desk, Rhys’s violet eyes more black as they trailed you. Pausing in front of him, you took a deep breath. 

“I am so, so sorry big brother. It was a cruel and unfair thing to say, and not one part of me believes it.”

He sighed. “I know,” he said with a small, painful smile. “But I can’t help but feel there’s some truth in what you said.”

You reached for his hands and shook your head vigorously. “No, no there’s not,” you said firmly. Tears threatened your eyes again, and you couldn’t stop them. “Please tell me that you know I don’t blame you for that night.”

“If Azriel hadn’t found you in time, Y/N...,” Rhys trailed off, a frown burrowing into his once-again violet eyes.

“But he did. And what happened is no ones fault but those bastards who tried to clip me.”

Rhys nodded. That you could agree on.

He straightened. “I’m sorry I didn’t respect your privacy. I know I often cross the line between High Lord and your brother. Its hard for me to not see you as the young girl you once were, you were so fragile and little when you came to Velaris,” he smiled in memory, raising from his seat.

You hugged your brother tightly as he wrapped his arms around your back. “I just don’t want to disappoint you Rhys,” you admitted. “You have so much faith in me, I want to be strong for you, it’s the least you deserve in a sister.”

Rhys pulled back from the hug, a deep frown on his face as he studied you. “Is that what you think, that you’re not strong?”

You couldn’t meet his eyes. It was true, you weren’t strong, not nearly as much as he, despite all that he sacrificed.

He tucked your head under his chin. “Oh Y/N. If only I could show you just how strong you are.”

“But I-”

“You think nightmares make you weak? Everyone in this family has experienced what you’re going through, being tortured by their own past.”

You didn’t say anything, just listened to his words as he stroked your hair.

“Your trauma does not make you weak. It simply exists in response to what happened to you. Ignoring it does not make you strong, and you don’t have to overcome it to be worthy.”

That... made a lot of sense.

"And I will always be there to help you through it. Even if I have to force my way in,” he chuckled and you laughed with him.

“I love you,” you murmured into his hug.

‘I love you too Y/N,’ he said back, kissing the top of your head.

You would sleep well that night. Now time to find the Shadowsinger.

——

In his true nature, Azriel was brooding on the terrace. You could see the arches of his wings, black against the stars as he leaned against the railing.

His shadows greeted you before he did.

“Az,” you said gently, leaning your back against the railing next to him. Your arms were folded in defence, you needed to apologise but you were still hurt they he betrayed your trust, and did so without telling you.

Azriel’s lips were pressed into a thin line as he looked out at Velaris.

“I’m sorry.” You both apologised at the same time.

You raised your eyebrows in surprise, and he dropped his head in a low chuckle. Gods, his laugh alone shook your knees.

“I’m sorry I came between you and Rhys,” you started. “I would never want to jeopardise the trust you two have.”

He nodded in acknowledgement, but frowned, unable to meet your eyes.

“I should have been honest with you that I told him about your nightmare,” he said quietly.

“Yes,” you agreed simply. You took a deep breath as you unwound your arms across your chest, turning to lean on your elbows just as he did.

His scent enveloped you at this proximity. While neither of you spoke for a moment, the air around you was still, your wings almost touching.

You cocked your head slightly. “What did you mean tonight when you said you were sworn to protect me at all costs?”

While usually the calm and collected male, you noticed his breathing synch. A cool breeze blew over you both, sending goosebumps up your bare arms.

He noticed you shiver, and a protective wing extended around you, shielding you from the cold.

You kept your gaze on him.

He sighed, looking down.

“I will always do what is best for you, Y/N,” he said. “Rhys was checking in during your recovery, I felt it was my duty to report on your physical well-being, as well as your mental.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

He grimaced, uncomfortable with answering the question head on. Your insides burned, as if a rope tugged within you, waiting for his answer.

“I will always protect you,” he whispered. Yes.

“You’re family,” he followed up.

And the rope was gone. You couldn’t understand why it felt like you had fallen face first in the mud.

--------

Part 5 >>

AN: Making up for this cold ending with plenty of heat (and a jealous Az) in the next chapter! ;) If you’d like to join the tag list, drop a comment :)

#acotar #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #azriel spymaster #azriel shadowsinger #shadowsinger x reader #rhysand #rhysand x reader #rhysand sister #acotarfanfic #mating bond #a court of thorns and roses #azriel fluff #azriel angst #rhysand angst #acotar fandom #acotar series #shadowsinger #spymaster #fluff #azriel fic #azriel fanfic #sarah j maas #acotar headcanon #acotar writing #acotar fluff #acotar x reader #reader insert #acotar angst #acotar pov

[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

#dragon age: inquisition #dragon age #cullen rutherford #female inquisitor #inquisitor lavellan #cullen x female inquisitor #cullen x lavellan #commander cullen #cullen x inquisitor #dragon age inquisition fanfiction #dragon age fanfiction #da:i #cullen x oc #cullavellan #verdanna lavellan #my fic #i understand a lot of you won't care about this but i'm proud of it and if you want to read it go ahead! #love you all!

[damn-stark]

One Last Time

Oliver Wood x Hufflepuff!reader

Requested by anon “hi!!!! can you please do oliver wood x reader and the the reader is a triwizard champion instead of cedric and since oliver has graduated he comes back to watch her and is really really sad when she dies? thank u!”

A/N-why? Why? I love it though, hope you all do too!

Warning- Violence, talks of death, angst, fluff and sadness….

———-

In the disarray of the clouded and final eventful game that was going to take place, you paced around in the tent. Feeling attacked by your own nervous thoughts, tuning out every sound around and blocking every pacing competitor that was as nervous, or even more so than you. In that mayhem albeit literally bumping into the man that had been also occupying your thoughts and the only one that could break you from your stupor.

“Oliver!” You exclaimed happily as you threw your arms around his neck and felt his wrap around your waist to return the sudden welcoming hug. “You’re here! I thought you weren’t going to come.”

Oliver pulled away to show his sly grin, “Of course I’d be here to support my favorite girl.”

You giggle and step on the tip of your toes to give him a small peck on his lips. “For good luck.”

“Well in that case.” He smiles, moving to share another, but stopping once Dumbledore instructs everyone to walk out. In that instant once more feeling the gut wrenching feeling reappear, but finding more comfort as your boyfriend Oliver took your hand in his to accompany you out.

Hearing the upbeat music playing outside and the excited cheers and chants sang by the students the further you walked out. Getting blinded by the light of the bright scenery once you finally all step out and see the buzzing crowd, finally feeling giddy as you heard your name from your fellow Hufflepuff classmates; feeling thrilled and inspired as you noticed posters with your name written on it’s yellow material, friends that you would see for the last time with your name painted on their foreheads. You waved and grinned wider at all of them, holding onto Oliver’s hand tighter as Dumbledore's voice boomed around the crowd and silenced them with his announcement.

“Earlier today, Professor Moody placed the Triwizard Cup deep within the maze. Only he knows it’s exact position. Now as Miss, L/N…” Oliver at the sound of your name rose your hand and the crowd roared in excitement, just as they did when Harry Potter's name was announced. “...and Mr. Potter tied for first position, they will be the first to enter the maze, followed by Mr.Krum and Miss Delcour. First person that touches the cup will be the winner! I’ve instructed the staff to patrol the perimeter should at any point a contestant wish to withdraw from the task. He or she only need to send up red sparks with their wands.” Dumbledore turns around to address all of you playing. “Contestants gather around, quickly!”

Doing so with no hesitation you walk up and hear his words of caution. “In the maze, you’ll find no dragons, or creatures of the deep. Instead you’ll face something even more challenging. You see people change in the maze. Oh, find the cup if you can, but be very wary, you could lose yourselves along the way.” With that said he lets you turn back and finally go back to Oliver’s side to share an unknowingly last interaction.

“Good luck out there.” He says, cupping one cheek. “And know that whatever happens I’ll still be proud of you.”

You smile warmly and feel tears prickle at the corner of your eyes, “okay. I love you, Oli.”

“I love you too.” He responds back before pulling you into one last final goodbye before you turned around, offering Harry a small and nice smile. Beginning to feel your nerves pick up but suddenly disappear as the cannon sounded signifying that it was time.

Which this time you did hesitate just a little to walk into the dark ominous maze, hearing no sounds of what was before inside, almost as if you had been transported somewhere else completely. Wanting almost just to be pulled back out by the sudden isolating and terrified feeling the overcame your entire body; and only grew the deeper you needed to continue regardless, avoiding the rustling of the leaves and howling of the wind; startled by the sudden collapse of the maze walls that seemed to want to swallow you inside its depths, cutting you with its sharp branches and tugging your arms. Making you let out a pained and loud groan that lasted until you stopped fighting and ripped out of its hold.

“Blimey.” You breathed out as you caught your breath and studied the fogged covered area. Finding no solace in the silence however as you heard within the walls, or above, or everywhere around the voice of the only person you had in your life.

“Y/N! Help me!”

You gasp and your eyes widen horror, “Oliver! Oliver where are you?!”

It sounded again in a much more traumatic, pained wail. “Y/N! Help me! I’m over here! Help me.”

Without thinking your mind clouded with the only priority now, hearing your thumping heart be the only sound to echo around as you began to race towards the cries for help, feeling tears race down your cheeks.

All of it suddenly blowing away as you crashed into Victor Krum. “Sorry, I—” you cut your words off as you took note of his cloudy eyes and contorted expression, walking back and turning to run away as his wand raised in front of you.

Whilst also concluding as realization hit with the sudden more fearful act that what you heard was nothing but a trick. The maze wanting you to lose your goal in finding the cup, just like Krum—but unlike the maze’s trick you were smarter to outbeat the player chasing you, losing him in a sharp turn that only led you moments later to Harry Potter and Krum. His goals undying and your warning and attack quicker. “Get down! Expelliarmus!”

In a hasty move you ran forward kicked away Krum's wand and tempted to attack him once more until Harry Potter stopped you, hearing in the distance a soft hum that made Harry and you suddenly break into a run. Tugging one another back as you both raced each other towards the sound of the cup; captivated in a sudden awe as the cup came to view that seconds later made Harry and you start racing again in a much more violent way. Feeling your heart jolt in excitement and then sudden surprise as you’re pulled down by growing sharp vines, unable to fight its hold as it grows stronger and more painful as it intents to drag you into the depths of the maze grew.

You clawed the dirt and called to Harry while your life flashed before your eyes. Only wanting to be saved now instead of wanting to win. “Harry! Harry! Harry!”

“Reducto!”

A bright flash flew past you, hitting and loosening one of the vines until Harry came and set you loose. Letting you catch your breath after he helped you off the ground.

“Thank you Harry.”

Said boy quickly answered with the same kindness. “No problem.”

“For a moment there,” you breathed, “I thought you were going to let it get me.”

“So did I.” He admitted.

“Some game, huh?”

“Some game.” Harry repeated. Both of your attentions ripped away as high winds began to blow and the walls began to cave in. Forcing the both of you to finish the maze and get to the cup in a faster pace until you came to a sudden halt before the cup; your eyes glancing from the glowing object, the maze and Harry one last time to insist him to take it for what he did to help you moments before. Something he didn’t take and fought against you until he came with a solution to grab it together. A choice that caused you to be swept away in a blink of an eye and get dropped in some place dark.

You stayed on the ground for a moment to catch your breath one last time, noticing the cup was out of your grasp and Harry remained close—“Are you okay?”

Harry nodded, “yeah. You?”

Standing up you notice all the stone statues, daring you to ask and avoid the previous question, “where are we?”

Was this some last task?

“I’ve been here before.” Harry muttered a couple feet away.

Wondering to the cup you realize with a grin. “It’s a port key. Harry the cup is a port key—”

“I’ve been here before in a dream.” Harry repeated in a more panicked tone. “Y/N we have to head back to the cup, now!”

Your amusement falls and you turn to offer him a narrowed gaze. “What are you talking about?”

A creek sounds from one of the small stone houses and Harry suddenly begins to scream in agony. Causing you to instinctively check up on him, “Harry what is it?”

“Get back to the cup!” He yelled again as a small round dirty man walked out with something in its arms, sending you on high alert and a quick defensive stance with your wand in hand.

“Who are you? What do you want?!” You bellowed, hearing a raspy command shortly after.

“Kill the spare!”

Before you could do anything, before you could fight back or block anything, words you never thought you would hear screamed out, “Avada Kedavra!” The spell shooting out and hitting your chest so strongly that it sent you flying back and taking the life out of you in a flash of a second.

Such a spell not even letting you experience none of what you heard happens during someone’s death; no flashes of your sad lonely beginning, nor memories of your happy school years that brought you to meet friends you thought would get to see forever, or Oliver, the man you would grow to love. Nothing happened but a sudden cold end.

A death that led you to experience one last real memory that let you feel light-weight, ready to ask one last verbal question to the boy that had been by you when the darkness of death came. “Harry. Take my body back will you. Take my body back to Oliver.”

Harry’s eyes went to you and he nodded, making you smile and later help him one last time before nothing.

(Oliver’s p.o.v)

It had been so long, felt like years since he last saw you disappear into the maze to be left with nothing but anxious wait. Only feeling relieved and excited hours later as something flashed and two bodies dropped to the ground.

Harry and you.

Oliver grinned and cheered with excitement at your success, embracing his friends in a happy hug with a happy grin spreading on his lips. A gesture that turned grim as the music and cheering soon thereafter stopped and people began to crowd the two bodies he saw come back. Hearing gasps, murmurs and screams echoing around the crowd that made him realize something that made his heart feel as if it had stopped.

Quickly he pushed through the crowd and ran down the stairs to run towards the huddled crowd. “Let me through! Let me through!”

A chilling gasp escaped as he finally saw your lifeless body splayed on the ground with Harry’s body weeping on top and Dumbledore trying to comfort him until he saw Oliver and heard his mutters that turned into cries.

“No! No! Y/N?!” Oliver fell on his knees and cupped your cheeks, feeling his uncontrollable, hot tears fall on your face as he rested his forehead on yours. “Please, please come back. Y/N?! Baby.” Letting out a pained cry that seemed to echo for miles he followed by cradling your body and kissing your lips one last time, speaking to your cold body just as sweetly as before. One last time.

“Please, please. I love you….please…”

#harry potter and the goblet of fire #harry potter imagines #harry potter imagine #Harry Potter #the goblet of fire #oliver wood #oliver wood x y/n #oliver wood x reader #oliver wood x you #Oliver wood x Hufflepuff!reader #angst #imagines #oliver wood imagine #Oliver wood imagines #oliver wood fanfiction

[queen-rogah]

Chasing Dreams - Part 8

A Queen Series AU

Part summary: A week have passed after the incident in the pub. Neon Youth reported to Dixon about the fight that's why they were banned, not part of the entertainment team of the pub anymore. You and Freddie went to find another pub again to perform on. Freddie told you about Brian and Lola in the past and you gave Freddie a 'thank you' gift at the end of the day...

Warnings: fluff, mild angst, language

Word Count: 4.3k+ words

Note: For the people that read my fic since the very start, I've changed it to a Queen series because it's becoming more of the whole band thing more than just reader & brian together. There will be an emitting love triangle :) And there will be flashbacks in this part, it will be italicized :)

*MASTERLIST*

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 |

♡♡♡ PART EIGHT: "NEW ROCKERS" ♡♡♡

A WEEK LATER - NOVEMBER 8, 1971

"Why the actual fuck does my sister have a bruise on her cheek now?."

You stood silent in the kitchen when you heard Rosalie said that from the living room. She and Brian came over again, he kept lying about helping Freddie for a song or he forgot something back here so that he'll just have to see you, if you're okay. If your bruise is healing fast. But a week wasn't enough for it to heal and now your sister finally saw the bruise.

"She fell...from the bed," You heard Freddie replied to her, smoothly lying to your sister, "She didn't know she's at the edge already and fell right off the ground."

"A large bruise...just by falling from the bed a week ago?." Rosalie sarcastically asked.

Then you finally entered the living room, "I fell on the bed twice last week, that's why it became worse." You lied.

Freddie gave you a smirk as he secretly shots you a wink, leaning his back on the wall as he felt relaxed. You saw Brian exhaled in belief that you saved yourself, you know Rosalie believed you.

And you can't believe she's concerned with you right now.

"And why are you so concerned to me lately? You never do that to me before." You crossed your arms.

You wished Vicky was here, always the number one person that will pick on your side and also help you get through the problem. She worked overtime again.

Rosalie was quiet as she just look away from you, leaning close to Brian who's looking on his feet. The dinner with them went fine earlier this day but it's awkward since there's always a dead air when you all are talking about something. Rosalie kept staring at your already faded bruise through the whole meal, and Freddie would just distract her to not look.

"I'm just asking. Is it bad if I ask?." Rosalie annoyingly said to you and that also zipped your mouth close.

You felt the guilt in you once you've heard her say that, "I-I'm...sorry, I was too harsh on you..." You stammer.

But your sister didn't respond and she just collect her things and put her jacket on, "We must go. Thank you for hosting the dinner Fred." Rosalie said, holding Brian's hand.

The same hand that cupped your bruised cheek last week. The hand that drew circles on your back while you're in his arms that night.

They showed themselves out, he didn't had the chance to say goodbye to you since Rosalie is on the rush. You're just sitting there in silence, still guilty towards Rosalie.

"I'm too harsh on her right?." You asked Freddie who sat beside you on this sofa. You both fell in deep silence before Freddie loudly sighed, then turn his look to you.

"I don't think so darling. She's asking too many questions, I hate it." Freddie smirks. You snorted a laugh as you playfully punched his bicep.

...

The sun came up again and it's a whole new day. Vicky left the house early this morning for her work, since some bridesmaids for a wedding this week will be having custom dresses that's why she's always rushing out of the house, never getting to say goodbye. You're all alone with Freddie again, so whenever he's busy writing songs inside his room, you would have to be on the phone calling your father or the other boys--especially Roger. You haven't told your father about your bruise--like never ever--and Jonathan have been asking you when will you come home. That's been the hardest question to ever answer in your whole life because you're still starting in Kensington, already fought someone but you still know there's an olive branch in your lives. Hope.

And Jonathan says everytime that he misses you very much. Always saying that you should come back home by Christmas time. You always promised. And he knows you never break promises with him. Especially to him. The phone call with them ended with a long trail of goodbyes before you just have to see Freddie standing by the door way of their room.

"The best friend again?." He asked, raising his brows at you.

You nod your head as you sat on the sofa, "He kept saying that I should come back home in Christmas and that is a month away already. I have to do something Freddie, you promise to me also that you'll help me reach my dreams. Right?." You looked up at him as he sighs.

Freddie had a frown on his face and you frowned too because he doesn't suit that so well.

"Look darling I...I just knew last night from Deacy that Dixon banned us from the pub because of that bloody Lola. She reported the band and you to the owner of Flotsam and banned us for life in that place. She's just to cruel. Now, we don't have a place to perform on anymore..." Freddie slouch back on the sofa.

Then you've felt the guilt inside you, "Fuck, this is all my fault again. I wish I didn't punched her there so that everything that is happening right now won't happen. This is all on me and I should be the one that will fix everything--"

"--slow down dear. This is not your fault, like I said before that it's Lola's fault. She punched you first and you just defended yourself. End of story." Freddie said.

It's been a whole week. A whole goddamn week and you still haven't moved on. You are still blaming yourself and these people are making sure you won't fell into that guilt hole in you again.

"So now what? I just don't want to sit here like some princess waiting for a prince." Freddie said in sarcasm as he stood up from the sofa, making his way back to his room. Slowly closing the door behind him. The silence here in the living room emits more sadness in this household, so you tried to think of a way.

After a couple of minutes, Freddie was startled inside his room while playing his old guitar with papers around the bed he's in when you constantly knock on his door fast until you see him standing before you, asking what do you want.

"Freddie, let's go pub hunting." You smiled.

...

It's been the fifth pub you've been into and you both are fussed up because those pubs doesn't have any entertainment team or it's all booked up with other local entertainers. The sun began to set while you and Freddie are still walking around Kensington in this thick fur coat you've borrowed from Vicky's closet.

"Can I ask you something?." You suddenly asked Freddie.

He turn his head to you, "Anything darling." He smiles.

"It's about Lola and Brian. I know I've been talking about their fight too often last week and whenever I ask something to Brian about Lola and what truly cause their fight that night, he always dodges that question. So, I ask you, Brian's friend ever since before you formed into a band. What do you know about Lola and Brian?."

"Vicky didn't tell you?." He asked, stopping in front of the small café as he opened the door for you to go inside and followed suit.

"She did told me about them but it's just about Brian dumping her because she's a bad influence to him. I want the full story Fred and I know you know it..." You said.

Freddie sighs when you both sat down on the booth, "Don't tell Brian I said this to you. Okay?." He made sure.

You nod.

"Back in '69, I have met Brian and Roger at the time but they are already in Smile with their original lead singer, Tim..."

AUGUST 14, 1969

Freddie arrived at the pub, taking slow steps down the stairwell as he looks around in this new environment. His eyes found the stage where multiple people are watching the band playing in front. They're already performing as you see Brian and Roger playing their own music, and Tim singing the lyrics they've made. Roger invited Freddie over to their gig here, and now he's by the bar ordering a pint of lager. He quietly sang to their song while lightly stomping his feet on the ground, fingers tapping the base of the bottle in his hand.

The cheers of the people increases when they hit the last note, ending their gig. Freddie finishes his drink as he left the bar, going out back where the band usually goes. He have seen usual girls waiting on some other band members that had performed earlier, cigarette smoke are all around the room, god knows what's more with them. He sees Brian who's holding his guitar together with Roger by the distance, a smile appeared on Freddie's lips as he speed walks towards them. Only to bump on some random girl who's wearing this thick fur coat. She have this jet black hair and glared at him.

"Watch it okay?." She glares and walks away with her friends.

Freddie scoffs as he rolled his eyes, turning his back again to find the others. When Roger saw him coming over, he grins at him.

"Freddie! There you are, we've been looking everywhere for you earlier. You're late actually." The blond drummer chuckles, Tim also squeeze himself into the conversation. Freddie just noticed that Brian isn't around as he looks around to find him anywhere. Then he found him, standing beside of this blonde girl together with others at the other side of the room. The girl's arm soon found Brian's waist and put it around him, Brian also pulling her close. Freddie didn't know he have someone, after just breaking up with his long time girlfriend since he's in college.

"Who's that? With Brian?." Freddie asked Roger as he look over to their friend who's being attached to that girl.

"Oh. I think her name is...uh, Linda?--" Roger stammers.

"It's Lola, Rog." Tim rolls his eyes. Freddie turn his look to him. "That's Lola Kinsley. She's actually in a band called Neon Youth, also performing here but much later than our time here. I didn't know she and Brian are that...close."

Freddie snickers, "Close? You mean close friends? That's what friends look like now? They look like a bloody couple to me." He comments. Pointing at their direction. Good thing they're facing away from them.

"I didn't know that she is Brian's type. I mean, he never talk about her to us." Roger said, still had eyes on his friend standing so close and touching that girl. That is five years younger than him.

"Brian never told you about her? Well, that's odd. He's always telling us about the people he's been with. But if this is private for him, why be so touchy in the public eye?." Freddie asked. Only the two shrugs and continue looking at them.

When Brian is now turning around, saying his goodbyes to her band. The three look away like nothing really happened and pretend like they're talking about something. The guitarist noticed Freddie with them that's why he jogged up to them and greeted him.

"Hey Freddie, nice to see you again. Did you just arrived?." He nicely asked.

"Yeah. I just did Brian. Come on, let's grab some drinks and catch up again." Freddie said as they agreed to him. Following out the room, but his eyes still glued on Lola. She looked interesting to know, but Freddie still don't know her that much.

And wondering why Brian still haven't mentioned Lola Kinsley to the other boys, even though their little escapade is already going on for two whole months.

OCTOBER 10, 1969

The rest of Smile and Freddie finally knew about Lola and Brian. She's been trying her best to be just the only girl that Brian will look that, but tonight, since they are in an another pub to perform on, Brian have been looking to too many women in the audience while they perform on stage. Lola was beyond happy that Smile is performing in the pub where she and her band is the original entertainment team. Flotsam will be the best place for her, seeing that her and Brian can watch one another.

Later that night, Lola kept bugging Brian to join them to smoke pot in the parking lot so that she will introduce him to her other friends and have fun with him. Brian declined in smoking since he doesn't smoke and he has a trauma in the past about smoking cigarettes and doing drugs.

"You can introduce me without having to smoke marijuana Lola." Brian said to her as she pouts her lips.

"Come on, it will be just a one time thing Brian. For me?." She pleads. Battling those eyelashes at him.

Lola's attitude of pushing people's buttons became toxic, especially to Brian. But he doesn't always follow her to do those things, that's why Lola was pissed at him that night. She became more and more vicious about the fact of Brian not following her. Then blames him here and there that he was cheating on other woman to her, even though there wasn't even an official thing between them. Lola was a possessive girl towards the guitarist. And whenever they would start a fight again, Freddie is always on the rescue. Finding a good lie to excuse Brian from Lola. To get him away from her bad influenced ass together with her stoned friends.

After weeks of that incident, Lola 'broke-up' with Brian but days later again, she's running up in his arms asking for forgiveness and now, Brian wasn't the idiot he was back then. He turned her down, dumping Lola and got back in pursuing his dream as a professional musician. That's when Lola and her band became competitive since Smile became more popular than them to other people. Never forgetting how Brian said those words to her, as the anger inside of her still wasn't perished and she badly want to get it all out.

"She really is a bad influence to Brian. I never imagine her asking him to do fucking drugs with her. That's just bullshit. And Vicky isn't right about the story though," You said to Freddie who's walking slowly beside you, keeping up your pace also.

"Did she said about Brian turning her down because she's not his type?." Freddie asked.

"Yeah. She did." You replied.

"Vicky likes playing guesses." He chuckles.

You both just left the café moments ago, still talking about Brian and Lola's past. And now the story was done, you can't think of anything but Lola being a pesky little bitch to Brian. After that story, you're just relieved that he found someone more...decent like your sister. You're still looking around for some pubs for the band to perform on and then something clicks inside your mind, stopping on your tracks as Freddie furrowed his brows. Looking straight at you with that questioning look on his face.

"What's the matter, love?." Freddie asked, taking steps close to you.

"The pub you've talked about earlier where Brian, Roger and Tim performed on before. Where you're just following them around?..." You snap your fingers together to let yourself remember and then Freddie helped you as he chuckles at reply.

"Crown & Anchor, the pub I've talking about yeah, what about it?." He asked.

"Did you just forgot about us finding a pub for you to perform on since life is too boring without you guys performing every Saturdays, huh Fred?." You sarcastically asked him, propping your hands around your hips. Then a smirk formed around your lips when he start to realize things.

"Oh yeah right! Oh god I really forgot things that fast, I'm sorry darling. Then, let's get going now." He chuckles, walking forward again. You laugh to yourself as you shake your head then followed him.

You and Freddie found the pub minutes later to see there are already people going in. You both entered, taking the staircase like Freddie had said earlier in his story then you've seen several people already here. Drinking or listening to the band who's performing on stage. This pub was more comfortable than Flotsam, since that pub already have bad memories for you.

"Freddie?."

Freddie beside you automatically whip his head to the person's direction to see it's a man, probably in his 60s because of that gray hair appearing on his hair. You heard Freddie let out a huge sigh before the man pull him into a warm hug. You don't know what's happening and who is this man in Freddie's life--or the other boy's lives.

When Freddie pulls away from the hug and see you being out of place here, he immediately faces you, "Y/N, this is Robert. The owner of this pub." He grins.

A perfect timing.

"Hi, I'm Y/N. Nice to meet you." You reach out your hand to shake his.

"Robert here have been Smile's lifesaver before. Before I was still in the band, he knew that Tim left the band for some other career in his life. And then he called me in, wanting to meet up with Brian and Roger, then poof, I am the new lead singer of Smile." Freddie explains.

"One time that I heard Freddie sing, I know that he have a dream and so I helped him start to pursue that dream." Robert said. Patting Freddie's shoulder as he silently thanks him.

This man in front of you helped Freddie to reach his dreams with Brian, Roger and John. And then the four of them are helping you too in reaching your dreams. That's just so...amazing.

"So tell me, what brings you here again?." Robert asked.

"Well, there was uh, a problem back at Dixon's that's why we can't perform there anymore. So, help us out Rob." Freddie said. Robert thought about it for a mere second until he said,

"Sure Fred, but you all will perform by Fridays. The entertainment line up is already full at Saturdays like you're usually taking. Okay?." Robert nods and you both let out a huge breath before pulling in each other for a hug.

"Any day is fine Rob, you're our bloody lifesaver. But there's one thing I want to suggest..." Freddie said, taking his hold off of you. "Can Y/N squeeze into the entertainment team too in Fridays? I swear she's the best performer ever, even better than us." He chuckles.

A red shade formed around your cheeks and you were speechless. This is it. If Robert will say yes, of course it'll be the best time of your life. You will say to your father, your mother, Jonathan, Old Fashioned and many more who cares about your passion in making music.

"Just make sure you'll keep the audience alive. Friday's are getting hectic for now." Robert said, smiling at the both of you.

Breathless.

You were breathless.

"I...I can't--thank you so much Robert, this is amazing," You stammer in excitement, "I promise...I promise I will keep the people alive with the music I'll perform in that very stage." You pointed at the stage and heard him deeply chuckle.

"Okay, you all start at Fridays. Still at 8, always at 8." He said as he pats Freddie's shoulder then shakes your hand again before heading towards the other people in this room who wants to talk to him.

Both your's and Freddie's heads turn to each other before you pull him in an embrace. Thanking him over and over on what he just did, and convincing Robert to say yes. You both happily left the pub, still in a jumpy state of excitement until you arrived back at their flat. It's already 8 in the evening, and Vicky is already passed out on the sofa. Tired and stressed because of her work. She didn't even had time to walk straight to their bedroom.

"Poor Vicky. The dresses that they're making for the bridesmaids are quite stressing her. She said that wedding is happening by three weeks." Freddie said while taking off his scarf and his jacket, leaving himself off that white velvet sweater and got inside their room. You also took off the fur coat you've borrowed from Vicky as you carefully pull out the bed from the sofa, avoiding Vicky to wake up from her slumber.

Freddie came back from their bedroom with a duvet in his hands and put it on Vicky.

"Should I still make dinner?." You whispered to Freddie.

"No, I'm pretty sure that I am full from that bread full of cheese in the café earlier." Freddie whispered back as you chuckled, nodding your head at him.

"Well then, I'm tired from all that pub hunting and I should get some sleep. Goodnight Fred." You yawned, getting your clothes to sleep in from your bag also.

"Goodnight darling, watch Vicky for me on the sofa yeah?." Freddie said while chuckling.

"Sure do Fred." You laugh.

...

"Are the boys coming over?."

Vicky said from the room while she's getting ready to go to work again. You're cooking some breakfast while Freddie is softly playing the piano, papers laying ontop of the piano and put his cigarette on the ashtray.

"I don't know. They're busy I guess, so no." Freddie replied as he stopped playing the piano. Writing something on the paper and seeing him struggle a bit while writing.

Vicky finally left the room, already rushing her movements. She quickly leans in to kiss Freddie goodbye, "I'm sorry I won't be eating breakfast with you guys." She apologized while putting on the dark brown suede boots.

"You always skip breakfast Vicky. Where you are getting the energy you've been using?." You said while you're putting the scrambled eggs on the plate.

"I'm so sorry...I'm in a rush again. Promise I'll be eating as much as you both want at dinner time." She grins, getting her bag on the sofa.

"Well, I hope you're not passed out asleep in the evening like you always do my love." Freddie interjects, looking at his girlfriend in the corner of his eyes.

Vicky just lets out a laugh, "Oh piss off, I'll get going now." She waves off her hand as she took her things, saying goodbye to the both of you before leaving the flat. When Vicky slam the door close behind her, Freddie clamps his hand together and took an intake of breath.

"You okay back there Fred?." You asked, drying off your hand from washing the cooking pans you've used. "Breakfast is ready."

Freddie took the papers ontop of the piano and frustratingly slam it on the table, in which you are startled by him.

"Zero ideas?." You questioned him.

"It's just so frustrating that I got plenty of ideas days earlier and now I got nothing." He grunted, slowly massaging his temples.

You firstly slide over the plate of scrambled eggs and bacon you've cooked and sat on the chair in front of him. "Need help? I can give you some of my lyrics...if you like?." You said to him.

"You will?." He grins.

"Yeah. And name it as a thank you gift because you literally saved my musician dreams in performing this Friday in that pub. So, just wait for me, I'll go get my journal for you." You said.

"Thank you love, you're a saint." Freddie gives you a warm hug then let's you go to get that journal. You rummage through your bag again to get your journal and quickly pull it out, bringing it now with you in the kitchen where Freddie is now eating his meal.

You put the journal in front of him, "Help yourself out." You stated and eat your own meal too.

You watch him read through your handwritten lyrics on each pages again and abruptly stopped on the page you just recently write, it's an unknown verse. Those words were just stuck inside your head, that's why you write it down just in case it will turn into a song sooner or later.

"This. I will take this." Freddie pointed at the page. You lean in to read the lyrics you've written on that page.

I live and lie for you Mister do and I'll die You are mine I possess you I belong to you forever

"Then it's now yours Freddie." You said and sat on your chair again, smiling at up while chewing the food in your mouth.

Then Freddie finally write down your own lyrics in his papers. You peek on the handwritten lyrics of the song he's been working on and see it's called,

Seven Seas of Rhye

__________________

presenting the infamous sofa I imagined in Freddie's flat in this fic: 

*TAGLIST:

@lilytalebi @luvborhap @ziggymay @kiwithekiwi @imgonnabeyourslave @deakysmisfire

IF YOU WANT TO BE IN THE TAGLIST, LET ME KNOW!

#queen band #queen imagines #queen fic #queenrogah's fic #queen fanfiction #brian may imagines #roger taylor imagine #freddie mercury imagine #John deacon imagine #brian may x reader #roger taylor x reader

[moonbelt]

»cave me in

↳ college au

⇢ pairing: park jinyoung | reader

⇢ genre: fluff + slight angst 

⇢ word count: 4.658

⇢ description: you should’ve known that asking your best friend turned ex-boyfriend for a favor would never turn out the way you expected. 

author’s note: requested by anon! 

The moment you come to a stop outside the clandestine coffee shop that sits a few meters away from the Engineering Research Building, you know you have screwed up.  

There was no way around it. No matter how many times you mulled over the situation, this seemed to be the only plausible outcome with the least damage. Ultimately, it all depended on your ex-boyfriend giving you the time of day to even hear your proposition out and you understood that there was a high possibility he’d cast you back outside into the brittle December air without a second thought. You probably would have done the same thing to someone that broke 2 years of a relationship and many more of friendship in less than five minutes.  

You don’t know how to calm your nerves as you wait for him to finish his shift. God, it’s been weeks since you last saw him face-to-face. You’d seen him in passing here and there, after all, your friends used to be his friends and some of them still were but you’d done your part and refrained from group activities in the hopes that the atmosphere wouldn’t drastically descend into a pit of awkwardness. You guess you were just doing a favor for both you and him.  

Taking a deep breath, you strive to retain balance. The only reason why you were standing outside — in the too-cold-for-comfort weather, was because you had omitted an enormous part of your current relationship status to your mom. You hadn’t really thought it important to call your family and tell them that Jinyoung and you were no longer a thing. Of course, you didn’t mean to not inform them but then again you didn’t make it a priority either. The call had come weeks earlier when you were stuffing your head in textbooks, trying to find suitable contents for your thesis paper.  

Your family had always been big on giant get-togethers and Jinyoung being your close friend turned boyfriend automatically invited him to everything your parents hosted. Now it was Christmas—you’d spent the last two with Jinyoung, driving the six hours back home and hanging out with your loud family for two days. Usually, it didn’t bother you how tight-knit your extended family was but ever since your mom had told you that your Great-Grandmother was going to be around this year, you couldn’t find it within you to tell her that Jinyoung would not be coming along. She basically worshiped the guy, loved him through and through with that frail heart of hers. As if in a state of dissociation, you heard yourself say, “yeah, we’ll be there. No worries,” before you could even think twice about it.  

Afterward, you wanted to crawl up in a hole and die. The whole situation was ridiculous and you hated yourself for not letting your mother know the truth. Yes, your Great-Grandmother would be displeased but anything was better than having to stuff your tail between your legs and ask Jinyoung for help. You could almost picture the look of pure disinterest in his eyes when you asked for the favor. He’d never been good at hiding his emotions, something you’d found oddly endearing at first. His eyes always seemed to explain more things than his words ever could.  

It had been months since the last full coherent conversation you had with him. You had tried to envision the different ways the conversation could go. Ask him about school, how’s work—small talk essentially. The only problem was that Jinyoung hated small talk, he was more cutthroat with his approach. You, however, tried to avoid confrontations as much as possible, but after relentless talks with Jackson and Seo, two other people that were still in your friendship circle after your fallout, the concluded agreement had been ‘there’s nothing wrong with at least trying.’

Breathe, y/n, you thought to yourself as you sat down on one of the few benches loitered around. He was one of your best friends or had been for the longest time. You wondered if he still had that claim after four months of radio silence. Maybe you shouldn’t have cut him off completely, but you had done what you thought was best. There had been times when you were tempted to call him, talk to him—anything really—you had missed his advice, his quirks, his voice, his jokes. You had missed movie nights, waiting for him to finish work so you could go running. Christ, there was so much you missed about running with him.  

In the beginning, you didn’t particularly enjoy exercising but you loved the feeling that washed over you when you ran, it also didn’t hurt that it helped you release pent-up frustrations. You had moved for the second time that year and you hated it. High school was already horrible without having to make new friends and niches ever so often. Somewhere along the line, you’d given up on making friends that you believed will be with you for the better part of forever. All you wanted was to survive, get out, go to college and hopefully find people you connected with there.  

As always, everything started with little things. In class, when you forgot your stationery he’d offer his. You didn’t know him at the time but you weren’t one to turn down much-appreciated help. During break time when you sat to the side with your iPod on shuffle, you’ll catch his eyes for a second too long before you turned your gaze away. When your Physical Education instructor made captains choose teams, you consistently found yourself on his. Not that you complained since his team rarely, if ever, lost. He was always surrounded by the same group of people. You’ll find out later from your neighbor and classmate, Seo, that they grew up together and literally were a swipe away from being blood brothers.  

The good thing about running was that sometimes it felt like constraints had been lifted from your body and you felt weightless, airborne. Most times all you needed it for was to clear your mind, keep you grounded back on earth and pull you away from boring reality. You’d offered Seo a chance to run with you but she’d graciously turned it down. She was more into staying at home and watching cable than working out. Something you would have loved to do too, if not for the restless energy always bouncing inside you.  

That day you didn’t notice someone had been following you for a good fifteen minutes of your evening run until you stopped to catch your breath and change your playlist. You tug your earphones out and stretch your arms.

He came behind you, huffing and puffing like one of those toy trains you and your brothers had played with when you were younger. The first instinct to wash over you was to bolt the hell out of there, thinking he was a creep or worse—a stalker. It wasn’t until he rested his hands on his knees and raised his head up as he attempted to religiously catch his breath that you recognized him. Black hair matted to his forehead with sweat, clutching his sides in agony but even in his current state of disarray he still managed to pull the look off.  

You stopped your body from dashing forward. It would be rude, you thought. Even though you knew him and you were positive he knew you, you’d never actually exchanged a conversation with him outside academia. Your social life practically revolved and ended with Seo and the internet.

“Jesus Christ, you do this every day?”  

His face is red and his cheeks keep caving in like he just ran a marathon. The desire to laugh at his predicament is unwaveringly strong and although you try to the best of your ability to restrain yourself, the sounds come tumbling out of your mouth regardless. He looks up at you wide-eyed and mystified like you shot him with an arrow.

“Are you making fun of me right now?” He sputters as he collapses in a heap onto the grassy plane. You were in the second half of your usual route when you’d made the last minute decision to head to the park and catch the sunset before you rounded back and went home.  

Raising your arms arm up in surrender, you reel in your laughter. “No. I mean, maybe—is that blood?”  

Your eyes widen when you take in his full appearance. His knees scuffed up and bruised. The cuts don’t look so deep but the blood just keeps gushing. You close the distance between the two of you, squatting down to his level. “Did you trip? The path here is practically flat though.”

“Well if you must know, I’m proficient in the arts of tripping on air,” he laughs at his own joke, something you learn later on to be part of his charm. “But really it’s nothing. It’s my fault for following you. You training for cross country or something?”

You snort. “I wish. I do this for fun.”

Jinyoung’s eyebrows rise up and he looks perfectly astounded. To be honest, even though you ran at least two and a half miles during your runs, you did it all on your own pace. You were probably the slowest runner out there but that wasn’t the point of you running in the first place, so it didn’t bother you too much.

You don’t know exactly what but something within you wants you to push your fingers forward and run them through his hair. It looks divinely soft and for a moment you have to remind yourself that you don’t know him like that. That’s all it takes for you to pull yourself up from your position and stand at your full height. You jump a little to shake the feeling off.  

“Wow, aren’t you a ball of energy,” Jinyoung remarks, smiling a little, as he pushes himself off the grass. “In any case, I’m here to extend an offer; an olive branch of sorts.”

“Huh?”  

“There’s gonna be a party on Friday at Jackson’s. We—he would like it if you were there.”

“Why?” You furrow your eyebrows but don’t tell him that you don’t know a Jackson unless your puppy at home was taken into account and you were absolutely certain that your dog wasn’t hosting a party, or at least you hoped she wasn’t.  

He shrugs, dusting the dirt off his beige hoodie as he grins down at you. You admit to yourself that he is really good looking. In the sort of way that catches you off-guard at first and leaves you stunned the second. His gaze is steady and intense, exuding confidence, so much so that you find yourself taking a few steps back. The sound of your sneakers crunching light twigs fills the air.  

Licking his lips he says. “Why not? I don’t think anyone would mind having a really good… runner around all night.”

For a second you stare at him in bemusement and watch as a mortified look wipes across his face. It takes you by surprise how easy it is for you to actually find amusement in almost everything he’s done so far. You don’t remember the last time you laughed as hard as you did that day, the only reason you didn’t end up rolling on the grass was due to consideration of his feelings.  

“That sucked, didn’t it?” He winces, closing his eyes and kicking his head up to the sky.  

You fold your arms across your chest, snickering a little. “It did. But you get A+ for effort and execution.”

“I didn’t think I’ll get this far through, don’t judge.”

“It happens to the best of us,” you chuckle, shrugging your shoulders in an attempt to seem blasé.

He pops one eye open and the shit-eating grin that envelopes his face is enough for you to pat yourself on the back. He seems relieved that you’re not giving him shit. Your attention is instantly taken by the sun setting behind his frame, tinting the sky an eccentric orange and purple. You smile at how beautiful it looks, it was a good thing to change your route for the first time.  

“So, will I be graced with your sparkling personality on Friday or do I need to convince you more?” He breaks you out of your reverie.

You contemplate your answer. One party wouldn’t hurt, besides he was the first person since Seo, that had actually interacted with you since you’d transferred. The least you could do, you decided, was to go to a party. If you didn’t find it even mildly interesting all you had to do was leave and go watch Netflix documentaries at home.  

Nodding, you grin at him as you run your fingers through your hair in a pursuit to calm your nerves, but it’s tangled and muggy with sweat. Immediately, you wipe your hands off on the side of your athletic shorts trying not to cringe. Jinyoung stares at you with hilarity. You send him a wry smile as you check the time on your phone. Crap, in a few minutes your mother is going to be off her high-rocker thinking you got lost for the third time that week.  

“Guess I’ll see you around,” you say cutting the conversation slightly and hooking your phone back into its arm holder.  

Jinyoung’s lips tilt upward as he waves at you in solidarity. After a moment’s hesitation, he says. “Guess I’ll see you in class,” he reaches behind to the nape of his neck and scratches it lithely.  

You shake your head, giggling and disentangling your earphones before plugging them back in your ears. You starting the jog back the way you came when you angle your head over your shoulder.  

“Don’t die on your way back.”

“And leave you hanging on Friday? Never.” You snort at his response but don’t say anything in response, continuing on your track.  

Now that you think about it, you wonder what would’ve happened if he never chased you that night. What if you had run instead of staying? Maybe you wouldn’t be in this situation. Maybe you wouldn’t have so many memories that you had desperately but failed to forget. Shaking your head you bring yourself back to the present. There was no use reliving memories that you should have buried somewhere out of your reach.  

Turning your gaze back to the shop in front of you, you wonder if he’s even in there. It had been four months since you’d last stepped foot into Café Vagabond. You weren’t even sure he still worked the morning shift on Tuesday’s anymore. It’ll be a mess if he changed his working hours but you’ll take it as a sign. If he wasn’t here then God was telling you to stop! before you pushed yourself willingly into scalding water.  

You didn’t believe clean breakup’s existed. At least you’d never seen it happen. Even if both parties were amicable and free of malice, it did nothing to relieve the tension that sat like a heavy cloud in every discussion. It was like walking on shattered ice, you were sure it’ll melt over with time especially because you and Jinyoung had been good friends before you transpired to become something more, but you couldn’t wait for something you weren’t even sure would happen.  

Sighing, you fish your phone out of your coat pocket and check for any new messages. Hours ago you had asked for emergency reassurance from the one group of friends you were sure wouldn’t bullshit you and give you false Hope. Jackson had given you a thumbs up telling you that the worst outcome was Jinyoung being pissed at you for showing up at his workplace. Youngjae, however, didn’t feel the same way. He had explicitly told you that it was public property, therefore, you could do whatever the hell you wanted as long as it was within reason. Seo didn’t really care as long as you came back to the apartment in one piece.

You stand up and begin to pace, your nerves quickly returning just as fast as they had gone. Your thumbs hover over the keypad; ready to type something witty to the group chat about being here an hour early when your phone chimes with a new message.  

Jinyoung: You’ve been standing there for thirty minutes. I might be cold hearted but even I wouldn’t want you to freeze to death out there. [1:17 pm]

You stare at your phone like it was the most bizarre thing known to man. In your shock, you had thrown your phone high in the air and have to fumble a bit before you safely catch it in your fingers. You bite your lower lip as you try to calm your racing heart. Despite all the warnings going off in your head telling you to halt and abort the mission, you don’t stop your fingers from typing back a reply.

You: We need to talk.  [1:23 pm]

Jinyoung: Ah, doesn’t this give you a strange sense of deja vu? Or is it just me? [1:24 pm]

The temptation to throw your phone across the Atlantic Ocean is overwhelming. He wasn’t going to slow his tide against you. You had ignored all his calls for weeks and his texts for even longer. There was, figuratively, nothing left to talk about. You whipped your head up and stared directly through the glass windows of Café Vagabond. Now that you were sure he could see you, you became more self-conscious than before. From the corner of your eye, you see a group of high schoolers barreling on your path. Side-stepping, you avoid the calamity but even then you’re still in a world of chaos in your head.  

You: I know what you’re thinking. Its not that, I swear. [1:26 pm]

Jinyoung: You have no idea what im thinking y/n. [1:26 pm]

You: well whatever it is. I guarantee its not what I want to talk about. [1:28 pm]

Jinyoung: … [1:30 pm]

You could almost feel the unbalance in the air. He wasn’t going to agree to meet you, why would he? He probably wanted nothing to do with you. Since you’d withdrawn from collective activities that included him, you had no reason to talk to him. Pretty much, you were a blip on his radar. All he had to do was ignore you and continue on with his life. You were ashamed but you still hoped he wouldn’t completely disregard you.  

Jinyoung: I get off at 2. Do what you want. [1:34 pm]

You take a sigh of relief as you sink back onto your previously occupied bench. The conversation would be awkward, you know that, but at least he didn’t completely shut you down. Deep down you realize that your reasoning for being here isn’t as concrete as you would like. Deep down you realize that maybe you’re just self-indulgent and want a reason to see him. Four months ago you hadn’t been your best self, and no matter how many fictional books you’d read, you’d come to the realization that a significant other could not heal you. You weren’t where you wanted to be. All you were doing was dragging yourself and Jinyoung down. Maybe Jinyoung didn’t mind your attitude or your mental fatigue but you did. You needed time to find the best version of yourself that you wanted. You wish you had explained it all better to Jinyoung but uncharacteristically of you, you were afraid, you were terrified.  

You force yourself to stop thinking for the next few minutes till Jinyoung’s shift ended. You just want silence. Peace. You’re tired. Breaking up is tiring and it’s even more exhausting to try and place your friendship back in the equation. You bend your neck and stare at the skies. It looks like the first snow of the season is coming. You pull your beanie tighter around your head. With finals closing in next week, you wonder if this is a good time to approach Jinyoung. Clenching your fist on your lap, you strengthen your purpose. If not now then when?  

Time goes faster than you expect. Especially because you’re too busy staring idly at the clouds overhead, squinting your eyes at the wispy horizon, trying to plan your next course of action. How do you even start the conversation? There’s absolutely no proper way to bring it up and before you find a concrete solution, something—someone—stands in front of you; blocking the sun from shining on your face. Your body whips up to attention and you’re looking directly into one of the brownest eyes you’ve ever seen.  

You clear your throat to buy time. Fuck, you didn’t think he’d still have such an effect on you. You’d thought, albeit naively, that because of time you wouldn’t feel the same as you always did. Like there were magnets within the two of you that just had to attract. It’s almost as if time never passed, you are here and so is he. You push yourself up from the bench and take a deep breath.

He looks the same and yet not. His hair is still black and wavy across his forehead but he has grown it out, his frame is still tall, graceful, and lithe. He still has that heart-stirring look in his gaze but among that he seems more aloof and detached. You lick your lips anxiously.

“We need to talk,” you repeat. Words and their meaning dying in your throat.  

He raises an eyebrow incredulously. “About?”

There’s a tiny pause. Jinyoung hates small talk but that seems to be the only thing your brain is willing to do. “How’s school?” You say as you die a thousand deaths.  

“Is that really what you want to talk about?” Jinyoung smiles jeeringly at you.  

No. It’s not. You intertwine your fingers together, begging yourself to say what you need to and go.  

“It’s nothing serious, honestly. I just…” your voice trails off and you have to remind yourself that Jinyoung is one step away from walking off. “So like, I know we broke up and everything but uh, funny story, I haven’t told my family yet and they just assumed you’d be coming home with me for Christmas and I really don’t know how to tell them and I know this is really really selfish on my part but I can’t bear to break my great grandma’s heart like that, she’ll probably have a heart attack, you know how she is and—”

“Ok.”

“Wait, what?” your eyes bulge out of their sockets. This isn’t… this is not what you are expecting. You are expecting resistance. The wrath of a hundred storms, a simple no, sarcastic silence as he waits for the punchline. But an ‘ok’? You’d never thought of an outcome that came out like this.  

Jinyoung sighs as he runs a hand through his hair, messing it up. You see now that he’s still wearing his black employee shirt and a pair of Adidas track pants. He looks, for the most part, disheveled. He cocks his head to the side. “I’m going home for Christmas anyways. Doesn’t help that your mother called me a few days ago to ask if you and I were still coming over because you’ve been ignoring her calls.”

The wrench in your gut twists deeper. “I’m so sorry. If you feel uncomfortable doing this because it might be awkward as hell, I can tell my parents that we’re not together anymore.”

“It’s only awkward if you make it that way [Y/N],” he scoffs, resting his hands on his waist. “Besides, it’s just two days and then you can do the honors of breaking your parent’s hearts.” Jinyoung states simply, like maybe he’s discussing how cold the weather is.

Standing taller, you want to give the illusion that you have it all under control. You’re not freaking out because Jinyoung had covered your unintended lie. You’re not over the fucking moon because even though you came here assuming he won’t give you the light of day, he’s actually giving you more than you bargained for.  

“You’d seriously do that? For me?” You can’t help but ask, still in disbelief.  

One moment there’s a smile on his face but it’s gone so fast that you think it to be a figment of your imagination. “I don’t know. I’m surprising myself actually, you caught me in a good mood.”  

That’s all the reassurance you need. You hope he stays in a good mood for the rest of the week. Maybe you’re still walking on shattered ice but at least now it was somewhat melted. You feel so delighted that you jump a little on the spot. Your heart has calmed down a little now that you’ve gotten the words out.  

“Thank you, Thank you so much,” you say, smiling eagerly at him. “I’m very sorry for asking you to do this, Jinyoung.”

It takes a few moments before he answers you and for the first time since you’d seen him that day a smile eases its way onto his face and he doesn’t feel the need to hide it.  

“I don’t know if you remember [Y/N], but you’re my best friend. I’d do anything for you.”  

The words leave you stunned as the threat of crying becomes a real possibility. Everything you had expected is not happening. He still has such a clasp around you, dragging you through the clouds like it was nothing. Carving a part of your entire being just for him. Somehow you know those words mean something so much deeper than pretending in front of your family for a few hours.

His eyes, as always, hold more weight than you could ever lift. However, this time you want to pour everything you have into lifting it off the ground.

a/n; it would be super cool if people gave me feedback on this! i hope you liked it! thanks for reading x

⇢ masterlist

©️ 2017 kai, moonbelt [aka high-on-food]

#jinyoung #got7snet #got7 #jinyoung scenarios #jinyoung scenario #jinyoung angst #jinyoung fluff #jinyoung smut #jinyoung park #jinyoung fake texts #jinyoung fanfic #got7 reactions #got7 memes #jinyoung!boyfriend #jinyoung college au #college au #got7 college au #got7 fluff #got7 smut #got7 angst #im jaebum #mark tuan #mark tuan scenarios #mark tuan fake texts #got7 icons #got7 fanfic #got7 imagines #jinyoung imagines #got7 fake texts

[phan-of-the-pen]

I Dare You To Stay: Chapter 24

just a few more chapters left my dudes!! also this chapter is more introspective, and really isn’t that big plot-wise, but it’s important to learn about Dan’s thoughts on everything right now!

Tags for chapter: some angst, some fluff, dan thinking through everything

Words for chapter: ~2.5 k

Fic Summary: Dan Howell is a barista working a shitty job, frequenting his shitty apartment, and living a shitty existence, hiding his asexuality and going for a PHD in self-depreciation and depression. Phil Lester is a part-time intern, part-time employee at a local weather station, trying to get experience in his field and make a name for himself, while juggling a second job at the nearby Tesco’s to give him some financial breathing room. Their paths were never supposed to meet, but what happens when they do anyways, one rainy day in Manchester?

(ao3!)

<– Previous chapter Next chapter -->

~~~~~~~~~~

A few drops of rain drizzled onto the pavement, and Dan looked up at the sky, squinting. The clouds were dark, but they weren't that bad. He should be able to get to his therapist's office before it started to pour.

Dan shoved his hands in his pockets and tucked the bottom of his chin into the top of his jacket. It wasn't really because he was cold, but it was comforting.

Dan remembered quite well how reluctant he was to start therapy, but now it was a relief. He felt like he had so much to talk to Gina about, and he had been itching for his next appointment almost as soon as his last one had been over.

He still couldn't thank Jaime enough for convincing him to go.

Dan physically winced at the thought of his best friend.

He hadn't spoken to Jaime since she had hung up on him, and that included texting. And with their last conversation nearing three weeks ago, Dan found his doubts only growing stronger. He would stare at the keyboard of his phone, his mind working in circles over if he should text her or not, even if it was only to extend an olive branch. But then all Dan would think about was how if he tried to talk to her she might only push him further away, let alone the fact that he didn't even know what the hell he did wrong to warrant such a bitterly cold shoulder. In the end, Dan would only turn his phone off and chuck it in a drawer or at the bottom of a bag to keep it out of sight and out of mind.

Part of Dan wished that he had the courage to talk to her. It was the same part of him that physically burned at this distance between them widening into a chasm.

The larger part of him—the part of him that always won—was always sickly happy when he chickened out, Jaime's voice telling him that she just couldn't do this anymore ringing in his ears.

This separation was also different from all of the others. Before, he only had speculation whether or not Dan had messed up in some way, but now Dan knew that he had taken a wrong step. And he knew Jaime enough to know that he was not the sole issue causing her grief, but he wasn't sure what else was bothering her.

Regardless, everything was different.

It was cold and detached, as if Jaime had taken all of the parts of herself that were wrapped around Dan, his life, and their friendship, and torn them away. The clarity in her complete and utter absence was like a bucket of ice water being dumped onto Dan's head, and the intense vulnerability and loneliness that he was feeling was eerily familiar to how he felt when he had been kicked out and disowned.

He found himself yearning for the times not-so-long-ago where she wouldn't respond for a few days, not a few weeks.

Dan was partially worried that he would spiral once more, which was one of the reasons why Dan was so relieved to finally be seeing Gina once again. She could ground him and give him ways to help himself.

But while Dan was missing his best friend, he was also crumbling over the fact that Phil was leaving him soon.

Phil had heard back from all of the stations that he had initially applied to over a week ago, and it had taken him all of a few hours after reviewing what they had all said to make his final decision. By the end of that same day, Phil had replied to the weather station in London to tell them that he wanted to take their job offer and start as soon as possible.

Dan was proud of Phil—really, he was. The weather station had good pay and Phil could grow so much as a meteorologist there. There were so many opportunities for him there, and they had even disclosed that after Phil had completed a paid internship, they were interested in considering him for replacing their current weather anchor. The job was everything that Phil could have asked for, and Dan was so proud of him for getting hired.

However, Dan's heart ached in his chest when he thought about how far away from him Phil would be. They would have to take trains to see each other, and if their schedules didn't line up with Dan's one day off a week...well Dan didn't have that many options. One of them would have to take off, and considering the fact that Phil would be starting a new job, it would probably have to be Dan taking off in the beginning. Even with his greater income after taking on most of Jaime's work too, Dan wouldn't be able to afford taking many round trips to London after losing a day's pay.

Besides money, Dan was embarrassed at how insecure he felt regarding the possibility of losing Phil. And no matter how many times Phil reassured Dan that he wanted to make this work between them, he and Jaime's bloody and hardly-breathing relationship was a gruesome reminder that no matter how much two people may promise to make things work over distance, it doesn't already work out.

And as selfish as it was, Dan just didn't want to be without Phil. He had become used to them popping into each other's flats at will and spending most nights together, curled around each other in bed and soft in every meaning of the word. Dan had found a home nestled under Phil's chin and everyday comfort in his arms. Their gentle kisses and linked hands were the force that kept Dan going, and he didn't want to give any of it up. He didn't want to give up their easy domesticity for sad nights alone in his flat on his laptop or phone.

Dan wanted as much of Phil as he was going to get, and with Phil miles and miles away in London, he would be missing so much.

Could Dan really do that? Could he manage his longing for Phil paired with his crushing desperation for Jaime to re-enter his life? Dan didn't really know. At times he felt like he could, but then there were others where everything was piled on top of him and Dan couldn't breathe. Where it felt like he had reached his wit's end and was this close to snapping.

But he could manage it, right? He had to.

Dan looked both ways before crossing the street in a hurry to get out of the way. In his pocket, his knuckles just barely brushed over the cold smoothness of his ace ring. With hesitant purpose in his actions, Dan let the pads of his fingers run over the ring. He had stopped by his therapist's after work ages ago after Gina had sent him an email to tell him that it had arrived, and ever since he hadn't really let it out of reach. It was surreal in a way, to hold the small band of obsidian in his palm.

The first day that Dan had it in his pocket at work, he had felt a confusing but also very right mix of barely-there apprehension and an overwhelming sense of pride and confidence. It seemed that every time he slipped his hand into his pocket to trace the smooth edges, an uncontrollable grin spread over his whole face. He had worked with Steve that shift, but Dan honestly couldn't ever remember a time where he had ever been so happy around the guy.

As much as having the ring settled a deep anxiety of his—of not being good enough, not being ace enough, being wrongwrongwong—he had never worked up the courage to wear it out in public. It still felt too new and personal, and it made him feel like he was too vulnerable. David had told Dan that a lot of people felt like that when they were starting to publicly come out of the closet, and it made him feel a bit better. Regardless, Dan's inability to make himself wear the ring in public was frustrating. All he wanted was to be completely and authentically himself. He knew it would take time and work, he just wished that he could make the whole process move faster.

In a form of compensation with himself, Dan had ventured into wearing the ring alone in his flat. He distinctly remembered the first time he had, and the rest of the night he hadn't taken it off for anything. He had even slept in it that night since Phil hadn't been over. Now, Dan wearing it in the safety of his own home was routine, and it never failed to feel like the first time all over again. He couldn't even try and keep track of all of the times he had stopped mid-task when his gaze had settled on the band of black on his finger, elated disbelief overwhelming him.

Dan grinned as he remembered his time with Phil a few nights ago.

Phil, currently, was in London, and he had been there for a few days. He was there to settle things with the new station he was working with and make sure that his new apartment was squared away. But the last night that Phil was spending in Manchester was spent at Dan's flat, just the two of them, tangled in each other's space.

Earlier, before Phil had come, Dan had sat on his bed, the ring in his hands. He had pondered over whether or not he should wear it around Phil, considering that it was the last night night they would see each other for a few days and it would be the last chance Dan had until Phil came back.

Of course Phil knew about the ring. Dan had texted him about it on more than one occasion, and Phil new exactly what that ring was meant to symbolize. However, Dan had never shown Phil—let alone on his hand—and Phil had never pushed.

Was now the right time?

Dan had been ripped from his thoughts by Phil unlocking his door with a key that Dan had given him a while back. When Dan jumped from the loud sound, he had reflexively slid the ring onto his right middle finger, and feeling both nervous but excited, he left it there.

Phil hadn't noticed it at first, but it didn't take him long. They had been eating pizza, and Dan hadn't even noticed Phil freeze, his eyes locked onto Dan's hand.

"Is that it?" he had asked, his voice soft. Dan had snapped to attention, blushing a little and nodding. He had become used to its weight on his finger after wearing it a little, and had forgotten that it was there.

"Yeah."

Phil had dropped his pizza and wrapped his arms around Dan, peppering his face with kisses. Dan giggled and tried to kiss him back, but only succeeding after a few attempts.

"I'm so proud of you," Phil had said after pulling away, a wide smile on his face to match Dan's, "I'm so happy that you wore that around me, and I can't even try to tell you how glad I am that you're starting to love that part of yourself."

Dan had been overwhelmed, but so happy at Phil's words.

How did I ever get so lucky? he had thought.

And while Dan didn't know the answer to that question, there was no way that he felt even the tiniest bit of regret at wearing his ring around Phil. In fact, Phil's positive reaction was a major confidence boost, and it felt like three huge steps in the right direction.

He still wasn't ready to wear the ring in public, though. And that was okay.

Dan slipped the ring onto his finger and smiled. He could see his therapist's office a block or two away, and he knew that before he would even think about pulling his hand from his pocket, Dan would take the ring off. But. That couldn't stop him from wearing it for a few minutes. And even if no one knew that it was on besides him, it felt like he was finally free.

~~~~~

>From: Phil Lester (is amazing!!) [Multimedia Message]

>To: Phil Lester (is amazing!!) I'll be right there

The picture Phil sent had been one of his train arriving into the station. It was blurry and horribly out of focus, but Dan could still make out the large Welcome to Piccadilly Station sign, and it still made him grin from ear to ear because that meant that Phil was home.

The past few days had been...something.

Dan had thought that he would fall apart again at Phil's departure and he and Jaime's continued lack of communication—he had never done well by himself.

But the strange and incredible thing was that Dan didn't fall apart. Sure, he had had his anxieties flare up every now and again, but it wasn't anything like last time. And paired with how refreshed Dan felt after his therapy appointment, Dan was feeling better than ever about everything. That, and he was so proud of himself for how far he had come. Weeks ago he would have—and did—let the voices in his head control him.

Dan slipped he lid of his laptop shut and let it rest on the couch. He hunted down for his shoes and a jacket, and put them on after changing out of his pajamas. Dan made sure that his phone and wallet were in his pockets and turned the light out. He locked the door behind him and set off towards the stairs after using his phone to call a cab.

He was proud of the progress that he had made, and how much he had learned to handle himself, and he owed almost all of it to Gina.

But she wasn't just helping him deal with the pain of the past and with ways to navigate the present. Even if she didn't know it, she was helping Dan come to terms with the future, and all of the ways that he could change it, but also accept it.

With Phil gone and Jaime out of touch, Dan had been left by himself. He had done a lot of thinking, a lot of google searches, and made a few calls. After his therapy appointment yesterday and talking things through with Gina, he was feeling good about the future for...a few reasons. There were no concrete plans, and Dan suspected that it would stay like that for the foreseeable future, but he was comfortable just entertaining the idea for now.

Dan stepped outside and waited on the sidewalk for the cab. Back in his apartment, on his couch, his laptop sat in idle, one of the google tabs reading job openings in london.

#my fics #allyssaTM #dan howell #phil lester #minor fluff #minor angst #chaptered #i dare you to stay #i dare you to stay: chapter 24 #idyts #au #ace!dan #weatherman!phil #phan #phanfiction #phanfic

[tankcupcakes]

Into the Mystic - Five

Characters: Dean, Sam, Cas, OCs

Warnings: I'll just give this whole thing a blanket warning of language, fluff, and angst Word Count: 3,150

A/N: This story is a sequel to THUNDER ROAD - catch up HERE! Special thanks to Angie @atc74 and Megan @paintrider13-blog for helping me brainstorm and reading through this! ❤️

Feedback is always excellent - tags are open! This will be a wilder ride than before, so buckle up, friends! :) xoxo

Into the Mystic Masterlist Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four tankcupcakes masterlist

March, 2017 Lebanon, Kansas

A week after the mind-meld debacle, about two weeks after Eve's arrival, things had begun to simmer back down at the bunker.

Dean was in a better spirits, so everyone else was too - but this particular morning he had woken up in a foul mood due to a vivid nightmare he'd had while sleeping. He was dreaming about hell again.

He was alone in his bed, something he noticed immediately, and he got up, dressing quickly before venturing into the hall. Eve's room was empty, as were Sam and JD's. Cas had gone to check a lead on Lucifer, leaving a couple days prior. Everything was quiet. Dean started to feel a little nervous, walking just a bit quicker into the kitchen, library, and war room - all of which were vacant. Heading back down the hall to the other side of the bunker, his heart rate slowly rising, he heard muffled laughter and cheering coming from the shooting range. His creeping paranoia subsided, but the anxiety remained as he pulled the door open. JD, Sam, and Eve all stood at the far end, and she appeared to have just fired, safety ear muffs hung around her neck. The smile was wiped from Sam's face instantly when he saw Dean enter the room and stalk toward them. "Oh, man, Dean! You should've seen it - shot it right between the eyes, she did!" JD seemed to be bubbling over with excitement, his grin wide and eyes sparkling. Upon turning and seeing Dean - as well as the irritated expression on his face - Eve suddenly elbowed JD in the ribs and he glanced down at her. She was shaking her head as she muttered, "Stop. Mad. He's mad." A look of surprise and realization crossed his face as he nodded, his enthusiasm squashed as he faced Dean again. "Who's idea was it to bring her in here?" Dean asked, turning his attention to Sam, who stared back at him with a stony look on his face. "Mine," Eve answered immediately, completely willing to take the heat for this, but Dean could feel the guilt coming from her. He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Liar," he countered, crossing his arms as he was met with silence. "Uh, well, I guess I suggested it, didn't I?" JD said after a moment, hoping to diffuse the situation with the truth. "I didn't think -" "Didn't think what?" Dean asked. "Didn't think it would be a big deal to get her killed?" "Dean," Eve said in a warning tone, her hands planted on her hips. "Shooting a gun at a paper target is hardly going to get me killed." "No, but thinking you're prepared to use it in the field will." "Shouldn't she actually be prepared, then...?" JD asked uncertainly, shifting his eyes from Eve to Dean. "She's not going out with us," Dean replied rigidly. "Not now, not ever." Eve opened her mouth to reply, but Dean pointed at her before she could get any words out. "And you can save it - you'll thank me when everyone else we know is dead." "That's enough, Dean," Sam spoke firmly and for the first time since Dean had entered the room. Raising both eyebrows as he looked at his younger brother, Dean let his arms fall to his side. "Oh yeah? You think this is a good idea?" "Yeah, I do," Sam replied evenly with a nod, refusing to back down as he kept his eyes locked with Dean's. "You can't be serious, Sam. You know how dangerous it is out there -" "Exactly, Dean - we both know how dangerous it is. That's why it's important for her to be able to protect herself." "Sam -" "And don't be so arrogant to think that you're the only one who cares about her," Sam replied swiftly, unwilling to allow himself to be interrupted. "Look, you can lock her up here and pretend that she's not going to see combat all you want. But, don't you want her to be prepared? I'm not trying to be a dick, but it's inevitable that she's going to need to know how to defend herself." Everyone silently waited for Dean to respond, but he didn't, so Sam continued, “I'm not saying she should go out in the field with us - I don't want that either, but there may be times that she has to." “I’m not raring to go charging into any hunts, Dean,” Eve said, tilting her head slightly as she spoke to meet Dean’s gaze. “Honestly, I’d prefer to never have to fire at anything, but I agree with Sam - I should know how.”

Dean’s eyes went from Eve, to JD, and landed on Sam as he heaved a sigh.

“Now maybe, instead of making us feel shitty about this, you could help us?" Sam suggested in a lighter tone. "We both know you're the best teacher, and she's already got great aim. How many times did she kick our asses in darts?" Dean watched him carefully before allowing himself to crack a small smile. "Alright," he said, nodding. "You're right. She needs to be able to defend herself.” He turned to Eve again. “Bet you can’t hit that thing between the eyes twice in a row.”

  A few hours later, target practice had ended and everyone had dispersed into separate areas of the bunker.

Dean had gone to take a shower and after found Eve laying across her bed, reading.

“Hey,” he said, leaning on the door frame, “you wanna drive into town? As cute as you look in all my clothes, I thought you might want to get some of your own. And maybe a phone or something.”

 “Are you offering to take me shopping?” she asked with a smirk. “You feeling okay?”

He chuckled. “Yes. Just wanted to offer you an olive branch for being a dick since you've been back.”

“And you want to watch me freak out around technology again?”

“Maybe a little, yeah.”

“Sure,” she said with a nod as she rolled off the bed and stood. “That sounds fun. Give me a minute to get ready and we can go.”

Dean smiled at her before wandering off into the library, where JD was sitting slumped over the table, his chin resting on his hands.

“Ughhh, Dean, I’m bored,” JD whined as he entered the room.

Dean stopped and gave JD an offended look. “Do not use that voice, you are a grown man.” He resumed walking again toward the war room. “And sorry, buddy, can't help you. Evie and I going to Hays so she can pretend like she’s a millennial.”

“Can I come?” he asked, raising his head as his face lit up like a puppy’s.

Dean had really hoped to take her alone, but did feel a little pang of guilt. He stopped again. “Actually -”

Sam walked into the library then. “Hey, guys.”

“Sam,” Dean began, “I was hoping to take Evie into the city, could you and JD-”

“Oh, you're going into town?” Sam asked, looking up expectantly. “I need to look at a new charger for my laptop, mine’s acting fritzy…”

“Aye, let’s all go,” JD said, hopping up from his seat as he pulled his phone out and showed it to Sam. “Och, my screen is doing somethin’ weird, d’you see that?”

“Sam,” Dean deadpanned, but it was no use as both men had already turned and started heading to the garage.

“Hey,” Eve said as she reappeared next to him. “You ready?” 

He had a disappointed look on his face as he sighed and nodded. “Yeah, me and the whole Winchester clan.”

  They had driven into Hays, which was almost two hours of loud off-key singing.

There was a large strip mall in the center of town - Sam and JD had broken off to go to an electronics store while Dean had taken Eve to pick some clothes.

Ironically, 60’s and 70’s fashions were popping back up, which she had gotten a laugh out of. This was mostly what she leaned towards, but had opted for some more modern choices as well. She’d really liked the skinny jeans, grabbing a few different colors and even chose to wear a pair out of the store.

They’d met up with Sam and JD again afterward - Sam had picked a suitable smart phone for a beginner and told her he’d help her get it all set up back at the bunker.

A small music store was near the lot they parked in and Eve looked over at Dean wishfully. He laughed and nodded his head and she practically pranced inside.

Dean cocked his head to the side as he watched her walk away - the jeans she'd bought were definitely working for her. "Quit it," JD muttered, elbowing him in the side. "Quit what?" Dean asked after a moment, snapping out of his trance as he turned to JD. "Quit eye-fucking her." Dean scoffed and gave JD an indignant look. "First of all, I'm not eye-fucking her, and second of all, mind your own business." "Aye, well - most unfortunately, you made it my business." "You made it your business." "She's my mother -" "Oh my god, I can't deal with you today," Dean muttered, rolling his eyes as he looked at Sam. "Is this what it's like to talk to me?" JD huffed. "Excuse me, but I am delightful to be around -" "You're a pain in my ass, is what you are," Dean replied. "You guys are a mess," Sam said, shaking his head with a smirk as he followed Eve into the store. Sam had taken an immense amount of joy in being able to introduce her to music from the 90's - it was his personal favorite and he spent over an hour in that one section. He promised to bring her back to expand her music collection again later that week.

The worst part about this trip for Dean was JD buying a Duran Duran album - and playing it the whole way home. He heard Hungry Like the Wolf no less than five times that day.

  Later that evening as Sam prepared to retire for the evening, he stopped at Eve’s room, her door open.

"Hey," he said, leaning on Eve's door frame as he gave it a few courteous taps. Eve stood near him, setting up the record player Dean had bought her earlier that day on the desk. Her face lit with a smile as she looked up to see him. "Hey yourself - what's up?" "Nothing, I... I've wanted to tell you, but it never really seemed appropriate to say, y'know? Never a good time to mention..." She eyed him carefully, one eyebrow raised. "Out with it, then." "I wanted to thank you," he blurted, awkwardly crossing his arms over his chest. "For what you did for us. For him." "For both of you," she corrected him back to his original statement, turning to fiddle with the record player again. "Either way," he continued, still standing in the doorway like it was some kind of threshold, "It took a lot of courage. I already knew what kind of person you were, but the things you sacrificed for us? You're far better than we deserve." "You better shut your damn mouth," she replied evenly, not looking over. He gave a dry chuckle, one side of his mouth twitching up as he absently ran a hand through his hair. "Anyway - I'll leave you alone, I just wanted to tell you that." "You're welcome," she said softly after a moment, eyes flashing up to him briefly before diverting back down. "I'd do it again." Sam heaved a sigh, though his half smile stayed where it was. "I hope you'll never have to." She didn't respond to this, placing one of her new records inside the player and setting the needle over it. "Sam?" she said just as he had turned to exit, causing him to swivel back. "Yeah?" She didn't say anything for a moment, arms hung at her sides as she looked up at him with her head cocked to the side. "You okay?" he asked, his head involuntarily tilting too. She nodded but still didn't speak as she stood on her toes to wrap her arms around his neck in a tight embrace. "Eve?" he said uncertainly, one arm squeezing her in return. She was smiling when she pulled away, one hand resting on his cheek for a moment before she took a step back. "You are a wonderful and kind man, Sam Winchester - I hope you remember that always." He chuckled nervously. "You're kinda scaring me here, Evie - what's going on?" "Nothing," she dismissed with a shake of the head. "You told me something that was uncomfortable for you, and I had something to tell you too. It's just - when Cas did the brain whammy -" Sam snorted "- I saw and felt some of the things that have happened to you, the way Dean felt them. I know self loathing is a classic Winchester trait, but I just wanted to tell you that. You're wonderful and I love you like you were my own brother." Sam blinked widened eyes at her statement - eyes that were a little watery and he cleared his throat uncomfortably as he nodded. "Thank you," he said sincerely. He surprised her when he hugged her tight again. "I love you too. And I've never had a sister before, but it's hard to imagine a better one than you." She smiled over his shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut. "Thank you for taking care of JD. And Dean, of course." A crooked grin was on his face as they pulled away from each other and he shook his head. "Looking after Dean's dumb ass was my responsibility long before you came along," he said with a wink, and the two of them shared a laugh. “G’night, Evie.”

“Goodnight, Sam.”

  Dean's eyes shot open as he lay quietly in his dark bedroom. A tilt of the head showed him the clock on the wall, glowing brightly - 3:00 AM. His outstretched fingers glided across the bed sheets, finding nothing on the other side of the mattress. Fear took hold in an instant, and it was at that moment that JD's voice rang loudly from a few rooms over. "Don't you touch me!" A loud shattering sound followed this and Dean had vaulted from his bed in a split second, hurdling down the hall, swinging JD's door wide open. Light from the hall filtered in the room and he could see Eve on the ground with her back against the wall, JD crouched down beside her. Dean flipped the light on to see her cradling a bloody hand in her lap, a terrified look on her paler than normal face. Broken glass lay scattered on the ground around her and the scene wasn't all that difficult to piece together. Drenched in sweat and out of breath, JD's face wore an expression of deep regret and shock as he stared at Eve. After a moment, he looked up at Dean. "It was an accident," he gasped out. Eve also peered up at Dean, who shifted his gaze to her, his heart drumming in his chest. "What happened?" "He was having a nightmare," she replied softly. "I could hear him down the hall. I tried to wake him up, but I scared him and he shoved me. I brought the glass down with me." Dean dipped down to kneel beside her too. "Let me see," he said, holding his hands out for her injured one. She did as he asked, and he examined the pieces of glass sticking out of her palm. JD moved to reach his hand out, perhaps to remove the glass, but retracted it again quickly, still watching Eve carefully with wide eyes. Dean's eyes flicked up to meet his son's before focusing again on the task in front of him. "I've got it," he said evenly, addressing both of them as he plucked the three large pieces of glass out. "There are a couple smaller pieces, I need to go grab some tweezers. I'm gonna need to stitch you up too - this is pretty deep." She nodded at him, appearing to have calmed herself, but still on edge. "Are you okay?" he asked, searching her eyes for the truth before he would leave the room. Eve let out an exhale and nodded her head. "Alright," he said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before standing. "I'll be right back." He stopped at the door to glance at JD, who was still frozen down on the ground by Eve, the look of horrified shock firmly in place. He looked like a child. When Dean returned a few minutes later, he hesitated in the doorway, unsure if he should interrupt them or not. Eve sat where he had left her, injured hand propped out of the way, JD's head in her lap. His body was curled into as much of a ball as his large frame would allow, one arm wrapped around her back, and he murmured apologies between sobs. She shushed him gently, her good hand softly stroking his hair. If she hadn't had an injury that needed attention, Dean wouldn't have disturbed this moment in a million years - as it was, he moved as quickly and quietly as he could. She sucked in a sharp breath through her clenched teeth as Dean began to stitch the gash, and this sound seemed to bring JD back to reality. He looked up at her and then over at Dean, his face flushing as he pulled himself back together, wiping his face with the hem of his shirt. "What was your dream about?" Dean murmured, attention focused on his sewing. "Nothin'," JD muttered back. "Mmm... seems like a lot of fuss for 'nothin'," he replied. JD's face was still burning red and he shook his head. "I'd prefer not to talk about it, if it's all the same to you," he said defensively. "Suit yourself," Dean murmured in the same soft tone, tying the last stitch off. He stood, taking Eve's good hand and helping her to her feet. One hand brushed her cheek and he gave her a half smile. He looked past her at JD. "If you change your mind, I know a thing or two about nightmares." Without another word about it, Dean turned to leave, Eve releasing his hand briefly to turn back to JD, who was still seated on the floor. She bent down and kissed his forehead softly, one hand smoothing his hair before she took Dean's hand again, the pair of them leaving the room, sharing secret  looks of concern.

Part Six

TAGS: @chelsea072498 @percywinchester27 @atc74 @paintrider13-blog @d-s-winchester @death2thevirgin @just-a-touch-of-sass-and-fandoms @just-another-busy-fangirl @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @mamaredd123 @lalocket @nanie5 @thebabeontheback @dreamwhisper87 @notnaturalanahi

#dean winchester #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic

[evildeen]

little talks

My Beefy Bucky Birthday Exchange ( @beefybuckyswap) for @therothwoman! It’s a whole bunch of fluff with a pinch of angst (or maybe the other way around?). Hope you like it! c:

Brooklyn, NYC Steve’s apartment 5:51 AM

Who knew Captain America snored so badly?

Bucky left Steve to his horrendous snoring after being woken up by the hibernating bear not once, not twice, but four times throughout the course of the night. Sorry there’s only one bed, Steve said when they first started crashing here. I’ll take the couch.

Which was stupid. Steve barely fit on the couch. So Bucky took the couch, at first, then realized he was hardly sleeping anyway (being cryofrozen for six months in Wakanda seemed to be affecting his sleep, and he refused to acknowledge anything else as the culprit). For the past few nights they sat up in bed together talking until they both fell asleep. That was all fine and good until Steve got so deep asleep that he started sounding like a freight train.

Steve snored on and on, kind of sounding like he was drowning. Bucky decided in that moment, if he ever came across a time machine (which was entirely possible with The Way Things Were), he’d go back in time to the science team that made Captain America and make sure they added No Snoring, Ever to the super soldier serum.

They’d spent a week in this Brooklyn apartment. A little R&R, Steve called it. For six months, Bucky stayed in cryo before Steve and T’challa woke him up with news that they found the red Hydra book that contained all of the Winter Soldier’s secrets. They thought it might put Bucky at ease to destroy the Soldier’s trigger words and let Bucky decide to do with the rest. In some ways, it did, but with Hydra it was always something--which was why when Tony Stark offered an olive branch to get Steve leads on Hydra’s whereabouts, Bucky decided he was in for the fight, too.

Turning onto his side, Bucky propped up his head with his hand and watched Steve snore for a minute or two, somewhat relieved that his distressingly handsome friend could look so ugly while he slept. Last night, they sat up laughing and talking, and it had been ages--years, he feared--since Bucky allowed himself to laugh so freely. At first, the motions felt almost foreign to him, like riding a bike again for the first time since being a kid.  Turns out, he missed being able to smile like he used to--like he really meant it. And he did, now, here in Brooklyn with Steve.

Two years on the run, being alone, squatting in an abandoned apartment, dumpster diving, making barely enough money selling scrap metal and doing odd jobs to get by, took a different kind of toll on him. He wasn’t living--he was surviving. It wasn’t Hydra but it wasn’t good, either. Bucky dragged a hand over his face and ignored the tiny nagging thought that things weren’t “the way they were,” and that fighting Hydra meant a different kind of servitude. But Bucky had a lot to atone for.

Bucky’s eyes drifted from Steve to the faint outline of the shield stowed behind one of the curtains. Tony returned the shield, and Steve accepted it, but immediately tucked it out of sight. The mantle of Captain America left a bad taste in his mouth, but he wouldn’t admit it out loud. It showed in the way he looked at it warily, distrustfully--touched it like it would explode on him.

“Steve.”

Bucky pushed on Steve's shoulder. The man stirred, rolled onto his back, and continued breathing with his mouth open. A faint skein of drool scaled from the corner of his mouth to the pillow.

“Ah, geez. Come on, man.”

Bucky tap tap tap tapped Steve on the forehead with his metal finger. Steve reacted by scrunching up his face and muttering “butterfingers.” So Bucky escalated his attempts at waking him by flinging off the covers and placing his full metal hand on Steve's bare chest.

Steve’s eyes flung open and he shot up straight in bed. “Jesus, Bucky!”

“I was checking for signs of life.”

Steve pressed his palms into his eyes and rubbed. It wasn’t like him to sleep in late like this. Usually both of them were up and moving by five. “Sorry,” Steve mumbled.

“For what? You needed the sleep, man.”

“We gotta meet at seven for a mission brief at Avengers Tower.”

“Seven? Seven? In the morning?”

“Yeah.” Steve sat up and grabbed his pillow, tossed it at Bucky’s face. “We’re supposed to go on a recon mission, you know.”

“Ooooo,” Bucky said, the pillow sitting on his face and muffling him. “I thought recon missions would be beneath the great Captain America.”

“Buck,” Steve said. Bucky moved the pillow away and stared up at him with a smirk. “We talked about this. I’m not--”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re not Captain America anymore. Until you start acting like you’re retired, or you find a replacement--you’re not Captain America. I don’t make the rules.”

Steve folded his arms, inhaled as if to say something, before Bucky sat up and interrupted him. “If you’re so-called retired, then you’ll let me go to the meeting without you. How’s that?”

“But--”

“You can do some ‘retired’ ‘stuff,’” Bucky made air quotes with his fingers, “while I’m gone.”

---

“People hate pigeons, you know.”

Bucky smiled and turned his head to one side so Sam couldn’t see. Then he tossed another handful of breadcrumbs onto the sidewalk for the gaggle of pigeons that gathered to feast. “Yeah, I know.” A particularly fat pigeon body checked a smaller pigeon away from some crumbs and Bucky chuckled out loud. “You don’t, though.”

“Anyway,” Sam said, clearly ready to change the subject, “I didn’t call you to a secret meeting in Prospect Park for nothing.”

“I wouldn’t have shown up for nothing.”

Sam folded in his lips for a second as if physically holding in a snide remark. “It’s about Steve.”

“Of course it is.”

Sam sat back on the park bench and lifted his head to the sky, mere inches from wanting to hit Bucky in the face. “This is serious. He’s spent the whole week putting out fires when he said he was supposed to be spending time with,” and Sam made sure to roll his eyes so Bucky could see, “you.”

Scrunching up his face, Bucky folded his hands in his lap and nudged a pigeon away from pecking his shoe. “Oh.”

“He doesn’t know how to be anything but Captain America. What did he even do before the war?”

The question was probably rhetorical, but the answer still made sense. “Get into fights, mostly. Read a book. Fight the book.”

Sam laughed and it surprised him to laugh at that, so he covered his face with his hand and settled down enough to bring up his next point: “Steve thought finding you would let things fall into place.”

Bucky snorted. The irony wasn’t lost on either of them, as Bucky turned his head toward Sam, he saw a matching bitter smile on the other man’s face. “Well, that was a mistake,” Bucky said.

“You’re kind of a mess, yeah.”

Bucky shoved Sam, and Sam shoved him back. For a second they were just shoving each other on a park bench until Sam hissed fuck you and scared enough pigeons that they all took off at once in a mess of loose feathers and pigeon trills.

Both of them sighed in unison and hated themselves for it, then Sam folded his arms and nudged Bucky with an elbow. “I’ve tried--believe me--to get him to let me in, but Steve swears up and down nothing’s wrong.”

“He does that.”

“Can you try?”

“Sam… if he won’t talk to you…” Bucky shook his head. “I’ve been trying way longer to get Steve to open up.”

“That bad, huh?”

“He’s the worst.”

“Well… I’ll keep trying if you will.”

“Deal.”

---

Bucky could smell whatever Steve had done to the kitchen from halfway down the stairs.

“I bet you twenty bucks Steve had to use the fire extinguisher,” Bucky said to Sam.

“You’re on.”

Bucky opened the door and fully expected to get hit in the face with a wall of smoke, but the apartment was surprisingly devoid of any fires or smoke damage.

“I made lunch!” Steve announced. He had plates out on the breakfast bar for the three of them and he was wearing an apron that was suspiciously clean. “How was the meeting?”

Sam shrugged one shoulder, sat down at the counter and eyed the plate in front of him. “It went well. Nat is taking the lead and she told us to stay home.”

Taking the seat next to Sam, Bucky twisted on the swivel stool back and forth and kept watching Steve with a little too much interest.

“What?” Steve finally asked.

“Nothin. So what’s this?” Bucky motioned toward their plates.

“Grilled cheese sandwiches. And there was supposed to be tomato soup, but I accidentally cut open the can and--nevermind.”

“What happened to that one?” Sam pointed at the sandwich that looked like a piece of charcoal.

“That one’s mine. I--uh--forgot to turn it over.”

Bucky picked up his sandwich and took a bite. Toasted bread with half-melted cheese in the middle, but Bucky wasn’t picky. Sam ate his too and Steve added a lot of ketchup to dip his charred sandwich in.

“So Nat’s gonna do the recon solo,” Steve said between bites. “Tony texted me some updates earlier about the warehouse. Something about stolen vibranium and--”

“Steve,” Sam interrupted. “We got this.”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head over it,” Bucky said.

As if on cue, Steve’s phone started ringing from the living room. Sam looked at Bucky, but Bucky was way ahead of him--he practically jumped out of his seat, shoved Steve out of the way, and dove over the back of the couch to grab the phone.

“Who’s calling?” Steve asked, still a little stunned and clueless as to why Bucky shoved him.

“Doesn’t matter! You’re on vacation!” Bucky held up the phone and tried to crush it with his hand. “What the--” The phone casing barely even bent against the pressure of his fingers. Bucky’s eyes went a little wide. What the hell kind of cell phone was this?

“Give it back!” Steve was on top of him leaned over the couch and grabbing for the phone before Bucky could slip away.

“Barnes! It’s a fuckin’ Nokia! Over here!”

Bucky  lobbed the phone over Steve and Sam caught it. He was in the kitchen and shoving the phone in the microwave before Steve could get to him. Sam hit the one minute button, and it was all over.

“You just--microwaved my phone--”

“Yeah, your super soldier phone.” Bucky looked down at his metal hand, unfamiliar with the idea that he couldn’t crush stuff with it. “I thought your phone was from the late 90s. Why’s it so strong?”

“Nokias, man,” is all Sam said, a little reverent, as Steve’s phone melted in the microwave. He hummed Amazing Grace as Bucky and Steve joined him to watch the phone melt. It caught fire, which prompted a frantic search for the fire extinguisher, and to this day Sam swears Bucky owes him twenty bucks because Steve didn’t use it while cooking lunch.

---

“Sam says we gotta watch at least two movies off the list while he’s gone,” Bucky instructed Steve as they settled down on the couch. Sam left after lunch to pick up his cousin from the airport, who was apparently visiting the city since Sam wasn’t working or on the other side of the world for the first time in a while.

“You pick,” said Steve. “I’ve already watched some.”

All they had was a piece of paper ripped out of a notebook with movie titles and release years, and only a few of them had notes from Sam. Independence Day had “THE BEST!!!” written next to it, which made it an obvious choice.

“Plus it takes place on your birthday,” Bucky added. It took approximately fifteen minutes for them to figure out how to turn on the surround sound system and queue up the movie.

“Wait,” Steve said after a while. “Isn’t your birthday coming up?”

Bucky’s brow furrowed. He had his legs curled up under him and he leaned against the back of the couch with his arm stretched out behind Steve. He hadn’t actually noticed he’d put his arm there until that very second. “Uh,” he said, “I think so, yeah.”

“The 10th! That’s in two days, Buck. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I dunno. I thought we’d be out on a recon mission so it didn’t seem important.”

“I’m gonna call Sam--” Steve paused and let out a sigh. “Can I borrow your phone? Mine was set on fire and melted.”

---

Steve wouldn’t tell Bucky what he talked to Sam about, but he had a sneaking suspicion that it had something to do with his birthday and some sort of secret plans for going out on the town. Steve grinned at him as they got into the taxi to meet up with Sam and his cousin.

“Remember all those times you made me go out when I didn’t want to?” Steve asked.

“No, not at all. I knew you wanted to go out, you were just too chickenshit about it.”

Steve swatted at Bucky’s arm. “Consider this payback.”

They met up at a cocktail bar near Times Square. The place was dark inside and small, and it only took them a second to find Sam and his cousin sitting at a table by the front windows. Sam got up to greet them.

“Hey, man.” Sam hugged Steve and looked at Bucky. “Hey.”

“Hi,” said Bucky, peering over Sam’s shoulder at his cousin who was staring at them with wide eyes.

“This is my cousin Mel,” Sam introduced. “Mel, this is--”

“Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. Nice to meet you!”

Steve and Bucky shook hands with Mel and sat down across from her. Bucky felt a little silly--maybe because this was his first time meeting anybody outside of the immediate circle of the Avengers--and he was terrified he’d have nothing to talk about with Mel. She explained that she was studying computer science at MIT and had come into town on spring break. She seemed rather shy around Steve and Bucky, but Sam assured her over and over again that she needn’t trouble herself with acting a certain way around them.

Bucky could have ordered a cocktail, but everything sounded weird (gentian bitters? The fuck?) and why bother with anything fancy when he could just order whiskey?

And drink three of them?

“Oooo, Sammy, take us dancing,” Mel said when they left the cocktail bar. “I wanna dance!”

“I’m too old for that shit, Mel. And these two--”

“I’ll go dancing,” said Bucky. Steve’s head whipped around to glare at him. “It’s only been, what, sixty years?”

“You’re really milking this whole ‘it’s your birthday’ thing, aren’t you, Buck?” Steve grumbled. “All right. Let’s go dancing.”

---

The club Sam and Mel picked out was loud and dark and smelled like sweat and old cigarettes. It was so loud that Bucky could almost forgot about the smell. People didn’t dance like they used to, he knew, but this was something else entirely--bright lights and fake smoke, bodies colliding and moving, drinks spilling and shouting over the loud bass.

“I hope you’re happy,” Bucky said to Sam at the bar, which was only slightly less loud and aggravating as the dance floor. “I can’t dance to this music, and yet Steve’s out there dancing his ass off.”

“Happy birthday, Barnes,” Sam replied with a chuckle, and slid him a beer. “On me.”

“Thanks.” They pushed their way to the edge of the dance floor, and Bucky could see Steve and Mel dancing together in the crowd. While part of him resented how quickly Steve took to this “dancing,” Bucky was actually quite pleased that Steve finally enjoyed dancing. That is--until Mel started grinding on Steve.

“You’re not jealous, are you, Barnes?”

Bucky took a long drink from his beer and Sam was like a shark smelling blood.

“What’s with the long face, huh?”

“For your information, I’ve danced with Steve before, and it’s nothing to write home about.”

Sam almost doubled over laughing. “You what? You danced with Steve? Who lead?”

“I was teaching Steve how to lead, so I was the dame--y’know what, fuck you Sam.”

They both drank long swigs from their drinks.

Mel eventually dragged Steve over to them. They both looked sweaty and tired. “Sammy! I wanna go to the next club!”

“I think I’ve had enough dancing for one night,” Steve said, and even he was still catching his breath.

“Fine, fine. One more vodka Redbull for the road, then.”

“That’ll kill you, Sam,” Bucky warned him.

“Worse things have tried. Bye.” He hugged Steve. “Bye, Barnes.” He thought about hugging Bucky, but instead just awkwardly patted him on the shoulder.

“Nice meeting you,” Bucky said to Mel. Mel hugged him, then Steve.

“We gotta hang out again before I leave. Okay? Promise?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said with a small smile. “Promise. Maybe you can teach me how to dance.”

“Oooo.” Mel winked at him. “I’d love to.”

---

They hadn’t walked more than a block from the club when Steve reached out and grabbed Bucky by the hand. “Hey, I’m sorry if--”

“Sorry? Shut up. You were great back there. I’ve never seen you dance before.” Bucky ignored how hot his face felt with Steve holding his hand.

Steve stopped Bucky from walking and stepped in front of him, that earnest concerned crease in his brow that looked annoying and cute all at once. “You’re not mad?”

“Mad? Jesus, Rogers. Of course not. I had fun. Did you?”

“Yeah--I--Mel’s cute--uhm--”

It didn’t normally take a lot for Steve to get so flustered that he couldn’t form a sentence, but it did surprise Bucky when Steve bent down and kissed him on the mouth.

Bucky made a muffled sound of surprise against the kiss, his whole body stiffening up, and he put his hands on Steve’s chest and meant to push him back, but he didn’t.

“Sorry,” Steve murmured when he pulled back.

“Would you quit saying that?” Bucky could taste a hint of mint on his lips from the cocktail Steve had even though it was hours ago, or maybe he was just imagining it. “You’re--such an idiot, Steve. God.” Bucky grabbed a fistful of Steve’s shirt and pulled him in for another kiss, just to try it again, see if it felt like his feet had left the ground again.

Steve made a noise Bucky never heard him make before, something deep in his chest, then he yanked his lips away. “We, uh, should head back.”

“Oh. Okay.” Bucky said it almost like a question, an invitation.

“I mean, if you want. It’s your, uhm, birthday night--thing.”

Bucky flicked his tongue over his lips and knew for sure he tasted mint. He inhaled sharply and grinned at Steve. “Let’s not go back yet. You wanna get milkshakes first?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

---

“Sorry about before,” Steve watched as Bucky grabbed the cherry off the top of his vanilla shake. “I didn’t mean to--”

“I swear to God, if you apologize one more time, I’m gonna kick your ass.” Bucky’s face burned. He couldn’t say it out loud--that he liked the fact Steve kissed him--because nothing made any goddamn sense right now and he didn’t want to think too much about it.

“It’s just… I’ve had a little more time for thinking lately, and… When I was dancing I got this, I dunno, feeling?”

“Feelings? From Steve Rogers? No.” Bucky’s words oozed with sarcasm because it was so, so much easier to torment Steve than it was for him to let him continue.

“Yeah. You know what? Nevermind. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Cool. Okay. It’s all right. I mean, I--” Bucky shrugged, ate a couple of spoonfuls of his banana milkshake. His face might as well have caught fire at this point, and it would have been a welcome release from the feelings that wanted to explode out of his chest. He realized why it was so hard for him or Steve to talk about their feelings--they either allowed for mutual silent understanding or they called each other names until nobody wanted to open up. So Bucky tried being open. “It’s cool if you want to kiss, or whatever.” He failed.

Steve nodded at him, his eyes getting narrow. He opened his mouth as if to say something, talked himself out of it, and went back to drinking his shake.

“We just have some shit to figure out,” Bucky said after a minute of soul crushing silence. “You and your friends, the shield… me with the…” Bucky tapped the side of his head. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”

Steve was still silent.

“Unless you think it is.”

“I dunno. I don’t have any good ideas.”

They both smiled bitter, self-deprecating smiles. They drank two milkshakes each and eventually waddled back to the apartment. Steve said he’d take the couch, but Bucky didn’t want to sleep alone that night, and neither did Steve. As Bucky settled in beside Steve, Steve took his metal hand in his and interlaced their fingers. They laid like that in silence for a few minutes, Bucky’s head buzzing with all kinds of thoughts like: was this really happening? Did he want this to happen? How long had Steve thought about doing that? Since Bucky got back? Before the war?

“Remember in Independence Day when the guy punches the alien in the face and says ‘welcome to earth’?” Steve asked completely out of the blue.

Bucky snickered. “Yeah.”

“That’s the kind of birthday I want.”

“Punching aliens in the face?”

“Yeah. I mean… I think I wanna keep doing what I was doing. Being Captain America.”

“Oh.” Well, shit. Bucky turned his head and looked at Steve, really looked at him, maybe figured deep down it was the only way Steve knew how to be. Maybe that was okay, maybe it wasn’t. “You’re too young to retire, anyway.”

“Shut up,” Steve chuckled.

“Make me.”

So Steve kissed him again, much bolder this time, and maybe things didn’t have to make perfect sense for them right now, but at least Bucky knew that he and Steve made sense. Kissing Steve sparked something in him he barely recognized, and he felt more alive than he had in a long time. Almost as carefree and weightless and happy as the time him and Steve went to a Yankees game together. They drank milkshakes that night, too. 

This was good, and Steve was good, and Bucky relished in the sensation of their lips touching and the way Steve kept holding his hand. For now, this was enough. Steve was enough. They’d sort the rest later.

#therothwoman #beefybuckyexchange17 #stucky #cat writes sometimes #long post #fluff and angst like whoa #bucky barnes #sam wilson #steve rogers