#cassandra tried to shield bash him

[sweetjulieapples]

Cullen doing everything but going back to camp for sleep.

[miracleweaponhunt]

Miracle Weapon Hunt Chapter 61: A Gem of a Town

The clouds passed them as the old ship sunk through the sky. Roxanne tried clinging onto something, eventually choosing what was left of the chains on the walls. Julian and Cassandra clung to each other in a desperate attempt to hold onto anything. Xander was still furious, bashing the shield against anything he could for some kind of relief. He looked out the window to see dragons soaring through the sky, no two the same colour. As they descended further, trees larger than anything on the surface were made visible, each with thick vines connecting them. And finally, murkiness. A bright yellow murkiness covered the ship, brown specks dotting the window, until they emerged out of it. The door was on the underside of the landing site, so opening it wasn't an option. Xander tried smashing the window with the shield, but the damn window wasn't giving a dent.

"Is everyone alive?" Roxanne yelled after the ship stopped moving.

"I am." Julian nodded through a spinning head and pained stomach.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm alive." Cassandra sighed.

They stayed at the bottom of the ship, watching Xander hang onto the wall through what seemed to be sheer anger, endlessly bashing away at the window, while the other three had to avoid the blood pouring out of where his arm once was.

"You think you could try breaking the window?" Roxanne asked.

"I…I don't want to use the weapons anymore." Cassandra whispered.

Julian gave Roxanne a concerned look, before turning back to Cassandra.

"Uh…something happen on the ship?" Julian asked, putting a hand on her shoulder.

Cassandra took a deep breath.

"I'm Chelic's niece." She whispered.

The words felt like vomit to her. And as she faced her friends, Julian just shrugged.

"Okay? Cassandra, we've been over this. Just because you were connected to them at some point doesn't mean you should let it define you."

The two embraced with a casual kiss. When it was done, Roxanne hugged both of them.

"Okay, I'm glad you reunited, but maybe we could come up with a way out of this thing?" Xander asked.

"I mean, is it even safe out there?" Roxanne asked. "What are the chances of something like a deadly creature of some kind?"

"Or the place in general is poisoned." Julian added.

"Well, what do you suggest we do?" Xander yelled.

As he turned to try against the window again, a hand pressed against it. Xander jumped back, and the others hid behind him. The ship began to move, and they felt it hit solid land. The door opened, and two people were in front of them.

Neither of the dark skinned individuals said anything. The taller one was a slender woman in an oversized blue jacket and baggy trousers with military jeans, and her hair was a simple buzz cut.

The shorter man behind her was a boy in a red jacket and trousers made by attaching extra leg fabric to a pair of old shorts, with his hair styled in a man-bun alongside some patchy facial hair. Both were wearing goggles and necklaces similar to Roxanne. The girl had a red gem in hers, and the boy had a white one.

The girl held a rifle in her hands, which she held slightly higher than she normally would, perhaps as a subtle suggestion not to mess with her. The guy stood behind her with arms crossed, sizing up the situation.

"Did you come from the sky?" The woman asked slowly.

"Correct." Julian said from inside. "We got thrown out."

"Thrown out?" The man asked."

"Well, it was an accident on…everyone's part, but point is, we're stuck here."

The two looked to each other. The guy shrugged.

"Code still applies, right?"

The girl nodded, so the man stepped in front.

"Okay. We got a policy of not leaving any humans behind, so now you're a part of our family!"

"Yes, that. Mind if we guide you back to our city?"

"Well, it's not like we have much of a choice." Xander said, stepping out. Julian and Cassandra stepped out, and Roxanne was the last to leave. The two natives took a discreet glance at her chest, exchanging a discreet look at each other.

"Excuse me, is something off?" Roxanne asked.

"It's nothing, we were just making sure nobody else was in there." The guy responded with a dismissive hand wave.

In front of them was a deep jungle. Trees taller than anything any of the main four had ever seen stretched out and blotted out the clear blue sky. The ground was brown and wet, and they sank into it a little with each step. Roxanne's leg already wasn't the best, so she was constantly catching herself while trying not to trip. This failed, and she felt her foot get caught in something and almost fell to the ground. The guy caught her, helping her back on her feet.

"You okay?" He asked. Their eyes met, and Roxanne got a glance into his. Eyes as deep a brown as a particularly well made chocolate bar. Like, the type she saw stars eat in movies for the product placement that was way too expensive for chocolate.

And as Roxanne looked into his eyes, she felt…nothing.

"Yes, I'm fine. Please let me go."

The man let her back on her feet, and she kept going.

"Just watch out, and you'll stay standing." The girl said without turning back. "It shouldn't be that hard."

"Eh, lay off em." The guy responded, gazing at the sky. "I'm guessing their sky ships all have the most even flooring at all times."

"Hey, I fell down enough stairs to say otherwise." Julian replied, wiping fresh dirt off his face. "But otherwise yes."

"You get used to it quicker than you think." The guy replied. "I mean, I'm not even supposed to be out here. Just felt like taking a stroll!"

"What do you usually do?" Cassandra asked.

"Doctor. But that gets stuffy. And depressing. So sometimes you gotta grab a moment and let the wind flow through you!"

Suddenly, footsteps were heard through the trees above them, and a blur leapt below. It looked like a dragon, only a little more sleek, a little more moist, and with much smaller wings. It snarled and leapt at Xander, who blocked it with his shield. The creature expanded its wings to scare him off, but Xander just cut its neck with a single slice to the neck.

"Yo, nice one!" The man yelled, seemingly unfazed by the attack, picking up the body and draping it over his shoulder.

"Wyvern wings." He said casually. "You able to get em up there?"

"Nope." Cassandra said.

"Yeah, checks out. Pretty sure we only started eating them after you took off and they were deemed too tough beforehand. But boil the wings at the right temperature with some mint sauce and lake salt. That's just a good meal, I don't know what people were thinking back then!"

"I'll let them know we got something." The girl said, taking out a phone to text with.

"Oh hey, you guys have phone service down here." Julian noticed.

"It's limited, but it works." The guy shrugged.

After what felt like an eternity of trapsing through a muddy path, the city lay before them. It seemed like once abandoned buildings first reclaimed by nature, then the remaining humans made their attempt to reclaim it back, with both parties agreeing on a middle ground. Some of the vines gathered to connect to the nearby trees, but those had nets attached, probably to avoid more wyvern attacks. The group walked past the two guards in front of the cities main gate, dressed in leather and guns, as they stepped past and nodded at everyone who passed them.

"Miss Ngozi, Mr. Kwadwo." The left guard said calmly.

"Sup." The man, presumably Kwadwo, said back with a friendly wave.

Inside the city was people going about their day. In the centre was an unused fountain, with a girl sitting by it playing a worn down violin. A man sat next to her eating a sandwich, passing discreet glances at the girl. Children ran through the street and stole food left in shop windows, getting away before any owners could catch them. Overall, people of all races and ages seemed to be relaxing and soaking in the day. But Roxanne noticed that everyone was wearing a necklace. The violinist had a green gem while the man eating had a blue one.

"And, welcome to trampstown." Kwadwo said calmly. "First off, mind if I take you to the hospital? Just a check up for most of you."

"Most of us?" Xander asked.

"Yeah, I'm assuming that you had an arm a few hours ago." He said, wincing at the stump. "So you'll probably need a blood transfusion. Don't worry, we'll find a donor before more damage can be caused."

"So I can leave them with you?" Ngozi asked.

"Yeah, I got it. Gotta clock back in, anyway."

The six made their way through the city, with a couple people taking a glance at Roxanne, staring at her necklace. And when Roxanne noticed, nobody was wearing a purple gem.

"Hey, is something up with purple gems?" Roxanne asked.

"Eh, probably. I think they had a meaning in the olden days, but I slept through that history class."

"So the gems have meanings?"

"Oh, totally. I have a white one, which means I work in the medical field. Green means you're an artist, red means you're a scout. It's just convenient to know where someone stands, you know?"

"Eh, guess that makes sense." Julian nodded. He looked over to see Xander, looking ready to fire back at this system, but in the end he stayed silent. Maybe the Legion used something similar and they were all idiots, he'd have to think about it later.

The hospital's interior looked like one in the skies, but with slightly worse lighting. The four were all placed in a series of empty beds. Kwadwo took swabs from all of them, to see if they were related to anyone here. They all sat in an awkward silence. They tried finding something to talk about, but every time somebody tried, it would stop fairly quickly.

After what felt like an eternity, a nurse walked into the room.

"Excuse me, Cassandra? There's someone waiting to see you."

A pale woman in a white shirt and trousers came in after her. Her hair was a rosy blonde, and her eyes a deep ocean blue. And before Cassandra could think, she knew. She stuttered to get the words out, her mouth being filled with as many useless words as her eyes were filling with tears. But eventually, she managed to let one slip out.

"Mom?!"

[popculturebuffet]

Darkwing Duck: My Valentine Ghoul Review aka A Bad Episode Even by Valentine’s Day Episode Standards

Welcome back Darkwings of the Night. It’s time to go back to St. Canard for the very review that got me to finish up my look at the episodes that should’ve lead up to Just Us Justice Ducks and the episode itself last month. While I probably COULD have reviewed this one before finsihing that as continuity’s pretty loose here, I wanted to see Negaduck’s proper introduction first. So was it worth it?

Yeah while I was glad to get one of my retrospectives done and free up some room for other stuff, this episode..was an objective disapointment and might be even worse than “Brush with Oblivion”. If your curious to know why and aren’t already lobbing a harpoon at me for bashing an episode you liked, join me under the cut. 

On PAPER this episode sounded really good. Negaduck trying to seduce Morgana back to crime and in general after Darkwing once again neglected her is not at all a bad premise and the in episode conflict of Darkwing’s obnoxious supscioson of his girlfriend being an ex con, COULD’VE been really interesting. But there’s a reason Could’ve was in all caps folks: This episode is not very well put together and it’s gender politics have aged like fine santa liquor left split in a bathtub surronded by toxic waste for 20 years, and tastes just as bad. Trust me I know. My colon still hasn’t recovered. So let’s get into WHY shall we? 

So we open with a date in a graveyard with Darkwing and Morgana, unsuprisingly though Darkwing isn’t the fondest of their meal which... look like someone scrambled the Star-Spawn of Cthulu. He’s going to be pissed.. especially once I try some. Look i’m very curious and very hungry. 

But things take a turn when Darkwing brings up diamonds, because he’s fully insensitive enough to bring them up in front of his girlfriend. She does take the truth in stride: he’s not proposing he’s simply hung up on a case of diamonds going missing, and no solution and thus might have to cut the date short. She offers to go with him but he shoots her down, saying the last time she helped she turned him into a rutabega.. instead of you know TRAINING her and helping her on her aim.  Then the episode looses me.. and about how long into the episode are we exactly? Not taking the theme song into acount?

Yup. It takes around 2 minutes, with some change. for the episode to become absolutley terrible. But first off Morgana suddenly flies off the table claming he dosen’t trust her for being a former criminal and zaps him in vengance.. which is assualt. Cartoony assault sure but it still hurts and his reactoin is STILL pure feer as he’s turned into some kind of ball... I mean.. it’s not like he can’t fight crime like that. Some of the best have done it. 

But still she goes to physical violence at the drop of a hat this episode and Darkwing seems more than a little afraid of that happening again. Just... wow.  I thought, having finished the Legend of the Three Cablleros, i’d be done with writing so poor a character comes off as a domestic abuser, mental in that case phsyical here, but here we are. Now this is untetional so I don’t blame the writers as much.. but I still heft some blame on them for being SO bad at writing a woman that she can’t get angry without phsyically attacking her partner or grasping the implications there. 

Oh and it gets worse. Yes, it somehow gets worse from “Morgana attacking darkwing for upsetting her”. Darkwing proves to be pretty vile himself, as when Morgana accuses him of not trusting her due to her criminal past.... he says “You know what they say once a crook always a crook. “

My.. fucking.. god.... the show is stacking unfortunate implications on top of itself like lego bricks. And yes attitudes towards prisoners were much worse back then, I get that. Dosen’t make it tolerable to HEAR someone spouting that bullshit, let alone our protaganist. And while it doesn’t make her right to shoot lighting at him, as she does after this or attack him before... it does mean he’s a massive, mentally abusive dick who refuses to trust his partner who reformed FOR HIM, just because she used to do crimes. It takes a special kind of bad writing to screw up so badly that two of your heroes are immensley unikeable in the span of minutes but they did. CONGRADULATIONS DUMBASS!

So yeah Morgana breaks up with him and he tries to go after her  and Gosalyn, who was there the whole time with eek and squeak,  decides she needs to get the two back together. 

I mean at least Gosalyn MEANS well. As a result despite her helping them not being a good idea, she’s one of the most likeable characters in the episode. At least for now. The most likeable?

Yes. REALLY. Now granted he’s as much of a bastard as always; After seeing Morg’s tantrum he wants to seduce her back to evil to help with his diamond scheme, unsurprisingly he’s the one stealing them and his plan to do so.. is not all that bright as he fakes being good to get into her good graces.. forgetting that he’s going to need to show her he’s bad again for any of his plan to work, as during the climax i’ts revealed he’s using a candy company as a front for diamond smuggling. Now granted that.. is actually really clever as no one’s going to think to check a shipment of choclate boxes for diamonds unless their tipped off and he even mentions starting a candy company earlier, so that being his scheme dosen’t come out of left field and i’ts  a clever misdirect that you’d THINK he was lying about the Candy Company.  But while Negsy doesn’t’t escape the contagious case of stupidity everyone’s got this episode, he’s still entertaining as ever and Jim cummings manages to make saying “Well be the best of pals” pants crappingly terrifiying. So Negaduck is a delight as always even if his plan makes little sense, as his way of going about it is still clever: he fakes being good and both uses this to make darkwing jealous, thus making him seem irational, and to provide a shield and also forces himself on their valentine’s date. He even gets past Morgana rightfully beign supsicous by playing to her past. So yeah not the best plan OVERALL but damn if he still isn’t awesome.  They visit a carnival, ah feels like home, though this one has a freak show where MORGANA feels like she’s home. After trying to fry Darkwing and making him look like the bad guy Negaduck manages to seperate the two in the tunnel of love then use darkwing’s own jackassery against him by claming he left saying once a crook always a crook. He hten.. comes on way too strong, first asking if she’s thought about going back to crime when they get back to her place and then isn’t resceptive when he just tries to fully turn on the charm. Oh and Darkwing walks in and thinks his gilrfriend is cheating despite her not returning Negaducks affections because he’s a douchebag.  Gosalyn is in the house at the same time as after Negaducks earlier deception, Eek and Squeak flew her back to Morgana’s house to use the Necronomiduck, which talks like he just walked out of Beast’s house because of course he does, and gets a love potion.. which they accidently spray on Darkwing instead. So we do get one of the few GOOD parts of the episode where Darkwing acts all buddy buddy to negaduck and Negaduck even gets rid of him just by telling him to go jump off a cliff. And the combination of Drake acting all sachrine again, much like posiduck, and Negaduck’s clear annoyance and confusion is just comedy gold. 

Sadly that ends and Drake returns and a fight breaks out with Morgana accidently freezing darkwing and when trying to freeze negaduck, he simpy reflects it back the obsconds with her ice cube. 

While Gosalyn and co thaw her dad out, Negaduck explains the whole choclate scam and Morgana refuses and they fight, with Negaduck covering her in chocolate.. then darkwing when he shows up as you’d expect. Darkwing however has buzzsaw cufflinks, a wonderful 60′s batman type gag, and saves them both.. btu the love potion ends up on Gosalyn who covers her dad and possible step mom in frosting

Thankfully it wears off fast, and morgana gets the idea to put the love potion, which is air born into the gas gun, finally getting Darkwing to trust her and blasting Negaduck, then suckerpunching him when he gets close. Oh and despite her plan being VERY obvious , Darkwing STILL questions her flirting with the guy. 

So the day is saved and we end with him questioning her order at dinner that night and her .. attacking him. And Gosalyng saying “Well you always hurt the ones you love”

Final Thoughts: .I do not like this episode. I do not like it on a moat, on a boat or with a goat or in any way shape or form even though that breaks the ryhme. Reviewing it only had me finding MORE problems with it. Morgana and Darkwing are so unsympathetic here, with her violence towards him making it seem like “Aw all couples are just the woman chasing the man around with the frying pan.. or lighting bolts in this case” even though that’s sexist as hell at BEST and makes light of domesdtic abuse towards men at worst.  Darkwing gets off no better, being THAT kind of asshole who assumes just because someone used to be a criminal they always will be. Which even in pastiche makes no sense as I can name tons of superheroes, a who USED to be criminals or villians: Hawkeye, Scarlet Witch, Black Widow, Luke Cage (Before becoming a superhero), Scott Lang Ant-Man, Hal Jordan Green Lantern, Cassandra Cain, Simon Baz, Mach 10, Songbird, Quicksilver, Rogue, Wonder Man, and Emma Frost. And that’s not getting into the number of heroes, including many on this list, who went evil fo ra bit and came back from it.. some of whom are on this list. Usually his black and white insanity schick works but the episode does nothing to punish him for it and instead makes Morgana seem just as irrational by attacking him. 

While this episode dosen’t use the love potion badly, thank god, with morgana even calling it a bad idea.. i’ts all I can give it outside of negaduck. The love potion and negaduck gags are both great.. but everything else is just so toxic and odious it makes it very hard to enjoy. And so.. this wins the DUBIOUS honor of being the worst Darkwing Duck episode i’ve seen so far. The plot’s weak, filled with horrible outdated ideas even by the time this was made, and no one is likeable, even Negaduck wears out his once he starts getting a bit too pushy with morgana. All in all a waste of potetial and a good episode. Until the next rainbow, this episode can step on a rusty railroad spike and get tetnus. 

[irlaimsaaralath]

For Want of Blue

Cullen x Caitlin (my human Inquisitor) and their first fight.

Bless them.

*

Sweat broke across his brow as the echo of his own footfalls rang in his ears, ricocheted inside his skull, and made the pain of his headache pulse in time with his heartbeat.  Cullen didn’t slow for the door that barred his way, only shoved through it and into the war room, blatantly ignoring Josephine’s gasp and Leliana’s stern glare as it crashed back against the wall.  He was stopped by the table’s edge, slapped down a crumpled piece of parchment, and braced his fist on it as he seethed, now eye-to-eye with the Inquisitor.  

“How long were you going to wait to tell me?”  

The sweat that had beaded in his hairline trickled down his temple and traced his jaw, but he stubbornly refused to acknowledge it.  All the energy he had to spare was channeled directly into his fury.  It was a drumbeat, and he would swear he could feel his heart pounding through his skin and against the linen drape of his shirt.

“You should be in bed, Culle-,” Caitlin began, the corners of her eyes creased, frown etched in place, but he didn’t allow her to finish.  

“How long?” he bellowed and bashed his fist against the table, the parchment crushed in his grip.  Only Leliana resisted a responsive recoil as even he was taken momentarily aback by his volume and the wash of nausea it caused to ripple through him.  

Caitlin recovered quickly from her startle, and she bowed toward him, both hands splayed on the table for support.  

“You’ve been unwell,” she retorted, louder than strictly necessary, as her violet eyes flashed with both concern and burgeoning anger.  

“And, just how unwell do you think our Templar recruits will be, waiting— what was it?  Another week— without their lyrium rations?  They’re already down to half.” 

Her brow furrowed, muscles bunching between her shoulders as she hunched a further inch forward.

“I’m doing all I can, Cullen.  Bull, Dorian, and the Chargers are halfway to the Stormcoast right now, the opposite direction from the shipment,” she said, finger jabbing at the map.  His eyes didn’t follow the movement, rather remained locked on her face as his jaw worked to grind his teeth painfully together.  She gestured broadly before she spoke again.  

“Solas, Blackwall, and Cassandra are in the Emerald Graves for at least another fortnight. Sera is with Harding on a scouting mission, and Vivienne is about her own business...whatever it is she gets up to when she’s beyond Skyhold’s walls.”  Caitlin’s cheeks were flushed under her tanned skin, evidence of her anger that sank down her neck and beneath the collar of her shirt.  

“Send a company of soldiers,” Cullen gritted out as he tossed the balled missive across the table carelessly.  It rolled to a stop against the marker for Val Royeaux.  

Caitlin chuffed out a breath, but it was Leliana that responded.  

“Reports were unclear about the nature of the ambush.  Bandits are suspected, but with Calpernia in the area, it could be more than a simple robbery.  We need to send more than a gaggle of farm-fresh children playing soldier.”

A growl fell from his lips as he roughly cradled the back of his head in his hand and tried and failed to massage away the burrowing sensation in his skull.  

“I’ll lead them.  It’s an acceptable risk,” he ground out as his free hand joined the first, both clasped behind his head as he shifted in place.  

“No,” Caitlin exclaimed, straightening.  “Absolutely not!”

“Then, I’ll go alone.  A petty troupe of bandits shouldn’t prove unconquerable.”

“Are you listening?  You are in no condition,” Caitlin sighed in frustration as she gestured in his direction.  Awkward glances passed between Josephine and Leliana, though the diplomat was far less able to mask her discomfort than her more stoic counterpart.

“You’ve been abed for four days.  You’re barely even dressed, you’re still fevered, and I can see the headache in your eyes!  I understand why this is a sensitive issue, but careless bull-headedness will not solve this problem.”   

His fingers laced into his hair at the crown of his head and didn’t move when his chin dropped, gold eyes hardening into amber as he cut them up at Caitlin.  It was no secret to Leliana or Josephine the ailment that sometimes kept him in bed for days at a time.  He uneasily accepted that, in their positions, they had a right and even a need to know.  What he wasn’t accustomed to, however, was working through an episode in front of them or Caitlin naming his weakness so blatantly in front of an audience.

His jaw locked, iron ground against stone as a muscle twitched near his ear and his neck corded with the effort to keep his mouth closed.  Across from him, Caitlin leaned back and heaved a breath.

“We’re expecting Sera and Harding back in two or three days.  Once they’re back, I’ll take them and go to retrieve the lyrium,” she continued as she cautiously eyed him.  “It’s the safest option we have at the moment.”

“Safe,” Cullen groused, the word chewed between his teeth like a particularly stubborn piece of gristle before it left his mouth.  

“Nothing we ever do is safe, Caitlin.  There are simply things that must be done, and this is one of them.  If you don’t intend to take care of it,” he paused, and his hands dropped from his head to hook onto his cocked hips.

“Well, someone has to make the difficult decisions and take the lead,” he concluded.  The venom in his tone only sharpened his derisive wave in her direction, and the response was instantaneous.  Josephine gasped his name in warning, followed quickly by Leliana’s “That’s hardly fair.” Caitlin, however, said nothing at all, only stared at him as if she’d been struck.   

Her reaction registered dimly, distantly in the rational part of his mind buried beneath the pulse of pain and fevered anger that clouded his foremost thoughts.  He could only imagine them, the many faces of the recruits he’d greeted personally as they filed into Skyhold.  As they took their first tenuous steps into an unfamiliar world and trusted them...him...to lead them forward.  He could only imagine them crippled by this accursed absence he’d taken on willingly, but that they would suffer through no fault of their own.  His jaw set as he threw his hands in the air and turned, unsteadily, toward the door.  

“Cullen,” Caitlin snapped when she finally spoke, her voice sharp in the high-ceilinged room.  It made him pause, and he hovered on the threshold as his head canted.  

“That was an order, not a suggestion.  You are not to leave Skyhold.”

The cool tone in her voice washed over his fevered skin like ice water, and as much as he was able, he squared his shoulders.  

“At your command, Inquisitor,” he muttered before he stalked away from her.  

—

“Inquisitor?”

Josephine’s voice was slow to infiltrate her awareness.  Her pulse pounded in her throat and her blood rushed in her ears.  Caitlin blinked, a heavy breath pushed out through her nose as her eyes slanted toward her advisor.  The other woman didn’t speak, only gestured with her quill, and Caitlin’s gaze dropped to her hands.  Clutched in her fist was one of the markers from the map, the miniature tower figurine ruined as it fell back to the table, snapped in half by her careless grip.  

“I-...I’m sorry, Josie,” Caitlin offered as she rubbed at her palm with her thumb, an attempt to smooth out the deep creases left in her skin by the figure’s sharp edges.  She hadn’t even realized.  

“No apologies needed,” Josephine assured her as she and Leliana shared a brief glance.

Caitlin was too distracted to notice the silent exchange going on behind her back; she was still breathing through the anger that churned in her chest, ached at the back of her throat, and stung her eyes with tears unshed.  She didn’t truly anger very often, and even when she did, it was usually a fleeting thing -- a misunderstanding, an annoyance, a tiff that was a tiny buzz of irritation.  There and gone again in a moment.  She wasn’t one to hold on to such things.  

This, however, had caught a nerve.  If she were to be entirely honest, her anger had a twin in her bruised feelings.  What was it her father used to say?  Anger is frequently the shield of hurt.  It wasn’t enough for him to disagree with her, which itself was perfectly acceptable, but then to continue on, speaking to her as if she were a child, demeaning her ability to lead, questioning her concern for the recruits under her command.  Cullen had an unique advantage to most; he knew the chinks in her armor.  He knew the strikes that would hurt her most.  Only, she never expected him to exploit them.  She took another breath, deep and hitching, before she scrubbed her palms on the thighs of her pants.

“I should go after him,” she said, as much to scold herself as inform anyone around her, and rubbed a hand across her face.  Her cheeks burned, and she wished she could push the heat of her anger away from her skin.  In all actuality, the last place she wanted to be at the moment was at Cullen’s heels, but she couldn’t escape the nagging voice in the back of her head that reminded her that this hadn’t truly been Cullen.  Those words hadn’t really been his.  It was the withdrawal.  Those were not thoughts he harbored in his mind, hidden but for the looseness the lack of lyrium gave his tongue…

“Perhaps, Inquisitor, you would both be better served by allowing tempers to cool.  You’ve given an order, and he’ll surely not ride against it,” Josephine offered as her eyes canted to Leliana for affirmation.  The spymaster hummed her agreement as she plucked the crumpled missive from the tabletop and tucked it out of sight.

Caitlin’s gaze was fixed on the pieces of the tower figurine she’d broken, and it followed as she nudged them back and forth across the edge of the map with her fingertip.

“Of course, you’re right.  I’ll give him some time.”

[pikapeppa]

Fenris/f!Hawke and the Inquisition: Moments of Happiness

Chapters 57 & 58 of Lovers In A Dangerous Time (i.e. Fenris the Inquisitor) are up on AO3! Don’t be fooled, I took one long chapter and chopped it into two. Together they’re about ~10k words. 

In which Fenris and the crew pal around at the Winter Palace before the Exalted Council begins. Also known as the calm before the storm. 😭

Read on AO3 here. 

*******************

Hawke shook out another pair of trousers and hung them in the finely-carved armoire. “…and that passage made me think of that time when I tried to have you close the mark as though you were closing a rift, but that didn’t work. Which in retrospect was maybe a stupid suggestion since you can’t close a key with a key, if that even makes any sense.” She turned back to the cedar travelling chest containing their clothes. “Honestly though, all these Chantry-sanctioned treatises are worth shit for trying to figure this out. I wonder if it might be worth reaching out to Morrigan to see if she has any interesting ideas. At this point, I’d be willing to try anything to get that fucking mark off of you.”

“Mm,” Fenris said. “That’s a good idea.”

“You think so?” Hawke said. “Perhaps I’ll ask her if a little blood magic might remove it.”

“You could,” he said vaguely. 

She laughed. “Fenris! You aren’t even listening to me!” She threw a pair of socks at him, and when they bounced off of his book, he finally looked up. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I… what were you saying?”

“I was trying to talk about the anchor,” she said pointedly. 

“Oh. Yes.” He glanced balefully at the mark. The lines of cursed light used to be contained in the main fissures of his palm, but they had started to spread over the last couple of months. Nowadays when the mark flared, its ghastly green light spread down to his wrist and almost all the way to his fingertips. 

He closed his hand and looked up at her. “Did you find something in your books?”

“Nothing earth-shattering yet.” She went back to hanging their clothes in the armoire. “I’m still trying to translate that one really old elven tome I found in the little library in Skyhold, but it’s extremely slow-going.” She paused in her unpacking and peered at him. “Are you all right? You’ve been awfully distracted since we left Kirkwall.” Her eyebrows rose with worry. “The mark isn’t hurting more than usual, is it?” 

“No. I’m well,” he assured her. “I was just thinking… you should eat more dark green vegetables.”

Her eyebrows jumped up, and she barked out a laugh. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

He tapped the book on his lap. “This book. It says that pregnant women should eat dark green vegetables three times a day.”

Hawke narrowed her eyes at the book, then wandered over to the couch where he was sitting. “Is that Enchanter Jolen’s compilation?”

“Yes,” he said. He showed her the book, which was titled Andraste’s Little Blessing: Rites and Rituals for Welcoming A New Child.

She handed the book back to him with a grin. “Well, that’s not a bad one. Although it does recommend that pregnant people should read the Chant of Light every night in thanks for the blessing of a child, and I’m sure as shit not doing that.”

He looked at her in dismay. “Is this book not a reputable source, then?”

“No no, it’s fine,” she said. “But we should dig up a copy of the Ralaferin clan’s writings if you really want to read up on pregnancy.”

“A Dalish text?” he said in surprise. “Really?”

“Yes, it’s much more down-to-earth,” Hawke said. “Though it doesn’t have the same modern medical suggestions. And it’ll be hard to get your hands on a copy, I studied from one that Merrill had back in the day…” She frowned thoughtfully, then shrugged. “Actually, you can keep reading Andraste’s Little Blessings. It’s preachy and sort of privileged, but it’s fine.”

“All right,” he said warily. He watched her for a moment as she bustled back over to the bed and continued unpacking their clothes. 

He leaned forward. “Perhaps you should sit down. This book says that pregnant women–”

“–should spend as much time as possible on their asses doing nothing, right?” she interrupted.

“Er, yes,” he admitted. 

She shook her head in amusement, then sashayed over to him and closed the book. “Fenris, don’t fuss at me, all right? I promise I’ll relax when I need to. Besides, pregnancy is the easy bit. All I have to do is eat a lot, not drink too much wine, make sure no one bashes me in the stomach. That’s easy. The hard part is raising the kid when it comes out. You have no idea what sort of chaotic little monster you’re going to get.”

He slung one arm along the back of the couch. “Knowing you, it will chaos personified,” he said dryly.

She chuckled and playfully pinched his chin. “That’s the sweetest compliment I’ve had all day.”

He smirked, but he couldn’t help but study her smile. She sounded jocular, but that didn’t necessarily mean she was joking. 

He took her hand. “Since when does chaos disturb you?”

She snorted. “Since I’m responsible for raising it and making sure it doesn’t grow up into an asshole, of course.”

“We will be equally responsible for that,” he said firmly. “You are not doing any part of this alone.”

Her smile softened. “Such a smooth talker,” she said. “That’ll get you everywhere with me.” She slowly straddled his lap and draped her arms around his neck.

He gazed at her seriously. “This is not idle talk. I mean it. If anything scares or worries you about this, I need you to tell me.”

“Okay, okay,” she murmured. “I’ll tell you, I promise.” She placed a small chaste kiss on his lips. 

He parted his lips slightly, and Hawke followed his lead and kissed him more deeply. For a long, luxurious minute, Fenris leaned into her kiss, slowly sliding his palms up her thighs and over her hips, and as his thumbs circled her hipbones, she traced his lower lip with her tongue. 

A spike of interest stirred between his legs. When Hawke tilted her hips and pressed down against his groin, the interest surged more strongly still.

Then someone knocked on the door.

A palace servant’s voice called out. “Inquisitor? The delegates from Orlais and Ferelden have been asking if you require assistance.”

Fenris dropped his head back on the couch in frustration, and Hawke sighed. “That means they’re wondering what’s taking you so long to come out and mingle,” she said. 

He nodded in resignation, then called out to the servant. “No assistance is necessary,” he said. He tilted Hawke’s chin down and kissed her firmly, then lifted her off of his lap. “We will continue this later,” he warned. 

She grinned at him as she rose from the couch. “Ooh, I hope that’s a promise.” She peeled off her shirt and winked at him before sauntering over to the armoire to change. 

He tore his eyes away from her swaying hips and roughly adjusted himself before changing into a more formal shirt and jacket. A few minutes later, he and Hawke were strolling through the chattering crowds of nobles toward the upper level of the palace.

As soon as they reached the upper level, they spotted Cassandra standing with an older Fereldan man. She was impossible to miss, really, given her obscenely tall hat. The second she laid eyes on them, her face lit up. 

Hawke chuckled. “Someone looks in need of rescuing from some very dull company.”

He gave her a chiding look. “Don’t say anything to get her in trouble.”

She widened her eyes. “Me? Get someone in trouble? I would never.” Her eyes were twinkling with mischief, however, and Cassandra also seemed to notice Hawke’s shit-eating grin, as she quickly greeted them before they could say a word.  

“Inquisitor. Champion. It is good to see you both.” She gestured to the stern-faced man at her side. “This is Arl Teagan of Redcliffe. He represents Ferelden at the summit.”

“Oh, lovely!” Hawke said. “How is Alistair doing? Still as handsome as ever, I trust?”

Teagan frowned. “I suppose, though that is hardly important.” He nodded to Fenris. “Inquisitor. Good to meet you.”

“You as well,” Fenris said politely. He glanced briefly at Cassandra, who pulled a tiny apologetic face.

Thankfully, Hawke lightened the dour mood. “Forgive me, I have to ask – Arl Teagan, I understand that you’re a fan of the Grand Tourney. You’re a great rider yourself, aren’t you?”

He eyed her suspiciously. “I was, once. I am too busy running the bannorn now, as I’m sure you can understand.”

She blinked innocently. “Oh, but you must have been something to see in your riding days! Would you be so kind as to tell me a tale or two?” 

His scowl deepened. Then he harrumphed. “I suppose I could spare a moment for a story.” 

“Wonderful!” Hawke simpered. She linked her arm with Teagan’s, then winked at Cassandra and Fenris before pulling him away. 

Cassandra shook her head fondly. “She is the same as always,” she said. “Charming almost to a fault. I am happy to see it.”

Fenris nodded; Cassandra’s assessment was accurate, after all. “You look well,” he said. “From what I can see of you, that is.” He glanced in amusement at her outfit.

She made a disgusted noise. “I will never grow accustomed to these trappings, I swear.”

Fenris smirked. “Based on that letter you sent, I understand you’re especially fond of the hat.”

Cassandra shot him a sideways smile. “You got that letter before you left Kirkwall, then? I am glad. I hope Varric enjoyed it.”

Fenris huffed in amusement. “He did, yes.” He declined to tell her that her overused copy of Swords and Shields had been mentioned in the letter.

Cassandra smiled more widely, then sighed. “I suppose we should discuss the Exalted Council. I am supposed to be impartial while speaking for the Chantry, but I confess that neutrality is beyond me. I may be the Divine, but I will always be your friend, and I can hardly ignore the fate of the Inquisition that I began.”

Fenris nodded. When he and Hawke had arrived this morning, Josephine and Leliana had given them the full run-down of the situation, which could be summarized in two sentences: Orlais wanted to acquire the Inquisition as a vassal and thus acquire their power and army, and Ferelden wanted to disband the Inquisition completely. 

“The delegates are short-sighted and selfish,” Cassandra said brusquely. “They do not see the full scope of what you have done these past few years. The Inquisition is still needed. They do not yet understand that.”

Fenris shrugged and glanced around at the assembled nobles and politicians. He hadn’t yet told Cassandra that he’d been planning to quit the Inquisition anyway before the Exalted Council had been announced. 

“We shall see what happens, I suppose,” he said. Personally, dissolving the Inquisition didn’t seem like a totally undesirable result to him. From the most selfish perspective, it would mean that Fenris would finally be free. From a more logical perspective, however, he truly felt that the Inquisition had served its primary purpose, and the more involved they got in political affairs, the more they would be stepping beyond their bounds. In his more bitter moments, Fenris sometimes felt like the Inquisition was becoming the way Solas described the making of a demon: like it was being twisted away from its original purpose into something else entirely. 

And Fenris did not like the idea of the Inquisition becoming so twisted that it was no longer recognizable. 

Cassandra peered at him carefully. “Are you all right, my friend? You seem troubled. Not that you have no reason to be. I mean–” She winced. “That was hardly comforting. I apologize, Fenris, I wish only to express my concern.”

“It’s all right,” he assured her. “I’m better than expected given the situation.” He thought of Hawke’s pregnancy, and his belly jumped in a happy – and nervous – way.

She looked at him in surprise. “That’s… that’s good. I’m glad to hear it.” She sighed again. “I must return to mingling with the bureaucrats. But if you need me, I’m ready to assist. Unconditionally.”

Fenris gave her a small half-bow. “Thank you, Your Holiness.”

She snorted at the formal title. “You are welcome, Inquisitor.”

He smiled at her jab, then looked around for Hawke and Teagan. The Arl was embroiled in a discussion with some other Fereldans, so Fenris quickly slipped into the crowd before Teagan could corner him. 

A moment later, he saw Hawke standing with – of all people – Dorian. 

Fenris raised his eyebrows, equally pleased and surprised. He hadn’t expected Dorian to be here. As he approached them, he realized that Hawke and Dorian were speaking with an Orlesian man, and that Hawke seemed to be flirting with the Orlesian, much to Dorian’s barely suppressed amusement. 

Hawke smiled seductively at the Orlesian. “...and I can only imagine that your control over the Chateau is much firmer than your father’s,” she said. She slid her gaze slowly over the length of his body. “Hmm, very firm indeed.”

“That is kind of you to say, Serrah Hawke,” the Orlesian said coolly. “It is only unfortunate that my governance of the Chateau is a result of you killing my father.”

What? Fenris thought in alarm. But Hawke only batted her eyelashes. “Oh no, my lord, that’s not true.”

“I believe the truth is quite clear, Champion,” the Orlesian retorted. “If I recall correctly, I appeared on the scene to find two dozen bloody qunari corpses and my father crushed beneath his pet wyvern at the base of a cliff.”

Fenris stared at him. Now that was a familiar story. 

Hawke blinked innocently. “I promise you, my lord, it wasn’t my doing. It was the wyvern. I do believe the poor beast was rabid.” She turned to Fenris with a smile. “Fenris, you’re just in time. This is Duke Cyril de Montfort.”

“All right,” Fenris said warily.

“He’s the Duke of Chateau Haine,” Hawke said sweetly. Too sweetly. 

And suddenly Fenris realized who this man was. He was the son of that filthy Duke Prosper – the Duke that Fenris himself had booted off the edge of the cliff for calling Hawke a whore. 

“Ah,” he said. “Er…”

“Inquisitor,” Cyril said with a deep bow. “Your lady wife was just reminding me of our shared past. She appears to have forgotten that she was responsible for my father’s untimely demise at our chateau a few years ago. Were you aware of this?”

Fenris hesitated. Cyril clearly didn’t realize that Fenris had also been present at that party. Not surprising, perhaps, since he and Anders had been skulking around in the corners trying ineffectually to sneak into the castle. 

“I am aware that there was a situation at Chateau Haine a few years ago,” Fenris said carefully. “It’s fortunate that you were capable of stepping seamlessly into your late father’s shoes.”

“Exactly what I was thinking!” Hawke said brightly. “And what handsome and large shoes they are.”

Cyril cleared his throat and smoothed a hand along the front of his doublet. “You are not wrong,” he said. “The Montforts pride ourselves on being very capable leaders. And very good judges of character.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Fenris said. He turned to Dorian. “A word, Lord Pavus?”

“Certainly, Inquisitor,” Dorian said. As Dorian and Fenris moved away, Hawke continued to shamelessly flirt with Cyril. “My lord, I must ask – did you have those shoes custom-made for your size? You know what they say about men with large shoes…” 

Dorian smirked at Fenris, and they chuckled. “She never gives up, does she?” Dorian said quietly.

“Never,” Fenris said, with an affectionate glance at Hawke. He clasped Dorian’s hand in welcome. “It’s good to see you. But what are you even doing here?” In order to be here now, Dorian would only have been back in the Imperium for a few weeks after their trip to the Frostback Basin. Had he been chased out of Tevinter again by a new batch of assassination attempts?

Dorian tutted. “Did Josephine not tell you? Terribly remiss of her. I am the Tevinter ambassador to the Exalted Council, at your service.” 

Fenris raised his eyebrows skeptically. “Tevinter ambassador?”

“Yes indeed,” Dorian said cheerfully. “‘A reward for my interest in the south’, if you can believe it.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “A convenient excuse to get rid of you because you are making too much noise in Minrathous, then.”

Dorian threw his head back and laughed. “Ah Fenris, how I’ve missed your subtlety. But yes, you’re right. It’s a token appointment, so consider me at your disposal.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “Hmm,” he said. 

 “Oh dear, you’re wearing the face that says you’re thinking,” Dorian said. “Don’t hurt yourself, now.”

Fenris gave him a chiding look. “If you really were just causing too much trouble in Minrathous, they would have killed you. Why send you away?”

Dorian’s smile faltered for a split second. Then he laughed. “You know, it’s both endearing and obnoxious that you’re from home. There’s just no hiding anything from you.”

Fenris waited in silence, and finally Dorian sighed. “My father is dead,” he said bluntly. 

Fenris raised his eyebrows as Dorian went on. “Assassinated, I believe. I received notice this morning: a perversely cheerful letter congratulating me on assuming his seat in the Magisterium.” He shook his head slightly. “We only met a few times while I was home. He didn’t say anything about keeping me as his heir. This ‘ambassadorship’ was his doing. He must have wanted me away when the trouble began.” 

“So you are truly a magister now,” Fenris said slowly. 

“I certainly am,” Dorian said pleasantly. “I can’t wait to degrade the Magisterium with my presence! A new outfit is required.” 

He wasn’t meeting Fenris’s eye. Fenris studied him shrewdly for a moment before speaking. “How do you feel about this appointment?”

“It’s both a blessing and a curse, pardon the trite cliché,” Dorian said. “But I won’t be entirely without support, as you know. Maevaris and I have been whipping the Lucerni into shape, and now we’ll be an actual faction in the Magisterium. I’ll teach them manners, take them shopping… it will be fun!”

Fenris eyed him appraisingly. “I expect you’ll be busy on your return home, then.”

“Oh yes,” he said. “First item on the agenda will be finding my father’s killers and killing them back. Then I’ll find those giving Tevinter a bad name and kill them. They’re most likely the same people, so that should make the job easier.”

“I see,” Fenris said.

Dorian tsked. “Now Fenris, I know what you’re thinking. The power is going to go to my head and turn me into an abomination and so on.” He delicately arranged a lock of his hair. “I’ll have you know that being an abomination would make me terribly unattractive, so I’ll continue to be my usual principled and heroic self, don’t you worry.” 

Dorian’s blasé attitude and his lack of eye contact… Fenris gazed at him with a mixture of fondness and exasperation, then folded his arms and leaned back against the banister. “That’s not what I was thinking. I was thinking that I am sorry for your father’s loss.”

Dorian looked at him with open surprise, and Fenris shrugged. “He didn’t deserve your forgiveness, but you were… fond of him. For that, I am sorry.”

 Dorian stared at him for a moment longer, then let out a little laugh. “That was very nearly nice, thank you.” He sighed and twisted one of his rings. “It still doesn’t feel real.”

“You just received the news this morning,” Fenris reasoned. “I suspect it will be some time before it sinks in.”

“Yes, of course. I just…” He trailed off and turned around to face the sprawling palace below, and they were silent for a moment.

Fenris broke the silence. “I am also sorry for the weight of the mantle you are about to assume. It will not be easy. Especially not given… well, everything about the Imperium.”

“I know,” Dorian said softly. He shot Fenris a small smile. “Luckily, I’m not a fan of the easy route. Why else do you think I stay friends with you?”

Fenris snorted. Then Hawke skipped over to them and hugged Dorian from behind. “An overdue hug for my favourite magister!” she chirped. 

“He told you his news, then?” Fenris said.

“Yes!” she said brightly. “And I told him we need to have a party tonight to celebrate.”

Fenris frowned. “To celebrate what, exactly?” As far as he was concerned, nothing that Dorian had told them was good news.

Hawke poked his belly. “To celebrate the Tevinter Imperium automatically becoming a better place with Dorian as one of the boys in charge, of course,” she exclaimed. “We’re going to call it a Gird-Your-Loins Party, because Tevinter had better–”

“–gird their loins for Dorian’s rising status,” Fenris said dryly. “I see. Well, I suppose a small party in our suite…” He trailed off; Hawke was smiling sheepishly.

He gave her a stern look. “What did you do?”

Dorian snickered, and Hawke lifted one shoulder in a coy manner. “I might already have sent someone to tell Josie to book that fancy spa area downstairs for the party.”

“What?” Fenris blurted. “No. We can’t have a party there. That’s far too public.”

Dorian lightly smacked his arm. “Ashamed to celebrate with the fresh new magister, are you?”

Fenris frowned at him. “That is not why.” He turned to Hawke and lowered his voice. “I don’t want to… Celebrating with all of these strangers around is not my idea of a good time.”

“I know, I know,” she said soothingly. “But we’ll start the party in the spa area, then move it to our suite when you’re ready to get drunk.”

Fenris wrinkled his nose. “If the party will end up in our suite, why are you insistent on starting it in the public spa?”

“Because it’s public,” Hawke said. “It’s strategic and fun, you see? If we have an enormous lovely Inquisition party and make friends with all the Orlesians and Fereldans, they won’t speak against us because they’ll love us so much!”

Fenris sighed and ran a hand through his hair. This was just like her to assume that making friends was the solution. “Hawke…”

She cut him off. “Sorry, Fenris, I have to go tell Josie more details about the party,” she chirped. She kissed his cheek and started to leave, then stopped and snapped her fingers. “Oh, by the way, I buttered up that Duke Cyril fellow for you. He’s not angry about the whole Chateau Haine thing anymore, but I might have made him climax in his trousers.”

Dorian broke into incredulous coughing, and Fenris gaped at her. “Excuse me?” he demanded.

She held up her hands. “I didn’t touch him, I swear. I think he’s just kinky that way. I’ll tell you more later!” She hurried away through the crowd.

“Please don’t,” Fenris called after her. 

Dorian, meanwhile, was laughing fit to burst. “Andraste’s ample bosom, I will miss you marvelous fools. I would say you should visit, but–”

“That will never happen,” Fenris said flatly.

“I wasn’t truly going to ask,” Dorian said. “It would be far too dangerous for you, anyway. But I do think I might have a solution, which I’ll show you later.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow, unsure what he meant by this. “All right. I suppose I’ll look forward to that.”

“Good. You should,” Dorian said cryptically. He stepped away from the banister. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have very busy and important business with Varric.”

Fenris huffed in amusement. “Pray tell.”

Dorian grinned. “A running bet on how long it will take before Cassandra threatens someone during the Council. Do you want in?”

Fenris hesitated, then shrugged. “All right. I’ll bet five royals that she doesn’t threaten anyone and retains her calm.”

Dorian shook his head in mock dismay. “I can’t decide if that’s adorably loyal to Cassandra, or utterly foolish. You’re on.”

Fenris smirked, and they parted ways. Dorian made a beeline for Varric, and Fenris made his way through the lower courtyard to see if he could take refuge with any other familiar faces.

***************

Read the second half of the banter here on AO3!

[angelofame]

The Lion with the Raven Wings Chapter 3

In a world where soulmates recognize each other on their marks, two souls find each other due to a common course.

Cullen joined the Inquisition because he wanted to help, to redeem himself. Not in his wildest dreams, he would have ever imagined he would meet his soulmate. Raven just wanted to prevent further bloodshed, not be the Herald of Andraste nor meet her soulmate in the middle of a war.

Can they help become each other the best version of themselves and prevail together, or will they both shatter at their own insecurities?

A Soulmate AU

________________

If you have missed the previous chapter,s you can find it  here

——

Cullen was the first to arrive at the war room the next morning. The next ones to appear were Leliana and Josephine. They were quietly whispering to each other. Then Cassandra barged into the room.

The last to arrive was the Herald. Her face was bare again. The others looked at her, stunned, except Leliana, of course. The spymaster knew probably already about the uniqueness of clan Lavelan. While asking, "Do I have something on my face?" Raven ran her hand over her face to check for dirt or food residue.  

"No, Herald, it's just that ... your face...?" Josephine tried to politely ask the question of, "Where is your vallaslin?" Cassandra blurted out. "Oh, that..." And then she told them the same story she had told him the evening before.

After she had enlightened them about the history of her clan, they continued with the meeting. It was decided that Raven would meet mother Giselle in the Hinterlands. Cassandra, Varric, and Solas would accompany her to the Hinterlands. Soon after the meeting had ended, they set off to their destination.

Cullen, hours later, was watching the recruits fight. He walked from one group to another: correcting and criticizing and sometimes demonstrating how to do it better.

Rylen, his second in command, stood beside him.   "The recruits show great promise." "They are not a hopeless case." Cullen agreed. "But most of them have a long way ahead of themselves, till they are ready for a real fight."

They began to strategize how to train their soldiers best when suddenly a strange weight landed on Cullen's shoulder. He turned his head to the right and looked into the amber-colored eyes of an owl.

"Maker's breath!" Cullen exclaimed. The tawny owl hooted back as if to greet him. Cullen tried to dislocate the owl through moving his shoulder back and forth. When tath didn't work, He tried shooing it away with his left hand.

But the owl seemed not to care. Instead, it snuggled closer to Cullen's ear. The sound it gave off at the moment reminded Cullen of a purring cat but with owl sounds. 'What a strange owl.', he thought.

There was one more thing he could try to get the owl of his shoulder. Carefully he placed both his hands on the plumage at its side. When it didn't react negatively, he gently grasped the owl and equally gently lifted it from his shoulder.

The owl hooted protestingly but didn't do more than that. Cullen set it down on a nearby tree branch where he hoped it would stay or fly off to somewhere else. Fly off it did, but not in the intended direction.

It landed on his shoulder, again, this time on his left. Rylen, who had watched the scene with a bright smile on his face, burst out laughing.

Cullen turned his irritation from the animal, which abused him as a seat to his second in command. Then Cullen took note of the absence of the sound of clashing swords and bashing shields.

With the promise of punishment in his eyes, he turned towards his soldiers.  He seized up every last one of them, daring them to move the corner of their mouths upwards.

Nobody moved a muscle; nobody wanted to be at the receiving end of the commander's ire.  

"Continue the training!" he finally barked. The owl hooted soothingly at him.

Raven and her companions were pretty busy. They met with Mother Giselle, spoke with Master Dennet, liberated a fort from bandits.

Cullen got the news that they would be arriving back at camp soon a week later. The past week he and the owl had come to an understanding. The owl was allowed to reside on his shoulder during the day. She - Adan had told him that the owl was female - would mostly rest there and was off hunting in the night, when she didn't sit next to him on his cot. If she, in return, delivered messages for him.

She had gone so far as in bringing him his quill or other little things if he needed them. His soldiers sometimes looked strange at him, but they were mostly used to it by now.

He was walking through the gate when he saw the group with the Herald arrive back at Haven. The owl sat on his shoulder, dozing, having just got a share of his meat.

Raven dismounted a bit apart from the others, patted her halla on the neck before she walked towards him. She was a few feet away from him when her facial expression changed from delighted to sour.

"You traitor," she hissed. "I was worried about you. I thought you were hurt, or I don't know dead. No word, nothing, and here you are. Standing as nothing had happened, not a care in the world."

That Cullen was confused would be the biggest understatement at the moment. When she called him a little bitch, he had enough.

"Herald, may I ask what I did to upset you?" he asked evenly.

She looked confused. Then her mouth formed a wordless o as she just realized something before she went beet red.

"My apologies, Cullen, I wasn't talking to you. I was talking to her."

She pointed to his right shoulder, the shoulder where an innocent-looking owl was sitting.

Understanding dawned upon him. "She is yours," he concluded.

"As far as one can be the owner of this stubborn owl," Raven answered, then she turned back to the owl.

"Snowy, can you please get my satchel. I know you don't want to. You have a gorgeous man who tends to you, but if you do that, we can think about shared custody. Deal?" She appealed to the owl. It seemed to work because Snowy spread her wings and vanished into the forest.

"I am sorry if she was a handful. I try to encourage her to leave you alone.", she apologized. "She wasn't a bother. She was, surprisingly, good company...for an owl."

Raven gifted him a bright smile at his words, then waved goodbye.

"So, you made a new friend, Curly," Varric said from behind him.

@rachelleofalltrades @darlingrutherford @kemvee

[mercurialmind]

The Power of Ice

A calm day in Emprise du Lion turns into an unexpectedly hard battle.

Or in other words, Shae Lavellan is a badass.

For @luinquesse ^___^

Shae looked around the snowy hills of Emprise du Lion, and breathed in the brisk air under the cloudless sky. The tightly packed snow crunched beneath his feet as they walked discovering areas they’d never visited before. Wind blew harsh on the hilltops, and Shae wrapped his scarf tighter around his neck. They were all feeling the sharp bite of frost, cold seeping beneath the armor, but his magic only seemed to have enhanced, empowered by the frozen surroundings.

There was a strange tingling on his skin, not unpleasant, but which made him slightly restless. He had felt it the day before as well, but it seemed to intensify the longer he spent outside in the cold. It was not the first time he’d experienced this though.

It was such a calm afternoon, no enemies in the sight since they’d left the camp. Thus, when the air was suddenly filled with loud roars echoing from the glazed cliff sides, the party was caught by surprise, quickly surrounded by a horde of red templars.

Dorian’s barrier fell upon them as they stood back to back, banishing the first attackers with quick swing of weapons. Shae heard Cassandra let out her warcry right beside his ear as he hit his staff against the ground, releasing a wave of magic towards the enemies. Three of them got frozen in place, and an arrow flew from Varric’s crossbow to hit a templar who was running between them.

The fight was a flurry of spells and arrows raining upon the enemy, and metal clanging against tough, red lyrium armor. Shae swore in his mind for giving the enemies the element of surprise as he swung his weapon around, sheathing himself in a thin layer of frost. Two templars trying to interrupt him got temporarily frozen in place, and Cassandra’s shield bash landed on them, as she charged through.

When he turned around, he met Dorian’s eyes, briefly across the glacier, but their attention was quickly caught by Varric’s shout over the sounds of battle.

“This isn’t going to be fun,” he said, pointing with his crossbow.

When Shae turned his head to the direction, he saw three red lyrium behemoths dragging through snow and dropping down the cliff. They landed roaring, the ground shaking beneath them all.

“Shit,” Varric swore, quickly charging his crossbow again.

A horde of red templars followed behind the beasts, and Cassandra stood in front of the party, her stance not wavering, though they were facing the impossible. Another barrier was set by Shae, and Dorian casted a fire spell on the templars now running in front, making them scream in agony. Cassandra charged against the first behemoth, knocking it off-balance, switching to a templar, to strike through its throat.

Shae saw in the corner of his eyes how Dorian stood still for a moment, leaning onto his staff, mumbling something quietly. Purple waves of magic left his raised hand, connecting to the dead enemy. While the battle continued around, the spirit of the fallen enemy rose back to life and turned to fight against his brothers and sisters.

They fought and fought, and Shae felt they had been doing it forever, more enemies appearing than they could fell. Cassandra landed on her back by a strong hit from one of the behemoths at the same time as Varric blasted a couple of templars with his explosives.

Shae felt the constant sizzling on his skin intensify until it had spread painfully all over his body. He fell down on one knee, his palm landing against the ice, the other hand holding on to the staff. He let out a groan as he felt the magic pulse through his body, connecting him to the frozen ground.

He caught the biting wind, and it began swirling around him in an increased pace, quickly forming into a raging blizzard. He could hear it howling in his ears, the snow pounding on his face, and as he tried looking for the others, the blizzard spread to surround them all. He heard his friends’ voices, their words swallowed by the storm which grew thicker and whiter, finally obscuring everything from the view.

***

When the blizzard calmed down, Shae stood up on shaky legs. He caught a sight of Cassandra crawling from underneath a frozen behemoth, felt Dorian’s hand on his shoulder. Varric stared at him, slackjawed, Bianca hanging at his side. The friends seemed unharmed--fortunately.

Everything else was frozen.

Shae took a few slow steps toward the closest enemy whose face was contorted in an endless scream. He stood there, staring at it for a moment, then turned to look at his friends who were examining the results of his magic.

“Well, I don’t think they’ll be bothering us anymore,” Dorian quipped, putting his arm on the shoulder of one of the frozen templars. It shattered into thousand pieces in an instant, causing Dorian to stumble and nearly hit the ground. Cassandra poked one of their enemies with her sword, resulting it to crumble to the ground as well.

“That was one mighty blast,” Varric said, breaking another frosted templar into pieces.

“I’ve never seen anyone do something like this.” There was respect in Cassandra’s eyes as she looked at Shae.

“You seem to find ways to surprise us time and again, amatus,” Dorian said, smiling.

“How did you make this happen?” Cassandra inquired.

He explained the strange feeling he’d been experiencing, while they took their belongings and continued their travel forward. They were keeping higher guard this time, since they did not wish to be so badly surprised again. He told about the similar experiences in his past, although it had never been as powerful as this time. The whole matter roused a discussion amongst the friends, and they continued contemplating on the possibilities of magic even later on at the camp.

Everything was so odd, had been since the day the Conclave was destroyed. Shae looked across the land opening below the hill where he was standing, leaning his shoulder against a tree. Stars were bright against the dark sky, his breath vaporizing in the crisp air. He glanced at his hands and sighed. His skin was still sizzling, less now than before the burst, but it made him restless, put him on the edge. It would be very likely that the sleep were to elude him that night.

“What’s on your mind?”

He was startled by a soft voice which carried a hint of worry instead of its usual lightness.

“Nothing really…” he said, turning to look at Dorian who came to stand beside him, “...and fairly too much.

“I see.”

They stood there in silence for quite a while, staring into the distance, so many thoughts crisscrossing in his mind. He was glad for Dorian’s presence, but also for the silence surrounding them. He did not feel like talking right now, just wanted to let his mind wander.

Fingers brushed softly against the back of his hand, before catching it reassuringly and squeezing for a moment.

“I’ll be on watch duty if you need anything,” Dorian said, letting go of his hand and turning to leave.

He glanced at Dorian and gave him a soft smile.

“Thank you.”

[discomelody]

I guess Portugal is Antiva now...

   Synopsis:  Marina is a portuguese gamer girl completely obssessed with Dragon Age. She has never fell in love and fears any intimate contact due to her trauma. Until one day when she fells through an eluvian which throws her in Thedas. Will she be able to overcome her traumas? Stay tuned and find out! M!HawkeXMarina or FenrisXMarina or AndersXMarina 

                           Chapter I- This isn’t my college!

A group of silver armored guards is dragging a dwarf, they enter a large stone building and throw him to a mahogany chair. The dwarf tries to sit up and he cleans blood off his mouth. When he sees a female shadow coming from the darkness of the poorly lit room.

“I’ve had gentler invitations”, sighs the dwarf while guards are surrounding him.

The woman comes out from the shadows and reveals herself, “I am Cassandra Pentaghast, seeker of the Chantry.”

He reclines himself on the chair and smirks “And just... what are you seeking?”

The stoic woman gets closer to him and makes her intentions known, “The champion and the Seer.”

“Which one?”, teases the dwarf.

The women loses her patience, gets dangerously close to him and points her sword to his neck. “You know exactly why I’m here! Time to start talking dwarf. They tell me you’re good at it.”, she threatens him.

The dwarf raises his hands in surrender and in a more serious tone finally asks her “What do you want to know?”

“Everything. Start at the beginning.”, she sheathes her sword.  

The dwarf starts telling the story of the champion Eddard Hawke, and how he bravely destroyed everything in his way, with his sword and shield, alongside his siblings. Until a high dragon appeared on the top of the hill, admiring his work.

"Bullshit. That’s not what really happened! And what about her? Where is she in your story?", asks Cassandra exasperated with his lies.

"Does that not match the story you’ve heard, Seeker?", says the dwarf quite pleased with himself.

"I’m not interested in stories. I came to hear the truth.", the seeker starts getting mad once again.

"What makes you think I know the truth?", he says trying to change the conversation.

"Don’t lie to me! You knew them even before they were the Champion and The Seer!", she stabs a knife into the book the dwarf is holding.

"Even if I did, I don’t know where they are now.", the dwarf caresses the book fondly as if he's remembering them.

"Do you have any idea what’s at stake here?", sighs sadly the seeker.

"Let me guess: your precious Chantry’s fallen to pieces and put the entire world on the brink of war? And you need the only people that can help you put it back together.", he closes the book quite mad.

"They were at the heart of it when it all began. If you can’t point me to them, tell me everything you know.", she begs.

"You aren’t worried I’ll just make it up as I go?", the dwarf says quite surprised by her will.

"Not at all.", she says and she crosses her arms.

"You’ll need to hear the whole story.", he puts himself comfortable and he starts his greatest tale."The Blight had been unleashed on Ferelden. Darkspawn poured out of the wilds, clashing against the army at the ruins of Ostagar. The battle was a disaster. King Cailan died on the field with his men, betrayed by his most trusted general. Unopposed, the horde marched on the village of Lothering. The village burned and many innocents were slaughtered. The Champion’s family barely escaped in time, but while they were escaping, they saved the one you know as the Seer now, even though she was the one that saved them more. She wasn’t always as powerful and renowned as you may think. Before all this, she was just a poor innocent girl from a foreign land, called Marina…”

Marina POV

"I'm late! Oh boy, I'm so late for class! Madame Martin will kill me! As if she doesn't hate me already. Why is it raining?! I hate this!"

While I'm running in my green parka and on my probably drenched black converse, I see what seems like a really big white wolf. I must be seeing things. It's just probably a big husky. Oh well, finals and the rain do that to you. The poor dog must be drenched. As I try to come near him, he runs away.  

"Come here sweetheart, I won't hurt you.", I try to coax him but he keeps running. Might as well follow him, I probably missed the most of the class by now. "Wait! Don't go!"

He runs away and I follow him throughout Lisbon's university campus until he turns to an alley. When I reach the alley, the dog is no longer there but a really intricate mirror stands in his place. It's black and it's decorated with vines and flowers.

"Weird. This mirror seems familiar. But where have I seen it before?", I tap my chin with my small chubby hand in thought. "Oh well, might as well touch it. It's so beautiful."

As I touch it, the mirror starts emitting a green light and starts pulling me, " Wait! No! Help! I don't want to go!". I try to stop myself from being pulled but the unknown force is too strong and soon I'm entirely absorbed into a dark abyss. I only hear a really familiar female voice: "I found you, young seer." After that, I pass out.

In Thedas

Hawke's POV

"Keep running mother, we can do this.", I run while supporting my mother with my arm while Bethany and Carver are taking care of the small Darkspawn that were left.

"Where are we running to?", asks Bethany out of breath while she's holding her sceptre. "Anyplace is better than here.", grumbles Carver while he slashes the last one.

" We lost everything your father and I had built. Everything.", mother leaves my arm and cleans her tears.

As we are recovering our strength to keep running, I hear Bethany scream:  "Hawke, there is a girl passed out near the sea. Darkspawn are going in her direction! We have to help her!", she points towards a body seemingly close to us. We quickly run towards it and start slashing and burning the group of harlocks.

"Mother! See if she is alright! We'll take care of this!", I leave her and she goes towards the body. She kneels near it and realizes it's a young girl around the same age as her younger children. "You poor thing. What happened to you? Where is your family?", mother tries to check on her and realizes the girl is wearing really strange clothes.

Soon enough we finish the beasts and we rush towards mother. "Is she alright, mother?”, Bethany asks quite worried.

"She's drenched, her clothes are definitely not fereldan and she seems antivan due to her tanned complexion. Besides all that, she's only passed out and she's breathing evenly. Perhaps she's victim of a shipwreck.", mother looked at us.

"Thank the Maker.", says Bethany, quite relieved.

"We can't leave her here. She would be slaughtered by Darkspawn. We'll take her with us.", I said quite confidently. I don't know why but something was telling me I should protect her. I grabbed her in my arms in bride style and we kept walking.

"Don't you think we have enough to worry about?", Carver asked angrily.

"We are taking her, Carver. We can't leave the poor girl here. She's alone and has no one, unlike you.", I said rather defensively to my brother. He shut up and turned his head towards the ground, ashamed of his words.

As we keep walking, I inspect her closely in my arms. She's quite… cute, actually. She has dark brown wavy hair, in a disheveled updo and looks quite curvy. I wonder what color her eyes are? As I finish observing her, I realize she really is wearing weird clothes. I have never seen pants so tight and this coat thingy she's wearing is quite peculiar. Oh well, it doesn't matter. As I finish looking at her, she moves in my arms and cuddles closer to my chest.

"Mãe? Pai? Não me deixem! Por favor!", She cries while she sleeps. As I hear her cries I promise myself I'll protect her with all I have. Suddenly we see a couple, a woman warrior and a Templar. They are fighting Darkspawn, but the man looks quite injured. We rush to help them and Bethany and Carver kill the last ones.

" Are you alright? ", mother asks them.

 "Two mages! I cannot...hgh", the man points towards Bethany and the girl in my arms, and holds his bleeding side. I guess you're a mage too, little antivan.

"Wesley! They helped us. Can't you turn a blind eye to them?", the woman said as she holds him.

"I guess I can...hgh ", he painfully said.

"Come with us, we could use another sword.", I said.  

"I'll help you.", she said. "I'm Aveline and this is my husband Wesley", she introduced herself. "I'm Hawke, this is my mother Leandra, my brother Carver and my sister Bethany. This girl in my arms, we don't know.  We saved her from Darkspawn some minutes ago.”

"Nice to meet you, let's be on our way.", Aveline nodded in our direction and helped her husband walk. We kept our path and when we reached the center of a slope, we noticed we were surrounded by Darkspawn. We started walking to some rocks and I put the girl down near them and Aveline left her husband near her.

"Wesley stay with her while we fight them.", Aveline begged her husband. I left the girl in his and my mother’s care, while we fought the Darkspawn. As I slashed and bashed them with my shield, they seemed to never end. Suddenly an Ogre goes in Bethany's direction and I scream scared for her life.

" Bethany! Watch out!", I try to reach her but she isn't turning quick enough. As I start fearing for her life, I hear someone shout.

 Marina's POV

Aw, my head, where am I? This isn't my college! As I open my eyes, I look around me and see… Leandra and Wesley from Dragon Age II?! They are kneeled next to me, looking at Hawke fighting alongside his siblings and Aveline.  As I scrub my eyes and pinch myself wondering if this is all a dream, I realize it isn't.

Suddenly, I see an Ogre coming towards Bethany! I've always felt useless when It came to this part of the game and I couldn't save her. Not today! I must do something, but what? Perhaps if I call him to attention, it will give enough time for Bethany to run. So, I do the only thing I can do right now: I scream.

"NO!”, I kneel and reach my hand towards her. Everyone turns their eyes towards me for a second, when we hear a roar from the skies. Is that Flemeth?! Oh boy, it is! She will kill the Ogre. Flemeth burns every Darkspawn in her way and throws the Ogre out of the cliff. Thank god, they are all ok!

But why am I in Dragon Age II? This can't be happening! This must be a dream. As the dragon turns into Flemeth, and strances in my direction while she talks to Hawke to make a deal with him. Suddenly, she gets close to me and speaks:

"This isn't a dream, young seer. You've got more power than you think. When you finally accept it, come to Sundermount and I'll teach you." Flemeth turns towards Hawke "Protect her. She will be useful to you and she will be very important for your story.", she glances at me once again and leaves, in her dragon form.

As she leaves, everyone gets closer to me, looking amazed and some even scared at what I had done.

Bethany gets closer to me and thanks me, "Thank you so much! You saved my life."

As I start panicking, everyone starts questioning me about my whereabouts and my "powers". I finally look at Hawke. Oh my god! it's Eddard Hawke, the character I created in my game. He glances at me and smiles in my direction. He has beautiful blue eyes, black wavy hair, some facial hair and he was tall, with a strong build. As I inspect his physique, he talks in a really deep, yet kind voice:

"Guess I was right, you’re really something else, little Antivan."

Besides his words, there was only one thing in my mind at the moment: Well shit, why did I made you so hot?!

Chapter I End

[crashdevlin]

Bottle- 11: Mission, the First

Bottle Masterlist

Author’s Note: Originally posted to ao3 (This is an edited and improved version), I work in info from the comics (Like Hawkeye was married to Mockingbird and Red Skull had a disappointing daughter) and I took a few liberties with what the scepter could do (but not really because the Mind Stone was used to create the Twins so what I did is not that far-fetched). This is a lot more angst than I realized when I wrote it, but it’s compelling angst.

Summary: Cassandra Campbell is a Stark Industries lab tech with dubious genetics and a history with the new Director of SHIELD. She’s been working in New York since right before the Chitauri invasion. What does she have to do with Loki, and what will happen when he returns? Starts post TDW and continues to the end of AoU.

Pairing(s): Phil Coulson x OFC (Past), Loki x OFC (Non-con), Clint Barton x OFC, Steve Rogers x OFC

Word Count: 2133

Story Warnings: So many, worst (to me) are bolded. Younger woman/older man relationship,non-con, mutilation, torture, mind control, PTSD, depression, alcoholism, forced abortions, bad things (non-con) in a church, insomnia, memory manipulation, eventual consensual oral sex (female and male receiving),

Chapter Warnings: none

Tony dropped her near the back side of the compound and she started pushing toward the back. As she rounded the side of a brick wall, Cassie heard boots crunch behind her.

"Who are you? Turn around," the guard ordered.

Cassie resisted the urge to put her hands up, instead putting an indignant look on her features as she turned. The two guards had their machine guns raised and were noticeably confused by the blond girl in the T-shirt and jeans, creeping through the snow. "Zat's a bad idea." She inflected a German accent to her words. "I'm here to see Herr Strucker. Put zee guns down, take me to him and you probably von't be disemboweled for your insolence."

"Who are you?" the taller of the guards demanded.

"If you don't know, zen you von't know. Get on your little radio and tell Strucker 'Junior has come home'. Zose exact vords, no defiation. Strucker vill know vat it means."

They stared at her for a moment before the shorter one lower his gun and pulled out a radio. "Herr Strucker?"

"What?" came from the little speaker.

"We found a woman by the wall. She says she's here for you. She said to tell you 'Junior has come home'?"

The silence on the other end dragged on for several moments before static came through the radio. "Bring her inside."

Cassie walked between the two guards and was brought into the compound. As she walked through the compound, she noticed a young woman and a man standing together, off to the side near several computers. She was placed in a room with a desk and left alone. An overhead speaker came on in the office, and an alert went out. "Report to your stations immediately. This is not a drill. We are under attack. We are under attack."

Over the comm in her ear, which Tony had set so she could hear, but no one could hear her, she heard Tony exclaim "Shit!" and Steve respond with "Language!". As the action heated up outside the compound, Cassie took the comm out of her ear and dropped it in her pocket. Strucker opened the door and locked it behind him.

"452. You've grown into a beautiful young woman. Where have you been?"

"Vell, after you abandoned me at Der Speilplatz, Fury took me to zee Fridge. You know about zee Fridge, yes? It vas a prison. I spent 10 years in a SHIELD prison. I, eventually, von the love of a high-level agent who had Fury's ear and he arranged for my release. I convinced zem all zat I vas... normal, zat I'd fallen for zeir brainvashing. I'd have come to find you earlier, but Fury vasn't entirely convinced. He had an agent tailing me. After zee Battle of New York, I had a chance. I vas vorking to find you, specifically, but you idiots sought it vould be a great time to unveil yourselves, so zat Captain America could dismantle everysing ve spent 70 years creating in secret. You must be so proud."

"Well, we tried to find you, to bring you home."

"You didn't try hard enough. Ten years, Volfgang, and two more whoring myself to a man almost shree times my age so zat I could keep zee act going. And here I find you vis SHIELD artifacts, doing experiments to make people half as strong as me. Vhy didn't you just come find me?"

A nervous look came over Strucker's face. "I didn't know you'd developed abilities. Listen, you need... this building is under attack. We need to get you out of here. You are more important than anything in this compound."

"Even your little projects?" She feigned a mild jealousy. "Go rally zee men, Volfgang. I'm not going anyvere."

"All right, 452. Stay out of sight. Stay safe."

"It's Joanna, Baron."

"Joanna, then," Strucker said, walking out the door.

Cassie watched as the man walked away. She grabbed her ear piece from her pocket and placed it back into her ear. "Stark, we need to get inside." Steve's voice came through the comm.

"I'm closing in. Jarvis, am I... closing in? Do you see a power source for that shield?" Tony responded. Cassie felt that was a question more for her, than for Jarvis, so she ran around to the other side of the desk and pulled out the drawers, looking for a clue of where to start. After finding nothing, she slipped out the door and headed to the right. She followed a staircase up to find a large glowing column.

"There's a pathway below the North tower," Jarvis said in her ear.

"Great. I wanna poke it with something," Stark said.

"Good idea," Cassie said to herself, picking up a piece of pipe leaning against the wall and jamming it into the middle of the generator. It sparked, then exploded, tossing her into the wall.

"Drawbridge is down, people," Tony said.

"The enhanced?" Thor asked.

"He's a blur. All the new players we've faced, I've never seen this," Steve answered. "In fact, I still haven't."

"Clint's hit pretty bad, guys. We're gonna need evac," Romanoff came over the comm, causing Cassie to sit up. Clint was hurt and she wasn't out there where she could help. She wasn't where she should be.

"I can get Barton to the jet. The sooner we're gone, the better. You and Stark secure the scepter." Thor seemed to answer Cassie's concerns. She slowly stood, content that Tony and Steve would be inside soon and the situation would diffuse, now that she'd done her part.

"Copy that."

"It looks like they're lining up," Thor mused.

"Well, they're excited," Cap responded, before a sound of explosion came through.

"Find the scepter," Thor ordered.

"And for gosh sake, watch your language!" Stark teased.

Steve sighed. "That's not going away anytime soon."

Cassie slowly found her way back down the stairs. She went to the opposite side of the hall when she came to the bottom of the stairs, quickly catching up to Steve as he found Strucker. She was down the stairs from where Steve emerged.  "Baron Strucker. HYDRA's number one thug."

"Technically, I'm a thug for SHIELD," Strucker quipped.

"Well, then technically, you're unemployed. Where's Loki's scepter?"

"Don't worry, I know when I'm beat. You'll mention how I cooperated, I hope."

"I'll put it under illegal human experimentation. How many are there?" Steve asked as the brunette in the red coat came up behind Steve and blasted him with some sort of energy. He flew down the stairs, where Cassie grabbed him, helping him up. Steve gave her a confused look, before saying, "We have a second enhanced. Female. Do not engage."

"You'll have to be faster than-" Strucker began before Steve bashed him with his shield.

"Guys, I got Strucker," He said.

"Yeah. I got... something bigger," Tony said, over the comms as Steve picked Strucker up, turning to Cassie.

"What are you doing here? You're supposed to be at the jet."

"Tony had another idea. I jumped at it. You wouldn't have wanted to wait at the damn jet, either. Just like you didn't want to wait at the base while Bucky and hundreds of Americans were rotting in a Hydra camp."

"Yeah? What was Tony's idea?"

"I got us in. I brought the shields down, not Iron Man. That man, there, Baron Wolfgang von Strucker, he knows me. Knew me. I used that to get inside, used the distraction of the battle in the woods to get to the generator in the North tower and I blew that shit up. Pardon my language," she said, with a small smirk.

"Not you, too."

"Of course, me too. Now, you want some help with Strucker, or are you gonna muscle that mound of meat out of here yourself?"

"I got him. Get back to the jet. Please, be careful. Watch out for the enhanced," he said, a concerned tone in his voice.

"Yes, sir."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cassie sat next to Clint on the jet, not leaving his side to join the conversation around the jet. She'd heard Banner lamenting his change and the HYDRA agents he'd killed, but no one had said anything about the fact that she was the third-to-last person to get on the jet. Natasha had glared at her several times, but she'd focused on Clint and the massive hole in his side. At some point in the flight, Clint had reached over, weakly, and grabbed her hand.

As Clint was pulled off the quinjet to be operated on, Cassie was told to stay back. Tony grabbed her and pulled her to the lab. She stared at the scepter as Tony scanned it. "You did good. I'm impressed."

"Well, impressing you is always at the forefront of my mind, Tony."

"No, it's good. I can trust you. And by that, I mean I can convince you to go behind the backs of our teammates and take credit for your work."

Cassie laughed. "I just really wanted that scepter in Asgardian hands. Where it'll be safe. Any means necessary."

"And that had nothing to do with you being offended that Cap told you to wait in the car while the rest of us played exterminator for a giant serpent?"

"Well, that won't happen again, right? I've proven myself. I spent more time in that compound than anyone else."

"Sure," Tony said, succinctly, before continuing. "Unless the reason he wanted you to hang back was less about your capabilities and more about him worrying for your safety."

"Well, he shouldn't be worrying about me. I'm perfectly capable of-"

"What you're capable of doesn't matter. This isn't about your training or your track record. I put you in that compound because you survived a week in the Alps in a hospital gown and then blended in with a small Austrian town. You were born for this shit. Maybe not meant to be on this side of it, but... Cap's issue is not your ability to do this. This is about how upset he is on the idea of you dying without him having a chance to be modestly immodest with you."

Cassie scoffed. "I thought he got the memo. I'm not doing the dating thing. Shit's complicated enough without that mess."

"He didn't get that memo. And you know, he's the boss, really, so... we can keep sneaking behind the boss' back or..."

"If the next words out of your mouth are anything akin to 'take one for the team', I'll walk."

Tony shrugged. "I'm good with things as is."

Cassie sighed. "I'll talk to Steve. Make sure we're good. But I'm not fucking him just because I'm the first one he's wanted since he lost Agent Carter."

"No one said..."

Cassie shook her head. "I'll deal with this. You... concentrate on the scepter."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cassie walked the halls of the upper levels of Stark tower, rehearsing what she would say to Steve, for forty-five minutes before she ran into him. "Hi, Steve."

"Hey. What are you doing?"

"Nothing. I've got nothing. I'm trying to not think too much. I don't wanna say I'm floundering... but I'm floundering. I mean, yeah, the scepter's safe, but Loki's still MIA, and the Avengers are about to break apart until the next time the Earth needs it's mightiest heroes and I don't know what to do with that downtime. Then, there's the awkward elephant in the room."

"You wanna know if we're okay?" Steve asked, succinctly.

"Yeah. I mean... I followed Tony's orders instead of yours. I know that was a slap in the-"

"Cassie, it's fine. I understand. I shouldn't have tried to keep you out of the fight. Never tell him I said this, but Stark was right. There was better use of your time."

She smiled. "I'm glad."

"Look, I understand how downtime can be a bit disconcerting. I know it's not Austria but I'm sure you can find something peaceful to do."

"Austria wasn't peaceful. It was mind numbing, which is what I wanted at the time. I prefer the city, though. Look, I... Pepper wants me to go back to work in the lab, but... I think that would be more boring than working a grill. Please, tell me that you have something useful for me to-"

"Actually, I don't. The only thing I have is tracking those two enhanced. Why don't you check on Barton? I think Doc's finished patching him up. After that, we'll discuss ways that we can put your skills and enhancements to good use. Even if the Avengers aren't assembled, we have use for you. Stick around. Oh, and there's the party."

"I will stick around for that. Definitely. I mean, I live right downstairs," Cassie said, walking away.

KITCHEN SINK TAGS @heyitscam99 @wonderlandfandomkingdom @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt @mrs-meghan-winchester @henrymorganme @lonely-skys @allykat2108

[sylveonne]

“Do you trust me?” Varric/Cassandra for DWC? Cheers! :)

FINALLY FINISHED THIS ONE i had the idea but didn’t get a chance to actually write it til camp nano finished hehe

for @dadrunkwriting!!!

varric/cassandra, the 5th vignette is rated M for very mild smut, everything else is sfw tho!

The first time he yelled it, Cassandra was caught off guard.

“Do you trust me?” Varric had asked, his voice pitching above the clamor of demons that were congregating on the iced-over pond. The prisoner and apostate wove in arrhythmic patterns on the other side of the shore. Sloth demons swarmed the two for a brief moment before they were blasted back by one of their spells.

The Breach yawned overhead, sparking and spitting out even more evil spirits. Cassandra looked at her feet, at the ice that was thick but cracking from the heat of the fire magic that kept scalding the surface, and then back at the thickening flock of demons at the other end.

“No!” she called back, the disgust in her voice obvious as she kicked one of the creatures squarely in the chest to send it reeling backwards. She leapt back up onto the banks of the pond and used her shield to bash another of them. It dissolved with a shriek that made her skin crawl. “But do it anyways,” she growled loudly.

Varric laughed, far too sanguine for her liking, but scraped a bolt along a nearby boulder and loaded up Bianca with it as it began to spark. “Hold on to your breeches, Seeker!” He fired the bolt into the center of the pond.

And then there was chaos as the ice shattered and demons fell beneath the frigid waves.

The first time she yelled it, Varric was scared shitless. Not that he’d ever admit that, of course.

Red templars were overtaking the pathways, the walls, all the entry points. The way they glowed, eerie and vicious and unaware of themselves, set his teeth on edge. Everything about them was wrong. Blood dripped from his split lip and hit the ground as he shuddered.

“Do you trust me?” Cassandra asked. Her grip on his shoulder wasn’t tight the way it had been when she and Cullen had “escorted” him from Kirkwall to Haven, and her brown eyes were remarkably calm despite the utter insanity of the situation. There was an archdemon, for fuck’s sake.

He grunted as pain lanced down his leg. “Don’t really have a choice now, do I?” he said as he forced a smile. She rolled her eyes with a huff, then heaved him to his feet. Varric wobbled, his ankle unable to support him properly, but the Seeker whirled and bent down with her back to him. He hobbled forward to lean against her. Cassandra heaved him up onto her back with a minute grunt of exertion and began to walk away.

“Hold it, hold it. I need Bianca. I can’t leave her behind,” he said, his hand tapping on her pauldron. From the way she stiffened, he knew the hysteria had crept into his voice. Even so, she turned back, fetched the crossbow, and passed it to him without a word. She then began to jog towards the chantry.

Varric looked out towards the siege equipment and tried to catch a glimpse of the Herald. His heart sunk when he couldn’t find a trace of any of his allies amidst the pandemonium. He turned back to watch their progress through the rubble. Her steps were measured; he realized she was trying to keep from jostling him too much. He forced his breaths to slow. Happy thoughts. “Thanks, Cassandra,” he said at last.

“You are welcome,” she replied. The doors to the chantry swung open to admit them into the halls.

The second time he asked, Cassandra fumbled for a response.

Sera had insisted on sharing a tent with the Inquisitor. That left the remaining tent to herself...and Varric. She was quiet as they set up their quarters. The routine came easy: canvas, stakes, bedrolls, her belongings, and then time to sit around the campfire. Nervous energy hummed beneath her skin that she was too fatigued to fight. Varric recounted stories to Sera as the Inquisitor secured the perimeter of camp. Sera went out to hunt and returned as dusk fell; they ate as the moon rose. Soon after they had all finished, the Inquisitor shooed them off to bed to take the first watch.

Cassandra’s boots felt like they had been laced with iron (more iron, anyway) as they approached their shared tent. Varric held the flap open for her to enter, then let it fall closed once he had followed suit. She sat on her bedroll to begin the process of removing her armor. Her eyes kept flitting back to the dwarf despite her best efforts. When it came time to remove her breastplate, her fingers lingered on the straps over her shoulders. Varric glanced up from what he had scribbled in a small notebook when he noticed her lack of movement. “Don’t mind me, Seeker,” he said, his teasing gentle. “I’m not the kind of dwarf who enjoys roughing it up in a tent in the great outdoors.”

She grimaced and made a sound of revulsion. Of course he would joke about that sort of thing. Cassandra finished up in a hurry and then ducked into her bedroll. Varric took his time finishing what he had started writing, then slid inside his as well. Several minutes of tense silence between them passed, the only sounds the soft pops of the low fire the Inquisitor tended outside and the chirps of crickets. Just when she thought she would finally snap and do...something drastic to ease the awkwardness, Varric rolled to his side so he could face her.

“Cassandra.”

She started, both from his voice and that he used her name. She turned her head to meet his eyes a mere foot away. “Yes?”

He paused as if he was considering his words, then asked, “Do you trust me?”

Despite being in a small tent, she felt his words echo around them. She was frozen as their mutual gaze held, unable to answer affirmatively one way or the other. When she didn’t respond, Varric’s lips crept up into a tiny, sad smile. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” he assured her, his voice soft. Cassandra finally came back to herself and made a noncommittal noise in response. He huffed a hoarse chuckle and then rolled to face the other side of the tent. “Goodnight, Seeker.”

She stared up at the canvas ceiling for a long time after that.

The second time she asked, Varric wasn’t sure what to think.

Wine flowed in a ceaseless river at the event Josephine insisted they be present for. Cassandra didn’t usually drink in excess, but the Inquisitor had plied her with drinks in an attempt to help her loosen up. Cullen had also fallen prey to this tactic and was passed out in an alcove off the main hall; Sera had already doodled on him, and Blackwall stood watch over the commander’s unconscious form. Those with the proper social graces, like Vivienne and Dorian, made use of them alongside the Inquisitor. While he possessed the skills to mingle, Varric opted to keep a low profile and avoid any potential Merchant’s Guild members, which was how he wound up in a garden to begin with.

Cassandra let out a wistful sigh from where she sat on an elaborately carved bench-- clearly, she was daydreaming. Overhead, rose bushes bloomed in tamed arches, and small lights, most likely magical in origin, floated amongst the thorns. Varric sat beside her and watched the orbs bob. The buzz of those playing Orlais’s Game seemed distant at that moment.

“Varric, do you trust me?”

He immediately swiveled to look at her. After he took a moment to gauge her features, he smirked and patted her arm. “More or less. I still sometimes wonder if you’re going to snap one day and throw me in a cell, but that seems pretty standard...for...us…” he trailed off as her expression melted into one of distress.

“I just thought...after all these months traveling together…” she mumbled, her cheeks flushed from both the copious alcohol and drunken embarrassment. Her eyes lowered to her lap.

Varric scratched the back of his head and sighed. “Seeker...c’mon, you’re drunk. We can have this conversation tomorrow if you remember any of it.” She looked back at him again, her lips still set in a sad pout, and he looked up at the roses again awkwardly. In the blink of an eye, Cassandra slouched over and rested her head on his shoulder. He paused for a beat, then wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Andraste’s knickers, I didn’t realize you were a cuddly drunk,” he teased, but she just grumbled.

The Inquisitor came to check on them as the soiree wound down. Cassandra’s head was pillowed in Varric’s lap as he sipped leisurely at his own glass of wine. When their eyes met, Varric smiled and held a finger up to his lips.

The third time he asked, Cassandra could only nod mutely.

She had discovered that his quarters were far more lush than her own spartan room at Skyhold over several visits. As always, books had been stacked in a haphazard fashion throughout and a thick fur was spread across his bed. Her fingers burrowed into the soft throw as she watched with bated breath as Varric knelt between her bare legs. His hands brushed the tops of her thighs in a gentle reassurance, and she couldn’t stop the quiver the touch elicited. He chuckled and cupped her hips, then let his thumbs rub against the curve of bone and muscle. His head dropped to press kisses to her stomach. Before he proceeded any lower, he met her eyes and asked, voice soft and low, “Do you trust me?”

The ache she felt was becoming unbearable and clear thoughts had long since left her head. Even so, she managed an enthusiastic nod. Yes, she trusted him, and yes, she wanted this. Varric’s gusty sigh of relief made her wriggle beneath him. “Maker, Cass,” he muttered, and then his mouth was on her and his ever-too-clever tongue made her cheeks burn. She gasped and turned her face to the side and bit one of the pillows, but Varric immediately stopped. “I want-- no, I need to hear you. I need to make sure I’m making you feel as good as possible.” Cassandra could only blink in silence at the glisten on his chin. He huffed a laugh and returned to her folds.

This time, she wasn’t quiet.

The third time she asked, Varric just laughed.

She stretched beneath the blankets, her satisfaction as blatant as a purring cat. She blinked the drowsiness from her eyes, cheeks flushed from sleep, and hummed to get his attention. He finished his sentence with one last scritch of his quill, and he turned to face her. “Good morning,” he said, and he watched as she propped her chin up on her palm. His eyes were briefly drawn to her newly-bared skin, but he was far more fascinated by the content smile she wore. Varric stood up from his desk and returned to his bed. He brushed her bangs out of her eyes before cupping her cheek and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Good morning, Varric,” Cassandra returned, and her fingers reached out to skim his bare chest. His tunic had been thrown somewhere the night before and he had been too lazy to search for it-- or dress himself in anything other than his breeches, for that matter. She tilted her chin up in silent invitation, and he leant down and met her waiting lips. His kisses soon trailed down to her jaw and cheek, and she laughed softly and swatted at him in jest. After a few quiet moments of relaxed silence, she asked, “Do you trust me?” Varric raised a brow and waited for the other shoe to drop. “Because if you do...can’t you show me what you’ve done with the new installation so far?”

He let out a full, hearty laugh that shook his shoulders. “For you, Seeker? Anything.”

[shannaraisles]

Dear Friend - Chapter 9

My festive project. A Modern AU heavily based on The Shop Around The Corner, in which Cullen Rutherford finds love between Satinalia and First Day. [Read on AO3]

Chapter Nine

Something had changed. Cullen just couldn't quite put his finger on what it was.

It wasn't as though the routine had changed, either at work or at home. With First Day approaching, complete with its variations in the rota to allow those who had worked Satinalia to have First Day free, he had his new responsibilities thrust upon him somewhat, having to work out that rota, sign the leave requests and pay slips, meet with the board to confirm his promotion. That should have been distraction enough. But no. He was finding Mila Trevelyan incredibly distracting this week.

Whether it was his being so aware of her when she walked into a room, or the simple fact that his daughter's deadline was approaching fast and he was battling true terror at the thought of confessing his deception, he couldn't tell. All he really knew was that this new awareness of a woman who could make his heart shudder with a smile was messing with his ability to hold more than one thought in his head at a time. And Maker's breath, that smile. The way her dark eyes lit up when she looked at him these days; the way her expression warmed, her whole being seemed to soften; the way she said his name ... was that what had changed? Was it worth daring to hope that she'd decided to focus her attention on him, rather than the pen pal that had inexplicably abandoned her?

"Daddy?"

"Mmm?"

Cullen looked up from his paperwork. He'd set himself up in the break-room to work on the staff rota for the first quarter of the new year coming, ostensibly because it was warmer in there than in his office, and better for Alys to be somewhere people were constantly moving in and out of. In all honesty, he was here because of ...

"Do you think Mila has a nice bottom?"

Cullen jerked sharply, dragging his eyes away from the shapely posterior he'd been absently focused on for the last Maker-knew how long just before Mila looked over her shoulder at him, that sinfully sweet smile rather wicked as she raised her brows.

"Why would you ask me that, Alys?" he asked, attempting to seem innocent. He knew as soon as he said it, however, that it had been a bad call. Alys had not yet learned tact.

"Because you keep staring at her bottom," his daughter pointed out with a grin that only grew when Mila laughed. "So you must think she has a nice bottom."

"You have been watching it move about for a while, Cullen," Cassandra added from the other side of the room, her own smile a little more teasing than he was entirely used to.

"Maker's breath, Cassandra, don't encourage her," he protested, trying to ignore the multiple grins pointed at him from the current inhabitants of the break-room. He was just lucky Varric wasn't here, he supposed; that would have been much worse.

"I have to admit, I'm curious," Mila commented in a teasing tone of her own, twisting to look over at him more comfortably. "I'd quite like to hear this answer."

Cullen felt his mouth working silently as he tried to think of some way to save himself from what he knew was going to be the inevitable embarrassment of either pretending ignorance or admitting his distraction. And since both Alys and Cassandra had so kindly pointed out the focus of that distraction ... He sighed, rubbing a hand over his neck.

"Yes, Alys, Mila has a lovely bottom," he heard himself say, feeling his skin flush with bashful awkwardness. But he was determined to come out of this with at least some dignity, raising his eyes to meet Mila's smiling gaze with defiance. "What I've seen of it, anyway."

The woman in question laughed again, that rich warm sound Cullen could have sworn he'd started hearing in his dreams this week. "If you want a better look, you only have to ask."

The explosion of laughter from Cassandra on the other side of the room told Cullen all he wanted to know about the look on his face. Even Alys was giggling, abandoning her little project to pad over and pat his hand gently.

"S'okay, Daddy," she assured him. "I don't mind if you want to look at Mila's bottom some more."

"Can we please stop talking about Mila's bottom?" he asked helplessly.

The question was badly timed - Sera had just walked in. Never one to resist the opportunity presented to her, the cheeky elf snickered at her welcome, stepping smartly over to Mila to squeeze said backside just for the hell of it.

"Softer than it looks, yanno," she informed the room in general, cackling with laughter as Mila batted her hands away.

"No touchy-touchy!" Mila laughed with her, handing over a cup of coffee to the bright-eyed elf in charge of the small primates. "Did you manage it?"

Sera grinned over the rim of her cup. "All settled," she agreed mysteriously. "Small Bits should get the full treatment."

"Of what?" Alys demanded in a curious tone. She knew her own nicknames among the staff at the zoo, after all.

Mila flashed her a cheerful smile. "Oh, a little bird told me you were interested in seeing the orangs up close," she said casually, not even glancing at Cullen as he grinned. He wasn't exactly a little bird. "I might have called in a couple of favors."

Alys' eyes were wide. "I can see the orange monkeys?" she asked breathlessly, excitement rolling off her as she bounced on her toes. "Up close? Like touching and everything?"

Mila chuckled. "Sure," she nodded. "If your dad says it's all right, we could go right now. I'm still on break for another twenty minutes, and Bull won't let anything bad happen to you with them when I have to get back to it."

At that point, Cullen found his face captured by two small hands squishing his cheeks between her palms as Alys looked into his eyes hopefully. He could only imagine how ridiculous he looked, judging by the poorly concealed snickers coming from Sera as she made her own lunch.

"Can I, Daddy? Please, please, please?"

He laughed, pulling her little hands away from his face to kiss her fingers affectionately. "If you promise to do everything Bull tells you to," he bargained with Alys. "Just because they don't have claws, it doesn't mean they're not dangerous if you don't approach them in the right way."

"But they're cuddly," the little girl began to complain, but to Cullen's surprise, Mila had his back on this one.

"No, sweetie, they're not," she told Alys, moving to join them. "They're wild animals, even if they do have to live in captivity. They're strong, much stronger than humans - that's why Bull is their keeper. If one of the males decided to grab hold of you, he could break your arm or your leg, and that wouldn't be fun, would it?"

Alys shook her head, sighing. "But if I stay with Bull, I can go see them and maybe shake hands or something?" she asked hopefully.

Mila's expression gentled. "That's the idea, kiddo."

"Okay!" Just like that, Alys' enthusiasm returned, and again Cullen was on the receiving end of that hopeful gaze. "Please, Daddy?"

He chuckled at her cheerful plea. "I'm still waiting for that promise."

"I promise I will do everything Bull tells me to do and I won't poke the orange monkeys," the little girl declared in a singsong voice, wiggling her little finger in his direction.

Despite the sheer inanity of being asked to join a pinky-swear in front of his colleagues, Cullen wrapped his little finger about Alys' without a second thought, squeezing gently as she beamed up at him.

"All right," he conceded, laughing when she let loose a loud cheer and threw her arms around his neck for a tight hug. "Go, have fun!"

"I'm goin'!"

There was something very endearing about the way Mila let Alys seize her hand and drag her toward the door, the two of them very natural together as they slipped out of sight. Very natural, he realized. They'd spent so much time together over the past year without knowing who they were to one another, and despite his animosity toward Mila and hers toward him, she had never let it colour her friendship with his daughter. How had he not seen that?

"You are staring again."

Cullen blinked, his head snapping around to look toward Cassandra with vague irritation. "I have not been staring," he protested quietly. "I've just been ... looking in that direction while thinking."

"Thinking about what's at the top of Legs's legs," Sera agreed with another cackle of laughter, taking her sandwich and coffee back out through the door. She never actually ate in the break-room, preferring to go and sit with her marmosets over the people she worked with.

"I wasn't -"

"Cullen." Cassandra's voice was surprisingly gentle. "Don't you think it is about time you told Mila the truth? It is clear that she likes you very much, just as you are. Surely the revelation will not be so very dreadful now you have made this connection."

Cullen sighed, leaning forward onto his elbows. "It's harder than it seems, Cassandra," he told her regretfully. "I ... I like her. Alys likes her. But what if telling her the truth destroys that? What if I all end up doing is hurting myself and two people I care about? That isn't so very hard to understand, is it?"

His friend frowned, her expression thoughtful. "She is not so unforgiving as you seem to think," she reminded him. "She has certainly forgiven you for a year of grumpiness, as you have forgiven her. I do not think the risk is so huge as you are allowing yourself to believe."

"But still a risk," he said in an unhappy tone.

Cassandra sighed, rising to her feet. "I do not know what to tell you," she said softly. "I see you enjoying her company; I see Alys enjoying her company. I see that you seem to make one another happy. But I also see you holding her at arms' length, keeping your shield up at all times. That is a sure way never to be hurt, yes. But it is a certain way never to be loved, either." She squeezed his shoulder gently. "Perhaps it is time to lower your shield, Cullen."

"Perhaps." He managed a faint smile for his friend, patting her hand. "I'm working toward it, Cassandra," he promised in a low tone. "Just ... just give me time."

She nodded, letting the subject go at that. Cullen was relieved when she left the break-room, able to turn his attention back to the rota in front of him, grateful for the distraction from those worrying thoughts that urged him into making a leap he was not certain he was ready for. Wrangling names and dates into some kind of fair distribution across four months of duty shifts was more than enough to keep him enthralled for a couple of hours, at the very least, in his own little world, unaware of the comings and goings of shift changes and coffee breaks happening in the same room.

Until a slender hand found his shoulder, and a fleece-covered chest leaned against his other shoulder from behind, urging him out of his scowling at the rota to look up and find Mila leaning over him, setting a fresh cup of coffee and an elfroot tablet down on the table by his hand. She was so close, he could see the smudge of dirt on her neck below her ear, flecks of hay caught in her hairline at her nape, smell the elfroot lotion she used on her hands overlaying the honest sweet musk of her clean sweat ... caught her smiling eyes with the quiet horror of a man who knows he's been caught staring. Her fingers flexed gently on his shoulder.

"You look like you're brewing a headache there," Mila commented in a soft tone, her own eyes scanning the draft rota in front of him. "Can I help?"

Swallowing, Cullen dropped his eyes to the page on the table. "I don't know, can you? I know there's a mistake somewhere here, but I've been looking for an hour and still can't find it."

It was embarrassing how quickly her hand fell to tap gently against the column for Wintersend. He knew before she spoke what the mistake had been.

"Zoo's closed on that day," she pointed out, her smile audible in her voice. "You've put a full crew on for a half-crew day."

"That does explain the problem." He nodded wearily, almost regretting his agreement when she drew away to slide down into a seat beside his. Missing the gentle pressure of her against his back, the strange sense of intimacy within boundaries that had become normal over the past week. Was that what had changed?

She watched as he made the correction, her hands tucked about her own cup. "Alys tells me you're on your own for Last Day," she said conversationally. "Something about staying at her grandparents'?"

Cullen let out a huff of laughter as he leaned back in his seat, gratefully swallowing the elfroot tablet with a swig of coffee. "They claimed her from me with the promise of staying up past midnight," he told Mila in amusement, shaking his head. "And since I'm working First Day morning, I thought it wouldn't do any harm."

She seemed to consider him for a moment, a flicker of something wary that might almost have been fear showing in her dark eyes very briefly before she shrugged one shoulder. "Well, it's no fun to be alone on the last night of year," she said in a casual tone. "Would you like to spend it with me? I have a party to go to but, uh ... well, no one to go with."

He stared at her. Did she just ...? "Isn't that rather a waste of an invitation?"

Mila snorted with laughter. "I don't consider it a waste to invite someone I like spending time with to come and ring in the new year with me."

She did. She asked me out. And despite the wariness, the nerves, the fear, Cullen heard his answer make itself known aloud before his caution could veto it. "I'd love to," he told her, his lips quirking into a smile that she echoed with startling warmth. "Shall I pick you up at eight?"

She nodded slowly. "Make it nine," she suggested. "I'm working the overlap shift - won't be home until seven. There's all sorts of things a woman has to do to make sure people in public don't realize she does anything but bathe in jasmine and sing princess tunes all day, you know."

Cullen chuckled, his own head bobbing in agreement. "I shall endeavor not to arrive before you have done all that you feel necessary to do to yourself," he assured her, "though you don't need to do any of it."

"Oooh, listen to the charmer," she laughed teasingly, leaning back in her own seat with a comfortable smile. "We should have a good time. Just leave the stick up your ass by the door before you leave home."

"Only if you leave the twisted panties in the dresser before you leave home," he heard himself counter, suddenly torn between guilt and amusement at how easy it felt to tease her in return.

Mila let out a burst of laughter. "You've got a deal, Rutherford," she assured him. "No panties, no stick. Should be a fun evening."

The wink she sent his way was enough to derail his thoughts yet again. No panties ... Maker's breath. How in the Void am I supposed to concentrate on work now?

[roksanalyasin]

For DWC: 97. “I can’t feel my legs!”

Dragon Age Prompt for @aurianavaloria and DWC @dadrunkwriting Rating: Teen.Pairing: Malakar Lavellan, Dorian Pavus, Cassandra Pentaghast, Iron Bull.Word Count: 1,579.Tags: Action, The Hinterlands, Ferelden Frostback, Hurt/Comfort, Romantic Tension, Denial, Light Angst, Pre-Relationship, Prompt, DWC.

Dragon’s Den

By Roksana Lyasin

The ground shook beneath their feet, rocks shuddering from their places in the cliff at the companions’ flank as the beast flapped its massive wings, lifting off the ground when it spotted them across the clearing.  It landed hard, sending out a shockwave of dust.

Cassandra covered her face, using her shield to deflect the debris that pelted them. ‘Well, that’s definitely a dragon,’ she said, glancing at her companions, ‘I assume this is the one the people of Redcliffe complained about.’

Malakar knew he should be worried, knew he should be shaking at the sight of the formidable beast. Instead, he felt the thrill of adrenaline rush through his veins.  He had only seen such a creature in books, had never imagined they could be so immense and terrifying, yet so incredibly beautiful.  His eyes traced the richly coloured scales on its neck that glinted orange and red in the sunlight, and he was captivated by the smoke on its breaths, by the charcoaled earth it left in its wake with every step as it approached.

‘It looks rather angry.’

‘It is a dragon,’ Dorian snapped, his voice dancing with sarcasm.  He straightened, his staff at the ready when the dust settled. ‘Shall we get this over and done with?’

The dragon reared its head, called by the sounds and vibrations of Cassandra’s shield as she battered it with the hilt of her sword, drawing the dragon’s attention away from her companions.  

When Dorian moved forward Malakar followed, trusting in his companions’ experience to guide him through the difficult fight.  The two mages cast from a distance while Cassandra and Bull attacked the beast head on, besieging its thick legs.

Malakar had specialised in ice magic since his youth and knew his spells would break down the dragon’s defences, but he was a defender by nature, his focus torn between supporting his companions and attacking the dragon.  He cast with rapid flourishes, body flowing with his magic as he bombarded the beast with spells, only stopping when a deafening roar sounded, echoing off the cliffs and stunning them.  As soon as the sound cleared he returned to his task, still alternating between casting shields upon the warriors and sending frosty spells at the dragon’s head and neck.

‘Use your strongest magic, Inquisitor,’ Dorian shouted above the din of battle, ‘the dragon will laugh at me if I cast the majority of the spells in my repertoire. I will protect Cassandra and Bull.’

Malakar nodded, focusing on the Fereldan Frostback, but his gaze still lingered on his companions as they battled at the dragon’s feet.  Cassandra pulled back, dodging a swipe, claws barely a breath away from ripping at her armour. Bull was less agile, a meaty limb slamming into his chest and throwing him back several feet.  

‘They can handle themselves,’ Dorian called, ‘now, do it!’  

Malakar grit his teeth.  He raised his staff, drawing on his magic, a calm settling over him.  Mist filled the clearing, winds whipping at his robes as he called down a blizzard upon the beast.  The icy gale lashed the dragon and it growled, eyes turning towards him, drawn by the thrum of his magic in the air.

Malakar focused on the spell as he willed storm to encircle the massive beast, and despite the powerful storm, Cassandra did not feel the chill of the magic that surrounded her.  She stepped back, bashing her shield with her sword again, trying to taunt the dragon, but it could not hear her above the roar of the frosty wind.  It sucked in a breath, a small puff of smoke leaking from its nose before it sent a ball of flame towards its target.

Malakar had barely enough time to move, his fade step taking him out of range and into the cover of the cliffs.  He glanced back, and suddenly the adrenaline felt cold in his veins; the ground smouldered in his wake, a reminder of the true danger they faced.

Cassandra slashed at the dragon’s ankle, breaking through its thick hide and drawing its attention back to the warriors at its feet.  It dropped forward, weakened by the onslaught, and the earth shook beneath them.  The four companions stood their ground, even as the dragon lumbered to its feet, even as it spread its wings and launched into the air.  

It circled above, bursts of flame falling upon them.  They dodged, moving together, a groan on Dorian’s lips as the beast flew up to a ledge.

‘Of course, it makes us follow it,’ he said, scowling at the beast before he cast a glared at the Iron Bull. 

The Qunari laughed heartily and charged ahead. ‘Just means it’s getting weaker!’ 

The four companions raced up the rocky path, the warriors leading the charge.  The dragon was waiting, drawing an easy breath, a stream of fire blasting over the path in front of them.  Malakar grabbed Dorian, dragging him out of harm’s way, the rocky ledge providing cover from the flames.  

Only when the stream above their head disappeared did they move, following the warriors into the new clearing, surrounded by jutting columns of rocks.  There was less room to move for them, but the dragon would suffer worse from it, blocked in by the high walls.  

The mages skidded to a stop, each casting glances to the other, an understanding passing between them.  Dorian moved away, into the line of sight of the dragon as he cast a shield over the warriors while they taunted the beast, leaving Malakar to skirt along the edge of the rocks.  

He stopped at the dragon’s flank.  He drew on the depths of his mana, fighting against the faint feeling that swelled in his mind and made his stomach churn.  He cast another blizzard – the last of his mana draining with the spell – but it was enough.

A choked roar wrenched from the dragon’s chest, and as before it turned its gaze to Malakar.  With the last of its strength, it whipped its tail, too fast for Malakar to dodge.  Air rushed from his lungs as the thick limb hit his chest, sweeping him off his feet.  He slammed into the stone, spots dancing in his vision at the contact, head throbbing.

Malakar watched as the dragon slumped forward, its lifeless body shaking the earth as it fell.  He felt relief to see the battle end, but above him the rocks shook, one of the stone pillars falling.  He observed it as if in slow motion, too broken to move, weighed down by his injuries. Somewhere he heard a cry – perhaps his own, he did not know for sure – before it landed over him.

‘Malakar!’

Dorian slid the last few metres towards Malakar, Bull and Cassandra on his heels.  He stopped at the Inquisitor’s side, hands framing his face.  

‘Hurry, Bull!’ Dorian cried, tapping Malakar’s cheek, ‘Stay with us, Mal.’

‘Dorian…’ Malakar coughed, dust and rubble stirring from his face. ‘Dorian, I can’t feel my legs!’

‘You’re going to be fine,’ Dorian said, but even he heard the waver in his voice, felt his hands shake as he tried to unclasp the leather satchel on his belt.  He reached in with trembling fingers, uncorking the small phial as Bull and Cassandra heaved the massive stone from his legs.  

Dorian slid his hand under Malakar’s neck, careful not to jostle him. He resisted the urge to pour the bitter liquid down the elf’s throat.  Malakar grimaced at the taste but drank every drop.

‘That’s it, I know it tastes foul,’ Dorian said, finally allowing himself to smile as colour slowly returned to Malakar’s cheeks.  He glanced down trying to ignore the bloodied tears in the fabric of the Inquisitor’s pants. ‘Can you wiggle your toes?’

‘It hurts, but…’ Malakar grit his teeth, straining as he moved the small digits. ‘Yes, I can move them.’

Dorian breathed a sigh of relief, and he brushed a thumb over Malakar’s dirt covered cheek.  All at once he realised he’d eased the mage into his lap, that he was bending over him, his face so close that he could smell the bitter elfroot potion.

Malakar felt his breath hitch as Dorian leant closer, the hand that had traced his cheek moving to cup his jaw, urging him up, but before their lips met Dorian seemed to shake himself and pulled back.  Malakar ached at the loss of Dorian’s touch, at the loss of his gaze as he glanced away from him, hand moving from his jaw.  

Dorian stood up, offering his hands.  Malakar stared at them for a moment, overwhelmed by the emotions that tugged at his mind – his heart – so unsure of what he had just felt.  He hesitated for a final moment before he accepted Dorian’s offer, and Dorian carefully hauled Malakar from the rocky ground.  

‘Look at you, all covered in dust,’ Dorian said, and he reached up to brush the pebbles from Malakar’s hair, but as quickly as he had raised his hand, he dropped it, something so dark fluttering through his soft gaze.  Malakar fought the urge to reach for Dorian as he turned away, curling his fingers into a fist at his sides.  He had resisted these urges before - he could resist again.  

He would resist again. 

Dorian cleared his throat. ‘Well, I guess we should get back to camp,’ he said, daring a half glance back before he steeled himself, leading the way down the path.

[trulycertain]

A Problem

Or: Dorian Pavus and his struggles with the dreaded L Word. 7k-ish, spans pretty much all of Shield Raised. I… think I’m remixing my own fic. This is odd. (Also, marvellous as the “Mark as reading light” idea is, I’ve seen it in a couple of places and it is in no way original. It just seemed really enjoyably silly.)

“Didn’t know you had tattoos,” says a quiet voice, as Dorian’s unbuckling his sleeves and scrubbing, trying to get blood from the fight off his skin. Normally he’s matter-of-fact about the whole thing - he’s never been squeamish - but it’s somehow got through the leather. Blood and arm hair: never a good combination.

He looks to his side and sees the Herald - Gal - watching him with interest. He glances down, at the marks and glyphs on his arms. “Ah, no. Sigils, for focusing spells. Not like yours.” He brings the counterglyphs and a healing spell to mind, and wipes them away with a press of his hand. “They’re closer to… magical warpaint.”

Gal nods, and sits a few feet away, but close enough to be called next to him. “Interesting. Makes sense.”

Dorian senses the curious looks he’s getting, his skin prickling, but when he looks, Gal’s polishing his breastplate. The silence stretches, and he wonders why it’s quite so easy, and so comfortable, considering he’s only known the man a matter of days.

This is becoming a problem. That’s what he thinks as he looks across at their almighty Herald, who’s soaked and standing waist-deep in a pool with his hair in his face, looking like nothing so much as a very odd, mostly hairless druffalo, and mumbling something that sounds a lot like, “I am going to kill Sera.” Quite reasonable, seeing as she’s currently running away with an empty bucket and cackling. It should be ridiculous - it is utterly ridiculous - but Dorian just feels something faint and warm in the vicinity of his chest. He’s only known the man two weeks. Saving someone’s life can do that to you, he supposes.

Dorian wades closer, peering at him but keeping some distance. “Can you even see through all… that?”

Gal reaches up with an arm, throwing his head back -

Suddenly Gal’s hair’s out of his face, but Dorian’s spluttering through a faceful of water. “Kaffas,” he mutters, swiping water out of his eyes. “Bloody barbarians…”

When he can see again, Gal’s watching him, surprised and wary. “I… Sorry. Didn’t know you were there.” He pauses. “Are you - ?”

Yes, Dorian’s laughing. He’s always had a certain fondness for absurdity, or he wouldn’t be in this Inquisition. “Just… Please, tell me my hair’s come out of this all right.”

The Chantry-trained blandness has gone, and Gal’s looking distinctly apologetic. It’s strange; Dorian wasn’t sure he could.

“Right, that’s it. I’m setting her favourite socks on fire.”

And suddenly Gal’s no longer some sort of frightening Avvar statue - he’s laughing too, unreservedly, the sort with eye crinkles and white teeth under stubble, running a hand through his hair.

Dorian saw a glimpse of it that first time they met, has seen the occasional piece of it in Haven, but this… this is different. He looks away and tries to say something witty rather than dwelling on it.

He should be used to this by now. Honestly, he barely gets demon visits, and the odd one here and there isn’t too bad. He sees through them quickly enough. Except for when he doesn’t. They can do a startling impression of being his parents, sometimes, but then so did Magisters Pavus and Thalrassian, so that means little.

However, the night a desire demon lays a green, glowing hand on his chest and says in a very familiar voice, “Didn’t know you liked them soporati,” he wakes unleashing a stream of Tevene invective and trying not to set something on fire. He runs a hand through his hair, panting, and tries to shut himself up before the swearing carries through the thin walls of this Makerforsaken  shack and gets a sword pressed to his throat.

Yes. A problem.

His knuckles are bleeding, he’s got three - no, perhaps four - broken ribs, and he’s… numb. Frighteningly so. He stares into the fire, trying in vain to think of anything that isn’t the Herald of Andraste is dead. He can’t; he picks at it, worries at it like it’s an old injury.

He should have been there. He should have done something, he should have -

“Dorian…” Cassandra says.

He turns to look at her, and at whatever his face must look like, she falls silent.

Dorian’s still shivering when he slips into Gal’s tent, but it’s not too bad. He’s just glad that he isn’t being shooed away by glaring, clucking healers; they seem to have decided to descend on some other unfortunate. He squints at the few furs that have been thrown over their mighty Herald, and thinks that they’re nowhere near enough. He takes the cloak the Revered Mother gave him off his shoulders and throws it over an unconscious Gal instead, tucking it round him in a way that feels far too fussy; he’s an altus, not a nursemaid. Even so, he ends up looking down and, seeing two frighteningly pale Marcher feet sticking out of the end, tugging the cloak to tuck it round them, too.

Then he slumps to sit next to the lump of prone knight, sighing. “I think you needed that more than me.”

He looks at Gal, who’s still nearly white as a sheet where he isn’t pink and chapped - though his lips are no longer blue, so that’s something. Without the smudged kohl and greasepaint, he almost looks like someone else: younger, somehow, perhaps. Or just slightly less angry. It’s strange to see.

Dorian says, “Come on, you can do better than this. Not that you’re a man of many words when you’re awake, but I do prefer you that way. At this point you’re just being stubborn. I admire that, believe me, but I could do with someone quietly judging my taste in fiction.” He doesn’t know why, but he finds himself reaching across and brushing Gal’s hair away from his face. Wincing, he remarks, “And I thought my skin was cold.” But he finds himself lingering, his hand on Gal’s forehead. The gossips would have a field day if they saw him, but he somehow doesn’t care.

He continues, “You know, you don’t seem half bad, for a man so many seem intent on worshipping. I know, it surprised me too. You wouldn’t be aware of this, but Felix took me aside, after that first time we met. He wanted me to work with you, he was intent on it, but he said, ‘He’s a bit… strange.’ I said that maybe it was a Southern thing, or that the hair was overheating your brain, and I’d be a hypocrite to remark on anyone else’s oddness. No, actually, I said, ‘Good-strange, by the looks of it.’

“And here we are. Yes. Good-strange.” He swallows. “ It was a lot of effort, pulling you out of that Venatori-infested Redcliffe. I’d rather you didn’t make it pointless. Don’t you dare. That spell involved enough equations to make an Orlesian theoreticist blush, it was work, and frankly I’ve had enough friends die on me for a lifetime -” His voice is shaking, so he stops, until he’s steeled himself and he can speak properly again. “I swear, if you’re not up in another hour, I’m going to read The Antivan Maid’s Three Daughters at you. I’ll let it contaminate the tent.”

He inhales. “Please,” he murmurs, so quietly it’s nearly inaudible. Then he leaves, because this feels too much like self-indulgence.

“You’re a better man than you give yourself credit for.” When Gal says it, it’s quiet, and so painfully, abominably earnest.

When Gal says it, for a moment, Dorian can almost believe it.

Ah. Yes. Friends. He’s lost too many friends. He’s just friends with the Herald of Andraste, the mighty Inquisitor, leader of one of the largest armies in Thedas - that’s why he’s kissing Gal, gently, briefly, testing the waters. He can feel it happening, the slow fall; can feel the danger of it, how easy it would be just to sink into it and not think too much, to pretend it’s safe.

(He remembers the rage in Gal’s eyes as he’d spoken to Mother Giselle. No, please, tell me more about these rumours. It was quiet, but nearly a snarl, and suddenly he remembered why someone might be frightened of the man. That was the same man who puts a shield in front of him at the slightest sign of danger, barrels headlong towards the enemy as if it makes sense. Do these people know how much he’s helped the Inquisition? What he’s done for us?)

He steps back instead, waiting for the reaction - and then Gal is blinking at him like a man who’s just been bashed over the head with something heavy, and he’s being tugged back across, into a searing kiss.

And just for a moment - for a terrifying, exhilarating moment - the noise in his head is silent. As he’s kissed soundly by the most awkward man in Skyhold, quite possibly the Herald of Andraste, he thinks that maybe, whatever happens, he can keep this. A memory for the colder nights.

It’s a little thing: he’s half-conversing with Gal about their last excursion in the Emprise, still adding corrections and notes on the magic used to Cassandra’s report, when then they both remember that Gal has a meeting with Josephine and several noble families. Gal sighs, in obvious dread, and Dorian tries not to laugh into his research desk.

“I’ll see you,” Gal says, still with half a sigh.

“Not too much later, I hope,” Dorian says. The words just slipped out - he hadn’t meant for them to be quite so… truthful - but they were quiet and fond. Almost comfortable.

“Not too much later,” Gal echoes, with that same quiet fondness.

Gal’s footsteps pause behind him, and Dorian almost startles when a quick kiss is pressed to his hair.

Then Gal’s leaving, and Dorian glances around, but no-one’s looking at them. Almost as if… as if it doesn’t matter. He tries not to stare after Gal, and he can feel himself smile faintly, accidentally.

There are more kisses, afterwards, but they never entirely stop being a surprise. And each time, he thinks, Yes, definitely a problem. But he shouldn’t be thinking it with quite so much cheer, or so much warmth.

He can’t quite believe it himself when Gal brushes a quick kiss to his mouth and he takes Gal’s arm. He holds him there, uncaring of their company, kisses him properly, and whispers into Gal’s ear, “Come back tonight.”

Gal… well, there’s no other word… beams at him. It’s like the sunrise.

This issue’s only getting worse, Dorian thinks.

It’ll be harder to walk away.

Amatus, he says, unthinkingly, somehow not shying from it and what it means, because it feels… right. Frighteningly so. Just an endearment, surely, and yet -

Amatus, pressing the word against Gal’s skin like a prayer, reciting it into the juncture of Gal’s neck and shoulder, against Gal’s thigh, kissing it into the more hidden of the tattoos, half-drunk on pleasure and warmth and the way that Gal looks at him - all desperation and fierce, startled joy.

More, Gal promises, but Dorian’s not entirely sure he can ask for more than this. Perhaps this is all he needs.

They’re tramping through some bloody awful desert, and he’s some way behind the others, trying to work out why the Veil seems so thin here. Sera’s laughing at something, and Gal’s looking at her in a mixture of bafflement and amusement. She says, “Yeah, but then it exploded…”

And then Gal’s doing that bright, crinkle-eyed laugh again, the one that used to be so frighteningly rare. Dorian almost wants to bottle it and keep it to use it as some rare and precious element. Gal says, “Even with the knickerbockers?”

She grins. “Even with, yeah.” She looks over her shoulder, and that fiendish, cheerful grin is turned on him, too. “Right, Fancypants?”

They’ll eat you alive, he remembers hearing. Southerners hate us for what we are. (Even Mae had been worried. You’re sweet, under all that. Stop looking at me like that, you know I’m right. If they see it too… I hope they respect it.)

He doesn’t even know what Sera and Gal were saying, truth be told. He’d been too busy thinking about the sound of it, and the kindness of it. But he jogs ahead slightly to join them, and wonders yet again why this all feels so frighteningly easy.

“Stay,” Gal murmurs, when Dorian’s pulling on his trousers and about to make a hasty exit, and Dorian freezes. It was surprising - pleasing - being invited back into Gal’s bed after that first time, but dawn’s approaching sooner rather than later and he should…

Dorian laughs, though it sounds brittle in the half-dark. “And have every Orlesian who’s seen me sneak through the great hall gossiping?”

He feels an arm wind round his waist, and then there’s a calloused hand against his ribs, one that’s surprisingly gentle for all the people it’s killed. “I don’t much care about them. I care about you. And it’s cold out there.”

“These are better insulated than they look.”

“Not that well-insulated. I remember the Emprise. You can shiver your way back to your quarters, or I can show you a trick I got taught at the Ostwick docks.”

Dorian raises a brow. “Oh?”

“Thought it’d kill me. It would be a damn good way to go, though.”

Dorian can’t help his snort. Bribery is low, but it just might work. “Now you’re talking like me.” He turns round, climbs back into bed and gets all but tackled. It’s undignified, and fantastic, and he goes down laughing - but he rolls them until he’s got Gal’s wrists pinned to the bed, and then he says to the grinning man underneath him, “Unless you’d like a refresher on the lesser-known uses of lightning spells?”

His trousers end up thrown onto the balcony, somehow. He doesn’t entirely mind.

Afterwards, Gal wraps an arm round him and says, “Not got somewhere to be?”

Dorian stares dazedly at the canopy of the ridiculous four-poster bed. “I’m not entirely sure I can move. And besides… no. No, I haven’t.” He laces his fingers through Gal’s, then, much to his own surprise. When he looks to his side, Gal’s watching him with the hint of a smile. Dorian sighs. “Now sleep, amatus.”

He stumbles into the Fade still holding Gal’s hand, and begins the thought, half-asleep: I -

Halamshiral is a pit of vipers, at best, except he’s always rather liked snakes and Orlesians have little of their charm. The Orlesians are behind him, in frills and improbable hats, and they’re sniggering into their ruffs. He can hear them. He can hear the nonsense about maleficarum and everything else. He knows they’ll be watching his every move, the same way they’ve watched Gal’s. He blames the wine and the high collar of this damned uniform for the thickness in his throat. Or perhaps it’s the blood from the fights that’s still clinging even now he’s out of armour. He can’t even wear a decent set of ceremonial robes; those he’s used to, those he could straighten his spine and play the part of “Lord Pavus” in. Instead he’s stuck in a foreign court, in foreign finery, where he’s a curiosity at best and a nobody at worst.

There’s only been one perk. It’s been strange, watching a tall, tattooed berserker navigate the ballroom and make dowagers blush. Absurd, yes, but enjoyable, too. Gal doesn’t scrub up too badly. And for a few moments Dorian could see the noble Gal might have been before all this, if the Chantry and life in general hadn’t gotten in the way.

He lengthens his strides, until he’s standing on the balcony and Gal’s looking at him, surprised out of that tired slump. Even through the exhaustion, Gal brightens at the sight of him, his entire face changing.

Dorian feels an answering warmth rise in his chest, and despite the fact they can most likely still be seen from inside the ballroom, he offers his hand, and a dance. It’s the kind of thing he could never have done back home, and for a moment he wonders whether he’ll be laughed at, despite the half-joking, half-hopeful way Gal had muttered, “Save me a dance?” some hours before.

But Gal’s slipping into step with him, giving him the smile that doesn’t belong to the fearsome Inquisitor or the man who makes enemies flee in panic; he’s never seen it directed at anyone else, not like this. For a moment he’s simply dancing with a man he’s rather fond of, and the Breach and the bloody politics and Florianne du Chalons attempting to murder Gal out from under him - they’re all far away. There are only the warm hands round his, and blue eyes watching him levelly.

He hears a low noise, a gasp or two, a word of Orlesian. He knows enough not to react - or at least he thinks he does.

But Gal is just looking at him, and only him, eyes bright, seeming… proud, of all things. Proud of him, of… this. Gal steps closer, saying into his ear, “They’re just jealous I’m with the best-looking man here.”

Dorian feels himself grin, and he relaxes without meaning to. “Quite right, too.”

Gal’s not pulling away, only stepping closer. Dorian lets himself feel the music floating in from the ballroom, and when he catches a few Orlesians staring, he just gives them a wink over Gal’s shoulder.

Then he closes his eyes, pulling Gal closer, and thinks, I -

They’re somewhere in the Graves, and Gal’s managed to obtain a rather colourful bruise. Dorian’s taken him aside and spent some time examining it - for amusement purposes, mainly, it’s not as if it needs healing when nothing’s broken and they’re running low on potions - muttering, “I don’t know how you do it, amatus, do you run at them ribs-first? Surely the shield should do something…”

Gal’s just sitting there in the sunshine, half-naked, battered and utterly unbothered, grinning at him and clearly trying not to laugh for the benefit of those bruised ribs, looking like the cover of some bloody awful romance novel. Yes, Dorian might have taken an unnecessary amount of time and interest in his examination of Gal’s chest, but most people with a pulse would.

Dorian glares at him. “Stop looking so cheerful. Anyone would think you enjoy getting the shit beaten out of you.”

Gal shrugs, with only the smallest of winces. “I get to beat the shit out of them back.”

“Small consolation.”

Dorian shakes his head, but then Sera’s cheerfully half-falling out of a tree, with, “Found one!” From where she’s spreadeagled on the ground, she proffers a health potion. After a few moments of bafflement, Gal takes it and swigs, passing the rest to an approaching, equally bemused Cassandra, and they’re setting off again.

Gal’s up ahead, and Dorian’s frowning at some stone, wondering if any more of those odd glyphs are scattered about, when Sera squints at him and says, “What’s that thing you called him? Tomato-whatever?”

His blood freezes. He hadn’t known she could hear - He pretends to be examining the horizon, but in actuality, he’s not certain he can look at her. “It’s nothing of consequence.”

“Yeah, right. Means something soppy, doesn’t it?”

He sighs. “It’s Tevene for ‘foreigner with the fine backside.’”

She gives him a lopsided grin. “Horse crap. But that’s funny, yeah? So I’ll let you keep it.”

“Am I to take it I’m off the hook?”

“For now.” She skips up ahead, a bright shape against the afternoon sun, and says to Gal, “See that? Shiny shit. Think it might have been left by a chevell-yer.”

He watches them strategise, bemused. That is, until Cassandra says quietly from behind him, “’Beloved.’”

He keeps up a steady pace, and carefully doesn’t look back. “I beg your pardon?”

“Amatus. It means ‘beloved.’”

He tries not to let his shoulders tense, even as the thoughts rise in his head and threaten to strangle him, or - worse - to escape from his mouth: please, don’t tell him, I didn’t mean it, it just slipped out, I’m sorry, it’s nothing, it means nothing… “You haven’t been reading smutty poetry again, have you? I’ve always said it’s a bad habit. Makes one susceptible to strange ideas.”

She falls into step with him. “You are fond of him.”

“Everyone’s fond of him. He’s the Herald of Andraste.”

She sighs. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Really? Because I was considering asking Varric to write flyers for the fan club, if he could take a few moments from your sequel - “

“It’s not my…” She huffs, somehow managing to cross her arms and assume a warrior’s stance even while walking. “I only meant to say that it is good to see you happy.” There’s that particular awkward pause, the one that means she’s going to try and bring up something delicate and succeed about as well as the Bull in a china shop. Then she says: “Does he know what it means?”

Swallowing and trying not to look ahead of them to where Gal’s standing, Dorian says, “No. He doesn’t.”

“Perhaps you should tell him. He… may appreciate it.”

There’s a smile in her voice, and Dorian can’t find it in himself to respond with something sharp-edged. True to form, she doesn’t bring it up again, but… he wonders.

He’s reading An Abridged History of Thaumaturgy, Volume Two, and even by green light, it’s quite fascinating. The candles were blown out some time ago, and he’s had to make do with what he has.

There’s a mutter next to him, and then Gal surfaces, blinking at him groggily.

Gal tugs at his Marked hand where Dorian’s holding it, then gives him a questioning look before frowning at the book. He looks like he’s about to laugh, but instead he gives Dorian a flat stare and says, “Sleep, Dorian.”

Dorian sighs. “In a moment. I ought to finish the chapter on thermal reactions…”

Gal sighs, too, and buries his head in the pillow. However, he doesn’t take back his hand, even as uncomfortable as the position must be, and Dorian blinks at him in surprise and gratitude, something swelling in his chest. Dorian presses a kiss to Gal’s fingers a little above the Mark, surprising himself, and then returns to reading.

And yes, perhaps he sleeps a little sooner than he would have without a green-handed barbarian in his bed. And perhaps, mostly-asleep, he wraps his arm around Gal’s waist, grateful for the warmth of skin under his fingers, surprised by the fact of Gal’s staying, and starts to think, Te  a -

“You know what they are saying,” the Revered Mother says, still with that look of bloody false concern that’s so fashionable in the Chantry. It’s the other, better-tailored uniform. “There is talk of blood magic. That your time with the Inquisitor…”

It startles him, the way anger rises so hotly in his veins, the way he can’t find anything to say other than the truth. But of all things, blood magic. It’s always the blood magic. “If they think I would ever manipulate him - do anything to hurt him - “

She presses on, pretending to be apologetic, but the steel is there behind the eyes, badly-hidden. “But they say there must be a reason for your interest in him. The amount of time you spend with him.”

“Of course there’s a reason!” he snaps. “It’s because I lo - “ He knows what the word is, and bites it back, too late.

She stares at him, and he sees something terrifyingly like realisation wash over her face.

He recovers himself. “It’s because he has such a nice hand, you see. I’m fond of that shade of green. I’ve been coveting it for some time…”

Sighing, she replies, “If you will not be sensible, Lord Pavus…”

He grins, sharklike, to hide the panic threatening to rise. “’Sensible’ has never been in my vocabulary.”

She stalks off, and he counts it as a victory. Even if his heart is trying to break free of his chest.

“Did you really think they were going to kill you?” he asks as casually as he can, lazing on Gal’s bed with Pryor’s Martial Arts next to him; it’s still open to the section on quarterstaff training. (He remembers Gal’s pale face after the announcement of their new leader, the low, They can’t kill me. The Inquisitor can’t just… disappear. He remembers the bottom dropping out of his stomach at hearing those words, even if he didn’t fully understand why, then.) 

Gal’s at his desk, writing something - probably reports, maybe a note asking for more supplies, it’s usually one or the other - but looks up at the question, his quill stilling. “Yes,” he says, matter-of-factly, and then he returns to writing. “I joined the Inquisition in chains. Made some assumptions.”

Dorian allows himself a moment, and manages to keep his voice airy. “I think most people assume impending death when they see Cassandra. But yes, it explains a few things. Particularly… some of what I saw in Haven.”

Gal doesn’t look up, but his writing becomes slower, and his hand may well be shaking on the quill. “The Conclave made me a bit…” He pauses, seems to search for the word. “Fucked,” he manages, eventually.

Dorian barks a laugh. “Articulate.” Then he sobers, and says, “Or it made you afraid of getting attached. To anything, or… anyone.”

Gal does stop writing, now, and looks up. “Might have.”

“Or it could be I’m talking nonsense.” Dorian looks back to his book. “Watch your quill, you’ll ruin your report.”

“Letter,” Gal mumbles, and at Dorian’s curious silence, he continues, “I’m… writing to an old friend, from the Chantry days. She thought I was…” He winces. “Dead.”

Dorian finds himself standing and sauntering over to Gal’s desk, and when Gal doesn’t protest, he leans over Gal’s shoulder to read. “Sorry for not writing before. Still alive. Mostly due to friends and the troops.” He looks at Gal, whose eyes are still fixed on the parchment, and whose shoulders are tense, then sits on a corner of the frankly oversized desk. “Yes. I’m rather glad about that. Between Haven and Adamant and everything else, you seem determined to run at death with a smile on your face.”

“Thought it was more of a snarl.” Some cheer has returned to Gal’s voice now. It’s an improvement.

Dorian reaches over and puts a hand under Gal’s chin, makes Gal look at him. “Yes, well. Impressive as it is, it can be… difficult to watch. Less of the running, if you don’t mind.”

“It’s my job.”

“Your job’s to save the world, not get yourself killed.” The words come out too sharp, without playfulness.

Gal stares at him for a moment - and then there’s a chair-scrape and Gal’s half-standing, pulling him down. It’s a gentle kiss, but it has far too much contained in it.

Dorian smiles ruefully against Gal’s mouth, and murmurs, “Terrible, getting attached, isn’t it?”

They’re running through ideas for the next mission, sparring on and off, when Dorian makes to cast, lowers his staff and says, “Well, one of us is going to have to move.”

Gal looks back and plants his feet. “Thought we agreed. I head up the team and defend the support.” He gestures to Dorian.

Support, Dorian mentally sneers. Support while Gal goes and gets himself killed. Well, Dorian’s just as stubborn, and two can play that game. He doesn’t step back, just makes a show of checking the focusing crystal and changing his grip while he says, “Until that last fight in the Graves, I did. That strategy doesn’t work. The sort of not-working that nearly got us both killed. Besides, weren’t you the one talking about increasing area of effect? Myself, I favour a more precise approach…”

Gal just sighs. “I know what friendly fire is, Dorian.”

Dorian wants to laugh it off, but he can feel the severity on his face. “Evidently you don’t.” He takes a step towards Gal. “Call me foolish, but I refuse to take the chance of accidentally blowing up the man I - “ He swallows, glances away, something in him saying No, don’t you dare. “Well. It would be all over the keep if I murdered the Herald of Andraste.”

Gal blinks at the slip, but thankfully says nothing. “What would you suggest?” he asks, still calm.

“If you’re going to insist on flashy explosions, Sera and I go in first. Then you and Cassandra can batter the rest into paste while we hang back.”

Gal pauses, evidently thinking it over, and then nods. “All right.” He hesitates. “Dorian - “

“I know, my capabilities astound even me…”

And the moment is gone. Maybe after all this… if they survive… maybe afterwards.

He wakes from a dream of chains and the stench of blood magic and for a moment he’s shaking in the darkness, running his hands down his arms and waiting to find cuts or the glow of sigils, for the ritual to -

“Dorian,” a voice says behind him, frighteningly calmly.

He tenses and turns, the magic half-rising in him - but there are more words, soft reassurances that take a moment to resolve themselves.

He knows even before he has a spell in his head. “Gal?”

“It’s me,” Gal says.

Dorian reaches out blindly, and then there’s a green-marked hand curling around his. “I’m sorry,” he manages faintly. “I don’t…“ He loses whatever he was about to say. “For a moment there, I think I forgot where I was.”

He exhales, but a moment later Gal’s holding him tightly. He closes his eyes, lets his head rest on Gal’s shoulder, and thinks of the murmured words he almost missed in the dark. You’re in Ferelden. Dorian, come on, love, listen to me.

He doesn’t say anything, just listens to Gal breathe.

Before the Arbour Wilds, with an army assembling outside and his hands shaking, he pulls Gal into a side-room and says, “So.”

Gal’s still buckling on his greaves, and frowns. “So.”

“While you should be fine, seeing as you have me at your back… do at least try not to die. Leliana would destroy me.”

“…Oh.” Gal’s face reflects dawning realisation, and then something like pain. “Look, if I - If I don’t make it - “

“Don’t you dare,” he says, and perhaps it should be a snap, but his voice is shaking instead. “We still have things to discuss, as I said. Don’t you dare promise me more and make me think - ” It’s too much. He loses the words and presses his mouth to Gal’s instead, before he manages, “If you die on me, I may have to kill you.”

Gal laughs, the sound low and trembling slightly. “Yes ser.”

Gal doesn’t die. Gal does, however, after making a noble speech about how Tevinter needs more good men and of course he should go, get drunk and beg him to stay a little longer. It’s fascinating and frightening, like watching a falling great oak, and afterwards, Dorian wonders whether he should change his mind. The Imperium’s taken enough from him. He’d rather it didn’t take the man he… cares for, as well.

Cares for. As if he’s making even a decent pretence.

He gets through too much of a bottle of whiskey until he ends up swaying into Gal’s quarters. Drunk desperate I-don’t-want-to-leave-you sex isn’t quite as good as sober desperate I-don’t-want-to-leave-you sex, but it’s a close second. He’d like to say they make it to the bed, but he’d be lying.

Afterwards, he stares at the shadows on the ceiling, unable to sleep, and tries to memorise the feeling of having Gal next to him. “Amatus?” he says.

“Mm?” Gal’s mostly asleep, and doesn’t open his eyes.

“I’m a bloody fool, aren’t I?”

“Good man,” Gal mumbles into the rug. “Just a fucking idiot sometimes. Best fucking idiot I’ve met.”

Corypheus is defeated with surprisingly little fanfare, considering the “ancient darkspawn magister” thing. It feels like a weight lifted off their shoulders, like a wound healing. 

Gal grins at him through blood and mud, fierce and proud, and Dorian nearly tells him then. After all, they’ve survived, haven’t they? Instead he thinks it, furiously: I love you, you mad bastard. And I want to stay with you.

He does tell Gal, after the celebrations are over, even if the words aren’t those words. Gal beams at him with that surprised joy again, clearly hearing what he isn’t saying, and for now, it’s enough.

They’re stumbling back from victory drinks at the tavern, a couple of weeks later. Truth be told, there have perhaps been a few too many victory drinks, but his tolerance has always been far better than Gal’s. “Know what it means,” Gal mumbles.

“I beg your pardon?” Dorian’s a little distracted. There’s a lot of Gal to prop up; the man is quite astoundingly heavy. He should have expected it, but it’s still rather a surprise.

“Amatus,” Gal breathes into Dorian’s neck, lips brushing his skin.

Dorian does his best not to freeze, feeling ice wash up his spine. “…Ah.”

“Think I do. Arc - Arcanum. Love? My love?”

“Gal…” His throat is tight, and the words won’t come. There’s no room for a retort or a quip here.

Gal squints at him and says with the gravity of the very drunk, “I’m pissed, aren’t I?”

“It would seem so.”

Gal nods seriously. “Morning. In the morning.”

They make their way to Gal’s quarters, and Dorian lays the man down as best he can, unlacing and pulling off his boots. He lingers a moment too long, his hand on Gal’s shoulder - foolish, to hover like a nursemaid - and then turns to leave.

Gal takes his arm, the grip easily gentle enough to break, and mumbles, “Stay.”

He pauses, looking at the mighty Inquisitor, warpaint smudged and already half asleep but still somehow looking at him plaintively. Then he sighs at his own stupidity, unbuckles his boots and leathers until he’s in simpler clothes, and climbs into Gal’s bed. Gal presses closer to him and mutters something that sounds like thank you, if it was said halfway down a well and while the speaker had a concussion.

And Dorian swallows, wondering what the morning will bring.

He wakes up with a heavy weight across his middle. Gal’s arm, he realises, as he slides fully into wakefulness. He hears the slight snoring stop, and Gal tenses. “…Fuck.”

Dorian moves to sit up. The events of last night are unlikely to be an issue - forgotten, most probably, in the haze of alcohol - but there’s still unease and perhaps even a little fear thrumming under his skin. “How’s the head?”

“I think it’s falling off,” Gal says.

Dorian can’t help but grin at Gal’s expression, even with dread still roiling in his stomach. “Come here.” When Gal looks at him in confusion but obediently shifts closer, he puts a hand on the man’s forehead and brings to bear an old party trick. Healing magic, just a little ice, and a dash of something very… him. It’s a badge of pride for him: spells that have the personal touch.

Gal sighs, eyes closing, unselfconsciously grabbing Dorian’s hand and pressing it to his skin. He makes a noise that’s borderline obscene. Well, more like it’s bolted past the border and is cheerfully making itself at home, possibly ruining the furniture. “’S good. It always feels good.” He seems to regain his wits and then says, “Thank you.”

Dorian’s somewhat surprised by such a… visceral appreciation of his magic, but manages to find words from somewhere. “Quite all right. This isn’t exactly new to me. It should do for the nausea, too.” He’s been trying to perfect the formula for the next time he’s stuck on a ship, but it just won’t stick. Perhaps it’s because seasickness is a different ailment entirely. Or the Maker just hates him.

Gal just nods, staying there with an expression of minor bliss. Then he frowns, that tension returning to his shoulders, and opens his eyes. “I ought to…” He releases Dorian’s hand with a kiss to its palm and then stands, heading off purposefully privywards.

Dorian sits, a little uncertain of how to deal with a sleepy morning and all this strange, quiet affection. He always is. He glances at his own hand as if it might bite him. (That would be an altogether new kind of transfiguration magic.) He finds, with a combination of bafflement, worry and something else which might be terrifyingly warm and fuzzy, that he’s comfortable here. They’re good quarters, yes, but his own are perfectly adequate. Someone even put some Tevene art in there - Exalted Age, perhaps, and he makes a mental note to thank Josephine. And he’s waiting for the stab of selfconsciousness; it isn’t even as though he’s waxed his moustache, and he isn’t the debauched sort of dishevelled where it’s easy enough to distract a partner with other, more pleasant things. He doesn’t even want to consider his hair. Well actually, he does; he finds himself wandering over to the looking-glass next to Gal’s desk. But hold on, he navigated there by instinct. He wants to ponder the fact that said hair has reached near-vertical proportions, but instead he’s slowly realising that he knows where almost everything is. He’s spent far too many hours here reading - yes, those are his books next to the desk - or lazing about in that ridiculous Marches bed.

Mutual domesticity, he’d said, with dread. Kaffas.

“There was… about last night.”

When he turns, Gal is in the doorway, watching him and looking a little nervous.

So perhaps it isn’t quite forgotten after all. Dorian works to keep his voice even. “As I said, quite all right. It’s not the first time I’ve had to carry you to bed.”

Gal frowns. “I was… leaning. Doubt you could carry me.”

Ah. An escape route, neatly presented. “I take offence. It was a heavy sort of lean.”

Gal looks him up and down, not entirely clinically and with the hint of a smile. “Believe me, I’m not saying you’re weak. The only person who’s ever carried me back to camp is Bull. But I’m sorry.”

Well, that’s new. “For what? The slight on my prowess? Or do I have to guess?”

“For… I shouldn’t have just sprung a conversation like that on you. Especially while I was three sheets to the wind.”

“I did rather wonder how you were standing, never mind recalling Arcanum.”

Gal winces, scratching at his stubble. “What I meant to say was… we learn it, in the Chantry. Mages and templars are stuck with Arcanum. And there’s a common root with Tevene. You’d know.”

Dorian concedes that with a half-nod. “How long have you known?”

“Since the first time you said it.”

Dorian says sharply, “So, what, you’ve been humouring me?”

Frowning, Gal responds, “There was no humouring. I liked it.” With a hint of bashfulness, he adds, “A lot.”

And there’s a perfectly good rant, cut off before it can even begin.“You… Oh. You liked it.”

“I just wasn’t sure I’d got the translation right.”

“Well…” And Dorian frowns at Gal’s bookshelves, pretending to read spines but in reality barely seeing them. “You weren’t wrong. ‘My love’ is close enough. We’d call it ‘beloved.’”

The room is silent, and he continues to contemplate Culinary Delights of Val Royeaux - Andraste, quite why it’s here eludes him; is Gal planning on making meringue in his spare time? - while he grasps for the words to remove himself from this exceedingly awkward conversation.

There’s a touch on his arm that almost makes him jump; for a veritable mountain of a man, Gal can be surprisingly quiet.

He looks, and Gal is watching him, bright-eyed and apparently lost for words, rather than just doing his usual trick of playing the stoic until Dorian embarrasses himself. Gal says, after a moment, “I know it’s probably just an endearment, but if it’s not… I do, too.”

Dorian tries to follow the avenues this conversations has gone down, squinting in a way that’s likely very unbecoming. “You do what?”

“I love you.” Gal says it without hesitation, looking at him earnestly.

Dorian can only stare, not entirely sure how to deal with this new and unexpected predicament. The words were easier to dance around, to say only in his head. Love, he was always told, just meant too much to lose. And he’s known, these past few months, what this is - why he’s made excuses to stay rather than return to his homeland, why these quarters are his as much as Gal’s, these days - but it’s something else to hear it said aloud. He realises he’s missed hearing it. It was never something he expected to find, here in this strange land, travelling as an outcast. The words dance up his spine and set something alight.

He eventually responds, “It wasn’t said without thought.” When Gal looks at him questioningly, he explains, “Not just an endearment, no. I thought I’d been painfully obvious.”

Gal is smiling with a sort of quiet, dawning joy, probably knowing where this is headed. “Maybe by Tevinter standards. But I’m a Marcher.”

“Then I suppose I’ll have to say it, won’t I?” Dorian sighs in mock-indignation, then resigns himself to seriousness. “I love you.”

He should probably be afraid, he knows, and his heart is beating like a ceremonial drum, but the words taste good on his tongue. Wonderful, in fact. And he knows as he speaks that he’s been saying them for months anyway, one way or another, with every I hate you and you’re dreadfully irritating and amatus and don’t die.

Then the worry catches up with him. “You do know that, don’t you?”

Gal’s smile doesn’t fade; in fact it widens, brightens. “I know,” he says. “Trust me. Just wondered if you’d ever say it.”

Dorian makes to reply but finds himself wrapped in a hug before he can say much. He doesn’t exactly mind having an armful of broad, affectionate Marcher, even if it was a little unexpected.

Gal says, “You looked so surprised. Thought it was obvious. Half of Skyhold’s laughing at me. Josephine keeps calling me ‘a man in love’ and thinking I won’t notice.”

Dorian extricates himself as gently as possible. “Forgive me. It’s… still not something I can take for granted.” He takes Gal’s face in his hands, and he has to say it again, for some reason, the words bubbling to the surface: “I love you, Gal. I have for some time now.” He realises he’s smiling, too. “Maker, this is positively sickening.”

Gal just laughs. “I don’t know. I think I like it.”

“Yes,” Dorian says, with some surprise. “I think I do, too.”

[bisexualcullenrutherfords]

Title: the human soul on fire Chapter: 1/1 Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition Author: bisexualcullenrutherfords/rebelkbex (AO3) Rating: Teen Characters/Ships: Cullen Rutherford, Dorian Pavus; Cullen Rutherford/Dorian Pavus, Cullrian Summary: “The most powerful weapon on earth is the human soul on fire” or Cullen is a mage and there is a Dorian involved. Notes: *hands the fandom +1 Mage!Cullen* I just like the thought of Mage!Cullen and this is happier than I expected it to be, so yeah. I just find myself unable to produce angst if it involves Cullrian.

(Read here or on AO3)

-

He’s always known.

As a child, he felt the power under his skin, a gentle hum that could become a roar if he wanted it too.

And it scared him.

It scared him like it scared any good Andrastian, so he hid in the one place that they would never expect him, drowning the hum in too much lyrium, but still watching just enough so that if he ever had to, he could turn that hum into a roar.

But when he joins the Inquisition, he knows that he needs to leave his fear, and the lyrium, in the past.

Cassandra is a help at first, when he suffering from the shakes and the migraines of true withdrawal. But later, as withdrawal fades and his magic returns, he knows he needs a different kind of help.

He just doesn’t expect to find it from Dorian.

-

Cullen isn’t blind, he knew from the moment that Dorian fell into his arms outside of Haven, the man was going be either a blessing or a curse. And so far, for the former Templar, he’s managed to remain both.

But when Dorian finds him hiding in an old library under the main hall, lobbing weak fireballs at some of the practice dummies that he’s “borrowed”, he thinks that the mage manages to put a few extra points in the blessing category.

“Commander, I’m fully okay with admitting that my eyesight might be going as a result of that swill you Fereldens call beer.” Cullen can’t help the chuckle that escapes him, as he’s reminded of the particularly passionate rant that Dorian had gone on about how he’s suffering because no one around here understands good alcohol. “But please indulge me and tell me that I did just see you casting fireballs?”

“If I tell you that you didn’t, are you going to believe me?” Cullen doesn’t even have to look at Dorian to know that he’s got the biggest shit-eating grin that he’s ever seen.

“No, not in the slightest.” Cullen is still not looking at Dorian, so he’s surprised when he feels the mage’s hands on his, moving his fingers around to form a different grip. “There, that should help you form a nice fireball.” Cullen rolls his eyes, but does so just please the man in front of him. “You know, if you wanted, I could help you with this. All I ask for in return is a bottle of Antivan Red and to win all of our chess matches from here on out.” Cullen laughs.

“I’ll agree to the bottle of Red, but you’re going to have to make a better argument for the chess matches.” Dorian grins, still shit-eating, but also soft enough that Cullen counts it as bit of a victory.

-

At Adamant, things come to a head.

Dorian gets knocked off of his feet by a Terror demon and his staff goes flying, landing right at Cullen’s feet.

Cullen doesn’t hesitate though.

He sweeps the staff up and spins in the way that Dorian has been painstakingly teaching him for the past several weeks, feeling a thrill go through him when the fire he shoots out finds the Terror square in the chest. But the moment the demon is gone, Cullen is across the field and falling to Dorian’s side.

“Well, I think your practice paid off.” Dorian says as he tries to sit up, only to be pushed by down by Cullen.

“Yeah, now only if I had a teacher who hadn’t slept through all of the courses about healing magic.” Dorian laughs, but it ends abruptly as his face scrunches up in pain, letting Cullen know that he’s hurt a lot more than he appears to be.

Cullen starts to look around and sees that some of the soldiers have stopped fighting to watch whatever is going with them and Cullen feels rage boil up inside of him. “If you aren’t going to fight, then one of you go and get a damn healer!” Two of the soldiers nod frantically and take off in the direction of the camp, while the remaining ones form a circle around Dorian and Cullen, keeping them guarded.

“Amatus,” Dorian says, regaining Cullen’s attention. There’s a smile on his face even though he feels like he’s been knocked over a few times by Bull and his stupid shield bash. “Thank you.” Cullen takes Dorian’s hand and smiles back at him.

“Always.”

If you like my writing, you can always buy me a coffee.

[vhyral]

Dirty Fighting

Ficlet (2.300 words) | The Herald’s presence on the battlefield lacks significantly. The Commander has been tasked with the duty to train her but first he has to figure out her abillities.

–

“Bash! There’s a shield in your hand, don’t just cower behind it!

Cullen kept a hawk’s glare over the mass of soldiers dutifully training under his orders, just outside the outer walls of Haven. The flat grounds that covered the distance between the village and the frozen lake beyond it were by no means vast yet neither did the fledgling Inquisition have that many trainees and soldiers that they wouldn’t fit in those recently assorted training grounds. A tight fit, Cullen had to admit as he was forced to sidestep a duo of competing warriors to reach the soldier that had caught his attention. Tight, even with most of their agents out, scouting Ferelden, but a fit indeed.

“Your shield.” he reached an arm towards the faltering soldier’s partner. The wooden shield felt light in his hand and Cullen shook his head to the offered training sword, turning to the trainee instead.

“Your name?” he asked.

“Thomas, Commander!” the soldier jumped into attention. “Thomas Lorn, Commander!”

“Marcher I take it?” His accent was faint but still not fereldan. The man gave him a little nod, his eyes lighting up. “Ever used a shield before?” He nodded again, positively and Cullen allowed himself an inner sigh. Another soldier that had probably had someone thrust a shield and sword at him, letting him figure them out on his own and do it wrongly.

He was more lad than man, looking barely a day over twenty, with curly red hair dripping with sweat and tanned, sun kissed skin. He had flushed bright red, both from training and having attracted the Commander’s personal attention and he gaped at him surprised when Cullen assumed position and motioned for him to attack.

“If you just hold it up, stiffly like this,” he heaved, holding the training shield firmly in a gloved hand as the young soldier beat against it with his dulled steel sword, “you let them pin you down, trap you under it until you tire. You must meet their blow.” Several men had now ceased their dueling and focused on the pair.

Good, Cullen thought, Thomas isn’t the only one struggling with his weapons. He steadied his feet and rose the shield against the next slash.

“Block and redirect it!” With a low growl in his words, he slightly titled the shield, using the blow’s force to drive the incoming sword away, causing for the younger man to stumble.

“And then off with their balance!” He thrust forwards. It was a mild push, nothing that would do real damage in battle yet the lad, already shaken out of proper footing, staggered and fell on his butt, his armor jingling. There were cheers and whistling from their audience while Cullen eased out of his battle stance and offered the young recruit a hand.

“Back to training.” he barked, shooing the soldiers with a glance before turning to Thomas.

“Your shield is a barrier and a weapon both. Don’t reduce it to just one of its uses.”

“Impressive.” he heard in between the shouts and grunts of the trainees. “Templar training?”

Cullen lowered the shield, turning to scan at his left where the familiar blonde woman was standing.

“Herald.”  He had taken of the upper part of his armor off today, mingling with the soldiers and personally getting involved in their training. A light mail coat over a white, woolen shirt and his leg protectors were all that had remained after hours of sweating alongside the recruits. He brushed the sweat off of his forehead, a tad more aware of himself now that there was a clean, neatly dressed person there for him to address.

“No, not at all.” He dismissed the young soldier with a wave before turning fully to the elf, flexing the shield in a more comfortable position against his arm. “Just standard shield training.”

“Standard? Like, basic training?” Her eyes strayed around them. “Can these people support us in the battlefield?”

Cullen gave the surrounding trainees a quick, evaluating gaze himself before shaking his head. “Nothing to really worry about, my Lady. There are plenty capable men and women under our orders, I assure you. Especially our spymaster’s… uh, spies.” He cleared his throat, awkwardly. Agents, he thought to himself, the correct word was agents. Better watch my drink tonight.

“Many of our newly recruited men though…” Cullen sighed. “They were no more than townsfolk a few weeks ago or members of a city guard that had barely ever seen any action that didn’t involve ale and tavern singing. The Inquisition needs a force, a force to be reckoned with and for that, we need every last recruit. Standard training is vital at this point.”

“A lot of hard work for you, surely. More than I had thought necessary at this point. More than what Lady Leliana let me think was necessary at least.” She shrugged, eyeing the sword and shield still in his hands before straightening herself some and turning her eyes to his. “Uh, Commander-”

“Apologies! You came looking for me.”

“I was told I was to meet with you.” She looked unsure as she moved her weight lightly from one foot to another, slightly rocking her body around even as she was standing at one place. “I’m unsure of what I could offer in the training grounds” she shrugged, “but do ask away, Commander.”

A hand was shot up to the back of his neck, brushing over the short, soft hairs there, scratching an itch that didn’t quite exist- Mia had always said this was his personal way of shouting uncomfortable and Mia, well, she was rarely wrong. The mage’s eyes, eerily big and expecting were on him and her staring made his skin crawl, the lime green around her irices so like the light of the Breach above their heads, too alike it- Cullen found himself just wanting to melt back into troop training and lecturing about the proper use of that shield- it’s in your hand, block with it!

Cassandra hasn’t told her anything, he realized, frustration the first thing washing over him and then, dread because the elf was smiling and looking up at him, eagerly waiting, beaming to be of assistance. She doesn’t have a clue.

“Seeker Pentaghast- Cassandra asked of me to assist you.” he began then faltered. This didn’t really explain much.

“During your recent expedition to the Hinterlands,” he tried again, “Cassandra noticed some… worrying aspects of your behavior in the battlefield.”

“Ah.” The Herald’s ears flicked a bit, down wards, and her eyes fleeted his. Her smile gave way to strained lip biting.

She knows, a flicker of hope lit in the man’s chest.

“She reported of tendencies to avoid conflict in favor of fleeing and a distinctive lack of offensive spells. Sometimes she lost sight of you while still in fighting. She is… concerned.”

“I wasn’t injured, just a few scratches.” the elf grimaced, one hand fumbling with the strings keeping the front of her coat closed. “But I’m no warrior, yes, and Lady Cassandra was aware of that. Healing and tracking- that I can do but fighting? It comes pretty unnaturally to me, I’m afraid.”

“Acknowledgment of a situation is the best first step towards improvement.” Cullen offered a small smile of his own to counter the loss of hers.

“Improvement?” she questioned, eyeing him suspiciously now. He slightly inclined his head at her just as he noticed one of her feet taking a step backwards. Too late to run, he thought wearily.

“It was asked of me to help assist with your training, my lady.”

—

“Herald, please!”

Cullen was viciously brushing his eyes with an ungloved hand, trying his best to brush the dust out of them and, Maker help him, to stop tearing up.

“We’re supposed to spar! Spar!” he growled, glaring the best he could through the tears at the mage standing at the other side of the drawn circle, her staff in her hands, ears plastered at the sides of her head and not looking nearly as guilty as Cullen would have liked her to. “Stop trying to run away. And stop blowing soil to my face, for Andraste’s sake!”

“You did ask of me to demonstrate my battle skills. I’m demonstrating them.” She narrowed her eyes, standing her ground as far away from him as she could move without tripping over the circle of recruits.

The circle of recruits he had to appoint around them or she would scamper far out of reach in a matter of seconds.

For the past two days he had been trying to get a handle of how she was operating on the battlefield. Thus far, she had force-blown dust to his face with some godforsaken spell he had never witnessed before in his life, had tried to trip him, had successfully tripped him, had spent hours circling around him with way too much space between them for Cullen to make a move against her and had tried to kick or hit him in the northern regions so many times, Cullen was now wearing a crotch protecting plate he wouldn’t normally have on unless in full armor. The only positive trait the Commander had managed to detect was the elf’s uncanny speed in swirling just out of his sword’s reach. There were a few hints of her using her staff more like a spear than an actual staff but even with that, she only ever used it to block his sword and redirect his slashes whenever he managed to close in on her. Never to attack. Never to advance on him.

“I asked of you to show me how you fight.” He allowed himself a deep breath for the sake of concentration and brushed a dusty lock of hair out of his face. “This is how rogues squabble- you’re a mage! Act like it!”

“Funny words, coming from a Templar.” snorted a voice from his right.

Cullen shot as fiery a gaze as he could at the dark haired elf sitting on the ground amidst the recruits, watching their training session. The hunter had followed his sister, seething and itching for an argument the first day she had reluctantly shown up for her training, their cousin trotting after him and trying to calm him down. He had planted himself right next to them anyway, arms crossed over his chest and refusing to leave and Cullen had no reason to chase him away. Their training was public and no secret- if he wishes to sit and watch, let him, he had thought.

Right about now, he wished he had kicked the elf out of the training grounds, if not out of Haven for good measure. Their cousin, Rhian, had turned out to be a rather sweet young woman- she had sat and watched, had stirred some small talk with the recruits and shouted some advices for Feynras now and then or groaned painfully with compassion every time Cullen was blasted with another swipe of dirt across his face.

Fahlron, on the other hand, was a public menace. Snarky comments, low growls whenever Cullen managed to get too close to the Herald and a general sarcastic attitude that had the soldiers around him laugh themselves to tears but made the Commander boil in his own armor.

“I no longer belong to the Order.” The phrase already felt old and tired on his tongue. There were no few people who knew his former title. Templars, former and present, some having followed him from Kirkwall- Knight Captain, they called and he had to correct them again and again and keep himself from turning to the words.

“Assume position!” he barked, turning his attention back to where the blonde elf stood, tearing the thoughts- the doubts- out of his head. She flinched to the bite in his order, falling into her battle stance, knees bent and ears flicking his way. She eyed him, grimly, and Cullen stared her down. Herald or not, out here she was his trainee and he would do this job right.

Keeping a firm watch over her, the Commander began advancing- he caught her scanning the space around him, calculating his steps and then lowering down slightly, body leaning forwards, tensing.

Not this time, Cullen growled to himself. Whatever he could have hoped to learn about her long ranged attacks, he already had. He now had to press forward for a closer experience- he had to force her to face him head on.

His advance was quick and careful this time and before long, he was already within her spells’ range, his shield arm flexing and raising instinctively. The average un-specialized mage would launch their first spells at this distance, hoping to keep the attacker at bay or divert them while they were putting more distance between them and setting up wards. The Herald watched him closely instead, keeping herself in a hunched position, her fingers clutching at her staff.

Then Cullen took another step and adjusted the shield on his hand and that was it- she sprang into action, her heels digging into the ground as she tried to evade from his left side. He sidestepped and put himself in the elf’s path, causing for her to halt, momentarily, before propelling herself away, trying to dart for his other side- Cullen’s sword glimmered in the morning sun as he swung the blade in a wide ark, threatening enough to stop her and too controlled to actually make contact. The soldiers whistled, someone hissed and the mage retreated back to her original position, body held close to the ground and a frown on her face that made her cheeks puff out.

“You’re not getting out of this, Lavellan.” Cullen fell into more stable footing- the elf blinked at the sudden use of her surname leaving his lips for the first time without a title glued to it. Lady Lavellan, Herald- she was a soldier at the moment and he, her general. The time for games was over.

He hit his sword against his shield, sending a sound to resound over the training grounds. The trainees around them shuffled. Lavellan’s ears twitched.

“Attack me.” he ordered, all the force behind the title of Commander soaking his voice with power.

[crashdevlin]

Bottle- 17: Goodbye Sokovia (FIN)

Bottle Masterlist

Author’s Note: Originally posted to ao3 (This is an edited and improved version), I work in info from the comics (Like Hawkeye was married to Mockingbird and Red Skull had a disappointing daughter) and I took a few liberties with what the scepter could do (but not really because the Mind Stone was used to create the Twins so what I did is not that far-fetched). This is a lot more angst than I realized when I wrote it, but it’s compelling angst.

Summary: Cassandra Campbell is a Stark Industries lab tech with dubious genetics and a history with the new Director of SHIELD. She’s been working in New York since right before the Chitauri invasion. What does she have to do with Loki, and what will happen when he returns? Starts post TDW and continues to the end of AoU.

Pairing(s): Phil Coulson x OFC (Past), Loki x OFC (Non-con), Clint Barton x OFC, Steve Rogers x OFC

Word Count: 3571

Story Warnings: So many, worst (to me) are bolded. Younger woman/older man relationship,non-con, mutilation, torture, mind control, PTSD, depression, alcoholism, forced abortions, bad things (non-con) in a church, insomnia, memory manipulation, eventual consensual oral sex (female and male receiving),

Chapter Warnings: canon-compliant violence, 

Cassie sat in a jump seat as they flew into Sokovia. Pietro stared down at her from the seat next to her. "You've really never killed anyone?"

A flash of a lab hit her brain, but she shook it off. "No. Never." The words came out with a slight accent.

"What are you called?" Pietro asked.

Cassie chuckled. "I've had many names. Vierhundert Zweiundfünfzig, Junior, Joanna, Cassie, Alex, Red Queen. 'Cassie' is my preference."

"Why do you speak with an accent when you talk to us, but not to the Avengers?" Wanda asked, from her seat on the other side of Cassie.

"Because you're in my head, I think. Because you can hear the truth of my thoughts, which are coming in more and more as German. Why do you think that is?"

"You have... hidden pieces that are starting to leak," Wanda said, staring uncomfortably into Cassie's eyes.

"I was afraid you'd say something like that."

"This is your fear. That the hidden pieces might come out. Why did you see the man in the armor?" Cassie looked away and Wanda gasped. "You made yourself see him. How?"

"He is a fear. He is a painful memory and a future fear. But he's one that I know I can deal with. I thought of him as soon as I saw your... red electric mist. I couldn't let you show me the other thing."

"You are very strong," Pietro mused. "Even I can't hold her back from my mind."

"Neither could I. I just pushed the influence a little."

"I can't do that."

"No one can. I mean, that I've met," Wanda said.

"I'm sure it's not a big deal. I just have good fortitude. Strong will of mind." Cassie looked away as she realized Clint was listening.

"It is big deal," Wanda insisted, staring at her in that uncomfortable intense way again. "You don't want-"

"Wanda," Cassie interrupted, her voice strong and clear, with no sign of the accent. "I've had people in my head. You aren't the first and you probably won't be the last, the way my life goes. If I were not able to control, even a little bit, of what my brain does in these situations, I would have gone mad instead of going to Austria."

"You had no control when you were a child. They were completely in-"

"I don't want to hear it, I don't want to know," Cassie whispered, standing. "We're about to go into a huge, deadly fight and I can't have my attention fractured."

"You're afraid it will break you, if you know," Wanda whispered.

"It would."

**********************

Steve stood near the cockpit of the jet as everyone finished their final prep before the fight. "Ultron knows we're coming. Odds are we'll be riding into heavy fire, and that's what we signed up for." He smiled slightly at Cassie. "But the people of Sokovia, they didn't. So our priority is getting them out. All they want is to live their lives in peace, and that's not going to happen today. But we can do our best to protect them. And we can get the job done, and find out what Ultron's been building. We find Romanoff, and we clear the field. Keep the fight between us. Ultron thinks we're monsters and we're what's wrong with the world. This isn't just about beating him. It's about whether he's right."

"Orders?" Clint asked.

"Pietro is our warning system. He can make it around Novi Grad to quickly to make sure those in charge get the evac started."

"I will get people started leaving. I don't how many I can reach at one time, I've never tried, but... as many as I can," Wanda offered.

"Clint, take the high ground, keep us apprised of movements around the city. Thor, you take Bruce to the fortress where Natasha is being held. Banner finds Nat, you find out what he's building. Vision, you follow Tony and burn Ultron's ties to the internet so he can't run. Cassie, until such a time as you are needed elsewhere, you work on getting people out of the city, and take down as many Ultrons as possible. Okay?"

Cassie smiled, slightly. "Well, it's nothing special, but at least you aren't trying to leave me behind this time." She tightened the holster belt around her waist and stepped toward the door. "Let's go kick some robot ass."

"Language," Steve said, with a smile.

"You want lift?" Pietro asked, picking Cassie up and running without waiting for an answer. He came to a stop and dropped her off on the other side of the bridge into Novi Grad. "Not too fast for you?"

She laughed. "Pietro... glad you're on our side now. Get to the Polizeistation."

"Good to be a good guy, huh?"

"What, you didn't see that coming, Pietro?" She smirked and ran for the far buildings.

*********************************

The robots were easy. A few well-placed bullets, a hit to the processor with a heavy baton, a knife in the same locale... one time just a well-executed kick. No, it was when the landscape started to hover higher and higher that Cassie had a problem. "How are we supposed to save the people from a flying city?!" she shouted at the Ultron closest to her, before ripping its head off.

"Do you see? The beauty of it, the inevitability. You rise, only to fall," Ultron's voice answered her from a robot clawing its way to her from underground. "You, Avengers, you are my meteor, my swift and terrible sword and the earth will crack with the weight of your failure. Purge me from your computers, turn my own flesh against me. It means nothing. When the dust settles, the only thing living in this world will be metal." Cassie stomped on its head, growling at the implication.

"I'm not a fucking meteor. Spent my whole life trying to avoid causing-" she mumble to herself, grabbing an Ultron and ripping its arm off. She bashed it into the robot's head repeatedly.

"Cap, you got incoming," Stark said, over comms.

"Incoming already came in," Steve groaned. "Stark, you worry about bringing the city back down safely. The rest of us have one job: tear these things apart. You get hurt, hurt 'em back. You get killed, walk it off."

"Funny." Pietro was suddenly right next to her, pulling a robot to pieces. "Is Captain America always so funny?"

"Only in a fight. How you doin'?" Cassie asked, breathlessly.

"Better than you. You're bleeding."

"I'm fine. Not dead yet. How are you not bleeding?"

"Too fast to bleed. None of them can see me coming."

Cassie laughed. "Okay. Sounds good. I'm going to the bridge. Sounds like they need a bit of help there. Find Wanda, meet me there?"

Pietro gave a small salute and disappeared. A few moments later, Barton came over the comms. "All right. We're all clear here."

"We are not clear!" Steve responded. "We are very not clear!"

"All right. Coming to you."

"I'm halfway there!" Cassie said, picking up her pace. Cassie jumped onto the back of an Ultron and plunged her knife into its processor as Natasha and Steve destroyed several over by the bridge. "Welcome to the fight, Natalia. How was your downtime?"

"Cramped and cold. Just like I like it," Nat answered, smirking a little as they finished off the last Ultron in their area.

"The next wave's gonna hit any minute. What have you got, Stark?" Steve asked, stalking through the city.

"Well, nothing great. Maybe a way to blow up the city. That'll keep it from impacting the surface. If you guys can get clear," Stark came over their earpieces.

"I asked for a solution, not an escape plan."

"Impact radius is getting bigger every second. We're going to have to make a choice."

"Cap, these people are going nowhere. If Stark finds a way to blow this rock..." Natasha started as the three of them looked out at the clouds, creating a thick fog.

"Not 'til everyone's safe," Steve insisted.

"Everyone up here versus everyone down there?" Natasha pushed. "There's no math there."

"I hate to agree, but this is thousands versus billions. Literally," Cassie whispered.

"I'm not leaving this rock with one civilian on it."

"I didn't say we should leave." Steve took a deep breath as he turned to Romanoff, who just nodded to confirm she was saying what he thought she was. "There's worse ways to go. Where else am I gonna get a view like this?"

"Glad you like the view, Romanoff. It's about to get better," Nick Fury's voice came through their comms. Cassie laughed, excitedly, as a helicarrier broke through the clouds. "Nice, right? I pulled her out of mothballs with a couple of old friends. She's dusty, but she'll do."

"Fury, you son of a bitch," Steve said, with a smile.

"Ooh! You kiss your mother with that mouth?"

"Not since the ‘40s, he doesn't," Cassie wrapped her arms around Nat and Steve and jumped down, excitedly, as Pietro showed up in front of them.

"This is SHIELD?"

"This is what SHIELD's supposed to be," Steve answered.

"This is not so bad."

"Let's load 'em up," Steve said, rushing to grab Sokovian citizens.

"You know, this might not end horribly, after all," Pietro said, to Cassie as she rushed for a building full of people.

"Don't say things like that. As soon as you start being optimistic, things go bad."

"Oh, what can go bad now?" Pietro asked, before disappearing.

"So much," Ultron said, dropping down behind Cassie, grabbing her and flying away. He dropped her on top of a building and examined her. "You're the Hydra one, right?"

"I'm not-"

"Made by Hydra in 1989. Trained by that horrid Strucker character. Honestly, anyone who wanted to know about the Avengers need only look to you, their latest recruit. The wolf in sheep's linen."

"What? What are you- you're making less sense than usual."

"You really think you're a righteous woman? How sad for you. You're more tangled in their strings than I ever was. Assuming you make it to that battlecarrier, ask your friend Fury about Operation Playtime Distortion. I think it'll change your life," Ultron said, before flying away, leaving her on the top of the building.

"Playtime dis- what?" she mumbled to herself as she grabbed an electric cable and used it to abseil down the building.

"Thor, I got a plan!" Stark said when she was about halfway down the building.

"We're out of time. They're coming for the core," Thor responded.

"Rhodey, get the rest of the people on board that carrier."

"On it."

"Avengers, time to work for a living."

"Screw you, Stark. Your suit and your computer do all your work," Cassie said as she got to the bottom of the building and started running for the church.

"I'll buy you a drink when we get out of this," Stark said. "Romanoff? You and Banner better not be playing hide the zucchini."

"Relax, Shell-head. Not all of us can fly."

"Thank you, Nat!" Cassie said, running up to the church as Natasha crashed a truck into the fence around the perimeter.

"What's the drill?" Natasha asked.

"This is the drill. If Ultron gets a hand on the core, we lose."

Hulk jumped into the church as Ultron flew closer. "Is that the best you can do?!" Thor shouted. Ultron just lifted his left hand and a swarm of silver entered their vision.

"You had to ask." Steve said, sarcastically.

"This is the best I can do," Ultron answered.

"If they're all here, then they aren't there, so... let's do this," Cassie whispered.

"This is exactly what I wanted. All of you against all of me. How could you possibly hope to stop me?"

"Well, like the old man said. Together," Tony said, looking toward Steve.

Hulk shouted, sending a chill down Cassie's spine that readied her for the fight, as Ultrons ran and flew at them, full force. She pulled her knife with her right hand and a baton with her left and went to work, feeling alive and right as she rained destruction upon Ultron. 'Ask about Operation Playtime Distortion', rang through her mind over and over as she stomped and beat and stabbed the robots. As the primary Ultron was lasered down in the ruined churchyard, Cassie beat another one's head into the rubble. Clint put his hand on her shoulder and she had to stop herself from crushing it.

"They'll try to leave the city," she heard Thor say, so she stood.

"We can't let 'em, not even one. Rhodey!"

"We gotta move out. Even I can tell the air is getting thin. You guys get to the boats, I'll sweep for stragglers, be right behind you," Steve said.

"What about the core?" Clint asked as Cassie watched the last few Ultrons being destroyed by Vision and War Machine.

"I'll protect it," Wanda volunteered. Clint turned to her in surprise. "It's my job."

Clint nodded and started out. "Nat. Cass. This way."

"You have a silent thing with the Maximoff chick?" Cassie asked as they ran.

"You have a thing with her brother? Pickin' you up and runnin' off with you."

"He's nice. Fell in with the wrong crowd. I can relate," Cassie said, running ahead of them.

"Cass- I'm gonna hotwire-" Clint shrugged as she disappeared from view and wrenched open the door of a two-seater convertible. "Only enough room for the two of us, anyway," he said to Natasha.

She was already on the helicarrier when the city fell and she watched in horror as it disintegrated just a few moments later. When she greeted the last lifeboat, she was dismayed to see Wanda crying over Pietro's body. "He saved my life," Clint whispered.

Cassie turned into his arms and cried for a few minutes, before pulling away. "What about... Tony? Thor? Everyone else."

Clint just nodded, prompting her to break down further. Clint helped her down to the bridge, where Fury stood staring at the hole that used to be Novi Grad, Sokovia. "This is the best we could have hoped for, Campbell," Fury said, turning and walking up to her as Clint disappeared from her side.

"I know. I know. This is just... we saved as many as we could but... Pietro died... it's just..."

"You thinking of getting out of the superhero game?"

"No. Yes. I don't know. I just... this isn't, at all, how I pictured my life five years ago. When Phil told me that you okayed my release, I... expected to get my Bachelor's and spend the rest of my life in a lab. This... death, carnage... so much destruction."

"If it weren't for Phil, you'd've been in the Fridge when Hydra took it. I wasn't planning to let you out."

Cassie turned to him, swallowing. "You put me in a cell. I've always wondered why. Surely there were better places to put me. Back then, I was just a normal, non-super, child. You could've found a home for me, but you put me in a cell like a criminal." She wouldn't ask. Operation Playtime Distortion wasn't something she wanted to know, she was sure of it.

"Clint mentioned that you might be remembering things. Are you entirely certain you want to be askin' questions, Cassie?"

"You put me in a cell because I did something to deserve it, didn't I?"

"You don't want that answer, Cassie. If I were you, I'd do anything in my power to keep those memories under lock and key."

"Thank you, sir," she said, before turning and walking away.

********************

"We going for shawarma, this time?" Natasha asked, as they approached a Quinjet set to fly them back to New York.

"What?" Cassie asked, looking over at her.

"After the whole thing with Loki and the Chitauris, we went out and Tony bought us shawarma. It was good," Clint said, putting his arm around Cassie's shoulders.

She turned her head slightly. "Clint, can I talk to you?"

"Course. Hey, Tasha, get the jet started. We'll be in in a minute," Clint called, before leading Cassie away from the jet. "What's wrong?"

"When we get back to New York... I'm not going to stay."

"Wha-what do you mean?"

"I'm not quitting or-or running away, this time, but... I need some time to... find myself again. This whole event, it just showed me that... I started running long before Austria. The last few years, I've been running. I ran from telling Phil about Faye, I ran from telling anybody about what Loki did to me. I dropped everything on that one. Stopped going to school, just drinking and working and getting as little sleep as I could survive on, which is very little when you're a superhuman." She looked down at her hands, the dirt and blood caked under her fingernails. "Clint, I don't want to run any more. I want to try for a... a new normal. I want to go back to school, finish my Bachelor's degree. I want to... work in one of Tony's labs again and sleep without fear for a while."

"And you need... space for that?"

"No. I would want you to come with me, or visit me between missions or something."

"I've been considering retirement. I mean, Laura's about to have another baby and she might need some help around the farm. You willing to live-"

"On the farm? Hell, no," she said, with a smile. "But if you live at the farm, I'll visit... as often as I can."

"And where would you be living? Where would you want to start this new normal?" Clint asked, taking her hand and walking back toward the jet.

"I don't know. I haven't had time to think about it. Maybe, West Coast again. Washington, Oregon, maybe," Cassie said, as she walked up the ramp to sit in one of the jump seats.

"What's on the West Coast?" Steve asked.

"She's got to talk to you, Boss," Clint said, pulling Cassie out of the seat pushing her toward Steve and replacing her in the chair.

Cassie looked down, then up into Steve's eyes. "I want to go back to school. Life's short... unless you get frozen for 70 years. I... haven't accomplished any of the things I set out to do when I got released from the Fridge and I just... want to finish something."

"On the West Coast? There aren't any schools in New York?"

"I... I just feel like there might be too many distractions if I stay in New York."

"Distractions. Okay. Will you be coming back after you get your degree?" Steve asked.

"Of course. I love being an Avenger. I love the team, but I have to take this break. I promise it won't be long. I'm only 12 credits from my Bachelor's and then, I can come back."

"You're gonna need a job while you're playing student." Tony walked up. "I've got a small R&D lab in Olympia. You wouldn't be interested in running it, would you?"

"What?"

"Yeah, guy I had on it before had to transfer, or something believable, like that. I don't, actually, have a lab in Olympia, but I could by next week. We doin' this?"

Cassie scoffed in surprise. "People are going to complain about favoritism, Tony."

"Who? To who? Not to me, and Pepper loves you. Besides, who better to head up my experimental R&D division than an exper-"

Cassie put her hand up. "Don't finish that sentence. This is... amazing, thank you." She stepped toward him. "I'm gonna hug you."

"Don't do that. Oh, y-you don't listen." Tony put his hands up as Cassie wrapped her arms around him. "Maybe I shouldn't put you in charge, if you can't follow instructions."

"Shut up, Tony. Don't ruin it," she said, squeezing him before pulling back and looking around the jet.

"You'll come back, though?" Steve asked, again.

"Definitely," she said, with a smile.

"Might be a good time to mention that I, uh, am gonna be heading out, too. Need some family time after what just happened," Clint piped up.

"Nobody saw that coming, did they?" Tony quipped, heading toward the cockpit.

"We won't even be in the same state, Stark. Shut up," Clint said as Cassie looked away from Steve.

"Are you and Clint-" Steve whispered.

"This isn't a conversation for-" Cassie started.

"Yes. Since the party, Steve," Natasha called from the cockpit

"It's no one's business!" Clint shouted, his hand going over his face.

"You're not wrong, Barton. I'd rather not hear about it, honestly," Stark answered.

"I thought you weren't... dating?" Steve whispered.

"I wasn't... but... life is short. Too short. I realized that after Ultron attacked... I'm sorry."

"I really... have poor timing with women," Steve said, walking away.

Cassie flopped down next to Clint. "I feel like we just kicked someone's grandpa," Clint said, under his breath.

Cassie giggled and hit him on the shoulder. "Stop it. That's... not funny."

"Yeah, it is. Come on. He's a hundred."

"And? Mind and body of a thirty year old. You?"

"That's low, Queenie. I expected better from you," Clint smirked, though.

"I've never claimed to be a nice person."

"Oh, but you are."

"Says you," she whispered, leaning her head back against the metal of the jet.

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