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WIP Wednesday

Thanks for the tag @theluckywizard! And I know how much you adore our lovely Cullen x Inquisitor so I know you'll love this! 🥰 🥰 

Today I am sharing an excerpt from my current WIP :The Space Between for my upcoming chapter eight!

Chapter 8: The Winter Palace

"He'd seen her in robes, in leather armor, in the practical clothes she wore around Skyhold. But this—the formal military regalia of the Inquisition—was something else entirely. The red jacket fitted her perfectly, emphasizing the confident set of her shoulders. The blue sash drew attention to her waist, while the brown leather complemented the auburn of her hair. She'd styled it in a more formal arrangement, though the left side remained closely cropped in the way that had become so distinctly hers.

When she looked up and caught his eye, those striking green eyes seemed to hold starlight. For just a moment, her diplomatic mask slipped, and he saw the woman beneath—nervous, determined, and looking to him for reassurance.

The urge to cross to her, to offer that reassurance in the way that had become natural between them over the past few weeks, was almost overwhelming. Instead, he straightened his shoulders and offered the formal bow appropriate to their respective ranks.

"My lady," he said, his voice rougher than he'd intended."

Currently Chapters 1-7 Can all be found on Ao3 here. Chapter 7 posted last night!

I'm tagging @veil-song, @areyoutheredemons, @tevivinter, and @the-bear-and-his-sunbird

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Despite the dream, is it still a good morning?

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Hi and welcome to Thedas Weekend! Would love to see something for Cullen x Inquisitor: with lyrics from Can't Pretend by Tom Odell, perhaps? (Trying to go for that mutual pining energy)

Love, I have wounds Only you can mend, you can mend, oh, oh, oh I guess that's love I can't pretend, I can't pretend, oh, oh, oh Feel, my skin is rough But it can be cleansed, it can be cleansed, oh, oh, oh And my arms are tough But they can be bent, they can be bent And I wanna fight, but I can't contend

I really like this one. Thanks for sending! This was from last week, but I am posting as part of @thedasweekend This is what I came up with:

Wounds Only You Can Mend

The knock came at his office door just as Cullen was attempting to pour himself tea with hands that betrayed him at every turn. The cup rattled against the saucer, liquid sloshing over the rim as tremors ran through his fingers like aftershocks of a distant earthquake.

"Commander?" Cordelia's voice carried through the heavy wood, and he nearly dropped the teapot entirely.

Three days. Three days since he'd last kissed her in the moonlight of the battlements, since he'd bared his soul about the lyrium withdrawal, since he'd made the mistake of believing—for one foolish moment—that he could be worthy of someone like her. Three days of avoiding her eyes across war meetings, of curt professional responses when she tried to speak with him, of lying awake at night cursing himself for his weakness.

"Come in," he called, quickly setting down the trembling cup and clasping his hands behind his back.

She entered quietly, closing the door behind her with a soft click that seemed to echo in the sudden tension. Her green eyes found his immediately, and he saw the hurt there—hurt he'd put there with his retreat into formality and distance. Her dark hair was loose around her shoulders, freed from the practical braids she wore during the day, and she looked tired. He wondered if she'd been sleeping as poorly as he had.

"We need to talk," she said simply, crossing her arms over her chest.

"If this is about the supply reports—"

"Cullen." The way she said his name, firm but not unkind, stopped his deflection cold. "You've been avoiding me."

He turned toward the window, unable to meet her gaze. "I've been busy with—"

"Don't." Her voice was closer now, and he could smell the faint scent of elfroot and something uniquely her that made his chest tighten. "Don't lie to me. Not after... not after what we shared."

The words hung between them like a blade. What they'd shared. The kiss that had tasted of hope and possibility, the confession that had left him raw and exposed, the moment when he'd thought perhaps the Maker hadn't abandoned him entirely. All of it now felt like a dream he'd woken from to find himself still trapped in the nightmare of his own inadequacy.

"Perhaps that was a mistake," he said quietly, the words like ash in his mouth.

He heard her sharp intake of breath, felt rather than saw her step back. When he finally turned to face her, her expression was a careful mask, but her eyes blazed with something between anger and hurt.

"A mistake," she repeated, her voice dangerously level. "Which part, exactly? The kiss, or telling me about your struggles with lyrium?"

"Both. Neither. I—" He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes as a familiar ache began to build behind them. "You don't understand."

"Then explain it to me."

The headache was getting worse, and his hands were starting to shake again. He needed to get her out of here before she saw how pathetic he truly was, before she witnessed another episode of the weakness that proved how right he was to stay away from her.

"There's nothing to explain," he said, reaching for the teacup again in a vain attempt to appear composed. "You're the Inquisitor. I'm your commander. We should maintain appropriate boundaries."

"Appropriate boundaries?" Her voice rose slightly. "After you kissed me like I was the only thing keeping you anchored to this world? After you trusted me with your deepest fears?"

The cup slipped from his fingers entirely this time, shattering against the stone floor with a sound that seemed to punctuate her words. He stared at the broken porcelain, at the spreading pool of tea, and felt something break inside him as well.

"Look at me," he whispered, his voice raw. "Look at me, Cordelia. I can't even hold a cup without shaking. I wake up in cold sweats, screaming from nightmares about templars and mages and the things I've done. I'm fighting a battle against my own body every moment of every day, and I'm losing."

When he looked up, her eyes were soft with understanding rather than the pity he'd expected. It was somehow worse.

"You think I don't know that?" she said quietly. "You think I kissed you in spite of who you are, rather than because of it?"

"You kissed a man who was honest with you for one moment," he said, moving away from the broken cup. "But that's not who I am, not really. I'm broken, Cordelia. Damaged goods. You deserve someone whole, someone who can stand beside you without trembling, someone who won't wake you in the night with his demons."

"Stop." The word came out sharper than he'd ever heard from her. "Stop deciding what I deserve."

He leaned heavily against his desk as another wave of nausea hit him. The withdrawal was getting worse again, as it always did when he was under stress. His vision blurred slightly at the edges, and he gripped the wood to keep himself upright.

"Cullen?" Her voice was suddenly concerned, and he felt her hand on his arm. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm fine." But even as he said it, his legs nearly gave out beneath him. The room spun, and he found himself sitting heavily in his chair, Cordelia's hands steadying him.

"You're having an episode," she said, and there was no judgment in her voice, only worry. "When did you last sleep? Really sleep?"

"I don't need—"

"Two days ago? Three?" She was kneeling beside his chair now, one hand on his shoulder, the other gently touching his forehead. "You're burning up."

He wanted to pull away, to maintain some shred of dignity, but he didn't have the strength. This was what he'd been trying to protect her from—this weakness, this neediness, this proof that he was not the strong commander she needed but merely a man fighting a losing battle against his own body.

"Please," he whispered, though he wasn't sure what he was asking for. "I can't... I'm not..."

"Shh." Her voice was impossibly gentle. "Let me help."

He felt the familiar tingle of magic against his skin, but instead of the fear he'd once felt at a mage's touch, there was only relief. Her healing magic was like cool water on a burn, easing the worst of the nausea and the pounding in his head. It couldn't cure him—nothing could—but it gave him enough respite to think clearly.

"Better?" she asked after a moment.

He nodded, not trusting his voice. Her hand was still on his shoulder, warm and steady, and he found himself leaning into the touch despite everything.

"This is why," he said finally. "This is why it was a mistake. You shouldn't have to take care of me. You shouldn't have to use your magic to keep me functional. You're the Herald of Andraste, the Inquisitor, the woman who's going to save the world. And I'm..."

"The man I love," she said simply.

The words hit him like a physical blow. He looked up at her, searching her face for any sign of deception, but found only truth in those green eyes.

"Cordelia—"

"No, let me finish." She stood, beginning to pace in the small space. "Do you think I kissed you because I felt sorry for you? Do you think I've been seeking you out because I enjoy watching you suffer?"

"Then why?" The question came out broken, desperate.

She stopped pacing and turned to face him fully. "Because when you told me about your struggles, you weren't showing me your weakness. You were showing me your strength. Do you know what it takes to choose to suffer through withdrawal rather than take the easy path? Do you know how many people would have given up by now?"

"I think about giving up every day," he admitted.

"But you don't." She moved closer again, and this time he didn't pull away when she reached for his hands. "You get up every morning and you fight. You lead our soldiers. You protect people. You're trying to be better than what you were, and that's not weakness, Cullen. That's courage."

He stared down at their joined hands—his scarred and trembling, hers steady and sure. "I have wounds," he said quietly, "Wounds that I don't know how to heal."

"Then let me help," she said, and her voice was fierce with determination. "Let me try to mend them."

"What if I can't be fixed?"

"Then we'll be broken together." She squeezed his hands gently. "But I don't think you're as broken as you believe. I think your skin is rough from battles fought, but it can be cleansed. I think your arms are tough from holding up the weight of the world, but they can still be bent to hold someone you care about."

He looked up at her then, this woman who had somehow seen past his armor to the man beneath, who had offered him something he'd never thought he deserved. "I want to fight," he whispered. "I want to fight for this, for us. But I don't know if I can contend with everything that's against us."

"Then don't fight alone," she said simply. "Let me stand with you."

The silence stretched between them, filled with possibilities and hope and the terrifying prospect of vulnerability. Finally, slowly, he lifted one shaking hand to cup her face.

"I love you too," he said, the words like a prayer. "God help me, I love you too."

When she kissed him this time, it tasted like healing. Like the promise that wounds could be mended, that rough skin could be cleansed, that even the toughest arms could learn to bend. It tasted like hope.

And for the first time in years, Cullen Rutherford allowed himself to believe that he might be worthy of love after all.

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cullen rutherford has the most househusband/ stay-at-home-dad energy of any man ever written and tbh he's earned it

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da2

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Honestly loving all the Dragon Age content on my dash rn.

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And I do think they should’ve brought Sandal back in Veilguard, because if he made the trick lyrium dagger, handed it over, and said “Enchantment!” I wouldn’t even bat an eye or consider it a deus ex machina moment. Like yeah of course he could make a perfect copy, and it would be so similar that it could trick Solas. It’s Sandal.

The plot hole would be that his copy would absolutely be capable of rending the Veil.

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The great thing about the "You best start believin' in ghost stories" scene in PotC is that there had been basically no indication before that point that was anything but a historical adventure movie.

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༄˖°.𖣂︎.ೃ࿔*:･

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I know that like, every LI goes to comfort Hawke regardless but for Fenris's romance I think it's a very touching moment because at this point, they don't even have a relationship going on.

He is well aware he broke things off (if you're a dramatic bitch like me you could even say he broke their heart lol) but he knows that Hawke needs someone.

I keep wondering if someone else told him to go there of he went there out of his own volition, but either, its almost a way of saying things may be awkward between us but I'm here for you.

And like, Fenris is *bad* with this. He even says it so himself that he does not know what to say. He has not really been in a situation like that (or at least doesnt remember).

But he knows that Hawke is going through an extremely difficult time and the best he can offer is to be there, even at the risk of them turning him away.

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Back to Skyhold

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“Do you want to break free or should I pull tighter?”

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Why does DA2 have the most well-written fic I’ve ever seen?

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