#mdcwrites

[ladymdc]

The Seventh Circle

I don’t usually do a lot of fic promoting, however, since this is a joint endeavor with my amazing fren @dismalzelenka​​, I’m going to do it 🙃

Pairing: Nathaniel Howe x Reyna Cousland AND Anders x Adrestia Tabris Rating: Explicit (will have canon-typical violence & probably smut) Word Count (at the moment): ~2,900 Chapters: 1/? Summary: Run if you can. Madness has filled the silence. Do not return to this place.

[A modern w/magic AU where the Wardens & darkspawn are a myth, a bedtime story parents tell their children. However, an incident in the Western Approach sends Reyna Cousland and Adrestia Tabris on a search to uncover a truth lost to time and secrecy before it's too late to stop events from spiraling further out of control. Reyna belongs to MC & Adrestia belongs to Diz.]

We’ll be tossing updates up on Ao3 (here) whenever the muse strikes us. CH.1 is under the cut for funsies.

Solace 20:19

Reyna Cousland placed her sunglasses in the center console and got out of the vehicle. The estate was lovely in summer, lush and beautiful. She couldn’t deny it, but the beauty felt bitter and false as she took it in.

She opened the back door to let Acheron out then wordlessly led him up the flagstone path to the manor. At the dark walnut doors on the veranda, she paused. She just needed a moment to brace herself. To prepare for what she was about to face.

Inside, the foyer was well lit and immaculate. A circular table sat in the middle of the open area. On it, there was a large bouquet of dark blue flowers interspersed with olive branches—a play on the colors of their house.

Pride.  

It was a double-edged weapon, just as able to drive one to succeed as to destroy them.

When she looked up, she found her father standing in the doorway to the breakfast nook. His eyes were a stormy grey. Calm, yet powerful; precisely contained—never show weakness or fear.

Conquered By None.  

“Reyna,” he said, absently scratching Acheron’s ear. “Take a walk with me.”

Reyna nodded stiffly and followed after her father. He led her outside then along one of the lanes lined with trees heavy with plums ripe for picking. Her father didn’t make any effort to converse until they were well away from the manor.

“I don’t want you to transfer,” he abruptly declared.

She had already decided to walk pride’s razor edge and told her father as such. “It has already been approved. I leave in two weeks.”

Her father came to a halt as his expression grew bitterly resigned as if preparing himself to be stuck on some quarter.

“I had it on good authority that General Howe—” her lip curled up with disdain of its own volition, “—was going to send me there to add insult to injury. This way, I control the narrative.”

There was a long silence. Her father stared down the lane, his eyes far away.

“What happened should not affect your career,” he said eventually, turning to look down at her. “It had nothing to do with you.”

The betrayal had been so exacting and deeply personal that she could barely bring herself to think about it.

“It has everything to do with me,” Reyna told him. “I am a Cousland.”

“True.” A slow smile curved his lips. Then it vanished, and he glanced away.

But Reyna saw it, the sudden lines of tension around his eyes.

“So, the narrative; what do you need me to do to help offset—” he flicked his hand dismissively at his side, “—everything?”

Reyna blinked. “I don’t need you to do anything,” she said in a tight voice. “Did you really think I was going to distance myself from you? A Cousland always does their duty. You taught me that. You did your duty, and now, it’s my turn.”

Her father nodded thoughtfully. The sunlight catching his hair, silvered with age.

“You know, just when I think I couldn’t be more proud of you, you prove me wrong.”

Her throat tightened so much it was hard to swallow. She managed to tip her chin down in acknowledgment.

When she was a little girl, Reyna had thought he was cold. However, as she matured, she realized he wasn’t unfeeling. Her father felt things; he just did so privately.

In that regard, they were alike; driven by emotions, but never allowed them to dictate. The head always won out over the heart. At least, until General Bryce Cousland was court-martialed for insubordination and suspended without pay for five years.

Then everything changed.

While she composed herself, her father made a convincing job of admiring the blooming hydrangeas. Reyna knew he was proud of her. She never questioned that. But being reminded of it as she tried to be his steady rock in a sea of shifting alliances was overwhelming.

“Come,” he said, briefly placing his hand between her shoulder blades when she stepped up next to him a moment later. “Let’s finish our stroll through the gardens before your mother decides to hunt us down.”

“Did she also assume I was going to cast you aside like some black stain on my career that I couldn’t wait to expunge?” she asked dryly as they began walking down the return lane.

The corner of his mouth twitched faintly. “She didn’t. I believe she just wanted the satisfaction of being present when I was proved wrong. Thank you for allowing myself to be spared further embarrassment.”

Reyna smiled then. Truly smiled for what felt like the first time in months.

Her father chuckled. “In my defense, neither of us have handled this exceptionally well, and I’m unaccustomed to you being—angry.”

Through it all, her father had appeared unaffected. If Reyna had been less angry herself, she might have believed it, but their personalities were basically the same. Which, oddly enough, left her uncertain how to address the strain that had asserted itself between them. But there was an instant comfort she found in learning that it was all misplaced, that he had simply felt as lost as her.

“Likewise,” she said. “I wasn’t sure how this conversation was going to go when you asked me to come home to discuss it.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t mean to alarm you. It’s just easier to discern what is going on in your head when we speak face to face. And we’ve avoided the general topic long enough.”

“I agree. I shouldn’t have tried to talk about it over the phone. I just didn’t want you to hear about my transfer from anyone else and misunderstand. Obviously, that backfired.”

“That is on me, not you,” he said as they began to ascend the large stone steps up to the patio.

Reyna’s mother was setting the small table in the breakfast nook when they stepped inside. Her parents stared at one another for a moment, then her mother arched a single blonde eyebrow.

“It is as you said, Eleanor,” he allowed drolly.

A slow cat-like smile graced her mother’s lips. “Welcome home, Reyna,” she said, stepping forward to give her daughter a quick hug. “Lunch is almost ready, I’m just finishing up the chicken.”

“Do you need any help?”

“Not at all. It’ll take me ten minutes, tops.”

Her father nodded. “Alright, then I’ll be right back,” he said. Then he turned and walked out of the room. Her mother’s blue eyes glittered knowingly before exiting through the adjacent door leading to the kitchen.

Reyna shrugged inwardly before taking a seat. At her elbow, she found today’s newspaper. Something twisted inside her as she read the headline on the front page.

CONTROVERSIAL DRILLING RIG IN ABYSSAL RIFT TO BEGIN OPERATIONS IN EARLY AUGUST 

‘Rift Platform 52’, or ‘P-52’, is expected to launch operations on Saturday, August 6th, according to a press release by Antonius Faber, CEO of OFT Enterprises. 

This venture is made possible thanks to Orzammar based Paragon Branka Kondrat’s revolutionary structural engineering research. This state of the art drilling facility, the most advanced of its kind to date, is affixed to the cliff-side of the Abyssal Rift using massive caissons and a carefully threaded steel cable suspension system. It is roughly the size of a 15-story building and will deploy three separate drilling units to depths of up to 5,000 meters. P-52 is expected to reach oil reserves that have remained untapped for centuries due to the unstable landscape of the Western Approach and widespread environmental toxicity located within the Rift itself. 

While few would question the wealth of resources finally available, Ferelden concerns on the matter initially went largely unheard until King Cailan Theirin and Empress Celene Valmont established the Great Orlais-Ferelden Oil Alliance earlier this year. 

In exchange—  

Reyna heard footsteps and looked up as her father reentered the room.

His eyes flicked from hers down to the newspaper. He stared at it for several seconds, then sighed.

“For once, I’m not mentioned.”

Reyna nodded, keeping her expression carefully closed as she quietly seethed.

On the surface, increasing oil imports from Orlais at a lesser cost in exchange for military support in the hazardous environment seemed to make good sense. However, production sharing agreements were horrendously advantageous to the host country. The host country did not need to make a significant amount of investment for exploration or production activities because the oil company carried all operational and financial costs and risks. Then, if that weren’t enough, the host country gleaned knowledge, technological advances, and expertise through the agreement.

In summation, the host country— Orlais —would reap endless benefits and profits from this groundbreaking endeavor.

Ferelden would be guaranteed access to cheap oil, and nothing more. This was a fact her father had bluntly relayed to some reporters at the persuasion of his lifelong friend, Rendon Howe, who then used the souring tide of public opinion in the matter to motivate King Cailan to call for his court-martial. It succeeded.

Predictably, Rendon was promoted to take his place.

Reyna rolled her jaw and forced herself to set aside her sudden rage.

“It’s fine, Reyna; I shall live on,” he said, crossing the room.

“We shall live on,” she corrected.

“Precisely.”

There was a pregnant pause.

“I have something for you,” he said, then reached into his pocket and withdrew two metal, half-inch bands inlaid with runes.

She looked up at her father in astonishment.

He smirked, then held out his empty hand to her. “As you said, it’s your turn.”

“I can’t accept that.”

“It was always going to be yours someday,” he said, then beckoned with his fingers to encourage her along.

At that, Reyna swallowed down the rest of her objections and let him help her to stand; Acheron perked up from where he was doing a rather good job at blending in with the wood flooring.

“Part of why I asked you here today was to tell you that I’m resigning from the service,” he told her, slipping the bands onto her left arm.

“When did you make that decision?”

“When the verdict was handed down. I was just waiting for the news cycle to die down. None of this was supposed to be about me.” He began to precisely situate one on her forearm just a couple inches from her elbow; the other was dangling from her wrist like an oversized bracelet.

“It was about Ferelden, and I did right by her,” he said. “That is all that matters.”

Reyna slowly nodded. She understood the implications behind the decision. Going along with it all would be as good as admitting wrongdoing.

Once in position, the bands resized themselves to her perfectly where they would remain unless she went in to have them reset and removed. Reyna could tell there were enchantments woven into the silverite to prevent her arm from chafing and to keep it the ideal temperature.

“Can you feel it?”

Now that he mentioned it, Reyna could recognize a presence pressing against the outside of her forearm. “I can tell I’m connected to it, but I can’t tell how to make it do anything.”

“It takes some getting used to. You’ll just have to practice.” He took two steps back. “Curl your fingers in one at a time, starting with your pinky, and you’ll be able to separate it out better.”

Reyna took a deep, even breath and did as instructed. As her thumb curled inward, she felt it.

The semi-translucent, iridescent blue field flickered to life for a half-second, then vanished.

Her father smiled proudly, and Reyna could feel the pressure in her cheeks and eyes as she struggled not to cry over it.

She knew what it looked like in its full corporeal form. A modernized replica of the shields their ancestors used to carry back in the Dragon Age. It had been a gift from the late King Maric Theirin when her father was knighted for exceptional services to the Crown. In that alone, it was priceless, and yet astronomical amounts of time and effort and magic went into making the one of a kind device.

She parted her lips to speak—

“Don’t thank me, and I won’t…” he trailed off and waved a hand.

Reyna exhaled; part relief, part amusement. “Deal.”

“Good,” he said, shoulders dropping as if he had also found the entire conversation emotionally draining. But then her father put his arm around her and pulled her in for a quick, slightly awkward half-embrace.

As if awaiting this cue, her mother breezed back into the room to begin serving lunch: garlic bread and caprese chicken avocado salad with a balsamic reduction. Reyna’s mouth quirked at the corner when Acheron dug in. It always did. Without fail, he happily ate anything her mother put in front of him.

Later, Reyna would sit in her West Hill apartment and think back on the meal. In that moment, they had all but forgotten what had happened. The only deviation from the thousands of other meals they’ve shared in that room was the bands were affixed to her arm instead of her father’s. Where they should be.

Reyna idly traced the runes wrapped around her wrist.

All this time, she had been supportive but distant, trying to separate out her own personal turmoil over the matter so her father wouldn’t carry that too. He had done so anyway. Penance perhaps for negatively affecting her career, one he knew she didn’t even want even though Reyna had never admitted it.

At least, they managed to set things right. It was far past time, but neither of them were much good at talking about how they felt.

“I think we should stay at the manor until we leave,” she said suddenly.

Acheron barked, stump waggling, and Reyna reached for her phone.

It was a strange feeling, to move back into her childhood home. A home she loved and would someday inherit to become Lady of the Manor. A fact that made her painfully aware while she was an heir, she was not a true heir. No matter what she did, the Cousland name would die with her.

Reyna tried not to think about it.

Instead, she read, ran with Acheron, and cooked with her mother. She practiced activating the shield, which was like strengthening a part of her she hadn’t known existed and had muscle atrophy as a result. Reyna and her father even discussed potential ways she could excel in her new post, to climb rank despite the looming expectation that she stall out or quit.

When Reyna left, it was as if she’d be back the next day. Goodbyes were another thing they weren’t very good at.

The flight was uneventful, as was settling into her new place in Valemont. A two-bedroom, 1.5 bath duplex with exactly one parking space designated as hers behind the home, which was all she needed.

There were some incredulous looks when 2ndLt. Cousland provided her identification at the gates of Griffon Wing Army Base the following Monday, but Reyna ignored it. Then she parked her new jeep and slung her bag onto her shoulder before dropping Acheron off for training on the local wildlife. And now, she made her way deeper into the facility in search of her office.

As she rounded a corner on the third floor, she allowed herself a quick glance around, taking in the layout. Reyna stiffened when she saw him. Seeing her certainly hadn’t seemed to surprise or upset him.

He’d been waiting for it.

Howe simply leaned back on his heels and studied her, his eyes bright as they swept over her in a rapid catalog, lingering a moment on the band visible around her left wrist. Nothing about him had changed since she’d last seen him, and yet she could feel the weight of everything that had in the air between them.

He hadn’t tried to contact her.

Not once.

Whatever they’d been had never been defined. Not friends, but something that had mattered enough for Reyna to feel a growing well of hurt as she blankly met his stare. Not that it mattered.

None of it had ever mattered.

Eventually, Howe looked down, and his lips thinned. Then his posture shifted slightly. There was something he was trying to communicate to her, and her grey eyes flicked over to the plaque on the door he stood nearest to.

316 2ndLt. Nathaniel Howe  

Her mouth twisted derisively. Of course, their offices would be across the hall from one another. She should have expected it.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Howe twitch, and his expression harden.

Reyna turned on her heel and entered her office.

She set her bag down and went to the window. The Western Approach was a sea of unstable, shifting sands, rocky ridges, and strong, howling winds. On the horizon, P-52 sat in the middle of a steel web. Without a doubt, this office was also chosen to remind her how she got here.

She should be enraged, but she couldn’t summon it. She hadn’t realized how powerless she was to fight her circumstances until that moment.

People did not believe in facts. Order and truth could be tarnished.

She didn’t know how to rise above it, but she would still try.

She sank into the chair at her desk and went to work.

[demonflames]

A little update...cuz vid issues... #mdcwrites #mdcsongs #mdcsings #markodcabcoon #parodysong

[ladymdc]

Wandering in the Dark

Well, I finished it.

Pairing: Cullen Rutherford x F!mage Trevelyan (Noir AU/dark future/1930s) Rating: Explicit (for occasional smut, like 3 instances) Word Count: ~75,500 Chapters: 19/19 Summary: In a world on the verge of collapse, C.S. Rutherford did what he could to survive, at least until a routine case led him down a path he never expected to cross, and a dame with dark verdant eyes and a sharp wit strode into his office.

With nothing as it seemed, including her, perhaps it all wasn’t as hopeless as he thought.

Read it from the beginning - here & I have included CH.1 under the cut for funsies. ((For those who have been keeping up with it, I’ve included a direct link to the CH18 & I’m sure you can find the final chapter from there :D))

Special thanks to the following people: @laraslandlockedblues​, @windysuspirations​, @kawakaeguri​, @machatnoir​, @softlyue, @fadetastic​, @laurelsofhighever​, & @mssaboteur​ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ I may not talk to all of them every day or at all anymore, but I wanted to say thanks for supporting/encouraging me in some way at some point in this journey. I sincerely couldn’t have done this without you. 

The Resistance was irretrievably over; everything that could have been done had been done. He had never thought they would succeed, only a fool would believe they could, but he had never thought he would live to see the day the last Theirin was wiped from the face of Thedas.

This wasn’t the first time such rumors circulated, but it would be the last. Front and center on today’s paper was undeniable proof. The Theirin family crest affixed to the lapel of Amladaris’ suit jacket was a subtle but devastating blow to anyone still clinging to hope the Golden Age would someday return.

It had been over a decade since he last saw Alistair, but the loss stung no less for it. Perhaps even more so knowing the last words spoken to the man he once called a Brother were venomous and full of resentment. Now, there would never be an opportunity to correct that wrong, but it wasn’t like he had been going out of his way in an attempt to do so anyway. All that was left was to hope Alistair’s death was quick and painless. Though based on the sinister curl of Amladaris’ lip, it was anything but.

The thought did nothing for the migraine that had been plaguing him all morning. In addition to the throbbing tendrils taking root deep in his skull, there was also a slight halo around objects, a shimmery haze that wasn’t precisely seeing double but close enough to be an annoyance. It was one of those post-lyrium side effects he’d long since come to terms with. Once the coup took place, it was either risk injecting a tainted dose or quit.

It was an easy decision.

Automatically, he popped some aspirin into his mouth, swallowed it dry and reached for a cigarette. He tapped it twice on the desk and tucked it into the corner of his mouth before he brought the cupped lighter up, despising the slight tremor of his hands. He smoked in long, steady pulls. Repeatedly, his gaze dropped to the newspaper before him then at his watch to read the time as if it would somehow make it move faster. Eventually, the pounding in his head subsided only to be replaced by the telltale click-clack of high heels.

His interest was instantly piqued, and it had nothing to do with the shapely silhouette he could discern through the frosted glass. A lot could be determined by someone’s gait. The speed and force of their steps and the sounds it produced could indicate a wide array of emotions. This client didn’t possess the terrible wrath of a woman wronged nor the hesitant curiosity of one who suspects. She appeared to exude an air of calm indifference. A rare thing in a world gripped by fear and ruin.

Then, without one iota of hesitation, the door opened.

The woman was beautiful; her wavy, brunette hair smooth and shining. Her full lips an agreeable shade of ruby red. Her dark verdant eyes boldly held his gaze. Something flashed in their depths, green and bright, but then she blinked, and it was gone. One corner of her mouth lifted lazily.

“Rutherford.”

He could feel a sudden heat on the back of his neck at the way his name rolled off her tongue but was determined to pretend it wasn’t there. Her accent was Marcher, mixed with something else he couldn’t quite place.

She shut the door and took a seat in one of the two intentionally uncomfortable, wooden chairs before him. The woman looked at him expectantly.

Rutherford cleared his throat and mashed his cigarette into Amladaris’ left eye. “It seems I’m at a disadvantage, Miss—“

The marginal quirk of her lip became almost amused. “Trevelyan.”

His gut locked up; bile burned in his throat. Rutherford pressed his finger and thumb into the corners of his eyes. Trying to stamp out the visions swimming through his mind. It had been three years since Lord Protector Sethius Amladaris took control, and not a day went by that he was reminded of his unknowing role in the coup.

Having the propensity to keep his head down and work, he took notice something was off much too late. By the time Hawke stormed into his office to scream scathing accusations of his involvement, the damage had already been done. Lyrium tainted with Red had been injected into a majority of their ranks at evening rations. Red not only warped the mind but after the first hit, there was no turning back for without it there was only death. With only one source for the terrible substance available, turning the Order against country and crown was simple.

Only those with rank were given a choice. General Trevelyan was the first to refuse. Rutherford, the second. The difference, however, was only he lived because by way of answer, Rutherford put a bullet between Major General Stannard’s Red-tainted eyes.

Meeting the late General Trevelyan’s daughter’s inquisitive stare, he scraped his bottom teeth over his top lip where the scar from escaping the ordeal was. There was a brief flash of prickling numbness. He immediately regretted drawing attention to it as her eyes briefly roamed over his mouth. The room suddenly felt far too warm. It would be easier not to make eye contact, but it would be cowardly to look away.

Rutherford yanked on the knot of his tie to loosen it. “Why are you here?” It came out much harsher than he would have liked.

She ignored the outburst. “I have use of someone with your talents.”

“Talents?” He scoffed, fishing out another cigarette. The dregs of his migraine were flaring up with force.

“Yes, talents,” she insisted.

Twice, he tapped the cigarette on the desk. “And what might those be?” As far as he was aware, failure and survival were his only ‘talents.’ He had an odd propensity for both.

“We both know why you keep checking your watch.”

Despite the seriousness of her insinuation, he couldn’t help smiling. “And what makes you think you know anything about me?” He asked before fitting the cigarette in his mouth and lighting it.

“Are you sure you want to play this game?” she asked, plucking off some unnoticeable piece of offense from her charcoal grey skirt before returning her dark green eyes to his amber. “Because I do know everything about you.”

Rutherford leaned back in the chair and crossed ankle over knee. “Please.” He blew his smoke out defiantly. “Do tell.”

She smiled tolerantly though his cigarette smoke. “Cullen Stanton Rutherford, the second eldest child of four. Mia, the eldest, your brother Branson, and Rosalie the youngest. You joined the Royal Order the day you turned eighteen. At twenty, you took your first lyrium dose, and your parents died that same year as the Blight ran rampant through the countryside. Then came Kinloch—”

“Enough,” he gritted out. A breath hissed out of him, and he turned his head to avoid her piercing gaze. It took a while before he noticed the dull ache in his jaw from clenching his teeth as he glared at the newspaper displaying the result of his most devastating failure.

“He’s alive you know,” she said, tipping her chin toward the paper.

“No shit.”

Trevelyan made a sound that could have been a laugh. “Don’t be thick.”

“I’m not. I—“ He sat up a little straighter when Trevelyan suddenly stood but didn’t rise as he should have.

“You are,” she insisted as she braced one arm on the desk and leaned over. Her long, flowing locks fell over her shoulder. The scent of her, sweet and floral with notes of something akin to spring rains, wafted his direction. Briefly, it overpowered the smoke thick in the air around him. Rutherford was momentarily struck a little dumb by it.

The motion of her hair drew his attention away from her face toward… other assets. The neckline of her white blouse cut dangerously low and there was little for him to do but glare at her when she looked up at him from beneath her lashes. He knew what she was doing, and he hated it worked so easily, especially because he jumped a little when the silk of her glove brushed his fingers.

Smirking, Trevelyan placed his cigarette between her lips and tucked something into his hand. The metal was warm, and he errantly wondered how warm she’d feel, but then his thumb reflexively ran along the familiar grooves.

His stomach bottomed out. “This could be any coin,” he snapped, holding the silver and gold coin between finger and thumb for emphasis.

“It could,” she agreed. “But it isn’t. Did you know you’re bleeding?” With the cigarette pointing down and held between thumb and middle finger, she touched the very tip of her nose.

Rutherford scrambled to find a handkerchief, but his shirt was already ruined. While he attempted to clean himself up and staunch the flow, she took one long drag and held the cigarette back out to him. He hesitated to take it, distracted by the bright red imprint of her lips upon it.

After a moment of inaction, she leaned forward and placed it between his slightly parted lips and a quiet thrill ran through him at her forwardness. The faint taste of her only served to agitate him further, and she knew it.

That semi-amused curve to her mouth was back. “I can always find someone else, so come along or don’t, it matters not to me. Either way you have your luck back. Perhaps that’s all that’s been missing all these years.” At that she buttoned a single button on her jacket, further accentuating the curve of her waist and the swell of her breasts, and departed.

The woman never even hinted at what she wanted from him. Like the eye of storm, she was serene and a tad refreshing, but then left chaos and destruction in her wake. His mind was positivity reeling at what she vaguely suggested as he was left with far too many questions and not a single answer.

Rutherford owed Alistair his life. If it weren’t for the Wardens, he would have rotted in Kinloch. At the time, he felt there was nothing to thank them for. The mistakes he made were too grave, the horrors endured too fresh, and his wounds still weeping. Time healed the latter. The former two points, however… Well, they never left, and only more had been added over time. But if there was a way for him to take something he fucked up and make it right, he shouldn’t still be sitting there.

He snuffed the cigarette out on Amladaris’ right eye. There were few things he needed to grab, all within reach. Smokes, lighter, jacket and his emergency bag which contained an assortment of necessities and a good deal of cash should the regime ever care to come after him again. Within moments he was able to rush after her.

“Wait! I—“ he came to a grinding halt at the sight of her leaning against a car expectantly.

“Well, that didn’t take long did it?” Her voice was full of dry amusement.

He scowled. “Shut up.”

“And here I thought you’d be glad to see I waited.” Trevelyan’s pout shifted into something openly appraising as her gaze blatantly raked up his body. “I know I’m glad to see you’re interested.”

He was blushing. Knew he was blushing and the laziest smile he’d ever seen blooming across her lovely face did nothing to alleviate it. Rutherford pinched the bridge of his nose because that… that was dangerous. His entire body had heated through, and it had everything to do with the way she seemed to know how to push all of his buttons.

She laughed then, a high and bright sound that made his hand drop reflexively. Her smile widened a little when their gazes locked once again. His heart was racing, and he was confused as to why.

“Alright grump,” she chirped, opening the passenger door. “Get in. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”

Her laughter and choice of address were unexpected, and he felt himself breathing out a small huff of amusement as he stepped off the curb and reached in to toss his bag into the backseat. “What did you just call me?”

“Grump.”

“No. Don’t. I don’t like it,” he said, voice muffled from trying, in vain, to wipe away the stupid grin stretching across his face as he stood straight. The smile felt odd, maybe because it felt real.

“Are you sure? It seems like you do very much.”

What he did like, oddly enough, was how her standing on the curb put her almost face to face with him. “I really don’t.” He shook his head, smile finally fading away. “Preferably Rutherford, or Cullen if you must.”

“Alright, Cullen,” she said very slowly as if savoring the feel of his name in her mouth. She extended out a gloved hand. “Preferably Evelyn, or Trevelyan if you must.”

It took him a moment, almost a moment too long but he accepted. It wasn’t a handshake, it was something else, and it bothered him. He abruptly pulled his hand back and clenched it into a fist at his side to prevent himself from wiping it off on his pants.

Her expression shifted. It was subtle, but Rutherford breathed a little easier at the hardness in her eyes for the last thing he deserved was anyone’s warmth or acceptance no matter how much he may want it deep down.

[ladymdc]

Feathers & Fur

I wanted to just ramble into the void for a second because I never thought I’d finish this fic. 

I posted about half of this work back in 2015 under the same title. However, I deleted it because I was insecure & easily discouraged. I'm not sure what spurred me to revive it, but I am glad I did.

Since then, I have met a lot of wonderful people in the fandom and have made some great, real friendships. Without these individuals ((you know who you are)), I wouldn't have finished this. I know it isn't perfect, but I love that I tried, and I love that I finished it.

I tossed the epilogue below the cut for anyone interested in some floof and I also commissioned a lovely piece of art from Kawereen to celebrate this smol victory. You can see it here. 

Pairing: Cullen x Trevelyan (A Soulmates AU) Rating: Explicit Summary: A tear in the soul lets the Fade in.

Not wishing to harm His children, the Maker breathed life into the rend with the promise they could be whole once again, but the Fall from Grace removed that promise. A gift turned curse as the rend was freed from those who created Sin, allowed to also turn their back upon them. To harshen their punishment the broken soul, longing to be whole, continues to feel the call of its missing piece in dreams.

That Cullen was hers, within reach, was the Maker's cruel joke.

Something woke him, what exactly Cullen could not be sure. The dream had been formless, but it left him with a vague sense of dread and restlessness. Thankfully, dawn was not far off. The stars were fading as black turned to grey, and even though she had curled away from him at some point in the night, Evelyn was there.

Sleep was not so difficult for either one of them as it used to be. Cullen remembered a time when they both used to work until they couldn’t anymore. Back then, Evelyn used to fall asleep with her chestnut hair still elaborately braided, wake up, decide it didn’t look too bad and pick right back up where she had left off with Inquisition business. Now it was always loose, falling in soft waves that cascaded down her back.

Normalcy looked good on her.

Quietly, Cullen got out of bed and put on warm clothes. Even though spring had officially arrived, there had been a few light frosts the past week and one brief flurry of snow. He was spending time each day splitting wood by the shed next to the house for good measure. Probably would continue to do so throughout the summer so when winter came, they would have more than enough firewood.

Winters would be hard, but that was nothing new. They had been so at Skyhold too. It would be more than worth the quiet and solitude. Plus, he and Evelyn had each other; they would do what they had always done. Protect one another, keep each other warm, share their strengths.

Survive.

Before heading downstairs, there was a moment where he almost leaned down to place a kiss on her temple. Old habits died hard, especially when they were rooted in fear and uncertainty. The move had been taxing, on them both, but more so on Evelyn. She was still recovering from it, and she needed her rest, so instead of risking waking her, he added two logs to the fire. He would hate for her to get cold in his absence.

In the den, Cullen did the same, and Dante let out an appreciative grunt from his place on the rug. The hound seemed just as pleased with their new home as they were. The Battered Shield had been a home as Skyhold had been. Someplace to store their things and be together while Cullen did what he could to set things right.

After Corypheus had been defeated, his betrayal of Meredith and subsequent public departure from the Order finally became a point of contention. Cullen acknowledged he had taken oaths and that he had broken them, but he would not admit he had done wrong. The continual backlash had been disheartening, but the Inquisition and his family had stood by him, had helped him through the worst of it. And even though he was still ostracized by the Order, he held no regret. Cullen knew he was not the only one; he was merely a figurehead, an easy target for them to make an example of, just like Evelyn had been for the Exalted Council.

She had given the world everything, but it was never enough. They betrayed her in the end, just as Solas had, so when Evelyn disbanded the Inquisition in her bitterness, Cullen had only felt relief. If she had ever needed to put herself first, it was then. Without the Anchor, the incredible mana reserve she had grown accustomed to, Evelyn was left frail and weak.

The clinic had been a simple ‘what if’ Cullen had errantly considered when he learned just how many other Templars had chosen the same path. And when he and Evelyn were left standing there, alone and adrift, on the marble steps to the Winter Palace, he knew what he needed to do for himself as much as for Evelyn.

The Battered Shield had been good for her; allowed her to adjust and put the pieces of herself back together in some capacity. It had taken time, but eventually, she was ready to go home.

The two-story cottage was unpretentious, simple, and most importantly, theirs. They had built it from afar, and only Cullen had seen it before moving in because of Evelyn’s condition. He smiled to himself as he thought back to when she first laid eyes on the homestead, recalling peace and contentment that had filled her. There was still some unpacking to do. Nine or so crates lined the half-wall that separated the large open room that served as a den and dining area from the kitchen. They would get around to it; there was plenty of time.

Cullen washed his hands before making breakfast. They had some aged cheddar and leftover biscuits from the day before, so he decided to fry up some bacon. A little of everything went in Dante’s bowl along with a slice of salted beef, then Cullen made a sandwich for himself and one for his wife. He set hers on the table.

Standing in front of the large window that faced the lake in the kitchen, Cullen ate and watched color bleed back into the world as dawn broke. Light sparkled through the low fog creeping across the black waters. The trees standing sentinel became grey-green; the sky a motley of hues. Part of him wished Ev was awake to greet the day with him, but the other part was more than pleased she was still sleeping. He could get the morning chores taken care of, then spend time with her putting their belongings away.

Outdoors, wind sighed through the tree branches and ruffled his hair as Cullen walked to the stables. It smelled of winter. Perhaps another flurry was on its way. The horses were already awake, but Cullen refilled the water tank and set out the hay before letting them out of their stalls. His lean, umber stallion lipped his palm before making its way outside with the workhorses. A little farther down, Evelyn’s destrier, the large grey creature with eerie red eyes, snorted impatiently.

Once the door opened, its ears turned forward, but it didn’t exit. Cullen stroked the horse’s neck, thinking on how Evelyn never got to see her father before he passed. Josephine had felt personally responsible for it because she had requested the visit be postponed so Evelyn could travel and personally thank the Inquisition’s allies.

Immediately after it happened, the tour was canceled so she could at least go pay her respects at the gravesite in Ostwick. The only silver lining to the situation was her two surviving brothers had insisted upon making amends. They wrote often, and had supplied the workhorses and the wagons for their move; even refused their coin though the charge would not have stunted he and Evelyn financially in any way.

Eventually, Shadow exited his stall and headed down to the water’s edge. A moment later it raised its head and looked back toward the house. The only clouds in the sky rose from the chimney. Like him, the creature seemed to have a sixth sense about Evelyn. Cullen could always tell when she woke. His mind felt sharper; his perceptions more defined then they had ever been on lyrium. He felt awake.

If it were warmer, she would break her fast on the back porch. Let the landscape swallow her up. Breathe in the fresh air mixed in with the scents of earth and grass and flowers and wood like she had the first time he brought her there. Cullen had a sudden urge to go to her, to check on her, but he set it aside. It wouldn’t be much longer until he was finished.

After he was done cleaning out the stalls, Cullen set out the horses’ food and went to chop wood. The builders had left a monstrous pile of neatly stacked logs by the house ready for splitting. There was more than enough space in the shed for storage, so he planned to keep it full at all times in case he got injured or fell ill for any amount of time during the winter. But for now, Cullen decided to split just enough to replenish what they had used since yesterday.

The ax had just come down, splitting the wood with a crack, when he heard a faint crash from inside. His heart picked up speed, and his thoughts raced even as he knew she was fine.

Inside, Cullen set the ax down by the back door and found her standing where he had eaten earlier. Dante was at her side and if a mabari could look concerned, concerned he was indeed.

Evelyn stopped absently scratching Dante’s ear and waved her hand dismissively. “It was just a plate,” she said.

But it was more than that, and they both knew it.  

“How was breakfast?” Cullen asked, washing his hands. He made note of the pitcher of water with some lemon and elfroot submersed in it out on the counter top.

“It was good, thank you.”

He smiled, taking a step back to pluck the hand towel off the countertop behind him and a chunk of plate crunched under his boot.

“I swear it went everywhere when I dropped it. There’s probably pieces upstairs somehow,” Evelyn said with a laugh. It was still a little watery despite her efforts. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t pick it up; I tried.”

“Like you said, it was just a plate, but you shouldn’t be walking around barefoot until it’s cleaned up,” he said, tossing the rag aside so he could cup her cheek and feel the ample swell of her stomach. The life growing inside her shifted and stretched at the contact. There was no stopping the grin that spread across the face nor the joy in his heart.

“It won’t be much longer now,” Evelyn said, finally smiling, bright and honest, as she placed her hand atop his. “Maybe tonight if we’re lucky.”

Cullen ran his fingertips along the thin chain around her neck, following it down to his coin. He held it between finger and thumb, feeling the familiar grooves. Mia and her family were staying out in the original cabin that now served as a small guest house while the rest of their friends and family that insisted on being around to help were staying at The Gallivanting Golem nearby in Honnleath.

“When it’s time, it’s time,” he said, leaning down to brush their mouths together.

What Cullen had went far beyond luck; it was everything he never expected from life or ever dared hope for. It was that something more he longed to be part of and it was perfect.

[ladymdc]

113 with Evelyn and Cullen? ^^

Thanks for the prompt! ❤️ 

113: “ Where did all these puppies come from?” 

Within Skyhold there were few reasons for her to worry. The fortress had a hundred comforts, and plenty more defenses even though not a single enemy had ever been observed in patrol range. That was weird, but Evelyn had gotten used to weird. What she would never get used to was the rare occasion her Commander was late.

She eyed the two Advisors in attendance. Josephine’s dark brows shot up, pen poised in innocent question above her ever-present clipboard, while Leliana’s steel grey eyes had a mischievous glint to them. Honestly, it was all the information Evelyn needed.

Glad it was something random, and not an episode, she felt herself smile. “I should just go see for myself, shouldn’t I?”

The Nightingale then giggled. “Yes, you should,” she agreed in her lilting Orlesian accent. Josie’s hand lifted, pen twined between her fingers, and touched at the smile tugging at her mouth.

“Right,” Evelyn drawled, slowly backing away from the War Table. She shot them one final look before departing.

The Main Hall was still relatively quiet. There were a few chevaliers milling about. New arrivals, but familiar ones from Halarmshiral. Thankfully, they were content to receive a warm welcome from the Inquisitor and let her be on her way. Beyond that Varric was missing from his usual haunt and Solas was high on the scaffold painting, so it was easy enough to slip from the keep and across the bridge leading directly to his tower.

The door swung into something, preventing it from opening all the way. It yelped. Cursing, Evelyn slipped inside and snatched up the little furball she had unintentionally whacked. The dark grey mabari puppy kicked all of its legs, stump waggling with excitement and tried to repeatedly tried to lick her in the mouth.

“Pbbt. Ick. No.” She held it out at arm’s length. “You’re cute but no.”

“Ev!” A sheepish smile flashed across Cullen’s flushed face. “Thank the Maker you’re here. I could use some help.” He pulled his hand from his nape to gesture around him in defeat.

There had to be a dozen puppies in his office. Using various pieces of furniture most of them were corralled off in one corner of the room with him, but they kept trying to escape. This appeared to be one battle her dear Commander couldn’t win.

She handed over the one in her arms. “Cullen —“ A slightly hysterical laugh bubbled up her throat when one started taking a crap by the west door.

He followed her line of sight and groaned. “Dammit.”

She patted his breastplate in sympathy then bent over to pick up the offender as he ran by. Cullen gave the roan puppy a half-hearted scowl before smiling and setting him down. While he pulled the ones trying to escape back into their makeshift prison, Evelyn went to collect the rest.

“Where did all these puppies come from?”

“The chevaliers from the ball you sent to rescue me from all those—“ he cut off, expression blackening as he recalled all the unwanted advances.

“Assholes?” She offered, picking up the puppy chewing on the sofa.

He snorted. “Thank you. I met them in the courtyard this morning when they arrived for a visit. They made mention of a gift. I had no idea; I just told them to have it sent to my office.”

Evelyn handed over the last one wreaking havoc. The other two were sleeping on his desk, of all places, and would be fine for the time being. “Well, I’m glad something good came out of it all.”

Cullen frowned then, the action slight. “Lots of good came from it thanks to you.”

“I meant for you personally,” she specified, enjoying the hint of color tinting his cheeks. “All I got was a bunch of marriage proposals.”

He reached for her as she stepped away. “Wait! Evelyn!” Cullen cursed under his breath and released her to tug a puppy back into the pen. While occupied, the grey one she hit with the door bounded out and laid down on her boot. “You can’t tell me something like that and just leave.”

Just then the west door flung open.

“Cole said you guys— Oh shit! There’s shit!” Bull laughed. The pile of crap had smeared into an unfortunate arc. Cullen made some sound that may have been a whine, but when she looked, he appeared ever much the same.

Within moment all of the puppies, except the grey one that had taken a liking to her, had been whisked away by the Chargers. Dennett was sure to have temporary space for them until something could be set up in the barracks. Once alone, Evelyn grabbed his arm as he walked past her to begin to put the furniture back where it belonged.

Cullen stilled, and said nothing. Evelyn scratched at the whiskers his hands had been too shaky to shave as of late. He relaxed into the touch.

“You know you don’t need to worry about anything like that, right?”

He exhaled then, slow and deep. His doeskin glove wrapped around her hand. He placed a kiss in her palm. “I know, love. It’s just—“

The puppy began to bark and growl at Cullen.

“Perfect,” he said laconically when it stopped the split-second he stopped touching her.

“Don’t worry.” Evelyn picked up the adorable thing. “He’ll learn to love you just as much as I do,” she said, ruffling the puppy’s ears. It licked her hand enthusiastically.

Maker help her, Cullen blushed. Ignoring the puppy’s little barks, she leaned up for a soft, teasing kiss.

Slowly working my way through my prompts ❤️ 

[ladymdc]

23

23. “Hold on tight.”

I’m going to play around in my AU some more ❤️ Thanks for the prompt nonny!

A sharp scream tore through the otherwise quiet afternoon.

Her stomach dropped out as certain fear made her heart skip one too many beats. Evelyn began to move toward the source, but a high and bright squeal, eclipsed by Cullen’s deep booming laugh, told her all was fine.

Taking a deep, slow breath and releasing it on a shaky sigh, Evelyn braced herself on the countertop as an alarmingly strong Braxton Hicks contraction ripped through her midsection, leaving her unsure if it was a real one or not. She reached down to scratch Dante’s ear when he padded over to check on her.

“I’m okay,” she managed after it finally passed.

The mabari shot her his signature look and nudged her toward the fridge.

“Alright, alright,” she chimed, taking the hint and getting herself a glass of water. Evelyn gestured toward the backyard. “I should be used to that by now. Want to go see what they’re up to this time?”

Before she finished her question, Dante strode off. No doubt he was ready to bark a lecture at Cullen for scaring her.

Still, there was no stopping the smile that stretched across her face as they emerged from the house. Declan had his little body wrapped around his father’s leg in an attempt to give him a hug and Cullen was bent over rubbing his back. His head lifted as the door swung shut behind her. After briefly locking eyes with her, his golden gaze flitted over to Dante. He grimaced.

“Did we frighten you?”

“Just a little,” Evelyn confessed.

Declan snapped around at the sound of her voice. With a string of enthusiastic babbles he raced over. Setting her water glass down, she picked up her sturdy two-year-old with a very genuine oof and soaked in the way he fit perfectly atop her bump. Declan rested his head on her shoulder, and she stroked the mop of unruly blond curls tickling her cheek. As per usual as of late, irrational tears pricked at her eyes.

Evelyn knew she’d love their second child just as much as Declan, but part of her couldn’t help but feel she was taking something from their firstborn. They’d prepared him as best they could for the change that would happen any day now, but how much did Declan understand if anything at all? Would he resent them or the baby? How could she fix it if he did?

Holding him a little tighter, Evelyn sniffled as a little watery laugh escaped her. “Don’t say it.”

Cullen held his hands up in a warding gesture as he joined them. “I wasn’t going to. I promise,” he added at her skeptical glare. He placed a chaste kiss on the corner of her mouth and smoothed his hand lovingly over her bump. “Sorry for scaring you.”

Dante huffed a satisfied grunt and bounded onto a lounge chair to soak in the afternoon sun.

“S’okay.” Evelyn paused to clear her throat and pried the toddler off her. “Want to show mama what you and daddy were doing?”

Gooing, Declan outstretched his arms toward Cullen and impatiently opened and closed his tiny fists.

Chuckling, he took their son and wandered back into the grass just past the porch. Cullen set Declan down and held his hands down to him.

“Okay, remember to hold on tight,” he said as Declan grasped his pointer fingers. Cullen shook his arms a little for emphasis before wrapping his hands around his son’s. “You ready?”

By way of answer, Declan squealed.

Cullen swung his son up to chest level, which drew a belly-laugh from Declan just before he swung down between his father’s legs. Using the momentum, Cullen launched Declan into the air and let go. The child screamed once again as he shot up over Cullen’s 6’6” stature and though both she and Dante knew he’d catch Declan, they stiffened. They relaxed simultaneously when the little boy was safely in Cullen’s arms again.

They laughed; she and the mabari sighed in relief.

“Maybe I should go back inside if I don’t want to be scared into labor a second time,” Evelyn mused as she rubbed at the tightening in her midsection.

Smirking, Cullen looked over at the golden-eyed boy on his hip. “I don’t know about you, but I’m eager to meet your brother,” he said, booping Declan on the nose. “Again?”

Grinning from ear to ear, the toddler nodded.

“You’re an ass,” Evelyn laughed even as she pulled up a chair by Dante. Sure, they needed to go, and the mabari knew it based on the low whine directed at her, but she could give father and son one more moment, for them as much as for her.

I’ll reblog this a handful of time in hopes nonny sees it ❤️ Also, I haven’t decided if I’ll toss this on AO3… 

[ladymdc]

💏 - for any of my OCs you feel you'd like to play around with!!

#9. in public and/or #26. as an apology for Khasre. ❤️

*fingers crossed I didn’t butcher your lovely OC*

Evelyn had gotten very good at unchaining her mana and casting almost simultaneously. It felt unnatural as if she were overexerting herself intentionally, but it gave her a much needed advantage against Templars, whether they be an enemy or friendly sparring partner.

The split-second Rylen lunged for her, she Fade stepped. By the time Evelyn reappeared, he was face down in the dirt and that — oh shit I have no mana — sluggish feeling had already passed leaving her more energized than usual as the entirety of her reserves flooded her overtaxed system.

A familiar and dearly missed laugh was heard among the small crowd. Bouncing a little on the balls of her feet, Evelyn quickly scanned the spectators for him. Despite the mildly panicked look to his golden-brown eyes at being noticed, she was determined to make things right.

“Are you good?” Evelyn hurriedly asked as she grabbed Rylen’s outstretched hand to help her friend to his feet.

“Aye, lass. All’s fair in love and war,” he said as he dusted off his leathers.

“I’ll catch up with you later then.” She twisted around just in time to catch the glint of sunlight reflecting off the golden adornments dangling from one horn. Fade stepping out of the ring, Evelyn ignored Cullen’s bemused call and rushed after Khasre.

“Hey! Stop avoiding me!”

Khasre spun around, feigning surprise at the accusation. “I am doing no such thing.”

There was no stopping the giggle that bubbled up her throat. “It’s cute you think you can lie to me.”

He chuckled, a low and bashful sound. The slight darkening of his cheeks further betraying his lie.

“I don’t know what Cullen said to you, but we’re friends.” Gripping his forearms, Evelyn hopped up to plant a kiss on Khasre’s cheek. “And he is just going to have to deal with the fact that I kiss some of them.”

Smiling a little, the Qunari’s mouth opened to speak, but a thick Starkhaven accent cut him off.

“That’s hardly fair! I’m the one that ended up with a face full of dirt, where’s my kiss!?”

Together, they turned toward the call just in time to see Cullen groan into his hands as Dorian and Sera started waving their arms and chanting - me next!

Laughing, Khasre pulled Evelyn in for a one-armed hug. “Get in line, my friends.”