#he and the maker are a balancing force

[nevadas-night-time-novelist]

wip

[just-your-average-tangerine]

Why do people assume that kids can't be passionate about things?

Every time I see a video on instagram of a kid being passionate about something or good at something, the comments are full of people going "😢how sad, just let the kid be a kid😢"

Like, that kid is having the time of their life or is a fucking Oscar worthy actor.

Kids can have hobbies, kids can be good at things, and kids can care about things. And the fact that you don't think so tells me you don't know many kids.

And like, the conversation around kids on social media and the exploitation of kids on social media is a valid discussion to have, but it doesn't mean every kid with a passion is being forced into it.

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor au anthology

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist

Part 2: Piercings and Puns

“Pleeaaasse?” Johnny whines, pressing his hands together and giving you the biggest, sparkliest puppy dog look you could imagine.

You roll your eyes. “No.”

“Please! My two o’clock cancelled an’ I’m so bored!” He flops over the counter, arms dangling right above the appointment books. You pointedly ignore the size of his biceps.

“I’m not letting you pierce me just because you’re bored.” You scoff. “Now shoo, Simon’s got an appointment coming in soon.”

“But ye barely have any!” He argues. “All I’m askin’ fer is a wee ear. No’ even a nipple!”

A shocked amalgamation of a bark, laugh, and scoff forces it’s way out of you at that. “It’s still a no!”

Johnny groans, but at least moves away from the counter. Unfortunately, he takes the opportunity to circle around behind you, pinching the cartilage of your ear. “C’mon, ol’ righty’s beggin’ fer a conch.”

The intercom buzzes before you can respond. You swat Johnny away with one hand while pressing the speaker button with the other. “Hello?”

“I’ve go’ an appointment with Ghost.” A man’s voice drifts through. You blink dumbly for half a moment. You still haven’t gotten used to Simon’s social media and booking moniker - he doesn’t like giving his real name out much, apparently.

You buzz him in. Johnny is still hanging around the desk even when you leave to get Simon - making your way down the shirt hall to his studio. The large man stands in front of his stencil maker, back turned to you.

You knock on his door frame quietly. “Your guy’s here.”

“Be out in a moment.” He mumbles, focused on whatever he’s doing. You don’t really know the steps by heart, but you do know that there’s something so special about watching artists perform this repetitive song and dance. This rhythm they know by heart. Skilled hands enacting each step with careful precision.

He’s so hard to read. Big and bulky but calm as the night sea. You want him to like you, but you know badgering him certainly won’t get you there. So, you turn on your heal and head back out. When you return to the front, Johnny’s disappeared back into his room.

You suck your teeth and lean back in the desk chair, rolling your earlobe between your thumb and index finger. It’s not a bad offer, really. You only have two earlobe piercings on each side. Wouldn’t hurt to add a helix… you’ve also wanted to get your thirds done for a while. Work your way up. You glance at the clock. Simon won’t be done with his client for at least an hour or so, and you’ve balanced the registers for the moment. Both Kyle and John are out today, so they won’t need anything.

It wouldn’t hurt… well, not metaphorically.

With a sigh you stand, wandering your way to Johnny’s space. The door’s wide open, and his head snaps up the moment you step close like a sixth sense. “Takin’ me up on my offer, bonnie?”

You roll your eyes. “Guess I am.”

“Whit d’ye want?” Johnny practically skips around his station, pulling out wrapped, sanitized tools and placing them on a rolling tray. He pats the center of the padded table in the middle of the room.

“Uh, been wanting to do my thirds for a while.” You shrug. “If you have time for two.”

“Och, I’ve got all the time in the world fer ye, hen.” Johnny grins, pulling up in front of you and grabbing a marker.

He’s so close as he places the marks on your ears, warm fingers feeling for the best spots. A thumb traces the back of your left ear down just to the beginning of your jaw briefly. Fuck, he smells good. Warm musk with hints of citrus around the edges. The way he tucks your hair back, hands framing your face as he lines up the dots, is so oddly intimate compared to the other times you’ve gotten pierced. He chews at his lip in concentration, pulling at the scar on his chin while turning your head back forth a couple times.

“Think I’ve got it.” He grins and steps back. “Have a look.”

You take the mirror, casually checking but not paying too much attention. You trust him to do right by you. “Looks good.”

“A’right. Now the fun part.” He grins, tearing open the pack of tools and a two new needles.

“Is this fun?” You frown, squirming a little at the size of the needle.

“It’s always fun t’poke a pretty girl.”

You roll your eyes, a growing theme between you two it seems. “Oh, you thought that was real clever, didn’t you? Had that in your pocket a while?”

“Why donnae ye reach in an‘ check?” He murmurs, leaning close to clamp your left ear. You’re half tempted to tell him it’s mean to tease a fat girl like this - but you don’t think he means anything like that by it. He’s just a flirt by nature.

Before you can answer, he shoves the needle through your ear. You stiffen, a strained noise bubbling up out of your throat.

Johnny coos as he slips the earring into your ear. “One doon.”

“Uh-huh.” You sniffle. Not that it hurts badly, just a basic physical reaction. Johnny still gives you an empathetic smile.

The second goes quicker, Johnny locked in on his work. It’s interesting, seeing how intense they get. You Is it odd to wish someone would look at you like that? With that much focus and passion?

“There ye go…good girl.” He murmurs in that deep rumble that would have you squirming if you didn’t still have a needle through your ear. “Doin’ so good f’me...”

“You’re a devil, MacTavish.”

Johnny just chuckles, knowing full well exactly what he’s doing. He steps back to look at the final result after slipping the second stud into your ear. They feel hot - like two small ovens on either side of your head.

“If it weren’t for the piercings I’d think ye were blushing, hen.”

“You’re gonna get yourself slapped one of these days.” You scoff, sliding off the table.

“Wouldnnae be the first time.”

You find yourself rolling your eyes for the millionth time.

You grunt, squatting low in an attempt to pick the last of the parlor trash. It’s not that you mind, trash was part of your duties from the start, but holy shit do these boys put bricks in their bins? You’d think tattoos would make light trash. Especially after the sharps are disposed of separately.

“Solid?” Simon appears in the hall, eyes flicking over you. You still can’t tell how he feels about you. Neutral, you suppose. At least that’s all you can glean from behind his seemingly permanent black surgical mask.

“Ya.” You sigh, letting the bag drop and leaning back to stretch. “Just heavy. Swear y’all aren’t throwing rocks in these just to fuck with me?”

You give him a grin. Simon just cocks an eyebrow - exaggerated by the small piercing lining it. You think, maybe the slight shaking of his shoulder is a laugh. In combination won’t he crinkles in the corners of his eyes. Maybe not.

“‘ere.” Simon grunts, closing the short distance between you quickly before snatching up the bag like it weighs almost nothing.

You stutter, following after him toward the back exit. “You don’t have to-“

“Not a problem.” He grunts, tossing the thing over the side of the bin. He quietly leads you back inside, locking the door behind you “Johnny go’ you already?”

When you frown in confusion he points to his ears.

“Oh! Yeah.” You shrug, leading the way back to front desk to finish up your closing duties. “He’s insistent. I’d wanted them for a while anyway so I figured there’s no harm.”

“Give ‘im an inch...” He sighs, pointing to the black bar bridge piercing at the apex of his nose. “Somehow talked me into this shite.”

You tilt your head. “Yeah? I think it suits you.”

It really does. You can’t see most of his nose form under the mask but the arc of it leading up to bridge is strong, the piercing settling into the space nicely.

Simon breaks the silence. “You about done?”

“Almost. Just gotta check the ATM against the book real quick.” You nod.

He stares down at you for a moment, glancing out the semi-opaque window, now black with the night sky. There aren’t many street lamps on this side of town. You can only see a very faint glow from the one down by the car park.

“I’ll wait.” Simon settles his wide frame into Kyle’s usual chair.

“Oh! No you don’t have to! I’m sure you’re tired-“

“Wouldn’t feel right leavin’ you alone in the dark.” He cuts you off.

“It’s not a far walk-“

He scoffs. “Definitely not leaving you to walk alone.”

You sink your teeth into your lip, debating briefly on arguing. Based on his comfortable lean and crossed arms, it’s probably best to just let him walk you home. He looks so wide like that, veins prominent across his forearms. Fuck, you gotta find a boyfriend or booty call or something in this city. Anything to stop the temptation to stare at your hot coworkers.

It doesn’t take long to finish up your final chores. You turn all but one light off, wiring down from the bright overheads glaring at you all day. You glance over at Simon a few times while locking up the ATM, his covered face lit up by the light of his phone.

He leads you out of the shop once you’re finished, locking the door behind you and trying it a couple times to be sure. “Which way?”

“Uh, down here. It’s only twenty minutes.” You murmur, feeling guilty that you’ve kept him out extra late. You shove your hands in your hoodie pockets as you walk, the only sound on the street made up of your footsteps and some distant cars.

“What falls but never gets hurt?” Simon asks suddenly.

You frown. “Huh?”

“What falls but never gets hurt?”

You squint at him, trying to decipher anything from his face in the low light. You get nothing but a calm, warm gaze resting on you.

His eyes crinkle in the corners again. “Rain.”

“Pffft-“ You choke, caught off guard. “That’s such a lame pun.”

“Oh? I’ve got a better one.” Simon says, a smirk in his tone. “Why’d the mother clam scold her children?”

You chew your lip. God, you’re too literal to be clever enough for stupid puns and riddles. It doesn’t help that your head is spinning from this brick shithouse, incredibly attractive and intimidating man spitting popsicle puns at you.

“They were being shellfish.”

“Oh fuck off!” You shove at his arm playfully without thinking. He gives, let’s you push him slightly before you stiffen. “S-sorry! I don’t-“

“Nothin’ to apologize for.” The corners of his eyes crinkle deeper. Yeah, definitely a smile. You answer it with one of your own.

[l1tw1ck]

top!amab male character x bottom!ftm reader

800 Words | Kinktober

think of whoever (endeavor, william afton, zhongli, etc)

Terminology Used: pussy, cunt, t-cock, slick

CW: Non-Con, Boss/Employee, Creampie, Daddy Kink

Your boss, the CEO of the most well known company in the country, decided that he needed a new assistant. An assistant that fits a special criteria. You applied and got hired on the spot, you barely even spoke. You were too excited to realize how bad that was. It was fine for the first few days and then he started making comments and staring at you for a bit too long. The job pays really well so you've been ignoring it and hoping he'd keep his hands off you. It was wishful thinking.

Your boss pushes himself against you, placing his hands on your hips while you make him coffee. He has his own private break room and decided to use that to take advantage of you. He leans into your neck and takes a deep breath in. "You smell nice."

You let out a shaky breath, trying to build up the confidence to tell him off. "With all due respect sir, I'm not very comfortable with this." You sound the opposite of confident. He ignores you and sucks on your neck while unbuckling your pants. "Please, sir..."

He groans. "Shh, it's okay." He touches you through your underwear, getting you aroused against your own will. Your breathing turns shallow as he spreads your legs slightly more apart so that his hand can comfortably slip into your boxers, thick fingers sliding into your entrance.

You grip the edge of the table for balance, your head hanging low as he fingers you. Your fear of his reaction stops you from telling him to stop. He could hurt you if he wanted to. You let out shallow breaths, staring at the coffee maker that just finished pouring his drink. If you could manage to grab it without hesitating, you could spill it on him. It might spill on you too but it’d be worth a shot.

He pulls his fingers out and the small feeling of relief you feel is quickly ripped away with the sound of his belt unbuckling and dropping to the floor. He pulls down your underwear, quickly escalating the situation and filling you with more fear and discomfort. You hold your breath, feeling his length in between your legs. "Sir..." You breathe out, anticipating his next move and planning your own.

He lubes up his cock with your slick and prods his tip against your entrance. Your boss groans into your ear as he forces himself inside your cunt. "Yes...so warm." He murmurs. You hiss as his fat length stretches you open. His fingers were not nearly enough to prepare you for his cock.

He doesn't give you any time to adjust, already starting to fuck you at a rough pace. You grip the table harder than before, moans involuntarily slipping out of your mouth. You lost your chance. You’d just burn your own hands if you tried now.

He lets out a dragged out groan. "You feel so damn good—" He moans your name. "You’re taking my cock so well, baby."

"Please–" You gasp. "Mr—!"

“It's Daddy.” He runs his hand up your body, from your pelvis to your jaw. You feel yourself twitch from the unfamiliar touches. He gently grips your jaw. “Say it.”

“Da— Daddy-” You choke out.

He lets out a deep groan of pleasure. “Good boy.” He leans into your ear, his heavy breaths and groans becoming easier to hear. “Your pussy’s so tight, so warm…you're perfect.”

“It hurts-” You let out another involuntarily breathy moan. “Too fast-”

“I’m sorry, baby, but I can't slow down. You feel too fucking good.” He kisses your cheek. “You can take it.”

You shut your eyes, knowing this’ll be a common occurrence from now on. Even if you managed to escape he’d try again and thanks to the contract you signed, you can't quit yet. Not like quitting would save you anyway. He’d find a way to keep you in his grasp. He lets go of your jaw and brings his hand down to your crotch, lovingly stroking your t-cock. You shiver in pleasure as your legs start to give in thanks to that. “I can't– I can't–”

“Yes you can. You're doing so good.” He gets even more aroused by the sound of your voice. He aims at your g-spot, earning a loud gasp from you. “Right there..” He hits it again. Your cunt flexes around his length. He fucks you through your orgasm, somehow going even faster. “You're so good for me...”

“Too much– Please, it's- fuck~”

He ignores you and chases his own orgasm. “Gonna come right in your tight fucking pussy…” He moans. “Make you mine..”

He seems to like the idea of claiming you. Considering how good you feel right now despite everything, he might be able to fulfill that fantasy. And surprisingly, him coming inside you is the least problematic thing that's happening right now. Thankfully for you, he won't have much luck getting you pregnant.

He slows down, filling you up with his cum. He doesn't pull out though. Not even as he softens inside you. He doesn't want to leave your warmth, not yet.

[romanreignsbae]

the sweetest girl - R.R

Roman in his life had never genuinely cared for a girl. It was a wide known fact everyone knew. He'll flirt with you, fuck you, and never look your way again. It was just the way he worked. And who was anyone to question the tribal chief?

When he first saw you, stumbling through catering with your hands full with hair products, to get to Naomi before her match started, he took immediate notice to your nurturing personality.

The way you smiled at everyone who crossed paths with you, or always took the time to interact with little kids who would be wandering backstage. He even took notice in your terrible humor, which could light up a room in the darkest of moments. You were wearing the cutest little pink skirt, with the matching top. You looked so sweet, so innocent.

He knew he had to have you. The twins, mainly Jimmy, being the talkative people they are got to know you pretty quickly through Naomi. Roman knew better then to mention anything to the twins knowing they would run their mouths to everyone, ruining his plan. Plus, he liked to keep that side of him private.

Roman caught the perfect opportunity to speak to you, on a day all the women's roster was called to the gorilla. He caught you sorting out all the makeup products you would need for the night, when helping all the girls out so they would be ready for their matches.

"What's a pretty girl like you doing all alone backstage?" You almost jumped out of your skin to the deep voice who startled you as you were in your own bubble. Turning around, you met eyes with the one and only, Roman Reigns.

Everyone knew who he was. The top guy. The money maker. The Tribal Chief. And not to mention the twins had spoken about him several times. You smiled softly at him, while you cheeks heated up. No one was to deny that this man was so very beautiful.

He smiled back at you, showing off his perfectly aligned teeth. "Just sorting out everything i'll need tonight.." you mumbled while breaking eye contact. This man made you so nervous.

"Whats your name sweetheart?" He knew damn well what your name was. He knew almost everything about you. He wouldn't approach you without having his Wiseman do a thorough background search on you. He found out you were a hair and makeup artist, and he even had to admit your work was phenomenal. He also found out you were without man, which gave him the 'go' to approach you.

You mumbled your name to him softly, avoiding eye contact. "A pretty name for a pretty girl just like you.." he smiled while his hand moved up to your chin to move your face upwards. You were forced to make eye contact, with almost resulted in you losing your balance.

"Why are you so nervous sweetie? I don't bite...only sometimes," he joked playfully. The tension between the two of you began that night. Flirtatious jokes, date nights in each other's hotel rooms, even meeting each other's families.

To others, it looked like the two of you were dating. The way he would playfully pick you up and walk around backstage with you boosted up on his shoulder, ignoring the looks everyone gave the two of you. Or how he would go out of his way to order you matching sneaker pairs and tracksuits to match with him. He was in love..everyone knew it.

No one expected it either. From fucking a new girl every night, having a whole roster, to dropping all them hoes the second you guys had your first interaction. The tribal chief was in love..

And even if you wanted to admit or not, so were you. Naomi knew it too. The way you would bite your nails and freak out if he looked hurt during a match. You even once had tears streaming down your face, cause he looked like he was in so much pain.

_____

"It's sooo pretty look! Look Ro!" You had a massive smile on your face walking around this beautiful garden Roman cleared for the both of you. You held onto his arm tightly, leading him around the garden as if you had spent your whole life living there. He chuckled at your fascination in the flowers. He cleared his schedule to spend today with you and the smile on your face was all worth it. When he informed you he was taking you for a picnic, you chose the cutest little dress you owned. Roman couldn't keep his eyes off you the whole time barely sparing a glance at the garden.

"So baby, there's actually a reason I brought you here," Your turned around to his face looking serious, unlike the usual playfulness he usually felt when around you. "Whats the reason..?" Your question caused him to look almost nervous, his cheeks a little rosier then usual, it could be cause of the heat outside but the nervousness in his eyes told you the tribal chief really was nervous.

"C'mon Ro....your scaring me,” you whined. You hated when people tried to avoid questions. Whenever he wasn't his usual self around you, it made you feel a sudden hint of uneasiness. "Well..this is harder then I thought.."

He was stuttering all over the place, making you grow impatient and nervous. "Is- is it bad?" You asked with your pretty doe eyes peering up at him. "No- no it's not bad.."

"I'm in love with you..like a lot.." he mumbled while his cheeks became almost the brightest shade of pink. He looked at the floor while his lips were pressed against each other. That was not what you were expecting.

The largest smile engulfed your face as you giggled while standing on your tippy toes, to meet his lips. Your lips moulded perfectly against his, the softness bringing a new profound warmth between the two of you.

Pulling back with a even larger smile, you spoke your own truth. "I love you more Ro.."

Relief washed over his face before he also smiled so brightly. "I was so scared, I thought I'd scare you away.."

"Don't be silly you cutie! I love you sooo much!" You pulled him in for another kiss entangling your hands in his little ponytail, before continuing your adventure through the garden from a fairytale.

[starlazergazer]

Always Find a Way

Pairing: Sith!Anakin x Reader

Summary: Very similar idea to This Is How You Lose The Time War. Enemies to lovers style series of meetings between sith Anakin and jedi reader as they start to realize that maybe the two sides aren’t as different as they originally thought

Warnings: None in this part

Word Count: 1.7k

Author’s Note: So the plan in the end is 7 parts with an epilogue for this series! They’ll be fairly short parts (for me lol) around this length and 5 of those parts are already written so they should come out fairly soon! Promise I’m doing me best to get this whole thing done but figured for now enjoy this first part and as always please let me know what you think!

You liked to think if you had known how your story would have to end you would do everything differently.

That if you could’ve foreseen the pain, the emptiness, the disillusionment you would suffer later, that maybe you would’ve walked out of that cantina the minute Anakin Skywalker set his sights on you.

But honestly you weren’t sure that was true.

They say pain and joy exist as two sides of the same coin, that one cannot exist without the other, the Jedi always did like a tale of cosmic balance. Given that, could you give up one side of that spectrum just to save yourself from having to experience the other?

You knew the answer to that question. Logically you knew the answer. Realistically you knew that you would suffer though it all again if it meant you got to have just half of the good things you did with him, a quarter even.

But maker was that a hard question to answer.

-

You had felt his presence all day.

Sure, at the time you didn’t know it was him but there was this undeniable itch in the back of your head that persisted, a dark cloud looming over everything that had the hairs on the back of your neck sanding up straight, a foreboding warning sign that settled itself deep into your very bones.

But what if you were just being catastrophic? What if you just hadn’t gotten enough sleep the night before? What if you were just needlessly worried?

So you kept your mouth shut about it. Afterall you didn’t have a big role to play in today’s mission anyway. Your master would meet with his informant in the corner booth of the cantina like he always did. You would order food and watch him from a booth on the opposite side of the room. In and out in half an hour, at worst your master learns nothing new and you get to fill up with a hot meal. This was easy, routine, normal.

That was until there was a man sliding into your side of the booth without a word.

He pressed his side up against yours without a second thought, the entire movement having an incredible fluidity to it you weren’t ready for. In fact you were completely unprepared for any of it, that was the first thought that ruminated through your head in the moment.

He perched his elbows casually upon the table before you and gazed over at you, eyes flicking with subtle interest over each of your features wordlessly as you wondered how this man had been able to sneak up on you like that. Not a noise, a visual indicator, or a sign through the force to warn you of this new invasion of your personal space. You couldn’t help but gape at him slightly, the shocked look on your face seeming to please him immensely as he smirked at you before directing his gaze across the room to where your master sat.

“Now what brings a Padawan like you into a cantina like this”

It finally hit you once he spoke. His force presence crashing over you like a wave and you could do little but try not to drown within it, the dark cloud that had been hanging over you seemingly personified into the man before you. How had you not been able to pinpoint it any earlier?

You were reaching for the saber at your hip without putting any real thought into it, the action occurring more as a knee jerk reaction than any sort of attack.

The man caught your wrist easily, fingers digging harshly into the skin as he held it in place in your hip, a soft “tsk” dropping condescendingly from his mouth “come now we shouldn’t cause a scene in as nice an establishment as this”

You tried your best to hold back your scowl, tried to put back on your blank Jedi mask, tried to exude any sort of levelheadedness you could muster. It wasn’t very much.

“Let go of me” it came out as more of a hiss than a command.

He smirked down amusedly at you but released your wrist with a small flourish “ahh so she does speak”

You opened your mouth to respond but he dismissed you with a flick of his fingers, turning his head back to your master’s table “Really I should thank you, I’ve been trying to track down our mole for weeks”

The gravity of the situation hit you squarely in your chest at that moment, a bolt of panic ramming your spine straight as your wide-eyed gaze snapped to your master, your muscles instinctively tensing to get up when a hand grabbed your chin suddenly again taking you enough by surprise it had your head spinning.

“Just eat your lunch” his grip was much softer this time as he directed your gaze down to your forgotten meal before you, his touch thankfully this time not lasting any longer than necessary. “Don’t worry I won’t do anything until you and your master are back on your ship”

“you really think I’m just going to let you kill that man?”

His gaze snapped back to yours and there was that annoying smirk again, eyes alight with unrepressed amusement as he took the time to study you, eyes drifting unhurriedly to each of your features before he turned back to the room “I do”

The answer was so matter of fact, so simple, you weren’t entirely sure how to respond.

He gazed back at you once again as he felt the silence form between the two of you, giving you a dramatic eye roll in response as if the explanation were obvious “That’s the deal. You don’t try and stop me and as a thank you I let everyone in this cantina walk away with their lives, that master of yours included”

You narrowed your eyes back at him in response “the deal? This isn’t a negotiation”

He chuckled at that, the sound weirdly soft coming from him as he shook his head “sweetheart everything is a negotiation”

Accepting at least for the time being you couldn’t do anything yet you took the chance to study him, gaze sweeping over each of his features just as he had done to you, eyes lingering uncomfortably at the black hilted saber he had attached to his hip. “You really think you could take on a Jedi master, the mole, and everyone in this cantina by yourself?”

Again his chuckle filled the air as he dismissed your question flat out with a simple shake of his head, as if it were so ungrounded in reality it bordered on absurd. “I noticed you didn’t include yourself in that list, going soft on me already?”

Again you were at a loss for words, little more than huff of air leaving you as you rolled your eyes and settled back into your booth, crossing your arms over your chest as you checked on your master from the corner of your eye.

That damned smirk was growing on his face again and you couldn’t help but wonder if the man only had the one default facial expression.

“I don’t think I can, I know” he answered your first question finally, relaxing his posture back in the seat like you had “Just for the record”

A silence fell over the two of you and you tried to ignore the realization that it wasn’t a tense one, not even an awkward one, dare you even call it comfortable.

“Tell you what” he broke it with a soft concession “you hold up your end of the deal and next time I see you I’ll give you my name for you to look up in the jedi archives. Then you can see for yourself how bad of an idea trying to call my bluff here would’ve been”

You raised an eyebrow in response, arms tightening over your chest almost defensively at that “and what makes you think I’m going to see you again”

At your question his usual smirk seemed to morph ever so slightly, into what you weren’t sure, as his voice softened “call it gut feeling”

Both of your heads snapped together to the table across the room as you felt the shift in the air around you, watching as your Master stood and offered his hand to shake to the informant.

“And there’s are cue” the man beside you hummed as he watched your master say goodbye, hands bracing on the table before him as he got ready to slip out of the booth but not before whispering tauntingly back at you “remember our deal sweetheart”

You scoffed at the comment as you pushed yourself up to stand as well, sliding out of the booth after him, not making it far before his hand was on your elbow, softly keeping you in place, physically drawing your gaze back to his.

“Till next time padawan” finally he sent you on your way with a cheeky wink.

You tried not to dwell on it too much as you quickly made your way towards the exit to catch up with your master.

It felt almost wrong for things to fall back into their usual place so easily after that. To have your master waiting in the ally next to the front door like he always was, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened, as if your entire world hadn’t just been turned on its head by one man in the last ten minutes.

“Who was that who sat with you in the booth” You had been expecting this question from him as the two of you made the familiar trek back to your ship.

What you weren’t expecting was how easily your answer came to you. It scared you how little you seemed to entertain any other answer. How naturally the words fell from your lips.

“Just someone who didn’t know how to keep their hands to themselves”

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

i feel like if ace's UM does end up just allowing him to copy other's UM, it would solve a potential problem which is malleus putting everyone into a state of sleep. like they told us that it would only be lifted if malleus either lifts it up on his own or if he dies and idt twst would kill off a major and VERY popular character. but if they give ace that ability as his UM it would solve that in a way?

but if they do give that to ace as his UM i hope that ace would struggle to copy people's abilities, or at least kinda go through the emotions the original spell caster felt when theyre using their UM or when they first awoken it. maybe like a price to pay to use other's abilities but thats just me HAHAHHA

Yeeeah, that's what I was thinking too. I can't imagine Ace's UM being anything but a UM borrowing/mimicry spell right now (due to his own propensity to easily learn new skills and do vocal impressions)... It would also just be really useful for the end of book 7, since the briar barrier can only be taken down with Malleus's death or with Malleus willingly removing his magic. Given Malleus's stubbornness and being in such an emotional state, I really doubt he'd be able to come to his senses even all these hundreds of parts later. I really doubt whether all of our powers combined can take him down either, given his track record of being so stupidly OP. And it for sure wouldn't be a good move on the Twst devs' part to kill off such a money maker and significant part of their marketing for their series. (I do want to point out, however, that Malleus's insane popularity is exclusive to the international/English-speaking part of the fandom; he is not a top contender in JP and I would say has more of a middling status.) Having someone else reproduce his UM could very easily resolve this issue, but I guess that's also highly dependent on if Ace can get a grip on his UM that fast, or if he can even feasibly iron out the kinks of controlling what is probably a very complex spell. Epel, who got his UM most recently in book 6, still seems to have only a 70-80% success rate with his, so it's possible that Ace doesn't fully master his UM even if he gets it as soon as his own dream. I definitely don't think Ace would be able to use his (theoretical) copying UM to its full extent ASAP, as then we could just cut the dreams short right then and there. I feel like it'd become more relevant during the actual OB Malleus showdown or something. In general, there'd have to be come kind of drawback or limitations to his UM even if he got used to casting it at some point (just for power balancing reasons). Maybe there's a cooldown period, or he can only use the UM as much as his imagination will allow, or maybe it requires that he be able to empathize with the feelings of the original mage.

... Oh, you know what??? That might actually tie book 7 up quite nicely! If Ace's UM allows him to copy the UMs of other mages but only with the stipulation that he must empathize or relate to how they were acting when the original mage used their UM... Wouldn't that mean that Ace has to understand Malleus's loneliness and the fear of being left behind by his loved ones??? ACE CAN ACTUALLY PERFECTLY RELATE TO THAT because he was in denial mode that Yuu would be going home earlier in book 7. On top of that, he's probably also harboring shame for making fun of Deuce so much, only to be the one who doesn't have his UM yet. Ace can totally relate to what Malleus is going through 👀 He'd be forced to confront his denial of his own emotional vulnerability because he sees Malleus displaying the very same behaviors.

Maybe Ace gets his UM early on but has no idea how to use it properly until it comes in clutch in the final battle because he realizes (at last) how Malleus is feeling. Then it’s Ace who becomes the trump card that lets us triumph…! And that brings us full-circle—the final boss being beaten by the first student that we met, our first friend… Ace Trappola 🫶

[neyafromfrance95]

never getting over the contrast between how the elves treat and see galadriel vs. how sauron treats and sees galadriel in s1.

gil-galad to elrond about galadriel after forcing her to retire from the middle-earth in s1e1:

"galadriel sails to the sunset. you and i must look to the new sunrise."

sauron proposing to galadriel, offering to give her all the power in the middle-earth in s1e8:

"i would make you a queen. fair as the sea and the sun. stronger than the foundations of the earth."

notice that he isn't even talking about himself. he never calls himself a king. galadriel calls him "my king. the dark lord" as if to signify that sauron would be more of a queen-making consort who would control her, sure, but she would be the one everyone would kneel to and recognize as their leader. this is supported by his s2e8 remark:

"i would have placed a crown upon your head. i would never have rested until all middle-earth had been brought to its knees, to worship the light of its queen."

he is talking about making her the one others worship. why would he "not have rested" until she was seen as a queen by everyone if her status depended on his status? bc he is saying that he would be her lieutenant, her queen-maker, basically her consort.

and that makes sense considering his "you bind me to the light. and i bind you to power." he would give her what she desires the most - power over the kingdom of her own, where no one is a greater authority than she is. in return, she would give him that which he lacks - the light. his designs would finally be "complete" and "balanced".

anyways, jokes on gil-galad and elrond. they treated galadriel like there was no place for her in the new era of the middle-earth and then humbled her, but she ends up wielding power over lothlorien where she has all power and authority, while being sauron's greatest adversary.

[blenselche]

whenever I read a long text post about Fern they always leave out the grass demon. If you can't engage w/ his character past "green Finn" you're gonna get a shallow reading imo, you miss half the tragedy of his character.

You're summoned and bound to an object by an uncaring maker, never allowed to form a body of your own. You are a half-made, weak thing imbued with an eternal fettering curse. You're brought out and put on display, passed up for one of your siblings in similar circumstances. One day someone picks you, and that someone is the strongest soul Life has ever crafted-- a force of entropy. A reincarnating, righteous good meant to bring balance. You try to impress him, you have no voice of your own to say your thanks or approval so all your attempt at flattery does is scare him. You try, you try your hardest to be helpful even though it is not in your nature as a demon. You help him try to reach closure with his father, you try to right your wrong and make him whole again, you protect him from an ancient evil, you play your flute with a strong evocation spell for the girl who sees you- a girl he likes, you try to save another version of him from a dangerous artifact, you don't let him dig a deeper hole with a being he has no chance against but holds him no ill will. So many times you're misconstrued, you have no way of saying "I'm just trying to help." One day you're faced with a decision, a piece of his soul has been stolen, and you don't want to fight (because that sword is him, too!) but you've got to protect your wielder, it's your purpose, so you choose. Your choice shatters the glass keeping the soul of the sword secure and safe, and so you splinter yourself apart and cocoon it away. Some day soon your help is spurned for the last time, you're hurt for trying to keep your wielder safe. "Not on my arm," he says, so you leave.

You make a him that can't hurt you, but this new home of yours wants his life back. This is the path you've chosen, so you do the talking and do the hard parts for him. You build him a new image, you try. You keep trying but it's not like before, this is not your Finn, this Finn has edges that yours only sharpen. You try to tell your original user that without you his copy has no physical form, Fern is you, the soul will wither away if you're broken. Again you reach deaf ears, it doesn't work.

But the curse does. The curse grows you tall and everlasting, wrapped around the figment of soul you're bound to and entrusted with until his next incarnation discovers it. You let the sword go, you have eternity after all.

[leafpoo1]

What if I assigned them a Pokemon team like the nerd I am. And explain them. Send help?

Pure Vanilla:

In order from first to last caught: Ampharos, Umbreon, Altaria, Audino, Uxie, Reshiram.

Of course Flaaffy would have to be his first pokemon, while he was still a little field boy. They basically grew up together and have a really strong bond that allows for mega evolution.

Pure Vanilla caught Eevee when he was also really young. And I'm dragging Shadowvanilla in the room now but eevee is our "wolf and sheep" symbolism stand in. His eevee was really aggressive and Pure Vanilla originally found them trying to hunt his herd of flaaffy. Eevee didn't evolve for the longest time, even after building a better relationship with Pure Vanilla. It wasn't until Truthless Recluse's time in the Spire that eevee evolved into Umbreon (between episode 7-8). Eevee/Umbreon was instantly very affectionate with Shadow Milk. Even after leaving the Spire he still visits Shadow Milk, often with messages from Pure Vanilla.

Altaria was also a childhood pokemon Pure Vanilla caught. Swablu is a stand in for the Blue Birds in Pure Vanilla's idles. Not many people know, but Pure Vanilla is a very good singer, and it's because Altaria helped teach him!

Audino was a pokemon Pure Vanilla caught at Blueberry Yogurt Academy. He and White Lily received one in their healer classes. (White Lily's is a shiny).

Uxie just gives Pure Vanilla vibes, and is the guardian of knowledge ahem truth. Also the design similarities with the closed eyes. Thematically very aligned. On his travels Pure Vanilla encountered them and Uxie sensed their dormant soul jam. For a while Uxie remained hidden and just followed Pure Vanilla around. They eventually revealed their presence and let themselves be caught by him to accompany his travels. Formerly trained by the Sage, Uxie was released into the world after Smilk was captured by the Witches.

Reshiram appeared when Pure Vanilla fully awakened his soul jam. They were asleep in their stone form for many years. They originally belonged to the Sage of Truth before their renouncement of the truth. Was actually very happy to see their original trainer at the spire to Shadow Milk's dismay.

Shadow Milk:

In order from first to last caught: Meowstic, Gengar, Ninetales, Hoopa, Kyurem, Magearna

Meowstic was from Shadow Milk's original team as the Sage. When they were an Espurr the Sage helped them control their powers as to not hurt them. Now they assist Shadow Milk in his other realm, and stayed with Truthless Recluse while they were in the tower.

Gastly was a playful pokemon that the Sage entertained. They haunted the academy the school he used to teach at. They eventually evolved into Gengar and became capable of mega evolution. They are still fond of games and help Smilk terrorize... er entertain people who enter the Spire.

Ninetales is the last member of Smilk's original team as the Sage. And I recently learned that they are found in a place called the "Blueberry Academy terrarium" in one specific pokemon game dare I explain more??? In another game it was also found on the highest peak in the region, which I will use as a reference to the Peak of Truth. I was having a lot more trouble choosing Smilk's pokemon because they couldn't just be haha silly or uh oh powerful they had to be a kind of mix between the two. More often than not he isn't a brute force kind of person either. Ninetales I think is a good balance between all these. During their time with the Sage Ninetales was their blue variant but gradually turned more purple after Smilk's corruption.

If you've watched Hoopa's movie you'd know this is a little chaos maker who loves being a little brat. Smilk and him are on the same wavelength as powerful beings who were sealed away and love a little bit of disrupting society. Definitely spent a lot of time with Candy Apple cookie as a kid they love causing mischief together.

Kyurem appeared after Smilk was corrupted but before he was imprisoned. After absorbing Reshiram they helped the Beasts wreak havoc on the continent. They were frozen away by the witches after Smilk was sealed away in the tree.

Magearna was actually the Sage’s creation. He created the mechanical body and then imbued Magearna life with the soul jam. Magearna stopped functioning however when the soul jams were split. It’s body was left in the spire and forgotten. When Pure Vanilla entered the spire they gradually came back to life. They were able to fully function after the fall of Pure Vanilla. Truthless Recluse found them in the spire and took care of Magearna during his time there. Magearna is now fully functioning again. Wherever Smilk goes it’s not far behind. As annoyed as he acts with its presence, he still harbors some care towards his creation.

[doe-eyed-fool]

Fear Of The Known

Lucifer x Fem!Angel!Reader

|Chapter One|

Warning: Angst, No Comfort

Y/n was a young woman, destined to work close with the higher ups of Heaven, due to the gift she was given. God chose her to be the angel who would prophesy the future.

The symbol of a bright shining star on her forehead acted as a third eye. It would be what aids her as she looks into the future. And for the longest time, the future seemed bright.

Although, the future was not just one straight line. There were many pathways that could be opened by the smallest of acts.

But from how well everything was managed in Heaven, the best future possible, seemed as if the only real future ahead.

No worries, no danger, nothing to disrupt the heavenly balance. Yes, it was all smooth sailing ahead.

Y/n loved her job, and found great joy in telling others of the wonderful future that lies ahead for everyone. However, there would come a day, where the future was changed for the worst.

And it all started with one man...

Lucifer was one of God's favorite angels. He was bright, creative, brilliant. Though, he was a bit of a trouble maker, and would often drag his brothers into joining his mischievous acts.

Well, perhaps mischief wasn't the best way to describe it. Curiosity, was a better way of putting it. But even then, that curiosity would lead him to trouble.

It was a good thing God was so forgiving of Lucifer.

Even Y/n couldn't stay mad at him whenever he got her involved, asking her to use her future vision to see how his actions would effect something or someone.

And every time she'd say-

"My power is not to be abused, Lucifer."

As disappointed as he always was whenever she refused to indulge him, he'd never force her to do something she didn't want to. But boy, was he persistent.

Eventually, his curiosity rubbed off on Y/n. And she took a small peak into Lucifer's future. As she suspected, Lucifer would live happily and sharing his creativity with all of Heaven to enjoy.

Yes. Another wonderful future for all.

But then, another path was opened to her eyes. What she saw, concerned her.

Heaven was in chaos, and Lucifer was at the center of it all.

Y/n didn't dare look any further than that. And she would not say a word about this to Lucifer either. She had a feeling it would have negatively affected him.

However, she couldn't keep this to herself. She needed to tell God about the future she saw. It was the first time she had ever seen Heaven so...frazzled.

As if something terrible were about to happen.

The suspense of not knowing ate at her. If she were to tell God of such a future, she would need to know exactly why and how it would happen. And so, she looked again.

There Lucifer was again. He looked so angry, but so sad at the same time. And there was someone else with him. A tall and beautiful woman with long blonde hair. Lucifer held an arm out protectively in front of her as he yelled something.

He looked injured. Blood stained his beautiful face, as well as his robes. Even his wings were damaged.

Ahead of Lucifer was Michael. Sword in hand, the blade pointing towards Lucifer. He looked a bit roughed up as well. Had they been fighting? Why would they ever fight?

Chains were thrown around Lucifer and the woman he was with, and then, there was a vision of Lucifer and that same woman inside of Heaven's courtroom. Words were being yelled back and forth from Lucifer and the head Seraphim, Sera.

But Joel would have the final word.

There was a look of panic on Lucifer's face. The chains that bind him disappeared and the ground beneath them gave in. With quick thinking, Lucifer held onto that woman tightly, shielding her with his wings.

And just like that, the both fell.

Y/n gasped sharply as the vision faded.

"Lucifer...Lucifer falls from Heaven."

Y/n kept that terrible vision to herself for many years to come. The only reason she refused to tell anyone, is because she couldn't see any possible reason for Lucifer to fall from Heaven.

Lucifer would never do anything to put Heaven at risk, let alone cause for Michael to draw his sword at him.

There was no way Lucifer would do such a thing.

Y/n gazed out, watching Lucifer from a far. He was speaking to God, looking as carefree as usual. It was then he noticed her, he waved his hand. Y/n smiled weakly and waves back.

Lucifer excused himself from God and made his way over to her. "Hey Y/n, I've been meaning to talk to you."

"Oh? About what?" She asks curiously. Lucifer looks around before taking Y/n's hand and leading her away somewhere more private. Once Lucifer was sure they were alone, he excitedly shared the news to her.

"So, we all know that Heaven is great and will continue to be great for like, the rest of forever, right? But what if it could be even better?" Y/n looks a little confused. "What do you mean?" She asks.

"I've been thinking of some ideas to really give Heaven some...sparkle!" Lucifer says with jazz hands. "I wanted you to be the first to hear about it before I bring it up at the meeting first thing tomorrow morning."

Y/n couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm. Whatever he had planned, he sure seemed passionate about it. And so, Y/n listen to him explain his ideas.

Everything he spoke about all sounded so wonderful, magnificent even. And just the way he talked about it, Y/n could see his eyes light up with every word that left him. Passionate didn't even begin to describe it. These weren't just ideas.

These were his dreams.

"I really have a feeling this will change Heaven forever! What do you think?" Asked Lucifer after he finished.

"Lucifer, I think you should do it. Clearly this is something you really want, and I can tell it means a lot to you. I wish you luck." Y/n tells him. Lucifer smiles brightly before hugging her tight.

"Thank you, Y/n!"

"Of course, Lucifer. I can't wait to hear what they have to say."

The two parted, and Lucifer suddenly had a mischievous look on his face. "You know, you could always tell me what they'll say."

"Lucifer." Y/n says sternly.

Lucifer sighs dramatically. "I know, I know. But I just can't wait!" Y/n giggles. "Well, just try and wait a little longer. They're going to love it."

"I sure hope so." Said Lucifer with a small smile.

Curiosity could be a very dangerous thing indeed. The vision Y/n had to Lucifer's future, or at least one of them, should have been enough to keep her from looking too long of what fate has to offer. And yet, something compelled her to look again.

The once bright future ahead, had changed.

It wasn't another pathway, but the one that was most guaranteed.

And it was horrible...

Lucifer will fall from Heaven, but not before he shares his ideas with the angels. Not before he meets with Lilith, and the two create sin and unleash it onto the world that the angels worked so hard to protect.

Y/n could not allow this future come to pass. She could not allow Lucifer to be casted into eternal damnation. Not if there was something she could do about it.

She knew had to warn Lucifer. But telling him of the future she saw might have crushed him and his dreams. And she didn't want to be the reason he stopped dreaming.

But nonetheless, she still had to do something to stop that future from occurring.

Y/n caught Lucifer the morning he was to call for that meeting.

"Lucifer, may I have a word with you?" She asks. Lucifer smiles. "Sure, but be quick, I have to get going soon."

Y/n tried to appear as calm as she could. "I know you're very excited about this meeting, Lucifer."

"I'm more than excited!" Lucifer says cheerfully. "If I can convince everyone to get on board with my plan, Heaven and Earth as we know it will change forever!"

Y/n winces. "That's what I wanted to talk you about." Lucifer looked confused, but listened anyway. "You know how the Seraphims can be. They're so...strict, you know?"

Lucifer sighs. "Yeah, talk about a bunch of sticks in the mud." He smirks. Y/n laughs awkwardly. "Yes well...Maybe you should cancel this meeting. Or! A-At least, postpone it?"

Lucifer only grows more confused by this, but he shrugs with a carefree grin. "Y/n, trust me. I can get on their good sides. You know how charming and loveable I am. There's nothing to worry about." He says before starting off.

Panic started to rise in Y/n. This wasn't good. Lucifer could not go to that meeting. If he does, Heaven will soon be thrown into total chaos.

"I'll let you know how it goes, ok?" Lucifer unfolds his wings to take flight.

Y/n grabs his wrist, stopping him. "You can't!"

Lucifer gives her a bewildered look. "Y/n?"

"You can't go to that meeting Lucifer!"

Lucifer furrows his brows. "Why have you had a sudden change of heart? Yesterday you were just as excited for this as I was. I thought you liked my ideas."

"I-I do! It's just..." Y/n trailed off, unable to think of anything to say. "Y/n." Y/n looked at Lucifer, his expression now one of concern. "Did you see something? Does something go wrong?"

"Lucifer...You just can't go." Y/n says weakly. "They won't understand. I just...I just don't want you to be hurt by what they might say."

Lucifer took Y/n's hand. "Was that really what you saw? They won't listen?" He asks. Y/n nods her head, tears in her eyes. She hated this. She hated having to be the one that tells him this.

But it had to be said. Lucifer might have been hurt by this, but at least he'd still be here in Heaven.

"Then...It looks like I'll have to change their minds!"

Y/n's heart sank. "You're still going? Why? I just told you they-"

"I know. But Y/n, I can't let this opportunity pass. I believe in my dream, I know it can work. I'll just have to really knock their socks off! And make a outstanding impression!" Lucifer says determinedly.

"Lucifer..."

"It'll work, trust me. Those Seraphims won't know what hit them!"

"Lucifer."

"You can even come with me! They're bound to listen if I have someone else who believes in me!"

"Lucifer I can't!" Y/n says firmly. "I saw the future that lies ahead, I know what the outcome will be! It's certain that they will not listen to you! It doesn't matter what you say or do, it won't work Lucifer!"

Lucifer was slightly taken back by your words. Y/n's heart snapped in two at the look on his face. One of sadness, betrayal...

It had to be said.

"I'm sorry Lucifer." Y/n sighs. "Please, please don't go. Just-"

"No."

"Lucifer!"

"I'm going to that meeting, Y/n. I'm going to tell them what I have planned. Because I believe in my dream. I just thought you would too..." Lucifer lets go of her hand before taking flight.

"Lucifer! Wait!" Y/n called after him. Lucifer ignored her as he grew further and further out of sight. "Lucifer!" Tears began to drip down her cheeks.

Y/n had failed to change that horrible future. Lucifer would fall from Heaven, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

"I'm sorry..."

[dragonagecompanions]

hello, this is my first request :) unsure if your still taking requests but I was wondering how the companions (maybe romanced maybe not) would react to finding out the Inquisitor has a dead kid? I think the only way the party would find out is in the fade via the fear demon, and then maybe the advisors find out on their own ┐⁠(⁠ ⁠∵⁠ ⁠)⁠┌

idk but I would be truly honored to see you answer this request, and even if not than thank you for reading over it <33

- 🍡

WARNINGS For CHILD LOSS YOI HAVE BEEN WARNED

Cassandra: When the fear demon, gleeful in it’s telling of their leader’s loss, reveals the truth the Seeker is…well, there are no words. Forcibly she is reminded of how they swayed, pale and weeping, when she had said there were no other survivors. Guilt churns low and deep at her own words, a year and more gone now, throwing that fact in their face as accusation. Throwing such a loss in their face and then demanding answers.

Throwing a calling at their feet and demanding leadership, never knowing what a loss they struggled through.

She fights all the harder for them, as if every enemy batted away from them is attempted absolution. Cassandra Pentaghast thought she understood grief in all its facets, but what does the loss of older brother and parents- expected losses if come too soon- stand before the loss of a child? Maker, how do they still breathe through it?

When they are free of the fade, she approaches only to offer apology. If they wish to speak of their loss she will listen, but only then. She has forced enough from them.

Varric: Shit. Just…shit. Here he is, going on for months about how this story is bad for heroes and how the Inquisitor is the main character and blathering on, and never saw it. Never saw the aching grief, because it was never shown. The only example he has, or is at least intimately familiar with, is Leandra Hawk and his own mother.

And as the Inquisitor had never fallen into drink or taken to blaming whoever was closest to them for things outside of anyone’s control there had been no sign for Varric to catch on to. And it makes him feel…almost dirty. Stained with his own intentions, blithely going on while their leader had lost their kid.

He doesn’t bring it up to them, doesn’t know how, but Skyhold’s resident author is absolutely the own who tells Josephine as soon as they tumble out of the fade. That raven missive is a short and brutal telling, far from his normal goings on, and his guilt is manifold in it.

Solas: The Dread Wolf is not so unattached from the world as to not consider the losses suffered at the conclave, but for the most part -when he did turn his mind to them- they were mostly academic. A balance of power, and the loss of so many leaders among both chantry and mages a destabilizing force for his future efforts. Numbers laid cooly on a chart, beads on an abacus. The fortunes of war laid bare.

But more than one parent lost a child in that terrible moment, and siblings mourned. Children bereft, friends torn asunder, lovers left to weep alone for their loves. Listening to the fear demon enumerate the inquisitor’s loss magnifies the enormity of what happened, and though he will undoubtedly be the source of much worse for a moment the Dread Wolf cannot breathe.

It passes, of course, and when they leave the fade the rift mage dies his best not to carry those emotions out with him. This world is not to blame for his actions, for the destruction of his world, but he must restore it and so they must bear the cost. It is not fair to them, and it will be long months until he can be east about his plans.

In the interim, he dares to approach the inquisitor only once about their loss. He is there as a listening ear in the silence of his rotunda if they wish to speak of their sorrow. Or if they wish only a silent companion, he will direct the kindest spirits he can find to guard their dreams and remain at their side as long as he can.

Blackwall: Maker forbid. For a moment Skyhold’s would be warden is swamped by the images of Callier’s children, dead under tiny shrouds beside the ruined carriage at his command. Too many children fall victim to the machinations of their elders and with none to protect them from the fall out, but for all that most of Blackwall’s experience has been from the other side.

Being confronted with the parent who had lost a child, confronted with the knowledge that they had told none of them and had suffered under the burden alone was staggering. Damn it, they had all laid burdens at the Inquisitor’s feet and expected answers, demanded decisions and leadership in a word gone mad— and none had known what they had lost.

He doesn’t know what to say or how to act and instead channels everything into the fight to flee the fade. Rainier would be too much the coward to speak to their leader in the aftermath, but Blackwall- older and hopefully wiser from his own griefs- will offer quiet condolences and whatever aid he can. If they need to speak of it be will listen. And if not there is soft wood and chisel enough to grind out any feelings if that is what they need.

Vivienne: Children had never been in her destiny. As a mage, even one so elevated as to be all but free of the constraints of the circle, motherhood was forbidden to her. Any child of her womb would be sacrificed to the Chantry, given to a family deemed ‘more worthy’ to raise it.

And as a mistress, no matter how deeply the love between them bloomed, Bastian could never have given her such a blessing. He had children— an illegitimate child, and a mage child at that, would have been too great a weapon against him.

And so she had put it out of her mind, never allowed herself to consider or imagine what a son might look like, how a daughter might smile. To think of it would be a loss too great to contemplate—or so she had thought. Met with the active loss and overwhelming grief that their leader must feel, Madame de Fer is suddenly glad not to know how such a burden might rest on her soul.

Could she be so calm a leader as the Inquisitor, while bleeding out inside? Vivienne does not know, and that…well, terrifies her in a way little has. But she is not called iron for nothing, and so when all is calm again she will go the Herald and ask simply and plainly what she might do for them. If the answer is nothing she will abide by it. And if there is something that might in any way assuage their grief then she will ensure they have it.

Dorian: Well, that at least explains the Inquisitor’s uncharacteristically violent outburst, when Halward Pavus had made his way to Ferelden. Upon hearing the possible consequences of the blood magic ritual the Inquisitor had laid into the Magister, flaying with words when they could not use violence. Even the Pavus paterfamilias had seemed shaken by the diatribe, and Dorian had felt championed.

He is not so shallow as to feel betrayed by the knowledge of what terrible grief must have driven such an impassioned defamation of character, but can instead only ache for his friend’s loss. They must have been a wonderful parent, and in a quiet time later will gather his courage to tell them so.

Sera: It doesn’t really register in the moment, so great is her own fear of the Fade and it’s denizens, but later it will simply break the Red Jenny’s heart. Their leader lost a true little one, and still managed to bring themselves to protect the rest of the little people no matter their age.

Like Blackwall she will either offer distraction or uncharacteristic silence in comfort, baked goods an offering that feels too…personal for such a gaping loss. But her admiration for them grows exponentially.

The Iron Bull: Public, corporate grief is rare among the Qun. Not forbidden, exactly, but when everyone is given a role it also implies that every person is inherently replaceable in that role. As Koslun said, the tide rises and falls and things must work forward toward peace.

But the death of a child is different. Whether disease or violence or simple accident, losing an imereki is a tragedy. The Tamassran mourns, the others in their care mourn, and all those in the sphere of the lost one are permitted some little allowance for the loss. Things cannot grind to a halt- this is why parents are separated from children, to ensure the deep emotional bonds that are anathema to the Qun- but there is not simple acceptance without acknowledgement of the loss.

Not even that was given to the Inquisitor. It’s east to see the shock of the others even through his own fear, and the knowledge infuriates Bull enough to get him through the Fade. Their leader lost a child, and no one was there for them. Instead piled on the whole world and its imminent loss on their shoulders. It’s disgraceful.

Later, when Adamant is pacified and they return to Skyhold, he will pull them aside. It will be painful and it will be slow, and whether they need alcohol or pain or even the clinical breakdown that bondage and sex can only give-with their explicit consent- he will help them bleed the pain and begin the grieving process.

Cole: The pain was too big for him to help, the threads caught up in pain and joy and guilt and anger and terrible despair. He didn’t even have the words to describe it to others, and so had kept silent.

If they need him later he will help, but this loss is too big for a spirit unsure of how to act.

Cullen: Maker’s breathe. How could they…why did they not…Damn it, how could he not realize?! He had all but thrust the entire inquisition on a parent who had been robbed the chance to even bury their child, let alone mourn them.

Varric’s report rocks him to the core, and the commander in truth does not know what to do. If the rest of the inner circle has it well in hand he will simply work to make sure their leader has less in their plate. If they wish to discuss it with them, he is there and if not…

He hardly has the words anyway.

Josephine: She weeps over the missive, when it arrives. Their inquisitor has been hiding the worst of loses from them, putting on such a brave face to do so much. Like Cullen she works to make sure they have less to do when they return, but does pull them aside briefly to awkwardly hug them and ask if they want a memorial somewhere private in Skyhold.

Leliana: She knew. She knew from only a few days after, when her spies brought her everything there was on the Herald. And even The Nightingales Heart could ache for such a loss, but Leliana took her queues from the Herald and simply never discussed it. That does not change now— she will follow their lead.

Mod Fereldone

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

“Dark Water”

Chapter Eighteen: Room Enough for Ghosts

The Bad Batch x Reader

The lights were low in the Republic Ops hangar, and the durasteel walls did nothing to soften the tension in the air. Delta Squad stood shoulder to shoulder in silence, letting the Chancellor’s words echo in their heads like a blaster shot still ringing in a tight room.

“She is to be located and detained by any means necessary. If she resists, termination is authorized.”

Boss was the first to move. He folded his arms across his chest, helmet tucked under one arm. No one said a thing.

Not yet.

Then, finally:

“I don’t like this,” said Scorch, quieter than usual.

He was seated, elbows on knees, helmet dangling from his fingertips. “She was one of us. You remember that, right? She trained us like we mattered. She cared.” His voice cracked just slightly, and he looked down. “She even let me sneak into the cadet barracks when I couldn’t sleep. Didn’t even tattle to Vau.”

“Why would you be cuddling with the Bad Batch?” Sev growled, leaning against the bulkhead with his arms crossed. “Thought you said they were deformed rejects.”

Scorch didn’t even look up.

“Balance,” he said simply.

“Balance?” Fixer muttered. “Maker, Scorch.”

Scorch shrugged, finally glancing up, and his usual grin was gone. “They were loud, weird, impulsive. But she was the glue. If you got close enough, you’d see it — she treated them like they weren’t just soldiers. Like they were… kids. And us too, sometimes.” A pause. “Even you, Sev.”

“I’m not a kid,” Sev said coldly.

“Didn’t say you were,” Scorch said. “Just said she didn’t treat us like numbers. Not like the Kaminoans. Not like some droid with a clipboard.”

Boss rubbed a hand over his face.

“We don’t know she didn’t betray the Republic.”

“We don’t know she did either,” Fixer replied, voice more measured. “And with Jango working for Dooku… maybe there’s something bigger going on.”

“You know what Walon Vau said,” Scorch said suddenly, turning to them. “He thinks Jango set her up. Says he saw the signs even back then. The Kaminoans didn’t like her, but she got results. Jango hated that she wasn’t afraid of him. Walon said she had more backbone than any of the ‘trainers’ they hired.”

Sev snorted. “That’s rich coming from Vau.”

But Boss didn’t argue.

The tension lingered for another long beat. Then he finally spoke, voice clipped but calm.

“We don’t get to make the call. We’re not Jedi. We’re not politicians. We have orders.”

Scorch stood up slowly, helmet in hand.

“Yeah. But when have our orders ever been clean?”

No one answered.

Because there wasn’t one.

They all knew the truth: they’d done things that didn’t sit right in the dark. They had killed for orders before. But this? This felt different. You were different. You weren’t just a name on a file. You had touched their lives. Even Sev hadn’t hated you, and that was saying something.

“If we find her,” Fixer finally said, “we keep our helmets on. Record everything. If something feels off…”

“We don’t shoot first,” Scorch finished.

“That’s not how this squad works,” Boss confirmed. But he was looking out the viewport, and his jaw was tight.

Because deep down, they all knew:

You were one of theirs.

And even if the Republic had decided otherwise…

Delta Squad hadn’t — yet.

⸻

Your Apartment, Nar Shaddaa

The room was small — but high up. A modest corner suite perched above the perpetual smog and neon sprawl of Nar Shaddaa. Your boots were on the window sill, back resting against the wall. The city glowed like a fever dream beyond the transparisteel, all flickering holos and deep red shadows. You hadn’t moved in hours.

You were waiting.

No armor.

No blaster in hand.

Just… waiting.

They were coming. You’d felt it. Like the still hush before a tropical downpour on Kamino — pressure in the air, static crawling up your skin.

Maybe it was Force-sense.

Maybe it was instinct.

Either way, it didn’t matter. You’d made your decision.

There was a datapad on the table beside you, screen dark, messages unopened.

A half-eaten ration bar.

A blaster, disassembled on a cloth. Cleaned, oiled, perfect. You hadn’t reassembled it yet.

You’d stopped running. A long time ago, actually. The moment Boba looked at you with that hollow pain and said you’d left him. That you hadn’t come for him after Jango died.

Maybe he was right.

Maybe you didn’t deserve to be found.

Your fingers tapped a slow rhythm against your thigh, counting seconds. Heartbeats. Moments.

You weren’t afraid of death.

You were afraid of being misunderstood.

Afraid that they — your boys — would never know why you did it. Why you fell. Why you kept them at arm’s length even when you loved them like they were your own blood.

You weren’t afraid of Delta Squad either.

You’d trained most of them once, in your own way. Saw them sparring when you passed through Kamino’s upper decks. Sev’s cold eyes, Scorch’s nervous energy, Boss’s leadership already budding in his body language. You remembered watching Fixer take apart an entire training console when he was only ten years old and mutter about “inefficiency.”

They weren’t heartless.

They weren’t tools.

So you waited.

A knock came. Two short, one long.

Not Delta. Not Republic.

A signal.

You reached for your disassembled blaster slowly, piecing it together without looking.

“Door’s unlocked,” you called.

The door hissed open.

Bosk ducked under the frame, pausing with a snort.

“You’re really gonna sit here like a target, huh?”

“I’ve been a target most of my life,” you replied, not turning from the window. “Might as well stop pretending I’m not.”

He shut the door behind him and moved into the room. His claws clicked softly against the flooring. He didn’t ask about your armor, or the burn scar still healing across your ribs. He’d seen worse.

“Republic flagged you. Jedi didn’t raise a brow, but Palpatine’s office wants you erased.”

“Yeah. I figured.”

You finally turned to look at him.

“How much time do I have?”

“Hours. Maybe. Depends how fast Delta moves.”

You stood.

Not to run.

To face it.

“I won’t kill them.”

Bosk let out a slow breath through his nostrils. A hunter’s breath — low, careful.

“Then you’d better pray they still remember who you were. Not just what the file says you are.”

You nodded. Walked to your gear and pulled the vambrace from the bag.

Not armor.

Just pieces of who you’d been. A mosaic of red and black. Paint chipped. Scratched. Battle-worn.

You didn’t put on the full set.

Just the chestplate.

You didn’t need protection from blaster bolts tonight.

You needed it from ghosts.

You turned toward the door.

“Let them come.”

And waited.

Again.

⸻

“Nar Shaddaa… doesn’t smell like a trap. It reeks like one.” Scorch, whispering through his helmet mic.

The Night City world crawled beneath their boots. Neon signs buzzed overhead like drunken fireflies. The sky never got dark here. The haze just thickened, swallowing stars.

Delta Squad moved as a unit — fluid, efficient, like nerves of a single organism. Boss led the way, blaster raised, HUD cycling through thermal and low-light. Behind him, Scorch moved with uncharacteristic silence, mind racing behind his visor. Fixer was already tuned into the slicing rig on his wrist, constantly pinging public access nodes for signs of tampering.

Sev walked last — rifle up, helmet tilted just slightly to catch the upper levels.

“No auto-turrets. No snipers. No rear shadowing. You seeing what I’m seeing?” Sev muttered.

Fixer’s voice crackled back.

“There’s nothing. No scrambling, no unusual comm chatter. Her name was flagged, but no bounty pings. No backup.”

“No reinforcements. No perimeter traps. No movement since we landed,” Boss said quietly.

They were approaching the target’s location now — an apartment block leaning against a rusted industrial stack, some ten stories up. Just like the report had said.

And that was the problem.

“This is too clean,” Scorch said. “This is textbook bait.”

“She wouldn’t need traps,” Sev said. “She’s the trap.”

They reached the stairwell instead of the lift — Fixer slicing the panel so it wouldn’t call attention to power flow. No one spoke as they ascended.

The higher they climbed, the quieter it got.

When they reached the right floor, Boss motioned for silence, two fingers sweeping forward. They stacked up on the door — Scorch front left, Sev back right, Fixer pulling overwatch with Boss at the center.

“Thermals show one inside. Seated. No movement for the last thirty-eight minutes.”

Fixer’s tone was clinical. Uneasy.

“Could be a decoy,” Boss said.

“Could be her waiting to die,” Sev muttered.

“Or worse,” Scorch added.

Boss didn’t answer. He tapped once.

The door slid open with a hiss.

They moved.

What they found was…

Stillness.

You were sitting cross-legged near the window. Fully visible. Not restrained, not armed, not surprised.

No sniper rifle.

No bomb vest.

No remote detonation trigger.

You were just there.

Watching.

Waiting.

“You came,” you said simply.

Boss didn’t lower his blaster. He didn’t need to.

“Why?” Fixer asked from behind him. “You knew we’d come. You didn’t run. You didn’t even bar the door.”

“Would it have mattered?”

Scorch stared at you — his visor unreadable, but his breathing heavy.

“You didn’t kill anyone. Not after Kamino. You vanished. You didn’t kill anyone.”

“Tell that to the Chancellor,” you replied.

Sev stepped forward, rifle angled down but ready.

“He thinks you’re a threat. Thinks you’ll expose something about Kamino. About the clones.”

Your jaw clenched. Something dark flickered in your gaze.

“Because I know what they were really made for?”

That hung in the air.

Heavy.

Boss spoke next. Voice low. Controlled.

“We’re here to bring you in.”

“Alive?”

“We were not told otherwise.”

“So if I shoot first—”

“—then we shoot back,” Sev cut in.

Silence again.

Your gaze moved from one of them to the next. Four sets of identical faces. Different voices. Different minds. Different souls.

You stood.

Your armor was half-worn — chestplate strapped on, vambraces bare. A visible reminder of who you were, and what you no longer let yourself be.

You looked at Scorch last.

“Do you think I’m a traitor?” you asked him directly.

He hesitated.

“No,” he said finally. “I think you were set up. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re on the run.”

“I’m not running,” you said.

“No. You’re waiting,” he muttered.

Boss gave a signal with his hand.

“We’re leaving. With or without a fight. Your choice.”

You stared at the floor for a long moment.

Then nodded.

“Alright.”

The air shifted. Everyone tensed.

Then you walked forward — slowly — and held your wrists out.

“But I only go with you. If you promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?” Boss asked.

“Don’t let the Chancellor get to me. If I’m going to be interrogated — it has to be by the Jedi. Not him. He wants to erase me.”

Boss hesitated.

Scorch looked at Boss.

Fixer said nothing.

Sev’s finger hovered near his trigger.

“We’ll… do what we can,” Boss said carefully.

You nodded once.

“Good.”

“Let’s go.”

⸻

Jedi Temple — Coruscant

High Council Chamber

The doors to the Jedi Council room opened with a quiet hiss.

The chamber was high above the skylanes of Coruscant, and yet, the weight pressing down on your shoulders felt heavier than the planet’s gravity. Twelve chairs circled the chamber — most filled. The others flickered with holoprojected blue.

The light through the arched windows cut through the chamber like a blade. Cold. Unforgiving.

You were unarmed. No helmet. Just your armor — the black and red still scuffed from Nar Shaddaa. Delta Squad stood silently behind you. Their presence was a reminder: you were not here of your own volition.

But you didn’t flinch.

You stepped forward.

And met their gazes.

Mace Windu’s dark eyes were the first to narrow.

“State your name and origin.”

“You already know both,” you answered, voice steady.

“Formality,” Obi-Wan murmured, seated to Windu’s right. His tone was calm — but alert.

“Born on Gorse. Trained on Concordia. Veteran of the border wars. Mandalorian by blood and creed. Former contract trainer for the Kaminoan cloning program under Prime Minister Lama Su. Designation: Non-Republic-aligned military advisor,” you said clearly.

“Why are you here?” Master Luminara Unduli asked gently, tilting her head.

You met her eyes.

“Because I have nothing left to run from.”

Silence followed.

Then Windu spoke again, voice hard.

“You are accused of aiding Count Dooku and the Separatist movement. Tell us why.”

You let the silence stretch this time.

Then you exhaled.

“Months ago, Jango Fett approached me. He said Dooku was paying well for extra hands — specialized work. He said we could do a few missions, stay in the loop. It wasn’t the Republic’s business.”

Your gaze flicked to Obi-Wan.

“I never liked the Jedi. Or the Republic. But I never betrayed them either.”

“You took the mission,” Windu said, not a question.

“One. On Serenno. I saw what Dooku was building. What he wanted. It didn’t align with my code. Or the Mandalorian creed I was raised in. I told Jango I was out.”

You glanced at the Delta Squad commander behind you.

“He didn’t like that.”

“And what happened next?” Master Luminara prompted softly.

“He set me up. Walked me straight into a Kaminoan sting. They called it an arrest. But there were too many guns for that to be true. ‘Kill on sight’ order was issued. I fought. I ran. He shot me.”

A pause.

“I fell into the ocean. Should’ve died there. But I didn’t.”

“You disappeared for over a year,” Windu said. “What were you doing?”

“Healing,” you said. “Surviving. Working. Avoiding all of you.”

Kenobi leaned forward in his chair, eyes narrowing with thought.

“And yet you returned.”

“Because you’d never stop coming,” you replied. “And because the clones deserved better than silence.”

That struck a chord.

Across the room, Master Luminara’s expression softened. Windu’s gaze flicked toward Yoda.

The Grand Master had not spoken.

Until now.

Yoda’s eyes opened fully. Peered straight into you.

“Truth there is… but not all of it.”

You didn’t look away.

“I told you what matters.”

“Hrm,” Yoda murmured, tapping his gimer stick. “What matters to you. Not all that is.”

“I’m not a Jedi,” you said. “I don’t owe you everything. I owe the clones. That’s why I came.”

Obi-Wan finally spoke again.

“If what you say is true… then you were never a traitor. You were a scapegoat.”

Windu added, flatly:

“Convenient for Jango. Fitting too neatly into a lie.”

“Too neatly,” you agreed. “Ask your friend Walon Vau. He’s the one who taught Delta. He never believed I turned.”

Luminara looked to her fellow council members.

“I believe her. She’s angry, yes. Unapologetic. But not a Separatist.”

Windu didn’t speak.

But he did not contradict her.

Yoda remained quiet — inscrutable.

Obi-Wan stood.

“You’ll be given temporary residence under Jedi supervision. Your movements restricted. But you’ll not be imprisoned. For now.”

You didn’t thank them.

Just nodded once.

Before you turned to leave, Yoda finally spoke again.

“Watch you, we will. Dangerous… what one cast away may yet become.”

You glanced back.

“Then I hope you’re watching when I prove you wrong.”

⸻

Jedi Temple — Coruscant

Guest Quarters, Nightfall

The walls were too quiet.

You’d lived in tin huts in Mandalore’s snowstorms. Shared bunks with other mercs in overcrowded outposts. Slept under open stars with a blaster against your chest.

But the Jedi Temple?

It was too clean. Too calm.

Unsettling, in its civility.

You hadn’t taken off your armor. Only your boots. Your gauntlets were laid within reach. Even now, you sat cross-legged on the floor, back to the wall, watching the door like you were back on Nar Shaddaa.

They hadn’t locked you in.

That would’ve been too loud. Too un-Jedi.

But you weren’t stupid.

You were being watched.

A soft chime buzzed on the door console. You stood slowly, muscles aching, and let the panel hiss open.

Obi-Wan Kenobi and Luminara Unduli.

She stood with hands folded neatly before her, calm and composed as always. Obi-Wan carried himself with that usual Jedi restraint — polite, measured, but with a flicker of wariness in his eyes.

“May we come in?” Luminara asked gently.

You stepped back.

“I figured one of you would.”

They entered.

The quarters were spartan. No decorations. No personal effects. Just a sleep mat, a table, and an open viewport that overlooked the glittering capital.

“You’re not eating,” Luminara observed.

“Food makes you weak when you might need to fight. I was taught that by someone with a long scar down his back.”

You leaned back against the wall.

“What do you want?”

Obi-Wan didn’t bother dancing around it.

“The Chancellor wants to speak with you. Personally.”

You stiffened.

“Of course he does.”

“He requested a private audience.”

“Not a chance,” you snapped, jaw tightening. “I won’t speak to Palpatine without Jedi supervision.”

Luminara didn’t react to your tone. Obi-Wan just gave a short nod, like he expected that.

“That’s wise,” he said.

You squinted at him.

“Is it?”

Obi-Wan crossed his arms loosely, his expression unreadable.

“Let’s just say… some of us believe that certain requests made by the Chancellor lately have gone… beyond his purview.”

“You think he wants me silenced?”

“I think he wants to know what you know,” Luminara said. “About Jango. About the Kaminoans. About what was set in motion before the war began.”

You looked down, fingers clenching reflexively.

“Then he already knows too much.”

“Then why come here?” Obi-Wan asked, tilting his head. “Why walk back into the Temple if you know the consequences?”

You didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, you walked to the viewport. Looked down at the endless ocean of lights and traffic.

“Because when I trained the Batch… when I stood in that observation deck and watched them fight with everything they had — I thought they’d be the future.”

A pause.

“But now… the galaxy is killing them before they can figure out who they even are. And someone needs to give a damn.”

Obi-Wan was quiet.

Luminara stepped forward, voice low.

“Then help us. Share what you know. Trust must begin somewhere.”

You turned, giving her a sharp look.

“Trust got me a blaster in the back from someone I considered family.”

“And yet here you are,” Obi-Wan said softly.

You let out a slow breath.

“I’ll speak with the Chancellor. But not without one of you in the room.”

“You’ll have both of us,” Luminara promised.

They moved toward the door. Obi-Wan lingered just a moment longer.

“You were a good trainer. They still carry you in their bones. Even the… sharp-tongued one.”

You smirked faintly.

“Crosshair never liked authority.”

“Then he was trained well,” Obi-Wan replied, and left.

The door closed with a quiet hiss.

You stared at it for a long moment.

And this time, you ate.

⸻

Coruscant – Supreme Chancellor’s Office

High Above Galactic City

You hated the way this room felt.

It was too red. Too warm. Like being inside a body still bleeding.

The Chancellor’s office smelled faintly of spice and leather-bound history — sterile, powerful, suffocating.

You walked with silent steps, flanked by Obi-Wan Kenobi and Luminara Unduli.

Palpatine rose from his seat slowly, offering that same warm, grandfatherly smile you’d seen on a dozen holonet broadcasts. The one that always made your stomach twist.

“Ah,” he said, voice as smooth as ever, “our wayward warrior returns.”

You did not bow. You didn’t even nod.

Obi-Wan did, politely. Luminara inclined her head.

You kept your arms folded, stance relaxed — but alert. You would not sit unless ordered. And even then, it would take more than that.

Palpatine gestured to the plush chairs before him.

“Please. Let us speak plainly.”

You did not move.

“I’ll stand.”

“As you wish,” he said with no offense taken — or at least none shown. “I must admit, it is… fortuitous that you are alive. Many were convinced the ocean took you.”

“It tried,” you replied evenly.

He smiled again, sitting once more.

“I understand you’ve spoken with the Jedi. Given them your version of events.”

“The truth, if that’s what you mean.”

Palpatine folded his hands, gaze never leaving yours.

“You were accused of conspiracy with Count Dooku. A grave charge. One not made lightly.”

“Jango Fett set me up. He was working with Dooku. I didn’t know it at the time. I agreed to one job. When I realized what he was doing, I walked.”

Luminara nodded beside you.

Obi-Wan’s gaze was steady, but silent.

Palpatine hummed.

“And yet, you vanished. For over a year.”

“You mean I ran for my life?” You arched a brow. “After someone I trusted tried to execute me in front of the cadets I trained?”

A pause.

“Forgive me,” Palpatine said, voice calm. “I only ask because… you are clearly very skilled. And very loyal — not to any system or banner, but to your clones. Your legacy lives in them, even now. That much, I have seen.”

That warmth returned to his voice — manufactured, cultivated.

“In fact, the Senate’s military subcommittee has reviewed your record. The Kaminoans have expressed… interest… in your return.”

Your stomach dropped.

Palpatine smiled.

“I would like you to return to Kamino. Resume your position as a combat instructor. There is no one like you. Your skills have not gone unnoticed.”

You didn’t speak at first.

Neither did Obi-Wan.

Luminara, however, gave a single glance your way. A subtle flicker of her brow — Think carefully.

“You want me back on Kamino,” you repeated.

“Yes,” Palpatine said simply.

“Back in the very place I was nearly executed. By the very people who ordered it.”

“All misunderstandings,” Palpatine replied smoothly. “Jango Fett is dead. Count Dooku’s betrayal is now well documented. There is no reason to fear your return.”

You stared at him, heart tight in your chest. The room had gone still.

“And if I say no?”

“Then you are free to do as you wish. You are not a soldier of the Republic. But I believe you want to help our troops.”

His smile was razor-thin now.

“And this is where they are made.”

You met his eyes.

And suddenly you understood what it really was.

Not a request.

An invitation to walk into a cage — one with no bars, but walls you would never leave again.

“I’ll… consider it,” you said finally, voice dry.

Palpatine’s grin widened just a fraction.

“That is all I ask.”

⸻

Later, walking down the steps of the Senate tower, you didn’t speak.

Obi-Wan broke the silence.

“You won’t go.”

“No,” you said quietly. “I won’t.”

Luminara glanced sideways.

“Then be ready. Because that answer… may come with consequences.”

You nodded.

Your eyes drifted skyward, toward a distant part of the city where you once trained a squad of defective clones.

And where this war — and whatever hell would come after it — would begin.

⸻

You sat cross-legged on the floor, unstrapping your vambrace, half your armor still on. Halfway between fight and flight.

The comm buzzed. A private encrypted channel. You recognized the code immediately — old Mandalorian encryption, traced back to him.

You considered ignoring it.

Then you didn’t.

You answered. The holoprojector lit up. Kal Skirata’s weathered face shimmered into view, arms crossed, brow heavy with expectation.

“You’re late.”

You blinked. “I didn’t realize I had an appointment.”

“You did. You just didn’t know it.”

You didn’t respond. Kal continued like he’d already won.

“Got word from the Chancellor himself. You’re coming back to Kamino. I’ve already spoken to Taun We. He’s making room.”

You stood slowly, arms folding over your chest.

“Kal. I never agreed to that.”

He ignored that.

“Training rotations will start next cycle. There’s a new batch of commandos being grown. They’ll need you. So will mine.”

“I said—”

“You owe them,” Kal said sharply, his voice cutting through yours like phrik. “The boys.”

Silence.

“You trained the Batch. You helped shape Delta. Even my Nulls liked you, and they don’t like anyone. You made yourself their kin. You think you get to walk away from that?”

Your mouth opened. No words came.

“You didn’t leave them in a better galaxy. You left them on fire.”

You finally snapped, voice colder than steel.

“I was hunted. Shot. Branded a traitor. Nearly drowned. I didn’t leave, Kal — I was left.”

Kal’s face softened… but only for a moment.

“And now they know the truth. Everyone does. So stop sulking like a wounded tooka and come do the job. There’s more coming. You know it. These boys need everything they can get before this war eats them alive.”

You turned your back to the projector.

It hurt. Too much of this hurt.

“I can’t go back there.”

“Then don’t go for Kamino. Go for them.”

You didn’t answer.

Kal pushed.

“Wrecker still has nightmares about you falling. Tech’s tried to analyze every trajectory you might’ve used to survive. Hunter hasn’t said a kriffing word about it, which tells me he’s thinking too loud to speak. And Crosshair? He’s more vicious now. Like everything good in him sank with you.”

You slowly turned.

“That’s not my fault.”

“No,” Kal said. “But you can fix it.”

Another pause.

Then he softened again — in that careful, calculated way he always did when he knew the blade had sunk too deep.

“I’m not asking you to forgive what was done. I wouldn’t. But they need you. You want to fight for the vode? Then fight. With us. On the ground.”

You stared into the projector’s blue haze.

“You really think they’ll take me back?”

“Doesn’t matter if they don’t. You go anyway.”

Kal sighed, hand running over his jaw.

“We’re all just holding the line until the end comes. Don’t make them do it without you.”

Silence again. This time, it wasn’t heavy — it was clear.

Kal knew you’d say yes.

He always did.

“I’ll send you the coordinates,” he muttered. “Ship leaves tomorrow. And hey—” he looked up again, rough voice quieter.

“It’s good to see you.”

The comm cut.

And you stood in the silence, heart pounding like war drums.

⸻

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[jasmine-does-wevertf-she-wants]

I'm thinking about the difference between like and love in MDZS.

Like it's out of the question that LWJ is instantly incredibly attracted to WWX. Later that obviously develops into a very devoted very deep love. The narration doesn't give any indication when that happens though I'd venture somewhere during the Wen indoctrination camp.

Anyways, does teen!LWJ like WWX though? In the way that he enjoys his company, likes to spend time with him, enjoys who he is as a person? I'd say no. We have no indication that LWJ regards WWX positively on a conscious level at all. Now I think that mostly can be attributed to teen!LWJ lacking most of the emotional development he'll do later. Teen!LWJ doesn't seem to like anyone much other than LXC. And that's okay! He's not a people person and that's fine! Given that and the emotional turmoil WWX most certainly wrecked on him upon arriving in Cloud Recesses I think it's perfectly understandable he doesn't like him much and tries to avoid him.

But then attraction begins to develop into love when he sees WWX isn't only a trouble maker in the Wen indoctrination camp but can take himself back for the safety of the group while still sticking to his principles. Who does it like him? Then he still takes care of LWJ single-handedly saves the whole group sacrificing himself in the process and LWJ is forced to confront very suddenly he's not falling in love with a beautiful talented careless troublemaker but with one of the few people in their world who will choose what's right and trying his best to balance that with the circumstances they live in. And WWX goes missing and LWJ is desperate to find him and he comes back and he is so markedly different from anything their world says he's supposed to be and decidingly not in a good way and he's prepared to let it go for the sake of conforming to the rules he holds so high. Of course throughout the plot he realizes the rules mean nothing and can be very much interpreted to do injustice vs. upholding what's right and that he was wrong to turn his back on WWX for not abiding by the rules.

And then WWX comes back from the dead and it's the first time LWJ really lets himself enjoy his company lets himself enjoy the person WWX is actively keeps him by his side while WWX tries his damned best to be the most obnoxious person to LWJ and how likely is it that LWJ realizes it does not matter? He was so so so wrong for ever thinking WWX annoying. He doesn't like most people's company but WWX can do everything he could not stand in another person and it's fine because he knows WWX and knows whatever he does is out of love and because he thinks it's right and WWX does not go wrong in judging what's right.

And I think actually the opposite is true for WWX. He arrives at Cloud Recesses and is so captivated by LWJ so beautiful the only one who can keep up with him and he stays by his principles the only one WWX ever met who truly treats him as equal. But LWJ rejects him at every opportunity and while WWX does not think LWJ hates him that's certainly not a basis to consider anything more and then the plot happens and really he doesn't have much time to think about anything regarding his feelings until his death.

But then he's resurrected and they do have time and LWJ is not rejecting him but supporting him and caring for him at every turn. Being a person WWX can depend on. Being the only one who ever was that for WWX. While still being beautiful and brilliant and being even more righteous than he was as a teenager and WWX falls in love so quickly it's a speed run. And he really didn't have a chance to do any different.

And I think it's kind of beautiful how they start out from such different points but very beautifully meet in the middle after years and years of misery but still together in the end.

[jreads]

They were both panting, coated in a light sheen of sweat. He had a wooden staff to her throat, feeling the rise and fall of her breaths, her heartbeat reverberating through his arms, his chest. Over the weeks, she had been improving: movements getting quicker, blows turning more lethal, gaze more rapidly assessing. It was mesmerizing to watch Osha move. Like him, she had that mix of Jedi training as well, and it refined each step. She was violently calculating, unlike Mae’s rage-fueled offensive barrages. She was perfect. And beautiful.

“You’re distracted,” she huffed in his grasp, before twisting and bringing her ankle behind his own, knocking him off balance for just a moment…

But it was long enough. She pushed out with the force and he faltered. The impact of his back meeting rough rock face was enough to knock the breath from him. 

She didn’t miss a beat, leveling the point of her staff just under his chin. Qimir could tell she was trying to hide a smile of defiance. 

Osha tossed her hair over one shoulder. “That didn’t even feel like a fair win. I could tell your mind was elsewhere.” 

The sun on this planet had darkened her skin and it seemed to glow now. Her body was more toned and corded with muscle, and her lips seemed… impossibly fuller?

“Qimir?” she raised a brow.

Maker, the way she said his name. 

Bad idea. Fantastic idea.

He had her up against the rock in a second, wrists pinned at her side, staff forgotten at their feet. She was still heaving.

“Push me away,” he commanded, preparing to fight against the familiar weight of her force push. But it never came.

“I said push..." he tightened his grip for emphasis.

"me..." and pressed his weight further into her.

"Away.” She was looking at him with some new expression, hooded, dark, thrilling, dangerous. And when she angled her head, he knew he was done for. 

He tried to step back then, to put some distance between them, to dampen that red hot shot of lightning now spiderwebbing through his chest. Too late.

He couldn’t move.

The force was an unbreakable barrier against his back. Thrumming. So powerful. She was trapping him.

“Osha.” It was barely a whisper. She looked like she was lost, like she couldn’t even hear him. But she was close, so impossible close…

She leaned forward first, eyes fluttering closed. At the barest brush of her lips on his they both knew there was no coming back from this.

And it was a mess. Tongues and teeth and he could swear he tasted blood. She was a livewire, hands fisting in his hair, against his robes. It was like she wanted to tear him apart, and maybe she did, and honestly, in that moment, he couldn’t have cared less. 

i'm so normal about them can you tell? more to come, watch this space <3

[pondering-pears]

Bitters II

Hawke & Cullen, Cullen/Inquisitor

(Credits: Inquisitor Vher Lavellan belongs to the lovely @violets-and-amber and the STUNNING art is by @trulivys)

“Your knees are too old for all this kneeling.” Vesper Hawke’s laughter rolled over Cullen like a wave pulling him far beneath the surf. It wasn’t something gentle, it was closer to a bark that leapt from her throat unbidden. It prickled the hairs on the back of Cullen’s neck, but at the same time he couldn’t help but feel a grin pulling at his lips. 

He was knelt in the courtyard, his fingers pressed into the untamed grass that had stubbornly refused to be trimmed back by the keep’s new occupants. Hawke was only a few feet away, her arms thrown over the wooden rake she was balancing across her shoulders. Just a moment ago she’d used the tool as a staff to force him by the neck back onto the ground for the third time that evening. 

It seemed like half the armory had been brought out for this occasion, but Vesper was still collecting her toll on his pride for his request. Or perhaps this was her revenge for his loose tongued comment about her abilities as a general? He doubted even the Maker could tell. 

“And yet you seem determined to keep putting me here.” Cullen assured his aching body that he would get up in a moment, just after his pride stopped stinging as much as his knees. Vesper, however, had other plans as she walked over and offered him her hand. 

“It takes two to spar, so you’re at least half to blame, no?” He took her hand, and with a groan let her pull him back to his feet. The professional part of him was trying to find the humor in these failures, but the voice of his reason was drowned out by the sharp lyrium-hungry mist in his mind. Thinking on more than one thing right now hurt, like he was pushing through a briar hedge. 

When he was training his men it was repetitive motions practiced until perfection honed into instinct. It was critical that their physical forces moved as one, so that when the battle panic set in the body could move without the mind. 

Vesper knew this all too well and seemed to delight in trying to overwhelm him at every front. 

“You need to stop relying on being able to get up close and personal. That’ll work on an untrained mage, but not on a heavily armored opponent.” Vesper chided him in a tone as conversational as if she’d asked for his dinner order. 

“You were fighting with a staff, reach was your main advantage.” He countered as he swept back his sweat slick hair with his fingers. It was starting to get long, when was the last time he’d given thought to cutting it? His mind started to wander before the low gravel of Vesper’s voice pulled at his attention. “And if I hadn’t been ready to fight you chest to chest, I might’ve tried to get some distance. But, atlas, I learned how to change my grip back when I was teenager chasing off farm boys in the Coastlands.” With a roll of her shoulders Vesper spun the rake off of them and casually tossed it back against the barn where she’d taken it from. 

“I pity any boy foolish enough to try and catch up with you.” Cullen wrestled his breathing back into order as he took a few tentative steps to measure his body. It was funny how the third fall was easier to walk off than the first. Then again, he had always been a quick study in the art of taking a beating. “Although I would've assumed those farm boys had better sense.” 

He was rewarded with another crackle of laughter from Vesper. The sound seemed to fill the courtyard, electrifying the air and silencing the usual hum of evening insects. 

“Oh no, it was Bethany they were chasing. She was just too polite to put sense back into their heads.” In the midst of all of Vesper’s joking there was a flash of something softer. A little bit of the woman who once had laughed at how red his cheeks got when Isabella batted her lashes at him even though her own were always just as flushed.  ----

“Alright, no more whining about reach and flexibility.” Vesper announced as they circled each other again. She’d apparently grown tired of showing off with farming implements and now they were in a true match of sorts.

They’d both donned shields: his a wooden heater small enough to only cover his chest, hers a rounded scutum that went down nearly to her knees. A simple cone shaped training dagger rested in each of their off hands, their points had been dulled to be non-lethal but Cullen knew the pain of the bruises they left all too well. 

“I did bring my armor.” Cullen offered the reminder in the same tone he approached the war table with. He was no Josephine, but he liked to think that he was mastering the art of saying things without saying them. 

“You’re not going to need it, but I’m sure it was good exercise.” With a flash of grin and a knowing glint in her eye Vesper became motion itself. Cullen’s body reacted of its own accord, falling back on the instincts he’d created over the years. He pushed his shield arm forward in an effort to knock Vesper’s charge off course, but instead of crashing against him, she moved with him. 

Her shield met his with an impact he felt up into his shoulder, then the materials shrieked as she dragged her body to the side of his guard. The ache felt good in its own way. The instant reward of adrenaline cleared his mind of the prying need that had settled in. 

Cullen’s stance shifted, his body whipping around to keep his shield between himself and Vesper. Yet, she was already half way into her next attack. She stepped to his side - he thought to move around him. However,  instead she jammed the curved edge of her shield against the inside of his own and shoved. She knocked his guard open at the expense of creating a gap in her own, but she gave him no time to retaliate. 

The sting of that damned dagger jabbing against his ribs knocked the breath out of his lungs and set him stumbling backwards. “What are you doing, Rutherford?” Vesper sounded both annoyed and disappointed, a mix that dug into the back of his temper. “The fuck was that? You know I’ve seen you fight before, and that dumb ass would have killed you for that display.” 

She was goading him, but when wasn't she? It had rarely dug at him like this, but he knew his anger came from her being right. He kept letting her lead him across the field. She moved with purpose, each strike or step leading right into the one after it. This was the fluidity that had been drilled into him as an apprentice.

Lyrium made it so much easier. The world was slower for you or perhaps your thoughts were faster. The hum of adrenaline never seemed to fade, your body held strictly under your control. 

“They aren’t going to fight like this. Go get a blade and I’ll don my armor-” He didn’t know what he was saying, the words came out as his mind fell back into that perfect rut. 

“Fuck off.” Vesper snapped back. The moonlight lay unevenly on her face, making her teeth glint under her drawn back lips. She looked like she might lunge at him then, and some part of him wanted her to. 

Let them roll around in the earth, fists and fingers grasping for purchase. Spitting, sweating, loathing. Anger was so easy - it was a distraction, it was simple relief. When was the last time he’d fought without the risk of losing everything hanging above his head? 

It must’ve been long ago, before the almost ever present itch in his throat, back when he didn’t know how much of the world there was to run from. 

Cullen watched Vesper’s chest rise and fall with each heavy breath. They were measuring their breathing in the same way, he realized. Inhale to the count of four, pause, exhale, and pause again in the same rhythm. It was an old soldier's trick that every faction and army claimed credit for creating. 

He couldn’t help but wonder if she’d learned it from watching a Templar or if such knowledge was even passed around Kirkwall’s mercenary guilds? 

What was he doing?

Cullen let his shield slide off his arm and clatter to the ground. That would’ve gotten him a true chewing out from his old Captain back when he was a recruit, but right now it was an admission of surrender. 

“You know I’m terrible at that.” He addressed Vesper with care, reeling in his tone even as her brows knotted with confusion. 

“At what in particular? I can think of quite the list.” Vesper retorted, her frustration having cooled little. No one in Thedas could simmer half as well as she.  

“At fucking off.” Cullen stepped forward into the little ray of moonlight that had cut through the clouds to anoint Kirkwall’s Bloody Saint. “I’ve been told I’m rather stubborn.” 

“I can’t imagine by who.” Vesper’s hard glare melted as she studied him. There was such weariness that clung to her in the wake of her anger. It aged her, deepening the dark shadows around her eyes, and weathering her sun tanned cheeks. It was a sight he was more than familiar with as it was often looking back at him from the morning mirror. 

“One more round?” 

“One more round.”  ----

There was no dagger in Cullen’s grasp this time, no shield or staff to hide behind. Only his hands and his wits to keep Vesper at bay. 

It all moved so much faster now, their feet shuffling back and forth in the grass they’d kicked up as they changed from stance to stance. They were both still catching their breath and no real rubric had been decided for this match so Cullen’s stomach was shifting with the start of uncertainty. 

Vesper however, had been watching, waiting for the first sign of his distraction. She swung with her left arm, the strikes exploratory and fast, were easily deflected with his forearm, but the shock of the impact still raced up his nerves. 

His instinct was to grab at her arms and pull her into a hold, but the tactician that still lurked in the back of his mind knew that Vesper was strong enough to break out of his grasp. If he wanted this to be a contest he had to stop reacting and start acting. 

Although he might be a fool in games of words and minds, the body could not lie. His eyes tracked along Vesper’s form as he put a few steps between them. They had forgone any armor, and Cullen could see how her shoulders shifted underneath her linen tunic. 

She was favoring her left arm ever so slightly, her right seemed stiff and weaker. Perhaps an old injury she’d picked up on her war path? 

A quick glance at her hips and Cullen pulled together a vision. Vesper turned their roles on their head and in a sudden burst of speed closed the distance between them. She lifted her right arm to guard her face as she stepped down heavily on that same side. Her strike would’ve found its mark on his jaw but Cullen was moving with her. 

Once she planted herself she was stuck, he stepped to her side following her extended arm towards her back. Vesper tried to pivot, fighting against her own momentum, but Cullen already had his arms underneath hers. He reached up, grasping his palms firmly on her shoulders; he had to be careful that she didn’t try to break his nose with the back of her head, although perhaps she could help finally straighten his face back out? 

Vesper writhed in his grip as she attempted to catch him with her elbows or get her fingers under his own. Cullen was almost too happy with his success to notice Vesper’s stance shift back onto one foot. He had only a moment to brace before her foot struck his shin. 

“Maker!” Cullen hissed through his teeth, as Vesper uttered a pleased: 

“Motherfucker!”

Now, he let his training take over. His body dropped, taking them both to the ground with an unpleasant crack coming from his knee as he caught himself on it to avoid crushing Vesper. 

He was straddling her back, her face half turned up towards him from the ground. A smile was pulling at her lips, and he assumed underneath her glaring there would’ve been more exciting expression on her face if she wasn’t still trying to win the match. 

“Maker.” The word slipped past his lips thoughtlessly as he breathed out. Her hair was coming undone, and one of the clover blossoms they’d disturbed had gotten caught in the loose strands. She was a furiously clever thing, but maybe there was still hope for those traits to rub off on him. 

She was probably going to swear at him again, but to secure his win Cullen adjusted his grip and bent her arms backwards to be able to grasp them against her back. He’d practiced the procedure hundreds of times, but halfway through the motion he felt her injured shoulder click. 

He hadn’t meant to hurt her, hadn’t known he would, but Vesper cried out all the same-

---

And then they were back in the Gallows on the only night that could ever matter between them, the day Cullen’s world was forced to reshape itself for the second but not last time. 

The wind had shifted and the smoke from the Chantry stung his eyes as he stood shoulder to shoulder with the man who had set it ablaze. He was tired in a way he had never been before, a place beyond exhaustion, a state of being where he knew the only thing holding his body upright was the waning lyrium in his blood.

Desperate mages had summoned horrors and Meredith was burning with a power that would leave the world changed in its wake. And it was all he could do to keep his feet beneath him in the face of all. 

Vesper was screaming. Cullen thought he had heard every sound of agony that could leave a human’s lips, he, himself, had been the musical instrument of a demon. Yet, the noises she made - they broke reason and shattered the heart. 

He’d heard her grief, her rage, her laughter, her joy. 

This was her soul bleeding out from her throat. Vesper had fought through the city’s streets, through the Circle, the Gallows, all so that she could do what Cullen couldn’t find the will to do before. She was going to put Meredith down like the mad dog she was.

But, before his eyes Cullen watched as his Knight-Commander crushed and cut through Vesper’s armor with a strength that belonged on the other side of the Veil. Yet, the Champion was as unending as the sea, Ander’s horrible magic pulling her skin closed almost before Meredith’s blade could fully leave the wound. 

Vesper was dying in the same breath she lived again.

There were many things that were never meant to be, and Cullen wished one day to stop seeing them. 

His wish would never be granted, and certainly not on that day. In spite of Meridith’s powers, the match had been decided the moment Vesper’s pleas had swayed her companions to stand with her against this madness. It was a slow, spiraling matter of numbers and endurance, but that did not mean Meridith would not leave her blood mark before the red lyrium took her. 

Blood was thick on the worn stones of the Gallows and as she lunged Vesper lost her footing. Had she been against any other foe Cullen was sure Hawke would’ve been back on her feet before they could close the distance, but Meridith was so far from human now. 

His Commander stepped and the world seemed to shrink around her, a single stride bringing her upon Vesper. Cullen had seen the cruelty of demons but the way that woman put her blade into Vesper’s chest was delirious with the want for pain. She pinned the Champion to the ground like an insect in the collections of the Tranquil of the Circle. 

The snap of bones and the crack of stone was as if the Old Gods had come back only to strike down a fallen godling. Cullen was sure Vesper had cried out but his ears were full with the wailing of the man at his side.  Anders. 

Cullen didn’t have time to ask what could be done or to offer his comforts. No, Vesper was right, when Meridith was done with her favored enemies she came for the cowards like him. 

He still bore the scars of her wrath, they crept along the sides of his cheeks, dug divots into his arms, and left rotting aching cracks in his very bones. His mind in its mercy had let that beating slip from its memory. However it held, perhaps out of vengeance, fiercely to the image of his Commander’s chest pierced open by a Mage’s stave. 

The lyrium took her then, in a blinding burning fury. Skin crackling, charring into red crystals that still somehow sung to part of him that had only ever known fear. Fine particulate of the drug stung his eyes as a hand reached out and wrenched Meridith’s head from her neck. 

Her body had remained above him, frozen forever in a testament to her temptation, but her head was a prize Vesper had taken with her from the city that day. The Champion’s soiled fingers intertwined in Meridith’s once blonde hair were one of the few parts of Vesper he could see through the haze. 

The other was her brown eyes, wide as the open sky, staring back at him as her companions pressed close to her. Those same eyes stared at him now from the grass beside him. 

----

She was still on her stomach, he was now on his back, head turned towards her as his heart raced with terror. He couldn’t recall hitting the ground, but now that he was here he wondered if he would ever be able to rise from it again. It felt as if the sky had stooped down to press its great knee against his chest, making every breath a battle. 

Dull warmth settled against his skin as Vesper’s arm crossed the distance between them and pressed against his. He couldn’t feel her pulse but he imagined if he could it would be outpacing his own out of pure competitive spite. 

She was breathing in that same pattern as before, although she didn’t seem able to hold her breath in her chest to the full count of four. The space behind his eyes ached as a headache bloomed to life inside his skull. He squeezed his eyes shut, but he could still hear the steady rhythm - inhale, hold, exhale, hold, repeat. 

It came to him without conscious thought, his body craving the easy comfort of routine. In time the crickets and other insects of the night began to chirp around them as a breeze came down from the parapets. Cullen wondered dully if the Inquisitor was enjoying such a lovely night up in their tower. He would hope they would be resting, but he knew all too well the temptation of their work. 

“You were waiting for an audience to show off, huh?” Vesper’s voice was a bit raw, her normal gravel now closer to a grating, although her barking chuckle seemed generally unchanged. “If I’d known that was all you needed, I would’ve started by sending invitations.” 

Cullen blinked his eyes open in brief confusion as her words arranged themselves into some sort of sense in his mind. Skyhold was the beating heart of their work, there was no privacy to be found here, he knew that of course, but his stomach still sank at the idea that the keep would be whispering about him hurting Kirkwall’s Champion; especially since she certainly was not supposed to even be on this side of the sea. 

“I’m sorry, I know you know that, but I need-I need you to hear it.” He stumbled through his words as he stared at Vesper’s cheek. She’d rolled onto her back in order to stare up at one of the keep’s balconies and appeared wholly uninterested in meeting his eyes again. 

“I hear you.” He watched her lips as she spoke, her old laugh lines and scars visible even in the moonlight. 

“Thank you.” Cullen closed his eyes again and took a few more breathes before he asked: “Is our audience still here?” 

“Oh yes, I think they are concerned about you.” Vesper’s tone was creeping all too close to one Varric used when he was about to say something awful. 

“I’m doing…fine.” 

“I think you ought to go tell them that before you retire tonight.” Vesper paused and Cullen finally caved to curiosity and began glancing around in search of whom she was referring. “They worry about you enough as is.” 

Cullen traced a path along each level of the Keep until he found a small figure perched on the bridge to his office. His heart dropped into the earth beneath him, and for once he wished it would fall all the way into some deep Dwarven stronghold so he would not to suffer the pangs the Inquisitor’s gaze wrought upon him. 

“It, well, it does make sense that the Inquisitor would take notice in my…training.” Now his thoughts left his lips in true fits and starts. Vesper spared him any further laughter, although she did withdraw her arm from his, leaving a brief coldness in her wake. 

“I’m sure that is all they are watching for..” 

“Of course, Josephine and Liliana will have concerns over this incident as well I’m sure-” Even when he rambled on about the others Cullen couldn’t tear his eyes away from them. 

Vher’s hair was down, the locks in the front swaying in the breeze, as the moonlight seemed to make them glow. Cullen wasn’t sure he could recall the last time he’d seen them like this, even as their hair grew back from its shaved cut they still kept the longer parts up . It was practicality, a trait Vher possessed in all things. 

How odd it was then that on this cool night he found their shoulders lacked the normal volume of their feathered cowl. Maker, they must’ve come down in a hurry as they lacked even a cloak and he immediately began to pull himself to his feet. 

Vesper rose much slower, instead pausing half way through the process to watch Cullen search for his own furred mantle. Silence settled between them and when he finally found the rest of his clothes he turned to find that her attention had wandered back up to the Inquisitor. 

Slowly, Vesper laid her left hand on her injured shoulder. It was lifted slightly higher than her other, but she raised no further complaint. This however, was of little comfort to Cullen who had now somehow managed to leave two separate people out in the cold tonight. 

He stepped beside Vesper fully intending to help her up, but instead she informed him: 

“They’re beautiful, you know.” She said it as if it was a fact of the universe, as true as the sun’s daily rise. There was no disagreement to be found in Cullen’s heart, but her abruptness flustered him. 

“They are-” What? There was no path forward in this thought that would not betray himself or ring hollow with a lie. He cleared his throat and instead let the matter be: “They are.” 

“And they are worried for you.” Vesper was no less factual on this front.

“I am on their council and we are at war.” 

“Of course.” Those two words held a sea of meaning in them that Cullen was frightened to wade into tonight. Was it his fate to be a man torn? By duty and morals, by professional need and affection, but doctrine and truth? 

If he was then Vesper was surely a part of his torture. 

“Am I dismissed?” Cullen asked as he offered her his arm. Vesper gave Vher one last long look before she accepted his help. 

“Do you plan on throwing your coat up there?” Her sharp humor had returned it, and with it her wicked grin.