#BEA FANS WHERE ARE YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!! PLEASE MAKE SOME NOISE
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bea bea bea!!!
#BEA FANS WHERE ARE YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!! PLEASE MAKE SOME NOISE#dc#dc comics#beatriz da costa#fire dc#jli#eyestrain#my art
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hi bby! i said i was gonna leave an ask and i meant that. can i ask for a tsukki, kenma or kuroo? maybe they about an argument and then they make-up? maybe they fought about fans flirting with them or video games or whatever! ill let you decide! love you ❤❤❤❤❤
my first request sjhjshshsj🥺🥺
bea bb thank you i love n appreciate you so much <3 i decided to go with kenma and arguing over a video game bc i vibed with it the most hehe, i hope you like it!! this fic is so much longer than i had intended it to be im sorry-
and i apologize that this took so long :( life has been really messy and all over the place :((
fights, tears, and make-ups
pairing: kenma kozume x reader
word count: 1.4k
genre: angst (but i honestly can’t tell if it’s super ansty-), fluff, hurt/comfort
synopsis: kenma shouldn’t have taken you for granted, but he did.
“Kenma, you need to eat dinner.”
“In a sec,” you heard the blond-haired boy reply from his gaming room, undoubtedly with his eyes still glued to the screen.
“Kenma. You haven’t eaten all day. You need to eat.”
Seconds pass with no response. With a sigh, you grabbed the bowl beside you and walked towards his room. Sliding open his door, you find him completely focused on the game. He’s pale, dark circles under his eyes drooping and anyone walking in would see he’s exhausted, needing rest, but he can’t. The only thing on his mind is that he has to pass this level.
Walking over gently, you place the bowl onto his table. Kenma jumps at the noise, not having known you were there, the motion making his screen character go a little too far left and being crushed by a falling rock.
He throws his console onto the desk and gives you a stare burning through your skin. “I was about to pass that level. I’ve been stuck on it for a day and you just had to enter right then.”
“Kenma, you haven’t eaten a single thing today-”
“Oh, shut up.”
You tense up under his harsh words, about to speak when you’re cut off by more of his rambling.
“Kenma this, Kenma that. It’s annoying. Quit acting like I can’t take care of myself. Things were so much quieter and calmer without you anyways.”
His tone is barely above a whisper, almost as if he thought it was too much of a bother to talk to you. Taken aback by his words, you take a moment to fully absorb what he had said, every word cutting a slash into your heart.
“I hope your life goes back to calm and quiet” were the last words you left him before you left the apartment with tears streaming down your face.
Kenma’s eyes linger on you for a moment before going back onto his screen. He instantly regrets what he said, but doesn’t go after you. Instead, he restarts his game and his character dies again, at the exact same place.
The bowl of food on his table goes cold.
The first day with you gone passes fine for Kenma. As usual, he goes to sleep at way too late and gets up at noon-ish and scrambles together some food to prepare for his stream. His viewers tell him he doesn’t seem as energetic, and isn’t smiling as much. He says that he’s a little tired and didn’t sleep too well last night, which was only half the truth. He feels a little empty, mind often tracing back to your smile and then immediately to your tear-stained face. He eats two bites of bread for dinner and decides to go to sleep.
“I’ll be fine,” he thinks, “I don’t need y/n to live.”
The days only spiral downhill from there. Snack wrappers thrown all over the apartment and laundry piled up into stacks. He hasn’t eaten something actually cooked in days. Having no energy to do anything, he calls off streams for a whole week. Most of his time is spent lying on the sofa with his face towards the ceiling, replaying his last conversation with you in his head over and over and over again.
“Things were much quieter and calmer without you anyways.”
I’m sorry. Please come back.
He contemplates so many times on whether or not to call you, to text you, to try and get in touch with you. But he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was the one who hurt you, told you you were annoying when he didn’t realize how much you matter to him.
Kuroo checks in on Kenma every single day. By the fourth day, he’s determined to make him talk to you.
“Kenma, you can’t keep living like this.”
Tired eyes glued to his screen, the pudding-head boy grumbles in response, Not enough energy in him to do anything else.
Sighing, Kuroo unplugs his entire monitor and forces his chair to spin towards him so that he’s staring Kenma right in the eyes.
“Kenma, I’m serious. You need to talk to her.”
“And then what?”
Kuroo staggers a little, taken aback from the question.
“And then what, Kuroo? I hurt her. She deserves so much better anyways.”
The rooster-haired boy takes his phone and throws it onto his lap.
“You need to call her sooner or later. I don’t know when, but you need to.”
Kenma gently holds his phone with two hands with his thumbs hovering over the screen, constantly switching between the keyboard and the delete button. He debates himself for fifteen seconds before giving up and pressing the call button.
The phone has rung seven times and you have yet to pick up. He’s certain that you won’t pick up at all. Yet on the eighth ring, you pick up.
“Kenma?” He hears from the other side.
His voice hitches in his throat. A thousand thoughts are crossing his mind and his breath is suddenly stggered. He tries to say “I’m sorry”, “Where are you”, and “Please come back” at the same time, but none of them seem to be coming out.
“Kenma, you there?”
“Yn.”
His voice is so empty, dull, tiring and you almost drop your phone out of shock.
“Where are you?”
Coming back to reality, you swallow and reply, “Friend’s house. Why?”
“Can we, uhm, can we talk?”
Your side of the line goes silent for three whole seconds before you take a deep breath and reply, “Sure. Give me a time and place.”
“If you don’t mind, can you just come home?”
HIs voice quivered at the word home, like it wasn’t really home to him anymore. Not without you. You couldn’t help but tell him you’ll be back in a bit.
As you reach closer to your building, the more your heart threatens to jump out of your throat. There’s a knot in your stomach that you just can’t get rid of, and even though you know this was all his fault, your mind can’t stop racing. None of this was your fault, was it?
Before realizing, your hand was on the door handle and without thinking too much, you push the door open.
To say you were shocked from the state of the apartment is an understatement. Yes, Kenma wasn’t the tidiest person in the world, but you knew he’d never let the apartment get this messy. The moment you walked in you knew he would be in a bad state too, which confused you. But he didn’t want you here, did he?
Suddenly, you hear footsteps coming towards you. Frozen in place, you wonder if this was a bad idea. If you should just leave and tell him you couldn’t make it, but it’s too late. By the time your head has gotten back into reality, he was standing in front of you, eyes full of guilt and regret.
“Hey,” you try to say, which turns out to be nothing more than a whisper.
Hesitating for a second, he stumbles towards you and falls into your arms, leaning into your touch, burying his face into your neck and mumbling “I’m sorry” and “please forgive me” again and again.
“I was stupid. It’s all my fault. I was frustrated and took it out on you. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry. Everything is so much better with you and I was being dumb. I’m so sorry please don’t leave.” His eyes were brimmed with tears, threatening to spill out any second. He’s rambling, words that he had meant to say to you over the past days all spilling out. He can’t seem to be able to stop. You’ve never seen him so scared, so vulerable.
Holding him tight, you take a deep breath, swallowing the many things you wanted to say to him, to blame him, to yell at him, to tell him it’s all his fault.
Instead, you hold him tight against you.
“Shh, Kenma. I’m here now. I won’t leave, okay? I’ve got you, we can talk this out.”
He grabs onto you even tighter. “Thank you. Thank you thank you.”
You were going to have a lot to talk about, you both knew that for sure. And maybe things aren’t going to go back to how they were for a long time. But right now he was in your arms and you were in his, and he was never more determined to fix what he broke.
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Could i get a sick monoma who has a crush on reader who is in class 1A, and when he doesnt show up for class, she finds out hes sick and skips her classes to take care of him?
My boy Monoma! I love him! Thanks for the ask! Also sorry if its bad, its my first time writing for him! (Also the format is weird, gotta find out how to fix that.) -Bea
Monoma is... well he’s an ass to be frank, and to most of 1A, and 1B for that matter, it is incredibly difficult to understand why he has this hatred for your class. It’s confusing to say the least. Weather it be his smartass comments or his constant competition with your class, it’s easy to say that class 1A dislikes Monoma. Well, everyone but you. Somehow, you of all people were able to weesle your way into his heart. He was disgusted with himself that he let himself fall for a member of 1A, especially you. You were just so... annoying. You were the definition of a mom friend... but like, a cool, funny, hot, mom friend. You were constantly fluttering around people, making sure they were taken care of. Perhaps he only liked you because he felt recognized by his competition when you talked to him, or the fact that you didnt care that his attitude was less than amazing. Or maybe it was the fact that when you smiled at him, the world felt like it disappeared around him. But unfortunately, a smile wouldn’t cure him. He had the flu, and it was caught far too late for Recovery Girl to heal. It was bad, really bad. His body hurt with the rise and fall of his chest, his throat burned every time breathed, and he had a dry, painful cough. And the hot flashes. Dont even get him started on the hot flashes. It felt like he
You, on the other hand, were in between classes, waiting outside the classroom door so you could walk to your next classes together. It was as routine as breathing at this point, with a set of unspoken rules that came with the tradition
1. Who ever gets out of class first has to wait for the other person
2. If the class is getting out so late that you will be late to your next class if you wait, just go ahead.
3. You always go to the closest classroom first.
It was as simple as that, so when his class was dismissed and students began to file out, you were surprised to see him missing. You stopped Kendo before she got away. “Hey! Where’s Monoma? He normally doesn’t go this long without yelling at us.” You joked lightly.
Kendo’s eyes widened, “Wait... he didn’t tell you?” You shook your head and Kendo, broke eye contact with you, “Oh... he’s sick so you probably don’t wanna hEY WHERE ARE YOU GOING?!” You didn’t hear her, as you were way to busy running to the dorms, specially 1B’s dorms. Kendo already knew where you were going, and she also knows that Monoma will kill her when he gets better. Unfortunately for Kendo, Monoma specially asked the class to not tell anyone that he was sick, especially class 1A. Something about “Not wanting the enemies to know he can get sick,” or whatever. Not like it matters.
You had just arrived at the dorms. For whatever reason, Monoma gave his spare key to you, which was strange because you weren’t even in his class. It’s not like you were complaining, you loved that he trusted you enough to give you the spare key to his room. As you shut the door to the common room, you walked over to the kitchen and opened the fridge, happy to find it stocked with ingredients. What were you making? Soup, a traditional sick day meal. You chucked the broth and vegetables in a pot, turned on the stove, and quietly placed the lid on top. It wouldn’t take long, but in the meantime, you decide to go see Monoma. You grabbed a bowl of ice and a cup of water, and hopped in the elevator. Standing in the empty elevator, you took the time to think. As annoying as Monoma was, the boy had carved a hole for himself in your heart. Under the mask of extravagance and disdain, he’s honestly a sweetheart. He doesn’t always show it, but he did care. It was normally shown with small actions, wether it be him packing a bento for you when he had extra food, or texting you good night and telling you how great you are when you had a bad day, he was a kind soul. That’s probably why you have a crush on him. Sure, his blonde hair and beautiful lilac eyes were a bonus, but it was mostly his attitude that made you fall for him. He was loud, angry, and passive aggressive, emphasis on the aggressive. You also admired his drive and determination. Even with a quirk that could be considered less than hero worthy, he worked his angry little ass off to make it into the hero program, and he succeeded. But he didn’t give up there, he’s continued to work hard to be the best he can be. It was incredible and very inspirational. The door opened, and you made your way to Monoma’s room. You took a deep breath and knocked on the door, hearing a grunt and a confused, “come in?” You opened the door and sighed at the scene in front of you. Monoma was in his bed, one leg out of his blanket, his other leg under, tissues surrounding his body. He had his fan on, filling the room with noise. His face was pale and gleaming with sweat, his hair stuckto his forehead. He looked up to you with wide eyes as you shut the door behind you quietly, walking over to him. You placed the ice and the glass of water on his night stand, then sat down on his bed. You just kinda... looked at each other for a few seconds, and then he tried to sit up. He groaned, his head pounding from sitting up to quickly.
You pushed him back down gently, when he finally speaks. “Why are you here?” He questions.
“Because you’re sick.” You say, grabbing the cup of water from the nightstand.
He furrows his eyebrows at you. “Yeah, so?” He states.
“So I’m taking care of you,” you hold the cup out to him, “Drink some water.”
He pushes the glass away, craning his neck in an attempt to look at the clock on his desk. “No, what time is it?” He looks back to you.
Checking the clock, you look back to him, “10:45, why?”
He sighs and rubs his face, grabbing a tissue to blot his face with, then throwing the tissue somewhere behind you. “You should be in class.” He grumbles.
“Yeah, well I’m not, I’m here taking care of you,” You shove the glass of water back in his face, beginning to become aggravated with him, “now shut up and drink the fucking water.”
He turns his head away from you and pouts, then mumbles, “Fuck you, no.”
You lean towards him, close enough to where he can feel your breath tickling his face. “Drink. The. Fucking. Water. Now.” You growl.
He turns back to you and crosses his arms over the blanket, then reaches out and grabs the cup. “...Fine...” He mumbles into the cup, taking a sip of the cold liquid. Honestly, it’s really soothing, like a dry sponge absorbing water for the first time, but he would never admit that to you.
He shoves the water back to you,“Good, now then, have you taken any medicine?” He stays silent and turns away from you, becoming fairly interested in the pile of tissues on the floor.
As you place the cup back on the night stand, you grumble, “Monoma...”
He doesn’t look back up to you, he just mumbles, “..no..”
You sigh and chuckle, “Christ. No wonder you’re sick. I’ll go downstairs and grab some. I’ll be right back.” You pat his head and he whines.
The one thing you didn’t think to ask was where the medicine cabinet was, so instead of just finding the medicine, you were forced to shuffle through the many different cabinets, until finally you found the holy medicine cabinet. You sifted through it until finally you found what you were searching for. You disided that since your down here, you may as well grab a bowl of soup for him. You take the bowl and the medicine back to Monoma.
“Ok, I got medicine and soup.” You say as you open the door. Monoma’s eyes drift from you to the soup
He crossed his arms and shivered, “Where the fuck did the soup come from.” He says, then coughs.
You put it next to the water on the nightstand, then open the medicine. “I made it, now take the medicine, then soup.” You put it in his hands.
He brings it to his nose and smells it, then grimaces and holds it as far away from him as he possibly can. “Ew gross what is this?”
You grab it from his hand and instead try a different method, “Medicine, now open up.” You say gently.
He turns his head away, “No.”
You grumble and press the spoon against his lips. “Monoma... open up.”
He shakes his head at you and turns his nose up, “Nope.”
You sigh, and realize you need to take desperate measures. You place your hand on his chest, or, the blanket over his chest, and lean towards him, putting on the saddest look you possibly can, and then whisper, “Neito... please just take the medicine... if not for yourself then at least for me?” He stares at you with wide eyes as you press the spoon full of the offending liquid to his face.
He finally opens up and lets you put the spoon in his mouth. As soon as he swallows, he grabs the water and chugs the entire things, sputtering, “Ugh, that shit is disgusting. Wasn’t there a better flavor or something?” You grab a tissue and wipe his mouth.
You pet his head lightly and smile at him. “Nope, but thank you for taking the medicine, you did a great job.”
His face brightens a little, and he turns his head away.“Tch, whatever, just give me the damn soup.” He makes grabby hands at you.
You chuckle and grab the soup, “Ok ok, fine. Here.” You pick up a spoonful of soup and hold his chin.
His face turns red, he’s probably having a hot flash, “I can feed myself.” He mumbles, but you still press the spoon against his mouth.
You grin at him and snicker, “Yeah, that’s true, but I wanna feed you, so here.”
He rolls his eyes and opens his mouth, and you feed him. Once he swallows, his eyes widen. “...did you actually make this?”
“Yeah, why? Is it the best soup you’ve ever had?” You teased lightly, giving him another spoonful
He rubbed the back of his neck“Uh, yeah.” He said sincerely... until that smirk of doom graced his face, “I didn’t know that you 1A losers can cook, but you know, I bet that 1B can-“ You put a finger to his lips and his eyes shot open and he tensed up, looking from the hand on his mouth, then back to you.
“Shh shh shh, less competing, more eating.” You giggle as he relaxes again.
You continued to feed him and talk to him for around an hour, until he looked like he was about to fall asleep. You decided it was probably time to leave him alone and head back to your dorm so he could relax and heal. As you got up from the bed, you sighed and looked at him, “Well, anyway, you have my number, so get some rest and call if you need something. Ok?” With no response for a second, you assumed he was asleep and made your way to the door.
“Wait...” You paused in your tracks, turning your head to him, “C-can you stay?” He stuttered as he gave you a sad look.
“Monoma,” you sighed “I’ll get sick.”
A look of confidence crossed his face and he grinned. “If you do, I’ll take care of you.” There was the unmistakable gleam of challenge in his eyes. He didn’t care if he was sick, he would chase after you and bring you back to bed if you took so much of a step out that door, and you knew that.
You shook your head and chuckled, pretending, and failing, to be annoyed, “Ugh, fine. Scoot over.” He did as he was told and made room for you behind him, then patted the bed. You climbed in next to him and he threw the blanket over you, then grabbed your arms and wrapped them around his torso. His shirt was hot, and it was wet with sweat, it was also... smooth?
“Monoma?” You questioned,“Are... you not wearing a shirt?”
He grinned and played dumb with you, “No? It’s hot??? Why the hell would I have a shirt?” He knew exactly what he was doing, and you knew too, so you just sucked it up and put your head on the pillow.
“...whatever,” you sighed, “just go to bed.” You closed your eyes and listened to his breathing in peaceful silence.
Until that silence was broken. “Is there still soup?” Monoma asked.
You groaned and mumbled a reply into his neck, “Yes. You can have some later, go to bed.”
“Ok.” He said happily. There was silence again for another five minutes, until Monoma decided to talk again, “Y/n?”
“What.” You snapped.
He was quiet for a moment, then spoke again, sounded much more drowsy than before.“...Thank you... I love you...” He didn’t say anything else so you assumed he fell asleep.
You took a moment to realize what he said. He loved you... he said he loved you. You barried your head into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent, grinning like a maniac. You replied in a whisper, “...Love you too... sleep well Neito...”
Both you and Monoma fell asleep with huge smiles on your faces.
Bonus:
“Fuck you, like, actually fuck you.” You mumbled from under your blankets.
“Oh honey, is that an insult, or an invitation?” Monoma teased.
You thought about it for a moment, and decided it was definitely an insult, but you didn’t reply. He just snickered and grabbed something off your nightstand. “I told you I would take care of you if you got sick,” he grinned manically, “now.. open up and take your medicine.”
Please send requests and follow for more! See you next time!
#bnha#boku no hero academia#mha#my hero academia#monoma neito#bnha monoma#mha monoma#monoma imagine#monoma x reader#monoma neito x reader#bnha imagines#bnha incorrect quotes#mha imagines#mha incorrect quotes#class 1b#class 1a
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Update: Girl with the Arrow Tattoo Chapter 35!
Maria Cadash finds both a home and a title. She’s not a fan of the latter. Varric deals with his actions and their consequences.
Full story at AO3!
Maria stared, breathless, across the stone bridge her hand conjured out of nowhere. The fortress bled into existence, made of nothing but snow and clouds. Glittering magic pulled walls from both mountain and thin air. The stone rearranged itself with a laughing song nobody else but her seemed able to hear.
Well, Nanna always said the stone sang to the dwarves if they listened. Maria never believed her, but now…
As she watched, the great gate at the other side of the bridge rose, iron chains clanking and echoing as it lifted slowly. It seemed like a warm, gentle invitation to come inside. To stay. To rest. She could almost feel curled fingers reaching out to her.
“Great.” Varric muttered under his breath. “Haunted castle in the middle of nowhere. We’re going in there, aren’t we? Fantastic.”
“Where’s your sense of adventure, Varric?” She asked, daring a smile at him. It felt like the first time she’d smiled in days. A weight lifted from her chest, leaving her lightheaded and almost giddy. She took one trembling, hopeful step onto the bridge, swirling her still bare fingers over the stone walls. She had to be imagining it, but it seemed to greet her with the same joyful anticipation she felt, vibrating under her fingers like a cat who finally found someone to feed it.
“In Kirkwall. With my common sense and good winter coat.” Varric surely meant to sound more grumpy, but he barely contained his own smile in return. It warmed her from the inside out like a cup of coffee. Made her think of his arms holding her, his voice conjuring stories out of thin air.
She tucked that smile away inside her and tried to ignore the greedy clamoring inside her for more.
“There is magic here.” Cassandra’s lanky form melded to Maria’s side, staring up at the glimmering towers in the sun. “More magic than I have ever felt in one place. A building such as this…”
“It reminds me of the Vyrantium Enchanter’s University.” Dorian, at least, seemed just as eager as she was to explore. “The place had seen so much magic, sometimes it did rather odd things. I knew a Magister who swore up and down she once got lost in the cellar for six months because the hallways kept changing.”
“Preposterous.” Vivienne sniffed from beside him. “We would never let our circles become so unruly here.”
“She wants to meet you.” Cole’s slender, bare fingers traced the stone near Maria’s with a tentative, small smile. “She missed the sun. It’s been so long.”
“She?” Maria questioned, flipping her eyes up to Cole’s. His were nearly hidden under his jagged blonde hair, but warmth danced within them and he smiled sweetly.
“Skyhold.” He answered. “She was lost, like you.”
The wind kicked up and stole bits of her hair from the bun she’d knotted it in. She swore she heard something like a giggle hidden within it, vanishing quickly across the bridge, shaking the leaves from the trees outside the walls.
That left nothing to do but follow the invisible yearning she’d been using as a compass since Solas told her to strike out north. She let her fingers trace the stones, holding her breath as she strode forward.
Hello, she thought silently. Hello, I’m here. I’m listening.
She felt silly for a moment and silently hoped the blush on her face could be taken for nothing but the cold. Then the wind kissed her cheeks again, a touch as simple and uncomplicated as Bea’s lips on her skin.
She reminded herself, more sternly, it was her imagination run amok. It had to be. But the stone seemed to tremble under her fingers with the same joyful greeting. Maria thought she could almost hear it.
Hello. Welcome home.
They stepped under the ancient gate and Maria’s eyes landed on the first tree rising just inside it, leaves still unfurling, ripples of magic lacing the air as flowers became fruit, reddened before her very eyes, growing full and heavy in the branches.
Apples, just like the ones Nanna and Bea cut up to make into pies and dumplings. A quick, hard pang of hunger laced her, mouth watering. Protein bars were fine, she guessed, if the other option was starving, but these…
They were her favorite. She had no idea how Vivienne could waltz right underneath them without even looking up.
One of them fell with a gentle plop, rolling on the cobblestones directly to her feet like an offering. Maria crouched, cautiously picking it up and turning the bright red flesh in her hands. She could smell it, the bruised flesh releasing a sweet, tart smell.
“Do not eat that.” Cassandra directed immediately. Maria frowned and waved the enticing fruit under the human’s nose as she straightened.
“Seeker, it’s an apple. It smells wonderful.”
“There’s a fairy story that starts this way.” Dorian remarked idyly. “Enchanted fruit. Endless sleep. Who, pray tell, will play our prince charming if you poison yourself?”
“Do I get to choose?” Maria asked, only half paying attention, examining the apple more closely. It certainly looked fine. It looked like a normal apple she’d buy from the store.
“She made it for you because you like them.” Cole insisted quietly. “It’s good.”
“Oh, and who would you choose?” Dorian asked, the words loaded with hidden meaning. Maria very pointedly didn’t look away from the apple in her hands, the skin so shiny she could almost see herself reflected in it.
“You, of course.” She answered with feigned nonchalance. Dorian huffed, pleased in spite of himself. It wasn’t the truth, though, and she feared the witch knew it. If Maria got to choose who’d be kissing her… well, the man who slept chastely beside her to warm her frozen, battered body certainly deserved a reward. Varric Tethras, for all his complaining, had been a solid rock since they’d started moving north. Never far from her side, always easily located in a crowd. They were two moons spinning around each other, caught in their own gravity.
What was it he said? I’m sick of near misses? Maybe he’d gotten it right. Maybe she… maybe she’d been incorrect. If he wanted her, if he really wanted…
“Well, I am the obvious… fasta vass!” As he spoke, Maria brought the fruit to her lips and bit into it thoughtfully. Flavor exploded on her tongue, enough to make her moan in sweet, satisfaction. It was by far the best damn apple she’d ever had, made all the sweeter by her diet of cardboard-like rations for the last three days. Juice dribbled down her chin and she hurried to wipe it away, meeting Dorian and Cassandra’s horrified expressions with a wicked, mischievous grin while she chewed and swallowed. She held the bitten fruit up to them. “Just an apple.”
Cassandra rolled her eyes skyward with a blatant noise of disapproval.
“If you die, it is completely your fault and I want you to know I will undoubtedly be here saying I told you so.” Dorian crossed his arms and glared down at her, but she could see his lips twitching under his mustache. “Survives time travel, a dragon, an avalanche, dies because she ate a blighted apple.”
“Would you like one?” She asked sweetly, fluttering her lashes.
“If you are not dead in thirty minutes, perhaps.” Dorian shook his head and strode off after Vivienne, peering around with a scholar’s delighted gaze.
She laughed and brought the apple back to her lips, tearing off another chunk of the sweet, white flesh and closing her eyes. It tasted like summer, like innocence, warmth, and safety. It tasted like Nanna’s kitchen and home.
She opened them again and found that Cassandra too had moved past her into the massive courtyard. Instead of witch or Seeker at her elbow, she was looking into the darkened amber eyes of an author fixed on her lips like he was taking notes.
She chewed the apple slowly and held the fruit out to Varric instead with an arched eyebrow. He cleared his throat and shook his head, pulled a smirk back to his face. “Sparkler’s right. If you’re still alive in an hour, I’ll give it a shot.”
“Kind of you all to let me be the test case.” Maria chirped, content enough with the situation. If she died now, at least, it would be with real food in her stomach.
“Hey, you’re the one who couldn’t wait.” Varric pointed out, letting his eyes roam the walls around them. He didn’t leave her side, even as Cassandra, Dorian, and Vivienne vanished further into the great space, examining what looked to be some sort of stable house.
Varric ripped his eyes from the walls and back to her, his smile broadening as he caught her examining him. “See something you like, Princess?” He teased smoothly.
He wanted her body, that much was obvious, but if that was it… if that was all, why did he stay here beside her? Why didn’t he stay back with the others where he wouldn’t have to plunge through snow up to both their asses?
He wants more, a younger, softer part of her supplied. He cares about you.
No he doesn’t, a harsher voice scolded. He pities you. He’s just here for a story.
“Trying to decide if I can outrun you when the haunted castle decides it doesn’t like us poking it.” Maria reasoned lightly. “I like my odds, frankly.”
Solas chuckled from behind them, but it was Cole that broke in, concerned. “No! She’s happy we’re here.”
Varric frowned. “You know, for a haunted castle in the middle of nowhere, this kind of reminds me of that first Swords and Shields book. The stable right there could be a dead ringer for the one I described in the city keep.”
He was right. She blinked, taken aback, squinting at it more closely while she chewed another bite of apple.
“If Miss Cadash read your book, perhaps the magic in this place is rearranging itself to show her what she wishes.” Solas placed his own palm on the apple tree, looking up into its branches sadly. “This is an old place. It has missed the footsteps of people, their laughter as they lived their lives.”
“I’m sorry.” Maria nearly choked on the mouthful of apple she was chewing. “You’re saying I made this.”
“No. She did. For you.” Cole stated like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“This place has a mind of its own, Miss Cadash. You are the one who awakened it, it is you it wishes to please. Whether it is pulling Varric’s… literature as an inspiration to do so, however, I cannot say for sure.” Solas wrinkled his nose when he said the word literature. It was a testament, she thought, to how shocked both her and Varric were that neither of them objected.
“How?” Maria asked incredulously.
“For Andraste’s sake, why?” Varric asked instead, abjectly horrified.
“The mark.” Solas said gently, pointing to the stone high up above them. Maria twirled to follow his pointing finger, eyes landing on the emblazoned sigil of the sun high above their heads, carved into the walls. It matched her hand exactly. “It recognizes your magic.”
“Oh.” Cole breathed softly, looking up, smiling widely. “Yes. You need to see.”
“See what?” Maria asked. She barely got the last word out before Cole wrenched her forward, eager as a puppy, grin broad.
“It’s perfect.” Cole beamed. “A place to keep the darkness out. The nightmares can’t catch you here.”
Maria sputtered in protest, but Cole didn’t listen. He dragged her up the nearest stone stairs, the apple falling uselessly from Maria’s hand while he tugged her into the body of the castle. She paused, momentarily awestruck, to take in the soaring ceilings, the sun etched within the stained glass. Cole let her gawk for only a second before pulling her further in. She caught sight of both Varric and Solas following them.
“There’s an awful lot of stairs here.” Varric huffed as Cole threw open the next door, revealing a plain, shadowy staircase spiraling upwards.
“Yes.” Cole nodded as they piled into the shadowy stairwell. “The stone touches the sky like she does. Like they both do.”
“The stone is quite fine with being on the ground, thank you very…” Varric barely got his foot onto the step behind them before the door slammed shut like an exclamation point. They all turned to stare at it, shocked and in Varric’s case, more than a little dismayed.
“Great.” He said immediately. “We’re all gonna die here.”
“I believe that is unlikely.” Solas didn’t quite laugh again, but his lips carried a hint of amusement. “Perhaps the castle does not take kindly to criticism.”
“She didn’t make it for you.” Cole blurted, shaking his head at Varric pointedly. “It’s for Maria.”
“What’s for Maria?” She asked, redirecting Cole to whatever it was he wanted to show her.
Cole beamed in the dim light, hauling her back up the steps with renewed vigor. When they got to the top he dropped her arm and turned to see her face, beaming at her. “This.”
This.
Tears came unbidden to her eyes and Maria swallowed them, blinking hard. The room was beautiful, carved of rough hewn stone, covered with sparkling wide windows looking out onto the mountains, stained glass casting bits of jewel-like color all over the floor. A crackling fireplace warmed the whole area, a plush red rug looked soft enough to sleep on.
An armchair, overstuffed and slightly weathered, sat just beside the fireplace. It was almost identical to the one from Hercinia, the one she picked out in the thrift shop and helped Fynn carry down the street, laughing the whole time, dizzy with happiness and so full of hope for their future. A quilt was slung over the arm of it, just like the one from Nanna’s house before it grew too old and careworn for use, the one Bea used to wrap herself up in as a child.
The comforter on the low, dwarven bed was the same color blue as the one in her childhood bedroom. A desk in the corner had a neat stack of books with familiar covers, the Hard in Hightown series. Varric scoffed and made his way over to them, picking one up and examining it critically.
Maria couldn’t focus on him though, because to her left, next to the stairwell banister, a piano sat proudly. It looked like a piano that could sit in most schools, neglected by all but enthusiastic music instructors. It was in much better shape than the one she’d bought used in Hercinia, though, all gleaming mahogany and elegant lines. The bench was tucked neatly underneath it, the cover closed, hiding the keys. Maria exhaled a shaky breath when she approached it, half convinced she was dreaming.
There was an arrow. An arrow inscribed on the cover, a match for the one on her wrist. It had her initials on the top and Fynn’s…
One hand grabbed the necklace under her shirt, but the other swept trembling fingers over the carving. From beneath the cover, she swore she heard one trembling note, a key pressed with uncertainty, a question hovering in the air.
Is this okay? Do you like it?
“Why?” She gasped, turning to Solas, wiping her hand across her eyes to hide the tears. She couldn’t conceal her bewilderment. “Why is it like this? Why…”
“Because you have brought it back to life.” Solas smiled weakly. “I suspect it is grateful. Perhaps a bit exuberantly so.”
“She saw you.” Cole answered simply. “And she knows what you are. What you can be.”
xx
They couldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.
Or in this case, a gift castle.
Skyhold threw it’s gates open like it had been waiting for Maria Cadash all her life and it seemed determined to furnish nearly everything they could possibly need. The castle sprouted an infirmary for the sick with rudimentary medical supplies. Food appeared hidden deep beneath the quaint, medieval kitchen, haunches of smoked bacon, frozen beef and chicken, flour, eggs, even barrels of cider. Enough to feed a small army, although cooking it in the great fireplace initially proved an adventure. Cots and beds lined formerly empty rooms, complete with blankets and small plush animals for even smaller hands. Fires lit themselves. Banners featuring Andraste’s flaming eye appeared with no warning. They found clean clothes in armoires and chests, soap in closets. Anything they needed or wanted just… appeared. Like magic.
But, perhaps the most fascinating thing, was that Skyhold learned.
The first night was so dark, even with flickering torches studding the walls, that Varric spent most of the second day helping to set up the portable generator they carried out of Haven. It was enough to power some flood lights in the courtyard and prevent them all from falling down the damnable steps to their doom at night. Particularly with all the kids they had running around. Although, mysteriously, there hadn’t been so much as a scraped knee with any of the children.
Varric never thought Skyhold would look at their flimsy generator, scoff, and decide it could do better. He nearly pissed himself when he woke up the next morning to find the whole castle wired from top to bottom, lights in every room. Cullen damn near lost his mind when that happened. Varric spent most of the third day following Curly through the bowels of the castle as the man swore up and down he’d find the castle’s power source.
Curly would be sorely disappointed. Whatever secrets Skyhold kept, it wasn’t sharing. But the more they settled, the more alive it seemed to be. Varric swore new rooms popped up daily. The more complicated, nuanced, and scarce medical supplies they’d brought seemed to replace themselves. Flowers sprung up in the courtyard and the weather, although it couldn’t be called warm, never grew bitterly cold inside the walls. The kitchen managed to spring some nearly modern appliances, although they still looked more at home in a dated restaurant than a place that had to serve two hundred people, and plumbing showed up immediately after Maria wished for it longingly.
But it was Maria Cadash that blossomed more than anything else.
She danced through Skyhold in a blur of crimson and gold. She sparkled in the winter sun and their universe revolved around her. Everything glowed under her tender care, from the injured soldiers to the children stumbling through the courtyard, coming alive, reaching towards her sunlight.
And when she smiled… Andraste when she smiled.
He wondered how close he’d come to never seeing it again. He wanted nothing more than to spend some solid hours basking in it. See if Skyhold couldn’t conjure up a pack of cards, take her off to some shadowy corner, and reassure himself that she really was as okay as she looked.
But that was just his flimsy excuse and he knew it. What he wanted, what he desired more than anything, wasn’t to lure her into a friendly game of cards. Fuck, it wasn’t even to sweet talk her into the nearest bed so he could finish what he’d started now that they weren’t currently in danger of dying in a dragon’s throat.
He wanted something altogether more precious. He wanted her the way she’d been in the tent the night she stumbled back into his arms. He wanted her without all that armor she carried, soft and sweet in his arms. He wanted her lashes fluttering against her cheekbones as she failed miserably to stay awake listening to, frankly, one of his most shitty stories. He carried that memory of her sleep warmed, sharp edges smoothed by exhaustion, clutched it to his chest jealousy.
He wanted to press his lips surreptitiously to her cheek one more time and whisper his apologies into her ear. He wanted to hear her ask him to stay again. Wanted that sharp lance of vulnerability, the one that broke right through all his defenses and left him more naked that he’d ever been.
Stay.
Ancestors, if she’d ask anything in that tone of voice, he’d do it. He stayed even after she’d fallen back asleep. His palm over the small of his back, her body curled against his, her marked hand on his chest where she hadn’t even realized it had fallen. He counted the freckles on her nose, her cheeks. Memorized the sweep of her lashes and the gentle rise and fall of her breath. He stayed until Bea stirred and asked if she’d woken, but tearing himself away… shit, it’d been harder than it should have been.
But it wasn’t real. She’d been broken, bleeding, battered. Confused and addled. Exhausted to her very bones from attempting to slay an actual dragon. She’d have asked anyone to stay. He wasn’t special. Not to her. How could he be?
She was the sun, after all, and she shined on everyone equally. It hurt to admit it, but Varric could handle painful truths. Maker knew he had practice. When she didn’t seek him out, when she poured her energy into Skyhold, he fell back, easy and casual, and watched her.
He still had a place here, after all. Once they knew the truth… well. He may have to live outside her orbit. But at least she was alive. At least he had that memory of her sleeping in his arms. That was enough. It had to be.
Of course, he was assuming he’d figured out how to get them connected back to the civilized world long enough to reveal his own secrets. Between Maria’s magic hand, a score of witches, and the damn castle itself the magical interference was mind boggling. He needed to call Hawke, needed her help, but reaching her… it seemed impossible.
“I think that concludes the distribution of sleeping quarters for the civilians and refugees.” Josephine clucked, pulling him from his daydreams. “Was there any other business?”
“One, yeah?” Sera yawned and glared at the other woman. “Why do we all gotta keep coming to these meetings?”
Varric stifled his amused laugh into his palm. Sera did about as well as anticipated during these meetings. Meaning, of course, that she’d already drawn some rather colorful pornography all over Bull’s muscled arm after Maria stopped her from carving it into the stone rather emphatically.
Their group sat in an airy room around a massive table that looked to be made of one solid piece of wood. This, Varric thought with no small degree of amusement, was the best of the Inquisition.They ranged from a Tevinter exile to a raving spirit turned boy. Grey Warden to exotic dancer. The Inquisition’s inner circle. A mad little bunch of religious and distinctly irreligious figures. Who’d have thought? If the late Divine could see them now, she’d probably lose her exuberant hat when her head exploded.
In the window seat, Bea made a muted noise of agreement. Maria had her hands in her sister’s hair and smirked while she shook her head in playful exasperation. Bea’s curls looked sleek and shiny again, makeup perfectly applied. Skyhold must have been supplying that shit too.
He couldn’t complain, though. He’d opened a cupboard their second day here and had a razor chucked at his face. Maria, of course, said he was exaggerating about the velocity. But he knew what happened and so did the damn castle.
“There is… one other matter we need to address.” Cassandra straightened from where she bent over the table, sweeping her gaze across the room. “We do not have a leader.”
“Wait.” Maria stopped and pierced Cassandra with her gaze, then looked past her to Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine. “I thought you four were the leaders.”
“We need a leader.” Leliana insisted smoothly. “One person who wields the ultimate authority in precarious situations. An Inquisitor for our Inquisition.”
“How do you propose choosing this leader?” Blackwall asked gruffly. “Should we collect resumes? Interview the candidates?”
“A vote.” Bull suggested, far too casually, flexing the arm Sera was drawing on. It made the mermaid she’d drawn look like her tits were bouncing. “Nice and democratic.”
“From everyone?” Vivienne asked pointedly. “My dear, some of the refugees are so frightened they barely know their own names. Let alone ours.”
“Pft, nobody is votin’ for you.” Sera grumbled. “Little people don’t like shite like you. They know the good names.”
They knew one name, at least. All those refugees knew one name very well.
“So we vote?” Maria asked skeptically, tearing him from his overwhelming feeling of dread. “For everyone?”
“We’ll ask the people if they accept it.” Cullen fingered his gun thoughtfully, peering at Maria with a tight frown like his thoughts had gone the same way as Varric’s. “If they say no - we devise another plan.”
“Alright then.” Maria sighed. Bea was beginning to look a bit nervous, shifting to eye her sister from the corner of her eye.
“I don’t want to vote.” Bea said quickly, shying away. “I don’t actually do anything.”
“That’s most untrue.” Josephine reproved, looking up and frowning. “You have been…”
“I’m not voting.” Bea's tone brooked no argument. Josephine frowned, opened her mouth as if to insist, but Leliana cut in.
“One abstention, then. It will go with the majority, if that is alright Beatrix?”
“That’s fine.” Bea curled her knees up to her chest and frowned.
In the heavy silence, Varric reached for the battered journal in his pocket. The Lovers stuck out like a bookmark and he flipped past it without thinking too hard, grabbing three sheets and ripping them out. He began to tear them into tiny slips. “Anyone got a pen?”
Sera ceased detailing the engorged male genitalia on Bull’s bicep and lifted her pen with a sharp grin. Cassandra plucked it from her hand and Varric passed around the papers. Everyone took only a second to dash a name on their slip, folding it in half and tossing it onto the great table.
“What is with you?” Maria asked as Bea brought her manicured nails to her lips like she’d start chewing them at any second.
Maria, it seemed, was blissfully unaware of where this was going. Bea, of course, was not. Bea heard the way people talked about Maria, knew what they said. And Bea couldn’t vote against her sister, but she couldn’t vote for her either.
The pen came to him and Varric scrawled one word on it before tossing it to Blackwall. Bea couldn’t force herself to do it, but Varric had to.
Princess.
Maria may never forgive him, but it had to be her. She was sane, she was brave. More than all of that, however, she was so overwhelmingly kind. If it wasn’t her, if it came to someone else… Maker forbid, the Seeker…
Maria’s vote joined the others and they all stared, at a loss for what to do next. It was Cullen that reached forward and picked up the first one. He unfolded it and cleared his throat before reading it into the silence. “M Cadash.”
Maria snorted in disbelief. Cullen picked up the second one and read it aloud as well. “Maria.”
Maria’s amusement dropped like a ton of bricks by the time Cullen read the fourth. When Cullen stumbled on the word Princess, cheeks flushing, the lights above them flickered menacingly. Varric couldn’t meet her eyes, even though he felt them searing into him.
In the end, every single vote said Maria except one, solitary piece of paper that had Leliana’s name dashed across it. The silence felt miserably heavy and in the window seat Bea finally sighed her sister’s name. “Ria…”
“Fuck all of you.” Maria snapped, folding her arms across her chest. A snarky part of him almost said that he’d heard worse plans. Almost.
“Interesting diplomatic strategy.” Bull leaned back, crossed his arms over his chest to match her posture and waited. Maria’s sparking eyes turned to him.
“Fuck you in particular.” Maria seethed with a rather ferocious glare. To his credit, Bull did not immediately burst into flames. Lesser men probably would have. Varric felt his chest hair curling and smoking just being in the general vicinity.
“You’ve been calling the shots since you stepped out of the vortex and all these people know it, Boss.” Bull rumbled with an easy shrug.
“I’m not qualified.” Maria spat out.
“Where does one get qualifications to fight pure evil and save the world?” Dorian asked, stroking his mustache. “I certainly never saw it listed as a major.”
“Enough.” Cassandra glared at Dorian and turned her attention to Maria. “The Inquisition needs an Inquisitor. It is your choices that have gotten us to this point. There is no better person to take the mantle.”
“We’re in a magic castle in the middle of nowhere and nobody knows we’re alive.” Maria hissed. “Is this really the track record you want?”
“We’re alive.” Cullen stated in a rather matter-of-fact tone, but he wasn’t brave enough to meet Maria’s eyes. “And we should not be. That, in and of itself, is enough reason to trust you.”
“I can’t do this.” Maria insisted. Varric watched her right hand trace her left wrist, finally recognizing the gesture for what it was, a way to soothe panic. The realization hit him like a punch in the gut.
“You can.” Leliana said softly. “We will help.”
“We need to ask everyone to vote.” Maria lifted her chin defiantly.
“That’s… going to go the same exact way.” Bea whispered from the window seat, staring despondently at the papers. Maria whirled on her sister and pointed at the table like Bea could offer more of an explanation.
“What do you think of this?” Maria demanded.
“Ria…” Bea sighed, rubbing her face with her hand briskly.
“The glass throws rainbows over my skin. The walls. I giggle. Nanna’s fingers lift it high, stands on tiptoes to put it on the shelf. ‘This is where we put precious things, chi shugra. Up high so nobody breaks them.’ Safe. Safe where he can’t touch her ever again.” Cole mumbled.
“Balls.” Bea groaned.
Maria’s expression slammed shut beneath a veneer of ice worse than the flickering flames of her fury. She drew her shoulders back and glared at Bea before twisting away. She nearly shoved Cullen over to get past him to the door, but it swung open before she even reached it. The moment she passed through the threshold, the castle slammed it shut behind her back.
“Balls.” Bea mumbled again, hiding her face in her hands. “For fucks sake Cole.”
“She wanted to know. You wouldn’t tell her.” Cole frowned down at his hands.
“For a damn good reason!” Bea exploded.
“She needed to know.” Cole insisted. “Or it would’ve been a knot.”
Bea couldn’t pass up the opportunity to keep Maria safe. Bea couldn’t shove her sister’s name forward for a job that seemed impossible. Varric got it, he really did.
He wished there was someone else to choose. Anyone else. But there wasn’t. Ancestors forgive them for doing this to her, because it would probably kill her. Like it nearly killed Hawke.
“Does anyone want to take bets on whether the castle just locked us in here?” He asked wearily instead. It seemed easier than facing his own guilt.
xx
Soft, gentle fingers smoothed Maria’s hair back, a simple repetitive motion as a clear, bright voice sang beside her. The melody ached inside Maria’s chest as the fingers continued their patient stroking. “Down in the mines, the mines so low. Hang your head over, hear the song low. Hear the song low, dear, hear the song low…”
“I can’t do this.” Maria whispered, tucking her chin in and looking over her shoulder at the woman peering down at her with such gentle, honest affection. Gray eyes and honey brown hair, a woman with Bea’s elegant features.
“You’ve already come so far, my darling.” She smiled, resting her palm on Maria’s cheek. “It will be okay. I’m here now.”
“You’re gone.” Maria barely remembered her, but this serene image of her pulled from old photographs looked right. “Mom’s gone.”
“Yes.” The woman tapped her fingertips against Maria’s nose, bright and playful, eyes sparkling with mischievous humor. “But I am not. You are mine and I am yours, darling.”
Maria awoke to a gentle breeze on her face, invisible fingers playing in her hair. She lifted her head off the pillow and paused, momentarily disoriented, pleasantly dazed. It took a moment to remember where she was every time she awoke, usually at the crack of dawn. Skyhold.
Safe. She’d been plagued with nightmares after Haven, but here, they ceased. Here…
Well, nothing was easy. She still wore her fear like a collar around her neck. Sometimes, the scent of a fire in the hearth was enough to choke her with panic. Sometimes, when she closed her eyes at night, she pictured Redcliffe crawling with monsters, the behemoth crushing Bea beneath it or Varric bleeding at her feet.
But it was nicer to live with when she woke in the beautiful room at the top of the tower wrapped in an old quilt that smelled like home, somehow. The terror felt more manageable here.
She noted the sun wasn’t coming in the windows right for dawn, but rather the light faded with dusk. Drool and bits of hair stuck to her cheeks. Tears, she thought ruefully. She wondered how fucking awful she looked. A mess, she was sure.
“Cadash?” Cassandra’s brisk voice called from the bottom of her stairs. “Cadash, are you up there?”
“Where the fuck else would I be?” Maria called back down the steps, quickly scrubbing her eyes with the back of her fist. Flakes of eyeliner came off on the back of her palm and she swore, irritated.
“May I come upstairs?” Cassandra yelled again, cautious and wary. Maria paused, discarding the quilt from over her shoulders and flying into the adjoining room. The taps had changed again, she noted distantly. This was the one part of her room that kept changing like Skyhold hadn’t quite determined what kind of bathroom she wanted. At first, it held one ornate washbasin. Then, thank the Stone, it implemented plumbing. The sink was granite today, a matching tub behind her. She turned the warm water on and scrubbed at her ruined makeup.
“If you insist.” Maria grumbled, hopefully loud enough to be heard. She examined her reflection in the mirror with a tight, tense frown.
Inquisitor.
Not if she had anything to say about it.
She brushed a towel across her face and stepped back out into her bedroom to find Cassandra standing, uncertain, by the stairwell. The Seeker’s eyes never stopped roaming, always looking for threats. Once she’d inspected every nook and cranny and found them free of danger, she turned to Maria.
“We attempted to visit you earlier.”
“Who’s we?” Maria asked nonchalantly, sitting on the edge of her bed and folding her arms under her chest, examining her booted feet.
“All of us in turn. The door would not open.” Cassandra made a small noise of dismay. “Solas says there is a… spirit guardian of this place. It answers to you.”
“No it doesn’t.” Maria scoffed and rolled her eyes. “If it did - you’d still be locked out.”
“If it answers to you, even slightly, then that is all the more reason for you to bear the title of Inquisitor. We have the walls to put up a fight if we are attacked again, a place to grow our forces, and Cullen is adamant there would be no retreat. This… war with Corypheus is not the fight we anticipated.”
“It’s not one I bleeding signed up for.” Maria reminded her pointedly. She hadn’t signed up for any of this. She was supposed to close the vortex and leave, free and clear, Bea and Cole in tow.
Cassandra sighed and shook her head. “I know. You… you have asked for none of this. The power inside you… it allowed you to survive the destruction of the conclave. It is something this Corypheus wished to have, and whether or not it is divine providence that you have it now…”
Maria scoffed again and Cassandra met her skeptical gaze. “It matters not to you, I know. The most important thing is that Haven cannot happen again. The most important thing is that we keep this power from him.”
“He said he couldn’t take it. It’s useless to him, so I need to die.” Maria pointed out bluntly. “That’s it. My magic hand doesn’t qualify me to be in charge.”
“Your mark has power.” Cassandra lowered her shoulders and eyed Maria with a certain mix of apprehension and… respect. “But it is not why you are still standing here.”
She was standing here because of a mine shaft and an unbelievable stroke of luck, but before she could say that, Cassandra plowed on. “Your decisions helped us heal the rift in the world. Your determination led us out of Haven. You are the only one to rival this demon because you are the only one who has faced him and shown the bravery and sacrifice needed to save us. To save us all.”
“I didn’t…” Maria protested.
“I was there.” Cassandra snapped before Maria could finish, running fingers through her short hair. “I know what I saw when I left you. I saw one woman wreathed in flames standing against the darkness and chaos. I saw you. We all did.”
A dismayed bubble of laughter jumped to her throat. “Ancestors, Cassandra. That’s fucking good. Don’t repeat it around Varric, he’ll steal it for his next book.”
Cassandra’s disgusted noise rang across the room, but she jerked her head to the balcony. “Word has leaked that you were asked to lead. I suspect Vivienne, although I have no proof. The people are outside, waiting to congratulate you.”
“Tell them I said no.” Maria commanded weakly. “Tell them everything you said about me at the beginning. I’m a smuggler, I’m a criminal, I’m…”
“Stop.” Cassandra pleaded. “I… I would not say those things about you.”
“They’re true.” Maria argued. “You’ve said them before, just go out there…”
“I should not have!” Cassandra exploded, curling her hands into fists. “If I had known, if I had trusted in the Maker that he would not… but I didn’t. And I was cruel. I will never be able to make amends for it.”
The silence stretched between them. Maria stared at the woman, confused, a bit alarmed. “Cassandra, just tell them I don’t want it. Do that and we’re square, promise.”
“I can.” Cassandra clenched her jaw tightly. “I will, if that is truly what you wish. But I have a better proposition.”
“If this is about faith…” Maria began to roll her eyes skyward. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t listen to Cassandra preach about Andraste or the Maker. If she started, Maria swore...
“My faith.” Cassandra admitted. “Which is not yours. What is yours… What could be yours is a force that would change the world. People are hungry, homeless…”
“You’re making a great case for the world being a piece of shit, Cass. Preaching to the choir.” Maria mumbled, dropping her eyes back to her boots. “Nobody is going to follow me. You’re all…”
“Those people owe their lives to you. They would follow you to the gates of the black city.” Cassandra declared proudly. “If you do not believe me you need only go and peer out. They are thrilled that you would be their Inquisitor.”
“And you?” Maria challenged, glaring at Cassandra. “You really think this is a good idea?”
“It terrifies me.” Cassandra admitted quietly, voice soft and startlingly vulnerable. “To hand over such power to one person. But I have faith in what I have seen you do. If it must be anyone, it must be you.”
Maria pulled her eyes from Cassandra’s again and stared at her domed ceiling, blinking back tears. Cassandra let the silence weigh heavily between them before she sighed. “If I could not convince you with that, I was supposed to add in one more thing. On your sister’s behalf.”
“Great.” Maria huffed. “Wonderful. What does Bea possibly have to add?”
Cassandra waited until Maria looked at her again, then held Maria’s gaze unflinchingly and said the words that shot a bullet right through Maria’s heart. “I was supposed to ask what Fynn Dunhark would have you do.”
Fynn. Fynn. Earnest and brilliant, his shirtsleeves rolled up, elbow on their kitchen table. Expounding on the flaws of capitalism, railing against injustice, pouring his father’s money into charities and whispering against her skin how someone like her should be the one taking the lead, that she’d get things done because she was terrifying and adorable when she was angry and Ancestors he loved her…
He loved her. He loved her and it got him killed. Maria nearly fell back, grief like a sucker punch in her stomach. It should have been Fynn. He could have done this, he could have carried this well. Her father could have. Anyone except her.
“I’m going to fuck this up.” Maria admitted. “I’ve always fucked everything up, Cassandra.”
Every single thing. From not taking her father’s downward spiral seriously, to her failure to save their grandmother, running away with Fynn. From losing Varric in Redcliffe to nearly losing everyone in Haven. Maria rubbed her face with her hands briskly again, the marked one prickling uncomfortably.
“Well.” The Seeker chewed her words for a moment before she gave Maria a weary half smile. “If we truly do awfully, we will all be dead regardless. Cold comfort, perhaps, but at least we won’t have to live with it.”
The humor surprised her and a broken laugh slipped past Maria’s lips. “Ancestors, that’s morbid.”
“I will be with you.” Cassandra swore like some overzealous knight in a fairy tale. The Seeker thrust her hand forward, fiercely determined. “You will not do this alone.”
Maria ran her thumb up and down her left wrist, tracing the arrow there. She promised. She promised Fynn when they left Ostwick together that she’d stay on the straight and narrow, that she’d do better. She’d be better. She’d be the woman he thought she could be. No more darkness, no more shadows, no more lying or stealing or…
“I’m not the Herald of Andraste.” Maria blurted. “I’m not and we can’t say I am. If that’s why you want me to be the Inquisitor…”
“Some people will say it, regardless.” Cassandra frowned. “But we do not have to do so here, if that is your caveat.”
Maria nodded, stopped stroking her tattoo and looked down into her palm. The sun emblazoned there flickered gently.
“The motto of the old Inquisition was ‘Into darkness, unafraid’, Cadash.” Cassandra supplied. “Perhaps you could keep it. Perhaps you could make your own.”
No more darkness, not anymore. She held the sun in her hand, after all. Maria took a deep breath and stood, grasping Cassandra’s hand securely within her own.
The taller woman relaxed immediately, sighing deeply. “They are waiting. Outside. If you can…”
“Now?” She asked, running a hand through her frazzled hair. She looked like shit, although she supposed she had looked worse half dead and frozen.
“Before you reconsider.” Cassandra stated firmly. “Persuading people to do difficult things is… not my strong suit.”
Fair enough. Maria nodded and jerked her chin to the stairs. “After you then, Cass.”
Cassandra nodded and marched down the stairs. Maria took one last deep breath and followed, trailing her hand across the piano’s cover as she passed it. Tears pricked her eyes and she stopped, choking them down. She splayed her palm over top Fynn’s initials and pressed until she felt her marked palm ache, until bits of light shimmered between the gaps of her fingers.
“I’ll try.” She promised to the silence. For Fynn. For Nanna and her father, Bea and Bull. For Cole, Varric, Dorian, Cassandra…
Underneath the cover, the keys trembled again, a half note like a whispered answer.
That’s enough.
xx
Varric's thoughts drifted, again, to Bianca. He’d give his weight in gold to have her staring down this problem. Somehow, he suspected, it would have been solved days ago. Instead, Varric kept banging his head against the issue, quickly losing patience.
Skyhold could give them anything they wanted, apparently, except the fucking internet or a phone signal. No matter how he tried, a connection to the outside world remained out of reach. He almost suspected the castle was doing it just because he was the one asking for it. He even stooped to asking Cole to try and convey what they wanted because the kid seemed to be able to communicate with the damned place, but all it had done was confuse them both and give Varric a raging migraine.
Bianca would have known what to do. She’d laugh, shake her head at his elementary attempts, and…
“Alright Varric, what’s the issue?”
Cue the wave of guilt, although which woman was the wronged party, Varric couldn’t say. He’d as much as told Bianca it was over right before they marched into Redcliffe, before trying to jump Maria’s bones, so…
Yes, he reminded himself acidly, because he’d never said goodbye to Bianca before.
“Well, your Inquisitorialness.” He lapsed into smooth bravado, rocking back on his heels and studiously not meeting the gray eyes he could feel searing into the back of his skull. “Your castle doesn’t believe in wireless connections, wireless networks, or 5g no matter how much I try and talk it up. So, I guess maybe we should consider carrier pigeons.”
“I never cared for birds much.” The wind whistling through the ancient battlement muffled her footsteps, so he was shocked when she dropped down beside him to examine the mess of salvaged guts he had spilled out in front of him. Bits of radios. A battered old laptop. “What do you need?”
“The modern world.” Varric grumbled, trying not to inhale her scent too greedily. He realized with a start they were alone on this far corner of Skyhold’s walls. It was the first time he’d been alone with her since…
“Varric.” She chided softly. He sighed in irritation and tore his hand through his own hair, glaring down at the parts on the ground.
“A receiving dish for the satellite.” Varric rubbed at his stubble and stood, turning his back on the mess behind him and offering his hand to Maria. She took it and pulled herself up, staring up into his face with a tiny frown.
Her eyes were the same color as the sky above them, a soft gray right before snow fell. Her freckles stood out starkly over her cheeks, wisps of red hair tickling her jaw. She still slouched when she stood, hands shoved deep in her coat pockets, eyes blazing forward. If the mantle she’d adopted at their insistence felt too heavy to bear, she didn’t show it.
“A receiving dish?” She questioned. “Does it look like a satellite, but down here?”
“You’ve got it, Princess.” He tipped his lips into a smile for her. “To catch the signal and amplify it.”
“What are they made of?” She asked. “How big does it have to be?”
He shot her a skeptical glance and shrugged ruefully. “Metal, usually something lightweight. I’d want it hooked up to the power grid here, if we could swing it. Boost our signal a bit more. As to how big… in this case, bigger is better. About the size of a pickup truck.”
“You’re not asking for much.” Maria’s lips twitched. Varric fought the urge to touch the corner of them, trace their shape with his thumb.
“What can I say?” Varric grinned, trying to maintain his tenuous control. “I’m a man of simple tastes. Now, of course, if I could get a phone call out, I’d order you the perfect one. Just right for someone of Inquisitorial standing. Have it delivered and installed free of charge.”
Maria sighed and looked out over the mountains. Something in his chest squeezed uncomfortably. “Hey.” He soothed softly, dropping the playfulness for comfort immediately. “It’s gonna be alright. We’ll figure it out.”
When she didn’t look back at him, his arm acted on it’s own accord. He gently placed his palm over her shoulder and squeezed. Varric lowered his voice to a gentle whisper. “Now that we have a minute to breathe…”
“Varric, listen…” She began, tensing under his palm.
“How are you holding up?” He finished. Whatever she’d been expecting him to say, it wasn’t that. Her eyes flicked to his, stunned, before they quickly swivelled back out into the mountains. Not before Varric saw the shine of emotions in them, the fear, the panic.
“Well.” She managed to sound breezy in spite of all of it. “I’m heading a human religious organization, retrofitting a fairy tale castle, trying to figure out how to kill a demon and his pet dragon before he kills us, and we all almost died this week. Twice.”
She controlled the emotions in her eyes and turned a weak smile back up to him. “I don’t have any idea what I’m doing.”
Her admission, quiet and soft, felt precious. He hadn’t heard her complain since she’d waltzed out past them, a queen before her subjects, to receive their acclamation. The praise came easily. “Well, whatever you’re doing, you’re doing it really well. Nobody could manage it better.”
She scoffed and looked down at her scuffed boots, shrugging his hand from her shoulder. “We haven’t been alone, Varric. Really alone. Not since…”
Not since she fell into his arms. Not since he carried her up the stairs, not since he undressed her and prepared to worship at the altar of her body. It hadn’t been that long ago. Less than a week, really, but it felt like a lifetime ago.
He’d seen an enemy he unleashed rise again. Heard Maria’s agonized screams, watched the mountain bury her and tried to live in a world she no longer inhabited. He’d seen her rise from the ashes like a phoenix, inexplicable and miraculous. He felt… he felt like it had changed him. Somehow. He wasn’t sure if it was for the better. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been this frightened before. Never faced anything so daunting. Corypheus. The Inquisition. Maria’s shining eyes and compassionate heart sacrificed for expediency’s sake.
Things had been simpler, before. Maria watched his face closely, frowning at whatever she saw there. When she opened her mouth again, the words that fell from her lips stung bitterly. “It was just a couple kisses, we can forget about it... if that’s what you want.”
No he couldn’t. Never. Not in a hundred years. He’d take the feel of her body under his to his grave, the last desperate meeting of lips in Haven to the stone itself. It wouldn’t matter if that’s what he actually wanted, because he’d never be able to do it. She was beneath his skin now, regardless, and what he wanted…
Maria’s right hand traced the tattoo under her left sleeve and Varric nearly choked on a surge of blinding, unreasonable jealousy. Fynn Dunhark was dead, Maria Cadash was alive. And Varric…
Varric didn’t deserve her. Other people did. Better people. People who didn’t trade in secrets and lies. People whose friends didn’t destroy entire cities. People who didn’t let monsters out into the world to kill hundreds. People who didn’t put her in danger.
But…
“Hey.” Varric murmured, fought the urge to run his thumb over her cheek. He had to try. He had to, or he’d never forgive himself. “I’ll be whatever you need, Princess. Whatever gets you through this.”
Whatever keeps you safe. Whatever makes you happy. Whatever you need. Varric, of course, wanted her to need him. Wanted it so desperately he could hardly breath around it.
Maria looked away again, back to the mountains. He saw them shining, brilliant and white, in her eyes. He watched something slam shut inside them, watched her throw away a key. His heart sank to the bottom of his stomach. “You’ve been a good friend, Varric. I don’t want to lose that.”
She wouldn’t be his, then. Another woman just beyond his reach, too good for him, too brilliant. Varric burned his fingers on the sun, again. But that wasn’t Maria’s fault. She, at least, wasn’t asking him to play second fiddle to someone else. She owed him nothing, anyway, and he… he owed her so much more. “You won’t. Promise.”
He could grab her, crowd her against the castle wall, kiss her until she didn’t know up or down. He could chase all those thoughts out of her head. He could contrive… But it wouldn’t be real. It wouldn’t be what he wanted.
The tension still simmered between them, but it would get better with time. It had to, anyway. He turned from the mountains, bracing himself to make some excuse about returning to work. The words shriveled and died on his tongue as he looked at what had appeared on the tower above them.
A satellite receiver as large as a Maker-damned pickup truck made of the shiniest metal he’d ever seen, looking like it had been there for ages. It almost seemed like the castle’s middle finger aimed squarely in his direction.
“Holy shit.” He muttered, half laughing in shock. “Look at that.”
“Maybe she just needed you to be a little clearer about what you wanted.” Maria advised, voice cold, the tone completely unfamiliar to him. “Will this get our communications up and running?”
Varric wondered if she’d already begun the process of becoming two different people. The same way he’d watched Hawke become the Champion when the world demanded it. Varric distinctly felt like the pale eyes watching him didn’t belong to his Princess any longer, but a woman isolated on top of a burning pyre.
But then again, she wasn’t his. No part of her was. He wondered how many times he’d have to remind himself before it sunk in.
“Yes.” The word felt like a nail in a coffin. Ending their precious moment of intimacy, extinguishing any chance to plead his case. “I promise. Can I borrow your phone, Inquisitor? It’ll go quicker, yours is the only other one with enough processing power…”
She produced it with razor sharp efficiency, dropping it into his hand. “I’ve got to go check on the wounded. Let me know if you need anything else.”
You, he thought wildly. The thought was barely formed before she was already halfway down the battlements, red hair vanishing down a set of steps. The wind blew sharper, colder without her and Varric shivered.
He stared down at the phone in his hand and retrieved his own, placing them both in his pocket. He needed to climb up that damn tower to get a closer look at that dish, and he had a sneaky suspicion he was going to have to figure out some way to adjust it’s trajectory, but… it would work. It would work, and he could call Hawke and…
Fuck. Fuck.
He knew what he had to do. Knew what he needed to do. He couldn’t live with himself if anything happened to Maria, couldn’t stomach the guilt. They needed Hawke. Hawke, who’d given so much already and gotten so little in return. Just like Maria would, someday. He could already see the writing on the wall.
Anything they could do to protect her. Anything he could do.
“Bianca.” Varric muttered.
“I am already experiencing a weak link with the satellite, but more stable than we have experienced in days. My estimate is the receiving dish needs adjusted to approximately a ninety-five degree angle...”
Excellent. He’d be climbing out a window trying not to fall to his death for sure. “Great. While I’m trying to manage that, I need you to airdrop a copy of your program onto Maria Cadash’s phone.”
“Inadvisable.” Bianca argued immediately, joyful tone vanishing. “Every additional user is a security risk. Maria Cadash has an extensive criminal history and you have only been acquainted…”
Varric laughed. “I know. I want you to do it anyway, baby.”
Varric could almost hear the muted rebellion in his earpiece. “Should I make a note to inform Bianca Davri of the additional user?”
“Absolutely not.” The real Bianca never checked the AI’s permissions. Only used her, really, when she needed the extra processing power. Otherwise, they just got in each other’s way. “Give Cadash the same permissions Hawke has.”
“Hawke has permissions just short of a system administrator…”
“You’re not telling me anything I don’t know.” Varric shoved the door to the tower open and looked up at all the stairs, dismayed.
“File transfer started.” Bianca finally responded, voice clipped and tone short. “Is there anything else?”
“Let me know the second I’ve got a strong enough signal to make a call.” Varric sighed. “There’s one I probably should have made a long time ago.”
xx
In the fade, Solas found that Skyhold hadn’t changed at all from the palace he remembered. Gone were the Inquisitor’s sturdy stone walls, replaced with graceful, smooth marble. The hallways framed courtyards overflowing with vines and flowers. Magic orbs lit the courtyards and gleaming precious stones shimmered in mosaics and portraits.
In the fade, perhaps, he could still call Skyhold the name he had given it long ago. Tarasyl'an Te'las, the place where the sky was held back. He paused in the flowering courtyard and inhaled the blooms that faded so long ago.
“On dhea'lam.” A soft voice called from behind him. “It has been a long time, hasn’t it?”
“Longer than I wished.” Solas admitted, turning to face the spirit who’d sought him out. She wore another face, one he didn’t know, but one he recognized regardless. The woman shared the Inquisitor’s striking eyes, her sister’s brown hair. The crooked tip of her lips that both women wore so well.
“Her mother?” He guessed softly.
“Yes.” The spirit paused, tipped her head to the side as if listening to a whisper in the wind. “She left this world some time ago. This is how she is remembered.”
“It is not the form you took for me when I was a young man.” He would not be jealous, however. Not when Maria Cadash had so few comforts on her hard journey. If the face of her mother was one…
“When you were a young man, you left me to start a revolution.” The spirit chided. Solas shut his eyes and turned his face to the warm sun.
“Did you find what you wished, da fenlin?” The spirit asked. “When my little wolf grew teeth and claws, did the whole world tremble?”
“I am surprised you recognized me.” Solas didn’t wish to look into those stunning gray eyes, even if they were not framed by the Inquisitor’s red hair. He kept his own firmly closed.
“I did not. Not at first. I only knew your magic, I only knew it was no longer a part of you. I could see nothing past her when she arrived.” The spirit smiled, gentle and proud. “Da’lath’in. What is it you call her again? I do not understand it.”
“Inquisitor.” Solas explained. “It is what the shemlen call her, the title that gives her power.”
“Da’lath’in suits her better.” The spirit protested.
Da’lath’in. Little heart. Yes, Solas could see that. A woman who carried her heart on her sleeve, who showed compassion for the smallest and most helpless.
“You have seen inside her soul, yes?” Solas asked. He feared the answer, but he had to know. “Was she… has the magic changed her?”
“You wish to know her secrets when you will not give her yours?” The spirit asked, incredulous.
“Yes.” He answered with conviction. “I must.”
The spirit sighed, her breath rustling the blooms and trees. “Yes. And no. Your magic will give her strength and courage, but she has her ancestors’ spirit. She comes from warriors, she comes from the Earth. She has always been a soul that would bleed for others. It is in her nature. You know this.”
He did. He felt the oft-broken bones under her skin and allowed his magic to probe the shattered, raw pieces of her soul. He watched her feed the hungry, clothe the poor. He saw her rise from the ashes.
“If she is true, you are wrong.” The spirit murmured.
“Perhaps.” He admitted.
“Will you harm her? Or will you help her?” The spirit asked.
Solas opened his eyes and looked down into the spirit’s open, grave face.
“You would stop me.” He marveled.
“She is mine and I am hers.” The spirit’s eyes crackled with bright energy. “As you know, Fen’Harel.”
“I do not know if Fen’Harel exists any longer.” Solas sighed. “This is not his world.”
The spirit softened. A small hand rested on his elbow, just as it had so often in times long past. Solas ached with the pain of it. His friend, his home, sleeping just as he had. Alone in the darkness, watching as time left them both behind.
“Fen’Harel lit the world on fire.” The spirit said softly. “Perhaps it is Solas who must try to find beauty in the ashes.”
“Is there any beauty left in the world of metal and machines?” Solas asked, unable to keep the bitter venom from rising to the surface.
“How could you ask that?” The spirit tightened her grip on him, voice imploring. “Have you not seen them? Heard the laughter of their children? Listened to their prayers? How can you be so blind?”
The silence over both of them was not as comfortable as it once had been, but it still felt more like home than it had a right to.
“Will you tell her?” Solas finally asked. “My secrets, old friend. Will you confide them to the Inquisitor?”
The spirit sighed once more. “No, da fenlin. I will not. She would not understand, and I know you wish to right this mistake of yours. But you must not harm her.”
“I will not.” Solas swore.
Not if he could help it.
#girl with the arrow tattoo#modern thedas#varric tethras#inquisitor x varric#inquisitor cadash#dragon age inquisition#dragon age#maria cadash#varric romance
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Escape, for OQArtistWeek
This is a late entry for #OQArtist week, based this sexy manip of @starscythe *fans self* . I realize this is probably a bikini Regina is wearing, and this is probably a beach scene judging from the wet strands of hair, but Regina has this flawless movie star makeup on and she always seemed a bit too refined for beach sex. The facial expressions are so sexy and needy, I pictured something sweaty and intimate between two people desperate for one another. So I always saw this art as something quite different.
Thanks Bea as always. Betaing porn is hard, ya'all, and she betas it like a champ. I guess trigger warnings are in place. This is a hard M rating (shocking I know) and things get...intense.
It's just coffee.
She repeats that every time they go out in these excursions.
They are coworkers, and it's just coffee. Or in her case, tea. Just tea.
Coworkers drink coffee and tea together.
There's nothing scandalous about that.
But coworkers don't find whatever excuse they can to brush against one another. Coworkers don't trade intimate details of their lives that they don't even share with best friends, cry on each other's shoulders, or spend the majority of the day stealing glances at one another. And coworkers definitely, definitely do not fantasize about one another.
So maybe she's just a coworker to him, but he is absolutely more than that to her.
"He asked me to marry him," she says quietly. She hates to bring it up, but Robin should know about the proposal. He's her friend. Her best friend. The only person in this entire competitive, cutthroat network whom she trusts. Definitely the only person who honestly cares about her. But it's not that, not just the fact that they are friends that has her feeling obligated to tell him about the proposal. He should know because of the way he looks at her.
The way they look at one another.
She watches his eyes fly to her naked ring finger. "What did you say?" He looks hopeful, as if she finally made the right decision. But he's wrong.
"We've been dating forever, and I think there's more positive than negative. I said yes." She covers her left hand with her right. "The, er, ring is being resized."
"Eight years and he doesn't know your ring size," Robin grumbles.
"Do you?" She asks defiantly. "It's not something men know, unless you are in a habit—"
"A habit of buying jewelry for the woman you love?" he quips. "I assure you if I had proposed to you I'd know your ring size. I'd take one of your rings to the jewelers to match it. Or, Christ, a good jeweler could show you what each width looks like, and, I've held your hand enough to know what your fingers feel like from memory, so I'd—"
It's a bit too honest, has her squirming a bit, because he's right, absolutely right, he's held her hand so many times, but also, this is wrong. Absolutely wrong. And what right does he have to criticize her decisions in her love life when he's never tried to be a part of it?
"Sorry," he breathes, "I should be congratulating you, I'm just… I don't think he's good enough for you."
That's... sweet, she supposes. And to be fair she's shared her problems with Graham many times, so perhaps it's understandable that Robin would feel this way.
"If there's someone better, I haven't found him." Regina says, staring defiantly at him.
"Any man in his right mind would be over the moon to have you," he whispers. It's honest, too honest. But she's made her choice, and this can never be, anyway. There's a strict no fraternization policy at work. He's technically her boss, so that's an extra layer of forbidden, isn't it?
"Let's talk about something else," Regina says, lifting a hand off the table to smooth her hair. "Something to make me feel... happy."
He offers her a sad smile, and she knows it's very telling that talk of a proposal is depressing her, but well, that's the way it is, damn it.
He shifts the topic to their quirky coworker, and then they are laughing, exchanging jokes and smiles and touches as if nothing had changed.
Things go well until her phone pings. It's a reminder chime, and she frowns, glancing down at it curiously. There's nothing on the schedule for today that she can remember.
"Shit," Regina grumbles, "Robin, there's a meeting today. In 5 minutes." She turns her screen to his.
He looks puzzled. "I swear I didn't know anything about this, Regina."
He grabs his phone and checks emails frantically. "Looks like it's an emergency meeting to deal with the Army of God threats again." He rolls his eyes.
"Anything I should be worried about?" Regina asks, sipping the last of her tea.
"No, no credible threats. But their leader is appearing on Fox today, and we expect him to give us and a few other organizations a bit of a shout out. You know how that goes."
"Get ready for hate mail and death threats," Regina says rolling her eyes and rising from her chair. "We are going to be late. We have to hurry."
The meeting is on the fifth floor. She thinks he realizes what that means at the same time she does — right when they reach the elevator. The fifth floor meeting room is large, with glass walls that face the elevator. Everyone will see them walking in late, together, and that won't do much for rumors that have already started about the two of them.
And really, with her occupation, it's sort of assumed she will try to sleep her way to the top at one point or another. Who better than a media director often tasked with assigning high profile interviews to reporters like her?
"You take the elevator," he says, with a frown. "I'll use the back stairs."
The back elevator and stairs are not to be used for anything other than moving in the high profile guests or interviewees that need and added layer of security. Robin is one of only a few with the code. And while he can't use the back elevator (risk of being seen using a secured area) he can probably sneak up the stairs. No one really even knows that stairwell exists. It's hidden and secure, designed that way for good reason.
Regina nods. "See you there."
He smiles at her and rushes off, waving slightly as he goes.
And then she waits for her elevator as impatiently as one can possibly wait.
(She will look back on this day and thank god for the fact the elevator seemed to be stopping at every floor at a treacherously slow pace. Thank god that she figured she could use the exercise. Thank god it all, because she might have been dead had she waited for it. Instead, she'd opted for the stairwell. It was only five flights, after all…)
After what feels like an hour, but is only probably a few minutes, she turns towards the stairwell and decides to make up for lost time. She's cursing her heels as she rounds the stairs to the third floor when the first explosion hits with a Crack and a Boom!
It's so much noise, so loud it almost feels as if there's no sound at all. Debris falls from the ceiling, covers her in dusty plaster and paint chips, and god knows what else, her head is spinning, ears are ringing, eyes burning as there is one thought going through her mind.
Robin.
The explosion reverberates everywhere in that stairwell, echoed and shimmied from every inch of the walls, and she doesn't know where it came from, but god let it not have come from that secured stairwell. Not where they keep the high profile guests, where someone who is targeted might be hiding, please let him be alright.
She turns back to the third floor door and opens it. People are panicking, running towards her, a fire alarm is sounding, the emergency lights are flickering, and the crowd is shouting that she turn around, but she's not listening, her mind is racing with hypothetical scenarios she wishes she could erase from her memory, heart nearly exploding at the thought of losing him.
Robin, please be okay, Robin.
She reaches the secured area in the back, elbowing past frantic people trying to push her away. But it's mostly clear now. She hears some pop, pop, popping from above, isn't sure what that is, what's happening, and the ceiling above feels like it's moving, giving out… will it collapse?
She reaches the back area, finds that secured back door, and knocks and screams. It's still locked. She had held out hope that with the electricity going out maybe the electronic lock would fail and she'd be able to get to Robin.
But they must have a different power source. The code button is still there, gleaming red awaiting an electronic badge or code to be punched into the keypad below. And she has neither.
She has nothing but fists and her voice as she punches and screams.
"Robin! Robin!"
Robin is alive, Robin is okay. He's resilient and smart and cunning and he's a survivor and that's what survivors DO. They survive.
These little pop pop pops sound closer and louder now, she still isn't sure what it is, but it's followed by more screams and that can't be good.
There could be anything on the other side of this door, she very well knows that. There could be men with guns and suicide bomb vests on, Robin could already be dead, they could have used this stairwell to—
It really doesn't matter to her, she'd gladly risk her life for that wonderful man. He's everything to her.
"Robin, please!" She screams again. Her hands are bloody now, banging carelessly against an ungiving door.
Continue on FF.net
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#6 Auston Matthews
okay so that hurt auston matthews one was so good, could you write something more like that? maybe not him being injured but just frustrated bc the leafs are losing lots of games or something like that
I LOVE ANGST but im v bad bc i just write everyone happy smh
Tbh i just realised i got two similar requests in a row
Warnings: language idk??
Song suggestion of the day: Scorpio by Emily Bea (its so sweet and I.. AWH)
You narrowed your eyes a little as you tried to concentrate on the garbled instructions on the other end of the phone over the noise of the television blaring in the next room. You found yourself apologising quickly as you ducked your head out of the kitchen, covering the bottom of the phone as you did so. “Auston can you turn that down a bit.” You called, but you didn’t bother to linger long enough to see if your boyfriend, who was sat rigidly on the couch glaring at the TV, would actually comply with your request.
“Sorry,” you murmured into the phone, pressing a hand to your other ear as you attempted to catch what they were asking you as you tried to update your health insurance for the third time this week. “Okay, yep.” you replied, hastily scrawling something down on the notepad you had ready. You suppressed a groan of annoyance as the TV continued to play at exactly the same volume. “I’m so sorry.” you told the woman on the other end of the line before you walked into the living room, covering the phone again and resorting to standing in front of the TV to get your boyfriend’s attention. “Auston, can you please turn that down, I’m on the phone.”
Usually this wasn’t a problem but the way Auston had been acting lately was anything but usual. Your sweet and charming boyfriend had been moody and overly sarcastic for the past couple of weeks. No matter how open to talking you’d made yourself to him he was having none of it. So you’d given him space and hoped he’d sort himself out but now you were of the opinion that it had gotten a little out of hand. Auston had been watching his old games at full volume and you’d tried to be accomodating. He hardly spoke to you and you’d tried to be patient with him. He was hardly home and you tried to be understanding. But seeing as you were trying to keep this house functional, your patience was wearing thin.
Auston huffed exasperatedly and switched the TV off, stalking off to the bedroom and shutting the door rather louder than required. You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose as you raised the phone to your ear again. “I’m so sorry. I’ll have to call you back.” you explained, sighing wearily. ‘my boyfriend is being difficult’ you muttered as you set the phone on the coffee table after hanging up.
Steeling yourself for the horrific glare you were about to receive for even mentioning the leafs losing streak, you crossed the living room and made for the bedroom, where Auston had just retreated. Knocking gently, you received no reply and opened the door to the bedroom to find Auston, arms crossed and glaring at his phone screen.
“I hope you’re not subtweeting me.” you joked, hoping to lighten the mood a little. If possible he glared at his phone even harder. You sighed, “Well, I didn’t want to have this conversation, but here we are: I’m getting out my intervention shirt.”
“Your intervention shirt looks like shit.”
“You’re one to talk, Mr Harambe-sweater.” you replied coolly as you walked over to your cupboard and pulled out the awful eyesore that was your home tie-dye job and the words ’THIS IS AN INTERVENTION’ scrawled in thick black lettering. Auston shot you a glare as you plonked yourself down on the bed, beside him.
“I don’t need an intervention” he stated defiantly.
You hummed. “That is literally the motto of people who need interventions.”
He rolled his eyes. “I need an intervention because I didn’t turn the TV down?” he retorted incredulously. “Fine. I’m sorry. There, happy?"
You narrowed your eyes at him. “I get that you’re pissy but don’t lash out at me.”
“I’m not..” you watched him clench his jaw, the muscle there twitching slightly.
“I know you’re going to glare at me for saying this, but I’m going to do it anyway. No one cares that the leafs are having a slump.” you stated a matter-of-factly.
“Bullshit.” he snapped, giving you such a ferocious glare that you actually winced away from him. He glanced away at the sight.
Taking a deep breath, you pushed on. “it’s true. You see it all the time. Sometimes a team has a shitty season but their fans aren’t going to give up on you. You play for the leafs! These guys haven’t seen a Stanley since the 1967!”
"That makes it worse!” he retorted irritably, rounding on you. “Their hopes are riding on me. It’s because of me that they think we actually have a chance at the playoffs and I can’t even score a fucking goal! You think you’re so goddamn smart, you think you know everything, huh? Then why can’t we win a fucking game?!”
You had moved away to the other side of the bed at the onslaught of his words, which were unnecessarily harsh. Auston wilted visibly and quickly glanced away, running a hand through his hair frustratedly. He opened his mouth a couple of times but didn’t speak, taking his time to decide what to say next. “I...I didn’t mean to yell.”
“I’ll give you some space.” you stated softly, standing to leave the room.
You knew Auston was just frustrated and he really didn’t mean anything he’d said but you also knew that you were very nearly crying, which you didn’t want to do. This was about Auston and crying was not the way you wanted to solve this. After pulling yourself together, you called the health insurance back, finished making dinner and cleaned up the living room all before Auston finally chose to emerge from the bedroom.
“I’m going out.” He told you, powering down the hallway to the front door as quickly as his legs could take him, which made you think he was avoiding you now.
You stepped out of the kitchen to see him shrugging on his coat. “I made dinner. Did you want to take some with you, or are you eating out too?” The last few words came out harsher than you expected. Auston didn’t grant you a reply, just grunted out an ‘i love you’ as he slammed the door behind him.
So that went well. Auston was AWOL, you had way more food than you could possibly hope to eat on your own and just to add to that, your boyfriend was simultaneously furious with you and losing his mind over his slump. You sighed, walking back into the kitchen and scraping the pasta off Auston’s plate and back into the saucepan, popping the lid back on top to try and keep it warm.
Half an hour later, you heard the front door close, causing you to wander out into the hallway to see why he was back so early. You were greeted by a bouquet of five (half-dead, i might add) assorted flowers and a block of home-brand chocolate.
“Everything was closed.” Auston grumbled, pushing them into your hands as you blinked up at him in surprise. Sensing your confusion, he shifted uncomfortably. “I felt bad for yelling at you. I thought they’d look nicer than they do though.” he added, gesturing to the flowers.
You smiled gently, and leaned up to kiss his cheek. “Well it’s the thought that counts right.” you chuckled. He smiled weakly as he followed you back into the kitchen where you set up the flowers in a vase (that was actually an empty cookie jar since you had no vases). “I know this is frustrating for you right now.” you began. “I get how hard it must be. You’re under a lot of pressure.”
“Y/N..” Auston mumbled, clearly still not willing to talk about it.
“You’re frustrated and upset and I get that.” you continued. “but this,” you gestured wildly towards the TV. “Its not healthy, its not helping, and most of all,” you paused. “it’s not you.” you fell silent for a moment to gage his reaction but when he didn’t say anything, you pushed on. “I know it’s hard to believe. But it’s not your fault.” The american sighed slightly and you fixed him with a stern look. “You,” you prodded his chest gently. “are way too hard on yourself, mister.”
He chuckled a little at that, tugging you into a hug. You grinned up at him and kissed his nose gently, which caused him to scrunch up his face. Sobering up a little, he stared down at you.
“It’s not as easy as you make it seem.” he told you sincerely.
“I know,” you nodded. “but you’re already under so much pressure, don’t add anymore, hey?”
He ducked his head gently in a nod and you smiled softly, running your thumb over his bottom lip.
“Well I’ve got a block of chocolate and friends reruns ready on the TV.” you smirked. “Care to join me, Matthews?”
You could feel his laugh before it escaped his lips. “I suppose i can’t say no, can I?”
You shrugged shamelessly. “Guilt trip.”
“Lucky I love you so much, then.” He murmured with a laugh as he bent down to kiss you gently.
“Mhm.” you hummed in agreement as he straightened up. “unfortunately that means you aren’t getting away with that.” you added, tugging him gently back down by his collar, grinning at the sensation of his laughter against your mouth.
#auston matthews#Team USA#team North America#Toronto Maple Leafs#baby leafs#leafs#writing#nhl imagines
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