#fandom: da

[inquisitornocturn]

𝘖𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘈𝘭𝘭

𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: Varric Tethras x Female!Hawke

𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴: None, just pure fluff with implied intimacy

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: He was away for far too long, but even a minute spent away from her felt like eternity. Now he was back and she was finally his.

𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 1,121 | on AO3

𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦: For @makethemworse. Thank you for your endless patience♡

She looked at him and it was perfect.

It was perfect because she was here and so was he.

It was perfect because he smiled broadly to her and strolled over while she lifted her mug in a greeting to him.

“Varric! I wondered how long it will be until you show up! I was losing my buzz.” She said and Varric scoffed, made his way to the stool and sat across from her. He quickly signaled a bar maid for an ale and then turned to her.

To her.

To one and only he wanted to return to.

One and only he nearly died trying to return to.

“And you’ve been waiting for me this entire time?” He smiled and first she drank from her mug, but then lowered it onto a sticky tavern table and smiled.

“Just for a week or so. Not enough to boost your ego?” She teased and tears almost gathered in Varric’s eyes. He wanted to leap over the desk, to pull her to him, to hug tight, to press a kiss to her cheek if he could reach it.

Hawke.

The name fell from his lips easily so many times he lost count. It became like a little prayer to a goddess that only he worshipped. She cocked an eyebrow at him and brought the mug to her lips, the same ones that he yearned to press his own against.

An excuse appeared in a shape of the same bar maid he waved at earlier when she brought a mug for him and Varric pretended to take a sip when all he was doing was stall answering her.

“A week or so…” He chuckled and looked down at the mug, then back at her. “Hawke, I know you didn’t just waste a week of your time looking around for your sidekick dwarf, did you?” Before she answered he drank more. Another excuse not to look at her, but she… she smiled. Then laughed.

She leaned over the table and her mug met his with a dull thud that made Varric’s ale spill over his fingers gripping the handle, but he didn’t even notice. He just put on a mask of pretend surprise and Hawke chuckled.

“You know you are much more than just a sidekick.” And after a moment, she added with a teasing grin. “Or just a dwarf.”

“Then what am I to you, then? A handy rogue? A decent shot? Very funny guy that you prefer to keep around because you have people like Fenris or Anders brooding about?”

She laughed. Oh how she laughed. Head thrown back, filling the tavern with her voice and she had to grip an edge of the table not fall backwards with the chair. The laugh warmed Varric’s heart so much that it nearly sprang a tear to his eye, but he just lowered his gaze to the mug and drained more from it, letting Hawke catch her breath.

“They are not that bad. You should judge them less when you’re the one to disappear on me for a year. Who told you it’s appropriate to send me a vague letter for a meeting and nothing else?”

Hawke tried to look serious, she truly did and Varric saw it. Her elbow on the table, mug in another hand, her eyes serious and searching his for answers. He has seen this look before and loved it. But he loved any look on her. He couldn’t help it, not anymore, no matter how much he denied it.

“And here I thought you would appreciate a little bit of mystery. You know, the kind that guarantees that you’re not bored of me yet.”

She laughed again, unable to pretend to look serious or even attempt to act angry at the vagueness of his message. She laughed and gestured to Varric, palm up. “You, my friend, will never become boring to me.” Her eyes filled with warmth as she spoke. Varric was smiling back before he even knew it.

“I think we have catching up to do.”

***

Varric woke feeling hungover. And sore. That rarely happened, but it was one of those rare times. He sat up in his bed and listened to the noises of the tavern. The early patrons demanding a drink. The serving girl arguing that she won’t serve said drinks until the barkeep shows up. He thinks of the other sounds and noises that he heard since making his residence in the Hanged Man: drunken songs that overtook entire first floor; the arguments that had to be taken outside; the bar fights, just like one last night, that he would observe with delight. Sometimes they even gave him writing ideas, inspiration, so to speak. Varric has seen enough battle on his own, but something about observing rather than participating was that often drove his quill.

But none of that was happening right now, so his gaze turned to a woman in his bed, who was sleeping peacefully, on her right side, facing him. Her hair still sticking to the temple and her hands on the pillow beneath her head. She looked beautiful. Heart-wrenchingly beautiful, especially with a blanket slipping off her shoulder.

Hawke.

In his bed. For the first time ever. Oh how many times he thought of this, dreamed of this. Varric smiled but did not dare to disturb her. Just watched her sleep and smiled, feeling sentimental, feeling happy. He felt in his very soul that this was a beginning of something more. Something that he hoped for but never dared to admit even to himself. The Hanged Man maybe wasn’t the greatest place for the monumental event that happened last night in this room, this very bed, but it was good enough to inspire him more often than not. And now she lied by his side, her lips still slightly swollen because Varric couldn’t stop kissing her.

His muse.

His inspiration.

His everything.

He leaned closer and she opened her eyes that he could look into for eternity. Deep as oceans that he could drown in with happiness. She smiled and Varric couldn’t stop the tear emerging from a corner of his left eye.

Hawke.

His Hawke.

Leaning even more he kissed her, unable to stop himself, not anymore. And when he felt her smile against his lips, Varric could swear his heart was being squeezed by fingers of utter fulfillment. It choked him.

“Hawke.” He whispered and kissed her again.

No, he couldn’t stop himself this time either. Countless kisses for countless times she made him feel like the life was worth living.

Her hands embraced him, pulling him closer and Varric sank, sank, sank…

Happiness…

Now he truly knew that meant.

[bloodbagboogie]

Valentine's Day notes (2/?)

No. 2: Lavellan and Solas

--

She has a scar that runs through her bottom lip and curves to her cheek.

He feels it when he kisses her: a note of tension at the corner of her mouth, an edge that tugs around her lips when she speaks, when she smiles. It's rough, under his fingertips; deep, where it slants through her vallaslin, and when he traces it she turns into the touch, flicking her gaze from his eyes to his mouth, and then back.

"What does it mean to you?" she asks. The words wisp across his palm. She does not mean the scar.

He lifts his hand to brush her hair behind her ear, letting the golden strands smooth over his fingers.

"That you have been through much, and yet survive," he responds, and there is - comfort, in giving that truth. As masked as it is. As frightening as it is.

She hums bemusedly and nips at his wrist: sharp teeth, and that crooked smile.

--

Another gift I eventually fessed up to, heheh. Also 2015, my DA:I phase.

[bloodbagboogie]

Valentine's Day notes (1/?)

No. 1: Varric.

--

[a crumpled note, never sent]

‘Dear- Scribbles, I just wanted t- How do you even start one of these things? Makers balls, it doesn’t matter how much you write if the words that matter are harder than a nugs ass to-‘

[next sheet]

So. You know the old lines? The ones that are as awful as hell, crap like ‘If the world was a meadow of flowers, you’d be the one I’d pick’ - the ones that make you cringe and butter curdle and babies cry out into the night and all that? It hit me the other day that maybe they had something, after all. Because words like that – they stick for a reason, linger with the little truths hidden beneath the faff, like grains of sand that grit when you swallow. Because, scribbles. You – you are-

Really, Tethras? Your editor would be crying right now.

[next sheet]

Scribbles,

It’s only been a few weeks since I saw you last. Feels like more, at this point. Kirkwall is the exact same crock of shit it was when I left it – you wouldn’t believe how comforting it is to smell it again, that unique combination of centuries old misery, blistering stone and unwashed bodies. It’s like ambrosia to the nostril hairs. A warmth in the gut.

Don’t suppose you’ll like it as much. You’re used to cities but Kirkwall, well, Kirkwall is a world of its own, hell do I know it. It will grow on you, though. Trust me. We have our charms, Kirkwall and I.

Three weeks since I saw you last. Funny, how long that seems.

Hope to hell you’re visiting soon, Scribbles. I miss you. And I don’t care if a titan suddenly rears up with the city on its back and tries to dance the remigold - I’ll be coming back for you, if you don’t.

I’m sorry it’s been hard. I wish I was there with you.

Soon. I can live with that.

Stay well.

- Varric

--

Found this in my old computer's word docs the other day. Sent it to a friend back in 2015, if I remember correctly. The plan is to revive the tradition this year, ngl, so as my friends realise it's me I'll toss them up here more formally (I say that with the confidence that I haven't really told people about this writing blog yet, so I have a lil grace period to get away with this :X)

[bloodbagboogie]

See under cut for fandom and pairing filter quick links. Currently writing: The Wayhaven Chronicles.

AO3

Search by fandom or pairing:

Redacted ASMR

milo/sweetheart

sam/darlin

The Wayhaven Chronicles

n sewell/f!detective

ava/f!detective

ava/nate

polymance (ava/nate/f!detective)

adam/f!detective

Fire Emblem: 3 Houses - claudeleth

Daredevil/Punisher - kastle

DA: Inquisition - Solavellan

Shadowhunters - Saphael

Misc

Also possible to filter by fic and series - just follow the tags.

[ophy-in-wonderland]

To serve the Maker

Magnus had tried to escape it as long as possible. The time he truly joined the order, the initiation ritual, and with it the first intake of lyrium. But it had always been his fate, and so he could not stall for it anymore. The armor polished, the Chantry flooded with light, the other Templars standing along the aisle, all in their armor too.

It was supposed to be a prideful moment, and it was how he carried himself.. but inside it felt more like it was his funeral. Every step closer to the altar was more difficult.. ooh he wanted to serve, he truly wanted to earn his place by the side of the Maker. Prove himself to be worthy of his love.. but.. But after this day.. there was no going back.. he knew that. He also knew what the fate of all Templars was.. had seen it with his own eyes. The men and women that would be hidden away in rural cloisters and chantries. Unable to remember their names, only speaking the Chant.. often like children.. they had lived with them at his orphanage. He had seen them cry when one of the caretakers was mean again. Forgotten, abandoned, disregarded and mistreated.. That was the fate for all those that lived long enough to see it.. an early death was the merciful ending for a Templar..

And he thought of those men and women as he carries himself up the stairs to finally stop before the Revered Mother.. wonders how many that right now take their knees for her were actually hiding the first signs of the illness that lyrium brought. How many were forgetting more and more names, forgetting themselves.

His nervousness must have shown in his eyes, because the Revered Mother smiles reassuring, but there was no chance to escape anymore.

He was tired, the night before entering knighthood one was not allowed to sleep, his voice speaking prayers had filled his ears all night, and he was glad that he could now sink down to his knees. That he did not need to stand or walk anymore, he finds mercy in that submission.

And the Revered Mother's smile grows, nods and gives a soundless praise. Making it so easy to forget any hardships, makes it so easy to accept the leash that they'd wrap around his neck. At least he was worth something.. at least he could serve..

“Will you vow to serve the Maker, and the Maker only until the day he calls you to his side?” She asks.

“I vow that I shall serve the Maker, and the Maker only until the day he calls me to his side!” He answers.

“Will you vow to use your blade to protect the weak and cut down the rotten!To hunt those that took the Maker's gift and turned it against his children!

“I vow that my blade will protect the weak and cut down the rotten! To hunt those that took the Maker's gift and turned it against his children!”

Magnus was somehow amazed at how strong his voice sounded, how it echoed in the Chantry, and made him believe his vows even more.

And more vows followed. To always follow orders, to respect the Revered Mothers, to be strict, to never ask for too much, to always be a good dog.

Finally all that needed to be spoken was spoken. And he could fall into silence, and just watch the Revered Mother turn to the altar, to take the chalice from it.. and even from his position he could see the faint blue glowing.

Again nervousness overtook him, and he wanted to run, but he kept himself where he was, lips opened, waiting, and even still her free hand would be placed under his chin, holding it in a tight, cold grip, forcing him to open up his mouth even more. And then the rim of the chalice touched his bottom lip, the cup tilted forward while his head was tilted back, so that the lyrium could flow freely into his mouth.

And it burned ice cold, made his tongue numb and he does not swallow at first, but more and more fills him up. Her eyes staring into his, he could not dare to spill anything.. and so he swallows, swallows over and over.. the first time they get more,to get them used to it.. his throat burns like covered in ice and becomes numb just like his tongue.. after a while everything becomes numb. And he calms down, everything does.

The empty chalice was taken from an assistant, and now both hands of the Revered Mother cupped his face, her eyes starring into his. Still it is a grip that one could not escape.. but why would one want to escape anyway? All fear was gone, and suddenly the notion of ever having been fearful was silly to him. This is where he was supposed to be, this was who he had to serve. And his gaze softens, a smile on his lips as he nuzzled slightly into the hands that he had wanted to escape before .

“Well done, my son.”

“Thank you, Revered Mother..”

[nymboderp]