#that merrill absolutely looked up to him from the very start and was thrilled to realise he reciprocated the sibling vibes

[tabris-esque]

Stravis Hawke (the big brother)

(a little irony before we begin: i said very recently on a different blog created entirely for me to talk about video game ocs that I was done with character intros for a while. clearly that. only applied there. what have i done)

Anyway I have to introduce Stravis Hawke before like any of my ramblings about DA2 make any sense! He is in many ways my masterpiece, a character I made on a whim with no idea what was in store for him/me in the game itself who then turned out to be perfectly calibrated to have The Worst Most Narratively Interesting Time. the reason why is in the title above: his entire sense of identity revolves around his family, and specifically his siblings.

Sometimes one creates a Hawke with a personality in mind for the dialogue choices, but with Stravis I really just had one singular goal in mind for every choice he made: will this protect my family? This means he oscillated wildly between diplomatic and aggressive choices, mostly ending up a red Hawke by the third act but in such a way where him backing down wasn't unheard of. the main difference between the two always came down to if Bethany was in the party and if he thought the person he might piss off had the power to hurt her or his mother (or later Anders and/or Merrill). Luckily, his overprotective nature led him to keep Bethany out of the Deep Roads, though he certainly felt like he failed when he came back to see Templars taking her away. (unluckily for me the first time through I straight up missed recruiting Fenris because Bethany was in the party and Stravis thought the quest giver was too shady to be trusted.)

He does not expand his definition of family easily. At first, it's his parents and Carver and Bethany, whittled down by life and death of course, and reluctantly he includes Gamlen just because that's his mom's family therefore his. (He'd throw Gamlen under the Thedas equivalent of a bus in a heartbeat if it saved Bethany, though. Priorities.) People like Aveline and Varric are permitted into a very rare and new for him circle of closeness called "friendship" which is where he would do a lot of dangerous and stupid things for you and protect you almost like family, up until something you do or say comes into conflict with protecting his family in which case he throws you out the nearest window. The third tier of closeness is best described as "people he likes but thinks may be a threat." This is, at first, Isabela and Fenris and Merrill and Anders. Anders shifts to friend status quickly as Stravis realises his attraction to him; Merrill lingers at "potential threat" and then gets an incredibly rapid turnaround once Bethany is taken to the Circle. Everyone knows why, but no one admits it: he's replacing his sister with a new one. Once Bethany is gone from Stravis' life, his singleminded devotion shifts to Merrill and Anders above all, making him even more forceful about mage rights than he might have been with just Bethany.

He never does trust Isabela enough for her to trust him, though he's never cold enough to her that he'd have called her an enemy up until the end. The same goes for Fenris, who by act three has tentatively reached "friend" status with Aveline and Varric in Stravis' mind, only to turn against him because of his devotion to the mages in his life. Like I said, Stravis will kill a friend to protect his family - it haunts him for the rest of his life, but he does it without hesitation. I think everyone around him knows exactly who they are to him and what level of devotion they'd receive, and there's almost a sense of "if I could just get through to him maybe i'd be part of his innermost circle, too" among them. He has his moments of kindness and altruism, rarely turning down a chance to help someone in need, but on an interpersonal level Stravis is an incredibly toxic person to be around, because there is a level of love you can pour into him and never get back and most people can never get past that place.

[deaddaygal]

As Long As You Follow

Pairing: Varric & FemHawke Genre/Warnings: Light Smut/Fluff Words: 2,286 Summary: After finding Varric’s estranged brother, Bartrand, in Hightown,  Ora Hawke decides to treat her stressed friend to a night of drinking and laughs. As the night progresses and the beer flows, it is clear that they have left many things between them unspoken. 

Note: I’ve been writing this on my phone since February, so it’s good to finally share it. I am open to constructive criticism, so if you have any tips on how to punch up my writing abilities, let me know. 

also, I was listening to this song a lot while writing.

Enjoy!

The Hanged Man buzzed and clanged with the sounds of drunken ecstasy and idle chatter, signaling the night and all its trappings. From wall to wall there sat a sea of familiar faces, all drinking and all of them entangled in their own far away mist. The packed room seemed to sway and swim into itself like a single organism, every person content to brush past one another in good humor, all in search of one thing. 

Beer. 

It was within crowd that Ora Hawke realized two important truths. The first was that her stein, having been tossed and turned during the walk back to the table, was now only half full. The second was that the decision to go out tonight was poorly thought out, for not only did she loose the majority of her beer, but she was also losing her temper. Varric, who had been left to defend the table from poachers, saw her pained expression as she made her way slowly back to him and quickly decided it was time to retreat. As she drew near, drinks in each hand, the Dwarf motioned for her to head upstairs to his room. Ora nodded and wiggled her way forward to meet him on the stairs, her eyes darting briefly to the table now set upon by a large group of clumsy old men.

Once inside, Varric shut the door and leaned back against it, sighing dramatically and bringing his right hand to his forehead. "Andraste's Tits, I didn't think we'd make it out alive!" He exclaimed. Ora set the two beers on the large table in front of them and gave a breathy chuckle. "I was worried that you'd get trampled on." She cried turning to meet his gaze. "Then what would I do? Drink alone for the rest of my life?" Her hand floated gingerly to the full stein for a second before reconsidering. He most likely needed more then she did. Varric had recently found his brother, Bartrand,in Hightown. For three years all she had heard Varric talk about was what he would do if his brother ever had the stones to return to Kirkwall, but when they found him, half mad and ragged, Varric couldn't bring himself to kill his brother. It would have been kinder. Ora watched him take a long swig from the large metal stein before enjoying her own. This was his night to relax a little.

The hearty dwarf sauntered over to the stone fireplace, turning the drink in his cup as he went. Now, with the murmur of the rooms below barely audible, the atmosphere felt peaceful. It felt safe.  "It's a shame the whole gang couldn't come out tonight. I think the majority of that lot is due for a good old fashion marinade." Varric said at length, his voice accompanied by the faint sound of crackling wood. "Although I can't quite decide exactly who needs it more, Blondey or Fenris?" Ora made her way over to stand beside him, her long index finger tapping the rim of her stein, evidence of the gears turning. "I'm surprised Avaline didn't cross your mind." She remarked before taking another swig, her eyes gazing into the hearth. The dwarf snickered. "Oh no, she's been a lot more chipper considering how full her bed has been the last few weeks."

The Mage nearly choked.

"I-Is that so? How can you tell?" She sputtered.

Varric gave her a knowing look.

"I don't know of any patrol that would make Guardsman Donnic walk like that."

 The two comrades exploded into a fountain of uncontrollable laughter as the image of the stoic young guard hobbling around bow legged danced wildly across their collective imagination. This was how it was and how he both of them silently wished it would always continue to be. Forever cackling at each other's insufferable jokes until the sky crumbled down around them. They were no doubt pondering this as they slowly ceased their fits and now stood admiring one another's humored expression. Ora's usually pale olive skin was now set ablaze by the warm glow of the fire and Varric, realizing this, cast his eyes nonchalantly back to his half empty beer, chuckling at his own foolishness.

The Dwarf grew thoughtful and for a time was silent. He seemed to be pawing through the chaos of his mind in order to find just the right thing to say. Ora noticed this and patiently waited for him, almost certain of what it would be. For a split second he appeared to have come me to a conclusion, however, as he turned to look at his friend the gears changed. His mouth opened and a slight noise gurgled out of him, only for him to change his mind and return his gaze forward. "Thank you for seeing me tonight, Hawke." Varric managed. Ora reached over and swiftly took his hand, squeezed it and then let it go. She was glad to be here.

 The next few hours fluttered away effortlessly, as the two of them traded tales and conquests. Varric, a natural born storyteller, mostly gushed about his adventures before his life in Kirkwall, focusing mostly on the fine women and the fantastic. Ora could always tell when he would start to exaggerate, because his voice would tend to get deep and loud and his movement would become gratuitously theatrical. His eyes glittered with the thrill of heroic feats and far away splendor, full of possibilities and hardly any truth. He knew how to rally his audience regardless of to whom he was speaking.

Staring into a fire, now merely embers, the two of them now sat on the floor aside the fireplace, their third drink already wasted in their steins. The conversation had drifted casually into a sea of comfortable silences breached only by the occasional witty remark or observation. Time held itself still between them, neither pondered on it or gave it much importance for it was enough just to be near one another. Ora inched herself closer to lay her head on Varric's shoulder. She had forgotten that he was a whole head shorter than she was, and now had to force her body down to accommodate for the difference.

"Having some difficulty there, Babes?" The Dwarf snickered, using his right arm to draw her closer to him. Her long black hair, which now draped lazily off his shoulder, smelled predominately of lavender with only a slight tinge of copper. He reckoned he might smell similar considering how they spent the majority of their time. Blood stains never quite wash out. She didn't answer him. Instead, Ora lifted her delicate hand to stroke the stubble on Varric's chin.

"Why don't you grow a beard like other dwarves do?" She chuckled, trailing her fingers across his jawline. "Beards don't really suit me." Ora shifted and met his gaze with defiant skepticism.

"But if you grew one, Merrill and I could braid it for you. We could be even stick in some pretty flowers if you would like." The Mage smirked up at him, patiently waiting for the rebuttal.

"Sorry to dash your hopes, my dear, but sadly I'm allergic. Plus I don't want something that itchy distracting from this gorgeous mug."

Ora rolled her eyes and turned her attention instead to the vicinity of his open shirt, her hand now falling from his face to rest neatly on a nest of golden chest hair.

"You don't find THIS itchy." She cooed.

Varric's heart stopped.

He could felt his face burn red hot as Ora's fingers ran lightly over his pectorals, drawing little circles over his exposed flesh. He had had many a woman fondle his chest before, but this was different. Ora Hawke was different. Not only was she uncommonly handsome, she was also profoundly terrifying. Varric has lost count of how many people he had seen her obliterate, his rough estimate these days being around 200 or so. It was this fear that made him snatch up her hand, making her sit upright. For about a minute or two The Dwarf said absolutely nothing as he sat there, clutching her hand in his, staring into her. Ora's expression turned quickly from one of utter surprise to that of great electricity, laughter ringing from every inch of her body.

"I'm just kidding, Varric!" She exclaimed, wiping tears from her eyes. "I didn't mean to upset you! Maker! You look like you've seen a ghost!"

 It was clear to him in the moment, still clinging firm to her, that what terrified him the very most was the idea that even with all her power and all her might, Ora Hawke was still just a person. No amount of fiction and fantasy could render that any less true. Nevertheless, Varric found HER so much more interesting than the rumors surrounding her, most of which having been his doing. In that moment, with the fire light dying and the night air sweeping in from the windows above, Varric wanted her.

Ora, now feeling a little foolish, decided it was maybe time to leave. "I've obviously made you uncomfortable. I'm sorry." She said, now making an attempt to get up from the floor, an attempt that failed. Hand stern yet gentle, Varric slowly pulled Ora back down to him without difficulty. If he were to do this at all, it would have to be now. She seemed almost curious as she sat there in front of him, searching his face for some semblance of a clue. She didn't have to wait long. Tenderly, Varric took her soft face into his rough callous hands, and without even a note of hesitation, leaned in and kissed her. Ora seemed to fall into him as he did this; her hands now free to wander up his sides to rest comfortably across his shoulders, signaling to him that she had wanted this just as much as he had. Quickly, their breath became hot and labored as their need for each other became greater. Varric's felt oddly contented as he released her face and proceeded to wrap her up in his arms, taking silent note of every curve and every line of her thin but voluminous frame. For years the two of them had held back a firm and feverish curiosity for one another, a strong 'what if' scenario that played at least once every time they found themselves alone. Now, embraced in the dark hours of the early morning, they were finally free to ask anything and take wholeheartedly. Ora pressed herself hard against Varric's torso, her hands now entwined amongst his locks of dirty blonde hair and a smooth low moan escaping her throat. Varric's took this as a call to action. Slowly he began to slide his hands up the sides of her velvet robes, leaving them to rest softly on her breasts. Ora was not displeased, but still decided to pull away to look at Varric, who's eyes were now foggy with desire. He released his hands from her bosom and sat there attentively, waiting for her. He would have been surprised if they just continued on, not even questioning the madness of what was happening.

Ora sighed and sat back on her hands, watching him with mixed emotions.

"Fuck." Her voice seemed pressed somehow, like an hourglass running out of sand. It frightened Varric a little. He scratched his head, his heart still pounding in his chest.

"I'm sorry, maybe that was a little forward. We can forget it if you want." He said sheepishly. Ora shook her head. "No. You're all right. That was..." she looked embarrassed.

"...bad?" Varric chuckled trying desperately to lighten the tension.

"Heavens, No!" She was hastily trying to fix the moment that she felt she had destroyed. She hadn't. The truth was that part of both of them wanted this moment to be extraordinary, like they hadn't seen it coming or that it was as bizarre to want it to happen at all. But it had always been there. It was in every glance, in the very soul of the words they spoke to one another, pushing and pulling them together like haphazard waves sloshing together in a terrible storm. They resisted this long, only because they had taught themselves to perceive one other in nothing but black and white. There was no room for a gray area, sweetly nestled between the two extremes, coiled and cuddled together laughing at bad jokes. Friends were friends. Lovers were lovers. But what about them? Regardless, the gray area began to envelope them, whatever they were.

"We should try again." Ora said finally, certainty solidifying in the cracks and crevices of her smooth tenor of a voice. The Dwarf was as pleased as punch. "Okay," he breathed in, settling himself on his hands. "But I am not taking my good friend Hawke on a dirty tavern floor like some barbarian."

Ora quickly stood and briskly flitted over to the bed, pulling the robes over her shoulders to reveal her thin delicate shift. She was way ahead of him as usual. He needed to catch up. In a smooth motion, Varric rose and took off his shirt, static trailing across his person and then swiftly jogged to meet his contender. As he began to slowly kiss the hinge of her jawline, a thought bubbled up from below. It sat small inside him, growing larger with each pass of skin on skin until it finally slipped between their two lips.

“I love you.”  He gasped between breaths.

Ora smiled.

“I know.”