#varric fanfiction

[variaoftevinter]

hawke x varric

fem!hawke x varric, mention of fenris x hawke i wrote this literally over two years ago (never posted) and just edited it a bit, enjoy!

content: v light smut, hickeys, b0ners, conversation about sex

Hawke and Varric were sat as always in the back room of the Hanged Man, hidden away from the rest of the rabble— to her preference. She never made a fuss when they got a table in the front, but she always got quiet-- surprising for someone as seemingly sociable as her. She said she doesn’t like when people watch her eat. The barmaid walked over and placed a bottle of dark wine and two chalices in front of them. Varric filled both of their cups. 

“I believe we have to keep tradition and get shitfaced, madam,” Varric said. She groaned. “What’s wrong?”

“Trust me, it’s not that I don’t like getting drunk,” she said with a smile, “it’s just that I black out every damned time. Without fail.” He laughed.

“It’s reassuring to know Hawke is bad at something. I’ve never seen someone handle their alcohol as poorly as you. Even Daisy.”

“We have no clue what those Dalish could be chugging on.”

“Hawke, how the hell could they make wine out there?” 

Hawke took a swig from her cup.

“Blood magic.” 

Varric groaned.

“That one was terrible.”

“I thought the delivery was pretty good!”

“I won’t deny you that,” 

She chuckled, her cheeks already flushed. “No one delivers like you do, Hawke.”

“That’s for damned sure. They don’t call me the Whore of Kirkwall for nothing.”

That one earned a hearty chuckle from the dwarf. 

“You’re lucky I’m working to help your reputation, that would be quite the fucking legacy.”

“What’s wrong with being a whore, Varric? I’ve been one all my life. I know how to get what I want from people, fucking is one of the ways I do that. It’s methodical. Often times I know exactly how to get someone off, like clockwork. Or a machine, or something.”

“Isabela’s really rubbed off on you.”

“She certainly has.”

Varric, mid-drink, spat and sputtered into his wine.

“Maker, woman!”

“Oh come now you’re not some prude, are you? Goodness, it’s like I’m sat with a chantry mother.”

“My innocent ears!”

“You’ll be alright,” She said, and refilled both of their now empty cups. “I never really here you speak of sex, come to think of it.”

“Truth be told, it’s not my favorite pastime. There is a lot more to a connection than that, at least for me,” He said. Hawke leaned forward, intrigued. “I have to know a woman, intimately, before it can come to that. I’ve tried casual sex, but it’s just far too vulnerable. It might sound sad, but I have to be able to laugh with that person. It’s such a serious matter when it’s with a stranger.”

“Laughter and sex, huh?”

“It’s necessary, yes. Absolutely.”

“Interesting. In all my days I’ve never experienced that.”

“Well,” he laughed, “I highly recommend.”

“Sex is often how I get to know a person. I don’t know why, but I greatly enjoy it. It tells me all I need to know about a person. What they want from you, if they’re a giver, if they’re a keeper, even.”

“I’ve never seen you find a keeper.”

She flinched at the comment. He quickly apologized.

“I have found keepers. The question is if I’m what they want.”

“Hawke, I don’t know how you couldn’t be. You’re a good, good woman. I mean it.”

“Well, people have specific tastes,” He raised a toast to that. “Like you, Varric. Your commitment to Bianca is unwavering, and that never ceases to confound me.”

“She’s a good bow. She’s sturdy, and-”

“Varric.”

“Right... You wouldn’t get it.”

“Oh trust me, I do. She doesn’t deserve you.”

“You’re hung up on that broody elf, aren’t you? I could say the same for you. He has hurt you again and again... I suppose like she has to me.”

Hawke took a sip of her wine. Varric followed suit.

“You can do better than him, Hawke.” He repeated.

She sighed. “There isn't anyone better than him, in my eyes. But you can do better too. You deserve someone who does need you.”

“You need me,” Varric said. They looked at each other. “If we both can do better then where does that put us?”

She laughed loudly and genuinely— which was a rare sight.

“Maybe that puts us right here in front of each other.”

“What are you saying, Hawke?” Whatever bluff she had, Varric called it. They held eye contact for a moment.

“What are we, Varric? I mean, I’ve never had a friendship like this before.”

“Neither have I,” Varric said. “Family?”

“Maybe…” They locked eyes again. Varric furrowed his brows. 

“I’ve never really liked a woman that wasn’t a dwarf.”

“I’ve never really liked a dwarf.”

“Fair,” he backed off. They thought for a moment. “We’d be good for each other.”

“I… yes.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” she decided. “We would, wouldn’t we?”

“Yeah, sure. Absolutely.”

She took a sip of her wine. Varric simply watched. His eyes made their way to hers. She looked back, setting the chalice down. He shifted in his seat.

She stood up. Varric inhaled, tilting his head up to look at her. She stepped over to him in his seat, and laid herself across his lap. He slid a hand over her rump. She brought a hand to his chin, rubbing her thumb gently across his scruffy facial hair as she lifted his face up to hers. They kissed— only for a moment, then pulled away to look at each other. Neither could discern what the other was feeling so they went at it again. As their lips pressed together they wrapped their arms around each other, enveloping them in one another’s embrace. This kiss lasted longer. Slowly, gently, the tip of Varric’s tongue brushed against her lips. She parted her mouth for him, letting him in. They continued. His left hand still wore a leather glove. He gripped her jaw with it, keeping her right against him. She felt him start to press against her, growing hard. She whimpered.

“Fuck.” He whispered. 

She tried to stifle a laugh, to no avail, giggling down his throat. He pulled away, resting his hands on the armrests of his chair.

“What?” He demanded, embarrassed.

“What do you mean, what?” She said, still in his lap, her face almost touching his.

“You laughed in my mouth!”

“You just said... I just felt bad. Or guilty I suppose.”

“Why?”

She leaned in, and started to kiss his neck. He tossed his head back, groaning in surprise. Slowly, she bit and sucked at him, until the skin turned deep red.

“Because,” she whispered into the crook of his neck, “I have you right where I want you.”

And with that, she rose from their shared seat, grabbed the quarter-full bottle of wine, and started to walk away.

Varric, unsure of whether to cover his neck or his bulge, awkwardly stood up and started to follow.

“Hawke! Maker’s breath, wait, woman!”

[girlwithadragonheart]

A Court of Crows and Rooks

Rook x Lucanis

Requested by @cirillabelle

Summary: What happens when the First Talon of the Crows requests you by name for a job? All eyes are on you and the Demon of Vyrantium as you take to the floor of a Trevisian Masquerade.

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: Assassination, creepy man

A/N: This was so fun to write! I hope you enjoy <3

DATV Masterlist

The note arrived with the scent of lavender and the heavy, unmistakable wax seal of the First Talon. You didn’t touch it at first. It sat there on the table, pristine and foreboding, as if opening it might unleash something you can’t take back. The address was what unsettled you most. Not “Veilguard Operative.” Not “Agent.” Just your name.

Rook De Riva.

It was signed in the slightly shaky, swooped script that you knew was Caterina’s handwriting.

You had sent for Teia as soon as it had arrived, needing the moral support before you could even open it.

“Congratulations,” Teia says, leaning over your shoulder with that sharp grin of hers. “The First Talon doesn’t call for just anyone. You got her attention.”

You scoff, pushing the note toward her. “If it’s so special, you read it. This is clearly a job for a Talon, not… me.”

“Don’t be a coward,” she teases, snatching it up before you can protest. Her eyes flick across the elegant Antivan script. “Well, well. Looks like you’re going to a masquerade.”

Your stomach twists. “A what?”

“A masquerade. You know, dancing, intrigue, a den of vipers dressed in silk and lace.” Teia folds the letter neatly and presses it back into your hands. “And you’ll need to dress the part.”

You glance down at your worn leathers, the daggers strapped securely to your thighs. “This is the part.”

“Not this time,” Teia says, already calling for an attendant. “You’re going to look stunning. “Deadly, but stunning.”

--------------------------

The mirror feels like an enemy, but you can’t tear your eyes away.

The gown Teia had commissioned fit like a second skin, the dark blue silk pooling around your feet like shadows. When it caught the light, the fabric sparkled like stars at midnight, just enough to look expensive without being gaudy. The dress was skin tight with a deep V cut to accentuate your chest and curves. There was a high slit, nearly up to your hip on one side. The hem was embroidered with silver vines, adding a touch of elegance you’ve never thought to claim.

The mask, silver filigree laced with Sapphires, hid enough of your face to make you feel anonymous, though it left plenty of room for scrutiny.

You don’t recognize yourself, staring in the mirror. Your lips have been colored with a seductive burgundy, making them look fuller than you thought possible.

“That’s the point,” Teia says, grinning as she adjusts the mask on your face. “They’ll never see you coming.”

When you step into the main room where the others wait, silence falls. Teia’s grin widens as she steps back to admire her work. Viago gives an approving nod, already slipping into his own role for the mission.

Lucanis is the last to react.

He stands near the door, and for a long moment, he just looks at you, his expression unreadable.

“You are not going alone,” he says finally, breaking the silence.

You blink. “Excuse me?”

“I’m going with you.” His voice is steady, leaving no room for argument. “For your protection.”

“I don’t need--”

“Yes. You do.” He steps closer, towering, but not intimidating. There’s something resolute in his tone, something that makes you pause. “I won’t let you walk into that room full of snakes alone.”

I wasn’t sure what he meant by that.

-----------------------

The ballroom is overwhelming the moment you step inside.

Golden chandeliers hang high above, casting a warm glow over the sea of silk and satin. The air is thick with perfume and intrigue, every masked figure playing a part in a grand, dangerous game.

You glance up, seeing Lucanis crouched in the rafters in his leathers. He gives you a subtle nod, and you tear your eyes away, trying not to draw attention as you head inside. Head high, don’t let them smell your fear.

A dance begins soon after your arrival, the music shifting to a lively rhythm. Teia and Viago have already melted into the crowd, leaving you feeling exposed.

Your eyes scan the room slowly, your hands folded delicately in front of your midsection as you gaze at the onlookers. Many sets of eyes are on you; you can feel the weight of them as you walk. Men and women rake their eyes over your form, some practically drooling.

A heavy-set magister with a leering smile---appears before you. His gaze lingers a little too long on your figure as he extends a hand.

“My dear, may I have this dance?”

Your stomach twists, but you force a smile, placing your hand in his. “Of course.”

The dance is a careful game. You keep your movements precise, your steps measured, all while his hand slides lower than it should and his grip tightens.

“So,” he says, his tone dripping with false charm, “you must be new to this sort of thing.”

“I get by,” you reply coolly, resisting the urge to yank his hand away.

He chuckles, leaning in closer. “Perhaps we could---”

Before he can finish, a shadow looms behind you.

Lucanis, now dressed in formal attire with a sleek black mask, steps in smoothly, his hand covering his heart as he bows slightly. “My apologies, I couldn’t help but notice your beauty among these dogs. May I have this dance, my Lady?”

The magister hesitates, his gaze flicking to Lucanis before he forces a tight smile. “Of course.”

You let out a quiet breath as Lucanis guides you away, his hand steady against your back. “I had it handled,” you mutter, though your heart is still racing.

You take a moment to study the crow---his dark Antivan suit tailored perfectly to his broad shoulders and thin waist. His mask is simpler than yours, a sleek black piece that lets his brown eyes show through. Lucanis glances down at you, his expression unreadable beneath the mask. “You shouldn't have to.”

The music slows, and the couples around you draw closer together. Lucanis doesn’t let go, his hand still firm at your waist. His other hand takes yours, his touch warmer than you expect.

“You’re blending in better than I thought,” he murmurs, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

You smirk faintly. “Part of the job, right?” Your gaze holds his, but your smirk falters. “Lucanis, you look…” Your voice trails off.

“Clean!” Spite hisses through his teeth.

You can’t help the slight laugh that bubbles from your chest, tight with anxiousness. “Nice,” you say. “Handsome.”

His lips twitch in the ghost of a smile, but his eyes remain sharp, scanning the room even as you move together in time with the music. His focus is unshakable, though his grip on you doesn’t waver.

“You’re staring,” you tease lightly, trying to break the tension.

“I’m watching,” he corrects, his tone steady but quieter now.

You move as one, each step drawing you closer to the center of the room. Your heart pounds in your chest, but you keep your face neutral, aware of the eyes watching you. As the song draws to a close, Lucanis dips you low. The motion is fluid, practiced, but as he holds you there, his grip tightens just slightly.

You’re close enough to feel his breath against your lips, his chocolate eyes locked on yours. For a moment, the rest of the room falls away.

Then he pulls you upright, the spell broken as quickly as it was cast. “Focus,” he says gruffly, releasing your hand.

You exhale slowly, forcing yourself to steady your breathing. “I am focused.”

Lucanis doesn’t reply, but the faintest flicker of a smile crosses his face before he steps back, the mission pulling him away once more.

It isn’t over yet, but your breath catches as you watch Lucanis slip into the crowd. For a man so popular, he disappears like smoke, weaving through the throng of silk and secrets with a grace you hadn’t quite been able to appreciate until now.

Your heart still pounds, the echo of his lips leaving your skin warm and your mind foggy. Shaking it off, you glance around, searching for Teia or Viago. They’re somewhere in this sea of masks, playing their parts as flawlessly as always. You envy their ease.

Lucanis’s words echo in your mind. Focus.

Easier said than done.

By the time the next dance begins, you’ve managed to slip into a rhythm. The first few exchanges were tense---too tense---but now you move with calculated grace, careful to keep your face neutral and your voice light. The target is watching you again, his lecherous gaze sweeping over you as you pass by.

You force yourself to smile, to keep your movements slow and deliberate. If he thinks you’re easy prey, all the better. A pretty, oblivious smile and doe eyes was all it took to entrap a man like him.

“Careful,” a familiar voice murmurs in your ear, and you nearly jump.

Lucanis is at your side again, his broad frame cutting an imposing figure even in formal attire. He doesn’t look at you, his eyes scanning the crowd, but his presence is a relief you hadn’t realized you needed.

“I thought you were blending in,” you say quietly, keeping your voice steady as you turn slightly toward him.

His lips twitch in the barest hint of amusement. “You’re drawing too much attention.”

You arch a brow. “Isn’t that the point?”

His eyes rove over you, following the dips and curves of your skin and exposed flesh. “Not all of it is friendly.”

You glance past him, noticing a pair of masked figures watching you from across the room. Their posture is relaxed, but there’s something about the way their heads tilt toward each other, their whispers concealed behind their masks, that sets you on edge.

Lucanis follows your gaze, his expression hardening. “Stay close.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply, his hand brushing yours as he steps closer. The touch is light, barely there, but it sends a shiver down your spine.

When the music shifts again, Lucanis offers his hand. His posture is formal, the gesture deliberate, as if daring you to challenge him.

You hesitate for only a moment before placing your hand in his. His grip is firm but careful, his touch steady as he leads you onto the floor.

The eyes of the room are on you, everyone else dancing branching out to give you space. You can feel it, but Lucanis’s focus never wavers. He’s calm, confident, and entirely unbothered by the attention.

The music kicks up, and he spins you, pulling your back to his chest, one hand splayed over your stomach, the other guiding you by the hand. The steps are simple at first, the kind you’ve practiced a dozen times in training. But Lucanis moves with an elegance that makes it feel effortless, guiding you with a confidence that’s hard to ignore.

“I didn’t know you could dance,” you murmur, your voice just loud enough for him to hear.

“I’m full of surprises,” he replies, his voice smooth and low, his beard tickling your ear as he speaks right into it.

A second later, you’re spinning away from him, his grip on your hand warm and firm as it pulls you back, clutching you close. His touch is like fire, burning through your skin straight to your soul. You let out a breath, trying to keep up with his steps.

“You’re good at this,” you admit reluctantly, your hand covering his on your stomach.

He doesn’t reply right away, but you can feel his eyes studying you intently. “You’re better than you think.”

The compliment catches you off guard, and for a moment, you falter. His grip tightens, steadying you before you can fumble.

“Focus,” he says softly, the word almost teasing now.

You roll your eyes, but a quiet laugh escapes you. “I am focused.”

-------------------------------

The target watches you from the edge of the room, his expression unreadable behind his mask. You’re acutely aware of his gaze, of the way he lingers a little too long, as if trying to decide whether to approach again.

Lucanis notices too. His hand shifts slightly, his fingers brushing against the small of your back in a subtle but protective gesture. He leans down to your ear, murmuring so only you can hear. “Get him to the balcony. This ends soon.”

You nodded subtly, and Lucanis disappeared into the crowd again. Immediately, you missed his warmth. The absence of Lucanis felt like stepping into shadow after basking in sunlight. Without him at your side, the weight of the room seemed to press in on you. You let out a steadying breath, forcing yourself to relax into the role you needed to play.

The target was still watching, his gaze lingering on you like a spider waiting for its web to tremble. You met his stare with a coy tilt of your head, your lips curving into a faint, inviting smile. Slowly, you began to weave through the crowd, your steps deliberate, drawing him in like a moth to flame.

He took the bait. His hulking form detached from the edge of the ballroom, his movements smooth but predatory. The mask obscured his features, but his posture screamed arrogance. He thought he’d won already.

You led him toward the open doors leading to the balcony, the cool night air brushing against your skin as you stepped outside. The space was quieter, the music and chatter from inside muffled. Stars sparkled overhead, their light glinting off the silver trim of your gown.

“I couldn’t help but notice,” he began, his voice thick and dripping with false charm, “you’ve captured the attention of the entire room tonight.”

You turned to face him, the corner of your mouth twitching upward. “And yours, it seems.”

“Of course.” He stepped closer, his shadow swallowing the soft glow of the lanterns. “A beauty like you doesn’t go unnoticed. Though I must admit, I’ve been curious about who you truly are beneath that mask.”

His hand reached for it, but you stepped back with a playful laugh, keeping the distance just enough to leave him wanting. “Now, where would the fun be if I gave away all my secrets?”

He chuckled, but there was an edge to it, a hunger. “Perhaps I can persuade you.”

The air shifted, the predatory undertone in his voice setting your teeth on edge. You glanced toward the shadows near the balcony’s edge where you knew Lucanis would be watching. The target was close now, too close. His hand grazed your arm, and your pulse quickened---not with fear, but with the need to act.

“You’re quite bold,” you said, your voice light but firm as you stepped back again, toward the railing. “And here I thought Tevinter men were supposed to be more subtle with their charms.”

The target smirked, following you like a hound to prey. “We are, but I’ve always found boldness more… rewarding.”

His hands grabbed your hips, sliding lower as he pulled you into him. You hummed, your hands splaying out over the railing behind you. The cool stone was solid beneath your palm, grounding you. 

“And what is to be your reward tonight?” You asked coyly. 

He smirked. “Oh, my dear. The reward is you.” He leaned in, flashing his teeth in a predatory smile. Your hand slipped to the dagger hidden on your thigh. As he went for your neck with his lips, you went for his with the blade. Your touch was light with your free hand, tilting your head as though to allow him access. Before he could taste your flesh, your dagger sunk into his skin. 

Blood splattered across your cheeks, matching the darkness of your painted lips. The magister tried to cry out, but gurgled as blood filled his throat. You stepped out from under him, watching his body tumble over the side of the balcony.

“Ta ta, darling. So sorry, I must’ve slipped. A shame you couldn’t catch me.” You smirked, hearing a dull thud from the ground below.

A hand started to slip around your waist, and you turned, pinning them to the wall with a dagger to their throat. Lucanis’s lips upturned. You pulled the blade away, sheathing it back under your dress.

“That was exquisite, Rook,” Lucanis said. “For all of Viago’s complaining, he was right about one thing.” His hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you close to mutter in your ear. “You make a wonderful Crow.” He pulled back to look at you.

“Lucanis, you’re staring again,” you flushed from head to toe under his gaze.

“Perhaps I’m simply watching. It’s hard not to with such a beautiful woman before me,” his lips turned up, chocolate eyes appraising you.

“Who knew the Demon of Vyrantium was a flirt,” you teased.

“Ah, no, you seem to have mistaken me for Illario.”

“Just shut up and kiss me.” Your hand fists in the collar of his formal sirt, pulling him toward you.

Your lips meet, and Lucanis pulls you close, one hand on the small of your back, the other gripping your hip. You hear the music swell inside, fireworks going up into the air and exploding, bathing the gardens below in warm light. Lucanis leans over you, bending you backward, your hands gripping his shoulders as he holds you up.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Let me know if you want to be on the Lucanis tag list!

Have a good day/night!

[lostinthewiind]

Be Still, My Beating Heart

Varric Tethras - Dragon Age

Genre: Fluff + Smut

Rating: 18+

➤ 10 years after the Inquisition's victory against Corypheus, Varric is older, wiser, and greyer—and you're still as in love with him as you were 10 years ago.

Lately, it could be hard to recognize the passage of time. 10 years ago, a hole was ripped in the veil and threatened to end life as you knew it. Now, a hole has been ripped in the veil, threatening to end life as you know it. Cassandra had once rattled off some quote about those who didn't learn from history being doomed to repeat it.

That certainly fit.

In the grand scheme of things, life hadn't seemed to have changed much in the past 10 years. When he stepped into the room, however, the passage of time hit you like a ton of bricks. His once shorter, red hair was much longer and greyer now. His five-O'clock shadow was now a neatly trimmed, salt and pepper beard. There were two scars slicing through his right eyebrow. But most noticeable of all, his eyes had lost some of their light.

This was not the same Varric you had parted ways with 10 years ago, and yet your heart thrummed steadily against your ribcage just the same when you locked eyes.

"Maker, you're just as beautiful as the day I last laid eyes on you." Varric's voice was rough but quiet in your ear as you trailed kisses up and down his neck, arms draped loosely over his shoulders.

That morning, Solas was on a mission it tear down the veil. Tomorrow, Solas would still be on a mission to tear down the veil. But for that evening—for a measly 8 or so hours—it was just you and Varric, locked away in a shabby room in some inn, catching up on lost time.

You hummed softly before sitting back in Varric's lap, fingertips lightly ghosting over his exposed chest. "We have to stop meeting like this." You slid your hands up his chest and neck slowly until you were cupping his face. "The end of the world does not a romantic time make."

"After this, I'm done. I'm done saving the world," Varric said. He waited for you to lean down and kiss him once before continuing. "Once we deal with Solas, we're turning tail and finding somewhere quiet and peaceful."

You smiled softly. "And who is this 'we'?"

"You and me, doll. Who else?"

Your eyes flickered over to the corner of the room, where Varric's crossbow was resting against the wall. Varric let out a warm laugh.

"I'm smart enough to know when I'm the other woman." You adjusted your hips and felt Varric harden beneath you. An involuntary gasp passed through your lips as Varric sucked in a sharp breath.

"There's no 'other woman'." Varric gripped your hips hard and pressed himself up into you again, eliciting the same reaction from you both. "It's just you. It's always been just you."

You chuckled as you pressed you lips to Varric's, the kiss quickly deepening into something more hungry and needy. "You really expect me to believe there's been no one else in 10 years?" you whispered into his mouth.

Varric's warm tongue licked along your bottom lip before catching it between his teeth. "Doll, you know I like to talk a big game, so what I'm about to say next should prove to you I'm telling the truth." He buried his face in your neck and began sucking on the sensitive flesh there. All the while, his hips bucked upwards to meet yours, desperately seeking friction. "All we've done is make out a little and grind like teenagers and I'm seconds away from cumming. Trust me when I say, there's been no one else."

"Seconds away?" You gave an experimental roll on your hips. "Really?"

Varric let out a strained groan. "Fuck, doll, I'm serious. Don't-" His words were suddenly cut off by a choked grunt, and as his hips thrust upward, he bit down hard on your shoulder. "Fuck," he panted as he kissed the spot where he had left bitemarks in your skin. "Fuck, I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

You, on the other hand, were the opposite of sorry. "Don't apologize," you told him. That warmth from your core had spread like wildfire to your entire being. "That was hot."

Varric chuckled under his breath. "I appreciate you trying to make me feel better, but there's nothing hot about an old man's premature ... ending."

"Varric." You grabbed his hand and stuffed it down your pants, guiding his fingers over your soaked underwear. "That was really fucking hot."

Varric's eyes widened when he realized you weren't just trying to staunch the bleeding of his ego. "Oh, you weren't kidding. This is because of me?"

You nodded, unable to form words as his fingers prodded at your aching clit. When Varric's sheepish smile turned to a devilish smirk, you knew you were in trouble.

"I'm the luckiest man in all of Thedas." Varric pushed your underwear to the side and gathered some of the wetness on his fingers before pushing inside you. "And tonight I'm going show you just how grateful I am for that."

You threw your head back at the sudden but pleasurable intrusion. Cursing under your breath, you began to gently lift yourself up and down on Varric's thick fingers. The angle was slightly awkward due to still being seated in his lap, but no amount of discomfort could ever possibly overcome the ecstasy you were enveloped in.

"Varric," you moaned.

Oh, how he had longed to hear his name drip from your lips like honey again. There were many times where he had sworn that if he could just spend one last night with you, he could die a happy man. Now that he had you though, dying was the last thing he intended to do—not when he had just gotten you back.

You weren't sure when you had closed your eyes, but when you opened them again, Varric was staring up at you with a level of adoration you had never seen before. Finally, the light in his eyes had returned.

Calloused thumb moving to circle your clit, he smiled wide—a smile of pure, unabashed joy. "I can't believe you're really here. You're here and you're mine again." He pressed harder, the look in his eyes screaming for you to come undone for him. "I missed you every second of every day."

That tight coil inside you that had sat neglected for a decade had finally been brought back to life, and now it was ready to snap. "Varric." You planted your hands on his chest and pushed, trying to prevent the inevitable. "I'm gonna ... stop, please. You're gonna make me-"

"You're so breathtaking like this." Varric held you firmly in place, ignoring your pleas. "I could cum again just from watching you squirm and listening to you moan."

Sure enough, when you looked down, Varric was hard again. His erection was pressing firmly against the wet spot on his pants where he had already ejaculated.

You couldn't help but chuckle. "And there you were trying to make me feel sorry for you, old man."

"This is the effect you have on me," he said. "Now be a good girl and cum on my fingers so I can make love to you properly."

Thumb grinding hard into your clit, Varric's fingers curled tightly inside of you until you were seeing stars. Eyes rolled back, the muscles in your legs gave way as you climaxed and you sunk down all the way to the knuckles of Varric's hand.

After a few seconds, Varric pulled his hand out of your pants and gave your ass a gentle pat. "Up we go." He encouraged you to stand up on your wobbly legs and take your pants off. "Steady there."

As soon as you had disrobed from the waist down and Varric had pulled himself free from his pants, he hurriedly pulled you back down into his lap. Before moving any further, however, he decided to slow things down a bit.

"I want to savour this moment." His cock twitched against you and he pulled you closer for a kiss. "Maker, what I would give to stay in this shitty room with you for the rest of my life."

"Alas, someone has to save the world." You ran your fingers through his hair, tugging ever-so-slightly. "Again."

Varric hummed in agreement before pressing a kiss to the column of your throat. Deftly, his hands worked away at the buttons on your shirt. "I need to feel every inch of you pressed up against me," he explained as he helped you out of the rest of your clothes. Once his shirt was off as well and the two of you were completely nude, he pulled you flush against his chest and kissed you again.

Unable to deny yourself any longer, you began to fidget, slowly but surely lining Varric up with your entrance. Varric didn't stop you, and once his tip was prodding at that warm, wet hole he had dreamt about for a whole decade, he wasn't able to deny himself.

"Be gentle with me," he breathed into your mouth. "Slow and steady."

"Slow and steady," you repeated as you lowered yourself down inch by inch.

Varric's death grip on your thighs was enough for you to tell he was already dangerously close to finishing again. You had no room to judge though—not that you ever would—because you were teetering on that precipice just the same.

Once you had steadied yourself, you began to move. Immediately, Varric pushed you back down, nails digging into the soft flesh of your legs. "Not yet, doll," he hissed through gritted teeth. "Fuck, you feel so good. Too good. Maker spare me, you're too good for me."

"Please," you begged. That fire was raging inside of you once more, yearning to be extinguished. "Just a little. I promise I'll go slow."

"I don't want it to end. Not yet." His hands moved to cup your ass. Maintaining complete control, he guided your every movement. The feeling of his cock dragging along your walls caused you both to moan, one of euphoria and one of desperation.

One single stroke had left you both panting, foreheads pressed together as the two of you worked to maintain your composure just a little longer. Eyes closed, you sighed happily when you felt Varric's lips against yours.

"I promise next time will be less pathetic." He smirked against your lips. "Next time I'll make love to you like you deserve."

You shook your head, unable to picture sex better than this. This was what you were sure everyone craved—what people waited their whole lives for and some never achieved. Every nerve in your body was electrified—every touch lingering and leaving you wanting more.

"No," you told him. With that, you began to ride him properly—fear of finishing too fast be damned. "This is perfect."

"Maker's breath!" he cried out. Realizing that you truly didn't care if it all ended just as fast as it had started, he met your enthusiasm halfway and helped you bounce up and down on him. When he came not long after, he came moaning your name.

You weren't far behind, and as your second orgasm ripped through you, you clung to Varric and pressed into him as hard as you could.

"I missed you too," you returned the sentiment after replaying the entire interaction over again in your head. The mixture of Varric's hand running up and down your back and the sweat cooling sent shivers through your body.

"Well, better or not, there will be a next time. And it won't be after a decade apart." He held you close and pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses to every inch of skin he could reach. "I'm not done with you yet—not now, not ever."

[thatwildwolfart]

Everyone read Out of the Fade, Into the Fire by @whiskynorocks. It's a beautiful, heartwrenching and heartwarming story about recovery, pain, love, family, and moving on, and I can't recommend it enough.

[ruiningsalads]

Happy Friday! Maybe for Varric/Cassandra: "I never had the courage to ask you if you'd kiss me."

another drabble for @dadrunkwriting!

"That's another drink, Seeker!" Varric crowed gleefully.

"Ugh." Cassandra threw her cards down and picked up her tankard. "I don't know why I agreed to this."

"Because I'm incredibly charming," and he waggled his eyebrows at her.

She choked on her drink and nearly spat ale all over the table. As she coughed and struggled to regain her breath, Varric shuffled the cards.

"You're supposed to drink it, not inhale it," he offered with a smirk.

"Quiet," she wheezed, red-faced.

"How about a new game, since you're so bad at cards?" He set the deck aside and hefted his own tankard. "Truth or drink. You ask me a question, and I either have to tell the truth or take a drink."

Cassandra eyed him suspiciously. "You, tell the truth?"

"It's been known to happen. Now, what do you say?"

"Fine." She squinted at him for a moment before asking, "How often are you staring at the Inquisitor's rear while we are traveling?"

That made him laugh. "As lovely as she is, I'm not really into elves. Besides, I think Chuckles would have something to say about it."

"That wasn't the question," she challenged.

"Oh, fine. I don't stare. If I happen to look, it's because she stepped into my line of vision, and that's Andraste's honest truth."

When she didn't challenge him further, he asked, "What about you? Has anyone caught the eye of the Seeker? Perhaps a handsome commander?"

"Cullen?" It came out as a startled laugh. "Maker, no!"

"No? Then who?"

Cassandra's face reddened, and she swiftly took a drink.

"Spoilsport," Varric chucked. "Your turn, then."

She peered at him thoughtfully. "Have you started on the next chapter of Swords and Shields yet?"

"Of all the things you could ask me, you choose to ask me about my crummy romance serial?" He shook his head disbelievingly. "No, I haven't."

Her shoulders slumped the tiniest bit. "But you should."

"That's debatable," he snorted. "But now, a real question: when was the last time you were truly afraid?"

He watched as she sucked on her teeth for a moment. "When that giant picked you up and would have thrown you, were it not for the Inquisitor's quick thinking."

A wide smile spread across his face. "Aw, Seeker, I'm touched."

Pink bloomed across her cheeks. "Same question to you," she demanded.

"Right now," he admitted before he could think better of it.

Her brow wrinkled with a frown. "What?"

"Because... Because I want to kiss you, but I'm not sure if you'll throw another chair at me."

He watched her lips part as the breath gusted out of her. Then, so quietly that he almost didn't hear, she murmured, "Only if it's a bad kiss after how long I've waited."

[mrs-theirin]

“Bianca’s getting married.”

“Oh, I’m very happy for her. Is it to a charming Honda Civic? Or is that too young for her?”

Her joke didn’t land well. He sighed heavily. “The real Bianca."

Eden Hawke and Varric Tethras have been friends for 7 years. Their bond is unbreakable, which is why when Varric asks Eden to be his fake date to his on-again/off-again ex girlfriend Bianca's wedding, she agrees immediately. The two of them embark on the road trip of a lifetime, one they will never forget. ♫

Beginning | Last Chapter | Final Chapter

[moonsugar-and-spice]

🌧️ 8

Varric x Cassandra

Arriving in ultra-high fashion (which is to say egregiously late—but late usually beats never). Thanks for stopping by, enjoy!

Send me a prompt + a pairing and I’ll write you a ficlet. 

+++

The storm had rolled in fast. Wind tore at the trees, clouds roiled and flashed like an angry sea, thunder shook the earth. Within seconds, they had been drenched.

Beyond the windows of the forsaken hunter’s shack, the world was an ever-darkening blur of grey fury as dusk slowly siphoned the last of daylight. Rain lashed the neglected roof and stone walls with no sign of fatigue, weeping through cracks in the ceiling, drowning out their breaths and Cassandra’s restless footfalls.

She paced the cramped cabin, the soft clink of her armor keeping time. One-two-three relentless strides to an old carving block, dark stains sunken in and around the wood. Turn. One-two-three back toward the ladder that led to a sleeping loft, partially blocked by the drooping, water-stained ceiling. Turn. Sparing only occasional glances to where Varric slouched resignedly upon the single bench at the dust-ridden table.

Earlier that day, he and Cassandra had been scouting ahead, searching for a safe path through the treacherous wilds. The rest of their party had waited several miles behind, now likely hunkered down as best they could.  The two of them had been on their way back when the storm hit, had fortuitously stumbled upon the overgrown shack. The corpse of a long-forgotten fire lay huddled in the hearth, cobwebbed but dry. With a spark, the remains had wheezed back to life and now suffused the dingy place with a meager glow, a thin warmth.

Varric took another long draught from his flask. Already more than half-empty, by the diminished heft of it. The cabin’s door sagged on its rusty hinges, letting in sporadic darts of rain and a loamy tang. But the somnolent flames, the haze of liquor, Cassandra’s rhythmic movement all conspired to lull him into a trance. Firelight wavered over her set jaw and winked against her scar, limned the damp fringe still clinging to her forehead. She seemed caught in her own reverie—fingertips tapping against her thigh, eyes shooting daggers out the window on every turn, as if she might threaten the storm into submission.

Not that he would put it past her. If this storm had any sense, it’d start looking for a new job right about now.

As it was, Varric took advantage of the moment and let his gaze follow her.

Cassandra Pentaghast was a study in contrasts. Fierce, yet reverent. Imposing, yet merciful. Terrifying, yet… well, still terrifying. But beneath the warrior’s facade was a depth of compassion she seldom revealed. He had glimpsed it in her care for their comrades, in the moments of vulnerability she allowed herself. Her unwavering selflessness and mettle stirred and fostered within him a profound admiration. Though Varric often and habitually cloaked this fact in a timely jest or embellished tale.

And he knew her unrest here spoke to more than the storm’s fury. It embodied the mantle of a duty that seemed to settle more heavily on her shoulders. While each member of the Inquisition bore their share of the burden, Cassandra’s own personal conviction amplified the pressure she felt. The looming threat of Corypheus cast a long shadow over their every move. Delays felt perilous, every moment of inaction a potential disaster.

His flask thunked quietly on its return to the table, and Cassandra stopped just long enough to fix him with a look. There was the barest hitch of her breath as she blinked. A blooming flush as she realized he had been staring.

On reflex, she frowned anew, averting her eyes from his to the drink still wrapped in his hand. “Why do you always bring that thing with you?”

Varric raised an eyebrow. As if prompted, he lifted the flask to his lips and took another swig, shrugging. “Never know when it might come in handy.” 

With a scoff, she shook her head, even as the stern lines around her mouth yielded to something gentler. “You’re incorrigible.”

The grin he returned didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s part of my charm.”

The hearth rasped and sighed, their shadows shifting on the wall like phantoms. An insect scuttled across the floor. His gaze lingered on hers a beat longer than it should have before Cassandra broke it to resume her troubled circuit of the cabin.

There was so much he had been wanting to tell her, ask her, for entirely too long. But the time had never felt right, and on the rare occasion it might have, the words tangled his tongue and knotted themselves in his chest. He needed to know whether this thing that had been growing between them for months only existed in his imaginings. Though he didn’t think it did. So, when she’d volunteered as scout that morning, he had stepped up to accompany her, hoping to carve out a moment where that ever-choking anxiety might be tempered by the purpose of their movement, the lesser demand for eye contact.

The trek had afforded him plenty of low-pressure alone time with her. More than one chance to speak his heart. Yet when he’d finally had it, he choked. Again.

One of her boots scuffed against the slanting floor. He watched her a few moments longer, his expression dimming on an exhale. “Stop pacing, Seeker. You’re making me nervous.”

Cassandra paused mid-stride and turned, shoulders stiffening at his remark. “Stop drinking, then. You’re making me nervous.”

Varric huffed a singular chuckle, but it was a hollow sound, lost under the clamor of rain and wind. Raising both hands in a show of concession, he took the flask and set it across the table from him. It came down louder than he’d intended. “There. Happy?”

For a moment, she didn’t answer. He could almost feel it, the reprimand straining the leash of her disapproval. But at last, her edges softened in acceptance, the hands at her sides closing once before loosening.

A gust rattled the grimy windowpane. With it came a lurch in the cabin’s pulse, a rise in the tick-tick-ticking of rain that pooled in the corner, drained between decaying floorboards.

Varric held Cassandra’s gaze the way one might a flame in a draft. Delicate. Imploring. One wrong move and it might gutter.

“Come sit with me.”

Cassandra stood there, warrior-rigid and tall and still, as if weighing his request. In the pause that unfurled, he thought she might refuse, simply retreat back into herself and her compulsive restlessness, deflect any prospect of vulnerability.

But with a sigh laden with more than mere agitation, she crossed the small room.

Old wood creaked as she lowered herself onto the vacant side of the bench, her armor brushing against him. The cool damp where his shirt clung fresh made him shiver, but he was certain the prickling on his skin had more to do with the growing warmth of her beside him.

Varric felt suddenly very hot. Painfully aware of the way they both developed a keen interest in the veins of the table. He cleared his throat.

“We aren’t going anywhere tonight,” his voice husky with drink and nerves and firelight. “May as well make peace with that and get comfortable.”

Cassandra eased against the table, folding her hands in front of her. “I’m not used to being idle,” she replied quietly, her thumb circling a callus on the other, worn by her sword over many years. “And… I suppose this storm has me on edge.” 

Varric gave half a nod and murmured, “Storms’ll do that.” He didn’t say how it put him in mind of her—unyielding, a force of nature, starkly beautiful. Woe to anyone who got in her way.

The side of her thigh grazed his as she shifted. The hushed creak of her armor carried a whiff of damp leather and metal, sweat, a hint of cedar. And beneath it, a trace of something spicy-sweet he couldn’t quite place. 

Varric stared hard down at his hands. Caught between this yearning to break the silence and the fear of what might come of it if he did.

Amid the grooves and pocks in the wood, a name and date had been carved that he hadn’t noticed. He traced it with a fingertip until skin snagged against a splinter trying to lodge itself there. 

He wasn’t sure what he might be waiting for—some excuse to let the words die in his throat again, maybe. But it wasn’t coming. This longing that had been gnawing at him for months was eating him from the inside out. Every stolen glance, every not-quite-accidental brush of skin only added to it.

But, like most things stuffed into words, once said it couldn’t be unsaid. It left him adrift in a disorienting fog of doubt and want, uncertain which way to navigate. It was a strange and unpleasant feeling for him.

Without thinking, he reached for a familiar comfort. Halfway en route from the table to his flask, Varric’s hand was swatted from its trajectory. 

“I said stop drinking,” Cassandra bit with command. “We need to be ready at dawn’s light and I refuse to drag you back to camp hungover.”

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Muscle memory.” 

The half-hearted smile he offered didn’t stick, slipping away as he drummed his fingers in front of him. They twitched toward Bianca, who lay within arms’ reach, silent witness to his predicament, then stopped, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve instead.

“You know...” he began at length, “I’ve always had a knack for finding my way out of trouble. Give me an angry mob, a heist gone wrong, a burning trash heap of bad decisions, and I’d manage to fashion some joke or smooth remark to get me out. I found I could talk myself out of most scrapes, and drink my way out of the ones I couldn’t.”

With a subtle turn of his head, he dared a look and drew her gaze. 

“But, not this time.” 

Some deeper part of himself was grasping at his shirt collar, trying to pull him back from the edge of the cliff. But Varric knew if he didn’t extricate this thing in him now, there was a chance he might never. 

“This time, I can’t just evade it with humor or another drink, or even distance. Not out here, Fate knows what I’d give for a little privacy,” he added, but the chuckle that followed came out thin. Varric steadied himself on a breath, letting all trace of a joke drain away. “Because what I’m feeling won’t let me off that easily.”

He let his eyes brush from the slight furrow between her brows to the flickers of gold in her irises to the soft parting of her lips, curiosity transmuting to a charged, unfolding anticipation.

“I guess what I’m trying to say, what I’ve wanted to say for a while is…” Varric pitched himself toward that ledge, and jumped. “I’m in love with you, Seeker. And I had this crazy hope that maybe you…” He trailed off, blinking.

Cassandra had gone stock still, her eyes wide with something beautiful. Something fragile. Something terrible.

Silence fell like a wet, woolen blanket. The fire, the storm, every sound seemed to collapse into a dull hum. In it, he heard the ungainly sound of his own tight swallow.

Cassandra’s lip curled into a silent snarl, even as her expression betrayed something deep—an ache, a question unasked—before she grated out, “Tell me that when you’re sober, you idiot.”

The aftertaste of liquor turned sour on his tongue. Varric wanted nothing more than to suck the confession back into his chest and cork it tight. Fingernails bit into his clenched fists, knuckles taut and white, as he worked for something more to say, a way to take the sting out of her response.

She looked wrought in stone for as hard and unmoving as she sat, if not for her eyes scoring a pattern in the wood, every plink of rain like the fall of a hammer.

And then she stood, sharp as a blade, putting her back to him as she marched to the window and leaned gruffly against the sill. A couple of dead flies skittered in the harsh current of air she stirred. Cassandra’s shoulders rose and fell in stiff measure, the lines of her figure silvered in a flash of lightning, and he braced himself for her silence. For the coldness of her rejection to fill the space between them like an unbreachable wall.

But with renewed ferocity, she spun back, her eyes flashing hotter than the hearth. “You choose now, of all times, to say this? Half-drunk while we’re stuck in a putrid shack. You’ve been sitting on this for, how long? Weeks? Months? And now—?” She growled, threw her arms in the air, shook her head. “How can I even be sure it’s real, Varric? That it’s not just the drink?”

“Come on. I’m not that far gone,” he argued. Outside, the loose shutters clapped a shrill rebuke against the cabin’s walls. With a throaty sound, half groan and half sigh, his eyes slid closed and he rubbed his brow. 

She was right. He shouldn’t have said it, not like this. She deserved better. 

“It’s been there long before this drink,” Varric pressed, his voice gravel, dropping his hand to lock eyes with her again. “And it’ll be there long after. Drunk, sober, it doesn’t magically change how I feel.” 

Cassandra’s nostrils flared, and then she turned her back again, hands curling around the windowsill. But she didn’t lash out a second time. Instead, she exhaled, long and slow, her anger bleeding out, leaving only weariness.

“There have been… things… I’ve wanted to speak of as well,” she admitted haltingly, her voice softer. “But not tonight.”

A note of tension eased, like a grip uncoiling. Varric had been bracing for a clean break, something final, painful but uncomplicated. Instead, her words were a door left ajar, cracked enough to let in a sliver of hope that he hadn’t fucked up everything in this one untimely swoop.

For now, it was enough.

[malizanu]

Varric was young when he realized tragedy would always follow him. Bianca, the real one, was by his side as they silently digested the consequences of their love story. Like the most succulent meat, their flavor could only be savored through the death of the innocents. If this was the outcome, maybe they weren't meant to be.

Years later, when his brother died… No, when he killed his brother, it wrecked him, but still nothing compared to when he saw Leandra's life fading away, as Hawke tried to hide her pain for the sake of one last happy memory. Her mother died proud of her daughter. Like Varric, she saw the beautiful parts of a broken hero.

He stayed with Hawke for as long as she needed, and when Aveline and Merrill took her under their wings, he spent the rest of the week drunk.

"You smell like shit", said a voice by his door.

"Isabela!", soaked in bad alcohol, he would later remember that he forgot her nickname. If the woman noticed that — of course she did —, she said nothing.

"Hawke smelled like shit too", she tried, but her voice carried no trace of fun. Varric contemplated how long it would take the pirate to deal with what was going on with her heart. "I gave her a bath. Since Andraste's compassion blessed me today, should I bathe you too?"

"Hah! You wish, Rivaini, but Bianca will get jealous", he tried to smile and the expression felt so foreign.

"Oh, you flatter yourself too much. I'm sure if you bothered to install some legs, Bianca would run away."

"It'd leave me devastated, but you know what? It's better for her", Isabela gave him an odd look as he continued. "You should run away from me too, Isabela. Tragedy follows me. And now it also follows those I love."

***

I'm writing what was supposed to be a one-shot focused on the reactions of the Inquisitor's companions when Solas took the anchor. SUPPOSED because there's already 4k words and my Inky still hasn't woken up. Well, unfortunately as the story is progressing this bit needed to be cut, but I really enjoyed writing it so why not post it here, right? Hope you all enjoy it too!

[andrastes-strap-on]

The Inquisition as Fanfic tags (can’t explain why)

Dorian - porn with plot/porn with feelings

Sera - crack fic

Cullen - flower shop au

The Iron Bull - plot what plot

Cassandra - enemies to lovers

Vivienne - slow burn

Solas - angst/hurt no comfort

Varric - “there was only one bed”

Cole - high school au

Blackwall - hurt/comfort

Leliana - major character death

Josephine - “last updated a billion years ago”

[nvthedasmode]

The Dread Wolf's Grave

Notes:

Very short one-shot fic inspired by the quote; 'They asked "do you love her to death?" I said, "speak of her over my grave and watch how she brings me back to life.'

Lavellan's name is Harellan, 'Raven' is Varric's nickname for her.

One of Harellan's nervous habits is rolling coins over her knuckles.

Set sometime during early Veilguard, Solas presumed to be at the Lighthouse rather than in a separate prison.

First ever fic! I am not a writer! I am just a lil guy with a lot of feelings!

And I am so sorry I have no idea how to write Solas and Varric lol.

-----

To say that Varric was uncomfortable was an understatement. It was one thing to ask a dwarf to live on the surface, another thing entirely to ask him to make himself at home in the Fade. Unfortunately, he had little say in the matter. The Veilguard had settled themselves within a deep pocket of the Fade; a safe haven from the blighted elven gods now roaming Thedas, and thus far it had proven to be a wise choice.

Their new home was where he emerged from now, and the morning silence (save for Bellara’s excessive snoring) was a welcome indication that everyone was still fast asleep. Or, at least, everyone but the one elusive elf he was looking for. Once he was confident he had not woken anyone up with his heavy dwarven tread, Varric’s footsteps established a leisurely pace as he descended the stygian steps weaving from the gilded door of the Lighthouse to the shifting island below.

The Dread Wolf’s corner of the Fade expanded before him, shimmering masses of Fade-touched rock floating across the enchanted vista as unhindered wisps of magic soared above him like stars against Kirkwall’s night sky. It was brighter, warmer, but still as commanding as the area of the Fade the fear demon had ruled. Some of the silhouetted islands in the distance would have been large enough to cast a city the size of Starkhaven into complete shadow, and some dipped deeper than even the oldest of thaigs. Smaller rocks housed old and ruined walls, frescos of the fabled wolf glowing faintly from the veilfire sconces and causing him to appear equal parts treacherous and feeble.

The littlest cluster of rocks presented an assortment of ancient elven … trees, Varric assumed. Their metal base gave way to a spherical head that sprouted sharp, golden branches. They wove intricate shapes that moved to shelter a gleaming emerald centre, glinting like fire. This group veered closer to the island he now trudged along, glittering vines with blossoms as large as ponds wrapping themselves around the jagged surfaces and reaching out to grasp their neighbour - a complex walkway of mystic bridges that connected the islands, forming an imposing jungle that served as a shrine to what once was.

Far above him, when he thought to look, Varric could have sworn he could make out the slightest shape of an azure city, light refracting across the landscape as if it was pouring through a window in a Chantry cathedral. The sight was often cloaked in a calculated mist, as though his eyes were intruding on an intimate scene between two lovers - but every time he rubbed his eyes to see it clearer, it had vanished.

Varric had learned that the island he had called home for the past few weeks could shift its appearance depending on his old friend’s mood. While the Lighthouse remained the same, often the Veilguard would wake up to see their interim home had a different garden to explore, each one shaped from Solas’ lonely library of memories. Sometimes there would be luscious fields of green, emerald blades swaying to a song none but they could hear as perfectly round drops of dew dissolved into dazzling specs of light. Other times there were seemingly never-ending pathways; rivers of crystal gems creating a map upon the island, waterfalls replacing cities and curious wisps building toy castles from motes of magic. Once, when Varric awoke in the dead of night (or as close as one could get to that, in the Fade), he peered out his window to see Solas strolling Skyhold’s grounds, his tired eyes never leaving the figures of Cole and the Inquisitor as they helped to soothe a dying woman lying by the campfire, clutching a fatal wound. Had Solas reached out to them, Varric did not know, for he had quickly retreated back to his bed to allow his old friend his privacy.

Today, as Varric disembarked the steps, the soles of his worn boots met an impossibly soft sand that shifted gently beneath his weight. Something resembling seashells dotted the ground, their surface gleaming and moving in a way that made them look more like creatures than collectible souvenirs. Out of baseless paranoia more than respect, Varric carefully picked his way across the fabricated beach to the towering figure in the distance.

Solas stood at the end of the beach, the ripples of the ocean creeping along the sand to stop just shy of the tips of his feet, as though magic itself dare not disturb him. He stood tall, gazing across his domain with an expression befitting his name as the manufactured breeze lifted the ends of his coat. Hands clasped habitually behind his back, a single gold coin rolled lazily across his knuckles, causing tiny spurts of reflected light to shower across his long fingers. Any reasonable dwarf back under the surface might have mistook it for magic.

“Good morning, Varric,” came his familiar voice. He spoke in barely more than a murmur despite Varric still being numerous paces away, yet he heard it as though they were standing next to each other.

“And here I thought it was only Rook who had to listen to your voice inside their head, Chuckles,” Varric shouted back, scowling half-heartedly when he saw Solas’ shoulders betray a small laugh.

Solas patiently waited until Varric had made it to his side before speaking again, finally turning his gaze to his friend with a playful smirk on his lips. “Ir abelas, I did not want to deny you the pleasure.”

Varric let out an indignant snort. “I’m starting to understand why so many dwarves stay below the surface.”

“To avoid speaking with me?”

“Now, now, I didn’t say that.”

“You did not need to,” Solas responded curtly. Varric was glad to see the smile still lingering.

At least he hasn’t lost his sense of humour.

The two fell into a comfortable silence, the sound of the waves crashing a few hundred yards ahead of them filling the space. Had he let his mind tune out for a moment, it would not have been unlike the mornings they had spent waking up to the sounds of the Storm Coast - Solas casting a protective barrier over the campfire before the Inquisitor burst into tears at the idea of going a single moment without her tea; Cassandra cursing from the edge of camp as she tried and failed to prove she could in fact approach a nug without scaring it away; Lace and Varric placing bets on how many more days it could rain before they all lost their minds. He wasn’t sure which put his back up more; being surrounded by suffocating grey and rain, slipping on lethal cliffs that never seemed to dry - or being in the Fade.

It was Solas who broke the silence first, as if sensing Varric’s unease. “How are you adjusting?”

Varric shrugged, stalling as he measured his response. It wasn’t in the nature of their relationship to lie to one another (or so I thought, he corrected himself), but he wasn’t about to start tearing apart his friend’s home either.

“I can’t exactly say I’m keen to settle down and start a family here, but I’ll give it to you - it’s impressive.”

“Thank you,” Solas sighed heavily, his eyes focused on something in the distance. “Imagine what it would be like without the Veil.”

“Chuckles, not now.”

“So, when would you propose-”

“I came here to talk to Solas,” Varric said morosely, feeling a pang of regret as Solas’ shoulders stiffened. “Not the Dread Wolf. How about you humour me, just this once? Then I promise we’ll go back to the uncomfortable ‘Child of the Stone’ and ‘Ancient Elven God’ dynamic.”

Solas silently met his eyes then, and the coin in his hands stilled as white knuckles wrapped around it tightly. Just like the painted walls on the islands floating around them, Varric could see his were tall but crumbling. Exhaustion and pain had sunk their bloodied talons into his sharp features, but under the wolf there was still the man. A friend that desperately wanted to get out.

“I’ve never been good at this sort of stuff,” Varric muttered, turning his gaze back toward the ocean, “but you left a lot of people behind. Good people, that missed you.”

“I am not unaware of that, Varric,” Solas replied. Varric could hear the sharpness to the tone, a warning that he should drop the subject immediately.

They both knew he wouldn’t.

“I mean, even Buttercup seemed upset - although she tried her best not to show it. With you gone, Cassandra became her next target for pranks, and we both know pissing off the Seeker is a dangerous choice at best - lethal at worst. I mean, I’m speaking from experience here.”

A quick glance to his right told him Solas was also very pointedly staring out at the ocean again, doing his best to look the picture of disinterest, but the ironclad set of his jaw gave him away. It always had.

“And Ruffles! I thought she would never stop accidentally adding your frilly cakes to the Val Royeaux order list each month. Eventually, me and the Kid-”

“Did you come out here with the intent to torture me, Varric?” Solas snapped, his proud mask melting away to pained anger as he pressed his eyes closed. His nose scrunched as he breathed through it, the waves that stretched before them stuttering and turning a sickly green. “Do you see me as so many of my People do? Do you also think me a heartless monster with no feelings?”

Against his will, Varric’s mind recalled his friend’s broken sobs as she read Sutherland’s reports about the monstrous demon that had plagued Skyhold. Her heart’s deepest regrets ravaging the place they had once called home, the scars of his past forever embedded in the old Inquisition fortress.

“No,” he sighed. “I don’t think that at all, Chuckles.”

Another deep breath from Solas. The water slowly began to settle once more, melting back to a cool, pure cerulean that would have made the painters at Halamshiral turn crimson with embarrassment.

“Then what can I do for you?”

“Remember,” Varric said shortly.

Solas opened his eyes to peer at Varric with confusion, and he could see the purple storm deep within them threatening to pour out and engulf the island they now stood upon.

Silently, Varric nodded to Solas’ hands, still held tightly shut as though he were frightened of dropping whatever was in them. Solas slowly unfurled his fingers, the gold coin nestled innocently in his palm, small dents pressed into his pale skin from clasping it so desperately. The purple storm observed it silently, eyes barely blinking as they stared.

“I saw you playing with it,” Varric said gently, feeling his friend was more a terrified Halla than the dreaded wolf in that moment. “Raven used to do the same thing, when she was nervous. Ruffles had to pry it from her hand when we went to the Winter Palace.”

Solas continued staring at the coin, his expression unreadable. “She gave this to me on the way to the Temple of Mythal,” he said tentatively, as though testing out the words in his mouth. Varric supposed this was the first time he had allowed himself to speak of her in years. “She said she had no need for it any longer, since she had …”

“Since she had your hand to hold,” Varric finished for him. “She said it loud enough for the entire camp to hear.” The memory almost made him smile himself.

A ghost of a smile tried to lift the corners of Solas’ mouth, but it faltered before it even began.

“I remember.”

Varric did smile then. I knew you were still in there, Chuckles.

“Do you still love her?”

There was barely a heartbeat before Solas tore his eyes away from the coin, wrapping his fingers safely around it once more before straightening to his full height and turning to look along the endless sands.

Varric felt the Fade change before he saw it. The sands before them rippled and swirled, floating smoothly into the air to reveal the harsh black rock of the island below. A deep shadow lurked over the area, a stark contrast to the vivid, colourful sky behind it. The sands shifted and formed a familiar image; tall swaths of darkness encircling a small enclave while a suffocating green mist rolled along the floor, catching Varric’s ankles and sending small tendrils up his legs that dissipated as quickly as they appeared. Paltry red spirits skittered around nervously, as if they were constantly running toward - or away from - something.

This was the graveyard from the Fear demon’s lair. Or - more accurately, Varric supposed - Solas’ memory of it.

There was a slight adjustment, however. Only one, solitary gravestone sat in the enclave. The stone it was made from looked sick, brimming with fear and unspoken terrors, its aura almost oppressive.

Varric approached it wordlessly. The words upon it were the same and yet not as he remembered - the elegant, smug carvings of the fear demon were gone, replaced by hurried, almost infantile writing that looked as if it had been carved with a very sharp claw.

‘Solas,’ it read. ‘Dying alone.’

It was only then that Varric saw them. A spectral version of Solas - his friend, Solas - appeared slowly from the darkness, smiling as he offered a gloved hand to the second figure that manifested. Harellan met his smile with her own, eagerly gripping his hand and laughing as he twirled her into his arms. The scarlet spirits, appearing to be calmed by the two newcomers, turned to watch, sweeping closer to the radiant scene that seemed to consume the darkness around it. Varric could hear the faint sound of a band playing from - somewhere? Nowhere? The memory of his friends didn’t seem to care, nor did they notice him or the cruel grave at their feet. They danced and looked at no one but each other, and Varric was irrevocably certain that they would dance forever if the world would let them.

The lonely voice came from behind him then. It was so thick with immeasurable pain that Varric could not bring himself to turn around.

“Speak of her over my grave, Varric,” Solas murmured, “and watch how she brings me back to life."

[velocitross]

Okay I think it’s finally time for my

Multi-Fandom Fic Masterlist!

Here you will find all my fics from Baldur’s Gate 3, Star Wars (TCW + TBB), and Dragon Age (2 + Inquisition) ✨ Mostly one shots with multi-chapter fics noted. All multi chapter fics are written to completion and posted weekly.

Plenty of smut here (🔞) but also T romance and gen fics! I love to dig in and explore character, world build, etc.

I am generally open to requests but do prefer writing within ships or characters already represented here! But, feel free to ask 😌

Continue below!

Baldur’s Gate 3

Vigil (durge OC) x Dammon

Imperceptible Progression of the Stars - Vigil finds Dammon outside the tiefling party. (T)

Last Light - Vigil opens up to Dammon about their violent urges. (T)

A Sunrise Worth Seeing - Dammon and Vigil grow closer following Vigil’s triumph at Moonrise Towers. (T)

Oaths Broken & Bonds Reforged - Dammon and Vigil meet each other again in Baldur’s Gate. (G)

In the Clarity of Dawn - Vigil is redeemed. (T)

Epilogue - in a quiet moment at the epilogue party, Vigil expresses how much Dammon means to them. (T)

Always Forever - Dammon knows just how to finally reveal his feelings for Vigil. (E)

Made Yours - Vigil and Dammon celebrate the Elturian holiday of love (E)

Respite - Vigil gives Dammon a full body massage. (E)

From the Dark - With Dammon’s help, Vigil grapples with some long forgotten consequences of the urge. (M)

Rolan x Dammon

Working Steel - Rolan, frustrated by his work, seeks out Dammon for some… stress relief (E)

Up in the Tower - Dammon tries to get Rolan to take care of himself, with limited success. (M)

Within the Storm - Rolan is a mess after losing Cal and Lia to the cultists. Dammon helps. (T)

Nighthawks - Modern AU! Long distance relationship woes. Webcam sex. Cyberpunk 2077 (E)

Infernal Arcana - multi chapter and complete (35k). An interesting project steeped in the infernal brings Dammon and Rolan very close. (E)

Candlelight and Wine - Rolan is grumpy, Dammon cheers him up with a dance. (T)

Dammon x gn!Tav

A Little Light Reading - Dammon thinks about Tav whilst enjoying some spicy reading material (E)

Needful Evenings - Dammon gets caught in the act while once again thinking of Tav. (E)

For Services Rendered - Dammon gets tied up and teased. (E)

Halsin x gn!Tav

Seed of Oak - It’s breeding season, you get the idea (E)

Isobel x Dame Aylin

Alive Again - Isobel struggles to cope with her resurrection. (T)

Gen fics

Sun Will Set - Halsin helps a dying snake along his journey. (G)

The Ring of a Hammer in the Hells - Dammon is haunted and inspired by his tutelage beneath Carixim. (T)

To Endure - Rolan finds his resolve to endure his abuse at Lorroakan’s hands. (T)

The Exiled - Dammon comforts Silfy over their exile and situation in the grove. (G)

Cat Nap - A cat helps soothe Dammon’s worries over his future in the city. (G)

Star Wars

Captain Rex x gn!reader

Rainy Day Refuge - A perfect rainy morning for cuddling back up with Rex. (T)

Golden Dreams - You dream of a quieter life with Rex. (T)

Midnight Souls - Rex doesn’t know how to dance, so you resolve to teach him. (T)

Heart of the Universe - After a long day, Rex is there for you. (T)

Summer’s King - On vacation with Rex, you (flower) crown him king. (T)

Killing Heat - You, traitor to a guild of listeners and spies, are sent on a covert mission for the republic with Rex. Intrigue, action, slow burn romance. Multi chapter and complete (105k) (E)

Briefings and Reunions - after the events of Killing Heat, you have a secret tryst with Rex. (E)

Rex on the Beach - beach trip with Rex goes exactly the way you imagine. (E)

Yadrinovo’s Rings - Following Rex’s loss and assumed death in battle, Kix finds him on a remote frontier planet. It’s your job to bring him back, but… do you really want to? Angst, domesticity. Multi chapter and complete (45k) (E)

Captain Rex x Riyo Chuchi

Rendezvous - Rex and Riyo find some comfort in one another in an unexpected way. (E)

The Way to Be Together - Rex and Riyo discuss what’s between them and resolve how to go forward. (E)

Gen fics/misc

Concessions - death troopers Pik and Waffle spar, and then, you know, spar. (M)

With Honor - Multi chapter and complete (160k). Post order 66 exploration of Rex’s grief, trauma, and agency. (T pushing M)

Waves - Exploration of grief and “what comes after.” Feat Rex and two OCs from With Honor (T)

Dragon Age

Note!! These fics were written a long time ago, 10 years in some cases. They’re not well formatted, written in first person pov, I was shaky on how to tag, etc. Please show some grace for early 20s xan 🙏

Gen fics only!

How I Saved Weisshaupt and Also the World - 50k, Hawke discovers a cult that lives in the Fade and drives their followers mad. Varric, as always, is there to ride to her rescue. (T)

People Need Stories - Varric helps Hawke cope with the loss of his mother. (T)

They Forget So Easily - Cole struggles to be remembered. (G)

[highinhardtown]

I can never bring myself to Sacrifice Hawke, I can’t stop thinking of Anders, Of Varric, of any of them really. And picturing Varric having to write letters to everyone to let them know just hits real hard.

I claim to own nothing but the text.

Paper/Paper texture are from ibisPaintX

Background is a still of Skyhold

Fonts used are Asul and Berkshire Swash for Varrics Signature.

[girlwithadragonheart]

Chapter 4 - Ashes to Ashes

This story contains major spoilers for Dragon Age the Veilguard. Read at your own discretion!!

Rook x Lucanis

Summary: Kalais has to choose to save her city or Lucanis's. Things don't end well.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Swearing, Mental-emotional breakdown, Kalais snaps a little

A/N: I love when I develop a character that ends up not taking any shit it's so healing

Chapter 3 DATV Masterlist Chapter 5

We met with Harding’s Warden contacts in the High Anderfels. Antoine and Evka were both very sweet and seemed like they wanted to help. They said they had noticed some things about the Blight that lined up with what we were seeing, everything the First Warden didn’t believe.

They told us about another Warden in the area who was pulled into another mission. Lucanis and I made our way to his last known location. There was a tent and a fire still halfway burning.

“Well, I’d say we found the camp.” Lucanis crouched down on the opposite side of the fire from me. “So did some darkspawn, looks like.”

“They left the fire burning,” Lucanis said.

“Were they ambushed?” Lucanis and I glanced at each other.

We heard a screech, both looking toward the sound. I crossed behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder. He rose from his crouched position behind me as I tried to find the source of the sound.

The creature screeched again, this time louder, and a ball of feathers was fiving at me, about the size of a mabari. I held my hands out, trying to keep the creature from attacking me. By description, it looked like a griffon, but that couldn’t be right. Griffons were extinct.

“Assan!” A deep voice yelled close by. I looked over seeing a handsome, dark skinned elf. The griffon pounced over to him as he walked up to us, sticking close to his side. “Easy boy.” The man smoothed a hand over his feathers.

“I’ll be damned… a griffon,” I said.

“Trouble is, he’s not sure what you are. Neither am I,” the man said.

“Rook,” I said. “Evka and Antoine sent us. We’re looking for Davrin.”

“You found him. Mind telling me why you smell like darkspawn?” He asked. “Griffons hunt darkspawn.”

“We don’t smell that bad. It’s the tent,” I explained.

“Blight? Where are Lancit and Remi?”

“The camp was empty when we got here,” I told him.

We heard a raged cry from somewhere distant. “Assan! To the trees!” Davrin commanded. “Try to keep up!” He told us.

After killing lots of darkspawn, and finding all of the griffons locked up in cages sealed with blood magic, we found what Davrin called the “Gloom Howler”. Some kind of Darkspawn, undead, bitch queen.

She got away and took the griffons with her before we could stop her.

The four of us made our way back through the eluvian and the Caretaker took us between islands in the Crossroads.

Neve, Harding, and Bellara came running toward us, looking panicked. “What’s happened?” I asked with a furrowed brow.

“The Viper just sent word. Minrathous is under attack by a blighted dragon,” Neve said.

“Has to be the one we saw at D’Meta’s Crossing,” I said.

“Well, one of them has to be,” Harding replied.

“What do you mean, “one of them”?” Lucanis questioned.

“Teia also got in touch. Another dragon is attacking Treviso, too,” Harding told him.

“Mierda,” Lucanis cursed.

“You got back just in time,” Harding said to me.

I took a breath, putting my hands on my hips. “Alright. What do we know?”

“Two dragons at once? Has to be the gods behind it,” she said.

“Teviso’s a merchant city. It has no defenses. And the canals run everywhere,” Lucanis told me. “If we don’t stop that dragon, people will die. Innocent people. My people. They either die right away, from the dragon. Or slowly after, from blight in the water. We need to go to Treviso.”

“And leave Minrathous to burn?” Neve questioned. “You’re a Shadow Dragon, Rook. You know the Viper, Tarquin, every damn Shadow… We’ll fight to the end. But people will get hurt. Or worse,” she said. “And if we fail? The Venatori will take advantage. They’ll make a push for the throne. And hand the gods the entire Tevinter Empire.”

“If we decide to—”

“Damn it! There’s no time!” Neve interrupted me. “It’s my city. Our city. I need to be in Minrathous.”

“And I must go to Treviso,” Lucanis said. “Go where you feel you must, Rook. We cannot wait.” 

Without another word, Neve and Lucanis both ran off. “What’s our move, Rook?” Harding asked.

I ran over what I knew for certain in my head. Minrathous had defenses, including the Archon Palace. I was certain that me and two others would not be able to make much of a difference against a dragon. But I did know that Treviso was already under occupation and its people wouldn’t survive without some extra aid. I also knew that as much as Neve said Minrathous was my city, I was its slave long before I was its savior.

I took a breath, my chest feeling tight with the weight of this decision. “We help Lucanis in Treviso. We have to trust that the Shadow Dragons can take care of things in Minrathous. That said… two of you should join Neve there. See if you can help. And we’ll head to Treviso.”

“Understood,” Davrin said.

“Let’s all try to make it through this alive, all right?”

I brought Davrin with me, leaving the other two to go to Minrathous with Neve. I had to trust that they would be alright. I couldn’t afford to be distracted right now, lest I risk my own hide. When we got to Treviso, the city was burning.

Davrin and I made our way through the city, killing Antaam as we went. With the dragon trying to kill everyone, I suppose they saw their chance to really take over. Or, even worse, they were working for the Gods. ‘Cause that’s what we needed. More enemies.

We ran through the courtyard, seeing Lucanis and Teia up ahead. Lucanis looked so relieved to see us. “Rook! You’re just in time. Where the dragon attacks, the Antaam soon follow.”

“It is strong and fast. You must get its attention, then lure it onto the ground,” Teia said, hands on her hips.

“We’ll figure out a way,” I said, mimicking her stance.

“Draw up your courage,” she said. “We will need it.”

We took up position in the field, Davrin on my right and Lucanis on my left. Ghilan’nain, the horrible beast that she now was, all tentacles and no heart, demanded the dagger from me and said that Treviso offered nothing more than a pawn for Elgar’nan. She clearly couldn’t see the beauty it held.

She sent the dragon after us to retrieve the dagger. Most of my time was spent dodging blows as I tried to keep it off the other two, allowing them to actually hit it.

Enough of my panic built up, that I was able to aim some of it back at the dragon in the form of lightning and fire, beamed directly at its heart. Before we could bring it down, Ghilan’nain called it away, saying she had need of it elsewhere.

“You fought it off!” Teia ran over to us.

Lucanis clutched at a wound on his leg as he limped over to us. “If Ghilan’nain hadn’t called it away…”

“It’s more important that it stopped attacking the city,” I told him, casting a worried glance at the blood staining him.

“Everyone with a home that still stands will agree,” Teia said.

“That thing was tough. It’ll be hard to put down for good,” I sighed.

“What happened to Treviso would’ve been worse if you hadn’t arrived when you did. I cannot imagine how much worse,” Lucanis said looking at me gratefully.

“Still have to help with that dragon in Minrathous,” Davrin said.

“Let’s go,” I said.

—-------------------------------------

Minrathous was covered in Blight by the time we reached it. The streets were crawling with darkspawn and buildings were on fire. Even as I knew I made the right choice, it hurt to see this place like this. I had more bad memories here than good ones, but the good ones outweighed the negative. This was where I met Varric, after all.

We found Neve and Tarquin huddled around Ashur who was on a table, looking miserable and wounded.

“We’re here. What’s the situation?” I asked.

“Where were you?” Neve demanded.

“Treviso. The dragon—”

“This is your city! I thought—”

“My city?!” I almost laughed in her face. “You mean the city I was enslaved to? You mean the city that showed me and other people like me no kindness? The city that’s been corrupted since the beginning of Thedas?”

“And because we were busy fighting the bigger evil, the Venatori took large parts of the city!” She yelled. “We lost people. And Ashur…”

“I’m fine,” he grunted. “She’s right.”

“You are not fine,” Tarquin said, standing. “He took a claw to the gut. A claw from a blighted dragon. Think about that,” he said to me.

“The blight’s in his blood. But that means…” All my fire was gone, and I was just exhausted.

“A slow death,” Neve finished. 

“You’ve brought nothing but trouble since you came back,” Tarquin growled.

My brows furrowed, pained and hurt. Dorian led me to them and all I did was fuck everything up. Lucanis stepped closer, almost protectively.

“It’s not Rook’s fault,” Ashur said. “I chose to engage it.”

“Because it was going for a safe house! Because half of us were already dead!” Tarquin shouted.

“Do you honestly think one more fucking person would’ve changed the outcome?” I questioned.

Tarquin spun on me. “No, but maybe you would be dying instead of him.”

I physically recoiled from the hatred in his eyes, my gut twisting with nausea. I bumped into Lucanis, and he steadied me with a hand on my waist.

“Just go. There’s nothing you can do here,” Neve said, looking over at Ashur.

—-------------------------------

I stumbled through the eluvian in the lighthouse, clutching my chest. My stomach churned, and I thought I might throw up.

“Rook!” I heard Bellara behind me, but I didn’t stop, heading straight through the hall and up the stairs. I couldn’t do this, I couldn’t lead, I wasn’t cut out for it.

I let my feet guide me and before I knew it, I was in the infirmary. Varric looked alarmed as I collapsed to my knees beside his bed, tears rolling down my cheeks. “I fucked up,” I whimpered. “I fucked up, Varric.”

“Hey, hey, hey, kid, take a breath.” He shifted, and I felt his warm hand on my shoulder, gripping me just tight enough to bring me back to reality. “What happened?”

“Minrathous---” I started, getting cut off by a sob. “Minrathous is burning. They took it- The gods took it, and Neve…” My body shook, wracked with sobs as I tried to breathe. “She’s so mad. I don’t think she’s coming back, Varric.” I looked up at him with bleary eyes.

He moved, sliding to the edge of the bed until I was between his legs, and he pulled me into his chest. “Easy, kid.” He had one arm tight around my shoulders, his other hand smoothing my hair. “You can’t save everyone. That’s the life.”

“Neve trusted me. She trusted me and Minrathous is burning now,” I whimpered, squeezing my eyes shut and trying to suck up the warmth he was giving me. It was so hard to breathe.

“You made a decision based on what limited knowledge you had,” Varric said. “No one can ask any more of you than that. Neve will come back around. Give her time.”

“We don’t have time, Varric,” I said desperately.

“So keep moving forward. That’s what you do, Rook. That’s what you’ve always done,” he said. “She’ll either come around or she won’t. But you can’t afford to spend what little time you have regretting your choices. Let me ask you something: Do you regret the choice you made? Or just Neve?”

I felt silent in contemplation. “I made the right choice,” I said carefully. “Treviso has no defenses, and it’s under occupation by the Antaam. I couldn’t have changed the outcome in Minrathous.” I had to believe that, if nothing else.

Varric squeezed my shoulder, and I pulled back, looking up at him. He smiled with that softness in his eyes that was just reserved for me. He put his thumb and forefinger under my chin so I looked at him. “Then you did the right thing,” he said simply. Carefully, he used his thumbs to wipe my face of tears. “Cheer up, kid. The night may be long, but it isn’t all dark.”

I heard what he said and what he didn’t. Minrathous was doomed to fall some day. We had been fighting a losing battle regardless, much as I hated to leave behind the people there. Half of them were under Venatori control, and the other half were too helpless to fight against it.

“Chin up, Rook. I think the others need you,” he told me.

I nodded, sniffling and wiping the remainder of my tears from my chin and jaw. “I need to talk to Solas.”

“If Chuckles pisses you off too much, hit him for me,” he said as he slid back up to the wall.

I couldn’t help but laugh a bit, shaking my head as I left.

---------------------------------------

“When last we spoke, you were hunting for followers of Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain in hopes of finding “specifics”. Has your search been successful?” Solas asked.

“You could say that. It looks like both the Venatori and the Antaam are working for Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain,” I told him.

“Unsurprising. The Venatori want magical secrets, and the Antaam want to destroy anyone opposing their brutal expansion. Both will readily bow to anyone who promises them power.”

“It’s more than a promise this time. The Antaam and the Venatori both have dragons doing their bidding.”

“Dragons?” He said surprised. “That is worse than I had feared.”

“Yeah. We drove off the one the Antaam brought to Treviso—barely,” I crossed my arms.

“Have you determined how the dragons are being directed? If it is blood magic, it may be possible to disrupt their control.”

“The dragons are blighted. We think that’s what let the gods control them.”

“The blight. Of course.”

“The blight seems to be the gods’ favored tool right now. We ran into Venatori who could control darkspawn,” I said.

“Elgar’nan would not bestow such power unless the darkspawn were to serve as the main force of his army. And I suspect Ghilan’nain will see the darkspawn as new subjects for her… modifications.”

“We’ve already run into a few darkspawn nobody has seen before. That’s in addition to the blighted dragons.”

“That is the fate Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain plan for this world, then. Corruption and blighted slavery,” Solas said, hands clasped behind his back.

“Right… Everyone should be free and uncorrupted when your demons and raw magic kill them,” I narrowed my eyes at him.

“Do you truly believe my goal was to destroy this world?” He asked.

“I believe you’re ‘goal’, like you said, was to transfer the gods to a better prison—the one you’re stuck in now. And you were willing to tear down the Veil and destroy with world while you did so,” I spat.

“The Veil is a wound I cut into the Fade in a moment of desperation while aking their prison. It should not exist. I had a host of spirits ready to help when the Veil fell. They would have minimized the loss of life.”

“Do you have any idea what you sound like? You could’ve actually saved the world from the blight, but instead you chose to kill thousands of people with your vanity project!” I shouted.

“It is not vanity! I broke this world. I am the only one who can fix it!”

His shouting didn’t faze me with the huge ravine and the Fade between us. “Spoken like a god,” I said with all the contempt I felt.

“I am not a god! I am as I have always been: a man, all too aware of his failings… But equally aware that if he did not act, accepting the judgment it would bring, all would be lost. They called me the Dread Wolf. What will they call you, when this is over?” He wondered.

“I don’t care what they call me. If they’re calling me anything, it means they’re still alive. That’s all that matters.”

“Acceptance. You are willing to face the consequences your actions may one day bring, because the world needs you. I believe I can work with that.” He smiled, though it felt anything but sincere. “If the gods are using dragons, you will wish to find someone trained to fight them. Have you unlocked the lighthouse eluvian?”

“Yes. We found the Crossroads. It’s still confusing, though.”

“I cannot help you from in here. You may need to find an expert in the magic of the Fade. And if the Darkspawn are to be Elgar’nan’s army, you will need Grey Wardens to fight them.”

“I’ve got a few of them. Their leaders don’t trust me right now, though.”

“I have faith in you, Rook,” Solas said. “You seem to have a knack for gaining the cooperation of your adversaries.”

---------------------------------------

I woke up in a cold sweat---as I often did these days---to someone thumping against my door. I moved over to it quickly, brows furrowing. When I opened it, I had to catch Lucanis. He was struggling to stand, but when he spoke, it was Spite coming through his teeth.

“The idiot is still bleeding. Help him.”

“Walk with me,” I supported him with his arm over my shoulders, and I led him to my chaise lounge. When he sat, the purple glow from Lucanis’s eyes was gone, and he slumped, unconscious. “Fenedhis.”

I could see the blood seeping through the bandage on his leg, staining his loungewear dark red.

“Gods dammit, Lucanis,” I grumbled. I looked up at his unconscious form, regretting what I was about to do before I could even do it. I reached for the buttons on his pants, undoing them and pulling them down to his knees, keeping my eyes on the bandaged wound.

My fingers fumbled with the knot before finally getting it undone, unraveling it, lifting his boot onto my knee to pull the bandage from under his leg. When I got to the wound, I looked at it with furrowed brows. It looked like there was a piece of jagged rock stuck in there, which would explain why it didn’t clot properly.

I sighed, hovering my hand over the wound and pulling the piece of shrapnel with my magic. Lucanis winced. “Sorry. I’m sorry,” I whispered, putting just a bit more power until it flew up and smacked my palm. I set it with the bandages next to him. “Nasty little thing.”

Carefully, I held my hand over the wound again, pushing warmth into it and watching it seal closed beneath my magic. When it was healed, I stood, moving to my wardrobe for a fresh cloth to clean the blood up on his leg.

Before I came back around, I heard a startled grunt from Lucanis. His chest seized, staring at the wall of the aquarium across from him. I internally panicked, realizing he spent a year in the bottom of the ocean tortured.

I moved around the chaise with the cloth, putting myself into his direct line of sight. He looked up at me with wide brown eyes. “Rook?”

Slowly, he loosed a breath, looking around. “Hey, it’s alright. We’re in my room. Spite brought you here because of your wound.” I knelt down in front of him again, starting to mop up his blood.

“Of course he did,” he grumbled, looking down at his lap. He cleared his throat. “Isn’t it customary to ask before removing a man’s clothes?”

I rolled my eyes, hitting him with the cloth. “Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better. Well enough to clean yourself.” I stood, throwing the cloth at him.

He caught my wrist as I turned away. “Vuelve mi pequeña polilla, I meant nothing by it.”

My cheeks warmed as he crooned in his native language, and I was pulled back to my knees in front of him, resuming to clean his wound. “You had quite a nasty cut. This was keeping it from closing.” I picked up the piece of jagged rock. 

“Mierda,” he cursed, taking it to inspect it. “I wondered.”

“You would be lost without me,” I teased, wiping my hands on the cloth.

“You have no idea,” he muttered.

“I hope the next time we’re like this it’s not because you’re bleeding out,” I grinned, standing and collecting the dirty bandages to dispose of them. I saw Lucanis’s cheeks flush, and I smiled to myself as I left the room to avoid embarrassing him further. I was sure the last thing he wanted was for me to see him indecent and turned on.

❈❈❈

Lucanis pinched the bridge of his nose, looking up at the dancing reflections of water on the ceiling. It was bad enough that he had awoken half naked in a place of his nightmares. But then a complete one-eighty occurred, and he had the woman of his dreams kneeling in front of him with those mismatched eyes and warm smile.

Spite had brought him here, of course he had. And Kalais had just taken care of him like it didn’t take a second thought. And the things she said, mierda, he wished she would stop trailing him like a moth to a flame. It was dangerous, and it wouldn’t end well for either of them. Spite was Lucanis’s only future. To hope for anything else was futile.

Of course that didn’t stop all blood from running southward when she hinted at something more. Something unattainable, something beyond his imagination. Something impossible, and yet all too good for him anyway.

“She. Wants. You!” Spite growled in his ear. “We want. To taste her!” 

“Enough, Spite,” Lucanis said, standing and buttoning his pants. He didn’t look at the demon. He wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“We. Want. Rook! Why?” he questioned.

Lucanis sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know why you want Rook. Possibly because she’s the only one who’s kind to you, though I can’t figure out why,” he muttered.

“No! You want her,” he said. “Her touch. Soft. Her hair silk. Her breath warm! Her lips. What do they taste like?”

“Enough!” He snapped. “She is not ours to have.”

❈❈❈

We all met around the fire in the dining hall. I filled everyone in on what Solas had said.

“So this elven god thinks we need a dragon hunter and a Fade expert?” Lucanis asked.

“He’s right about the dragon hunter, at least,” Harding said. “The Shadow Dragons did all the could. The dragon was just too much.” I frowned, staring into the fire. “The moment the dust settled? The Venatori rushed in. Guess they knew it was coming.”

My chest suddenly felt tight again.

“Neve’s staying for now. She said she’ll be back soon, but… At least you took care of yours,” Harding said to me.

“We hurt it, but didn’t kill it. The dragon flew off before we could put it down,” I said.

“Treviso could have used a dragon hunter. That much is true,” Lucanis said.

“Don’t remind me. Fewer people injured, and we wouldn’t have to worry about it coming back.” My brow furrowed, and I crossed my arms over my stomach.

“We shouldn’t forget about Minrathous, either. We need to do what we can to help. Though there’s no telling how long Neve will be helping the Shadow Dragons…” Lucanis added.

“Hey, let’s not get stuck in our regrets, all right?” Varric came hobbling over.

“Hang on a minute,” Davrin interrupted. “Not only have you retained the services of a demon assassin, you’re also taking advice from the elven god who attempted to tear down the Veil.”

“Spite is my problem,” Lucanis said defensively.

“That’s what they always say,” Davrin retorted. “Rook, Lucanis is one thing, but do you really trust this Solas?” He asked.

“Trust is such a strong word, you know?”

“So you don’t trust him.”

“Ehhh.”

“All right then.”

Harding said she would ask around about Dragon Hunters, and Bellara said she would get a message through to a Fade expert immediately.

“See, Rook? Nothing to worry about,” Varric said.

“All right. We all know what to do. Let’s get going,” I said to dismiss them.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: I hope you enjoyed! Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list

Have a good day/night!

Tagged: @colombia-chan @bleummie

[lostinthewiind]

Way With Words

Varric Tethras - Dragon Age

Genre: Fluff

Rating: All ages

➤ True to his nature as a renowned author, Varric has always been better at expressing himself through the art of written words.

The sound of Varric's quill scratching against parchment sent a chill up your spine—one that scratched a particular itch you didn't even know you had. Perched in his usual spot at the wooden table in front of the fireplace, you sat across from him, watching intently as he frantically worked to get everything down before he forgot even a single, minute detail.

"You don't have to release the book tomorrow, you know," you told him. "Take a couple of days to enjoy the fact that we saved Thedas. Surely that's deserving of a night or two off."

You could tell that Varric had only slightly registered what you had said, his quill faltering for a brief moment before continuing to whip from left to right across the page. Again and again. Flip the page. Left to right. Again and again. New page.

The fireplace crackling behind you lit up his face, basking his features in a warm, orange glow. In this light, you could see clearly as the wrinkles of his forehead deepened; and if you watched his facial expressions closely enough, you could tell which ones were permanent from age and which ones were temporary from stress.

When a pocket of gas escaped one of the burning logs with a loud pop, Varric's eyes shifted up from his work. In that moment, as his eyes darted toward the fire behind you before focusing on your face, you clocked the exhaustion he was trying so desperately to hide—or ignore. His gaze caught yours just long enough for you to notice the dull hue of his usual bright, brown irises.

He flashed a superficial smile before returning to his work. Word after word, he recounted the tale of the Inquisition from the moment he met you to the moment Corypheus was finally defeated.

"Varric." You reached across the table and caught his hand in yours. You felt as the tight muscles in his grip loosened. "Take a break."

Varric's hand twitched in your hold. "I can't. I don't want to forget anything important."

"That makes one of us." You exhaled slowly. "There's so much I wish I could forget. So much I have forgotten."

"Someone has to tell the story. Might as well be me." He smiled again, but this time it seemed more genuine. "Besides, no one else will give it the right amount of flair."

"I would expect nothing less from the legendary author of Swords and Shields." You chuckled. "I'm sure Cassandra is chomping at the bit to read about all the behind the scenes romances of the Inquisition you no doubt have all the insider information on."

That caused Varric to laugh, and finally, the rest of his body relaxed. Quill dropping onto the page, the sentence Varric had been in the middle of writing was left temporarily forgotten; the retelling of a past story was put aside for the making of a new one.

"I really don't know why she likes that garbage, but hey, I suppose there's an audience for everything."

"You're too hard on yourself. It's not that bad."

Varric quirked a brow at you. "Don't tell me you've read them?"

"I've read a few chapters."

Varric hummed, amused. "And?"

"I can see the appeal."

A bark of a laugh. "I never took you as a romantic, Inquisitor."

"I'm full of surprises."

"So I've come to learn."

Suddenly eager to get a sneak peak at you favourite author's newest work, you reached out and grabbed one of the first pages Varric had written. The ink was already dry, the scribbled words a duller shade of black than the newer pages.

Varric didn't protest. Instead, he watched intently as your eyes scanned the page. "Let me know if I missed anything."

"There's details in here that I don't even recall happening," you assured him. "But it's kind of bland. For a romance author, this isn't very flowery. Where's that so-called 'flair'?"

"Such a critic." Varric tried to snatch the paper away, but your sharp reflexes won. "This is just the first draft. Only the facts. The flair comes later."

"Thank goodness, because if this is how you end up describing me in the final copy, I'll hunt you down." You cleared your throat before reciting the words in front of you. "'Inquisitor. Small woman. Prisoner turned ally. Glowing hand.'"

Varric shook his head. "Like I said. The facts."

"Nothing about my bright eyes? My charming smile? Not even a throwaway line about how incredibly beautiful I am?" you joked as you relinquished the page so Varric could put it back in order with the others.

"This isn't that kind of book, Inquisitor."

You leaned back and felt the warmth of the fire on the nape of your neck. "Of course." You smirked. "But if it were, how would you describe me?"

Varric pretended he didn't hear you and instead went back to his writing. His pace was noticeably slower now though, more thoughtful. Something else was on his mind and he was having to think more about what he was jotting down instead of just letting it flow.

"I was a newborn in this world—a world I had lived in all my life, yet somehow I didn't recognize any of it. I stepped out of the fade, my memory lost and a glowing hand gained." You closed your eyes and described the series of events from your point of view. "I had just closed my first fade rift. I was overcome with fear and excitement, a slurry of emotions that had no business mixing. When the possibility of being able to close the breach was mentioned, he spoke. 'Here I thought we'd be ass-deep in demons forever.' A man. A dwarf. Handsome, and I could tell he knew it from the way he showed off his abundance of chest hair for any and all to see. But my eyes were drawn first to his crossbow, the weapon he had used to save my life moments earlier; the weapon he would use to save my life more times than I could count."

When you opened your eyes, Varric was staring at you, eyes wide. Speechless.

"It doesn't have to be a romance for it to be romantic," you told him. "Life and death is just as beautiful as any love story."

Still silent, he swallowed hard. Then, grabbing a fresh piece of parchment, he began to write; this time with all the fervor he had possessed originally. Arm resting at the top of the paper, he shielded the words from your eyes.

Head resting in your hand, you sat and watched as he wrote. When he reached the bottom of the page, he stopped and handed it over. "Like any author, I'm better in the written format," he said.

You nodded and began to read.

"No," he corrected. "Out loud. Read it out loud."

"Okay," you chuckled. "'All hope had been lost and then she appeared, stepping out of the fade with determination etched into her features and bright eyes that held the future in them—the world's future ... my future. From prisoner to ally to friend, the more I learned about her, the fonder I grew.'"

You paused and looked up at Varric. He nodded his encouragement. "Keep going."

Your throat suddenly felt dry and your chest tight. "'She was beautiful. She still is beautiful. But she's also so much more than that.'" You were reading slower now, your breath catching on the words. As Varric reached out to take one of your hands in his, your grip on the paper with your other hand tightened. "'Anyone who knows the Inquisitor could tell you that she is smart, brave, kind, compassionate, and so many more wonderful qualities. But not everyone could tell you about the way her smile always reaches her eyes, no matter how exhausted she is, or the way she sleeps so lightly that the faintest gust of wind could wake her. Sometimes I wonder if I'm the only one who gets to see the way she curls her hair around her finger when she's feeling playful. Then I pray I'm the only person who gets to see it, because the thought of anyone else making her feel that way causes a sickening feeling to snake its way through my veins. She is-'"

"She is the most incredible person I've ever met in my entire life," Varric took over, having memorized the words after somehow only writing them once. You suspected, however, that they had been within him for a long time. As his hand held yours firmly and the pad of his thumb ghosted over the inside of your wrist, you shivered. "And as things come to an end and time runs out, I think of the past and dread the future because for all of the brave things I've done by her side, I don't know if I'll ever be brave enough to tell her I love her."

You felt a tear fall down your cheek and moved to quickly wipe it away. "If you're that good with words, maybe I should read more of your books."

Varric smiled as he brought your hand to his lips and pressed a chaste kiss to your knuckles. "For you, I'd write down my every waking thought."

"You don't have to." You folded up that paper in your hand and tucked it into your pocket. "This is more than enough."

Varric let out a nervous chuckle. "You're killing me here, love. I gotta know if you feel the same way. Please, put an old man's aching heart to rest."

Standing up, you leaned across the wooden table and cupped his stubbled jaw in your hand and felt his entire being soften to your touch. "Of course, I love you too." You gently pressed your lips against his. With a relieved exhale, he melted into the kiss.

When you moved to pull away, his hand shot up to the back of your head and held you in place, lips ghosting over his, so he could savour the moment. "Just so you know, I'm not putting any of this in my book," he whispered. "I'd like to be the only person to know that you smelt like smoke and tasted like elfroot tea the first time we kissed."

"Cassandra will be so disappointed."

"Me? Disappointing the Seeker? That's never happened before." He grinned as his hand slid down from the back of your head to caress your cheek. "Now come here. I'm suddenly craving the taste of elfroot."

[queenofbaws]

in every sense of the word a Dragon Age II tale by TheIcyQueen

There’s something about the way Varric and her sister work together that Bethany just can’t wrap her head around. On paper, it all makes sense – they’re both dangerously persuasive rogues, quick to pick your pocket yet somehow quicker still to talk the coin out of your hand; they’re crafty, they’re cunning, they’re charismatic, and, in a pond like Kirkwall, their partnership doesn’t just make them big fish but sharks. Together, there’s no scheme they can’t pull off, no heist they can’t manage, no lock they can’t slip their way past… But there’s something else going on between them, too. Something Bethany, well, can’t quite put her finger on. Maybe she’s just imagining it. Maybe this is how all business partners act! After all, what else could it be? (Or: Five times Bethany thinks it’s all about the con, and the one time she realizes it isn’t.)

Read the full story on AO3!

[ruiningsalads]

For Varric/Cassandra (especially for DA4...): "I have a soul of lead, so stakes me to the ground I cannot move." from Romeo & Juliet <3

spoilers for all of Veilguard! a ficlet for @dadrunkwriting

screaming, crying, throwing up about this prompt

Cassandra sat back in her chair and flexed her hand with a grimace. Even though the Seekers of Truth were quite active in the field, she found herself to be more and more chained to a desk. Such was the cost of rebuilding an entire Order, she supposed.

Her eyes burned with exhaustion, but she had no time to rest yet. With her elbows on her desk, she buried her face in her hands and sighed. "I should go to bed early tonight."

"But I bet you won't." Across from her, Varric lounged in his chair and watched her with concern.

"There is too much to do!" Her hands fell away from her face, and immediately she was back to writing.

"Maybe you should get a helper, Seeker," Varric suggested.

"No one else would have the same attention to detail as I do," Cassandra gritted out. "Especially when it comes to reporting on the newest recruits."

"So you'll just never sleep?" Varric demanded. He leaned forward, staring hard at her. "Seeker, you'll work yourself to death."

Abruptly, she paused mid-sentence with her pen suspended over the report she was writing. She swallowed hard, then carefully set her pen aside and sat back. Her gaze fell on Varric -- except it wasn't Varric. Across from her, his empty duster was draped over the vacant chair.

It was still hard to believe that he was gone. How clearly she could picture his face, his smile, as he assured her that he would be back in time for her birthday. If only she had begged him not to go...but that was not her way, and he would not have listened.

"I miss you," she whispered shakily. "Wherever you are, I hope you are able to rest at last, my love."