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theheraldsrest · 3 years

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“Inner circle receiving/giving gifts”

‘Tis the season, you know? -Cabot

Cullen

He’s that type of person who has been with a group for a long time, but still doesn’t know what to get anyone. His main gift to people are sturdy and powerful weapons. Receiving a gift, he’s quite humble about it and accepts it, unless it’s from Sera. His favorite gift, though, would have to be receiving a weapon made just for him, a new cloak, or even a box of baked goods from home. If romanced, he’d either still get them a weapon but with etching on it saying “Andraste’s Blessed” or he would get them something so simple, yet so meaningful such as a piece of necklace with a small chess piece tied to it. He's such a mess if you get him anything, keeping it with him or putting it somewhere he can see at all times.

Josephine

She tries to get everyone such fine gifts: cloaks, clothes, candies, and cakes. She tries to make the gifts perfect for everyone. When receiving a gift, she absolutely adores it, complimenting details and designs, thanking her friend over and over again. Her favorite gifts are new parchment, quills, ink, a new writing stand, and the little cakes from that one shop, oh dear she really should write a ‘thank you’ note to them- If romanced, her gift is all she can talk about for the rest of the day, or if she can’t talk about it, admiring it. She also gets her love their own signet ring and tickets to the opera, "since you loved it so much last time!"

Leliana

Oh she knows EXACTLY what everyone wants, you can bet on it. She knows what everyone is getting and for who and if there is something in particular they want. Even if it’s impossible to get, she finds a way, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t add her own little touch to it, a simple Inquisition emblem for each of her closest allies and friends or even a feather tied to it. Get this woman shoes. Honeyed wine is also a plus. Hums in delight with each gift, thanking everyone, including Cole as she opens a box with a nug in it.

Vivienne

She does what she believes is a service to the inquisition by giving everyone an outfit that actually looks presentable. If not an outfit, at least a specifically made piece of jewelry for everyone. Get her anything exquisite and she’ll be pleased. Of course, you get her something so simple as a tome of magic, she’ll be delighted and gushing over it.

Varric

Most of his gifts are jokes. Bull gets a shirt the size of his man boob upper peck, Solas gets a paper smiley face, Cassandra gets ANOTHER fully edited chapter of Swords & Shields, etc. It’s people’s expressions that are the best gift he could receive, he says. If you wanted to get him a gift, look no further than giving him a joke right back. Seriously though, he does appreciate those, along with some new improvements for Bianca, a new coat, or even new boots. He’s a simple man with simple needs.

Cole

Four words: Get. This. Boy. Puzzles. Really, anything is fascinating, but puzzles just seem to keep his attention, to a point where he’ll have other people do it but listen to how they solve it. As for giving gifts, it’s...questionable. Varric is wondering why his son his boy Cole gave him a candy wrapper until he explains that he heard Varric say he needed help ‘wrapping up’ his story and Dorian is trying to contain his laughter when he connects the dots between him having said that he was quite ‘cheesy’ to the cheese Cole left him.

Solas

Sweet and simple, a small charm that he made to keep people safe. Everyone (including Sera, Dorian, and Vivienne) has a special one made specifically for them, some for magic, some for strength, and some for protection. Politely declines most gifts as he didn’t really request anything, but for some he does keep, such as books from Josephine and a new staff from the Inquisitor. He might have not asked for anything but it doesn’t mean he didn’t want anything. Painting supplies and some old artifacts are enough to have this old man grinning from ear to ear. Especially given to him by his Vhenan, he would be so joyous over such little things and a little surprised over how well his love knows him. You have no idea where he kinds an old ancient piece of elven jewelry that he gives to you as a gift, but he’s very excited to explain to you it’s value and the history behind it.

Cassandra

Someone help her, please. She doesn’t know what to get anyone or what anyone likes. In the end, she settles on just getting everyone war horns. Some appreciate the thought, some are never able to find them after receiving them, and others have theirs taken away immediately because they won’t stop blowing them at midnight cough SERA cough. For gifts, if you want to make this woman happy, just get her some new armor or even a better fitting sword. Romancing her, she actually tries to find something meaningful for you, such as a shield with your emblem on it, sturdier than any you’ve ever used even if you don’t use a shield. You have also come to learn that if you want to steal this woman’s heart, just get her romance novels and poetry.

Iron Bull

Ale. Beer. Alcohol. That’s his gift to everyone. There’s nothing more to say, he just gets every alcohol and then challenges them to a drinking contest. He’s happy to receive armor, weapons, potions as gifts, you know the usual stuff, other than the shirt Varric gives him. Romanced, whatever you give him, he holds it in high honor. A dagger? He’ll use it for everything. A new eye patch? He wears it all the time, barely ever wearing his old one. Armor made from dragon scales? Everyone is surprised to see him trying to keep it clean. As for giving, you have two options. One, he gives you his old eyepatch along with a dragon’s horn, saying he “has his eye on you.” Your other gift is rope, to which he hints at making you his gift later.

Dorian

He’s never really had many people other than his family that he could give gifts to, nor did he want to give gifts that said “I’m doing this because I have to.” So he went with gifts that said “I tolerate you” such as rings that he enchanted himself to help them in battles to come. He would never admit it, but it did bring him some joy to get gifts that weren’t just clothes and jewelry like he usually got. Instead, he took it in stride with everything he received, even the box that had an angry buzzing emitting from it from Sera, her only response being “Throw it downstairs when Egg is being annoying.” If in a romance, he frets over what to get you. Nothing too gaudy but also nothing too simple, he wants you to know that he cares but not make it overwhelming. He finally settled on giving you his family amulet. He jokes about you returning it in disdain but is actually really pleased when you keep it. That said, he’s only very excited when he finds out that you got him several books of rarity that delve deeper into magical studies.

Sera

Those who accept her gifts take it with caution. Most of the time it’s harmless jokes, others it’s close to almost getting hurt The bees, they’re everywhere. You don’t even have to look far for a present for her. Hell, send her a bucket and she’ll think it’s the best thing in the world before filling it and placing it over a door. In a relationship, it’s still all jokes. She gets you a crude model of Corypheus’s head with a dumb expression or her own artistic rendition of her naked body. Anything you get her that is meant to be sentimental rather than joking, she’s all “Pfft, you’re such a lovey-dovey person. You’re gonna make me puke, Inky!” When in reality, she loves it and keeps it on her at all times.

Blackwall (Thom Rainer)

You bet your ass that he made little wooden carvings for everyone. Leliana receives a raven, Solas receives a halla, etc. He doesn’t deny any gits, but does mention quite a few times how he really doesn’t need anything. Doesn’t stop people from getting him new Grey Warden armor or even some weapons. When romanced, he makes sure to add even more detail to the carving he makes for you, little things that only you and he can recognize, such as how he drew a little griffon on the bottom or how he painted it your favorite color. You can see the twinkle in his eye when he sees that you got him some new wood carving tools and/or his own personnel Grey Warden emblem.

#dai #dragon age inquisition #inquisitor #solas #dragon age #cullen rutherford #commander cullen #josephine montilyet #josephine #cassandra pentaghast #iron bull #dorian pavus #sera #blackwall #thom rainier #lelianna #vivienne #cole #varric tethras

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lesetoilesfous · 3 years

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WIP Wednesday

Hey everyone, it’s been a while ^^ Huge thanks to the dragon age fandom for being so encouraging and welcoming - the artists and writers here are so incredibly lovely, and it meant even whilst I was having a rough time, I always felt like I could come back. So thank you!!

SO a friend and I are collaboratively working on a WingFic Fenders AU, and @pinkfadespirit tagged me in WIP Weds, so here we go! (It’s also a modern AU, so urban fantasy vibes)

Anders swallows the painful lump in his throat, and looks down at his half empty beer, blinking rapidly at the sudden burn of something stinging behind his eyes. He slips one hand into his pocket, touching the ‘present’ he’d prepared for Fenris. He looks up at Marian, who’s watching him with thinly veiled concern. “I didn’t get him any books.”

Hawke’s mouth curves up into a smile, and she slings a muscular arm around his waist, careful to avoid jostling his wings as she does so. She smells of sweat and beer and Anders feels himself leaning into her and the reassuring strength of her embrace, anyway. “Just as well, probably, because the last I looked he was stacking them on the floor.”

Fenris is opening another parcel now, this one is softer, from Isabela. He doesn’t pull the items out of the package, but Isabela laughs when he glares at her, and Hawke laughs too. Anders looks down at her. “What am I missing?”

Hawke snorts. “Isabela figures if she’s the one who gives him the underwear, she’s got a higher chance of knowing what colour it is. It’s kind of an in joke.”

Anders nods, once, and ignores the growing feeling of melancholy in his chest as the speakers switch onto some new fast paced metal song. “Right.”

Hawke’s arm squeezes his waist, gently. “Six weeks.”

“And 3 days.” Anders adds, without thinking. Hawke smiles at him, gentle and indulgent.

“Six weeks and 3 days. It’s ok if you don’t know everything there is to know about him yet. You’ve got time.”

Anders thinks about the news that morning. (“Mage Rights protesters outraged at the news that the mages of Kirkwall Circle Compound will be confined to quarters, following a statement from acting Minister Meredith Stannard.”)

He looks down at Marian again. “Do we? Have time, I mean.” He hesitates, then, glancing back as Varric offers Fenris a chunky looking parcel. Anders rubs his fingers together. “I can’t help but feel like all this is going to disappear. Like, at any minute, Meredith and her dogs are going to burst through those doors and -,” Anders catches himself and breathes, focusing on the sensation of the beer in his hand, and the warm yellow light of the room, and the red paper streamers strung along the rafters.

Marian looks at him for a long moment. “So when you say dogs, do you mean the templars or the mabari?”

Anders laughs before he can stop himself, more shocked than anything, and Marian grins and squeezes his waist, resting her cheek against his shoulder for a moment before pulling back and finishing her beer. “First: I will raze this city to the ground before I let them touch a hair on that anxious little head of yours. Second,” And at this, she turns and tilts her head in Fenris’ direction as some kind of dance track comes onto the speaker system. “Even if that were true, if you want my advice? Seize the good moments while you can.” Her grin turns crooked and sharp. “They feel better when they’re stolen.”

Then she turns, raising her arms into the air as Isabela, Merrill and Bethany tumble onto the makeshift dance floor they’ve made for themselves. Anders feels someone’s gaze on him, and turns away from the women to see Fenris watching him. He doesn’t make the conscious decision to start moving, but in a handful of heartbeats he’s standing in front of the elf.

Fenris is surrounded by ripped tissue paper and bowls of food, candies and savoury junk snacks mostly, as well as beer and wine and spirits, stacked neatly on the table as if they’d been freshly liberated from a brewery. There are dozens of books on the table in front of him. Anders catches a few titles in a glance: Finding Shartan: Searching for the Elvhen in Andrastianism; The Fall of the Imperium: A Study of the Tevene Rebellion; Par Vollen: One Breath, One Heart, One Mind; and a slim, newly printed copy of a book titled The Fog Warriors: A Culture of Freedom. Anders tears his eyes away from the presents to look instead at the elf in front of him, who is watching him searchingly. Anders offers him a smile in a half hearted effort to shrug off his unspoken inquiry, what’s wrong?

“You know, you’re going to need a bigger bookshelf.”

The searching expression briefly falls from Fenris’ face, giving way to a simple, childlike amusement and pride that makes him look a decade younger than he usually does. “Perhaps.” His mouth curves in a warm, fond smile as his fingers trace over the neatly embossed cover of the book on Tevinter. “They insist on nothing less than a generosity which borders on the absurd.”

“They love you.” Anders says it without thinking, and feels the ache in his chest grow sharper. Several pieces fall into place at once, and his gaze slides to the small party stomping in front of Varric’s speakers whilst the dwarf himself watches and laughs.

Fenris follows his gaze, and his smile grows a little, even as his hand falls to catch Anders’. Fenris’ hand is warm and calloused, and he squeezes Anders’ fingers. Anders looks down at him, and the expression in Fenris’ eyes is unutterably tender. “They do.”

Anders opens his mouth, and tries to move his tongue, which feels abruptly like a lead weight against his teeth. Before he can speak, Fenris lifts their linked hands and stoops into a bow, his white hair falling forwards over his brow as he presses a gentle kiss to the backs of Anders’ knuckles. Anders feels himself flushing even before he hears Isabela wolf whistle, but Fenris just grins at him as he straightens to stand.

“May I have this dance?”

And I’ll tag @pinkfadespirit, @dalish-rogue, @hechizero-emplumado, @wanderingnork, @hollyand-writes, @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold, @alienturnip, @tevivinter, @midnightprelude and anyone else who wants to take part!

#da2 #fenris #anders #fenders #hawke #anti chantry #wip wednesday

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crqstalite · 4 years

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9 for Evolet and Fenris.

oof this one got away from me a bit, but was interesting to get into evolet/fenris’ headspace, mostly because her own mirrors mine lol. less focused on their relationship and more focused on the fact that evolet both needs a nap and a little less instant trust in people.

for the angst prompt: “People will only use you. They can’t be trusted.”

prompts!

word count: 2,428

At first, it’s hard to figure what makes her tick. Moreso what doesn’t. But always with her heart on her sleeve in the same moment, emotions always flickering over her expression like a flame. There is not one person in Kirkwall that doesn’t know that, there is not one person that accompanies her during the day that doesn’t already understand that.

Evolet Hawke is...an enigma at times. Guarded, careful. Stepping quietly around as if she’s forced to as not to disturb a sleeping dragon. Analytical, if not also quiet.

And yet? Fenris still can’t wrap his head around her.

How is it that she keeps parts of her locked away with a key she has hidden somewhere, but nothing else is? How is it that everyone else seems to be more important than herself, as she takes hours and days out of her life to assist them with tasks she has no business getting involved with?

She wants to help every single person they come across on the street, she wants to never leave someone at the mercy of their attackers. They can never just turn a blind eye to anything. That is one of the few things she never has much difficulty thinking about.

Fenris lies in wait for the day that comes back to bite her. Not that he’d want anything to happen to Hawke, no, but he knows what she’s doing isn’t healthy. How often does he actually see her return to the estate? Sometimes the only response he gets is that Aveline needed help with this or that in a patrol. Sometimes Merrill needed something and she just had to give a hand. Or that she and Isabela had gone out by themselves to complete a task no one knew about.

Does the woman ever sit down to take care of herself these days?

He doesn’t get his answer, not for years. But little things start to shift under that smile of her’s. There’s an air of vulnerability when she arrives to his mansion a few odd times in that fateful year, but always a few words, phrases kept for herself. He never gets the full story, but then again he’d be a hypocrite if he asked the same from her but not from himself. Her company is always appreciated, and he never prys, but he has some concern for the woman anyway. It only gets worse the closer they grow.

What the terrifying bit is, is truly that she never considers that someone could be using her goodwill for their own gain. How often she doesn’t defer to her own judgement if someone makes a good enough case with her. He saw it with Petrice, saw how easily she coerced Evolet into helping under the guise the Chantry needed her. He saw nearly just how easily Feynriel’s mother convinced her to send him to the Circle for her own mind to be set to rest -- which he knows better than anyone that she’d hate to go there herself. However her only response is ever that they just needed her, and if she didn’t help, then who would?

He can think of about twenty people, all who’s names weren’t Evolet.

He sees the cracks starting to appear towards the end of her fourth year in Kirkwall. When her helping and trust in the City Guard towards the investigation into Quentin only leads to her mother’s death at the hands of a blood mage. The thought of one makes him shiver, almost enough that he doesn’t really want to accompany her much longer, but when he asks if she’s okay...that damn cheeky smile she gets whenever someone gets too close to the truth. The way she’s more despondent as the days afterwards drag on, but much too fast to cover it with a mask instead, refusing to acknowledge that she’s in pain.

They’re still on shaky terms then, while he might have her crest, they hadn’t spoken in weeks by that point. He doesn’t say what he needs to. Comforting her is out of the question -- he wouldn’t know where to begin.

When she discovers what Isabela had done, it is a day Fenris never thought he’d ever see. He’d never really thought Isabela would use her in such a manner, and yet, she just let’s her go. He sees her hands fall to her sides after she leaves, tome in hand and surely racing for the docks before the storm starts. Flames lick her palms before the mage puts them out, the only instance he’d ever seen her magic flare without true intention. Aveline had placed a hand on her shoulder, but Evolet had jerked it off, then running a hand through her hair.

“It’s fine. It’s fine! We can get them out another way, I wouldn’t just sell Isabela out, I couldn’t,” Her voice wavers before setting her face into one of slight amusement, “That one really came out of left field, didn’t it?”

“Hawke...” Aveline starts to chastise her, surely for the same reason he was about to, “This really isn’t a proper time to be joking about this.”

“I’m not ‘joking’ Aveline, it will be fine, as long as we keep level heads,” Her eyes are downcast as much as she tries to replace it with a smile, one he can see right through, “I just...wasn’t expecting Isabela to do that, is all.”

He doesn’t say anything, even though he probably should. If Kirkwall hasn’t been destroyed by the end of the night, he’d have to sit her down proper and talk. Since no one else would, and no one else seemed to see the lesson she was so desperately missing.

She’s in pain, and she won’t even say a word about it. She and Isabela had been friends if their interactions were anything to go by, and Evolet had put her trust in the pirate. He tentatively asks how she’s handling it shortly after her duel with the Arishok, but she brushes it off in favor of wrapping a bandage around his hand -- ignoring the question. A beat of silence that goes on much too long until she launches into another attempt at humor.

Her eyes are darker than usual. Her hands tremble more, and yet, she says she will still be friends with Isabela anyway. Because that is simply who she is. Good, loving and caring Hawke.

It wasn’t until three years after that does he finally get the conversation going, while they’re preparing for a trip into the sewers no less. Anders is walking some ways behind them, talking to Varric. He might as well say it now, away from prying ears and air his concerns, “Hawke.”

She looks over her shoulder, slight smile already on her face when he sighs, “Yes, Fenris?”

“Do you not wonder what the mage has us doing?”

“I...why would I? I wouldn’t want to remain possessed if I didn’t have to. If there’s a will, then surely there’s a way, right?” She asks, gently bumping into shoulder. He flinches, though he would admit it’s a welcome touch. And yet she’s ignoring every red flag that the abomination has set up since they left the clinic. In favor of what, remaining friends?

Mages. Though...she’s just naïve. Or ignoring the issue entirely.

“And if this isn’t it’s intended purpose?” Fenris queries. He has his own suspicions about Anders, one’s that were never properly taken care of over the last few years, mostly because he had begrudging respect for the man and second, because Evolet would never let him hear the end of it.

He knows that the people they go out with are using her -- whether for her status or the friendship she hands out like candy, or in her case, sovereigns to little street children, “You’re aware he is using you? Because you can not say no to him, it is no wonder he came to you first with this issue.”

A look of veiled shock crosses her eyes, yanking at her sleeve as if she’s considering his words. Good, she understands him then. She glances over her shoulder, then back up at him, “He wouldn’t do that, Fenris. I thought you were better friends with him, you don’t need to be so suspicious,” He bites the words back, but she powers on anyway, “What if I ended up possessed? If Anders had a way to undo it, to save my life, wouldn’t you do the same?”

He doesn’t answer that, enough so that he thinks she knows the answer. He’d never heard of such a way, though he could attribute that to not being a mage. Considering that she’d mulled it over herself though, and that Anders spoke of it like it’d never been done before -- to say the least he doesn’t trust this course of action.

And yet, she does. It never matters to her, she’s always looking for the best in people, even if they don’t deserve it. No matter just how tired she is, no matter just how much she should really take care of herself first -- she always puts everyone else before her. He can’t ignore either, with how much she toes the line between nurturing and foolish these days, so he does what he can so that she doesn’t end up paying for it later down the line. The mage and dwarf slip past him in the sewers, but Evolet pauses while he holds the trapdoor for her, “Please trust me, Fenris.”

“I am by your side, Hawke.” He means it, that part is entirely genuine. However, it is still unsettling how all she does is give him a grin and disappear into the depths.

Whether Evolet trusted him or not, no one could’ve expected something so miniscule and unsuspecting to cause the civil war that began in Kirkwall some weeks later. She’s beyond upset, beyond terrified when she has to choose a side between the Templars and Magi ruling the city -- Meredith has never been all there, but he’s grateful when she chooses her anyway.

And to deal with the mage -- the bloody abomination. She’s hesitant, and he can see the thoughts rushing through her head like a tidal wave in her shaky movements. Most likely wondering how he could ever do something this, mirroring her companions thoughts.

She trusts far too easily. Finally he’s able to put it in words, and...finally she sees the consequences of it. Fenris highly doubts Anders would’ve been capable of such a crime without her help. Without any of their help. Without her help, he doubts Merrill would’ve gone down her path with the Eluvian. Without her help, he doubts Isabela would’ve gotten away with stealing the tome all those years ago.

He can catch snippets of their conversation, his voice resigned and her’s shaking ever so slightly. Poised and graceful, as she always was, but she’s trying to convince him to help. Trying to convince him to right his wrongs and stand with her.

He refuses.

Fenris can pinpoint the exact moment her demeanor changes. When her trust has been snapped in two, and she sees the ugly reality -- the truth behind what she’s enabled.

Evolet surprises him when she unsheathes her knife from where she carries it on her hip. Swift and silent, it finds a home in the mage’s back, shoved in between his shoulder blades. Merrill gasps behind a hand, shocked by her friend’s actions, surely.

It’s destroying her on the inside, he knows that it is. Her eyes are downcast and watering when she eventually picks up her staff again, leaving the knife where it was. She doesn’t give it a second glance, and merely nods to Aveline’s suggestion to head to the Gallows. Once they’ve made it through the mage’s that are putting up a true fight on the Docks (he nearly feels some semblance of regret, leaving them behind like that. He tries not to look at Evolet, how she’s struggling to throw out her more lethal attacks against people who were just like her), it’s silent.

Evolet stands in the back of the small boat they’d procured, back turned from the rest of her party. Whispers, quiet discussing what they’d do when they got there. Merrill, softly sobbing into Isabela’s arms over the loss of Anders is all he can hear. Her arms are gently wrapped around herself, eyes out to the burning horizon when she leans against the mast.

He’s careful, quiet as not to startle her. And yet, there’s still a sad smile, quirking the corners of her lips up when she glances over her shoulder. It’s not real, he’s learned to see past it now, it’s a buffer so no one sees her at her worst -- or sees her for who she is.

He’s never seen her cry before. Not when her brother was taken to the Wardens, not when her mother died. She’d always been so strong, helping everyone else through their own tears, their own fears. She’d been there with him when Danarius had died, and had generously accepted him back into her heart. Evolet had been there for Merrill, when her Keeper died and stayed for days with the younger Elven woman in her home in the alienage, even if she looked genuinely exhausted herself. All these things, no matter the toll they took on her, she simply accepted.

Piled onto her were responsibilities beyond her years, piled onto her were problems she couldn’t always solved but tried to, piled onto her were people that depended on her like no others. And never did she ever show that true emotion that came with the stress. He’d thought she liked the guise, liked to act.

But with the fires illuminating her face, and the world forever changed, tears are slipping down her face ever so quietly. Her hands are wrinkling the clothes she wears, stained with blood and clutched like a grounding force. Ice is under her boots, if not a testament to just how little control she has over her will now.

Evolet goes to him, leaning her head against his chest first then her arms go around him, grasping at the fabric on the back of his tunic. He’s never been one for outright touch, but it’s comforting instead of unwelcome, regardless of the circumstances.

He chooses his words carefully, knowing he’ll only shatter her further if he doesn’t, “People will only use you, Evolet. They can’t be trusted.”

“I know,” She murmurs, “I know.”

#evolet hawke #evolet/fenris #f!fenhawke

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queenofbaws · 4 years

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Day 20: Dare

Fandom: Dragon Age/Dragon Age: Inquisition Characters: F!Hawke, Varric Tethras, Blackwall, Sera, The Iron Bull Rating: G Words: 914 Author’s note: A little follow-up to one of my earlier entries from this month...and a continuation of my overall “If the Inquisitor really wanted to distract everyone while investigating the assassination attempt on Celene’s life, she really should’ve convinced Hawke to come along” ...au? Whatever you want to call it. One of these days I’m going to write a novel about my Hawke and how she made the Inquisition miserable during her short stay, but for now, have this! ---

It would’ve been wrong—even a downright lie—to say that there weren’t eyes on them. Their group certainly made for quite a pretty picture, all done up in the bright red and blue of the Inquisition, save for Hawke, of course, who had a habit of standing out in a crowded room no matter what she was wearing. So yes, there were eyes, but they were eyes that were already growing bored with them, and that made the game that much more fun.

Those eyes were likely the reason there was no raucous applause when Hawke returned to the table, no wild fanfare, but the smirks and snickers and Varric’s polite little side-clap more than made up for it. She swept herself low into a dramatic curtsy, one complete with hand-waving of course, and then sat herself in her seat primly as could be. “I told you,” she drawled to the others as she brought her glass to her lips. “Candy from a baby.”

“Can’t say I ever imagined Cassandra would be much of a dancer…” Blackwall began, only for Hawke to snort (and none-too-primly, at that) into her drink.

“And you do now? Were you watching us at all?” She set her glass down and slid a gloved hand across her face to dab away at the fine spray she’d coughed up, shaking her head all the while. “If I’m the better dancer of the pair, something has gone horribly, horribly wrong.”

From her section of the table, Sera let out a low, bubbly laugh, the sound barbed at its edges. “Stiffer’n that bodice Lady Whats-her-tit’s usin’ to try’n keep all her fancy bits in.”

“‘Try’ being the operative word,” Varric muttered, though not without a smirk of his own, his eyes flicking to the de Launcet in question. After a moment, he sighed, “All right, all right, I guess we can all agree that was impressive.”

“Be more impressive if the good Lady Seeker didn’t have a thing for her…” The Iron Bull countered, looking almost comically large in the tiny Orlesian chair as he leaned back, exchanging sardonic looks with Hawke from across the table.

There was a quiet sound of disbelief from Blackwall. “Oh come off it.”

“Nah, s’true, innit?” Sera raised her eyebrows when he turned to her, “What? She’s not sneaky about it! Thinks she is. Isn’t.” She sat back, mirroring Bull’s posture but not his behavior, taking to tugging her uniform this way and that to make for a more comfortable sitting experience. It didn’t seem to be a battle she was going to win.

When Blackwall turned to them, Hawke dropped a coquettish wink and Varric held up his thumb and index fingers in a gesture that very clearly said ‘Eh, a little bit’ without needing actual words. “I’m a very desirable person,” Hawke added with a smug swirl of her glass, “Should’ve seen it in Kirkwall…people lined up for miles hoping—nay, praying—that I would favor them with my presence.”

“Hoping you’d go crawling through the sewers to find their grandmother’s lost jewels, more like,” Varric chuckled under his breath.

“Like I said. Hoping I’d favor them with my presence. You’re an awful listener.” She nudged Varric affectionately with her shoulder before peering out across the room again. For a moment she seemed to have lost her interest in their little back-and-forth…but when her eyes fell upon a new target, suddenly she was back in the game. “I believe that makes it my turn to choose, then?”

Her tone was sugary and light, which told Varric immediately that whatever she’d set her mind to wasn’t going to be entirely pleasant. Not for the recipient, and probably not for the player, either. Before hearing her out, he raised a hand. “I don’t even need to know what it is. I’ll take the next one.”

“Coward,” Bull joked.

“Now, my challenge isn’t muuuch.” The way she stretched the word made it abundantly clear that she was lying. “Do you all see the brave, stalwart, sweaty Commander over there? Of course you do, he’s the one surrounded by all the old biddies swooning and fanning themselves.” Hawke took a brief pause she likely wanted them to believe was for dramatic effect (though it was much more likely just so she could take another sip of her drink). “I don’t care what you do or how you do it, but my challenge is simple: I would like to see the good Commander Rutherford mortified before the next waltz is over.”

“On it,” Sera said, not even waiting for further details before hopping out of her seat. As though thinking better of it, she paused a few steps away from them, whirling back around to shake a finger in Hawke’s general direction. “I’m not dancin’ with ‘im.”

Hawke laughed aloud, her grin wide and white beneath the dark fabric of her mask. “I wouldn’t either, so I can’t blame you there. Go on,” she waved, “Hop to! I’ve always wanted to see what a Jenny could do when they really put their mind to something.”

The lot of them watched her bound off to do Maker-knew-what, trading looks and snickers until she was well out of earshot.

“Inquisitor’s not going to appreciate that…”

Clucking her tongue and rolling her eyes, Hawke leaned her elbows onto the table, sliding forward as though about to impart a deep, dark secret to Blackwall. “Then the Inquisitor shouldn’t’ve let me come along.”

#dragon age #dai #queenie writes challenge stuff #queenie writes dragon age #my fanfiction #my hawke VERY quickly makes friends with the tavern goers...and infuriates everyone else in skyhold #i never ever write for the inquisition people and im stretchin my wings here so plz be gentle lol

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patricianandclerk · 5 years

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Strong

My Ask | My Ko-Fi | My Ao3 | Dragon Age Discord | Requests always welcome!

He needed to ask Varric.

He hovered in the doorway, watching Varric and the serving girl, Shani: wish she’d let me tip her but I know she won’t, too proud, and what does she need me for, anyway? Wish she’d let them give her a different job, she could run this place with her eyes closed if she wasn’t so scared of attention—

“Cole,” Varric said, looking away from Shani. “You gonna sleep on the couch?”

Cole had been sleeping, as of late. It was still new, after the whole thing in Redcliffe, but he slept more, now. Not as much as everyone else did, but he slept, sometimes, and sometimes he slept in Varric’s room, on his sofa, or if Varric was still up and working, in his bed.

“It’s going to rain,” he said. Varric looked at him expectantly, like he didn’t know what Cole meant, which was frustrating, but Varric did understand Cole better than some people did, mostly. “I want to sit in it,” he added. He had noticed, as of late, that this was something most people did not do. Most people ran inside, when it rained, and hid away from it, but why?

“Okay,” Varric said. “But remember to dry off before you lie down to sleep, okay? It’s important you don’t like down anywhere while you’re still wet. Go to Solas or Bull if they’re awake.” He thought about it, going to Solas, who would make the water steam off his skin and his clothes and leave him dry and warm, or the Iron Bull, who would towel him off, but he liked the rain.

“I don’t mind it,” Cole said. “The wet weaves around me, the water wishing to make me a well.” And it did, too. It seeped right into him, down to his core, and it was cold, yes, but not in an unpleasant way.

Varric didn’t like that. “Yeah, but you’ll be cold,” Varric said. “You’ll shiver, and it’ll make you sick. You don’t want the flu, do you?” He could feel the worry come from him: Cole, crying, cold, shivering in bed, coughing and choking, weak…

“No,” Cole murmured, shaking his head. But that wasn’t what he was here for, it wasn’t just to ask if it was okay if he sat in the rain, he wanted… “What about Krem?”

Varric stared at him for a second. “What about him?”

“Do you think he would like to get wet?”

He saw the look on Varric’s face. Couldn’t make out what it was he was thinking, because it didn’t hurt – Varric felt like he might almost laugh, but then he didn’t, and he was slow in saying, “Go ask him, kid, but… Don’t say it like that.” What was wrong with it? What was wrong with getting wet together? A sex thing? He supposed so, but it should have been obvious, shouldn’t it, that he meant the rain? “Ask if he wants to come sit in the rain with you. Maybe hold hands.”

“Oh,” Cole said softly, almost without meaning to, and he thought of Krem’s hands. They were good hands, strong hands, calloused, and he liked them, he liked them a lot. Blackwall got Cole to cut his fingernails, had taught him how, but Krem had shown him how to make them smooth and shiny, had sat down with the little buff and showed him how to make them pink and neatly curved, and it had been wonderful, feeling Krem’s hands holding Cole’s hands, how warm they were, how muscular… “He has very nice hands.”

“Yeah,” Varric murmured, his lips shifting into a small smile. “You tell him that.”

Cole realized, after he had walked all the way down the corridor and started crossing toward the Herald’s Rest, that he had forgotten to say goodbye. He did that, sometimes, but he was trying to get better at it. There were lots of things he was trying to get better at, like listening, when his body said things. His body said a lot of things, said them all the time – that it wanted to sleep, or eat, or pass water, or drink water, or touch.

It was a lot to keep track of, but he was trying his best.

Cole didn’t really announce himself, when he showed up with Krem.

He would just appear, and usually Krem wouldn’t jump, because he was used to the guys trying to scare the shit out of him, but with Cole, it wasn’t meant to scare him. He was just getting used to being in the real, human body, letting people remember him, letting the world take an effect on him.

“Hey, Cole,” Krem said.

“Varric says I shouldn’t ask you to get wet,” Cole said. “I think because you could misinterpret it as something to do with sex.”

Krem took this in. “Okay,” he said, tone even. “I see that.”

“But I want to go out in the rain,” Cole said. “Together. You and me.”

Under the brim of his hat, Cole looked little, like a flower stalk made small by the weight of its petals, and he looked at Krem eagerly, concentratedly. He often looked at Krem like that. Krem was kind of used to it, from girls, because he was handsome, he knew that, but Cole did it differently. It wasn’t that it wasn’t sexual – no matter that he didn’t really get the whole thing with Candy, he didn’t think Cole hated the idea of sex – but it was like he was trying to focus on whatever was underneath, rather than his face itself.

“How come?” Krem asked.

“I like how the rain feels. I like how you feel, too. I would like… both.”

“Sure,” Krem assented.

I like how you feel. Krem felt a kind of fluttering in his chest, getting to his feet, and he patted Grim on the shoulder as he passed him by, letting Cole take hold of his hand. Cole was a little bit cold, but not unbearably so – Krem had noticed it when he’d been showing him how to manicure his fingers, before.

That had been… nice. Having Cole in front of him, eagerly leaning into his touch. He liked Cole.

Cole was—

He didn’t want to say pure. Cole wasn’t pure, not really. He wasn’t unsexed, or stupid, or ignorant – he was just different, hugely different, and the way he saw the world compared to Krem, compared to anyone, was so foreign, so far removed, and it was spellbinding, sometimes, to hear Cole’s take on a situation, or description of something.

The rain was coming down hard.

Krem laughed as Cole pulled him out underneath it, glancing down at his feet to make sure the other man was wearing shoes, and then he leaned close, putting their chests together.

“Yesss,” Cole said, emphasising the sibilant sound, and he threw his arms around Krem’s neck, leaning in toward him. Cole was a bit shorter than Krem was, and Krem had to lean underneath the brim of his hat to keep him bending it, and Cole sighed delightedly. “You’re so big.”

“No, I’m not,” Krem murmured, laughing, and he put his hands on Cole’s hips, squeezing.

“You are! You’re strong!” Cole said earnestly. “Your muscles…” He slid his fingers over Krem’s shoulders, to the tops of his arms, squeezing, and there was a look of such delighted wonder in his eyes that Krem felt himself flush slightly, his cheeks burning.

“You want to see how strong I am?” Krem asked softly. The water was soaking into Cole’s blouse, wetting the fabric and making it stick against his skin, and but it mostly ran off the leather of Krem’s vest, soaking a little into his shirt sleeves, and that was all.

“Yes, please,” Cole said, and Krem grabbed him under his thighs. Cole let out a delighted cry, throwing his arms around Krem’s neck again, and he wrapped his legs around Krem’s waist, hooking them around him and squeezing his knees against his hip bones, surging to press their noses together.

His hat fell off, but Krem just stepped over it, his boots squelching in the wet grass, and Cole’s nose was freezing against his own, but he was laughing so brightly, it was a wonderful sound.

Krem spun a little on his feet, spreading his hands on Cole’s back, and Cole ran one hand up over Krem’s hair, breathing a little more heavily.

He wondered, what it would be like, to kiss him, to feel Cole’s mouth under his own, to—

“You can,” Cole said breathlessly. “Please.”

Krem leaned up, and Cole’s mouth brushed against his, eager, a little messy, and Krem kissed him back, leaning one way as he tried to adjust his grip on Cole’s thighs. He was heavy, but not as heavy as he looked, and—

“On the floor,” Cole said.

“It’s muddy,” Krem replied.

“Please?”

Krem dropped.

He fell onto his back, Cole on top of him as the rain poured around them, and Cole laughed, his fingers running through Krem’s hair, his knees either side of Krem’s waist, and he kissed Krem’s mouth again, more chastely, this time.

“It’s better like that,” he said.

“Yeah?” Krem asked. “You don’t like tongue?”

“I think?”

“Let me try,” Krem said, and kissed him again, more controlled this time, slower, cupping his cheek. Cole hummed into it, and then he pulled back, looking thoughtful. “Still better with no tongue?”

“Yes,” Cole said. “But that one was better than mine.”

“Okay,” Krem murmured, laughing. “I’m covered in mud.”

“Yes,” Cole said intently. “We’ll have to have a bath.”

“We?” Krem asked. “No, I don’t think so.”

Cole’s face fell. “But—”

Krem grabbed him by the sides of his chest and rolled them over, delighting in the way Cole squealed and slapped at him as he was thrown on his back in the mud.

“Get inside, both of you,” Solas called from the stairs as he went into the main hall. “If you catch the flu, Cole, I shan’t nurse you to health!”

“He’s lying,” Cole said softly, smiling down at Krem, shyly, sweetly. “He would.”

“Yeah,” Krem said. “Solas loves you, Varric too. And the Chief. Guess everybody does.”

“They all like you, too,” Cole said, cupping Krem’s cheeks. He was colder, now, and it was time to go inside, even as the rain pounded around their heads.

“You sure?” Krem asked, arching an eyebrow. “I never got the impression Solas liked me much.”

“If he didn’t,” Cole said, “he would have asked me to go inside, with him. He left us out here. He thinks you’ll take care of me.”

Krem’s heart beat a little faster. “Oh?”

“Yes,” Cole said. His teeth chattered, and Krem chuckled, pushing him up onto his feet, and he picked Cole up again, under his back and the back of his knees, carrying him bridal style, Cole’s hat in his hands. There were hot springs that put the water in the baths, so at least it’d be hot instead of cold when they went down to them.

“See?” Cole asked. “Strong.”

“Well, I gotta take care of you,” Krem murmured. “Can’t let the egg man down.”

“Egg man,” Cole repeated. “Does Solas eat eggs?”

“Hey, Cole.”

“Yeah?”

“Let me kiss you again.”

Cole kissed the side of his mouth, and then again, and again…

“Your cheeks are hot,” Cole said.

“I’m blushing.”

“I like it.”

“Yeah,” Krem murmured. “Me too.”

#as defined by dictionary #cole #krem #dragon age #fanfic

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diamondcitydarlin · 5 years

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okay been thinking about how I would’ve written a more general Varric romance into DA:I, which was the original goal of my story here but it became more specific to him and my character so here’s how I would’ve set it up for anyone, had I been given the honor of doing so. Which never would’ve happened. But my husband now works in the video game industry SO YOU NEVER KNOW. HMU EA or Bioware or whoever handles that now. Anyway here’s my pitch, PART 1 (I haven’t planned the rest out yet, bear with me):

1. Flirt options, obviously, just after the first cutscene convo at Haven. To these Varric will generally humor the Inquisitor and flirt back because at the earliest point it’s harmless fun. Maybe some dialogue like,

Inquisitor: Do you always leave your chest exposed during battle? Seems dangerous.

Varric: Sure. You see it, kinda hard to contain, so I don’t bother.

Inquisitor: Oh, I’m not complaining, just making sure what’s eye candy for the rest of us isn’t a death sentence for you.

Varric: I’ve come this far, haven’t I? Gaze to your heart’s content, my ego feeds on it.

And/or maybe when he mentions he’s written a romance series;

Inquisitor: So...bodice-ripper, smut pieces, then?

Varric: Not all of it, but yeah, you could say things get a little heated in parts.

Inquisitor: Do you...write from experience?

Varric: Well, you know what they say, write what you know...which I rarely do, but when it comes to heaving bosoms and all of that it seems only appropriate.

Inquisitor: I’ll definitely have to give Swords and Shields a try then.

Varric: Try one of my better sellers before you do. Not saying the writing is much better, but I’d rather have Hard in Hightown be the first impression.

Maybe more, but you get the idea. The flirting is just kind of fun and easy at that point, but I’m thinking things should ramp up a bit at Skyhold if the player is keen to pursue. I think at this point there’d be a dialogue option during the first encounter at Skyhold, maybe something like;

Inquisitor: I’m glad we all made it out of there in one piece...you especially.

Varric: Why me especially? I’m probably the most useless addition to this rag-tag band of misfits.

Inquisitor: I enjoy your company./You make me laugh, that’s just as important as anything else./ (backing out) Yeah...now that I think about it, maybe you’re right.

Varric: -laughs- I’m glad to hear someone does./ -teasing- Why not try a court jester then?/ Whoa...didn’t need to own that so quickly. I’m an extra pair of hands with a good crossbow, let’s not forget.

Inquisitor: (continuing the laugh dialogue option) I can get you a jingly hat if it makes you feel more at home.

Varric: (continuing the laugh dialogue option) It might. I’m gonna hold you to that.

Varric continues to deflect with humor a bit at this point, but I think there’ll still be flirtation options in the meanwhile, like maybe at his greeting of, “Did you need something or did you just come to admire the Dwarf?” which might only be accessible if you had been flirting successfully with him to this point the Inquisitor could have the option to say, “Maybe a little bit of both.”

Things more or less stay as they are until the ‘Well, Shit’ quest pops up along with the infamous Bianca. An Inquisitor that has been pursuing to this point could get some extra dialogue options in the course of things. I’m thinking especially at the end where something could be said in the cut scene like,

Inquisitor: You deserve better, Varric.

Varric: Do I though?

Inquisitor: I think so. And I don’t speak just out of personal interest.

Varric:....shit. That makes things a lot more complicated. Maybe not a bad complicated, but...I don’t know. I guess I thought we were joking around, if I knew it was more than that for you-...

Inquisitor: Isn’t it for you? We’ve been through a lot together already.

Varric: I’m not saying it isn’t. There’s no bluff to call here, I like you...okay, I like you a lot, but shit’s complicated. You’ve got the end of the world to think about and I’m obviously a mess. Bianca and I have been going around in these circles forever, I wouldn’t really know how to put a stop to it. I’m still not sure I want to. But yes, since you’re asking, the feeling is probably mutual. I just don’t know what’s the right thing to do here.

Inquisitor: Maybe you’ll have to make a choice. A difficult one, but we’re all doing that, aren’t we? / If it really is the end of the world then we only have today. Maybe we should make the most of it instead of thinking so hard about a future that may or may not come. / (backing out) You’re probably right, there’s too much in the way.

Varric: (to the first two choices) Yeah...it’s tough to admit, but you’re right. / If it’s any consolation, I am sorry. If things were different...well, who knows? I’m glad you understand and, for what it’s worth, I really enjoy being your friend. Maybe, at least for now, that’s enough.

Varric: (to the first two choices) Listen, I have a lot to think about right now, but...I’ll try not to keep you waiting too long for an answer.

So, some time goes by. Things would be set up so that ‘Well, Shit’ would happen before the Winter Palace quest, so if the first two dialogue options were chosen and the romance not shut down, in true love-interest fashion Varric would join you on the balcony after everything, after Morrigan sashays away. Dialogue could go something like this;

Varric: Some party, huh? I was almost glad for the venatori, that shit I can handle.

There would be options here to deflect with other subjects, like about the Inquisitor’s choices, etc, but I’ll just follow through with the positive romance stuff here

Inquisitor: Are we...going to have the talk?

Varric: -sighs- Yeah. I said I wouldn’t keep you waiting, hopefully it wasn’t too long. I...wrote Bianca. Not so much because I’m convinced I deserve better, but after the shit at Valammar...I don’t know. I can’t risk Inquisition secrets and Thedas’ security and your time for her. Not if I’m going to be here for the foreseeable future.

Inquisitor: I appreciate that. Any...other reason?

Varric: -coughs out a nervous laugh- I’m not...really good at this sort of thing. Maybe that’s why my romance serials bombed so hard. You know how I feel, I just...don’t know about jumping from one thing into another so fast.

Inquisitor: So, you’re asking for space and time to figure it out?

Varric: We only have so much of that...but yeah, if I can be so selfish. Maybe we can just take things slow and see where it goes?

You’ll have the option here of course to be like ‘that doesn’t work for me’ and put an end to it, but as I’m writing the positive stuff,

Inquisitor: Slow and steady...works for me./ Whatever you need, I’ll go at your pace.

Varric: Glad to hear it. I do really want to see where this goes.

He’ll then look back at the ballroom and get an idea, to which he’ll offer,

Varric: A dance seems as good a start as any, and since we’re here...

Inquisitor: I’d like that. / I’m not much of a dancer, but since you’re the one offering...

Varric: Let’s uh...let’s keep it out here though. I’ve been trying to make myself scarce from the Merchants Guild.

(Player and Varric come together for a dance)

Inquisitor: I think you’re afraid you’ll make a fool of yourself in front of the Orlesians.

Varric:...there is that.

Some more time will pass, The Wicked Grace game will be slated to come after the Winter Palace quest (tho not much farther in the future since the main plot accelerates pretty quickly). Maybe just to be cute in the meantime your traveling group might occasionally tease you about what’s going on with you and Varric, idk something like that. Anyway, he invites you to a game of Wicked Grace and the whole cut scene there is basically the same until the end, after everyone leaves and you get some extra dialogue options;

Varric: The night’s still young, we could try to play another round, or...

Inquisitor: Or...?

Varric: I...don’t know how to suggest it tactfully, but I figure since we’re exploring this whole thing, and if you’re keen...maybe we could spend some time together, just you and me?

The Inquisitor can then suggest they go ahead with another game OR they can get DOWN TO BUSINESS. The latter of which is what I will write;

Inquisitor: Are you sure...? It’s a big step.

Varric: Yeah. We trust each other, don’t we? Some big steps will have to be taken eventually if we’re going to feel our way through this.

Inquisitor: (seductively) Then what are we waiting for? I’ll meet you in my quarters. / LAST ONE TO MY QUARTERS IS A ROTTEN EGG. (zooms off)

(cue scene of drunk Sera under the table before cutting to sexy tiems, etc)

Scene will open on Varric and Inquisitor having a heated make out in front of the fire in their room. THEDAS LOVE THEME PLAYS BECAUSE OF COURSE.

Varric: (breaking away for a second) If I’d known it’d be this good I would’ve been kissing you first thing at the Temple. I kinda wanted to, after you pointed out Bianca. I always hope my bow will be the first thing people notice about me.

Inquisitor: Is that what you think I noticed first? Not, y’know...this chest?

Varric: I give, it’s hard to miss.

(MORE KISSING EEE...before he breaks away again)

Varric: I have to be honest for a second though...after this, I don’t know if I can go back to how things were. I understand that now. I’m in too deep with you. This can’t just be a one-off.

Again, the player will have a chance to back out at this point, but if they go ahead this will be the definitive relationship moment.

Inquisitor: I don’t intend for it to be.

Varric: Good...then we’re on the same page.

Varric rolls on top of the Inquisitor as make out increases and the sound of clothes shuffling can be heard, but close up fade-out on the fire unfortunately because this isn’t a PR0N GAME OK.

Player wakes up the next morning to find Varric writing letters or doing some kind of work at the nearby desk.

Inquisitor: I’m not that boring, am I? / I have something more exciting than ink and quill over here, if you’re interested. / What, no breakfast?

Varric: (looking up from his work) -teasing- When you’re asleep? Yeah, maybe a little, unless you want me to just stare creepily at you and wait for you to stir. / You know I am. / Joke’s on you, I already sent down for it. Just wasn’t sure when you were going to get your ass up.

He comes over to join the Inquisitor on the makeshift bed/pile of blankets in front of the fire. Inquisitor sits up and they share a lingering kiss.

Inquisitor: Did you mean what you said last night?

Varric: I wouldn’t say something like that for shits and giggles. I know it puts everything in fast motion, maybe faster than we planned, but...with you, it’s different. I’m willing to dive into this head first.

Inquisitor: I’ll try to make it worth the risk then.

(They kiss some more until a foreign cough interrupts them. The advisors are there because I find that trope way too funny. Cullen has his eyes covered lmao)

Leiliana: (hiding her amusement from the stairwell) Apologies, we should have knocked.

Inquisitor: Ideally.

Josephine: (uncomfortable) Perhaps we should come back later...?

Varric: Well, you can go or you can stay, but I don’t think we were planning to stop, so-

(Josephine ushers the other two quickly back towards the staircase)

Josephine: Yes, yes, later then! Knocking in future, will make a note of that.

(Amused, Varric and Inquisitor continue to kiss and maybe suggestion of something MORE before fade-out)

TO BE CONTINUED ONCE I FIGURE OUT THE REST

#varric tethras #varric x inquisitor #i'm not gonna put romance exceptions bc i think all options should be accessible #regardless of race or gender #SO THERE #varric romance

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heartslogos · 5 years

Text

the unclassified texts of the inquisition’s elite [31]

(724): i just turned on my printer and found 10 pounds of german chocolate inside. i think i found where you hid your candy last night

(386):He woke up and decided to go for a swim in the lake... At about 3am... With his dogs

“That was expensive,” Sera mourns as she runs a finger over the dark brown smear on the printer. “It was half my carry-on. It was duty free. Some of it had alcohol inside. Like. Good alcohol, too. The shit that actually has a flavor that isn’t strip your tongue stringent.”

“You know what else is expensive?” Josephine asks, “The printer, Sera. The heavy duty printer that it took us two weeks to have properly installed and required licensed technicians to set up. It comes as four separate parts that needed to be properly linked together with its own outlet and power surge protector.”

“Okay. But. That’s Inquisition money and whatever. These chocolates are all mine.”

“Hey, Sera? You know what else is all yours?” Herah asks, putting a hand on the smaller woman’s shoulder. “Your life. Think real careful on what you’re doing with it right now. Think really long and hard on what you’re about to say next.”

Herah lightly pulls on the back of Sera’s hair so that Sera looks away from the chocolate covered printer to Josephine.

“Think. Really. Carefully,” Herah stresses.

“Oh shit, right. Fuck. Uh. Sorry, Ruffles.”

Josephine closes her eyes and calmly folds her hands in front of herself, taking a slow breath before speaking.

“Sera. You broke into our office last night and stuffed our thousand dollar printer with chocolate. And your main concern right now is your airport chocolate. Normally I appreciate your candor and sometimes I find your flagrant lack of regard for higher authorities refreshing.”

“Josephine, you can just tell her you’re mad. You don’t have to do this like you’re in a meeting — “

“But.” Josephine’s eyes narrow. “There are limits to such things. Such as when your actions impact our productivity and our ability to conduct ourselves as professionals. Professionals who are under constant scrutiny from every single person on this continent. Professionals charged with the task of meeting an extremely high standard of expectations while very, very many sincerely and maliciously hope for — and in some cases actively work towards — our failure. Moving forward I am going to ask you to, as a matter of consideration to those around you and what we are trying to achieve — a goal I know you are aligned with for the fact that you have joined us and consistently wrk with us in our missions willingly and without any coercion or manipulation — more carefully consider the impact of your actions. I do not want this to happen again, Sera. You are a close friend and a wonderful ally. It would be a disappointment to so many if things began to sour.”

Sera looks stunned as she nods.

Josephine smiles politely, turning expectantly to Herah.

“Right,” Herah turns Sera around and starts marching her out the door. “That’s a clear and definite dismissal. Lets’ go.”

“Holy shit,” Sera whispers. “She’s definitely Antivan. Are you sure she isn’t royalty? Straight from Queen Asha?”

“Anything is possible. Frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“All things considered, this is not the worst thing his withdrawal has made him do,” Cassandra admits as soon as Evelyn stops her torrent of questions. “I wanted to inform you in case he does so again later when you’re back. Frankly, this is a remarkably good outlet for him. It’s healthy exercise, it helps him wake up and clear his head, and it’s a chance to bond with his dogs.”

“Cassandra, I have so many questions and you answered none of them just now,” Evelyn sighs loudly, voice staticky over the phone. Cassandra can hear the sound of cars and muffled traffic. “He’s okay?”

“He’s tired. He woke up at three am to do laps in a frigid lake.”

“But he’s okay?”

Cassandra looks over at the man in question, who just looks sheepish as he slips bacon to one of the previously mentioned dogs.

“His nose is red. His hair is a disaster. He didn’t shave evenly. And his lack of sleep is visibly apparent.”

Cullen looks torn between covering his face, scowling, leaving, and letting himself lie down on the table.

“He’s looked worse,” Cassandra concludes.

“Rough,” Varric laughs from the safety of being one table over. “You ever pull your punches, Seeker?”

Cassandra ignores him and focuses on Evelyn instead.

“He’ll be fine,” Cassandra continues, “You can talk to him later. You didn’t need to call. I know what I’m doing.”

“I know you know what you’re doing, it’s just that when you text a person that the Commander of their armed forces and current boyfriend woke up at three am to do laps in a lake maybe consider how that sounds.”

“If you had given me a chance I would’ve explained further, but you called right away.”

“Again, finding out your boyfriend’s swimming laps in a lake that requires a hard object to crack the surface of is a cause of worry and not a situation a person would normally wait for a text update on. It’s more a phone thing, Cassandra.”

“And now that we’re on the phone, I’m telling you he’s fine. He’s Fereldan. The cold wet is part of his blood.”

“That’s stereotyping,” Sera says from Varric’s table. “I’m Fereldan. I hate the cold wet.”

“There’s an exception to every rule,” Varric replies.

“He’s really okay?”

“Yes, Evelyn. He’s really okay. Would you like to talk to him?”

Cassandra waits as Evelyn thinks it over. She can hear the sound of a motorcycle drive by, and then the sound of an indicator light, and the sound of the crosswalk saying “Walk. Walk. Walk.”.

“No,” Evelyn concludes. “I’ll talk to him later. I trust you. If you say he’s okay, then he’s okay. Just — maybe consider the way you sound in text format next time?”

“I will work on it,” Cassandra replies. “Safe travels. I believe Pavus and Adaar will have their report sent to you by noon today.”

“Excellent. Thank you, Cassandra. I’ll see you all soon. With any luck I’ll be out of this conference by five and I can try to switch my red-eye for an earlier flight.”

“If you do call Blackwall, he’s got work in the area near the airport. He’ll be able to pick you up on his way back to base.”

#heartsfic #gather your party and venture forth

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madamebadger · 7 years

Text

servantofclio replied to your post “ahhh pentilyet prompts!!! i'm too excited to think straight!! ok ok,...”

This is adorable. I want all the cake and also to see the big gay society wedding.

The wedding is intolerable.

Oh, the ceremony is lovely. It has all of the Trevelyan sisters as attendants in shades of pastel, and a coterie of what appear to be Pavus’s friends from university, and when the vows are said Pavus looks so solemn and handsome and she things Trevelyan may possibly be tearing up. (She can feel herself tearing up, and dabs at the corner of her eye to keep it from messing up her makeup.)

The reception, though. It swarms with writers of society columns and gossip blogs, and Cassandra finds herself ducking behind pillars because all that she needs is to have ThedasBuzz post her picture tomorrow with a caption of “Elusive Pentaghast heiress found?”

There is no real reason she ought to be here. She is a service provider, nothing more, and she doubts that the florists received an invitation. Once she handed off the cake to the caterers, her job would normally be done. And yet. She received an invitation, and so did Varric and Sera and that promising new hire, Harding. Varric is somewhere cheerfully regaling everyone with ridiculous stories. Sera, based on her text messages, found the afterparty before the party was even after, and has been getting steadily more inebriated ever since. And Harding found the dance floor and has been occupied ever since. But Cassandra is simply standing, one elbow in the opposite hand, holding a mostly-full glass of champagne and waiting until she can politely make a quick exit.

This is about when Josephine appears. She is wearing an elegant little dress, halfway between professional and celebratory, as is appropriate. (She is always appropriate. Sometimes Cassandra wishes--but, no.) Her smile is radiant enough to fill the space between them with light. “Cassandra!”

“Josephine,” Cassandra returns, and then, by reflex, asks: “Is the cake all right?”

“Oh, it’s perfect. It’s wonderful! Maxwell and Dorian are so happy. And you were right: as beautiful as it is, it taste even better.”

(This is the cake Cassandra made: chocolate, dark chocolate, with just a hint of espresso. Studded with candied cherries--not those dreadful plasticky things sold in cartons, but handmade by her, carefully, each one perfectly imbued and enshrouded with just-slightly-caramelized sugar. In between the layers, a filling of macerated and kirsch-soaked sour cherries folded with whipped cream. Frosted with a kirsch cream, and topped with chocolate curls interspersed with cherries in every shade of the rainbow in careful gradients, from the palest rose-gold Rainiers to the darkest near-black Attikas. And in between the cherries, the tiniest, most perfect sugar-flowers she has ever made.

Every moment of painstaking work, every evening up late crafting each perfect flower or checking each cherry for flaws, is worth it for Josephine’s smile. She should be thinking of her clients themselves, who cut her that absurdly generous check, but she isn’t. At this moment, she isn’t.)

“Thank you,” Cassandra says. She fiddles with her champagne glass. “You have arranged a beautiful wedding.” (It’s true. Cassandra doesn’t like it, but the wedding is lovely.)

“Oh, well.” Josephine blushes a little and tucks a stray curl behind her ear. “And it’s been such a joy to meet you and be able to work with you so closely, Cassandra.”

“I feel the same,” Cassandra says, and then, feeling daring, begins, “I thought perhaps--”

It is at this moment that Trevelyan and Pavus swoop in, and Cassandra curses internally, her hands flexing around the glass. Pavus kisses Josephine on the cheek, and says, “My dear, this has been magnificent. I don’t know how to thank you.”

Josephine laughs, lightly. “You are a most generous client. I can hardly wish for more.”

“You are too modest!” He turns to Cassandra, suddenly. “And who is this charming woman?”

Cassandra had not been anticipating being drawn into this discussion, so she barely manages not to stammer. “Cassandra,” she says. And then: “Pentaghast.”

For a moment she is afraid that he will say something in reference to her name. His homeland is, after all, not so far from hers. But he just says, “Ahh, the pastry chef! Your work was magnificent. It’s rare I find a wedding cake that I even want to look at, let alone eat.”

Bemused, Cassandra says, “I am in agreement with you there.”

“But you were--oh, but I should rejoin Max. Have a delightful evening.”

“And best wishes to you,” Cassandra says as he retreats.

Josephine is smiling, ruefully. “I am afraid I must leave you, as I am in fact at work. And someone must keep an eye on that DJ. Why they insisted on hiring someone with as inauspicious a name as ‘The Iron Bull’ for their wedding is beyond me.”

“Of course, I understand,” Cassandra says.

“But it was lovely to see you,” Josephine says, and turns away, and suddenly Cassandra can feel time slipping, slipping, slipping like sand through her fingers, and soon Josephine will be gone, and Cassandra will go home alone, and remain alone, and there will be no more chances to see her, to feed her cubes of cake scented with rosewater or spread with marzipan or infused with sesame or soaked in coffee. No more reason to see her unfiltered smile when something pleased her palate, or her craftier smile when something tickled her sense of humor. No more--

“Wait,” Cassandra says. Josephine turns. “Wait,” Cassandra says. “Would you like, perhaps, to have coffee? On Thursday, maybe?”

Josephine’s eyes are uncertain. “To debrief after the wedding?”

“Yes,” Cassandra says, and then--she musters her courage. “No. No. No, just, to have coffee. The two of us.”

She is not sure she is brave enough to spell it out more blatantly than that, but she doesn’t have to. “Yes,” Josephine says, smiling again with a radiance that takes Cassandra’s breath away. “Yes. I’d like that very much.”

#servantofclio #badger replies #pentilyet #my fic #dragon age fanfic #fanfic #cassandra x josephine #modern au #dragon age #dragon age: inquisition

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otachi · 7 years

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Either Varric or Merrill

oh hell yeah i’ll answer both

varric

general opinion: fall in a hole and die | don’t like them | eh | they’re fine I guess | like them! | love them | actual love of my life (i would have totally romanced him if that was an option gdi bioware)hotness level: get away from me | meh | neutral | theoretically hot but not my type | pretty hot | gorgeous! | 10/10 would banghogwarts house: gryffindor | slytherin | ravenclaw | hufflepuffbest quality: his chest hair i am an absolute sucker for snarky characters who secretly or not-so-secretly care DEEPLY about their friends and he absolutely fits that to a t. like at one point or another during da2 you find out he’s been doing nice things behind the scenes for almost everybody to keep them safe or make their lives a little better, and he gives everybody stupid nicknames, and he clearly thinks of his friends as his chosen family, and i just. skdjfkdfkjf i love varricworst quality: there’s some things he says in inquisition that reveal he doesn’t think he’s as brave or cool as he actually is, which makes me sad. yes, that’s right, his worst quality is making me sadship them with: i played inquisition before i played da2 so i was like hm varric/cassandra would be pretty cool, and shipped that in a casual manner, but i started playing da2 recently and now i’ve gone through all the varric/fem!hawke fic out there and i need more. i may have to write my own. they’re so cute. helpbrotp them with: hawke obviously, cassandra, cole needs to stay away from: bianca (the person). some people don’t like her because she gets in the way of ships or w/e but i just don’t like her because she’s an emotionally manipulative jerkmisc. thoughts: i saw a meta post on here a while back about how varric is basically the shakespeare of thedas, and as many of you know i was an english major and i fuckin love shakespeare, so me liking varric was always going to happen basically

merrill

general opinion: fall in a hole and die | don’t like them | eh | they’re fine I guess | like them! | love them | actual love of my life hotness level: get away from me | meh | neutral | theoretically hot but not my type | pretty hot | gorgeous! | 10/10 would banghogwarts house: gryffindor | slytherin | ravenclaw | hufflepuffbest quality: she’s so cute. she’s so so cute. she is like the elf equivalent of a sugar glider. she has trouble understanding sarcasm and she just wanders around wondering if qunari like sunshine and rainbows. merrill would easily give luna lovegood a run for her money in the “tiny person with a vague welsh accent who is too pure for this world” departmentworst quality: merrill…you can know what you’re doing and still have the thing you’re doing be a very bad idea. i knew what i was doing in high school when i made a pizza entirely out of candy but that doesn’t mean i should have done it. come on nowship them with: isabelabrotp them with: hawkeneeds to stay away from: demonsmisc. thoughts: her eyes are so big that sometimes it freaks me out a little bit

send me a character from star wars or dragon age and i’ll answer questions about them

#rezasutra #we just got a letter

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cometladyicarus-blog · 7 years

Text

Dragon Age 2 Scenelet

My Mage Marian Hawke and Anders. Sort of a scene/study of their relationship.

Setting aside the battered sword she’d been wearing around town as rumors of bloodmages started to be too common, Marian looked at her letter desk. Just another copy of Anders’ manifesto again, which she dismissed as she dropped her shield nearby.

“Ah! Your friend came up through the basement, Hawke. Think he wanted to have a word with you about something.” She smiled to Bodahn and waved the friendly dwarf off.

“Have fun at the festival you two. And Sandal? Make sure you try the candy threads.” She watched them leave before heading for the study.

She stood before the door, closed her eyes and sighed. Only one of her friends used the basement on a regular basis to get into her house. She wondered if she should go back and get the sword and shield, in case things with him went bad.

With a roll of her eyes and a refresh of her warding glyphs in her clothes, Marian opened the door and walked in.

“Anders. You don’t usually come up here. Is everything alright with the clinic? Templars investigating it again so you need to hide out for a bit?”

The Ferelden Circle Mage spun around to glare at her. “I just don’t understand, Maria-”

“Hawke.” She crossed her arms as he took a step back. She couldn’t figure why the guy was so surprised she didn’t like him using her given name as the others used it. “What is there to get?”

He seemed to have refound whatever tangent he was going to rant with at her question. “How can you, an apostate, be so against your fellow mages? You killed that woman in the Pearl, whatever her name was the Exotic from the East.”

“Blood mage. You weren’t there, but Carver, Varric, and Fenris were.” She placed a hand on her belt where her dagger was tucked out of the immediate way. “She had a power over me and tried to get me to kill myself, and if I weren’t what I am, I’d be dead and we wouldn’t be having this chat.”

Anders shook his head. “And you turned Grace and her mages over to the Templars-”

Throwing her hands up, Hawke looked to ceiling in a silent prayer for patience. “They were led by a blood mage, how was I to be certain they weren’t like him? To quote Captain Rutherford - ‘Perhaps it is best to keep our enemies close.’ And the Templars can watch them better in the Circle than in cities or on the roads.”

“How can you say that as an apostate, Hawke?”

She straightened her posture and made sure to look him in the eye. “Because I am an apostate. Because my little brother joined the Templars.” She broke off eye contact and looked at the open door to the hallway. Her mother was still supposed to be out at lunch with her old friends.

“Because I never wanted magic. I still don’t want magic. When my little sister was killed by an ogre,” she turned back to the mage, “do you know what my mother said to me for days after?”

He took a step back.

“’Why didn’t you use your magic, Mari?’ ‘Why didn’t you save your sister?’ ‘Oh, if only Bethany were with us still!’” She frowned. “Or my favorite, when we arrived in Kirkwall, she looked me dead in the eye and said ‘Bethany didn’t make it.’”

There were no more steps back for the Circle Mage to take. “I’m sorry?”

“And now you’re here demanding to know why I think magic is dangerous? An ogre killed my sister! Darkspawn ruined my home! And the Chantry teaches that magic brought the first Darkspawn to Thedas! Not just any magic - blood and lyrium magic.” She stepped forward and jabbed Anders in the chest. “The only reason I have not turned myself in as an apostate is because I was trying to provide for my family, and I was planning on doing so when I came back from the Deep Roads. But with Carver in the Templars, Mother can not support this lifestyle without me.”

She threw a hand towards the open door. “Or how about, I stand against my ‘fellow mages’ because I do not want Templars knocking on my door and dragging me to the Gallows and still unable to take care of Mother? Does the idea of discretion elude you? I don’t have a Warden uniform I can pull on over my clothes to protect me from Templar interest or wear in order to flee for the next town! I have no protection against the Templars except for my refusal to use magic in front of them, and my support.”

There was a creak, and Marian Hawke opened her eyes to the closed door. The daydream was nice, but the end result would be her death at Justice-Anders’ rage. And the house destroyed. And her mother living with Gamlen again.

“Anders, what can I do for you? Templars searching your clinic again and you need a place to hide?”

Anders shook his head. “No. I just don’t understand, Maria-”

“Hawke.”

He held up his hands in an apology, though his wide eyes suggested he wasn’t expecting her to interrupt him. “How can you, an apostate, be so against your fellow mages?”

She took a steadying breath and held her temper back. “Because I am responsible for more than just my apostate self. I am not just preserving my own life as I support the Templars. I am keeping Carver from suffering for my actions. I am keeping Mother comfortable. I am much more useful right now out here, than in the Circle. But the Circle can be so much safer than outside here.”

“How can you say that when Templars abuse mages-”

She held up a hand. “Have you walked in the Alienage? Have you seen how the elves live in there? Would you really subject your fellow mages who happen to be elves to a life where people may help you one day, but then turn their backs to you the next when you need them? Tell me, when you were in the Circle, was the roster of Templars mostly the same, with only new recruits or transfers coming in rarely? Did you not know which Templars were ‘good’ and which were ‘bad’, and did your fellow mages know quickly after as well?”

“Well, yes, but-”

“Did you have a roof that was solid and not falling apart over your head? Food in your stomach on a regular basis? Did you have to worry about money?”

“Yes, yes, and no, but-”

“Then for the elven mages, I would say even the Circle is better than the Alienage. People come in and out of the city all the time.” She turned and walked out the door.

No magical blast of rage followed her, so she continued to her room and changed from her clothes into some armor before heading out to the Wounded Coast and watching over Aveline’s date.

Yeah, it always bother my (mostly) Templar-supporting Mage Hawk when Anders goes on about his vision of the world and bugs her about not being more supportive of mages, and so I wrote this out as a chance for her to finally vent out all of her annoyance with his plans. Then again, she mostly never takes him anywhere with her.

#Marian Hawke #Dragon Age #Dragon Age 2 #DA2 #Anders #Mage Hawke #Act 2 #Not An Anders Fan

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heartslogos · 7 years

Text

gather this party [115]

“First, I’m going to eat my weight in pretzels, and then I’m going to eat Cassandra’s weight in mini-pizzas, and then I’m going to eat Bull’s weight in popcorn and that’s going to be so much popcorn, so I’ll have to wash it down with Cullen’s weight in sparkly water in the pink flavor - what’s the name of the pink flavor, Sera?”

“Fruit punch,” Sera says, applying a fresh coat of sunscreen over her bare arms, “It’s fruit punch flavor. A lot of punch and not much fruit.”

“Excellent! And then I’m going to eat your weight in candy floss, and then Cole’s weight in caramel apples - and Cole doesn’t weigh so much so that’s alright for my teeth -, and then I’m going go - “

Lavellan continues down her list of food items to eat.

It’s day two of their vacation - well, Lavellan’s vacation, everyone else’s nightmare - at the amusement park.

“Did you give her coffee? Again? She was hearing colors last time,” Cassandra says to Varric, “Stitches checked her heart rate and it was beyond unacceptable. We almost had to call emergency services.”

“Nope, that’s one hundred percent natural Lavellan after a good night’s rest,” Varric says, “For once, I’m blameless in this.”

Cassandra narrows her eyes, “I doubt it, Varric. Somehow you are involved in all of this. And when I figure out how…”

“Oh he’s definitely right on the not giving her coffee part,” Sera says, “She was talking right up until she fell asleep last night. She was asleep before her head hit the pillow and she was out like a light until six this morning. It was terrifying. One minute she was asleep and the next she was awake and chattering away like an alarm clock gone wrong. I’m trading rooms with one of you tonight. I don’t care anymore, I’m trading with someone. Dorian? She’s your best friend. Bull? You’re patient or something. Maybe you’re deaf because you’re old as fuck and you won’t get annoyed as much.”

“Not the best way to convince someone to do something for you, Sera,” Bull muses.

“Imagine,” Varric says as they watch Lavellan get directed between Stitches, Grim, and Rocky, “Once upon a time she got sensory overload and had to be rushed between heavily sound-proofed vehicles. Now she’s at an amusement park looking like a dancing bee.”

“You truly have a way with words,” Cullen muses, “I wish you’d use those words more helpfully.”

“Are you a little bitter because of the last time? I promise I didn’t think they’d actually believe me and blame it all on you.”

“I never said I was bitter,” Cullen replies.

Lavellan gets close to passing by Rocky and he takes her hand, and in a carefully practiced and well executed move, uses her own momentum to turn her around so she’s walking towards Stitches.

Day two of the amusement park - they’re doing the other half of the park, now - and word that the Inquisitor of Thedas is here has gotten around.

She’d gotten just as many requests for pictures and autographs as the official mascots and employees. And bless her, whenever someone goes up to her to ask, she looks around like it could be anyone else but her, and she says something along the lines of - you know, I don’t work here, so I’m not sure why you’d want my autograph or picture but alright, I suppose.

When they went to get their hands re-stamped Dorian and Cullen just barely managed to snag the hand with the Anchor before she held it out for stamping.

Someone would have had a stroke.

Whether it would be the employee doing the stamping, Cullen, Cassandra, or Josephine once she heard about it would be anyone’s guess. Certainly not Lavellan, though.

Lavellan pauses in between her trek between Stitches and Rocky, gaze fixed on something in the distance.

Everyone turns to her.

“Is she breathing?” Sera asks.

Cullen goes to check, putting a hand on Lavellan’s shoulder.

The young woman’s eyes are wide, and her mouth is hanging open a little.

As fast as she moves in a fight, her hand shoots out and grabs Cullen by the front of the shirt and yanking him down to her level. Cullen stumbles, half-way being held up by her grip, as he awkwardly stares up at her.

“Inquisitor?”

“Cullen,” She breathes out, pupils blown wide, “What is that?”

Everyone turns and looks in the direction she’s facing. And then up. And up. And up.

“Oh no,” Cassandra whispers.

“Well, I thought this would last longer for later,” Bull pulls out a flask and Cassandra immediately grabs it from his hands and takes a swig, passing it to Dorian who takes a drink.

“I’d pass this to you, Rutherford, but someone has to be sober for this,” Dorian says.

“Probably shouldn’t get drunk and a children’s theme park,” Krem says, prying the flask from Dorian’s fingers and taking a drink for himself.

“We’re not getting drunk,” Dalish plucks the flask from him, “We’re softening the blow to our senses.”

“I can’t believe she managed to find the one ride more dangerous than the one from yesterday,” Stitches says.

“I,” Lavellan breathes out, voice dropping low into several octaves below her normal voice - into what most of them would consider her Command voice, “Am going on that ride. I am going on that ride today. I am going on that ride right now.”

“She has to get this from you,” Dorian says to Bull.

“Oh, yes, because she gets so much from me the guy she met about seven months ago,” Bull drawls, “Like all of you are getting my fucking whiskey.”

“I’m taking this in the name of the Inquisition,” Cassandra says, “I need it more.”

“I’m glad you’re finally loosening up, Seeker, but this really isn’t the best way. Alcoholism?”

“Those in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones,” Dorian says as Lavellan starts to stride - in a manner she could have only learned from Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena Pentaghast - towards the ride, dragging Cullen with her by the collar. “Out of pity for the Commander, I say that after this travesty we send him to fetch things and wait in line for the rest of the day. That way he’s out of her clutches. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Everyone says as they start to follow after the two, “That said, who’s going to take his place?”

#heartsfic #gather your party and venture forth

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heartslogos · 7 years

Text

gather this party [114]

“Responsible vegetarian and veganism and other such alternative diets derive their most importance from how their material - hemp, vegetables, fruits, grains - are sourced,” Lavellan says, trailing behind at Bull’s elbow, “Animal cruelty is definitely something to be avoided but so is abuse of human labor, appropriation of resources, and starving out local and or indigenous cultures slash ethnicities. Also, sustainability.”

“You tell’m, Boss,” Bull says, tossing a few boxes of ready to make meals into one of the carts he’s pushing. She’s been listening to either Sera or Dagna recently, or possibly both. Most likely both.

“I also respect the right to protest peacefully but harassing employees is terrible. Retail is one of the hardest jobs ever,” Lavellan continues.

“Yeah, it’s really shitty to be a dick to someone who can’t fight back because of economic reasons,” Bull agrees, handing her three boxes of ice cream. Lavellan holds them as he digs out the boxes furthest back to put in the second cart. She darts in behind him to put the three boxes back.

Skinner has a thing about boxes from the front - regarding things such as ice cream, popsicles, candy bars, and snack foods.

Lavellan has a contemplative look on her face. Bull catches a glimpse of it when he closes the freezer door.

“Boss?” Bull asks.

“Yeah?” She asks as she continues to follow along after him, her basket - there’s nothing in it but some candy bars, a couple of mini-chip bags, and a bag of peanut butter filled pretzels - swinging on her arm - narrowly misses clipping the corner of the cart.

“You’re going to do something about the protesters outside, aren’t you?” Bull asks.

Lavellan smiles at him, “Well. I mean. It’s really only the decent thing to do. You shouldn’t be bad to retail workers. That’s not peaceful protesting. And I’m pretty sure they didn’t obtain those chickens legally. Nor were they properly looking after them.”

“You’re going to do something about the fake protesters,” Bull confirms to himself - rather than to her.

Lavellan starts to nod to herself.

“We should make a counter protest,” Lavellan says, “About responsible sourcing and agriculture and animal husbandry.”

“Pentaghast is going to have an ulcer or five,” Bull says. He’d pull his phone out to warn her - but hey. Two carts. Two hands. Shit luck, there.

“I’ll work on the counter protest afterwards,” Lavellan decides, “First thing is first. Ensuring the safety of the people coming in and out of this establishment.”

Lavellan beams.

“You’re going to call the police,” Bull throws out on a whim. A hopeful and already defeated whim. He’s been with her long enough to know that by now.

Lavellan bursts out laughing and pulls out her badge from underneath her shirt. The eye and sword of the Inquisition flash as the badge settles over her breast, catching the fluorescent light.

“Inquisitor on duty,” Bull says to the aisle, raising his voice just a little louder than you’d think necessary.

Scouts appear out of nowhere. All of them pull Inquisition armbands out and slide them onto their sleeves, over their civilian clothing.

Well, not nowhere. Bull likes to let him think out of nowhere. He knows exactly where they came from and how long they’ve been there. It’s like a little game to keep him sharp.

They salute.

“We’re going to protect the workers,” Lavellan announces, “Someone help me to check out because I need to pay first.”

“You go ahead, Boss,” Bull says, “I’ve got to finish getting stuff for Sera’s food drive and Montileyet’s free seminars. I’ll meet you in about half an hour.”

“Got it,” Lavellan flashes him an okay sign, “Where’s Blackwall? How long is that man going to look at cuts of meat? He never even buys anything! Blackwall!”

“Do you ever just look at her go and or like - watch someone wind her up and you know it’s your responsibility to stop her, but you’re just all - “ Sera makes a helpless gesture with both hands, “Nah. Take her. Take her for free. I’ll throw in all my loose change, too. Just take her and go?”

“This assumes that I’ve ever had her,” Varric replies, “The answer is yes. Spiritually speaking. I’ve looked at a lot of people and just went nah.”

Sera glances down at him, “You know what. You’re Varric. Forget I asked. Hey, Blackwall, you ever look at her and think that?”

Blackwall shrugs one shoulder, “I’m not here to keep an eye on her. Never said I would.”

“Because he’s a smart and clever man who knows better than to say stuff he can’t possibly do,” Varric says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small notebook, thumbing through pages.

“What’s that?” Sera tries to lean around to see what he’s looking at. Varric tilts the small notebook towards her. “A list?”

“Of all the places and things I’ve seen her go off on or about,” Varric says, “When this is all over I’m going to try and rate them. So far one of my personal favorites is socks with toes. And shoes with toes. Things that go on your feet with individual slots for your toes.”

“Those are weird, of course she’d go off on those. Anyone would go off on that,” Sera says. “They look creepy, too. Ugh.”

“Shorts with the word creepy on the ass is on here, also,” Varric says.

“What else?” Sera asks, bending down to read the page, “Men have pockets, see page one column one?”

“Oh yeah, that was one of the first things on the list,” Varric says, “She apparently got pissed that none of the clothes provided to her had pockets and she kept losing stuff and she had to ask for a needle and thread and some spare fabric to sew pockets into all of her borrowed clothes.”

“Reasonable,” Sera says and then reads off, “The entire Canticle of Shartan? Insurance caps? Checkered linoleum tiles? Backsplash?”

“Oh, you don’t want to know about the last two, keep reading.”

“Sugar packets,” Sera blinks, “No, she likes sugar packets.”

“Never said it was a list of things she didn’t like. It’s just a list of things she’ll go off on,” Varric says, “And you know how she can sometimes wax poetic at the drop of an eyelash.”

“Sugar packets,” Sera repeats, shaking her head.

“Sugar packets,” Varric confirms, finishing writing in the latest entry - plastic grass and the futility of it all along with a quick crude and pathetic looking sketch of Lavellan’s current facial expression - before tucking the notebook and pencil back into his jacket pocket.

#heartsfic #gather your party and venture forth

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