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divineidolatry · 3 months

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CONSTANTLY IN THE DARKNESS — CHAPTER 1

— written by june.

pairing: coriolanus snow x reader*

rating: explicit (18+) — mind the tags, see masterlist for disclaimers

summary: against your wishes, you call the curtain on your relationship with coriolanus snow and walk out of his life for good. against your wishes, he waltzes back in like nothing's changed.

tags: exes to lovers, it's complicated, slow burn but they're constantly fucking, manipulation, toxic relationship, power play, unprotected sex, bdsm, dom!coriolanus, sub!reader, edging, overstimulation, orgasm denial, spit kink, bondage, pearl play, choking, shoe riding, degradation, dirty talk, brat taming, penetrative sex (piv), aftercare

taglist: comment on the masterlist to be added to the taglist.

wordcount: 4,352

just before our love got lost you said "i am as constant as a northern star" and i said "constantly in the darkness, where's that at? if you want me i'll be in the bar."

“Coriolanus…” You drop the silver cutlery on the fine porcelain, the sound sharp enough that he winces. Good. This should hurt him as much as it hurts you. “What are we even doing anymore?”

His face holds that cold expression you can’t read, beautiful and impossible, a question you saw the first day you met him and you knew you wanted to crack him open.

You always knew he had ambition, and you possessed plenty to match. Power called to you from an early age, you’d just gotten smarter about you grabbed it. Still, he made you better. He made you sharper. And in turn, you could make him look soft enough to please.

But the parts of you that slotted together like perfect gears before had grown jagged and mismatched now. His ambitions mean more than you. They come before you. A part of you thinks it would be okay if he still made room for you at the end of the night, but it’s all perfunctory and dutiful.

“We need to talk. Actually talk.”

It’s not for a lack of trying to understand him, but there’s walls in Coryo that shift position, closing him off when you’re not careful enough. Talking with him turns into talking to him. He never did share much, even when you made it clear that you supported his ambitions, never troubling him with your own. You’re big girl, after all, independent and capable, you can hold your own value and underscore his. You know how to charm the worst of them and flatter the best of them, you are an asset beyond compare and yet he’s losing interest. Galling.

“I’ve been loyal, beyond a shadow of a doubt. I’ve kept clean in public so you can defile me in private. I play your game so well, and yet…” You flick your finger against the crystal wine glass, lipstick stains rimming the edge. You dressed to the nines tonight, giving him a last chance to look at you, at everything you offered him as a partner in every sense of the word. “You make me feel like I’m doing something wrong.”

His silence hangs heavy and painful in the air between you two. There’s something so pristine and perfect about the room that itches in your gut, that sometimes makes you want to take the knife and stab him through the back of his hand just to see if he’d even flinch.

“Am I not good enough for you anymore?”

Oh, how icy his gaze is. It cuts right through you, past all your defenses.

These dinners, once bubbling with conversation and excited plans about the next chance you’d have to shift the board, have turned to quiet and perfunctory affairs now. He meets your eyes less and less on the university campus. You spend hours waiting for him in the quiet hallways on the top floor no one goes to, doing your seminar readings in the same hidden alcove where he once liked to make you moan so high a rumor had spread of a ghost haunting.

It doesn’t matter to you that he is busy, it mattered that he stopped including you, that he didn’t even try. And you can’t get through to him. It’s getting sad — worse, stale. On top of that, people are talking. Gossip loud enough that you could hear it from the back rows in lecture halls, of discord between Panem’s golden future and his leading lady. Bad metrics for both of you… and it fucking stings too.

His heart isn’t in your mouth anymore, and you are beginning to starve. And he’d let you.

You fold up the napkin, dropping it on top of the half-finished meal, knowing the waste will irk him. Whatever hook you still have in him you will pull on. You must. You refuse to go down without damages.

“This is what you want, isn’t it? It’s easier this way, me deciding to leave you, that way you won’t have to clean up the mess. That’s why you’ve been so cold, right?”

He doesn’t speak. Pushing the chair out, you get up and walk the length of the table, your heels clicking loud against the marble. You move close to him, press your body against his and feel the heat of his breath on your skin… but his expression does not shift, and you shake your head with a pained noise catching in your throat.

“I don’t think you are this cold,” you whisper, slipping your hand in under his shirt, pressing your fingers against his chest. His heart beats hard and strong. “I hope you realize when I’m gone…” You trail off, struggling with the words.

Silence. Again. He’s leaning back in the chair, watching you try to reconcile this… and he is letting you flounder. Has he allowed you to ask for his time with the intention to give you nothing? The cruelty in that hurts even worse.

“Goodbye, Coriolanus.” You press a soft kiss to his cheek, scraping your nails over his skin, hoping it stings as much as his icy silence does. You gather your bag and coat, and leave his penthouse quietly.

In the elevator, you wipe at an errant tear. The air around you feels crushing but you cannot give in under pressure. You won’t.

For a few days, you don’t cry. You had foreseen this outcome to the conversation after all, made your preparations to leave as little behind as possible, and fortified yourself to understand that no matter how perfect a match you seemingly were for each other, you still actively had to choose one another. Whatever had consumed him also kept him from letting you in as he used to, and it meant he was no longer choosing you.

The barb still lodged itself deep in your chest, leaking poison all the same.

You go through the motions, brushing your hair, washing your face, studying. It’s in one of the lectures, the professor slipping through the lackluster material, that it hits like a fist between the ribs, and you clutch at your side remembering how Coryo would have made this make sense to you. It hits all at once how he’s not there, won’t be, he’s not going to make even the dullest media history class shine bright anymore.

When the tears come, it is Clemensia who wipes them away, lets your head rest in her lap, and offers to fetch the rest of your things. She was his friend first; you’d been a year under them in the Academy. When she comes back she doesn’t say if he reacted, though you doubt he was even at home. She strokes your hair, assuring you she won’t pick a side. Through all her care of you in the weeks to come, she proves her words, not letting you flinch away in public.

“Just because he plays a good game,” she reminds you, “doesn’t mean you can’t make a better move.”

You slowly get back on your feet, keeping her words in mind. She helps with applying your makeup on days when your hands are too shaky, keeping your perfectly crafted mask in place. She glues herself to your side as you attend classes, keeping it cordial with Coriolanus while your gaze slips past him. You forgot how good it felt to be someone’s priority.

“Why are you being so nice about this?” you ask one night, exasperated as she’s getting you ready for a party, squirming in your seat. You don’t feel ready for re-emerging into society, but what choice do you have? Crawl into a hole and vanish? You’d never give him the pleasure.

She rolls her eyes and gets up off the floor to fetch a dusty bottle of posca from the shelves.

“It’s not that different,” she says, handing a glass over to you. “I was in his corner too, and it bit me. Hard.” She grimaces, scratching at her wrist before rolling down the sleeve over her hands.

“Did you two…” You have wondered, after all, jealousy flickering at times like a dangerous question mark.

“Not like that! I just needed him to show up for me, to do this one thing, and he was busy chasing his own greatness.”

It's a relief to hear, mostly because you have an easier time believing her than him. “But you got over it.”

“I can’t fault him. If you’re here, it means something, and it’s not always flattering.” She wrinkles her nose at the posca even as she drinks it down. “When you want something so bad because you need to make sense of the world, to bring some sense of order to the chaos of life… I know you get it. He’s always been this way, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.” Her words are just a whisper as she pins curls in place on your head, her hand lingering to trace your chin as she examines your face.

Clemensia had taken a liking to doing these little things for you, drawing from a deep well of knowledge she’d amassed. It had become an outlet for her, creativity to couple with her own ambition. She liked to practice different looks on you before paring them down to a more fitting style suitable to current trends, but each flourish of her brush warmed your skin.

You knew that duality well — of wanting to create and struggling to find the time and place. Ever since you were small, your parents had clung to the idea that singing lessons and dance classes were of utmost importance, even keeping them going during the war. They wanted you to excel, rise in standing, and it had honed you.

Unbidden, one of his old comments floats up in your mind, making your breath stutter. ‘You have the prettiest voice of all the girls in Panem, do you know that?’ And while you scoffed then, your ego bloomed under his praise. ‘Tell me more about how much you love my voice, Coryo…’

“Hey… come back to me, you better not ruin the hard work I’ve just done, I don’t do hard work for just anyone, you know?” Clemmie teases, but you can see a stern look in her eyes. You don’t have a lot of time, and she isn’t keen to waste it. “We have somewhere to be soon, okay?”

You nod. She’s right. The Capitol’s numerous galas and grand events throughout the year had kept going despite your broken heart, and tonight is the Rose Ball, an extravagant gala held in the grand conservatory with an orchestra playing and the guest list consisting of only the names of the highest esteem in the Capitol. And your name was still on it. Tonight, you intend to make sure it isn’t the last invite sent your way, no matter what.

Clemensia finishes with a lipstick red as wine, smiling as she puts her hands on your shoulders and turns you to the mirror.

“Look at you,” she says, tilting your chin up so the light catches the pearlescent shimmer dusted on your skin. “Everyone will be falling for you. And he will have no choice but to watch what he lost.”

You shiver in excitement.

You share the ride with some people Clemensia knows, and while they gossip away, you sit alone with your thoughts, the mask wavering for a moment. This is the first formal gathering you’re attending since the split… Several months of picking up the pieces to pretend like everything’s fine, to recoup as much of your image as possible, while still doing him the courtesy to not hurt his. You have been so good, and still people look at you as if you made a mistake and not him.

Tonight would be harder to find a bathroom to tuck away into, an empty study room to make your safe haven. No cover to hide behind, so you needed to don the appropriate armor, to appear unaffected. To tell a tale to outdo his. After all, Clemensia’s right, everyone can be made to want you. You will move on, and you will make him regret it while you do. You will remind him that your heart isn’t a delicate plaything, but a fire furious enough to match his.

You play with the pearls around your neck, the matching gold and pearl earrings bouncing against your cheek as the car passes over cobblestoned streets. They are the very same Coriolanus gifted you on your first anniversary, and weighted with memories. You thought about throwing them away immediately after the break-up, but that would have said something about him winning, and you can’t stand that.

Clemensia, hawk-eyed as ever, notices your nervous fiddling and nudges your foot with hers right as the car pulls up to the entrance. “Shall we then?” Clemensia offers you her arm and you take it gratefully. You revel in the sync of your heels clicking as you ascend the hard steps to your most important battlefield yet.

Past the heavy gilded doors, the gala’s milling crowd slows down as you enter, eyes drawn to you. You hold your head high, gripping Clemensia’s arm tight. No one here will get the pleasure of seeing you flinch. They announce your names, and you smile, brilliant and beautiful. The corset underneath your rose-red dress keeps your back straight, reminiscent of old elegances that has the old garde softening for you.

You think you spot him on the far end of the room, but the shadows are long and the lights dimmed. His gaze feels a certain way though, and there’s a wicked warmth in your chest that only he has ever made you feel.

“I’m going to do reconnaissance,” Clemensia says as she gives your hand a squeeze. “Let me get the lay of the land.”

“Go, go.” You wave her off, confidently stepping into a circle that parts to let you in amongst them, laughing at the right time. If there is one dance you know better than any other, it is this: the social graces and manners expected of you in these cutthroat places, where the marble runs red with lies and blood. Your heels know where to step even when sleepwalking.

While your mask does not waver, you sure feel bare under all the scrutiny, hungry gazes roving over every bared slip of skin on your arms. After what feels like hours of compliments, cruelties and layered comments, you find a brief escape in an alcove on the second floor, rubbing at your sore ankles as you catch your breath, head spinning. Roses weigh in on all sides of you, enchanting and heady. If you had to say something nice, it’s that Coriolanus knows how to work with the best event planners the Capitol has to offer.

You rip off a handful of petals, crushing them until the fragrant oils spill forth, and press them down the front of your dress before you get up to continue mingling.

The night is long: a dance with the Featherpillow boy a year your junior who easily dances circles around most of the men here; a glass of champagne with the Fairweather twins as you chat about the latest fashion trends and they enviously compliment your pearls; Clemensia whisking you away to a polite and stiff conversation with the Ravenstills. The night goes on for some time in this manner, gliding between dances, advances, and gossip. No one can seem to keep you in one place.

And everywhere you go, you feel the constant, unrelenting pierce of eyes on you. Not just the masses… his.

You are showing him up. Everyone knows it. Coming to his event with seemingly no hard feelings, dressed like a classical painting, fielding every conversation with natural ease and charisma. Everyone wants to see you, talk to you, be seen with you. It’s a move that will have lesser men folding their hands.

Coryo isn’t.

There’s no shortage of attention in his corner, the constant requests for a word from important political seats and fellow society greats, and invitations to dance which he only takes when you do. The undertow between you is palpable. He is an inevitability, you can feel it when you draw close during dances, gazes brushing past each other.

He is throwing you off, little by little, his smile blistering bright and dangerous across the room, and he catches you looking. Just once. And once is all he needs.

You swipe a glass of posca from a passing waiter, knocking it back in one go. This wasn’t part of your plan.

It definitely isn’t a part of the plan that Coriolanus appears in front of you, taking the empty glass away from you with a cool smile.

“May I have the next dance?” he asks, voice perfectly warm and polite. Every single eye watches the two of you with rapt attention as he offers his hand out to you.

He knows you can’t turn him down now, and he is relishing in it. His eyes are lit up, a fire in them you have not seen in months. You put your hand in his, beaming up at him.

“It would be my pleasure,” you say, dragging out the last word until it drips like daggers from your lips.

The two of you assume the starting position, you with one hand in his, the other on his shoulder, and you can’t help but notice that it is all too comfortable a role to slip back into: the perfect pair, polished and primed for the show. A lone pianist begins to play, and you recognize the tune as one of your very favorites… one you played for Coriolanus more than once on the grand piano in his penthouse.

Maintaining a polite expression, you shoot him a look. “Did you request this piece?”

“It’s your favorite, is it not?” He keeps it civil. More than civil, he keeps it warm, saccharine sweet even as he continues to lead you without a single misstep while giving the audience a perfect dance.

“I thought you’d forget about me,” you say, testing the waters. “Like you do to everyone who no longer interests you.”

“You think I’d be that cruel?”

“I know you would be.”

A hum rumbles in his chest and you feel it against your body, heating your cheeks. The dance goes on, gliding and spinning, the room growing dizzying either from the drinks or the way he won’t drop eye contact with you.

This much attention from him was not the plan, definitely not the goal, and as the tempo slows for the twinkling end of the piece, you think you might fall over if not for the sheer adrenaline coursing through you… and the firmness of his grip, fingers digging into the back of your corset.

As the music falls quiet, there’s a brief moment where you could hear a pin drop, the tension in the air releasing as the audience applauds. You blush, bowing to him, simmering with the dual-edged feeling of having been made a spectacle of — and a part of you enjoyed it because it was him doing it.

He offers his arm to you and you hesitate, wanting to search out Clemensia in the crowd, but with the expectant eyes still on you, it’s hardly the time to turn him down.

Shit.

You take his arm with trepidation, chewing the inside of your cheek as he leads you to the upper level of the conservatory. As you pass by Clemensia you shoot her a pleading glance, but she cannot save you, and you both know it.

He knows the place like the back of his hand and leads you to a tucked-away alcove crowned with rose arches. The plush settee is comfortable but small, and you wind up pressed against his side when you sit down. Worse still, it’s like he delights in tormenting you as he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you in.

“Did you enjoy doing that?” With a gentle huff, you finally speak your mind, voice hushed. He’s close enough that you feel the warmth of his breath, of his entire body, and yours never forgot how good he could make you feel, aching for him like a traitor. “Did you want to make a fool of me?”

He does nothing to assuage the pained curiosity of your words, tutting as he reaches up to finger one of your earrings. “No need. You and I can both agree you made plenty spectacle of yourself all on your own tonight, darling.”

You hold back from chewing him out, refusing to align his glance to his. It always frustrated him back then and it still does, as he moves his hand to your chin and tilts your face towards his.

“Hard time letting go?”

He knows just how to stoke the fire in you. “Of you? Never.”

“As you say.” He rubs the fabric of your skirt between his fingers. “You seemed all too comfortable letting everyone reach out to pull you around tonight, truly playing the belle of the ball, hm?”

“That’s how the Capitol landscape is and you know it. I was not trying to upstage you.”

He tuts at that. “You think that is why I’m upset?”

You furrow your brow. “What else would it be?”

“Because for all your flitting about tonight…” He lowers his voice, and you lean in instinctively. “You wouldn’t have deigned to give me the time had I not put you on the spot.”

Your breath catches in your throat, your mental game board in disarray. “You’re jealous?”

You’ve learned to not cry over him anymore. Even when it hurts, when the three years down the drain remind themself like a splinter under your nail, you’ve learned better control than that. But this time, you feel the hot prick of tears in your eyes. When one slides down your cheek, he wipes it with his thumb.

Damn it, damn him, damn it all. You swallow.

“After everything, you are jealous? I didn’t even come here with someone else.”

“You came here with Clemensia.”

“Yes, a friend.”

“She was my friend first.”

“Oh, don’t be a child.”

You roll your eyes, slapping his chest. He holds your hand there, and when the first feeling that runs through your heart is a sliver of hope, you know you’re done for.

“I’ve missed you.”

Check mate.

He wins again.

You try to pull away, but he resists, pressing you closer into him. For all that hurt, all the frustration, when you look into his eyes, when your gaze flits down to his lips, you still want to crush his lips with yours, to slot right into his life like you never left, and that thought gnaws at you. You hate yourself for it. And your mask is not that strong…

“You really could have thought about that earlier, Coriolanus. You had every opportunity.”

He seems content with not elaborating on why he froze you out, left you in the dark, and it frustrates you. His only response, in fact, is to act on the heat of the moment, pulling you into a kiss.

It’s greedy and hungry and he bites at your lower lip, causing you to whine. His lips are soft and taste of sugary pastries and finely aged wines and oh, it would be so easy to fall head first into how good it feels, how much you missed this, to climb on his lap right here…

You lick into his mouth, wanting all you can take before you part from him, unable to forget where you are, that there is no privacy in this place, and that you can’t risk everything for him — however badly you want to. When you pull away, you see the mess you’ve made of him, lipstick on the corners of his mouth, and it thrills to know he’s made one of you too.

“Not here,” you say. But it isn’t a no. It’s hardly a stop. It’s a challenge and you desperately want him to rise to it.

He waves over one of his attendants to assist in making you both presentable, leaving you in the seat once he is taken care of. You hold back a protest, ready to settle back into the shadows of his ambition, but then overhear him whispering about “ready the car” and “make sure they have a good time” before he turns back to you. There’s the fire that could burn the whole of the Capitol down if he wanted it. There’s the hunger that could have you willing to offer him of yourself just to sate him. It leaves you speechless. It leaves you burning.

He whisks you away out the back entrance to the waiting car and once seated in the back, partitions pulled up, you spare no time climbing on top of him, arms wrapping around his neck.

He fingers your earrings again, hand trailing down to your necklace. “Our first anniversary, hmm? Do you remember why I had the rose engraved in the gold?”

You aren’t interested in reminiscing anymore, you want the present moment, you want to burn your mouth on his. You kiss him again, rocking against him as you do, relishing in the way he tightly grabs your hips, helps you keep grinding down as he lifts up the skirt higher, skimming the top of your thigh-high stockings.

“Missed you too.” Your breath is hot and ragged against his skin.

You look over his face, bodies still slowly rocking together, and when your semi-glazed eyes meet his, you see nothing but fire, dangerous and warming, everything you have ever wanted from him. In a craze, you find yourself begging.

“Please… make me yours again.” It’s a romantic notion, and it will haunt you come morning, but now you are nothing but a bundle of nerves and want, all ripe for his picking.

“Patience,” he breathes against your neck, his lips on the pearls. “We’re almost there.”

#coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x you #corionlanus snow x reader #coriolanus smut #snow x reader #snow x you #the hunger games x reader #tbosas fanfiction #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games

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hiskillingjar · 3 months

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What do you think Strade, law, and ren would react to a bimbo type MC?

this is so fucking mean. how did you know i was into this??

OKAY WHATEVER, WOE NICHE FETISH BE UPON YOU AAAAA

ren 🦊

ren loves it. of course he loves it

mans is a cum brained hentai addict, of course he fucking loves you playing up to all his favourite tropes

he especially loves it when you pitch up your voice and coo and fawn over him. you sound like a little doll, it's just so cute!

(loves it even more when you do the same in bed and whine and squeal like one of his pornos lol)

cute outfits? skimpy clothes? an obscene amount of pink?? he'd love every second!! he loves high aesthetic anyway so he'd be more than happy to shower you with gifts so you always look pretty and perfect all the time

(and would totally want to pick out your outfits so that he could match lol)

he likes the heavy makeup too, especially if it gets messed up and smeared by tears, saliva, cum

he might even get a bit of a complex about it, especially if you played into the whole "tee hee i'm dumb and you're smart :3" part

like yeah actually, i AM smarter than you. you need me to look after you, don't you, baby? that's okay, you can just stay here with me and look pretty and enjoy being a dumb girl all you want ^_^

doesn't that sound so nice?

doesn't that sound so freeing, never having to worry about real life again?

awww don't fight me, babe, you just don't know any better!

lawrence 🥀

lawrence is. a little confused by it, honestly

like they know that you're playing this up. what are you trying to do? do you think i'm stupid, or something?

i mean law has kind of a complex about honesty, so they might be a bit. put off by you playing a role of some kind

besides, they want to break your brain by themselves. you doing it to yourself is no fun, is it?

in a brain break kind of circumstance though...

law would be super patient and take good care of you

your speech keeps slurring and you forget the words for things that should be obvious...that's okay though, they're there to help you. you don't need to think that hard when they're around

or maybe they'll just shut you up if it becomes too irritating, your dumb voice and your inability to even speak anymore. they have a pretty short fuse for that sort of thing

they might get a little tired of looking after a braindead doll, though...especially if some of your joints have been popped out

you'll just have to prove your worth in some way, the only way dumb dolls can...isn't that right, petel?

strade 🔨

H O R N Y

yeah strade likes it a lot too lmao

he picked it up pretty quickly though

the way you were dressed at the bar, the fact that you so readily trusted a total stranger. takes someone pretty dumb to do that...

so he takes a good long time figuring you out back in the basement?

is this just an act or are you really as stupid as you seem?

but you moan and whimper so sweetly, your voice slurring, and your brain blurred faster than he could have ever imagined

he has to keep you on, even for a little while, just to see what'll happen

considering his standing as the world's worst sugar daddy, you can dress up however you want and he doesn't have a word of complaint about it

especially when you get so upset when he tears your clothes off and fucks up your makeup when he fucks you. it's really irresistible though, your whines are too cute to resist!

might develop a bit of an ego about it (nowhere near as much as ren though, who definitely pushes his luck and fucks with you when strade's not around) especially considering how well his audience responds when he pushes a pretty girl into her rightful place under him

you're not much fun as anything other than a living fuckdoll though. you're too stupid for any kind of conversation, and you don't react nearly as fun to pain as he wants

but not like you care, even if you had enough of a brain TO care

you'll be his doll whenever he wants you <3

#ren hana #ren btd #ren x mc #ren x reader #lawrence oleander #lawrence btd #lawrence x mc #lawrence x reader #strade btd #strade x reader #strade x mc #headcanons #mc #don't look at me. don't percieve me #g-d this kink is so problematically hot. i love it

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lizzaneia-elizalde · 5 months

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Seeing as you opened and I love your writing, how about a yandere bully? His beloved is not his target but rather harasses those who get close to her.....Am I even making sense?I let you do it however you want anyway.

Yandere! Male! Bully x Fem! Nerd! Reader

Time to bring back the old bully x nerd archetype. But this time, it's not as painful to write since the bullying is not targeted to the reader.

I am a victim of bully = being liked mindset. I hated that part of my life lol

One song is stuck in my head when I was writing this though. dumb dumb by mazie. So I guess I made darling a bit arrogant too lol.

I think I need to do a TW for this one. I know I usually don't do TW's since it's understandable that my blog is filled with yandere men, but this time, I need to do one.

TW: Bullying, harassment of PWDs, mentions of suicide. Uno is genuinely an upsetting character for some people, so do be warned.

Yan! Bully name: Uno

He's always the greatest.

Who?

Of course, Uno.

Just like his name, he was destined to be number 1. Nobody can stop the indominable spirit that is Uno.

It's always Uno, Uno, Uno.

GOD YOU WERE TIRED OF HEARING HIS NAME!

Why do people like an asshat like him? He's so arrogant, rude, and only thinks of himself. He belittles people who are of "lower status" than him, and sometimes, when he felt like it, he would physically fight them.

Uno's also someone with a silver spoon shoved in his mouth. His family, well known in the sports community, sponsors athletes. Investing in them greatly. And usually, these sponsored athletes end up successful. And those who did not end up successful, still brought enough rapport, moolah, and reputation that it ends up a good investment anyways.

And, with Uno being an aMaZiNg basketball player, his family invested in him too.

That also was a great investment as he's legitimately a prodigy when it comes to sports, not just basketball.

If only he wasn't a spoiled little shit who thinks the world must bend to his will.

Looking at him overtaking the social world in your University like a hurricane made you pissed off more than anything.

You hated bullies. And you thought that they would be gone once you stepped in senior high school but noooo he had to come and ruin the life you envisioned.

He would sport his stupid letterman jacket, those jeans that was tight fit to his toned legs, the tank top that forms on his abs a bit too well, and god that slicked back hair and snarky smirk. You want to wipe the sweat off-- YOU MEAN WIPE THAT SMIRK OFF.

You stomped your feet and pointed at the sky, screaming that you don't like him.

Yeah right.

Why were you so attracted to the man?

When all of your life you were bullied by people like him?

As a nerd, you devoted yourself to academics. You were born in a family filled with high achievers, and naturally, you were one too. You excelled in everything concerning subject matters of intellect, even indulged in a bit of geekiness with your habits.

Uno's not the only prodigy.

Medals upon medals, a trophy cabinet, and a mountain pile of certificates. You were an unstoppable force when it comes to intellectual contests. May it be quiz bees, or debates.

That resulted in you being bullied though. Of course, you were the nerdiest of nerds, Queen Nerd even (they're not that bright to come up with a better insult). They reveled in you getting pushed over, getting spoiled milk poured over you, getting used for their projects, and getting hopeful for an actual friendship. Just because you're smarter than them.

They're dumb, you're smart, they're strong, you're weak.

All of this pent up anger against bullies made you angry at Uno.

With days passing by in that godforsaken University, you had to hold back from biting back at Uno as he arrogantly tripped, threatened, manipulated, and hurt your fellow students.

You wonder when will be the time of your demise.

You shiver at the thought.

Speed walking towards your locker, you grabbed your things for your next class. Not knowing a certain pair of eyes were watching you from afar.

Watching your every move.

Always.

Uno, the greatest amongst the senior high, had always looked down upon people.

He's someone destined for greatness, why would he not squish the bugs under him? He's far superior than them.

He held his head up high. And with a standoffish smirk, he pushed away the people who are useless, and kept the people who wants to mooch off of him at an arms length.

But because of how much he tries to distant himself from people, he ended up with no genuine friends.

Always hiding behind fake smiles and forced brotherhood, he indulged in shallow relationships that's just filled with carnal desire and a connection easily severed by words.

He's bored.

So, why not ease the boredom by bullying?

It's not like the University can do jackshit about him. He's too far above to be disturbed, let alone suspended or expelled.

He's done awful things.

Flipping trays, ripping up artists' works, flushing down assignments, tripped up people in crutches, drove away people in wheelchairs, cut up or threw away earphones, broke phones and laptops...

Not just property damage, even mental damage.

He spreads rumors just because, he verbally assaults people who have "weird tastes" in fashion (it's literally just goth and emo), he blackmails teachers pets, and even pushes down suicidal people more.

He even made a student almost attempt. And he's fucking proud of that.

Just because he wants to ease the boredom in his heart.

He's too cruel for his own good.

If one asks if he's guilty, he just replies with:

"They fucking deserve it. They shouldn't live at all lol. Fucking losers."

And his parents? Blind and deaf to his bullying.

The school administration? Useless. Don't even try.

Everyone feared Uno.

But you do not.

You're openly hostile to the man, glaring and rolling your eyes at him whenever he harasses another student.

But he can also see how you shiver whenever he stares at you.

How peculiar.

You didn't cower, you didn't feign admiration...

You're genuinely and openly upset at him.

And he loved this fresh breath of air.

So, he didn't target you. At least somebody is not stupid enough to try and not get targeted.

Weird as it may, he started going around places that you normally would be.

The library, where he would cause havoc and topple down books, grab other students notebooks and throw them away, and play loud music, The park near your college building where he would steal food from the students, snip off plants, and break the chairs by slamming them, The rooftop where he would smoke and have regular fight offs...

You don't get to escape this man at all.

It was so amusing to him, seeing your panic and fear stricken face as he barges into your safe spaces and wreck havoc. He loved seeing you glare at him at the corner of his eyes as he harassed people, and how your face shifts to shock and nervousness whenever he caught your stares.

He loved it.

The weird one-way powerplay between you both was arousing this twisted man.

He was starting to crave you more and more.

He wants your eyes on him only as he committed atrocities, he wanted your disgust, fear, anger, and...

Was that affection he see?

"Holy shit..."

Do you, little miss prodigal nerd, have a crush on him?

He shakily breathe out, his hand gripping his face as it reddens. His eyes, hazy, intense, and crazy, revealed the deep emotions he had for you.

You're so cute.

His little nerd.

Emphasis on his. His and his only.

How hypocritical of you. You hated bullies but here you are, falling for him.

How fucking twisted is that?

And he reveled in that feeling.

The deep feeling of obsession with all of your emotions and feelings on him was more than the drugs he seldomly consume. He gets so high every time you loving him.

Love made him crazy.

Yeah, he loves you too.

And, with him making sure your "friends" are out of the way of his grand red carpet towards your heart and soul, Uno waited with bated breath at the right time to claim you.

That's it.

Your last friend, your supposed to be best friend, slapped you, dumped soup on your head and left you with words that stung deep in your soul.

"YOU'RE SO ARROGANT! JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE SMART, YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST WALK ALL OVER ME?!"

But you didn't. You swore you didn't.

But you only held your cheek as you watched them run away.

With a slump on the floor, you cried in the empty cafeteria.

You were so lonely.

You just wanted somebody to connect with you genuinely. No pity, no camaraderie due to being bullied, just genuine connection and friendship with another human that shares the same interests as you.

You didn't wish to be born.

You didn't wish to become this genius.

If it meant to lose the human connection you craved desperately, you don't want to be a genius at all.

You felt so cold, numb.

Your mind was only filled with what if's and what could have been if you didn't go to school here, or just...

You sighed.

You were struggling. So bad.

All of your friends left you, with the apparent reason of just tolerating you.

They never wanted to be your friend. You were like a collateral to them, a friend of a friend that squeezed into their friend group.

Who knew that all of them never really wanted to be your friend.

A pair of sneakers filled your vision when you cried your heart out to the ground.

Familiar basketball shoes.

Your head shot up and so does your heart as Uno smirked in front of you. A flash of mixed emotions run past by your eyes as you tried to back away.

"Nerd, how are ya?" He asked, a smirk that looks down on your situation situated on his face. "Saw your little friend run away from you."

You didn't say anything, just bit your lip as you looked away.

"Oh fuck. You're not friends anymore? Shit, you're so fucking lonely." The curses that slips past his lips were nothing short of mockery of your misery. "God, you must be so insufferable that even an unstoppable force like you get dumped."

"SHUT UP!" You finally screamed, eyes filled with pain and suffering seared into his brain. "YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING YOU FUCKING BULLY!"

But he only howled in laughter, as if it was the funniest shit he ever heard.

"I don't? Boohoo, I'll cry like you then. Wait, let me just..." He pinches himself before exaggeratedly crying into his hands. "OH BOOHOO! MY FRIENDS LEFT ME BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW~!"

You gritted your teeth, eyes ablaze with a newfound courage to confront Uno.

With shaky steps, you stood up and met him eye to eye, despite being shorter than him.

"And you're an unmovable object." You spat out. "Always doing whatever you want without any repercussions. Tell me, does it feel good to cause misery and pain to others?"

He scoffed, the annoying smirk widening. He grabbed an apple from your tray before biting into it.

"Yeah. So what?"

You want to punch him so bad.

"How did I even like you..."

Words slipped past your lips as your rage inhibited your cognitive and physical abilities to only say things in your mind.

Silence, before Uno doubled over laughing.

"Stop laughing!" You screamed, appalled by his behavior. Heartbreak imminent.

"It's just that... that was so straightforward, nerd!" Uno said between fits of laughter. "God, you're so fucking cute."

"Huh?"

Uno stopped, before clearing his throat and standing up straight.

"Hey, you know... I could take revenge on your behalf, little nerd." He whispered. His voice sending jolts of electricity down your spine. "I know you feel so betrayed right now. And I can just..."

Uno crushes the apple with his bare hand, making you shiver from fear and... Arousal at the display of raw power.

"Crush them. Just be mine." He offers, shaking off the apple chunks.

He made eye contact with you, before opening his mouth and licking the apple juice that dripped down his hand, seducing you.

"Both of us, prodigy in our own fields, are bound to be lonely. But we can be lonely together, ya know." He laughs a bit. "What we need is genuine human connection. No pretenses, no bullshit. Just us."

Your eyes shook at his words before it fell down to the apple chunks he dropped on your tray. With trembling hands, you grabbed one and ate it, not looking away from him also.

It was his time to shiver.

"Alright."

Bit into the forbidden fruit, the unstoppable force met with the immovable object. This meant doom for this godforsaken University.

What you didn't know that it was Uno's fault why your friends broke their friendship with you. Blackmailing them, making their lives living hell if they didn't pull back from you.

And as they shook with fear, tearfully crying for you and their future, they watched you become Uno's girlfriend.

Two humans, two prodigies, craving real and unfiltered connection.

It was the start of a relationship that will leave blood in their wake.

#yandere boyfriend #yandere imagines #yandere male #yandere writing #tw yandere #male yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere fic #lizzaneiaelizalde

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thedivinevera · 2 years

Text

[brain rot alert]

Part 2→

So like in each fanfic everyone has their own au, an au where the character cheat, you die and the character is crying for you, one sided love, mutual pinning, domestic au, yandere, etc, etc

So what if every character counterpart in different au is summon in a 1 room like just imagine this

(I am very sorry for using a lot of fuck you)

[counterpart is kinda long I am just gonna use "au"]

Yandere au : so you're telling me THAT YOU FUCKING CHEAT TO THEM FOR A WHORE!!

Cheater au : yes, I know it's bad and I absolutely regret it and—

Yandere au : YOU FUCKING better be, because do you know how many people I kill just to even fucking touch her and you!!! You just fucking cheat on them god dammit

yandere au :and you, do you know how much I dream to be in your place

Domestic au : oh you mean having a children with them, being their Sprouse, seeing them first everymorning I wake up from sleep

Yandere au : don't you fucking dare to flex that to me

One sided love au: well that's your fault actually, your crazy maniac

Yandere au :shut the fuck up not like you I atleast know that I have a feeling for them before it's too late

One sided love au: .....

Mutual pinning au: OK just shut up, the other us is crying right now

Yandere au: why he's even crying

Mutual pinning au: his version of darling is dead in his au

Everyone except "your dead" au and Mutual pinning : oh understandable

Smut au : umm hi?

Yandere au :fuck you

Smut au: why? Is it because I can f<ck them with CONSENT

Yandere au : right, wow your at least smarter than the other version of me in here

Hanahaki au : *silent*

Cheating au : *silent*

One sided love au : *also silent*

Rejection au : so am I the only one who doesn't love her?

Rejection au (different version) : shut the fuck up that's not a flex your gonna understand it later

Soul mate au : *slurping tea while looking at the chaos*

To be honest I can see yandere counterpart just loosing his mind while the other good ending au's counterpart is just playing card and sharing advice how to satisfy you, while the bad ending au's counterpart also suffering from the fact that if they're not dumb enough to hurt you they're gonna have a peaceful relationship with you and yandere Version just agreeing to them and calling them the dumb version of himself

(this is based on my daydreaming about yandere diluc meeting his another counter part who cheated to his darling lol )

Même bellow to understand my brainrot

Edit: more memes

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thekingofwinterblog · 8 months

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The Importance of Banter: Varric Tethras

So one of the more interesting takes I've gotten on my breakdowns of Dragon Age characters is the argument that Varric in terms of character development is one of the lesser characters in the game.

He stays the same, doesn't change much from beginning to end, and while enjoyable, his inclusion doesn't add nearly as much as some of the other characters in the game, and relies way too much on the goodwill from da2 to do most of the legwork for his inclusion in the game.

Now this isn't an argument without merit, I might agree a lot with this take... If it wasn't for the inclusion of one Dragon Age's staples, and one of the aspects that Inquisition arguably does better than ether ADO or DA2.

Character Banter.

Character Banter is extremely important because it gives us an insight into how characters think, how they interact, and showcases the more subtle elements that aren't always on display in the game itself.

Compared to the rest of the Characters, Varric is a bit different in that because he was a companion in the previous game, we can see how he's changed since the previous game.

Cassandra Pentaghast

So it's not an exaggeration to say that Cassandra and Varric has what is easily the most dynamic relationahip between any of the companions, having far and away the most interactions together out of party(And thats not even including the fact that all of DA2 is technically them talking to each other.

And this is reflected in their banter as well, where the two of them go back and forth like a married couple.

The thing that most be understood about Cassandra and Varric's banter though, is the fact that Varric is way, way smarter than Cassandra, who isn't dumb, but is not a genius by any stretch, which is reflected in the Dwarf's tendency to run rings around her all the time.

Cassandra: Have you heard from any of your Kirkwall associates Varric?

Varric: You're asking me? So you don't read my letters?

Cassandra: You're no longer my prisoner, much as you like to act like it.

Varric: Yet I still get all the suspicion.

Cassandra: I am not without sympathy, especially given recent events.

Varric: Why, Seeker, I would never accuse you of having sympathy! By the way I tend to refer to my "associates" as "friends". Maybe you're not familiar with the concept.

Cassandra: (sigh)

---

Varric: You know, Seeker, for someone with your tact and charisma you assembled a... pretty good little Inquisition. I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt and assuming you didn't drag them all here by force.

Cassandra: How kind of you.

Varric: I mean, you never know, you could have kidnapped Ruffles and she'd be too polite to say anything.

Cassandra: Leliana recruited Josephine. They're... friends.

Varric: So there's a rational explanation after all. Just when I thought you had layers.

---

Varric: It makes sense that Leliana did the recruiting when the Inquisition started. Not everyone can be intimidated into signing up after all.

Cassandra: I recruited Commander Cullen.

Varric: Lucky him.

Cassandra: He has made no complaints about my manners.

Varric: His last boss was a raving lunatic who turned into a statue. That's not a high bar.

All of these three bits of banter is from early in their shared chain, and illustrates their dynamic very, very well. Varric reads Cassandra like an open book, and is able to completely take control over a situation just by playing the role of the ass who is just sniping at her because he feels like it, when what he's actually doing is maneuvering the conversation so it can end on him having the last words by playing on the things Cassandra knows she cannot refute without lying.

That takes a lot of sponanous wit and an ability to think on the spot, something cassandra does not possess, but Varric has in plenty.

Of course this dynamic is only at the start as they have plenty more as the story develops. One innparticular is their relationship regarding Varric's liturature, which is one of the more entertaining side quests in the game, but it does tell us more about them in the followup banter.

Varric: Seriously? Swords and Shields? How did you find that serial? Scrape it off the bottom of a barrel in Dust Town?

Cassandra: It was research! I thought I might learn more about the Champion.

Varric: I did write a book about the Champion. You might remember it. Had your knife stuck through it last I saw.

Cassandra: I already read that one. Twice.

Here we learn how much Cassandra actually loves to read Varric's work, but more importantly we get something we rarely see in Varric. Him talking about his own failures.

Varric likes to pretend he's this amazing writer who always produce masterpieces, as he himself says to Bianca, as if he'd write about his own failures and mistakes...

And yet there is swords and shields, a book that Varric has deemed an abyssmal failure. A joke, a mediocre piece of trash not worth the paper it was printed on... And yet it has it's fans. This work that varric despises still managed to find an audience, and despite how much satisfaction he had smugly giving it to Cassandra, that still grinds his gears.

People shouldn't like his bad work. It should be forgotten in favor of his masterpieces. A very dwarven way of thinking.

Varric: I can't believe you picked the absolute worst of my books to read. Why not Hard in Hightown?

Cassandra: I have enough mysteries and investigations of my own.

Varric: What? You don't want to solve more in your spare time?

Cassandra: Then you killed my favorite character in Chapter 3, so I threw the book across the room.

Varric: Ah, a critic. Say no more.

In this one, we get Varric both genuinely questioning Cassandra, as he seems to have assumed she actually does like investigating mysteries(she does not), but also tries to nudge her over to read High in Hightown instead.

Cassandra: Varric, how could you let the Knight-Captain be framed for murder?

Varric: Well, I did spent three entire chapters setting it up.

Cassandra: But she didn't deserve it! You'd already put her through more than enough!

Varric: Look, Seeker, if you love a character, you give them pain, ruin their lives, make them suffer. Maybe even throw in a heroic death.

Cassandra: That makes no sense!

Varric: You care enough to argue. If she had a nice afternoon and took a nap, you'd stop reading.

I could deconstruct this, but basically it's just a bit of meta commentary on what makes a good story. Not only will it not be the last, but it's not even the most blatant. After all, this one could apply to other people besides Hawke.

Cassandra: What made you write about Hawke? All your other books are complete fiction.

Varric: Someone had to set the record straight about the Champion.

Cassandra: Yet your book is still full of lies.

Varric: But true ones. That's important.

Varric loves stories... But he understands what stories are at their heart. The difference between a Recounting, and a Tale. That's what history is after all, the Tales everyone passed down.

And what good tale doesn't have a bit of exaggerated bullshit?

Cassandra: Why is the second Hard in Hightown so completely different from the first?

Varric: (sigh) Because I didn't write it. Shit, did you pay actual coin for that book? One of these days, I'm going to find the duster who wrote that garbage and introduce him to my editor.

Cassandra: By "editor," do you mean your crossbow?

Varric: No, my actual editor. Best in the business. She runs half the Coterie in Kirkwall. Stickler for grammar. She once killed a man over a semicolon. I'd never print anything without her.

This one is more meta commentary, but it does have a bit more meat to it. Varric's whole spiel about his editor being super powerful in the Coterie could be the truth, it could be complete bullshit. Or it could be something in between.

That's not the important part. The important part is that he wants Cassandra to guess, to assume, to speculate, because that is far more powerful than just laying it all out could ever be.

Cole: She has to reach the other side of the hill.

Cassandra: Who does?

Cole: The Knight-Captain. But she's injured.

Varric: (sigh) Good job, Kid.

Cassandra: Is she alright? Is that how the book ends?

Varric: Not anymore.

Cassandra: Cole, what happens to her?

Cole: I don't know. The hill went away.

So here we see that Varric is one of THOSE authors. You know the kind, the ones who will rewrite an entire storyline because the big twists was leaked ahead of time.

It's not that important in the grand scheme of things, but it's interesting how through the game we see a very consistent picture of how Varric likes to write. He's a gardner variety writer, but unlike GRRM he's not the kind thst sticks to what he had in mind and sets up if the big twist is learned before it's finished.

As for His banter with Cassandra related to Hawke, it's entertaining, but not exactly that enlightening. Except for one.

If you chose in DA2 to save carver or Bethany by making them grey wardens, you get this bit when Cassandra Questions him about them.

Varric: Aveline took him off somewhere when the Calling started going nuts, but he'll tag along. He always does.

Varric: Aveline took her off somewhere when the Calling started going nuts, but she'll try to keep Hawke out of trouble.

Cassandra misses the obvious, but you probably didn't.

Varric knew about the calling from the start. Oh he didn't know the details, and he didn't know why... But he knew there was something up with the calling from the very start, and probably figured out this was the key reason from day one.

And he didn't share it. At all.

That speaks volumes of where his true loyalties lies, and it's something a lot of people miss.

Cassandra is right. Varric's heart will never truly belong to the Inquisition so long as Hawke and his Kirkwall friends exists outside of it.

There is also a turning point in their conversations, starting around the point where Varric's personal quest with Bianca happened.

Cassandra: Am I to understand your Bianca is married?

Varric: Oh, have we reached the stage where we gossip about each other's love lives?

Varric: Did you hear that, boss? Don't worry, I'll tell you whatever she says.

Cassandra: Forget I mentioned anything. It was a simple question, Varric.

Varric: There was nothing simple about it.

Varric actually blatantly questions wheter they've reached the point where they are now talking about each others love with each other. The truth is though, they actually have.

Varric: You brought up Bianca, Seeker. Does that mean I can ask about your conquests?

Cassandra: I would rather you didn't.

Varric: No tantalizing secrets to divulge?

Cassandra: None.

(If the Inquisitor is in a relationship with Cassandra)

Varric: So no one within, say, a five foot radius has caught your eye?

Inquisitor: Really? No one at all?

Cassandra: This... is not a discussion I want to have here.

Varric: (laughs) Are you blushing, Seeker? Maker, the world really is coming to an end.

Inquisitor: Perhaps Cassandra—and her conquest—would rather not discuss this in public.

Varric: Spoilsport.

Varric: Nothing? You do know he's standing right there...

Cassandra: I... have no conquests.

Varric: How about dalliances? Liaisons? Illicit affairs?

Cassandra: No.

Sera: Enough poking, Varric.

Varric: Is it, Buttercup? Is it?

It a rather humorous affair, but it does show that Varric at this point is comfortable prodding Cassandra's love life, figuring out how far he can push.

Which speaks for itself at how close these two have gotten at this point.

Cassandra: Very well, Varric. If you wish to know about men I have known, I will tell you.

Varric: Look, Seeker. I was only...

Cassandra: You are right. I pried first, and fair is fair. Years ago, I knew a young mage named Regalyan. He was dashing, unlike any man I'd met. He died at the Conclave.

Varric: Oh.

Cassandra: What we had was fleeting. And years had passed. Still, it saddens me to think he's gone.

Varric: I'm sorry.

Nothing to add here, just that Varric sorta gets sad when he realizes that was friendly prodding touched a very bitter and sad point from Cassandra's pain.

For which he apologizes.

Varric: Look, Seeker, I didn't mean to make you talk about your mage friend.

Cassandra: I know. I was not trying to make you speak of Bianca. If I was, you would know. I would yell, books would be stabbed.

Varric: (Chuckles.) I'll keep that in mind.

Also as the game reaches the end section, Varric and Cassandra begin to really banter in a much more friendly way.

Cassandra: I still don't understand how drakes take that hand.

Varric: ...Hmm. Maybe we should start you on Shepherd's Six.

Cassandra: Isn't that a children's game?

Varric: Yeah.

When trying to teach Cassandra card games at this point in the story, Varric has the perfect set up for a punchline like he did in the early game, but he doesn't use it, because he isn't mocking cassandra here, he's genuinely trying to teach her how to play cards.

And so he suggest starting her off with something simple, like a card game for children, cause he understands thats where she has to start at her level.

There are plenty more, but most of it is just well written, engaging or funny back and forths. But before moving on, i wanna highlight two of them.

Varric: Did you really think the Conclave had a chance of making peace, Seeker?

Cassandra: You do not?

Varric: What was the Divine's plan? Bring everyone together and hope really hard that they would all get along?

Cassandra: Most Holy did not confide her plan to me. Perhaps she thought they were tired of death and conflict.

Varric: Oh, when is that ever been true? For Templars or mages.

Cassandra: I will not mock a dead woman, Varric. She did what she could, and that is more than most.

This conversation is very important for one simple reason. It showcases how much Varric has changed since DA2. Varric used to be one of the big believers in compromise in that game. He didn't come out and say it out right, because in that game the Templar far and away were the more evil faction, and so there was way more chances for Varric to stick up for mages, but Varric really, REALLY didn't want the mages and Templars to go to war.

He had so many friends in both factions, friends he knew would die if it ever did come to true blows.

I would say that varric was probably the best example of what neutrality in such a situation should have been. Someone who is neutral because he understood thst fundamentally, both sides even at their worst, were people. Not demons, not monsters, but human beings or elves. But unlike many others who clamor for neutrality, Varric wasn't stuck up his own ass about it.

If he saw one side go over the ljne, regardless of which it was, he would not just stand by wheter it was power hungry necromantic blood mages, or Templars like Ser Alrik.

But here, he mocks the very idea of neutrality. He has completely given up on it, and he's accepted that the only solution here, is for one side or the other will have to decisively crush the opposition.

Of course he doesnt come out and say it like that, but that's the message to take away here. So long as there is a templar or mage on the field, this war will continue. He doesn't like that fact, but he has accepted it.

Cassandra: I hear reconstruction is progressing well in Kirkwall.

Varric: I know things are bad there.

Cassandra: I wasn't trying to...

Varric: You weren't trying to remind me how bad is it in Kirkwall? So you decided to talk about it?

Cassandra: About its recovery!

Varric: What you're talking about are the buildings, and even that will take years. People don't recover so easily.

Kirkwall, that is to say, the Kirkwall Varric was born in, grew up in, and spent the happiest years of his life(When he was running there with Hawke), is dead and gone, and never coming back.

He is never getting it back.

Which will be very important for the next companion's banter.

Blackwall

Blackwall is different than the rest of the crew in that he's utterly reliant on the Banter to have any sort of presence. He has no charisma in the actual game, but he does showcase a much more entertaining character in banter.

In regards to Varric though, his mian purpose is to showcase aspects of Varric we don't often see.

One of the most important comes very, very early into their relationship.

Blackwall: I once met a dwarf who made the best home-brewed ale.

Varric: I once met a Grey Warden who got possessed by a spirit and then blew up a Chantry and killed a hundred people. What makes people think you want to hear what others of "your kind" have done, anyway?

This is a moment that is:

1. Very uncharacteristic of Varric, who usually loves talking about other people if he gets any excuse to do so, and will be demonstrated in a very similar moment in his banter with the Iron Bull, only with a different reaction.

2. It's here to showcase Varric's hatred for Anders. Other than Sebastian, Varric misses pretty much the entire DA2 cast, his true best friends... Except for Anders.

Varric LOATHES Anders for his actions, for kickstarting the Mage Templar War and getting lots of his friends killed, but also for destroying his home and making his own worst fear come true.

Varric's biggest fear as shown in the fade is becoming his parents... And that's exactly what he has become in DAI. The depressed exile from a home city that he can never return to, and if he does, it won't be the same life they miss so dearly. Varric misses Kirkwall. He misses it's people, the Hanged man, and always thinking back on the glory days of his life.

And he misses Hawke.

All lost to him and never coming back, all thanks to Anders. Varric can never return back to that time, that place, that era, that friend group that was the highpoint of Varric's life, because the city of Champion Hawke and Varric the sidekick is as dead and gone as his parents.

The hanged man will never be the same, Hawke will never be the revered Hero they were after act 2, and every single one of the countless friends that Varric misses will not come back.

And so he hates Anders with a level of hatred he reserves for very, very few people.

The rest of Varric's starting relationship with Blackwall is about him trying to figure out what makes him tick, innitially pegging him as another Sebastian. Boring, safe, droll.

He also has more banter where he shows how depressed he actually is about Kirkwall.

Blackwall: I've been to Kirkwall. The Hanged Man, actually, probably been twenty years now. It was a dive if I remember correctly.

Varric: It's the dive. Filled with the best and worst people in the world.

Blackwall: Yes, I heard it was a haunt of yours.

Varric: Haunt? It was home.

He finally clicks with Blackwall, as they get into a shared passion nobody else in the party has. Jousting. The sport consistent of knocking people of horses with pointy sticks.

As a Free Marcher Varric has grown up with the Grand Tourney as a focal point of his identity, and loves the sport, so he and Blackwall bonds and argues over the sport, with the most notable part being their disagreements over who is the better jousting knight, where he also gives his own cents in the form of a meta commentary between who is the better protagonist, the Hero of Ferelden or Hawke.

Blackwall: You can't really think Reeve Asa is a better knight than Honorine Chastain. Her record's flawless. Four hundred jousts, never unseated. No one's ever come close to it.

Varric: Oh, she's easily the most skilled. That's a fact. It's just "scrappy" is better than "flawless." I like heroes who try their damnedest, even if they fail a lot. It's easy to be valiant when you always win and everything goes your way. There's nothing great in that.

The rather unsubtle meta message here, is comparing the protagonists of the first games.

The warden is the stronger, more skilled and more competent protagonist who ultimately always triumphed, changed the world, and became heralded far and wide as the greatest hero of her age.

Meanwhile Hawke is the scrappy underdog hero who always gets back on their feet regardless of how hard they fall, and never actually suceeds in anything. Hawke is a failure Hero who couldn't save their mother, their city, at least one of their siblings, maybe two, Ketojan, couldn't prevent the Qunari attack, and constantly failed to save the day through DA2.

Now i don't really agree with this rather simplistic reading of the Warden, but it's a good scene, because it shows that Varric is more than capable of overlooking all the work, effort and time it takes to produce a "perfect" result, as well as show that Varric has a very hard preference for underdogs, and the stories they produce.

Which leads into his reaction when Blackwall confesses his sins.

Varric: Maybe I've been too hard on you.

Blackwall: Oh, so you don't think I'm dreadful now.

Varric: Actually, I thought you were boring before. Completely different. We're all dreadful. Every one of us, fundamentally flawed in a hundred different ways. That's why we're here, isn't it? Take all the risks, so the good people stay home where it's safe. With the whole "Blackwall" thing, you told a story so compelling even you started to believe it.

Blackwall: That's much nicer than saying "You're a dirty liar.", I'll take it.

Varric: A story-teller's got to believe his own story, or no one will.

Here we can gleam a sad fact. Varric very pointedly notes "we're all dreadfull", as Us, as in, him included.

Varric doesn't really consider himself a good person anymore, if he ever did.

It's not like the Varric of Yesteryear considered hinself a saint or some knight in shining armor, but there was a sense that he was happy with himself during that game, in a way he is not in DAI.

Something has changed, and that something is guilt over unleashing the red lyrium on the world, and probably guilt over killing his own friends.

It's not really focused on as much as it should be, but Varric had plenty of friends amongst both the mages and Templars... Which meant that when Anders blew up the chantry, regardless of which side you picked, Varric was forced to kill people who genuinely mattered to him.

Hence why he's so quick to forgive Blackwall for his lies.

For the most part this generally manifests itself in regards to Red Lyrium, which he blames himself for bringing into the world. I would argue that the more subtle parts you get to see in Banter though, is far, far more interesting and better told than the stuff in the main quest.

Because despite his flaws he "takes all the risks, so the good people won't have to.", just like Varric and Hawke.

This is in large amount what Varric in Inquisition is for the most part all about. Guilt, self loathing, and wanting to be a better person.

He just masks it with his usual wit, charm and charisma.

Kinda like Blackwall, only he doesn't really have much charisma or wit to hide behind. Hence why he is so accepting of, and willing to give him another chance without question.

On a final note before we move on from Blackwall, we also get to see varric try to play matchmaker between Blackwall and Josephine which is cute, but not exactly surprising, or give us further insight into Varric's character.

Cole

Now, I'm not going to cover Cole here, not because the banter isn't interesting, or we don't learn anything, but that's all from the way we learn about the world, or Cole himself.

Varric's side of these banters can be summed up in one sentence, for pretty much every single banter.

Varric is Cole's dad.

Rinse, repeat.

Dorian

Similarily, I will not be covering the banter with dorian, not because it's bad, far from it, it's some of the most entertaining in the game, but it doesn't exactly add much beyond the fact that both Varric and Dorian love to gamble, and share witty banter.

Also nugs has some creepy ass feet. The stuff of nightmares.

The Iron Bull

Far more to be dissected, can be found in Varric's banter with the Iron Bull.

There is so much to learn from this banter, from Spy work to how the Antaam is viewed by the other Qunari and so on, but we'll focus on the stuff relating to varric, as he and bull talk about a lot of things.

Varric: You're not the first Ben-Hassrath I've run across. Hawke and I went on a caper with one named Tallis.

Iron Bull: You don't say.

Varric: She caused us no end of trouble. You wouldn't know her by any chance?

Iron Bull: Hey, one time I ran into this dwarf on the road. Short, grouchy. You think you might know him?

Varric: I'm in the Merchant Guild. Ten royals says I not only know him—he owes me money.

Iron Bull: Oh. Well... no. I don't know Tallis. Sorry.

In stark contrast to his talk with Iron bull, when not involving Anders or other people he hates, Varric loves to talk about people. To the point that in his comeback to Iron Bull, there is an invitation here for Bull to specify who this random dwarf was, because chances are, he actually might know him, and could elaborate on the guy.

Varric: How could you possibly be a spy?

Iron Bull: Well, it's a pretty easy job. I do some fighting, and drinking, and then once in a while I tell Par Vollen about it.

Varric: Heh. Where's the sneaking, the plotting, the subtle machinations?

Iron Bull: If you do that, everyone knows you're a spy. Drinking, fighting, writing notes, that's all it really takes.

Varric: Shit. You're either the worst qunari ever, or the best. I can't decide.

He also showcases great frustration with the way Iron Bull pokes holes in his Bond like spy writing, in favor of the mundane realities of Cloak and Dagger stuff.

Because for all that he prides himself on tall tales, varric does like his writing to somewhat be plausible. Its why he gets pissy at the inquisitor when he tells him how stupid so many parts of DA2 were writing wise, cause Varric wrote it how it happened, and while embelishing it, it was mostly true.

And if his spy writing isn't realistic enough that it might plausibly happen... Then it's not as good as it could be.

Iron Bull: By the way, Varric, you write some nice fight scenes.

Varric: Well, thank you. I'm surprised you think so. They're not exactly realistic.

Iron Bull: I figured that out when the good guy did a backflip while wearing a chain mail shirt.

Varric: And that didn't bother you?

Iron Bull: Back in Seheron, I fell on a guy who tried to stab me in the gut. I felt the blade chip as it went through my gut and hit my back ribs. But I was alive, and on top. I sawed through the armor on the rebel's neck, back and forth, until it went red. I don't need a book to remind me that the world is full of horrible crap.

Varric: Impossible swashbuckling it is.

Meanwhile, this bit is surprisingly layered.

First off, there is Bull's retelling and describing the way he dealt with the Vint while bing impaled as "realistic". If this was not a world with magical healing such as potions or poultices he'd had died from this incident, due to infection if nothing else. That's meant as a bit of meta irony.

But the actual meat of this, is that Varric is just letting Bull rant.

The whole "Backflip while wearing chainmail armor" is something Hawke can literarily do in DA2, Provided you are a rogue Hawke and has high enough stats. If so, when hit by a trap, Hawke will simply backflip out of the way, even if wearing chainmail armor.

It is the kind of shit that for a long was normal for Varric, and he writes it into his fight scenes(Which he has a self dig at calling them not realistic, despite having seen shit like that for himself all the time).

But he doesnt say any of that.

Instead he just lets Bull rant, get it out there how shitty he really feels, because varric knows when to talk, and when to listen, and here is a time to listen.

Varric: So, Bull. You and Dorian?

Iron Bull: Mm-hmm.

Varric: "Two worlds tearing them apart, Tevinter and Qunari, with only love to keep them together."

Dorian: I don't see how this is even remotely your business, Varric.

Iron Bull: Could you make it sound angrier? "Love" is a bit soft.

Dorian: Please stop helping the dwarf.

Varric: How about passion?

Iron Bull: Yes, that's better. Love is all starlight and gentle blushes. Passion leaves your fingers sore from clawing the sheets.

Dorian: You could at least have had the courtesy to use the bedposts.

Iron Bull: Hey, don't top from the bottom.

Varric: Passion it is, then.

Also, i wanna highlight his banter with bull, if he and dorian hook up, and if both are with him in the party. It's really the only bit of Dorian varric banter with real character meat to it, as it puts Dorian's rarely seen tsundere side on full display, and why he makes such a good match with the easy going, yet equally passionate iron bull.

Iron Bull: Hey, Varric, I was reading your stuff... Where do your bad guys come from?

Varric: Well, some of them come from Tevinter and some are Ben-Hassrath spies... but I like the stories where the villain was the man beside you the whole time. The best villains don't see themselves as evil. They're fighting for a good cause, willing to get their hands dirty.

Iron Bull: All right, that's really deep and all, but I meant where do the bad guys come from literally? The way you write it, it's like they just fall from the sky and land on top on the hero.

Varric: I like to leave some things to the reader's imagination.

Also, final bit i'll cover of these two here. It's both a meta hit of writing in that it's supposed to be about solas, but can also apply to Iron bull, and is a self depreciating dig on the single worst gameplay mechanic from DA2.

Sera

So, as with Cole and Dorian, im not covering this sequence of banter as it doesn't really reveal much about Varric as a character. Its generally just Sera trying her usual bullshit, and Varric taking the piss out of her, much to her frustration.

Im not exactly a big fan of Sera, and even here, where most of their dialogue is about Varric basicaly running rings around her, don't really makes me smile.

There is one bit of banter though, that i do want to highlight.

Sera: (sing-song) La la la la la, Sentinals are shits.

Varric: Like it or not, Buttercup, that’s where you come from.

Sera: Says the undwarfiest dwarf ever!

Varric: Fair enough. Paragons can be shits too.

So, this one i feel is extremely important, for the reason that it goes to showcase that 1. Sera doesn't understand Varric in the slightest, and 2. Really goes to showcase Sera's complete and total lack of self awareness, and just how out of touch she is, raiding other people's homes, and calling them shits for defending themselves.

But that second one i'll save for Sera's banter review.

For this one, I want to highlight how Varric, just like Dorian understands and more importantly loves the Culture he originates from. He knows how shitty dwarven culture can be, and will never avoid taking the piss out of it for all it's flaws, but he also admires it. He admires their ability to create marvels, their grit and determination that has seen them take on the Darkspawn for a hundred years and still stand, and the individuals that stood up and above the rest to serve as legends, just like Hawke and the Inquisitor.

There is a reason his hangouts in both games are decorated full of very traditional dwarven furniture. Because he wants to live in a home that looks dwarven.

Because the past is important.

It's a bit of wisdom he tries, and fails to impart to Sera, that you simply trying to pretend your roots don't exists never works. And he's right. Even though Sera never admits wrong on her own part, she fully admits she burnt out on this spiteful hatred in Tresspasser.

Solas

Solas and Varric's banter though, is far, far more interesting.

Both of them are tricksters, both value the past greatly in their own way, both understands the power of a story, both of them lie to the Inquisitor, and both would rather remain the side character than step up to take the spotlight.

And yet they are different. Opposites almost.

One of Varric's defining feature as a person is that he cares about all his friends and how those friendships transcends the chains of status, having become friends with dwarves, Qunari, kossiths, humans, elves, templars, mages, seekers, antivans, fereldens, kirkwallers, orlesians, tevinters, anders, revains, avvar, and so on.

Solas single defining feature is how he sees everyone he does not knows except for his own, very small list of what he considers countrymen, as not things, and is willing to destroy the world for them to prosper.

Varric stays out of the spotlight cause he likes being the power behind the throne. Solas does it because as the Herald's Judas, he doesn't want anyone to question the many, many questions about him further than they have to.

Varric lives in the present, but respects the past. Solas in the past, and is terrified of the present.

Which leads to some of the most interesting banter in the game.

Solas: By the end of Hard in Hightown, almost every character is revealed as a spy or a traitor.

Varric: Wait, you read my book?

Solas: It was in the Inquisition library. Everyone but Donnen turned out to be in disguise. Is that common?

Varric: Are we still talking about books or are you asking if everyone I know is a secret agent?

Solas: Are there many tricksters in dwarven literature?

Varric: A handful, but they're the exception. Mostly they're just honoring the ancestors. It's very dull stuff. Human literature? Now there's where you'll find the tricky, clever, really deceptive types.

Solas: Curious.

Varric: Not really. Dwarves write how they want things to be. Humans write to figure out how things are.

Solas questions Varric about the to him, alien Dwarven liturature, trying to figure out what the new, "lesser" dwarves might write about when no longer part of a hivemind.

Varric gives it to him straight, but there is a deeper bit of character here.

Varric is able to explain this to Solas, because as a man who understands Dwarven culture, strengths, flaws, and weaknesses, and how it ticks, as well as undoubtedly having read a lot of dwarven literature, Varric is able to point out all it's shortcomings, or more accurately the way Human and Dwarven literature trends differentiate due to different cultural values.

Varric: You really spend most of your time in the Fade?

Solas: As much as is possible. The Fade contains a wealth of knowledge for those who know where to look.

Varric: Sure, but I don't know how you dream, let alone wander around in there.

Varric: Especially when the shit that comes out of the Fade generally seems pretty cranky.

Solas: So are humans, but we continue to interact with them... when we must.

Here Varric pries a bit into a topic he(If you took him with you in night terrors) only has experienced once before for himself, from someone who knows more about the fade and the veil than anyone.

Solas ends it on a much darker note than Varric assumes though, as what he means is, we have to tolerate them "for now."

Solas: Is it true that the entire dwarven economy relies upon lyrium?

Varric: Mostly. We've got the nug market cornered as well.

Solas: And the dwarves of Orzammar have never studied lyrium?

Varric: If they have, they certainly haven't shared anything up here. Why?

Solas: It is the source of all magic, save that which mages bring themselves.

Solas: Dwarves alone have the ability to mine it safely. I wondered if they had sought to learn more.

Varric: The folks back in Orzammar don't care much about anything but tradition.

So here we have Varric flat out bullshit Solas in several ways. He knows way more about lyrium than most, having studied red lyrium himself, and yet he does not give that information to Soals, the way he does with the Herald, showing that deep down, Varric trusts you far more than Solas, if not as much as Hawke.

He also knows that both surface and underground Dwarves have deeper knowledge of lyrium than any human, being it's the source of all the enchantments and magic, and that while they might not know it's origins, they understand how it works, and how to use it, transport it, store it, and so on.

If there is one thing Orzammar is good at, and not stuck in tradition, it's exploiting Lyrium to the hilt.

And yet he bullshits Solas about it completely. Because this is an early banter, the likely reason is simply that he does not trust him.

Which given his other important lies is not surprising.

And solas later recognizes this.

Solas: I find the fall of the dwarven lands confusing.

Varric: What's so confusing about endless darkspawn?

Solas: A great deal, although that is a different matter. Dwarves control the flow of lyrium. They could tighten their grip on it.

Varric: It's hard to get the attention of the humans when the darkspawn aren't up here messing with their stuff.

Solas: You're active in the Carta. You know your people could tug the purse strings. You could claim sovereign land on the surface, or demand help restoring the dwarven kingdom, but you don't.

Varric: You're not saying anything I haven't said myself, Chuckles. Orzammar is what it is

Solas Attacks Varric's arguments from adifferent angle here, without directly calling him a liar from the banter before, as he points out just how much power Orzammar has through it's economic might, how even if they know how to use Lyrium so effectively, they haven't been wielding that might to effecrively hammer out an anti Darkspawn coalition to crush the darkspawn in their own dens and wipe them out from the source.

Realistically, the dwarves are rhe only ones who could see it done, and yet they havent. Because before Bhelen, there was never a king willing to upend the entire system to get results.

Varric doesn't actually give his direct thoughts in this bit of banter, but it goes into future ones. Before that though, im gonna quickly cover another bit of banter.

Solas: Do you ever miss life beneath the earth? The call of the Stone?

Varric: Nah. Whatever the Stone - capital S - is, it was gone by the time my parents had me.

Solas: But... do you miss it?

Varric: How could I miss what I never had?

Varric: But say I did have that sense, that connection to the Stone. What would it cost me?

Varric: Would I lose my friends up here? Would I stop telling stories?

Varric: I like who I am. If I want to hear songs, I'll go to the tavern.

Solas: You are wiser than most.

Solas worships the past, to such a degree that he thinks being part of a hivemind under the titans, must have been better for the Dwarves, because of what it allowed them to accomplish by magic, and more importantly that it's what they used to be.

And what they used to be, must be better than what they are now, because the past is better.

Meanwhile Varric is content with the present. He never had stone sense, so why worry about it? Why dream of it, why become his parents? That would be absolutely awful, so why not embrace what you have now.

Though Solas doesn't know it, his backhanded praise here is actually even moreso than he knows.

Its backhanded by intention, because he acknowledges that varric is wiser than those who would wail about their lost glory... But as we'll see in the following banter, he regards all Dwarves, regardless of wheter they are like Varric, as lessers and fools. So varric is better... But he is still a fool.

Meanwhile, on Varric's part, it's even more backhanded than Solas intends because Varric is doing exactly what he's saying he isn't here.

Dreaming of glory days when all was simplier and he was a happier man. He's not dreaming of stone sense itself, but the sentiment is the same.

And he knows it. That's one of the saddest things about Varric in DAI. He became his parents, his worst fear, but he's very much aware of that fact.

Solas: Is there at least a movement to reunite Orzammar and Kal-Sharok?

Varric: What is it with you, Chuckles? Why do you care so much about the dwarves?

Solas: Once, in the Fade, I saw the memory of a man who lived alone on an island. Most of his tribe had fallen to beasts or disease. His wife had died in childbirth. He was the only one left. He could have struck out on his own to find a new land, new people. But he stayed. He spent every day catching fish in a little boat, every night drinking fermented fruit juice and watching the stars.

Varric: I can think of worse lives.

Solas: How can you be happy surrendering, knowing it will all end with you? How can you not fight?

Varric: I suppose it depends on the quality of the fermented fruit juice.

Solas: So it seems.

---

Solas:: I am sorry to have bothered you with my questions about your people Varric. I see so much of this world in dreams. Humans, my own people, even qunari. Dwarves alone were lost to me, save scattered fragments of memory where some spirit cared to watch. Now I know why I see so little.

Varric: And why is that?

Solas:: Dwarves are the severed arm of a once mighty hero, lying in a pool of blood. Undirected. Whatever skill of arms it had, gone forever. Although it might twitch to give the appearance of life, it will never dream.

Varric: I'd avoid mentioning that to any Carta, Chuckles. They might not take it the right way.

---

Varric: What's with you and the doom stuff? Are you always this cheery or is the hole in the sky getting to you?

Solas: I've no idea what you mean.

Varric: All the "fallen empire" crap you go on about. What's so great about empires anyway?

Varric: So we lost the Deep Roads, and Orzammar is too proud to ask for help. So what? We're not Orzammar and we're not our empire.

Varric: There are tens of thousands of us living up here in the sunlight now, and it's not that bad.

Varric: Life goes on. It's just different than it used to be.

Solas: And you have no concept of what that difference cost you.

Varric: I know what it didn't cost me. I'm still here, even after all those thaigs fell.

---

Solas: You truly are content to sit in the sun, never wondering what you could've been, never fighting back.

Varric: Ha, you've got it all wrong, Chuckles. This is fighting back.

Solas: How does passively accepting your fate constitute a fight?

Varric: In that story of yours—-the fisherman watching the stars, dying alone. You thought he gave up, right?

Solas: Yes.

Varric: But he went on living. He lost everyone, but he still got up every morning. He made a life, even if it was alone.

Varric: That's the world. Everything you build, it tears down. Everything you've got, it takes. And it's gone forever.

Varric: The only choices you get are to lie down and die or keep going. He kept going. That's as close to beating the world as anyone gets.

Solas: Well said. Perhaps I was mistaken

This entire banter line is about Varric and Solas.

On solas part it's about his very well spoken and articulated racist opinions on the modern dwarves compared to those who came before and trying to rack his brian around them not going to the lengths he himself would have gone to save their race.

Also the fact they are no longer part of the Titan hivemind. He's really stuck on that for reasons we don't really fully understand.

However, far, far more importantly this is about Varric's entire storyline in DAI.

Varric talks about Orzammar, about the loss of the deep roads, and yet they are all still there, still fighting, still marching on, rather than laying down and dying.

That is the true strength of the Dwarven race.

The ability to keep going even after losing everything. The original dwarves lost the titans and their magic. They marched on.

The dwarven empire lost the deep roads, and all but two thaigs. They marched on.

The surface dwarves lost their caste the last remains of their magic, and their status in dwarven society. They marched on.

Varric lost kirkwall. He lost his entire friend group that was the people who he loved more than any other group of people he has ever know. He lost his home that he grew up in and loved. He lost his parents and he lost Barthrand, the only remaining family he had, and who despite it all deeply, deeply loved. He lost Bianca, a teenage infatuation he never was able to get over.

And he lost Hawke. Either to Anders kickstsrting the war, or to the fade.

He lost everything he loved.

And yet He. Marched. On.

Varric's story in DAI is an understated one, one that isn't really given story focus, but unlike all the rest of the attempts at telling a more subtle story with the companions, this one actually worked.

Varric's story, is about his march onwards.

He lost everything due to Anders actions, and yet here he is. Marching forward through life. He hasn't laid down and died. He's still here. He's still fighting.

He still has hope.

And so he marches on through the twilight of his life, and keeps going, even if he loses Hawke forever... He keeps going, and he makes it through his depression, and grief to make a new life for himself in Kirkwall.

A new Kirkwall, but Kirkwall nonetheless.

Solas: That crossbow is remarkable, Varric. I am surprised the dwarves have not made more of them.

Varric: The woman who made Bianca would rather that not happen. Wars are bloody enough as it is.

Varric: A crossbow that fires this far and this quickly with so little training? Every battle would be a massacre.

Solas: Indeed. I am surprised, not disappointed.

Here we get a lot of insight into Varric... But also a moment of great moral ambiguity.

Everything Varric says here is true... But it would also mean his people finally, finally being able to destroy the darkspawn for good and all. Such a tech advantage would allow them to wipe the blighted Creatures from existence with ease.

Varric is more than brilliant enough to understand this... But he chooses not to think about it, or wheter it's a good course of actions, because he is shackled to Bianca even now, even still.

Bianca wants this crossbow not to be on the market, so he doesn't put it on the market, regardless of good or bad.

Varric: Hey Chuckles, do you ever play Wicked Grace?

Solas: I'm not much of a gambler anymore.

Varric: You don't have to play for real coin, that's just for keeping score.

Solas: What do you play for?

Varric: Conversation mostly. That way I win no matter how the cards fall.

This is a followup to Varric's original introductionary short story from way back in the day.

From that one we learn that Varric doesn't actually drink anything served at the Hanged man, he just orders a wine glass or beer mug, because he knows people get nervous if you don't drink in a bar, so he crafts an illusion to aid him in his rogue life.

Vivienne

So like a number of these I'm not gonna cover them in full, as while good, and well written, and paints a very clear picture of Vivienne, they're not exactly deep character pieces for Varrix... But I do wanna cover a few.

Vivienne: Am I to understand, Varric, that you knew the apostate who destroyed Kirkwall's chantry?

Varric: Unfortunately, yes.

Vivienne: What could he possibly have hoped to accomplish with such madness?

Varric: Exactly what he got: a whole lot of innocent people killing each other.

Vivienne: I take it he's no longer on your Wintersend gift list.

Varric: Depends. Does a flaming sack of bronto dung count as a gift?

Vivienne: Only if you tie it with a silk ribbon, my dear.

More Varric hating Anders, and laying all the blame of the Mage Templar Wars and ruining his life on him.

Vivienne: Tell me, Varric, who is the protagonist of this serial?

Varric: You know, we're so far into spoiler territory right now, I think I better stop talking.

Vivienne: Come now, darling. You can tell me.

Varric: Not on your life, Iron Lady. The best way to ensure a book's nevered finish is to tell someone your entire plot.

More Varric showcasing he cannot stand spoilers coming out, and it destroys his entire ability to write.

Vivienne: You know, Varric darling, I read your Hard in Hightown.

Varric: You did? Seriously?

Vivienne: Most of the Imperial Court did. It was in fashion a few winters ago.

Varric: Just how much gold is my publisher stealing from me?

One detail i really like about Varric, is that he tries to create this image of himself as always bring in control and all that... And then he has moments like this where his regular ass publisher swindles him for a shit ton of money.

Vivienne: How many chapters will this book be, Varric dear?

Varric: Well, the first one will come out in twelve chapters.

Vivienne: The first one?

Varric: I've read enough Orlesian fictions to know you never tell a story there in fewer than three complete books. They think you're just warming up after one.

Vivienne: And what happens to the scheming duchess in the first book?

Varric: Are you asking for spoilers, Madame De Fer?

Vivienne: Hints, darling. Not spoilers.

More Varric showcasing he understands other cultures and how they write stories.

#dragon age inquisition #dragon age #dragon age 2 #varric tethras #hawke #solas #cole #the iron bull #cassandra pentaghast #dorian #vivienne de fer #blackwall #thom rainier #sera #the inquisitor #the herald of andraste #meta #banter

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