damalur: (Default)
no, use my SPACE name! ([personal profile] damalur) wrote2017-01-28 12:18 pm

the hundred steps (dragon age, hawke/varric)

Originally posted on Tumblr.



someone should write hawke/varric fic where they have to get married for legitimate business reasons and nobody knows about it until one day the gang’s all sitting around in the hanged man having a drunken conversation and isabela’s like “what about you hawke, any plans to get hitched” and hawke’s like “heeeeeey i already am but it’s for PURELY PRACTICAL REASONS CONCERNING INVESTMENTS RIGHT VARRIC” and varric’s like “sure right there’s no way this is step twelve in my four-hundred part plan”


this post is going around again and i just want to say that i still endorse this idea 400% and would really like to write it someday because varric pulling a long con on an oblivious hawke is the most beautiful and hilarious concept

can you imagine

step one: set up a purely “accidental” meeting where you come out looking like the roguish, charming hero and she’s left wondering who that handsome devil is

step two: convince her to invest a significant amount of time and money (she’s poor, don’t forget she’s poor) in a joint business venture that will keep her in the city that much longer

step three: get to know her, learn everything you can, because she’s your partner now for better or worse

step three: appreciate her wit

step four: appreciate her dash

step five: catch a glimpse of the heart hidden under all that swagger; hoard that glimpse and the next one and the next one like it’s gold or commodities or really good liquor

step six: fight against the dawning realization that this is not just a business partnership

step seven: watch her back

step eight: pull her out of the darkness after she loses the rest of – no.

step nine: let her break against your rock

step ten: drag her out of the tavern before she can start another fistfight after someone accuses her of cheating at diamondback

step eleven: stop fighting the realization (shit) (SHIT)

step twelve: don’t tell her

step thirteen: watch her back. DON’T TELL HER. don’t leave her. everyone leaves her. not you.

step fourteen: teach her how to rely on someone

step fifteen: put up with her dog (you put up with her brother, you can tolerate her dog)

step sixteen: DON’T TELL HER. don’t tell her. don’t tell her. (yet.)

step seventeen: patch her up

step eighteen: don’t tell her. if you can’t resist, when you can’t resist, make it a story, a book, a legend, a limerick (”there once was a dwarf from the marches–”). she isn’t ready to hear it yet. remember her parents.

step nineteen: make sure that when the city burns, she doesn’t go up in flames with it

step twenty: leave her

step twenty-one: lie

step twenty-two: lie about why you left her

step twenty-three: lie about why you didn’t want her to leave

step twenty-four: write, when you can. pray, when you can’t. (like some chantry boy at his mother’s knee – aren’t you nearly forty? what does prayer or luck or grace have to do with the shitshow of the champion’s life?)

step twenty-five: look out for her finances

step twenty-six: look out for her brother

step twenty-seven: look out for her family

step twenty-eight: look out for her

step twenty-nine: pretend seeing her on the ramparts isn’t the biggest relief of your life. don’t tell her; she isn’t ready to hear and you aren’t ready to say it.

step thirty: tell her you missed her

step thirty-one: deflect with humor. that’ll hide the intimacy, surely. great. great.

step thirty-two: swallow your heart when you watch her swallow hers

step thirty-three: don’t think about it

step thirty-four: DON’T THINK ABOUT IT

step thirty-five: don’t think about leaving her behind, don’t think about how the green will eat away at her until none of that wit or that dash or that heart is left, don’t think that letter you’ll have to write, don’t think about her dumb dog or her magpie fashion or the gleam in her eyes or the slant of her smirk, don’t think about all the things you never told her, don’t think about all the ways you let her down, don’t think about

step thirty-six: lie

step thirty-seven: lie harder

step thirty-eight: lie to yourself

step thirty-nine: lie to everyone else

step forty: write that letter

step forty-one: don’t think about it

step forty-two: dream (hold on, dwarves don’t…)

step forty-three: see it through; she would

step forty-four: drink the dreams away (what in andraste’s name…)

step forty-five: decide the nightmares are worth it if you get to hear her voice again (nightmares, shit, is this how mages feel all the time? hallucinating on command?)

step forty-six: wait a minute –

step forty-seven: wait a minute –

step forty-eight: hang on to yourself enough to tell her – what were you going to tell her? it’s all tinged with green here – but you had something to tell her, even if it feels like you pay threefold for every word you force out, you have something to tell her before the green eats you alive

step forty-nine: tell her

step fifty: tell her to come home

step fifty-one: hope

step fifty-two: no, don’t hope, you stupid bastard, you know better by now

step fifty-three: but what if – she made a legend of herself doing the impossible, and that wasn’t all embellishment on your part

step fifty-four: hope

step fifty-five: find her

step fifty-six: fall to your knees

step fifty-seven: swallow that first sentence. swallow the second one, too.

step fifty-eight: help her up

step fifty-nine: tell her she looks like shit or that she’s pretty limber for a corpse or that the only time you picked up a pen since you failed her was to write one single letter or that she stole your favorite lockpicks and forgot to give them back and you never thought you’d see them again, hawke, you scoundrel

step sixty: don’t call her by her first name, don’t give away the game

step sixty-one: patch her up

step sixty-two: remind her that she isn’t a failure; remind her that she never has been

step sixty-three: give her your bed

step sixty-four: write another letter. write a couple of letters. write a whole damn book. roll your eyes when she suggests return of the champion: the rehawkening as a title.

step sixty-five: tell her you missed her

step sixty-six: deflect with humor

step sixty-seven: no. backtrack. tell her you didn’t mean that.

step sixty-eight: groan when she mock-swoons at the mere idea you didn’t miss her

step sixty-nine: swear another oath of eternal friendship or whatever the hell she wants (act casual about it. you aren’t casual. BE MORE CASUAL.)

step seventy: give up on acting casual

step seventy-one: give up on deflecting with humor

step seventy-two: be patient while she spends the next twenty minutes deflecting with humor

step seventy-three: tell her

step seventy-four: tell her you missed her

step seventy-five: tell her you aren’t kidding

step seventy-six: tell her you dreamed about her. tell her, message received.

step seventy-seven: assure her that the two of you are, in fact, talking about feelings

step seventy-eight: block the door before she can make her getaway

step seventy-nine: tell her you missed her

step eighty: watch her face while she solves that puzzle. watch the understanding creep over her. watch the fear bloom in her eyes. watch her fidget. watch her shudder.

step eighty-one: thank the maker that you taught her to trust you

step eighty-two: watch her stand her ground

step eighty-three: watch her stop fighting

step eighty-four: watch her step forward

step eighty-five: watch her reach for you

step eighty-six: stop watching

step eighty-seven: all right, let her deflect with humor one more time, she can deflect as much as she wants as long she doesn’t stop you from cupping her cheek in your hand

step eighty-eight: keep breathing when she reaches up and covers your hand with her own; you’re supposed to be jaded

step eighty-nine: make a joke

step ninety: make it clear you’re serious

step ninety-one: start planning. this is just the beginning.

step ninety-two: let her watch your back

step ninety-four: trust her

step ninety-five: trust everything except her common sense

step ninety-six: don’t let her set the curtains on fire – shit, hawke, did you do that on purpose?

step ninety-seven: give up

step ninety-eight: admit that you won your battle, but that she won the war

step ninety-nine: tell her again

step one-hundred: buy new curtains