1081 réponses à ce sujet

[Olwaye]

No, it just means you need to invite the rest of us over.

 

Don't tempt me,  that would be a night to remember! Well mostly remember . Also it would probably end up with most of us going over Morie artwork painted on my walls and you being coerced to carry on writing "It's hard to be a gentleman".

Plus some of us might be drawn into a chest hair competition , think of the neighbours

[Hunter111]

Um, does he have a twitter? I can send him a tweet telling him we like the idea and asking if he has an opinion. lol He's just as likely to say "Not really." and that's that, but yeah. XD we can see just how persuasive I am in 144 characters or less. lol
 
Also, page 29! So close to page 30! I don't have a reason why that's important. I just like round numbers. Keep it going, guys!

So, page 30! And you can forget about tweeting Gaider. Apparently he's leaving Dragon Age to work on another Bioware project.

  

Thank you for the promo, rda :$

As you can see, these nice people are more than happy to act as cheerleaders to those who provide them with free fic.

  

Plus some of us might be drawn into a chest hair competition , think of the neighbours

Since most of the people on this board are women, I really hope not.

[OrilliaOrange]

So, page 30! And you can forget about tweeting Gaider. Apparently he's leaving Dragon Age to work on another Bioware project.

  
As you can see, these nice people are more than happy to act as cheerleaders to those who provide them with free fic.

  
Since most of the people on this board are women, I really hope not.

 

They really are lovely. Hunter, I do hope you come back to writing, and thank you again for suggesting I join this board. 

 

Gaider's departure for another Bioware project is interesting...wonder what he's up to...

 

Well, we can figure out a compromise. Leg hair vs chest hair maybe?

[rda]

They really are lovely. Hunter, I do hope you come back to writing, and thank you again for suggesting I join this board. 
 
Gaider's departure for another Bioware project is interesting...wonder what he's up to...
 
Well, we can figure out a compromise. Leg hair vs chest hair maybe?

Yes, the only one who is occasionally a jerk is me, but that's just because I love a good argument and I'm slightly socially impaired. But if you tell me to back off, I will, because seriously, the last thing I want to do is hurt anyone's feelings, but sometimes I don't notice I'm being slightly tone deaf.

And now that I think about it, I do have something to add to the previous discussion. My children are one of the first things I think of when I wake up, and one of the last things I think about when I go to bed. I agonize over their safety and constantly try to balance their need for growth and independence over their need for safety. Although tragic accidents sometimes happen, and I pray they never happen to my family, I can't conceive of someone holding their children in such ill-regard that they would sacrifice their safety for any sort of gain. What children need most are parents who love them, not more money or social status. I mean, assuming you can afford food and shelter, which Cassandra's parents probably could.

I don't want to pull the "I'm a parent, you couldn't possibly understand" card, but once they put that child in your arms, you know you will do literally anything to keep them safe. And I don't think very highly of any parents that wouldn't do that.

And that was probably emotionally revealing enough to make everyone uncomfortable, so I apologize.

[OrilliaOrange]

Eh no need to apologize for feelings.

 

I feel you with the tone deafness

 

I've noticed that a big aspect of DA seems to be making your own rag tag sort of family. Maybe that comes into play with Cassandra, as well. No family other than her parents who were executed, her mortalitasi uncle, and her murdered brother. So she joins the Seekers and finds a new family there, and in the Divine's circle. Then the Conclave takes it all away again, Lord Seeker Lucius takes away the Seekers, and there's nothing left of the family Cassandra had made for herself, but the Inquisition is still there, there's still Skyhold to go home to. 

[goodgirl]

30 pages, yaaaaay! I know I am late but different time zones sometimes are difficult . Thank you, Elizabeth, for creating this wonderful home for our most favourite ship! *hugs*

 

 

No, it just means you need to invite the rest of us over.

Yes please! Let's go on vacation around Olwaye's . Don't have a clue where you are living but I am sure we'll have a good time.

 

Oh, and I read on Spirrum's blog that I guess she's not a native English speaker either? I am just so amazed and in awe of people who can write that well in their non-native languages. I could probably say "Romans, go home!" (Monty Python reference) in Latin and that is about it.

Yeah, spirrum's vocabulary is quite amazing, isn't it? I don't always hit the right tone with my choice of words because my active vocabulary isn't that vast (although I've been told that it's a bit too posh, me using the -ly adverbs and the 3rd person singular S, lol). And I tend to mix BE and AE and some Aussie stuff. But I usually get my point across, so it's all cool, I guess.

 

And yesssss! Life of Brian! Simply loving it. The scene you are referring to is so hilarious, I still crack up whenever I think about it. Should watch it again soon . In case somebody doesn't know this scene: https://www.youtube....h?v=IIAdHEwiAy8 If you had Latin in school, you'll feel it.

 

I have nothing to contribute to this fascinating conversation, but a few links for y'all:

Has everyone here checked out our newest poster Orange's fics at AO3? They're all really nice.

http://archiveofouro...s/OrilliaOrange

And, if anyone wants to visit the liquor store tonight, someone made up cocktails for all the party members in DAO to DA3: http://savegameonlin...n-age-cocktails

Most sound yummy but I don't think I'll be making Varric's anytime soon. I don't even know where you would get pair cider. (And in writing that sentence I suddenly forgot how to spell pear the fruit. Don't laugh. )

Thank you for the link to Orillia's fics and also the drinks! They sound interesting but there's just some pretty exotic stuff in there. I'm not to keen on spending 100 Eur on alcohol just to try it out .

 

Orillia, thank you so much for sharing your fantastic stories with us! I really enjoyed reading themm, particularily th Dragon Age Noir one. The tension is palpable. And it has nice cars . I am looking forward to reading more of it! The story I mean, not neccessarily the car. But wait, now that I am thinking about it... j/k.

[ZerioctheTank]

Yes, the only one who is occasionally a jerk is me, but that's just because I love a good argument and I'm slightly socially impaired. But if you tell me to back off, I will, because seriously, the last thing I want to do is hurt anyone's feelings, but sometimes I don't notice I'm being slightly tone deaf.

And now that I think about it, I do have something to add to the previous discussion. My children are one of the first things I think of when I wake up, and one of the last things I think about when I go to bed. I agonize over their safety and constantly try to balance their need for growth and independence over their need for safety. Although tragic accidents sometimes happen, and I pray they never happen to my family, I can't conceive of someone holding their children in such ill-regard that they would sacrifice their safety for any sort of gain. What children need most are parents who love them, not more money or social status. I mean, assuming you can afford food and shelter, which Cassandra's parents probably could.

I don't want to pull the "I'm a parent, you couldn't possibly understand" card, but once they put that child in your arms, you know you will do literally anything to keep them safe. And I don't think very highly of any parents that wouldn't do that.

And that was probably emotionally revealing enough to make everyone uncomfortable, so I apologize.

This reminds me of an example used in a book that I read called "Daring Greatly" by Brene Brown. Brene Brown identifies herself as a shame researcher & the main point she tries to get through to the read is to live in the moment & not dwell on what ifs. The example that she used in the beginning of the book was of a mother watching her children sleep being filled with so much love for them but a split second later an image of a car crash came to her & now that loving moment is replaced with one of fear & anxiety. Ever since I read that book I've made sure to embrace mindfulness ALOT more since I'm a person that is always stuck in his head, I don't get it right but I'm improving. I highly recommend reading that book for anyone that is interested. Normally I'm very iffy about self help books but between reading about how she decided to go back to school around the age I am now & the stuff that she said I was sold.

[Laurelinde]

*looks at stuff by writers whose first language isn't English*

 

*throws all pens in the garbage*

 

*remembers she uses a keyboard to write stuff now*

 

Erm, anyway, if anyone uses Tumblr (caution, there be dragons), there's a newish Cass/Varric blog out there: http://cassandravarric.tumblr.com/ - it's where I found these two lovely artworks! (under a spoiler tag for size):

 

http://awwnutbunnies...eed-to-get-back

Spoiler

 

 

http://awwnutbunnies...ost-interesting

Spoiler

[Hunter111]

Hey all.  I don't know when (if ever) I'll get back to my fic, but I had outlined where I was going, as well as writing the epilogue, in more or less its entirety.  I might have tinkered with it, depending on where things went, but this was more or less how it was going to end up.  And I am rather pleased with it (unlike the rest of my fic) and I wanted to share it with you.  You don't have to read it, but perhaps you might like it?  And if you don't, you could always lie to me and say, like, Vivienne, "Darling, it was fabulous!"

 

Spoiler

 

And so, they lived happily ever after.  Or at least, tolerably ever after, as far as these things go, for in the real world instead of fairy-tale romances, people do not go from happiness to happiness, but rather have lives to live, and happiness is more of a decision than anything else.

 

The Divine actually married them.  Neither Varric nor Cassandra were, as a rule, given to public spectacle, but in this case they made an exception for their old friend Leliana.  It was a masterstroke of public relations, for who would dare object (at least out loud) to the marriage of two of the pre-eminent heroes of their age?  And if everyone took the point that one of them was a dwarf, and dwarves and other races were to be brought into the Chantry under Divine Victoria’s reign, so much the better.

 

Though perhaps there was just a little of Cassandra’s romantic soul that thrilled at the prospect of a big wedding in Val Royeaux.  Not that she’d admit it, of course.  Publicly she called it “so much foolishness” but if in private Varric caught her a time or two with her eyes sparkling, he was wise enough not to mention it, and smiled to himself at her enjoyment.

 

The wedding itself was a well-attended and wonderful affair, a place to see and be seen.  Everyone from the Empress Celene to the Inquisitor to the Grand Enchanter were in attendance; some out of inclination, and some strong-armed by the Divine into providing public support for her reforms.

 

And if the bride was perhaps a tad more…blooming…than was typical at such events, everyone kept their mouths shut, except for the most vicious and intemperate gossips, who were promptly ignored.

 

And then, having considered the various other options, and in accordance with Varric’s strong opinions on the matter, and Cassandra’s indecision, they moved to Kirkwall.  But the marriage of two such strong-willed people unused to living with others was invariably going to be rocky, regardless of their love for each other, which they had in abundance.

 

Matters finally came to a head when a heavily pregnant Cassandra, over some slight that seemed serious enough at the time, but could hardly be remembered later, had an episode that would be remembered with a laugh (some years after) as “The Night I Broke Everything in the House.”  But at the time, of course, it was no laughing matter.

 

After Varric had stormed out, when a plate narrowly missed his head, she had collapsed, sobbing, to the floor and wondered how she had ended up in such a mess, married to the dwarf, and so pregnant she no longer recognized her body, and Maker, she had made such a mistake…and then the child kicked, and she had rubbed her stomach, and cried harder.

 

Unusual behavior for such a one as Cassandra, but her life had taken some unexpected turns recently, and who could blame her for giving vent to her trepidations just once or twice through tears?  Especially since, as her body had changed, she could no longer get rid of her angers and fears through physical activity, as she had been wont to do. 

 

And the aggrieved Varric?  Well, he was halfway up the stairs at The Blooming Rose before he realized what a colossal mistake he was making.  Not an episode that reflected well on him, perhaps, being that his first instinct was to run away and f!ck everything up.

 

But what was important in this case was that he didn’t f!ck things up. He paid Madame Lusine five sovereigns for her inconvenience, and instead went to The Hanged Man for a drink, getting rather less inebriated than he thought he would, and coming home early to his wife.

 

And when they made love that night, slowly and gently, with their child between them, Varric had to swallow around the lump in his throat when he realized he had almost screwed this up, and he made a promise to himself not to run away again; a promise that, in the ensuing years, he kept. 

 

And Cassandra, around the lump in her throat, knew that she loved Varric, and loved their child, and she hadn’t made a mistake.  And as the years went on, she became easier to live with, as motherhood, as it will, rubbed some of the hard edges away, and if she was still quick-tempered from time to time, she was also more patient and forgiving.

 

And the child itself?  Well, Varric had known it was going to be a beautiful girl who looked like her mother.  So it was with some surprise on that fateful day that he found himself looking into the wide blue eyes of his son.

 

“He’s beautiful,” Cassandra had said, holding their child, her face white and exhausted, and lined with the memory of pain.  But she had forgotten all that, or perhaps it no longer mattered, when she saw their son, and she smiled a full, wide smile, full of wonder and joy, as she reached up to draw Varric closer.  “Isn’t he?”

 

At which question he could only nod and kiss his wife, as the tears rolled down his cheeks.  Not that he was sad, of course.  Sometimes, the heart was just too full to express itself any other way.

 

They had named him Anthony, after her brother.  She had asked if he wanted to name him after Hawke, but Varric had shook his head and refused.  Some things were still too raw.

 

And Varric wrote his novels (but never about the Inquisition, because then he would have to mention—her, and how she had died, so that story remained untold.)  And he sat on his seat in the dwarven merchant guild meetings—when he couldn’t get out of it—and he grew prosperous and rich.

 

And Cassandra settled down in Kirkwall, and made her life there.  She no longer saved the world, or foiled assassination attempts on the Divine, or stood as her Right Hand.  But after a peripatetic existence, in a way it was a relief to come home to the same house every day, and always be surrounded by the people she loved.  That didn’t mean she didn’t keep busy, of course.  She was the representative of the rebuilt Seekers in Kirkwall, and with the Veil stretched so thin there, she had her hands full ensuring peace was kept and neither mages, nor demons, ventured where they were not supposed to be.

 

She was also occasionally sent for, as one of the last remaining of the old Seekers, the kind who went through the trial, and could set the lyrium in a person’s blood aflame, to deal with particularly dangerous and recalcitrant mages.  And on those times, she would put on her armor, as she had always done before, but this time it was with a heaviness in her heart, as she kissed her husband, and his little red-headed shadow, their son, goodbye.

 

This continued until one day when she almost didn’t come home, and Varric had gasped in helping her take her armor off, when he had seen her left arm, charred, with burns almost from shoulder to wrist from where a fireball had narrowly missed her chest.

Varric had put his foot down then, and she had been tempted to argue, tell him she was still needed, but she had looked at her smiling little boy, hesitated, and meekly agreed when Varric told her it was someone else’s turn to take such risks.

 

And when Anthony was no longer such a little boy, and could run over to his Aunt Aveline’s house to play with her son, Cassandra and Varric had gotten the second surprise of their lives.

 

And when they had announced it to what remained of Varric’s—and now Cassandra’s—old friends, blushing a bit, because who would have imagined at their age?, Isabella had broken the ice by loudly asking Varric if he needed her to sit down and explain where babies came from, because with two such accidents, it certainly seemed like he didn’t know.

 

And they had all smiled, and laughed, because life was full and the Maker was kind.

 

And this time, this time, Varric knew it was going to be a little girl like her mother, and this time, they would name her Vivian, after his best friend, because the hurt had become palatable now, a sore spot, but not an open, gaping wound.

 

But though this child looked more like Cassandra, it was another son, and he quickly amended Vivian to Hawke, and it felt right in a way it wouldn’t have years ago.  And Varric, thinking his heart was full to overflowing before, found plenty more room when he welcomed this new member to their family, even as a small part of it still ached for the best friend who would never see her namesake.

 

Their sons grew up to be good boys and later, good men—though that is a story for a different time—even though they occasionally drove their mother to distraction.  More than once, she would turn her eyes skyward (seriously or jokingly, the men in her life were never entirely sure) and ask, “Maker, what did I do to deserve three silver-tongued rogues in my life?”  And one of them, usually Varric, but as they got older, sometimes one of her sons, would say, “I don’t know, but you’re very lucky!” until they would chorus it together and Cassandra would roll her eyes, and make a disgusted noise, and sometimes go to stay with Aveline for a few days.

 

And as the years ran, as they do, with their own triumphs and disappointments, happinesses and heartaches, at least Varric and Cassandra had each other, even on those occasions where they had quarreled or disagreed or simply didn’t like each other very much (and of the latter, there were more than a few).

 

They weren’t blissfully happy, their lives weren’t untroubled, but they had each other, they had their family, and they had their friends, and that was more than most, and it was enough.

 

THE END.

 

[wistful81]

Hey all.  I don't know when (if ever) I'll get back to my fic, but I had outlined where I was going, as well as writing the epilogue, in more or less its entirety.  I might have tinkered with it, depending on where things went, but this was more or less how it was going to end up.  And I am rather pleased with it (unlike the rest of my fic) and I wanted to share it with you.  You don't have to read it, but perhaps you might like it?  And if you don't, you could always lie to me and say, like, Vivienne, "Darling, it was fabulous!"
 

Spoiler

 
And so, they lived happily ever after.  Or at least, tolerably ever after, as far as these things go, for in the real world instead of fairy-tale romances, people do not go from happiness to happiness, but rather have lives to live, and happiness is more of a decision than anything else.
 
The Divine actually married them.  Neither Varric nor Cassandra were, as a rule, given to public spectacle, but in this case they made an exception for their old friend Leliana.  It was a masterstroke of public relations, for who would dare object (at least out loud) to the marriage of two of the pre-eminent heroes of their age?  And if everyone took the point that one of them was a dwarf, and dwarves and other races were to be brought into the Chantry under Divine Victoria’s reign, so much the better.
 
Though perhaps there was just a little of Cassandra’s romantic soul that thrilled at the prospect of a big wedding in Val Royeaux.  Not that she’d admit it, of course.  Publicly she called it “so much foolishness” but if in private Varric caught her a time or two with her eyes sparkling, he was wise enough not to mention it, and smiled to himself at her enjoyment.
 
The wedding itself was a well-attended and wonderful affair, a place to see and be seen.  Everyone from the Empress Celene to the Inquisitor to the Grand Enchanter were in attendance; some out of inclination, and some strong-armed by the Divine into providing public support for her reforms.
 
And if the bride was perhaps a tad more…blooming…than was typical at such events, everyone kept their mouths shut, except for the most vicious and intemperate gossips, who were promptly ignored.
 
And then, having considered the various other options, and in accordance with Varric’s strong opinions on the matter, and Cassandra’s indecision, they moved to Kirkwall.  But the marriage of two such strong-willed people unused to living with others was invariably going to be rocky, regardless of their love for each other, which they had in abundance.
 
Matters finally came to a head when a heavily pregnant Cassandra, over some slight that seemed serious enough at the time, but could hardly be remembered later, had an episode that would be remembered with a laugh (some years after) as “The Night I Broke Everything in the House.”  But at the time, of course, it was no laughing matter.
 
After Varric had stormed out, when a plate narrowly missed his head, she had collapsed, sobbing, to the floor and wondered how she had ended up in such a mess, married to the dwarf, and so pregnant she no longer recognized her body, and Maker, she had made such a mistake…and then the child kicked, and she had rubbed her stomach, and cried harder.
 
Unusual behavior for such a one as Cassandra, but her life had taken some unexpected turns recently, and who could blame her for giving vent to her trepidations just once or twice through tears?  Especially since, as her body had changed, she could no longer get rid of her angers and fears through physical activity, as she had been wont to do. 
 
And the aggrieved Varric?  Well, he was halfway up the stairs at The Blooming Rose before he realized what a colossal mistake he was making.  Not an episode that reflected well on him, perhaps, being that his first instinct was to run away and f!ck everything up.
 
But what was important in this case was that he didn’t f!ck things up. He paid Madame Lusine five sovereigns for her inconvenience, and instead went to The Hanged Man for a drink, getting rather less inebriated than he thought he would, and coming home early to his wife.
 
And when they made love that night, slowly and gently, with their child between them, Varric had to swallow around the lump in his throat when he realized he had almost screwed this up, and he made a promise to himself not to run away again; a promise that, in the ensuing years, he kept. 
 
And Cassandra, around the lump in her throat, knew that she loved Varric, and loved their child, and she hadn’t made a mistake.  And as the years went on, she became easier to live with, as motherhood, as it will, rubbed some of the hard edges away, and if she was still quick-tempered from time to time, she was also more patient and forgiving.
 
And the child itself?  Well, Varric had known it was going to be a beautiful girl who looked like her mother.  So it was with some surprise on that fateful day that he found himself looking into the wide blue eyes of his son.
 
“He’s beautiful,” Cassandra had said, holding their child, her face white and exhausted, and lined with the memory of pain.  But she had forgotten all that, or perhaps it no longer mattered, when she saw their son, and she smiled a full, wide smile, full of wonder and joy, as she reached up to draw Varric closer.  “Isn’t he?”
 
At which question he could only nod and kiss his wife, as the tears rolled down his cheeks.  Not that he was sad, of course.  Sometimes, the heart was just too full to express itself any other way.
 
They had named him Anthony, after her brother.  She had asked if he wanted to name him after Hawke, but Varric had shook his head and refused.  Some things were still too raw.
 
And Varric wrote his novels (but never about the Inquisition, because then he would have to mention—her, and how she had died, so that story remained untold.)  And he sat on his seat in the dwarven merchant guild meetings—when he couldn’t get out of it—and he grew prosperous and rich.
 
And Cassandra settled down in Kirkwall, and made her life there.  She no longer saved the world, or foiled assassination attempts on the Divine, or stood as her Right Hand.  But after a peripatetic existence, in a way it was a relief to come home to the same house every day, and always be surrounded by the people she loved.  That didn’t mean she didn’t keep busy, of course.  She was the representative of the rebuilt Seekers in Kirkwall, and with the Veil stretched so thin there, she had her hands full ensuring peace was kept and neither mages, nor demons, ventured where they were not supposed to be.
 
She was also occasionally sent for, as one of the last remaining of the old Seekers, the kind who went through the trial, and could set the lyrium in a person’s blood aflame, to deal with particularly dangerous and recalcitrant mages.  And on those times, she would put on her armor, as she had always done before, but this time it was with a heaviness in her heart, as she kissed her husband, and his little red-headed shadow, their son, goodbye.
 
This continued until one day when she almost didn’t come home, and Varric had gasped in helping her take her armor off, when he had seen her left arm, charred, with burns almost from shoulder to wrist from where a fireball had narrowly missed her chest.
Varric had put his foot down then, and she had been tempted to argue, tell him she was still needed, but she had looked at her smiling little boy, hesitated, and meekly agreed when Varric told her it was someone else’s turn to take such risks.
 
And when Anthony was no longer such a little boy, and could run over to his Aunt Aveline’s house to play with her son, Cassandra and Varric had gotten the second surprise of their lives.
 
And when they had announced it to what remained of Varric’s—and now Cassandra’s—old friends, blushing a bit, because who would have imagined at their age?, Isabella had broken the ice by loudly asking Varric if he needed her to sit down and explain where babies came from, because with two such accidents, it certainly seemed like he didn’t know.
 
And they had all smiled, and laughed, because life was full and the Maker was kind.
 
And this time, this time, Varric knew it was going to be a little girl like her mother, and this time, they would name her Vivian, after his best friend, because the hurt had become palatable now, a sore spot, but not an open, gaping wound.
 
But though this child looked more like Cassandra, it was another son, and he quickly amended Vivian to Hawke, and it felt right in a way it wouldn’t have years ago.  And Varric, thinking his heart was full to overflowing before, found plenty more room when he welcomed this new member to their family, even as a small part of it still ached for the best friend who would never see her namesake.
 
Their sons grew up to be good boys and later, good men—though that is a story for a different time—even though they occasionally drove their mother to distraction.  More than once, she would turn her eyes skyward (seriously or jokingly, the men in her life were never entirely sure) and ask, “Maker, what did I do to deserve three silver-tongued rogues in my life?”  And one of them, usually Varric, but as they got older, sometimes one of her sons, would say, “I don’t know, but you’re very lucky!” until they would chorus it together and Cassandra would roll her eyes, and make a disgusted noise, and sometimes go to stay with Aveline for a few days.
 
And as the years ran, as they do, with their own triumphs and disappointments, happinesses and heartaches, at least Varric and Cassandra had each other, even on those occasions where they had quarreled or disagreed or simply didn’t like each other very much (and of the latter, there were more than a few).
 
They weren’t blissfully happy, their lives weren’t untroubled, but they had each other, they had their family, and they had their friends, and that was more than most, and it was enough.
 
THE END.
 

I looooooved that. Damn, but that makes me sad you stopped writing your series

[Hunter111]

I looooooved that. Damn, but that makes me sad you stopped writing your series

If you did truly enjoy it, I'm happy.

[ZerioctheTank]

Hey all. I don't know when (if ever) I'll get back to my fic, but I had outlined where I was going, as well as writing the epilogue, in more or less its entirety. I might have tinkered with it, depending on where things went, but this was more or less how it was going to end up. And I am rather pleased with it (unlike the rest of my fic) and I wanted to share it with you. You don't have to read it, but perhaps you might like it? And if you don't, you could always lie to me and say, like, Vivienne, "Darling, it was fabulous!"

Spoiler

And so, they lived happily ever after. Or at least, tolerably ever after, as far as these things go, for in the real world instead of fairy-tale romances, people do not go from happiness to happiness, but rather have lives to live, and happiness is more of a decision than anything else.

The Divine actually married them. Neither Varric nor Cassandra were, as a rule, given to public spectacle, but in this case they made an exception for their old friend Leliana. It was a masterstroke of public relations, for who would dare object (at least out loud) to the marriage of two of the pre-eminent heroes of their age? And if everyone took the point that one of them was a dwarf, and dwarves and other races were to be brought into the Chantry under Divine Victoria’s reign, so much the better.

Though perhaps there was just a little of Cassandra’s romantic soul that thrilled at the prospect of a big wedding in Val Royeaux. Not that she’d admit it, of course. Publicly she called it “so much foolishness” but if in private Varric caught her a time or two with her eyes sparkling, he was wise enough not to mention it, and smiled to himself at her enjoyment.

The wedding itself was a well-attended and wonderful affair, a place to see and be seen. Everyone from the Empress Celene to the Inquisitor to the Grand Enchanter were in attendance; some out of inclination, and some strong-armed by the Divine into providing public support for her reforms.

And if the bride was perhaps a tad more…blooming…than was typical at such events, everyone kept their mouths shut, except for the most vicious and intemperate gossips, who were promptly ignored.

And then, having considered the various other options, and in accordance with Varric’s strong opinions on the matter, and Cassandra’s indecision, they moved to Kirkwall. But the marriage of two such strong-willed people unused to living with others was invariably going to be rocky, regardless of their love for each other, which they had in abundance.

Matters finally came to a head when a heavily pregnant Cassandra, over some slight that seemed serious enough at the time, but could hardly be remembered later, had an episode that would be remembered with a laugh (some years after) as “The Night I Broke Everything in the House.” But at the time, of course, it was no laughing matter.

After Varric had stormed out, when a plate narrowly missed his head, she had collapsed, sobbing, to the floor and wondered how she had ended up in such a mess, married to the dwarf, and so pregnant she no longer recognized her body, and Maker, she had made such a mistake…and then the child kicked, and she had rubbed her stomach, and cried harder.

Unusual behavior for such a one as Cassandra, but her life had taken some unexpected turns recently, and who could blame her for giving vent to her trepidations just once or twice through tears? Especially since, as her body had changed, she could no longer get rid of her angers and fears through physical activity, as she had been wont to do.

And the aggrieved Varric? Well, he was halfway up the stairs at The Blooming Rose before he realized what a colossal mistake he was making. Not an episode that reflected well on him, perhaps, being that his first instinct was to run away and f!ck everything up.

But what was important in this case was that he didn’t f!ck things up. He paid Madame Lusine five sovereigns for her inconvenience, and instead went to The Hanged Man for a drink, getting rather less inebriated than he thought he would, and coming home early to his wife.

And when they made love that night, slowly and gently, with their child between them, Varric had to swallow around the lump in his throat when he realized he had almost screwed this up, and he made a promise to himself not to run away again; a promise that, in the ensuing years, he kept.

And Cassandra, around the lump in her throat, knew that she loved Varric, and loved their child, and she hadn’t made a mistake. And as the years went on, she became easier to live with, as motherhood, as it will, rubbed some of the hard edges away, and if she was still quick-tempered from time to time, she was also more patient and forgiving.

And the child itself? Well, Varric had known it was going to be a beautiful girl who looked like her mother. So it was with some surprise on that fateful day that he found himself looking into the wide blue eyes of his son.

“He’s beautiful,” Cassandra had said, holding their child, her face white and exhausted, and lined with the memory of pain. But she had forgotten all that, or perhaps it no longer mattered, when she saw their son, and she smiled a full, wide smile, full of wonder and joy, as she reached up to draw Varric closer. “Isn’t he?”

At which question he could only nod and kiss his wife, as the tears rolled down his cheeks. Not that he was sad, of course. Sometimes, the heart was just too full to express itself any other way.

They had named him Anthony, after her brother. She had asked if he wanted to name him after Hawke, but Varric had shook his head and refused. Some things were still too raw.

And Varric wrote his novels (but never about the Inquisition, because then he would have to mention—her, and how she had died, so that story remained untold.) And he sat on his seat in the dwarven merchant guild meetings—when he couldn’t get out of it—and he grew prosperous and rich.

And Cassandra settled down in Kirkwall, and made her life there. She no longer saved the world, or foiled assassination attempts on the Divine, or stood as her Right Hand. But after a peripatetic existence, in a way it was a relief to come home to the same house every day, and always be surrounded by the people she loved. That didn’t mean she didn’t keep busy, of course. She was the representative of the rebuilt Seekers in Kirkwall, and with the Veil stretched so thin there, she had her hands full ensuring peace was kept and neither mages, nor demons, ventured where they were not supposed to be.

She was also occasionally sent for, as one of the last remaining of the old Seekers, the kind who went through the trial, and could set the lyrium in a person’s blood aflame, to deal with particularly dangerous and recalcitrant mages. And on those times, she would put on her armor, as she had always done before, but this time it was with a heaviness in her heart, as she kissed her husband, and his little red-headed shadow, their son, goodbye.

This continued until one day when she almost didn’t come home, and Varric had gasped in helping her take her armor off, when he had seen her left arm, charred, with burns almost from shoulder to wrist from where a fireball had narrowly missed her chest.
Varric had put his foot down then, and she had been tempted to argue, tell him she was still needed, but she had looked at her smiling little boy, hesitated, and meekly agreed when Varric told her it was someone else’s turn to take such risks.

And when Anthony was no longer such a little boy, and could run over to his Aunt Aveline’s house to play with her son, Cassandra and Varric had gotten the second surprise of their lives.

And when they had announced it to what remained of Varric’s—and now Cassandra’s—old friends, blushing a bit, because who would have imagined at their age?, Isabella had broken the ice by loudly asking Varric if he needed her to sit down and explain where babies came from, because with two such accidents, it certainly seemed like he didn’t know.

And they had all smiled, and laughed, because life was full and the Maker was kind.

And this time, this time, Varric knew it was going to be a little girl like her mother, and this time, they would name her Vivian, after his best friend, because the hurt had become palatable now, a sore spot, but not an open, gaping wound.

But though this child looked more like Cassandra, it was another son, and he quickly amended Vivian to Hawke, and it felt right in a way it wouldn’t have years ago. And Varric, thinking his heart was full to overflowing before, found plenty more room when he welcomed this new member to their family, even as a small part of it still ached for the best friend who would never see her namesake.

Their sons grew up to be good boys and later, good men—though that is a story for a different time—even though they occasionally drove their mother to distraction. More than once, she would turn her eyes skyward (seriously or jokingly, the men in her life were never entirely sure) and ask, “Maker, what did I do to deserve three silver-tongued rogues in my life?” And one of them, usually Varric, but as they got older, sometimes one of her sons, would say, “I don’t know, but you’re very lucky!” until they would chorus it together and Cassandra would roll her eyes, and make a disgusted noise, and sometimes go to stay with Aveline for a few days.

And as the years ran, as they do, with their own triumphs and disappointments, happinesses and heartaches, at least Varric and Cassandra had each other, even on those occasions where they had quarreled or disagreed or simply didn’t like each other very much (and of the latter, there were more than a few).

They weren’t blissfully happy, their lives weren’t untroubled, but they had each other, they had their family, and they had their friends, and that was more than most, and it was enough.

THE END.

This needs to go on the original post. Why? Because its ******* amazing, thats why! The feels were strong for this one. Cassandra secretly loving the lavish wedding, the birth of their children, Cassandra still being a bad***, Isabela. I love it! I loved the whole thing! The best part was that it was a normal happy ending where they still argue from time to time. This is Varric & Cassandra we are talking about here lol.

Also I KNEW you would kill Hawke!!!!!! If that chapter had come out I would have been bawling. May you find peace at the Maker's side Vivian Hawke.

[wistful81]

If you did truly enjoy it, I'm happy.

No ifs,ands, or buts, girl. No lies or exaggerations , I loved it. I had a big goofy grin on my face as I read it

[ZerioctheTank]

We should be able to like post more than once.

[Hunter111]

I've very much smiling right now, and I'm glad you enjoyed my humble efforts.

I enjoyed writing it, even though I don't usually go in much for fluff, so I'm glad both of you enjoyed reading it. Put a smile on my face.

  

*looks at stuff by writers whose first language isn't English*
 
*throws all pens in the garbage*
 
*remembers she uses a keyboard to write stuff now*
 

I totally hear you, lol.

[DanteYoda]

They should make out, it would be the best Romance since Fenris and Sandal

 

[AWTEW]

Hey all.  I don't know when (if ever) I'll get back to my fic, but I had outlined where I was going, as well as writing the epilogue, in more or less its entirety.  I might have tinkered with it, depending on where things went, but this was more or less how it was going to end up.  And I am rather pleased with it (unlike the rest of my fic) and I wanted to share it with you.  You don't have to read it, but perhaps you might like it?  And if you don't, you could always lie to me and say, like, Vivienne, "Darling, it was fabulous!"

 

Spoiler

 

And so, they lived happily ever after.  Or at least, tolerably ever after, as far as these things go, for in the real world instead of fairy-tale romances, people do not go from happiness to happiness, but rather have lives to live, and happiness is more of a decision than anything else.

 

The Divine actually married them.  Neither Varric nor Cassandra were, as a rule, given to public spectacle, but in this case they made an exception for their old friend Leliana.  It was a masterstroke of public relations, for who would dare object (at least out loud) to the marriage of two of the pre-eminent heroes of their age?  And if everyone took the point that one of them was a dwarf, and dwarves and other races were to be brought into the Chantry under Divine Victoria’s reign, so much the better.

 

Though perhaps there was just a little of Cassandra’s romantic soul that thrilled at the prospect of a big wedding in Val Royeaux.  Not that she’d admit it, of course.  Publicly she called it “so much foolishness” but if in private Varric caught her a time or two with her eyes sparkling, he was wise enough not to mention it, and smiled to himself at her enjoyment.

 

The wedding itself was a well-attended and wonderful affair, a place to see and be seen.  Everyone from the Empress Celene to the Inquisitor to the Grand Enchanter were in attendance; some out of inclination, and some strong-armed by the Divine into providing public support for her reforms.

 

And if the bride was perhaps a tad more…blooming…than was typical at such events, everyone kept their mouths shut, except for the most vicious and intemperate gossips, who were promptly ignored.

 

And then, having considered the various other options, and in accordance with Varric’s strong opinions on the matter, and Cassandra’s indecision, they moved to Kirkwall.  But the marriage of two such strong-willed people unused to living with others was invariably going to be rocky, regardless of their love for each other, which they had in abundance.

 

Matters finally came to a head when a heavily pregnant Cassandra, over some slight that seemed serious enough at the time, but could hardly be remembered later, had an episode that would be remembered with a laugh (some years after) as “The Night I Broke Everything in the House.”  But at the time, of course, it was no laughing matter.

 

After Varric had stormed out, when a plate narrowly missed his head, she had collapsed, sobbing, to the floor and wondered how she had ended up in such a mess, married to the dwarf, and so pregnant she no longer recognized her body, and Maker, she had made such a mistake…and then the child kicked, and she had rubbed her stomach, and cried harder.

 

Unusual behavior for such a one as Cassandra, but her life had taken some unexpected turns recently, and who could blame her for giving vent to her trepidations just once or twice through tears?  Especially since, as her body had changed, she could no longer get rid of her angers and fears through physical activity, as she had been wont to do. 

 

And the aggrieved Varric?  Well, he was halfway up the stairs at The Blooming Rose before he realized what a colossal mistake he was making.  Not an episode that reflected well on him, perhaps, being that his first instinct was to run away and f!ck everything up.

 

But what was important in this case was that he didn’t f!ck things up. He paid Madame Lusine five sovereigns for her inconvenience, and instead went to The Hanged Man for a drink, getting rather less inebriated than he thought he would, and coming home early to his wife.

 

And when they made love that night, slowly and gently, with their child between them, Varric had to swallow around the lump in his throat when he realized he had almost screwed this up, and he made a promise to himself not to run away again; a promise that, in the ensuing years, he kept. 

 

And Cassandra, around the lump in her throat, knew that she loved Varric, and loved their child, and she hadn’t made a mistake.  And as the years went on, she became easier to live with, as motherhood, as it will, rubbed some of the hard edges away, and if she was still quick-tempered from time to time, she was also more patient and forgiving.

 

And the child itself?  Well, Varric had known it was going to be a beautiful girl who looked like her mother.  So it was with some surprise on that fateful day that he found himself looking into the wide blue eyes of his son.

 

“He’s beautiful,” Cassandra had said, holding their child, her face white and exhausted, and lined with the memory of pain.  But she had forgotten all that, or perhaps it no longer mattered, when she saw their son, and she smiled a full, wide smile, full of wonder and joy, as she reached up to draw Varric closer.  “Isn’t he?”

 

At which question he could only nod and kiss his wife, as the tears rolled down his cheeks.  Not that he was sad, of course.  Sometimes, the heart was just too full to express itself any other way.

 

They had named him Anthony, after her brother.  She had asked if he wanted to name him after Hawke, but Varric had shook his head and refused.  Some things were still too raw.

 

And Varric wrote his novels (but never about the Inquisition, because then he would have to mention—her, and how she had died, so that story remained untold.)  And he sat on his seat in the dwarven merchant guild meetings—when he couldn’t get out of it—and he grew prosperous and rich.

 

And Cassandra settled down in Kirkwall, and made her life there.  She no longer saved the world, or foiled assassination attempts on the Divine, or stood as her Right Hand.  But after a peripatetic existence, in a way it was a relief to come home to the same house every day, and always be surrounded by the people she loved.  That didn’t mean she didn’t keep busy, of course.  She was the representative of the rebuilt Seekers in Kirkwall, and with the Veil stretched so thin there, she had her hands full ensuring peace was kept and neither mages, nor demons, ventured where they were not supposed to be.

 

She was also occasionally sent for, as one of the last remaining of the old Seekers, the kind who went through the trial, and could set the lyrium in a person’s blood aflame, to deal with particularly dangerous and recalcitrant mages.  And on those times, she would put on her armor, as she had always done before, but this time it was with a heaviness in her heart, as she kissed her husband, and his little red-headed shadow, their son, goodbye.

 

This continued until one day when she almost didn’t come home, and Varric had gasped in helping her take her armor off, when he had seen her left arm, charred, with burns almost from shoulder to wrist from where a fireball had narrowly missed her chest.

Varric had put his foot down then, and she had been tempted to argue, tell him she was still needed, but she had looked at her smiling little boy, hesitated, and meekly agreed when Varric told her it was someone else’s turn to take such risks.

 

And when Anthony was no longer such a little boy, and could run over to his Aunt Aveline’s house to play with her son, Cassandra and Varric had gotten the second surprise of their lives.

 

And when they had announced it to what remained of Varric’s—and now Cassandra’s—old friends, blushing a bit, because who would have imagined at their age?, Isabella had broken the ice by loudly asking Varric if he needed her to sit down and explain where babies came from, because with two such accidents, it certainly seemed like he didn’t know.

 

And they had all smiled, and laughed, because life was full and the Maker was kind.

 

And this time, this time, Varric knew it was going to be a little girl like her mother, and this time, they would name her Vivian, after his best friend, because the hurt had become palatable now, a sore spot, but not an open, gaping wound.

 

But though this child looked more like Cassandra, it was another son, and he quickly amended Vivian to Hawke, and it felt right in a way it wouldn’t have years ago.  And Varric, thinking his heart was full to overflowing before, found plenty more room when he welcomed this new member to their family, even as a small part of it still ached for the best friend who would never see her namesake.

 

Their sons grew up to be good boys and later, good men—though that is a story for a different time—even though they occasionally drove their mother to distraction.  More than once, she would turn her eyes skyward (seriously or jokingly, the men in her life were never entirely sure) and ask, “Maker, what did I do to deserve three silver-tongued rogues in my life?”  And one of them, usually Varric, but as they got older, sometimes one of her sons, would say, “I don’t know, but you’re very lucky!” until they would chorus it together and Cassandra would roll her eyes, and make a disgusted noise, and sometimes go to stay with Aveline for a few days.

 

And as the years ran, as they do, with their own triumphs and disappointments, happinesses and heartaches, at least Varric and Cassandra had each other, even on those occasions where they had quarreled or disagreed or simply didn’t like each other very much (and of the latter, there were more than a few).

 

They weren’t blissfully happy, their lives weren’t untroubled, but they had each other, they had their family, and they had their friends, and that was more than most, and it was enough.

 

THE END.

 

 

 

/stillsalty.

[ZerioctheTank]

/stillsalty.

I took my anger out on NPCs in fallout new vegas & annoying co workers IRL so I'm somewhat okay now lol.

[rda]

I took my anger out on NPCs in fallout new vegas & annoying co workers IRL so I'm somewhat okay now lol.

Shooting things in NV is very cathartic! My personal favorite was sniping the deathclaws from a high ledge...just picking them off, one by one.

Story comment:

Spoiler

I found it very amusing that Varric's always thinking he's about to have these sweet, beautiful little girls, and instead gets these boys that you know are going to be wisecracking and mischievous and trouble with a capital T (in a good way, of course). I also think it's funny he gets them to gang up on their mother about how awesome they all are.

And, FWIW, I almost always read the end of stories BEFORE I'm done the novel, just so I can brace myself if it's a bad ending, so don't think that revealing the ending here means I wouldn't like to read the rest!!!

[goodgirl]

Hey all.  I don't know when (if ever) I'll get back to my fic, but I had outlined where I was going, as well as writing the epilogue, in more or less its entirety.  I might have tinkered with it, depending on where things went, but this was more or less how it was going to end up.  And I am rather pleased with it (unlike the rest of my fic) and I wanted to share it with you.  You don't have to read it, but perhaps you might like it?  And if you don't, you could always lie to me and say, like, Vivienne, "Darling, it was fabulous!"

 

Spoiler

 

And so, they lived happily ever after.  Or at least, tolerably ever after, as far as these things go, for in the real world instead of fairy-tale romances, people do not go from happiness to happiness, but rather have lives to live, and happiness is more of a decision than anything else.

 

The Divine actually married them.  Neither Varric nor Cassandra were, as a rule, given to public spectacle, but in this case they made an exception for their old friend Leliana.  It was a masterstroke of public relations, for who would dare object (at least out loud) to the marriage of two of the pre-eminent heroes of their age?  And if everyone took the point that one of them was a dwarf, and dwarves and other races were to be brought into the Chantry under Divine Victoria’s reign, so much the better.

 

Though perhaps there was just a little of Cassandra’s romantic soul that thrilled at the prospect of a big wedding in Val Royeaux.  Not that she’d admit it, of course.  Publicly she called it “so much foolishness” but if in private Varric caught her a time or two with her eyes sparkling, he was wise enough not to mention it, and smiled to himself at her enjoyment.

 

The wedding itself was a well-attended and wonderful affair, a place to see and be seen.  Everyone from the Empress Celene to the Inquisitor to the Grand Enchanter were in attendance; some out of inclination, and some strong-armed by the Divine into providing public support for her reforms.

 

And if the bride was perhaps a tad more…blooming…than was typical at such events, everyone kept their mouths shut, except for the most vicious and intemperate gossips, who were promptly ignored.

 

And then, having considered the various other options, and in accordance with Varric’s strong opinions on the matter, and Cassandra’s indecision, they moved to Kirkwall.  But the marriage of two such strong-willed people unused to living with others was invariably going to be rocky, regardless of their love for each other, which they had in abundance.

 

Matters finally came to a head when a heavily pregnant Cassandra, over some slight that seemed serious enough at the time, but could hardly be remembered later, had an episode that would be remembered with a laugh (some years after) as “The Night I Broke Everything in the House.”  But at the time, of course, it was no laughing matter.

 

After Varric had stormed out, when a plate narrowly missed his head, she had collapsed, sobbing, to the floor and wondered how she had ended up in such a mess, married to the dwarf, and so pregnant she no longer recognized her body, and Maker, she had made such a mistake…and then the child kicked, and she had rubbed her stomach, and cried harder.

 

Unusual behavior for such a one as Cassandra, but her life had taken some unexpected turns recently, and who could blame her for giving vent to her trepidations just once or twice through tears?  Especially since, as her body had changed, she could no longer get rid of her angers and fears through physical activity, as she had been wont to do. 

 

And the aggrieved Varric?  Well, he was halfway up the stairs at The Blooming Rose before he realized what a colossal mistake he was making.  Not an episode that reflected well on him, perhaps, being that his first instinct was to run away and f!ck everything up.

 

But what was important in this case was that he didn’t f!ck things up. He paid Madame Lusine five sovereigns for her inconvenience, and instead went to The Hanged Man for a drink, getting rather less inebriated than he thought he would, and coming home early to his wife.

 

And when they made love that night, slowly and gently, with their child between them, Varric had to swallow around the lump in his throat when he realized he had almost screwed this up, and he made a promise to himself not to run away again; a promise that, in the ensuing years, he kept. 

 

And Cassandra, around the lump in her throat, knew that she loved Varric, and loved their child, and she hadn’t made a mistake.  And as the years went on, she became easier to live with, as motherhood, as it will, rubbed some of the hard edges away, and if she was still quick-tempered from time to time, she was also more patient and forgiving.

 

And the child itself?  Well, Varric had known it was going to be a beautiful girl who looked like her mother.  So it was with some surprise on that fateful day that he found himself looking into the wide blue eyes of his son.

 

“He’s beautiful,” Cassandra had said, holding their child, her face white and exhausted, and lined with the memory of pain.  But she had forgotten all that, or perhaps it no longer mattered, when she saw their son, and she smiled a full, wide smile, full of wonder and joy, as she reached up to draw Varric closer.  “Isn’t he?”

 

At which question he could only nod and kiss his wife, as the tears rolled down his cheeks.  Not that he was sad, of course.  Sometimes, the heart was just too full to express itself any other way.

 

They had named him Anthony, after her brother.  She had asked if he wanted to name him after Hawke, but Varric had shook his head and refused.  Some things were still too raw.

 

And Varric wrote his novels (but never about the Inquisition, because then he would have to mention—her, and how she had died, so that story remained untold.)  And he sat on his seat in the dwarven merchant guild meetings—when he couldn’t get out of it—and he grew prosperous and rich.

 

And Cassandra settled down in Kirkwall, and made her life there.  She no longer saved the world, or foiled assassination attempts on the Divine, or stood as her Right Hand.  But after a peripatetic existence, in a way it was a relief to come home to the same house every day, and always be surrounded by the people she loved.  That didn’t mean she didn’t keep busy, of course.  She was the representative of the rebuilt Seekers in Kirkwall, and with the Veil stretched so thin there, she had her hands full ensuring peace was kept and neither mages, nor demons, ventured where they were not supposed to be.

 

She was also occasionally sent for, as one of the last remaining of the old Seekers, the kind who went through the trial, and could set the lyrium in a person’s blood aflame, to deal with particularly dangerous and recalcitrant mages.  And on those times, she would put on her armor, as she had always done before, but this time it was with a heaviness in her heart, as she kissed her husband, and his little red-headed shadow, their son, goodbye.

 

This continued until one day when she almost didn’t come home, and Varric had gasped in helping her take her armor off, when he had seen her left arm, charred, with burns almost from shoulder to wrist from where a fireball had narrowly missed her chest.

Varric had put his foot down then, and she had been tempted to argue, tell him she was still needed, but she had looked at her smiling little boy, hesitated, and meekly agreed when Varric told her it was someone else’s turn to take such risks.

 

And when Anthony was no longer such a little boy, and could run over to his Aunt Aveline’s house to play with her son, Cassandra and Varric had gotten the second surprise of their lives.

 

And when they had announced it to what remained of Varric’s—and now Cassandra’s—old friends, blushing a bit, because who would have imagined at their age?, Isabella had broken the ice by loudly asking Varric if he needed her to sit down and explain where babies came from, because with two such accidents, it certainly seemed like he didn’t know.

 

And they had all smiled, and laughed, because life was full and the Maker was kind.

 

And this time, this time, Varric knew it was going to be a little girl like her mother, and this time, they would name her Vivian, after his best friend, because the hurt had become palatable now, a sore spot, but not an open, gaping wound.

 

But though this child looked more like Cassandra, it was another son, and he quickly amended Vivian to Hawke, and it felt right in a way it wouldn’t have years ago.  And Varric, thinking his heart was full to overflowing before, found plenty more room when he welcomed this new member to their family, even as a small part of it still ached for the best friend who would never see her namesake.

 

Their sons grew up to be good boys and later, good men—though that is a story for a different time—even though they occasionally drove their mother to distraction.  More than once, she would turn her eyes skyward (seriously or jokingly, the men in her life were never entirely sure) and ask, “Maker, what did I do to deserve three silver-tongued rogues in my life?”  And one of them, usually Varric, but as they got older, sometimes one of her sons, would say, “I don’t know, but you’re very lucky!” until they would chorus it together and Cassandra would roll her eyes, and make a disgusted noise, and sometimes go to stay with Aveline for a few days.

 

And as the years ran, as they do, with their own triumphs and disappointments, happinesses and heartaches, at least Varric and Cassandra had each other, even on those occasions where they had quarreled or disagreed or simply didn’t like each other very much (and of the latter, there were more than a few).

 

They weren’t blissfully happy, their lives weren’t untroubled, but they had each other, they had their family, and they had their friends, and that was more than most, and it was enough.

 

THE END.

 

I read this this morning, before I got in the shower (don't ask me why I had a look at this thread so early but it was totally worth it, even if my eyes weren't that open yet), and you made my day! It's a wonderful ending, truely perfect for Cassandra and Varric and their special relationship. Thank you, thank you, thank you! *hugs* *kisses* *more hugs*

 

I took my anger out on NPCs in fallout new vegas & annoying co workers IRL so I'm somewhat okay now lol.

You remind me that I still have to finish FO:NV. The muted colours didn't exactly improve my winter blues, so I stopped a while ago . There were "green" mods and the Fellout mod that enhanced FO3 greatly but I didn't really find any like that for NV.

 

Story comment:

Spoiler

I found it very amusing that Varric's always thinking he's about to have these sweet, beautiful little girls, and instead gets these boys that you know are going to be wisecracking and mischievous and trouble with a capital T (in a good way, of course). I also think it's funny he gets them to gang up on their mother about how awesome they all are.

And, FWIW, I almost always read the end of stories BEFORE I'm done the novel, just so I can brace myself if it's a bad ending, so don't think that revealing the ending here means I wouldn't like to read the rest!!!

Yes, Varric is cute like that .

 

Btw, I usually read halfway through and then check the end before I continue . Then the angsty parts aren't as bad.

[rda]

/stillsalty.

I don't know what this means.

I'm either old, or unhip. Oh, who am I kidding, I'm both.

And I'm depressed at the lack of fanfic recently. It must be midterm time or something (am I wrong, or is it mostly female high school and college students who write fanfic?). Writers, get cracking, or you'll force me to write something. And you'll be left like Col Kurtz, murmuring, "the horror, the horror!"

And I won't be responsible for that.

(Just kidding, I'd never do that to the rest of you.)

I tried some Cullen and IB fanfic, and no. Just no. And I hate Solas. So that's out. Sigh. Guess I'm going to have to start reading some real books, lol.

And FO:NV might look depressing, but the music is catchy. When I played it, I would catch myself randomly singing the songs.

[goodgirl]

No-fanfic-Thursday?

 

I discovered a nice (kind of sad but still with a bit of fluff) 3 chapter fic by vehlr:

Part 1

Part 2

Epilogue

[ZerioctheTank]

This is the first time I have a PC that I can actually play games on (I played DA:I on my roommates computer) so I'm so overwhelmed that I can actually mod my game now like I always wanted. Honestly I'm more of a Skyrim kind of guy but FNV is my stepping stone into the modding scene.

Also wasn't it convenient that hunter showed us her ending after that picture of Varric & Cassandra in wedding attire? I couldn't help but chuckle at that.

[rda]

What fanfic and/or the writing process would look like/read like if done by posters on this board (for entertainment purposes only):

Zerloc: Bodies, relationships, and angst would pile up faster than an episode of Dallas. Characters would lurch from crisis to crisis, and the feels would be through the roof.

Me: Stories would be constantly interrupted by random non-sequiturs. At the end, you'd shake your head and be like, "What the heck did I just read and what was it supposed to be about?"

Elizabeth: Each sentence would be its own work of art. Would mentally debate the merits of choices like "small dog" vs. "puppy". Each story would take years to write.

Hunter: Writes perfectly fine until assailed by self-doubt. Breaks keyboard, douses computer in gasoline and sets it on fire.

Wistful: Writes pithy, witty observations about fandom and relationships, but proclaims she can't write fanfic well enough to share. Is actually writing a monograph, with a tentative working title of "Observing Obsessive Internet Fandoms: My Foray Into a Scary and Dangerous Corner of the Internet."

Goodgirl: Stories would have titles with inside jokes about Latin, like "Semper ubi sub ubi". Popular success would elude her, but she would gain a cult following that couldn't wait to see what she'd come up with next.

If anyone can think of any more, please share. (And, these are supposed to be funny. If I've somehow misjudged and offended anyone, please let me know.)

[goodgirl]

rda, you are a gem! Loving it and laughing .