His brother's parties aren't exactly what Varric would call a lovely time, but the venue for this one certainly is. Thanks to Varric choosing it himself, of course. No one can hate a house in the water, even if it meant all the guests needed to have their drivers get them a ways outside the city to make it. Nobody would say no. That's why he did it: It's funnier to make the rich, spineless fucks sweat.

It's in Varric's nature to pass out his personal +1 invites on a whim, especially since Bartrand started banning Varric's friend Hawke from all their official guest lists (as if that'd stop Hawke), and after meeting Kaien, Varric chose him as the newest recipient.

The Ti'Revas was the stuff of legend, something anyone in the Veil Jumpers would — or should beg on their hands and knees to work with. When Bellara said we did the work, it was out of habit. We, like when she worked with the Veil Jumpers, even when they got annoyed with her. It was easier to credit everyone.

Odd.

Not Elise — not now, at least. She looks like a perfectly normal young woman at present, and even amongst the handful of her citizens who have gotten proper glimpses of their king's face, none would be able to identify the scruffy young woman wandering the streets as King Elise. No. Today, Elise is nearly normal. What's odd is ———

Every moment, every blink, she sees worldlines knitting and unraveling. She can pluck timelines like threads, and her godhood reacts to others who are more than human, defensive, almost jealous. She looks at the stranger and sees reality all but cave in around him. Fascinating. She wants to study him.

She's so focused — so fascinated — that she misses sight of worldline where she trips over a crack in the sidewalk and propels directly into his chest, face first. Because she misses that glimpse of a worldline, she doesn't correct, and she — well, does just that. Propels into his chest, face first. This is the worst day of her life, including when a malevolent god got sealed inside her ribs at age seven.

“  this isn't something i can just ... tuck away and forget, ” astarion divulges, this muted aftermath of a moment in the night, one less becoming the further they sunk into silence. he knew it was risky, an experimental bite, a taste was all it would have been; the overwhelming urge complemented his newfound freedom in a way that made it difficult to see sense. bound by the rules and whims of his old master had been akin to sinking into a pit, slowly buried underneath the heaviness of his own captivity without a way out. to be broken free of those shackles was as intoxicating as the blood on offer. still, he wasn't without remorse― if not for the sake of his own skin, then for what crumbs of trust they had been beginning to lay down.

an ordinary man on the brink of starvation, a silkroot addict suffering withdrawals, it was all variations of the same thing. a base survival instinct, chasing fleeting satisfaction. a desire to live. why were his needs lesser than anyone else's?