“No, no, I’m not alright. I’m definitely not alright.” - Cassarric
I abused canon a bit here, but there’s method to my madness. Varric’s been exposed to the Fade, and he’s a surface dwarf. So it might be possible for this to happen.
Ofelia crawls up out of the darkness, eyes faded grey, skin torn, pallid. The red smear of paint across her nose lost amidst the blood. She holds her hands out, palms up. Beseeching him.
He grabs her hands, slick with blood. Her skin peels, the fine bones grind and crunch, but he has to hold onto her, has to pull her up out of the darkness. He can’t let her go back, Ofelia always hated the night. She can’t go back, she can’t leave him alone, can’t leave Isabela behind.
“Varric,” she says.
Her smile is wrong, bloody and sunken. The bones of her fingers dig into his wrists. Skin sloughs off and it hurts, Maker’s breath it hurts and Ofelia is dragging him down into the black water that laps at her feet.
Blind panic overtakes him, the water rises to his knees as Ofelia’s fingerbones pierce his skin and she’s going to drown him, he’s going to suffocate on that black water. Thigh deep, and it’s so cold, ice cold and hungry, biting at his clothes and his skin, reaching eagerly for his mouth and his nose and-
He can’t die not like this, not like her cold and alone and floating endlessly in that blackness but he’s going to he’s going to die and never finish-
He shakes, is being shaken, the water has hold of him finally it wants him it can’t have him-
“Maker take you, dwarf.”
Varric snaps awake, dream still sticking in the corners of his mind but this feels like a dream too. The Seeker sits on the floor by his bed, a scrap of cloth clutched to her nose. Above the red spattered cloth, her eyebrows are drawn down over eyes hot with annoyance. She’s not in her armour, which is strange enough that he wonders if he’s dreaming again. Cassandra in casual clothing? It really is the end of the world.
The longer he stares at Cassandra, the more he realizes how absolutely alone he is here. In Kirkwall, he’d never be relieved to see her but he is because-
“Are you alright, Varric?” she asks.
Maker’s ass. Maker’s holy ass he’s crying. Tears are streaming down his face and it’s even worse because he can’t seem to stop. Ofelia’s eyes stare up at him from the abyss.
The black water is waiting for him.
“Varric. Varric!” Cassandra’s voice is insistent, edged with something else.
She sits on his bed, gathers him close and this is probably the strangest thing that’s ever happened to him except that it isn’t. It dawns on him that this isn’t the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to him.
“Varric were you… were you dreaming?” Cassandra asks.
She sounds horrified.
“No, no I can’t-” Varric breaks off, smears his tearstained face against Cassandra’s shoulder.
Her arms close around his back, and in his ear Cassandra’s heartbeat is slow and sure. He breathes along with her, inhales, exhales, again and again until he feels capable of speech.
“No, no, I’m not alright. I’m definitely not alright.”
you cant fuck the alan rickman fish from help im a fish. are you kidding me? trying to get your freak on with a pilot fish, no matter who its voiced by, would be a disaster. you are by nature sexually incompatible with any fish. surely theres some men who arent fish that you could fuck instead.