I don't know how unique this is to English, but this is a really nice encapsulation of how English itself has undergone a fair amount of vowel reduction already such that a majority of word-final vowels can become a schwa and still be understandable from context - so this entire letter being comprehensible when spoken verbally shows how close the vowel sounds in English have already gotten over the centuries.
All this is to say this letter is quite the brilliant refutation of the idea that a lack of a vowel inventory doomed the Neanderthal family :)
#this is a language game we play in hungarian actually. making phrases/sentences only using e. which is entirely possible because for some reason we have a LOT of words with only e-s. which is even crazier if you think about the fact that we have 14 vowels originally (vs english's 5)
Hey, random writing tip: Instead of having something be a ridiculously unlikely coincidence, you can make the thing happen due to who this particular character is as a person. Instead of getting stuck on "there's no logical reason to why that would happen", try to bend it into a case of "something like this would never happen to anybody but this specific fucker." Something that makes your reader chuckle and roll their eyes, going "well of course you would."
Why would the timid shy nerd be at a huge sketchy downtown black market bazaar? Well, she's got this beetle colony she's raising that needs a very specific kind of leaf for nest material, and there only place to get it is this one guy at the bazaar that sells that stuff. Why would the most femininely flamboyant guy ever known just happen to have downright encyclopedic knowledge about professional boxing? Well, there was this one time when he was down bad for this guy who was an aspiring professional boxer...
I know it sounds stupidly obvious when written out like this, but when you're up close to your writing, it's hard to see the forest for the trees. Some time ago I finished reading a book, where the whole plot hinges on character A, who is 100% certain that character B is dead, personally getting up and coming down from the top rooms of a castle, to the gates, at 3 am, to come look at some drunk who claims to be this guy who died 17 years ago. Why would A do that, if he's sure that B is dead?
Because he's a Warrior Guy from a culture of Loyalty And Honour, and hearing that someone's got the audacity to go about claiming to be his long-lost brother in battle, there is no other option than to immediately personally go down there to beat the ever-loving shit out of this guy. Who then turns out to actually be character B, after all.
the decrease in costuming quality over the last 20 years has been soooo precipitous & nauseating. i’m not even talking abt marvel’s cg supersuits or anything this time, look at the fabric quality, structure, layering, character, and craftsmanship of older costumes in 102 dalmations (2000) vs cruella (2021)
ever after (1998) vs cinderella (2021)
lord of the rings (2001-2003) vs the rings of power (2022)
this trend should upset you not just because it looks cheap, but because it suggests a strong anti-art and anti-labor movement in film and tv making. don’t forget costumers are unionized
I WORK IN COSTUMES AND CAN TALK ABOUT THIS MORE SPECIFICALLY
It's not just that we're unionized, though that absolutely plays into the financial aspect of it to a degree. There is 100% not just an anti-labor and anti-artistic sentiment, but also just an overall shift from these productions being treated as less like storytelling and performance, like they were in the past, and more like corporate investments and business endeavors. Everything is bottom line vs potential profits, marketability, and modern trends, or what will trend on tiktok, and you have to design to that constantly.
It's also that filmmaking has developed the expectation of making movies on such a short production time that there's no time to MAKE amazing beautiful pieces like this. A good gown may take weeks or months to complete and many rounds of fittings and mockups, and might be very heavy or restrictive to actors and limit how long they can shoot in a given costume. From my experience, things are decided on one day and have to be ready to shoot in a few weeks, and that's only if the writers aren't constantly having to make last second changes because the directors and producers change their visions constantly on a dime, down to the very last minute, and there's nothing we can do as the costume team except make it happen or make a REALLY good case for why we can't just find some cheap option fast that would work instead. So you might spend thousands on that beautiful dress only for them to completely cut the scene, change the context entirely in rewrites, or just decide they don't like the dress and want something else.
And because directors and producers get last say, and often they have Bad Taste and want things that are modern and marketable, and often will think things look great that are actually pretty unfitting for the character or make no sense for the design of the film, they insist on bad choices that then get pushed through to the end result of the film. Actors do this too sometimes, like what happened with Emma Watson and Belle's dress in the live action Beauty and the Beast remake, but usually only the big name actors have enough star power to swing full changes like that.
And of course, yes, there's not enough budget for high quality work. Costumers, like everyone else on film sets right now, are expected to stretch the budgets they're given to 'make it work' because so many have (in order to make the producers happy and keep their jobs). And in return, quality goes down, because in order to build a costume you need good fabric, embellishments, and labor. Good fabric costs a lot of money, embellishments cost a lot of money, hand fitting and skilled labor cost a lot of money, and costume budgets are being given none of that because the studios are incredibly strict and frugal with what they expect you to spend so they can make the most profit off of a given project, so cuts to quality end up being made somewhere in order to make up the difference and get the actors clothed.
I've rambled enough, but basically, yes, unions, but also there's a lot of deeper layers that go into why these things have been declining that are all interconnected and related to the general commodification of art and framing of art as content to consume rather than stories to tell that's happened in the past ten years or so.
Richie and Virgil discover Frankie’s kink and surprise him with it.
“You sure he’ll like this, V?” Richie asked, squirming a bit on the bed.
Virgil snorted. “Of course he will. You saw how interested he was in that manga. He was ready to bust a nut in public.” He was sprawled out, hands behind his head like he was just relaxing after a day of college.
Still, the other boy blushed deeper, unsure of this whole thing.
The moment Virgil was talking about was a month prior, when they had dragged their shared boyfriend, one Francis Stone, out to the comic book store. One of the largest in Dakota, the other two had started looking over the newest Plant Man while Frankie wandered off. By the time they were done, they had no idea where he had gone. Searching throughout the front of the store had brought up nothing and then they decided to check in the back where the…less than child-friendly comics and manga were sold.
They found him in front of the hentai display, reading one of the books, sporting a huge boner. It was almost comical the way he shoved the book back in its display slot, blushing something fierce. He herded them out of the back, making excuses on how and why he chose that particular book.
It was strange, especially when they just barely made it home before he pounced on them. They were both sore and achy the next morning but it was worth it to go back to the comic book store -sans Frankie- and went to see exactly what had their hot lover so hot and bothered.
To their surprise, it was about a young woman in college forced to sell her body to a much older man due to financial troubles, ultimately becoming addicted to her ‘Papa’ and ending with her being his full time sex toy. It was weird; Frankie had never shown any interest in any of the kinks displayed in the hentai but yet he seemed incredibly aroused by it. It was hard for the older man to even find porn arousing. Something about most pornos being too annoying for him.
So that’s how they ended up here, dressed in lingerie with heart shaped holes cut around their pecs and hearts around their cocks and balls. Richie, as usual, was the shyer of the two, unsure of how to feel in his own body while Virgil took the lewdness of it all in stride.
“I-I-I still think we should’ve asked him about this, first. He might take this badly, Virg.”
Virgil looked over at his blond lover. His face was a bright red and it extended down to his dusky nipples. He was fidgeting, even as his cock was half hard. It made his own take interest, and he licked his lips at the sight.
“C’mere…” He whispered huskily as he dragged Richie closer, pressing kisses to his face. They eventually found their way to his lips, Richie moaning into Virgil’s mouth. He let the other man take control, needing to ground himself from his overthinking.
They were flushed against each other, grinding their dicks together as Virgil reached down to idly toy with the large butt plug inside of him. Of course, Richie did the same as well, the both of them chasing their shared pleasure.
“V-Virgil…” Richie whimpered, moving the both of them so the dark-skinned young man was on top of him, allowing his lover to kiss and suck his neck. “Virgil!”
“Fucking hot, baby…” He murmurs, slipping his hand out from under the blond to reach up and pinch at a perky nipple.
He gasps, arching into Virgil’s touch. “Babe, oh fuck!”
“Well…what a welcome home…” A voice calls out through the lusty fog in their brains and they both turn to the door to see Frankie just coming back from his job at the docks. He’s shirtless with a pair of sweats on, obviously freshly changed from his sweaty, fishy work clothes. He’s holding a water bottle that he sips from. “You two starting to have fun without me? I’m hurt.”
This was the point where Virgil freezes up; his brain short-circuits on the line he was going to use to bait Frankie in. That was a problem, as Richie was normally too embarrassed with stuff like this to take an initiative.
But feeling Virgil’s heartbeat over his own, he takes a hard swallow before grabbing two handfuls of Virgil’s ass and pulled the cheeks apart, showing Frankie the end of the fire engine red plug. “We-We…we were just getting ready for you…” He choked out, remembering the line from the hentai. “D-Daddy…”
The plastic bottle crunched in the older man’s hand as he realized what this was all about. Water went all over the floor and sizzled where it splashed on his skin.
Finally rebooted, Virgil smiled wickedly, raising his ass higher as if he was presenting for his older lover. “We’ve been so lonely, Daddy, please play with us.” The lines were so cheesy, but it got a near literal fire lit up in Frankie’s eyes as he threw the water bottle somewhere behind him, stalking towards his cheeky boyfriends with predatory lust in his eyes.
“Fucking sluts, the both of you.” He snarled, slapping Virgil’s ass where Richie couldn’t get a hold of. He smirked viciously when he yelped. He slid off his sweats and the other two looked at his cock with such unabashed lust, it made him want to preen. He had never been harder in his life and all he wanted to do was absolutely wreck his boyfriends.
He got on the bed, taking the base of Virgil’s plug and sliding it out a bit before roughly shoving it back in. The delicious moans of the other man was addictive and he enjoyed playing with the both of them usually, but tonight…he had some nerds to pound.
Frankie was careful to pull it out, tossing it on the bed. “Daddy!” Virgil buried his face in Richie’s neck, moaning and whimpering. Richie himself was making soft noises of arousal, small thrusts making his and Virgil’s cocks slide together in the best way possible.
The older metahuman rubbed his dick between the other’s cheeks, teasing him and slicking himself up with the excessive lube there. “That’s it, princess. You’re a good girl for Daddy, ain’tcha?” He cooed, finally lining himself up. “Gonna wreck your pretty little hole…”
“D-Daddy…” Richie was the one who groaned this time, snapping Frankie’s attention to him.
“Don’t worry, Daddy’ll take care of both of his baby girls.” He said as he snapped his hips forward, roughly thrusting inside Virgil.
He had to bite down on Richie’s shoulder to keep from screaming; thin apartment walls were a bitch and they already had too many noise complaints. Nails raked down Virgil’s back, Richie’s arching up moving Virgil up as well and Frankie somehow pressed deeper inside. All three men moaned together.
Grabbing his hips, Frankie started a punishing pace for Virgil. He knew the exact angle to hit his dark-skinned lover’s prostate and the force of his thrusts moves Virgil against Richie. The two of them were whimpering and shivering, the blond man clutching his lover like an anchor.
“Sluts, the both of ya…” He gritted out, slapping Virgil’s ass again. “Gettin’ me all riled up right after I get home. Couldn’t even wait for that, could ya? I saw the way you two were all over each other. Whores.”
Richie could feel Virgil’s tears on his shoulder, knowing it was from pleasure. Frankie was often rough with them during sex, something they both enjoyed. So it wasn’t abnormal for his dirty talk to be just as arousing as any physical act.
What was a surprise was that Virgil suddenly tensed, gasping as he came suddenly. Even Frankie seemed shocked; out of the three of them, Virgil usually had the most stamina.
“Were you so much of a slut you couldn’t even last a few minutes with my dick?” Frankie chuckled, pulling out and loving the way the other man shivered.
“D-Daaaddddyyyy…” That long, drawn-out moan was a thing of beauty and Frankie leaned down to press a kiss to the small of his back. He gently moved Virgil to the other side of their king sized bed before turning his attention to Richie.
He already had his legs in the air, his hands under his knees to give his older lover better access. The garish yellow plug made him smirk and he just pulled it out, not wanting to waste anymore time.
But even the act of putting his cock in was too much for the pent up blond. With the right angle, Richie yelped as his orgasm was punched out of him.
Frankie pouted, sliding out. “What the hell? You two are so fucking spoiled. Not letting your Daddy come. And here I was being so nice to my baby girls.” He flopped down between them, putting his hands behind his head as he waited for them to get to work on his cock.
And they quickly did, both of them mouthing the hard shaft. Virgil leaned down to suck at his balls while Richie teased his slit. It didn’t take long for him to come all over their faces, being already so pent up and he came with a grunt. White covered their faces and while he wasn’t ready to go again, his cock twitched in interest as they licked and kissed the come off of each other’s faces. When they were done, they snuggled up next to Frankie; they would all be purring with content if they were cats, but the deep, satisfied rumble coming from Frankie’s chest was close enough.
“You little dickheads went back to the comic book store, didn’t you?” He asked with no small amount of amusement.
Virgil laughed while Richie just buried his face in Frankie’s neck. “Well, yeah. When your boyfriend almost creams in his pants in public while reading a Japanese porn book, you kinda get curious.” He says and Frankie just shakes his head.
“Didn’t think you guys would be so into it. Sorry if it…seems weird.” He seemed almost bashful but the two kisses on his cheeks set him at ease.
“It ain’t any worse than Richie’s bondage kink or my spanking kink. A kink is a kink, Frankie. And besides, it's not like you were reading it with high school girls or those weird ages where it blurs out the one in front of the three.” They all made gagging noises; the horrors of the internet reaching their minds.
He just held them closer. “Still. Thanks. Love ya both.” He yawned, the day of work and the sex making him sleepy. That set off a chain reaction, making the other two yawn as well.
“Love you too.” They both said as they drifted off. They’d all get cleaned up later but for now, they were comfortable right where they were.
“And Maker, that scowl!” Dorian said, nearly hitting Chandra with the movements of his arm. The Inquisitor ducked just in time, chuckling the whole while. “I know Fereldans are about the most joyless people on Thedas, but would it kill him to smile?! Just once?!”
The Imperium mage was ranting about his new favorite subject, one Grey Warden named Carver Hawke. He had arrived with the Heroes of Ferelden and their Warden group. He hadn’t smiled the whole time he had been there, not that Dorian had seen. And he had made sure that he never would; the man would only ever scowl at him.
Dieter Hawke, the Champion, had told him not to take it personally, but Dorian couldn’t help it when he was so helplessly attracted to the Adonic man, what with his bulging muscles, his perfect bubble butt, the way his chest would nearly burst from whatever tunic he was wearing.
Maker, just thinking about it got Dorian drooling.
Of course, Chandra was oh so amused by the whole thing. “Dorian, don’t you think you’re blowing this a little out of proportion? He’s never smiled at me either. I think he glares at me just as much as he does you…and Bull for that matter.”
He rolled his eyes. “Yes, well…racism aside, you took the only other perfect specimen of the male figure, my friend, so the rest of us have to oogle elsewhere.”
She laughed again. “I don’t think Bull would mind if you ‘oogled’. He might flex for you too, if you want.” They were coming up on The Herald’s Rest, their destination. Chandra had offered him a chance to get out of his moping and pouting, and putting aside all of his childish urges to say no, he took it. “You don’t have to put yourself through this kind of pain. Just look for another obsession.”
He glared at her. “Point me in the direction of an equally handsome man, Chan, and I might. I’ll wait, it might take a while.”
She shook her head, bumping her hip with his. “Well, at any rate, you need a drink. Fereldan beer might help.” She winked and he groaned.
“You are nothing short of a menace, Chandra Adaar.”
She opened the door, allowing him to go in first, cheekily replying, “I’ll take that as a compliment, Magister Pavus.” He rolled his eyes and walked ahead, but stopped dead in his tracks.
The Wardens were there, taking up a couple of tables near the door. He wasn’t close enough to hear what they were saying, but all of them were laughing, hard, at whatever the redheaded dwarf just said. But his eyes zeroed in on Carver, who was wearing a tight, lowcut, and sleeveless tunic and had the biggest, brightest, warmest smile on his face. He was laughing, tears welling up in his eyes.
Dorian felt his heart skip a beat and clench at the same time, his breath stuttering to a stop. His whole world narrowed down to that handsome man and that beautiful smile.
He must have somehow caught Carver’s eye, because the man turned to him. His smile faded a little, but he didn’t immediately scowl at him. It was so soft and shy, but at the same time, a little coy. It made want to ravish the Fereldan and at the same time, spoil him rotten.
“See something you like?” Chandra whispered in his ear and he honest to Maker whimpered.
Carver, either toying with the Tevinter man or just being a little shit, perfectly quirked a single eyebrow and Dorian was done. He spun on his heel and marched right out of the tavern.
“We’re drinking in the main hall.” He announced, surprised with himself for not choking on his words or his voice cracking.
They were a ways away from the rest of the Grey Warden group. Dylis and Aeron had gotten word of a massive amount of darkspawn sighted in The Emerald Graves, so everyone was packing up to go deal with it.
Dorian looked like someone had just told him his favorite cat died, the way he was moping around. Carver was little better, though.
Tightly embraced, Dorian wanted to keep holding onto his amatus and never let go. This was too much, too dangerous, too risky. Even for an experienced veteran like Carver and the rest of his group, this was excessive in Dorian’s professional opinion.
Carver felt roughly the same; although he felt as though there should be at least some Grey Warden presence at Skyhold, his offer was declined. He wasn’t the only one leaving a lover behind. Dylis and Alistair were leaving behind Leliana and Morrigan, respectively, so his request was probably seen as childish. For once, however, he didn’t care. He just wanted to be with Dorian.
They pulled away from each other, each of them gazing into each other’s eyes and burning the other’s features in their minds.
“You will be careful, won’t you?” Dorian was practically pleading with Carver, making the other man chuckle.
“Of course…you know me, the most careful and tactical of the bunch.” He said, trying to get a smile from the Tevinter mage.
His frown only deepened. “I’m serious, amatus. Please don’t do anything reckless.”
He softened. “I will, darling. I promise I will.”
Going to say something else, he snapped his head to the group when he heard Aeron call, “Hawke! We’re ready, come on!” There was less bite in his voice than Dylis probably would have had, and he appreciated it.
“I’ll be right there, Ser!” He yelled back. He turned back to Dorian. “Can I get a kiss for good luck?” He half-joked.
Finally, there was that smile he loved so much. “Well…if you insist.” Dorian pressed their lips together, and Carver reveled in the softness of his lips, the slight tickle of his mustache and the warm feeling in his heart.
They parted slowly, both love drunk. “Can I get another? Just because I love you?” He asked, almost whispering the words.
Dorian’s eyes widened and his breath quickened; always the same reaction when Carver told him that he loved him. But his smile returned and he gave him another kiss.
“CARVER! LET’S GO, VINTER FUCKER!” Dylis called and they parted again on laughs.
“Gotta go.” He reluctantly let go of his lover and turned to race towards the others.
“Carver!” Dorian called his name and said man turned. “I…love you, too.” He said.
A love drunk smile overcame Carver’s face and he stumbled backwards to the group.
Dylis managed to get him in a headlock while Oghren and Sigrun started to either tease him or interrogate him. Or both, more than likely.
And soon, they were off, the cart they borrowed rattling on the bridge connecting Skyhold to the rest of the world. Dorian stood at the gatehouse, watching as they got farther and farther away. He sighed, already feeling his chest contract with loneliness.
There was a hand on his shoulder and he turned to see Leliana smile at him. “Come, let’s have some tea.” She said, her voice unusually soft.
Dorian chuckled. “I’ll take some wine but yes. I think that’s just what I need.” Together, they turned and walked towards an awaiting Morrigan, the three of them bonded in their love for Wardens.
The morning sun greeted Carver like a slap to the face. He grumbled, cursing the fact he forgot to close the curtains the night before. The young Warden turns on his side, away from the damnable dawn.
His nose was tickled by Dorian’s hair when he turned and he finally opened his eyes to see his lover was still dozing his arms. He felt a small, soft smile creep along his face. Carver tightened his arms around the mage, burying his face into that luxurious mane of silken black hair.
There was a grunt and Dorian shifted. “What’re you doin’?” He slurred, his thick Tevinter accent making it hard to hear the words to Carver’s Fereldan brain.
“Cuddling you.” He replied matter of factly, smirking. “Is that too mushy for the big bad Magister? Hm?”
“I’d’ve thought it’d be too mushy for you. Big Fereldan brute.” He scoffed, turning around in Carver’s arms to place a quick kiss to his lips. “The sex must’ve been particularly good if you’re this happy.”
Carver laughed, returning the kiss. “Yes, yes, yes. You’re such a sex god, Lord Pavus, that you make my stone-cold heart melt.” He snarked and Dorian snorted.
“There you go, amatus.” He scrunches up his nose and pushes away from Carver’s broad chest. “Your breath is appalling and frankly, mine might be as well. Let’s go get ready. You are already late to your morning training session. Your commanders might -”
He never got to finish his sentence as one Dylis Cousland’s loud voice came through the door, her fist pounding on the door. “CARVER HAWKE, YOU BETTER BE DYING OR GETTING FUCKED OUTTA YOUR MIND, ELSEWISE YOU’RE GETTING A POUNDING FROM MY FISTS!!!”
Thank you to @puzzlingenigma! for the suggestions! I decided to do Dorian/Carver, coz I’m currently obsessed with them.
Kiss The Dawn
The morning sun greeted Carver like a slap to the face. He grumbled, cursing the fact he forgot to close the curtains the night before. The young Warden turns on his side, away from the damnable dawn.
His nose was tickled by Dorian’s hair when he turned and he finally opened his eyes to see his lover was still dozing his arms. He felt a small, soft smile creep along his face. Carver tightened his arms around the mage, burying his face into that luxurious mane of silken black hair.
There was a grunt and Dorian shifted. “What’re you doin’?” He slurred, his thick Tevinter accent making it hard to hear the words to Carver’s Fereldan brain.
“Cuddling you.” He replied matter of factly, smirking. “Is that too mushy for the big bad Magister? Hm?”
“I’d’ve thought it’d be too mushy for you. Big Fereldan brute.” He scoffed, turning around in Carver’s arms to place a quick kiss to his lips. “The sex must’ve been particularly good if you’re this happy.”
Carver laughed, returning the kiss. “Yes, yes, yes. You’re such a sex god, Lord Pavus, that you make my stone-cold heart melt.” He snarked and Dorian snorted.
“There you go, amatus.” He scrunches up his nose and pushes away from Carver’s broad chest. “Your breath is appalling and frankly, mine might be as well. Let’s go get ready. You are already late to your morning training session. Your commanders might -”
He never got to finish his sentence as one Dylis Cousland’s loud voice came through the door, her fist pounding on the door. “CARVER HAWKE, YOU BETTER BE DYING OR GETTING FUCKED OUTTA YOUR MIND, ELSEWISE YOU’RE GETTING A POUNDING FROM MY FISTS!!!”
Carver smiled sheepishly and Dorian laughed.
One for Luck, Two for Love
They were a ways away from the rest of the Grey Warden group. Dylis and Aeron had gotten word of a massive amount of darkspawn sighted in The Emerald Graves, so everyone was packing up to go deal with it.
Dorian looked like someone had just told him his favorite cat died, the way he was moping around. Carver was little better, though.
Tightly embraced, Dorian wanted to keep holding onto his amatus and never let go. This was too much, too dangerous, too risky. Even for an experienced veteran like Carver and the rest of his group, this was excessive in Dorian’s professional opinion.
Carver felt roughly the same; although he felt as though there should be at least some Grey Warden presence at Skyhold, his offer was declined. He wasn’t the only one leaving a lover behind. Dylis and Alistair were leaving behind Leliana and Morrigan, respectively, so his request was probably seen as childish. For once, however, he didn’t care. He just wanted to be with Dorian.
They pulled away from each other, each of them gazing into each other’s eyes and burning the other’s features in their minds.
“You will be careful, won’t you?” Dorian was practically pleading with Carver, making the other man chuckle.
“Of course…you know me, the most careful and tactical of the bunch.” He said, trying to get a smile from the Tevinter mage.
His frown only deepened. “I’m serious, amatus. Please don’t do anything reckless.”
He softened. “I will, darling. I promise I will.”
Going to say something else, he snapped his head to the group when he heard Aeron call, “Hawke! We’re ready, come on!” There was less bite in his voice than Dylis probably would have had, and he appreciated it.
“I’ll be right there, Ser!” He yelled back. He turned back to Dorian. “Can I get a kiss for good luck?” He half-joked.
Finally, there was that smile he loved so much. “Well…if you insist.” Dorian pressed their lips together, and Carver reveled in the softness of his lips, the slight tickle of his mustache and the warm feeling in his heart.
They parted slowly, both love drunk. “Can I get another? Just because I love you?” He asked, almost whispering the words.
Dorian’s eyes widened and his breath quickened; always the same reaction when Carver told him that he loved him. But his smile returned and he gave him another kiss.
“CARVER! LET’S GO, VINTER FUCKER!” Dylis called and they parted again on laughs.
“Gotta go.” He reluctantly let go of his lover and turned to race towards the others.
“Carver!” Dorian called his name and said man turned. “I…love you, too.” He said.
A love drunk smile overcame Carver’s face and he stumbled backwards to the group.
Dylis managed to get him in a headlock while Oghren and Sigrun started to either tease him or interrogate him. Or both, more than likely.
And soon, they were off, the cart they borrowed rattling on the bridge connecting Skyhold to the rest of the world. Dorian stood at the gatehouse, watching as they got farther and farther away. He sighed, already feeling his chest contract with loneliness.
There was a hand on his shoulder and he turned to see Leliana smile at him. “Come, let’s have some tea.” She said, her voice unusually soft.
Dorian chuckled. “I’ll take some wine but yes. I think that’s just what I need.” Together, they turned and walked towards an awaiting Morrigan, the three of them bonded in their love for Wardens.
stop ending stories in tragedy and calling it subversive, or a reflection of real life. you know what helps us understand real life even more than a reflection of it? writing that digs even deeper. that shows us how it could have been. that shows us the the worlds beneath the world and explores more than just the “realism” of a pointless unexpected death.
holding onto hope when all the world outside of us and all the world inside of us is telling us not to hope—not even for happy endings, but for thrilling beginnings, for content middles, for full good lives and healthy relationships with ourselves and others—those are the stories we need more than ever.
