Self Indulgent Sunday
Thank you to @optimisticgrey for the tag. 🫂 I emerge from the depths of my writing hole with a wip for the first time in...a hot minute.
Been slowly editing one of my Gale x Ashni ficlets so here is a new snippet:
In that stretch of that silence, it struck her with sudden clarity: it was not simply that he loved her. It was his certainty that as surely as he believed Mystra was magic, she had loved him in return. That as he poured every fiber of his being, body and soul, into her worship, she answered with that same singular devotion. That he mattered to her as light matters to the sun. Ashni might have laughed and called him foolish, but she could not shake the resentment that coiled in her chest at the Goddess who allowed him to build this foundation, to root himself in the delusion of it. Such arrogance could not stand on its own—it had to be fed. And fed it, she had.
And for my dragon age peeps, have some Solas x Manon angst. My take on the Crestwood breakup with a very perceptive inky.
Not yet. He would never forget those words, the way they stripped him bear before her because she had known. When he met her gaze it was not betrayal or anger in her eyes but the agony of an expectation finally met. She’d been waiting for this. She had always known. Not everything, but enough. And still, she had stayed. Loved him anyway. Loved him knowing and —and it was killing him. Thousands of years of chaos and ruin had not broken him. Empires had fallen, friends had burned, his world reduced to ash and memory warped beyond recognition and still, he had endured. But this? The quiet pleading in her eyes—for time. Not eternity. Just time. A little more. The knowledge that she had stepped willingly into a cathedral of glass, knowing it would shatter around her. This would be what killed him. Her fingers caught his hand, fragile and trembling. He almost pulled her into him. Almost let himself believe he could undo what had already been spoken into existence. He knew if he gathered her back into his arms, he would never let her go again. A little time was all she asked. But he would have happily let her drawn him under, let himself be swallowed by the embrace of forever. What good was leaving, he thought, if he could not survive the parting? But the cries of Arlathan rode the wind, and the will of Mythal thrummed in his bones. The weight of centuries pressed against him. He would not make her bear it. He would not make her a weapon. No more than he already had. He took her unmarked hand with a reverence he had never shown his own kind. Only her. “Forgive me, vhenan,” he whispered. Solas died in her palm, pressed there with a soft and final kiss. Only the Dread Wolf walked away.
I have been tagged by so many lovely ppl over the last few months in all kinds of wips so I'm attempting to throw all the love back out there but if I missed you, you are appreciated and just consider yourself tagged.
@litsenn @rdekarios @bladesingerlily @cinder-rellish181 @bhaal-battle-beer-bard @missfortunetherogue @lucretiouswept @emmy-and-the-tieflings @dr4gonwriter @perpetualmaladaptivedaydream @scoldingdarjeeling @in-the-drowning-deep @elishnord @woundedsoul12 @maagisterpavus @the-archons-moustache @sucksinlosers @baelthi @emberstormrage @gortashsrighthand @abysskeeper @widowling @thequeenofthewinter @ligmabhaals
