#wildertag

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Wilder's type appears to be redheads and/or people who have deadly secrets. This is not very surprising.

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You can tell a lot about a person from their hands...

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@hopewrought

Wilder made himself comfortable at his favorite table in the Hanged Man. People seldom used it, so it was marginally cleaner than the rest of the bar. It sat in the coldest corner of the first floor, far from both the bar and the fireplace. On top of that, one of Kirkwall’s many paintings of a stylized figure bent over in agony adorned the wall right beside it. Good line of sight to both the stairs and the exit. A bit of distance between the self and any prying eyes and ears in the hustle and bustle. It was perfect.

Wilder held a cup of hot, spiced wine in one hand as he scanned the crowd. He hadn’t drank a drop and did not plan to until much later in the night. He liked to let it warm his fingers while he watched the room. Here a surreptitious whisper. There a sharp look. A bag of coins passed under the table. None of it his business, but all of it entertaining in its own way. Then Wilder spotted the face that he’d been waiting for. He raised his cup to get her attention.

“Glad to see you’re not too good to share a drink with my like, Serah Hawke. It would have been a tragedy to lose you to polite society.”

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2. cheek kiss for wilder uwu

send kisses pls

Wilder leaned down just a bit for Marcella to better reach his face. After being surrounded by tall people for so long, it was refreshing to find a human smaller than him. Not that either of them was particularly short. In the grand scheme of things, they were well within the range one could consider average. It just so happened that Wilder was blessed with business associates the size of blighted trees. 

Wait-- he was getting distracted. He almost missed the soft brush of lips against his face, the smile on his skin. That smile spread from Marcella’s mouth to his own. Infectious. He stood straight again. No, straighter than before. 

“I don’t know what I did to deserve that, but I’ll try to do more of it.”

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marcella softly cups the mercenary's face with both hands, leaning up on her toes slightly to press a kiss to his forehead.

Marcella’s touch is so soft that it hurts, like warm water on frostbitten fingers. Wilder can’t make himself soft to match her. All he can do is still his body and let it wash over him. It hurts like rain running off of too-dry soil. He tries to let her warmth soak in, fill up the cracks. It hurts like sunlight to tired eyes. Wilder catches one of her hands and holds it where it is on his face. First his grip is too tight. It hurts like cleaning out a wound. He loosens his hand. Tries to make it less a fist and more a... he doesn’t have the words for what he wants. But her kiss hurts like the first bite of food after starving. It hurts like healing. 

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Can't wait for Wilder to show up in my fic so he can have fun for 0.2 seconds before having the rug pulled out from under him with the knowledge that his mom was made tranquil and then murdered

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I am physically incapable of making a character who isn't Soft. I tried with Wilder to make him all hard edges but no turns out it's actually really easy to see his soft side if you catch him interacting with kids or cats. Hircine is almost there but he loves his horrible demiprince children and his wolf wife too much.

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Ok I know I said I'm on hiatus but I've been struck with an actual Inspiration for once

Wilder has 2 modern AU timelines. One where Antonia dies and one where she doesnt. In the one where she dies, Wilder continues as usual. Gets into some shady business, falls back into a lot of self-destructive patterns.

In the one where she LIVES tho. That's fun. Wilder has his mama backing him up so hes able to go to university, become a small business owner, and generally has a better time because hes got a better support network. It's also kinda funny because Wilder runs a security company but his degree is in biochemistry. Turns out ya boy was a closet nerd the whole time.