#An'da

[exalted-dawn-drabbles]

Hi Ed!!

From the 'Emotional Intimacy & Pillow Talk' prompts, for Tal (cause I still love her!!!) and Calder (or whoever you choose): "Do you even realize what you do to me?"

Happy writing!!

HAHAHAHA OKAY I MAY HAVE GOTTEN A BIT INSPIRED BY TAL/AN'DA AND MAYBEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE GOT A LITTLE NSFW WITH THIS ONE HOPE YOU DONT MIND. This may have been the fastest smut I've churned out to date.

@dadrunkwriting

Rated E: Poetic Smut, ~450 words

Passionate Lessons | By Exalted_Dawn

Moans filled the thickened night air, hot and humid when pressed against her lips. Breathless. Desperate. Milk white fingers wound tighter with hers, trembling. Creators, she looked so tempting as she was, stained pink with flush and panting. Squirming for more. Talenna rolled her palm again, her fingers sinking deeper, all the way to the knuckle.

“Do you even realize what you do to me?” she wondered aloud, her own voice hardly more than a rasp. Any louder felt sacrilegious. The only sound that need cut the air was that of nectar-sweet mewling and the wet churn of her fingers between An’da’s legs. The harsh stutter of her breath as she fought for air. The crackle of fire.

Gently, she knelt to steal a kiss from those pink lips, left ajar for her to taste. 

Another pitched whimper bubbled up from An’da’s throat as Talenna savored the taste of her tongue. Tangled it with her own and sucked. 

Her hand plunged a bit deeper. Stroked more firmly against fluttering, hot-silk walls in search of a slow, devastating shattering. Talenna would not give her haste. An’da’s writhing body was something to be savored. Her pleasure, teased out and prolonged. 

Or perhaps Talenna was just selfish. 

She withdrew, and twisted her fingers again. An’da whined, and in that moment Talenna felt that perhaps she was the one on the edge of breaking. “Do you?” she tried again, before she became too transfixed to speak.

An’da weakly shook her head. Her grip became like iron. She was so close, but still it was too soon. 

In betrayal of something sacred, Talenna drew away her touch. The weave of their fingers loosened. Her hand came away covered in slick. Talenna was tempted to taste it, but she knew that that may drive her to only partake more of An’da’s pleasure. Not less. 

So she eased herself back, onto bent elbows and bowed knees. She spread her legs wide and inviting. 

“Come see for yourself,” she beckoned, and felt the pulse of it in her core. Needy. Begging for An’da’s pink tongue, sweet with kisses. “Come taste.”

Her demand had hardly gone spoken as those healer’s hands pried her thighs wider. Silver hair spilled in waves across her legs. Curiosity was a trait they both shared, and Talenna admired how the woman wasted no time indulging in hers.

That pretty mouth closed around Talenna’s clit and sucked hard. It was her turn to mewl. Their sounds twinned. Harmonized. Pleasure and savor met as one. 

An’da might not ever know the full extent of it, but as the woman’s tongue delved mercilessly between her folds, Talenna thought perhaps she might begin to learn.

And oh, what a lesson it would be.

#dadwc #dragon age fanfiction #talenna ethera #an'da #dragon age #dragon age ocs

[theluckywizard]

DADWC prompt:

As requested 😁 For Hawke/An'da “it’s not my fault you’re so comfortable to lay on!”

Woohooo my first OC OC nonsense piece! @dadrunkwriting

Here we have an injured Garrett Hawke staggering to Darktown to Anders' Clinic where An'da is working as a healer. First he's suffering from blood loss and later is under the influence of a sedative as An'da works on him. Shenanigans all around!

WC: 2399

CW: Blood and stab wound

Rating: Teen

Hawke can feel his pulse in the wound made by three maybe four inches of dirty steel. It had been a boy, eleven at most, though it’s hard to tell with the malnourished. He sheathed the little blade in his side, his saucers of fear for eyes catching Hawke’s before dashing away and merging with the crawl of people in Lowtown. A message from the Coterie. Or the Carta maybe.

Hawke staggers down to darktown clutching his side, brushing aside the fuzz that enters his mind at the edges as he parses through the possible takeaways. The message.

First, one should never be lazy about armor in Lowtown. It may be home, but even the kids will cut you for a couple silvers.

Second, cutting into the profits of either group of malodorous ne’er-do-wells is asking for it. 

Third— well, there might be a third but his thoughts meander, a little bit like the crowd around him, anyone who notices the deep crimson wicking widely in his tunic stumbling back, recoiling from the preamble to death like it isn’t a daily fixture in this cursed swathe of Kirkwall.

He knows the route well enough to stagger there in this state, his mind swimming like there’s a half a bottle of Corff’s potato grog inside of him. He stumbles his way into the alleys that sink low under the city, into the stagnant air of Darktown, smearing his very essence on the tuff walls. Nonsensically impertinent thoughts invaded his mind as he bled his way to Anders’ clinic. The one who carved this tuff passage so long ago. Did they imagine the way it would smell dozens of ages hence? Did they secretly enjoy the break from the insolence of Kirkwall’s sun or did the humidity kicking up from the bay make them more miserable under the surface?

Darktown opens up to the harbor and the scent of mildew and human waste gives way to stagnant aromas of decaying seaweed and sloshing mystery flotsam. He’s close, he can tell by his nose, but his senses are getting rather unreliable and he’s beginning to think this is all some manner of mild inconvenience, something he could probably patch up himself given the right instruments and materials.

A healing draught to perk him up perhaps. Clean linen. Corff’s potato grog. A bent needle and some waxed thread.

He shoulders his way through the flimsy door to the clinic, a few workers startling to attention as he staggers into the space like a wayward drunk. He raises a hand, a little meekly and tries a few casual looking poses before leaning against a support timber, summoning his best winning grin.

“I— uh— heard I could get some supplies here. For minor lacerations and the like. I’ll be no trouble— just— ask Anders. Patch up my own stuff all the time,” he says, his head lolling to one side slightly before he rights it. He lifts his unfastened doublet from his tunic and stares at the blooming bloodstain laughing, the jerking of his diaphragm sending fresh surges of deep red through the fabric. He looks up and scans the room for what he needs, ignoring the baffled, questioning looks of the clinic workers. “Ah— there they are!” Hawke makes for a table laid with instruments beside a wooden operating table with a bloody trough down the center that makes him recoil slightly.

He’d rather not lie on one of those death slabs. He’ll patch himself up good as new, troubling no one.

“Hawke, is it?” come a lyrical voice, floating in pleasantly like it might be a dream as he picks up a needle that looks the right shape and a wad of clean cloth. He answers without looking up. “I’ve— seen you here before. Usually moments before Anders vanishes on some harrowing adventure.”

“I don’t know why he insists on tagging along, but I certainly can’t complain,” mumbles Hawke, collecting a handful. “The man could reattach a severed head in a pinch.”

“That’s a fair bit of blood, Serah Hawke,” she says gently, her hand creeping in to cover the hand he’s loaded with the needed supplies. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather let me have a look?”

“No, no— I couldn’t— possibly inconvenience you. You’re all so busy— and this is just a—“ he looks down again, the blood having spread into his trousers. “Flesh wound,” he breathes in a faint falsetto.

“Easy there, da’len. Easy…” she says softly. Hawke turns to see her, his vision growing fuzzy around the edges. Rosy cheeks, a delicately branching vallaslin and serpentstone eyes meet him. Hawke blinks languidly, admiring her shock of ashen white hair managed in tidy plaits and the elegant length of her elven ears. Lovely, he thinks as his head nods. Really lovely. She motions for assistance but it’s not soon enough.

Hawke lists, his consciousness dissolving into jelly as assuredly as his legs and he slowly pitches forward. The worker slips between him and the bench, pushing on his chest, desperately trying to hold him up to organize him around her shoulders in the most stable position but instead she melts under his floppy, hulking mass until they’re a heap on the floor.

“Looks like you’ve got quite a wound there, big fella,” she squeaks under his mass. But Hawke finds this position irresistible, his wits, his failing body melting into her. Into the ground.

“Actually this— is— really, rather comfortable. Perhaps I’ll just— stay— here.”

“Creators,” she mutters. “A little assistance please?” Her voice is the adorable squeak of a pantry mouse, he thinks, neverminding that the octave is at least in part because of squashing her languidly. He waves off those who come for him, his arms thrashing lightly wanting to keep the sweet little pillow beneath him. Perhaps she might just keep talking until he’s slipped into this delicious nap that’s calling him.

But hands circle each ankle and then his arms by his shoulders and he’s first gently lifted off the small woman and then arms find their way under his chest and hips and he’s heaved onto the death slab he’d dreaded, his mind practically circling the drain.

Emerald eyes hover over him solicitously, and it’s nearly all he can focus on, two little jewels suspended under a cloud and that voice.

oOo

Hawke comes to, at least partially anyway, because there’s a mushiness to it all that he finds unbelievably pleasant, the sharp edges of full awareness beyond his grasp still. Figures mill about him and he can’t tell if they’re there for him or someone else, but they might as well be there for him.

“Didja fixmeup?” he asks the first face to venture into his line of sight, his words dribbling out like molasses spilling off a spoon. But he’s smiling at least and the world feels as light as spun sugar and he can’t keep the rapture inside.

Green eyes peer over him, lifting up the hem of his tunic to check his wound.

“You.”

“An’da,” she corrects him, smiling, and he’s too hopped up on sedative herbs to catch the amusement behind her expression.

“Annnnn’daaaaa. Annnnderrrssss. You two planned it this way, din’tyou?” Hawke laughs to himself, his grin wide and languorous, practically spilling off his face. An’da is unmoved by his tumbling words, having heard it all before.

“A little longer and you would have been taking tea with Falon’Din,” she notes. She presses gently around the side of his abdomen.

“Owwwww,” he says flatly, his head falling back, hair spilling away from his face.

“You’ll need to take it easy for at least a week, da’len,” she says, ducking down to take a closer look. “But I’m guessing you’ll be testing your limits tomorrow.”

“If I ripmy sitches can I come back?” he slurs dreamily.

“You’re going to stay in bed like the darling man that you are so that you are good as new,” she says, reaching over him for a pot of salve that she dabs on the tidy stitches above his hipbone.

“But I wanna come back,” he says, his expression dulcet with sedative fueled-longing. “I would have died. You’re— you’re the bess.”

“I’ll add you to my collection of partially sedated beaus, sweet thing,” she smiles, two little rosy balls of warmth in her cheeks that Hawke thinks must have been pinched by the Maker himself. He reaches to touch one but his hand bobs heavily and he giggles at it as it lolls sideways away from its intended destination.

“But they don’t love you like I do,” he mutters to her with glazed eyes, his grin rather dashing for someone dashed out of his mind on a tincture of black lotus and ghoul’s beard.

“You’re right, da’len. Nobody’s ever loved me like you,” she replies sweetly. She slides along the bed and leans over to pat his cheek gently, and it would wipe his wits clean away if he had any to begin with. Anders sidles up alongside her, his hands on his hips, eyebrows arched high as he regards Hawke pityingly. Hawke lets his eyes slip closed.

“Anders,” he intones softly, as high as his name implies. “You have the mose beautful sister.”

“I know,” Anders replies gamely, giving An’da a quick squeeze around her shoulders. “I greatly look forward to your wedding.” If Hawke was more lucid he might notice the roll of An’da’s eyes in Anders’ direction or the way she elbows him lightly. He might notice the hushed conversation they have about the likelihood that he’ll tear his stitches back open unless he’s under strict bed rest. 

“Hawke, have you been a difficult patient?”

“I’ve been a perfeck gennleman.”

“That’s a separate question. An’da here kept you from bleeding out and I think we’d all like to see you live to fight another day. But if you’re going to ignore our recommendations and bash about Lowtown looking for the people responsible…”

“Gotta find the little sprog and have a word,” he says. “Probly hungry”

“I’ll pay you a home visit if you agree to stay in bed,” she offers. “Someone will have to come check to make sure you behave.”

“Never been one t’behave,” Hawke sighs. “Bud I’d be good for you.”

“Shocking no one,” says Anders. “If he gets fresh, hit him with another dose of sedative. Or just— hit him.”

“I could never hit such a puppy,” says An’da, giving his big hand an affectionate pat. Even miles from his right mind, Hawke musters a smug grin for his favorite battle medic.

“Maker, don’t encourage him. He’ll never leave you alone,” pokes Anders. “The wound looks good, another dose of healing and we can give him the antidote for the sedative.”

“You really don’t though,” muddles Hawke. “I could juss. Stay like this. Here. With Annnn’daaaa.”

“I don’t think so. I’ve seen the way you live,” quips Anders. “Can’t have my clinic looking like that.”

An’da drags a small stool alongside the clinic bed so she can reach the wound with her hands which he finds to be unbearably darling, abundant as he is in stature. She leans forward and places both hands over the wound, her Elvish words bouncing like a pebble across placid waters as she summons her mana and pushes the blue luminescence deep into his abdomen.

“Maker, you’re wonderful,” he sighs at the ceiling.

“I— um.  As much as I’ve enjoyed your sweet nothings,” she begins, wandering over to a bench of bottles and mixtures and mortars and pestles, “It’s time to set your mind to rights.” She arrives with a precious vial of liquid and kicking her stool over a few feet, climbs atop to lift his head and press the vial to his lips.

“Drink up,” she encourages him. “That’s right, da’len.” Hawke submits to her instructions like her very nearness enchants him, his eyes filled with stars as he blinks at her blushing cheeks and kind eyes.

The antidote for the sedative works quickly, replacing the haze with a headache that outstrips the worst of his hangovers. 

“Andraste’s smoldering arse,” he groans, clutching at his entire face like it might banish the pulsating behind his eyes if he claws at it enough. At least the wound seems to be behaving in this regard.

“Sorry,” she squeaks and his attention alights again on the sweet pantry mouse. He squeezes his eyes shut, nodding as he recollects his antics.

“I— believe I owe you an apology. Or at the very least a drink at the Hanged Man,” he says, in a shameless pivot.

“Careful, An’da or he’ll add you to his collection of beguiled healers,” says Anders, returning. He gives Hawke a clinical look and checks the stitches closely. “Pain on a scale of one to ten?”

“Stab wound? Two. Head? Eight.”

“I— um— I think I could be talked into a visit to the tavern,” she says softly, sheepishly, her chin tucked low like his gaze is some manner of threat. Anders just shakes his head, his grin wide and knowing. “But— only after you’re healed up fully.”

“Lovely! Maker knows if Corff’s special mead is ready there’s a solid chance I’ll need a comfortable pillow on the tavern floor. You’ll do nicely.”

“Oh— I—“ she fumbles, her entire face blazing, but she seems to catch on. “That was a joke, wasn’t it?”

“Have you and Merrill been trading notes?” Hawke asks and then calls after Anders. “Have they been trading notes?” He turns back to her again, fixing one of his usual brazen looks upon her. “It was a joke. Unless you’re secretly a pillow after all. In which case it very much wasn’t.”

“I— um— I’ll—just be over there,“ she stammers and blushes and stammers some more and Hawke thinks she looks as beautiful as a Fereldan sunrise. She turns and hurries away and Hawke mulls over another chance he’s dashed with his cursed trap flapping and misguided flirting.

“Hawke,” says Anders, “you always do this to my staff. I’m going to have to hang a picture of you on the wall with appropriate warnings. Yes he will profess his love to you under sedation. Yes he will attempt to enchant you with a sky blue smolder. *Do not engage*.”

“Please do,” replies Hawke. “And make me a copy. I’ll give it to Varric to hang on his wall.”

#Hawke & Anders #Garrett Hawke #Dragon Age 2 #Anders Clinic #An'da #theluckywizard #OC & OC Fic #Gift Fic #Kids will stab you in lowtown #Hawke is a terrible patient #And very large #An'da makes a good pillow

[breninarthur]

almost - an'da/kallian

rated g, 1048 words. awkwardness, embarrassment, sickfic (kinda).

for oc kiss week! an'da eolasa belongs to @about2dance - i hope you like it <3

It had been almost three weeks since Kallian fell ill. Almost three weeks of nobody knowing what exactly was wrong with her. 

She’d been bedridden, delirious, experiencing hot and cold flashes, waking up in cold sweats and screaming from pernicious nightmares… and the pain. Each day was a countdown to when her next migraine would hit, or her knee would lock up, or her skin felt as though it had been sunburned twice over.

And each day, An’da would come.

She tried every remedy she knew, and when they ran out, she invented new ones. Though they hadn’t gotten to the bottom of Kallian’s illness yet, An’da always knew how to alleviate the pain. Spindleweed for the intermittent fevers, Prophet’s Laurel leaves for the headaches, an elfroot salve for the skin, heat for the joints when ice didn’t work… it was endless, but the only thing that felt like a chore was the not knowing. It was frustrating, caring for someone without being able to make the hurt go away permanently.

But she was working on it.

“An’da,” Kallian grinned as the healer walked into the room that would likely have a permanent medicinal scent to it after all the herbs she’d used.

“How are you feeling?” she asked with a warm smile. Her friend looked much better than she had. Pale, but lucid and not screaming crying, which was an incredible improvement.

“Better,” Kallian said, sighing happily. “A little bored, maybe. I was thinking I could probably pop down to the training grounds, help the newer recruits with—”

“Absolutely not,” An’da cut across, raising an eyebrow. There was no heat to her words, just as there had been no sincerity in Kallian’s. She was merely pushing her luck, as usual.

“Fine.” Kallian sighed dramatically, slumping back and rolling her eyes, a faint smile still tugging at her lips. “I suppose you’ll just have to keep me entertained, then.”

An’da chuckled. “And how should I do that?”

Kallian seemed to falter at that. Her eyes flicked back and widened just a fraction. She looked as though she wanted to say something, but changed her mind at the last minute.

“Oh, it looks like your flush is back,” An’da muttered, leaning closer to inspect the red in her cheeks and gently touch her forehead.

“No, it’s just…” Kallian laughed weakly, trailing off. Her eyes darted between An’da’s for a moment, wide and panicking for some reason.

“Are you alright?” An’da asked her quietly, furrowing her brow as she searched Kallian’s face.

“Yes!” she yelped, brushing her hand away suddenly and bolting upright. “You know what, I think I just need to get moving. Could you help me up, please?”

An’da tried to protest, but Kallian was already on the move, swinging her legs out of bed with grunts of effort and gritted teeth. An’da’s hands shot out to hold her steady, cupping her elbows as Kallian swayed on her feet and clutched at her friend’s shoulders.

“Maker…” Kallian whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. “I’m sorry.”

“What? What for?”

“I was just trying to get away from you,” she muttered, shaking her head.

An’da blinked in surprise and hurt, taking a step back. Had she done something wrong? Was she being too overbearing? Maybe the Warden wanted to heal on her own terms, or—

“Not like that!” Kallian blurted out, her eyes snapping open again. “It’s… I just… I’m… ugh!”

She held An’da tighter, and looked into her eyes as if that was enough, as if the words wouldn’t come any other way. But An’da looked lost. Kallian sighed.

“These past few weeks… well, before that, really, this just sort of… look, I’m just trying to say… I-I think you’re amazing, An’da. You’re kind, and talented, and beautiful, and…”

An’da’s mind went blank. Her cheeks flooded with heat and her mouth opened wordlessly. When she’d decided to take care of Kallian, she’d considered the possible outcomes. The Grey Warden was notoriously stubborn, she seemed the type to refuse treatment and bedrest. People said she was grumpy, and not the type to follow orders, especially when those orders were to do nothing.

This had never been on the cards.

“Am I mental?” she continued. “Or do you… I don’t know, see something in me too?”

Did she? Memories rapidly flicked through An’da’s mind. Kallian laughing hysterically at one of Varric’s jokes, tears streaming down her cheeks. Kallian crying, helplessly clinging to An’da as her body was wracked with pain. Kallian’s ferocity on the battlefield, grinning with blood on her teeth. Kallian and the softness she’d only showed her dog, until recently.

“I…”

What was she supposed to say? Yes? Was that even the truth?

Kallian nudged forwards, ever so slightly.

An’da was frozen.

Kallian’s eyes darted down to her lips and back. She waited, as though she were asking permission but hadn’t the bravery to voice her intentions.

An’da didn’t know what to say, couldn’t say anything, but found herself paying attention to how Kallian’s tongue darted out for a split second before she was leaning in again.

Closer, closer, and An’da’s eyes fluttered shut.

Their noses brushed, and that was enough.

This was wrong.

“I can’t,” An’da said sternly, stepping back while making sure the other elf wasn’t about to topple over. “You aren’t well, Kallian. It… wouldn’t be appropriate.”

To say the least.

Kallian nodded weakly. “Right… sorry.”

“It’s—”

“No, you’re right, you’re right. Creators, that was bold, wasn’t it?” she laughed, feeble and forced. She wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Maybe I really do need rest.”

An’da smiled gently as Kallian nervously twisted the ring on her finger. “We can talk properly when you’re feeling better.”

She helped the Warden back into bed, who kept apologising profusely despite An’da’s assurances that it was alright.

“I’ll see you later,” the healer murmured, as she shut the door behind her.

She paused for a minute as she processed everything that happened. It was… confusing, and too much to think about all in one go. Besides, though Kallian seemed better, there was no guarantee that whatever had been ailing her was gone. There was still work to do.

As An’da set off towards the herb gardens, she couldn’t help but smile at the muffled groan of embarrassment that came from Kallian’s room.

[divider credit]

#ockiss24 #dragon age #tabris #sickfic #warden tabris #my writing #kallian tabris #an'da eolasa #op

[musfika-hanim]

... neler yazacaktım neler yazdım..

evde yalnızım bir tuhaf hissediyorum. kızlar şu an semalarda bir saat sonra izmir'de olacaklar. çok enerjik ve mutlu gittiler ve iki hafta yoklar :( dün gece beraber otururken "anne biz yokken canın çok sıkılır mı" diye sordu english teacher yok ya dedim ben takılırım kendimce sıkıntı yok :) küçük kızçemin sınavına çok az kaldı ve onu evde yalnız bırakmak istemiyorum o yüzden sadece o okulda ve dershanede iken gitmek durumundayım derneğe. evdeki işlerimi halletmeyi seviyorum yalnızken onları hallederim bayram geliyor temizlik de olmuş olur. evde biraz içime dönerim, kendimi dinlerim (hiç dinlemiyormuşum gibi) ben bu yalnızlığı fırsata çevirebilirim ve bundan hoşnut da olurum. çoğu zaman bu evde birgün tamamen yalnız yaşayacağımı da düşünürüm ki bu çok mümkün. kızlar atanır ya da yuva kurarsa, küçük kızçem üniversite okumaya başka şehre giderse yalnız yaşamak kaçınılmaz olur. elhamdülillah kendimi her şart ve koşulda ortama adapte edebilen ve hayatın olumlu olumsuz getirilerine karşı beyin olarak hazırlıklı olan biriyim. olumsuz da düşünmem hiç kendime bunu kodlamam, ne olacaksa o andaki ruha karışmayı ondan mutlu olmayı becerebilmeyi öngörmeye çalışır aklım. gelecek ile ilgili de plan yapmam hiç zamanında kurduklarım elimden alındığı için. Allah ne verirse, neyi nasip ederse o olacak ve bunun içinde benim gayretim ve duam da vardır bunu bilirim. şükretmeye, yaşamımın zorluklarından çok verilen nimetlerin farkındalığında olmaya çabalıyorum şükür ve teslimiyet için bu şart. dünyayı çok iyi tanıdım, ona ve insanlara çok fazla bağlanır bel bağlarsam yarıda öylece bırakacağını bilirim. o yüzden an'da, an'da olanlarla, an'ın getirdikleri ve gelecek için de duayla şu hayatı O'nun da yardımıyla yaşamaya çalışıyorum. ne yazacaktım konu nerelere geldi hep böyle oluyor zaten. bugün için evi temizleme ve market alışverişi yapma planım var. derneğe bugün ve yarın gitmeyeceğim. yarın iki arkadaşımı yatıya çağırdım ve cuma günü inşallah bizden derneğe geçeceğiz genel merkezden misafirlerimiz var seminer ve toplantı olacak. Allah hayatı kolay ve insanca yaşayabilecek kabiliyet versin hepimize. insanız, yanlış yaparız, hataya düşeriz farkeder telafi ederiz ve yolumuza yine devam etmekle yükümlüyüz. acılarımız, sevinçlerimiz, kaygılarımız ve daha birçok duygu bizim birer parçamız yeter ki hepsini makul seviyelerde yaşayalım itidalli olalım ve bu hayatta kalbim için en çok dilediğim istediğim ve çoğunlukla öyle hissettiğim ve insanlar için de en çok sahip olsunlar istediğim merhamet duygusunu diliyorum, dileniyorum herkes için. merhametin olduğu bir kalpte kötülük barınmaz, barınamaz çünkü. Allah yumuşak sekinet dolu bir kalp, selim bir ruh, hayırla açılan kapılar, güzel bir yaşam, uzun, hayırlı, sağlıklı, salih bir ömürden sonra hakka yaraşır bir ölüm nasip etsin hepimize. amin.

("plan yapmam" dan kasıt bugün ve yarını içeren rutin işler güçler, güncel konular vs'den ziyade gelecekle ilgili, geleceğe ait hayal, istek vs tüm mevzular. ben asla programsız, plansız yaşayamayan biriyim zaten. anlatmaya çalıştığım konu daha, geniş ve kapsamlı geleceğe dair planlardan uzak durduğum)

*uzun yazmayı çok seven biri olarak okuyacaklara sabır dilerim ve okuyanlara dua 🤍

[olafkardanadam]

Olaf benim çok iyi anlaştıĝım biri var burda. Sohbetini, arkadaşlıĝını çok seviyorum. Watsaptanda kousuyoruz. Oda her şeyini paylaşıyor benimle. Filmleri, kitapları, muzikleri, bende aynı şekilde. Geçmişte bir iki sevdiĝi olmuş. Ama şuan yok. Benim ona karşį son zamanlarda hoşlantı gibi bir şeyler hissediyorum. Ama ondan emin deĝilim. Sanki aklı geçmişte gibi ama banada çok iyi davranıyor. Aklım karışıyor. Duygularımı söylesem bu sefer bu güzel arkadaşlıĝı kaybedecem diye korkuyorum. Gerçekten çok iyi bir Adam. Ne yapmam gerektiĝini bilmiyorum.

Hiç kimseye kendini anlatmak için didinme. Çok azı hariç insanların çoğu seni anlamak istedikleri gibi anlayacaklardır. Kimseye dürüstlüğünü ispatlamaya da kalkışma. Çünkü dürüst olmanın saflık olarak görüldüğü bir devrin insanlarıyla yaşıyorsun. Kimseye sırlarını asla açma çünkü dostlukların pamuk gibi savrulduğu bir zamanda, sırların hançer gibi kullanıldığı bir asırdasın ve kimseye güvenmekte ne aşırılılığa kaç ne de güvenmemekte katı ol çünkü güvenin fazlası insanı kör, azı ise şüpheci eder.

("Her şeyin bir zamanı var. Hiçbir şey de nedensiz olmaz. Akışa güven, olanı kabullen. Her şey olması gerektiği gibi. Tam olman gereken yerde, tam yaşaman gerekeni yaşıyorsun. Hiçbir şey için geç de değil, erken de. An'da kal ve sakin ol. Kalpten istediğin şeye ulaşacaksın. Sadece zamanı var ve Allah'ın zamanlaması mükemmeldir.")

[benmeftun06]

Allâh'ım..

Bizlere Kur-an'da vaad ettiğin başarı ve zaferi nasip et...

Âmîn, Ecmâin

[dolunaysuratlikadin]

Bu nasıl bir acizlik nasıl bir sevilmemişlik bilmiyorum ama birinin çıkıp bir an'da;

"Ağrıyan kalbine inat öperim seni kadın"

Demesini bekliyorum beni böyle sevmesini böyle her şeye rağmen tüm yaşanmışlıklara rağmen.

Kalbim çok ağrıyor her geçen gün her bir acıyla,ruhumda bir o kadar ağrıyor.

Ama kimse gelmiyor,pes ediyorum artık sevilmeyi beklemiyorum.

Hak ettiğimi bile düşünmüyorum artık.

Ne sevilmeyi, Ne görülmeyi, Ne'de anlanmayı.

[bad-rper]

🤐 korkoi cichol

Send me   “ 🤐 “   for my muse to admit a secret they’ve been keeping from yours

It was a far flung realm. A time and place where words stayed unspoken, brimstone did not fatefully fall, and the moon, if only for a moment, shone a little less harsh. There was never a man named 'Cichol'. Such an idea never needed to even be conceived. After all, no man could outshine that nearest to his side. And, in recent years, nearest to his heels.

"Which will spill first, I wager? That your fathers are murderers? Apostates? The nature of our work?

Though, in equal measure, would any of that stick in your mind? Would you even care?"

Fleeting mirth over the boy's whimsy was soon to subside.

"... You ought.

For one day, when you might live on your own accord, we shall return to it. And, at the end of my journey, I do not see much chance in my mortal return. Neither can I speak for your an'da's."

Reaching over his shoulder, those thin and overlong fingers pressed into the beveled reminder of their bind. A scar made of threads he felt tethered beyond worlds.

"But know, no matter what awaits, it was all done so that you might be the brightest star shining in the heavens."

A smile turned, one beneath Moonlight that was, itself, just a little less harsh. A whiteness burning with warmth.

"Just as you are in my shadow."

#ask #A #anonymous #Korkoi Yewfelle #maybe baby

[yaralanma]

arada bi eskiden yaşanan günlere geri dönülmeli hep an'da yaşanmıyor

[exalted-dawn-drabbles]

Halloo Ed! I absolutely must have me some Tal!! She brings joy! I liked all of these & could not choose... So I give you three choices and you could take one, or a combination, or all three if you're feeling crazy!!

♧: One character playing with the other’s hair    

♡: Accidentally falling asleep together    

♢: Forehead or cheek kisses 

Happy Writing!!

hehehehehe have another little Tal/An'da uwu since you gave me so many wonderful prompts <3

for @dadrunkwriting

Rating G: Fluff, the tiniest bit of hurt/comfort vibes, 260 words

Rest Well | By Exalted_Dawn

For a long time, the sound of snores, muffled and quiet on each inhale, was the only sound that filled the room. The rhythm of it was as a lilting song, slow with the tempo of deep sleep. It did not stop Talenna’s fingers as she carded them still through An’da’s hair. The strands caught like starlight on her fingers, glowing faintly in the dying emberlight. It was captivating. She was. 

It was good that she was finally getting some rest. The stubborn heart– she had stayed up so long preparing potions for the campaign tomorrow. Had it been Talenna’s choice, she would have retired hours ago, but she supposed this was well enough. 

Idly, she curled over the sleeping woman to press a kiss to her temple. Her thighs were numb and her own eyelids were beginning to droop with exhaustion, but Talenna was not ready to move quite yet. Just a while longer, to let An’da rest, she told herself. Then they could move to bed. But for now, she would continue to sit and sift starlight between her fingers, drawing out this night for as long as she could. 

An’da would leave with the company tomorrow, and when she did, she would take her books and the scent of herbs and oils with her. This room would feel empty once more, and Talenna would have to learn again to sleep without the soft songs of her loves breath. It would be a lonely time. So just for tonight… just a little while longer. 

“Continue to rest well.”

#dadwc #talenna ethera #an'da #talenna/an'da #dragon age fanfiction

[meursaultus1]

An'da kalmak mı? An'ı yaşamak mı?

[delicatefade]

Recommending Memories in the Dust by about2dance

Very cool head canons about Ancient Elvhenan in this short story by @about2dance Love the lore around hair, memory beads, and vallaslin-centered compulsion. Also, An'da is a great OC! Brave and sweet. A wittle smol sweet baby I want to hug. And the angst is sooo thick! Read on AO3 -> I also read this as part of my commenting sprint for @justleaveacommentfest

#dragon age fanfiction #dragon age fic #commentweek #justleaveacomment #my friend's fic #my friend's oc #ancient elvhenan #elf lore #cool dragon age head canons #solavellan #solas x oc #papae solas

[protector-ofthe-wilds]

Elune's will was not to be questioned.

Koda knew this. She was raised on this. The entire culture of her people was steeped within the knowledge that their deity - their Mother Moon - was an infallible bastion of righteousness. Whatever pleased Her should spark delight amongst the Kaldorei; whatever served as an affront against Her should be met with swift and divine retribution. There was no wiggle room on this, no grey area, no debate to be had.

When Elune spoke, Her word was to be obeyed. Her judgement was to be fulfilled. Her will was not to be questioned.

And yet, as Koda sat on the edge of her bed in the earliest hours of the morning, watching Cervontis sleep, she couldn't help but wonder, 'Why?'

There was the easy answer: Cervontis had gone against the tenants of their faith and committed crimes against their people that needed to be answered for. And in the eyes of many of their kin, penance was a far greater kindness than he deserved. But Elune had granted him with mercy, and so the Kaldorei obliged their Goddess' word.

But, there was no such thing as an easy answer, and certainly not in this case. With what Cervontis had told her, despite having likely done terrible things while under the influence of the Flame, the initial choice to travel the dark path had not been his own.

And so, the wondering.

Why?

Why would Elune punish a victim? She knew everything, and so She certainly knew the true circumstances of his conversion. So why would She elect to banish him back to the Firelands at the completion of his atonement? Wouldn't She rather see him free of those chains? Wouldn't She champion the wounded, not inflict them with further suffering?

And, Cervontis was doing so well. In the short time Koda had known him, she'd watched his personality transform. He was still rough around the edges, sure, but nowhere near how he'd been when they first met. He was listening, and learning, and trying to be a little better each day than he'd been the day before. He was not the sort of person that needed to be exiled, and certainly not to the hellscape that was the Firelands.

So...why?

It was a simple question, but it rocked the foundation of everything Koda had ever known to its core. Because, if she was questioning the Goddess' judgement on Cervontis, then she also had to question Her judgement on her an'da.

And, even further beyond that, Koda had to question her own feelings about her an'da and his exile. While recent events had begun to elicit hope that her father could be redeemed, it didn't change the fact that she had hated him so much for so long for what he'd done to their family. Even now, her anger burned hot, disgusted by his selfish choice to walk the path of a heretic, but...

But what if it hadn't been him who was wrong? What if the one who was wrong was...

She couldn't complete the thought. Couldn't bring herself to that conclusion, regardless of how wildly these thoughts were spinning around in her mind.

And so, instead, Koda focused on the man before her. Followed the steady rise and fall of his chest with her gaze. He seemed so...peaceful. So at ease, despite it all.

She wouldn't let them steal that from him. She wouldn't sit idly by while they tossed him back into containment, back into the fires of his torment, undoing all the work they had put into making him the man he wanted to be. Koda would find a way to quench him of the sin that burned within him; whether through the latent power of the seed the Keeper had planted in him, or through converting the flames of destruction into the healing flames of the Red Dragonflight, or a mixture of both. Regardless of the method, she would not see the Druid imprisoned again - not by the Wardens, not by the Sentinels...not even by Elune Herself.

Koda had promised Cervontis his freedom, and she was not a woman who broke her promises.

No matter what the cost.

#writing #afterthoughts #mild spoilers #11-15-23 #cervvy #thavey

[real-death]

An'da kal.

[sinestezii]

Çarşamba 8.00 - 20.45 mesaisi, haftanın en uzun günü.

Dört ekranlı masamda, aklımı kapatmamak için ekranlardan ikisini kapattığım ve bunalım sınırında çalıştığım herhangi bir an'da, birinin beni izlediği hissiyle irkiliyorum. Kafamı bir çeviriyorum kiiii kapıda şöyle bir şey durup bana bakıyor. Çıldıracağım. Sen benim içimi nasıl hissedebilirsin, nasıl?!

Allah'ım İlayda'nın da bundanı olsun. Ofisine böyle bir bebekle gitsin falan. Amin.

[bad-rper]

If you could tell your parents anything, no punishments, what would you say? (Teenfred)

Juvenile defiance was not lost in the young man. Even by his posture, folded arms and sinking backwards, it was apparent that this topic of conversation drew no respect from him. A tight frown trembled in pressurized ire, those eyes alit in blue fire.

"Hey min'da! An'da!"

A passionate sounding of warhorns to an invisible enemy.

"Go FUCK yourself!"

As passionate as it was petulant. Not that they deserved much better.

#ask #Thanfred Veilborne