#sappiness

I’ve been a Funnybunny shipper since the pilot, looking at art, watching animatics, making art, but it was after Episode 5 when I signed up for Ao3. I barely went on it, as I was more into fanart then reading fics, maybe one or two on the weekends, but when I read the first Chapter of I wish I could talk to you, my opinions changed.

Every night when i signed in, I’d go to bookmarks and see if that fic had updated. The writing was so… realistic and it was funny and not… to angsty. It was around chapter ten when I commented for the first time, saying how I loved the fic and doodled some scenes, and I was surprised when Guy responded! It was that night when I made a tumblr so I could show him what I drew by sending it into his asks, and so on.

Not only was it an amazing fic and surrounded my August-December 2025, but I also like… met one of my best friends through it. Even though I was definitely super awkward at first, he made me feel comfortable to be myself. So, not only was the fic great and a pretty big chunk of my 2025 (even though I didn’t even write it…) but the author is also SO AWESOME AND TALENTED AUAUAHH!!

Sorry… anyway, this is an appreciation post for @thenumber1superspecialguy and his crazy good writing skills and his great awesome sauce-iness. YAY!

Love, your topical Nutella eating, attention living bug, Millie.

Zevran smiles at him. He’s already been turned away at two other shops and has a few more to go. This time, he tries a bit of coaxing.

“I am getting married,” he confides, and it’s thrilling to share the news, even with a stranger.

“Ah,” Bonifacio says with a sigh. Holding up a finger he walks away from the counter. Moments later he returns with another case, this one full of sparkling rings.

“I see what you are getting at, young man,” he says, “but for something so important, why leave it to chance? Look at this. White gold and diamonds. Amethysts, rubies. Tell me about this girl. What does she like?”

“He is not so gaudy,” Zevran laughs. “My man is not one for gems. What else do you have?”

“Of course, of course! I have such a variety. Let me bring out the men’s rings. Of course.”

He hasn’t been thrown out yet, and that is encouraging. Instead, case after case of rings is brought out for his perusal. Zevran looks at them all, declining every one, and when the last case has been rejected, Bonifacio sighs again.

“Ten andris for the use of the shop,” he says finally. “Plus materials.”

“Thief,” Zevran scoffs. “I come here with my heart bared and you say ten andris?”

“Nine, then.”

“Has anyone even come in before me today? I very much doubt it. Look at the state of this place—you need to mop your baseboards and clean your windows—”

“Alright you bastard, how’s eight andris and you do the cleaning yourself?”

“Deal,” Zevran quickly agrees and thrusts out his hand. It is midday, and he needs this to work.

Haggling concluded, Bonifacio shakes his hand firmly, like a merchant or a noble.

“Now if you could show me to the work room—”

“Not yet,” Bonifacio says. “Tidy up first. Then you pay, then you use the workshop out back.”

“A fair agreement,” Zevran says, unable to keep the grin off his face.

He gets started right away. Organizing as he goes, he cleans efficiently, the way he grew up knowing one speck of dust could mean retaliation. All the while Bonifacio tinkers at the counter, peering through a lens at the broken links in an old necklace. Nobody comes into the shop. But Bonifacio interrogates him, leaving lengthy gaps between each question.

“So when are you getting married?” he asks.

“Ah,” Zevran says, wringing out a washcloth by the window. “Soon.”

“You don’t have a date?”

“We are traveling, and we need to first find a Chantry willing to marry us,” Zevran says.

“Willing?” Bonifacio asks.

“My fiancé,” Zevran says, and the word glimmers like a big ruby, “is Dalish.”

Bonifacio lets out a low whistle. Few Chantries will bless unions with non-Andrastians.

He’s quiet for a while before speaking again.

“Congratulations. And good luck with, uh, all that.”

Zevran pauses, looking up at the man. “Thank you,” he says, not sure what he means exactly.

Bonifacio grunts. A quarter of an hour passes before he speaks up again.

“My wife was Dalish,” he says, unbidden.

Zevran glances over.

“Lovely woman, but not for the city. Always felt like I was keeping a bird caged. We were happy enough. She called me Bon-Bon,” Bonifacio says with a smile. “It’s just different. That’s all I mean. Parents had their opinion, half the town did. It is what it is. Worth it, though. Right?”

It comes out in a rush, as if he’s been dying to talk about it. Zevran watches him, this middle-aged man with fine tools in his hands, still tinkering on the broken necklace. He thinks about the state of the shop, and the lack of clientele.

“What happened to her?” he asks.

“She passed,” Bonifacio says gruffly. “Last year.”

“My condolences,” Zevran offers. “She must have meant a lot to you.”

“Mmh. Yes.”

The jeweler holds up the necklace, now mended. Every broken link has been repaired. Zevran returns to his sweeping, but Bonifacio pushes himself up off the counter.

“Finish up,” he tells him. “Let’s get started on that ring of yours.”

-

Zevran leaves the city with his pockets twenty andris lighter, and a velvet pouch clutched in his hands. He’s worked through the day, and the sun has set when he reaches the campsite far past the outskirts of town.

Hamal is there, stoking the fire, singing to it as he does every night. Zevran pauses just out of sight, listening.

He’s thinking, also, of the old jeweler, and his advice.

By Dalish and Chantry law alike, only Death can undo the vow you’re about to take. Cherish the time you have, my friend.

Zevran wastes no time. He walks directly into the light.

“Ma vhenan,” Hamal says, “there you are.”

Zevran drops to one knee before him and kisses him. Hamal hooks a finger into the collar of his shirt, tugging him closer. It’s good that they tend to agree on these things. Zevran is the one to finally pull away, only because he can’t rightly give him the ring while attached to his face, can he?

“Hamal,” he says. He holds out the pouch, takes his hand.

“Wait,” Hamal exclaims, and scrambles to his feet.

Zevran blinks, watching him dash off into the tent. He emerges with a rucksack, tearing through it, tugging out pouches and bowstrings and a hat—

“I am not familiar with these customs—I thought we did this at the Chantry, not before—where is it? Oh!”

Whatever he was searching for, he rushes back to Zevran’s side, a wide grin on his face, hair unbraided and eyes dancing.

“Whatever are you doing, love?” Zevran asks. He starts a laugh, and before he knows it he’s overcome by it, enamorado, muy risueño. And Hamal laughs too.

“I thought—well, aren’t we exchanging rings now?”

“You have a ring?”

Hamal nods eagerly, holding it up in the light. It is a little thing of carved ironbark and gold, mottled in brassy colors only a Dalish craftsman could create. Zevran feels like he’s wanted this precise ring his whole life, and only realized it just now.

“It’s beautiful,” he says.

“I traded Master Varathorn for it,” Hamal says, and Zevran stares.

“Varathorn. That was months ago,” he tells him.

“Yes.” Hamal smiles. “The moment I saw it, I knew I wanted it for you. I just wasn’t sure… the Archdemon…” He pauses, unsure how to say this. “I planned to leave it to you. After… In case…”

He can’t say it and Zevran doesn’t want him to.

Zevran quickly takes the ring he’d crafted out of its velvet pouch. “I made this for you,” he says.

It is a simple band of gold inlaid with opal. Zevran turns it and points to the inside of the band, where the words vhenan and corazon are carved, a tiny opal set between them.

Hamal takes a long look at it.

“Here,” Zevran says, taking his hand. “Listen, because I am not sure that I will get it right in the Chantry, and it is more for you, anyway. You are my home. All my life, I never had one or even thought I could find one; yet I have never felt an orphan since meeting you. So there is no alternative for me, you understand? There is nowhere else for me to go, other than wherever you are. I mean that, amor… more than allegiance to any country or creed. Let me declare myself, then, a citizen of You, municipality of a country called Us, of which we two are the sole happy inhabitants.”

Hamal watches him place the ring onto his finger with what can only be described as sincere adoration, the words filling his thoughts like honey.

“I didn’t have a speech prepared,” he says softly. He gives Zevran his ring and kisses it, which suits Zevran just fine.

“Creators! But I cannot fucking wait to marry you, Zevran! Can we do it right now? Quick! Where is the nearest clergy?”

Sora glanced at her and returned the smile, his heart fluttering at the title only she could ever call him. Only she would ever call him. A word with so much history, used by so many people stretching back, back, back in time to when marriage was first invented, when a word was needed for this role he’d just assumed. A role he took seriously, a role he was determined to see through “till death do us part” and beyond. To protect her, cherish her, love her, provide for her. Be there for her through thick and thin, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health.

A role he wanted to fulfill with all his heart: that of Kairi’s husband, just as she was his wife. 

“So we could have a private ceremony of our own,” he explained as he led her to the docks. “Away from all the crowds, just the two of us.” 

“You are such a romantic sap,” she teased, her eyes sparkling. “One ceremony wasn’t enough?”

“Nope, and while I might be a romantic sap, I’m your romantic sap,” he said proudly. 

“That’s right,” she said, her eyes softening, “and I wouldn’t have it any other way.” She leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed. “I still can’t believe this is real, you know? That we’re finally married. That I’m your wife.” 

“My wife,” he echoed, the tenderness in his voice betraying how much that title meant to him too. To be able to call Kairi that, to be the only one in the worlds who could, and all because she wanted this, wanted him—

It made his head spin and his heart slam against the walls of his chest, over and over again, pounding out a joyful rhythm. 

He helped her into his boat and then grabbed the oars. He was in his reception tux, sure, but that didn’t really matter. Rowing was a lot easier than if he’d been wearing his wedding attire, a black haori that was like an overcoat with his family’s crown crest on it plus the traditional hakama to accompany it. 

Kairi likewise was decked out in her second outfit of the day, a radiant blue dress that made her look like the sea she was named for. For the wedding ceremony she’d worn an iro-uchikake, a colorful red and orange wedding kimono with special embroidered flower designs in gold silk, but for the reception she’d changed into this gorgeous evening gown that shimmered with every move she made. Her hair hung loose as the evening breeze teased it, and he just stared at her, mesmerized, as he rowed them to the Play Island.

“What?” she said softly. 

“You’re beautiful.” 

A flush of color dusted her cheeks. “Thank you.” She rested her hand on her cheek and sighed.

“What is it?” 

“You’re very handsome,” she replied, and he smiled, a big, lovesick smile that he could show her freely now that they were alone, now that they’d stolen away on this rickety little boat to have a moment to themselves. 

Once they landed on the shores of the Play Island, the stars began to come out. Twinkling in the sky like brilliant diamonds, each one a world with people and stories and histories, laughter and tears and joys. Much like Destiny Islands had its own stories, including his story and Kairi’s story and their shared story which hit such a big milestone today but had begun so long ago. 

Would people tell their story? Would they share it with their children and their children’s children till it became a legend like the legends he and Kairi had grown up hearing on Destiny Islands? All those stories contained some element of truth. Based on the lives of real people, only the specifics had been lost to time and the gaps filled in with fantastical details.

If their story was passed on like that, the truth of their love would prevail, he was sure of it. How they’d endured so much to be together but how love had conquered all in the end. And as he led Kairi to the paopu tree, he knew it was all worth it. Being with her was worth it. All the blood and sweat and tears, all the pain and suffering and separations. All of that faded away in light of her radiance. Her love for him and his love for her brought out their truest selves and drove them to be the best they could be, and that was why he wanted to seal their vows one more time. 

“Here,” he said once they were seated on the paopu tree, handing her the yellow star-shaped fruit. Casual and sudden because she’d handed him the paopu so casually and suddenly all those years ago. Playful and perfectly serious at the same time. 

He took his piece and said, “With this fruit I offer you my heart. My love, my light, may we never be apart.”

She smiled and repeated the vow. “With this fruit I offer you my heart. My love, my light, may we never be apart.” 

They fed each other the fruit to fulfill the vow, to marry the spiritual to the physical, the intangible to the tangible. There were no witnesses but the stars above, no noises save the waves crashing against the shore. Just the two of them enjoying the moment together as husband and wife. 

And as Kairi smiled at him and he smiled at her, Sora couldn’t think of a better way to start their marriage.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Happy SoKai Day! It’s been a while since I’ve written something this fluffy, but it was really nice, you know? Like treating myself to some cotton candy.

I based the descriptions of Sora and Kairi's wedding attire on thebeestfemale's beautiful promo art for the event. Please check out her other work as well!