#every time I think I’ve outgrown them I’m proven wrong

[thanks--for--listening]

not me, in the year 2024, seeing potential tiva content teased on my timeline

[bionicallywriting]

Hi ! Ahah, the good ole prompt list. 12 ! “Despite what you think, I am completely capable of taking care of myself” - Dramione :D

Thanks for the ask! @maimaktes

Prompt 12: “Despite what you think, I am completely capable of taking care of myself!” Dramione

Word count: 999 (I'm really proud of this number.)

Draco thought he had outgrown the desire to strangle Muggleborns to death. It turned out that he was right and wrong. It wasn’t all Muggleborns. It was one in particular. 

This one. Hermione Granger, bane of his existence, thorn in his side, plank in his eye, all around infuriating woman.

“Contrary to what you may think,” he said through teeth gritted so hard that he’d be chewing with stumps for molars tomorrow, “I am completely capable of taking care of myself.”

It was entirely too much to hope that his short response would shut her up. All she did was tilt her head to the side to regard him in a way that was too sceptical to be flattering. “Well, it’s not looking as though you can. Honestly, Malfoy, if you're so frightened of Muggles, then I just don't think that you're the right person for this project."

Draco struggled to keep his ire in check. Despite being the most qualified within the foreign diplomacy program, she was completely incapable of reading between the lines.

“You were so scared the first time we went into Muggle Paris,” she continued, utterly unaware of his simmering silence. “You grabbed ahold of my hand.”

Draco wanted to bang his head against the wall.

“And you pulled me back from an airplane flying overhead, even though it was thousands of kilometres away.” She was ticking off the points on her fingers, the maddening minx. “And then you held onto me like I was your security blanket. You were even shivering. In fear,” she emphasised, as though he was having a hard time understanding her points without italics.

Ah, yes. In addition to behaving as though he were a child, she had taken to talking to him as though he were a dunce.

“And then when we were booking into the hotel, you rejected the first reservation because they didn't have rooms next to each other. Then you opted for the last room in this hotel when the Presidential Suite is completely beyond our budget.” She sighed, as though she had to deal with someone incomprehensible. “Muggles aren't that scary. Or maybe we need someone to replace you on the team. Maybe Cormac? But he’s also a Pureblood, and that’s proven to be an unmitigated disaster so far...” she trailed off, mumbling to herself. Her eyes had absently flickered up to the ceiling, as though she were racking her brain someone to replace him. “Honestly, why did you volunteer for this program if you can’t even stand to be around Muggles?”

He inhaled deeply, running one hand through his hair. “Just so—just so we’re clear, what exactly did you think I said about going on this trip?”

Her brow furrowed in thought. “Er—you said that you needed my help in guiding you around Muggles. That you were afraid of them. And that you didn’t want an international incident.”

He pressed his fingers to the center of his forehead for a moment. A deep breath for patience turned into five. His left eye was even beginning to twitch. “Alright, stop. You must have terribly selective hearing because what I actually said was that I’d love it if you could show me around your world. That I wanted to fit into your life. And that I wanted this opportunity to show you how I’ve changed.”

She blinked owlishly up at him. "That’s what I just said. But your actions have shown me that you clearly can’t be around Muggles without freaking out.” The expression on her face was concerned and a bit sad. “Maybe—it’s just too sudden?” 

She had been standing in front of him, but now she moved away and toyed with a pen on the table. She didn't look at him, as though she were distancing herself from him already. For no good reason at all.

He had had enough. 

“I was trying to woo you in the most romantic city in the world!” The words were ripped out of Draco in the most unromantic, forthright manner that ever a declaration was uttered in Paris.

“Woo—?” Her lashes fluttered. "Me?" The syllable came out on a high-pitched squeak.

“Obviously,” he said in a stiff drawl that would have made Professor Snape proud. Suddenly, he felt exactly like the dunce that she was treating him. Had he somehow misread the signs back when they were preparing for this trip and the year before that when they had bantered so flirtatiously with one another? He had misread everything and now she thought he was a simpleton who saw murdering Muggles behind every lamppost.

“Oh,” she said and paused. She shifted awkwardly as he looked out the window, wondering why no parliament of owls could conveniently choose this time to batter down the glass to bury him in parchment. When he looked back at her, she was tucking a stray piece of curl behind her ear. “Um. I mean—really?” she said on a awkward laugh before launching into a torrent of speech. “So you aren’t really afraid of Muggles and the cars and everything? Because I know they can be a bit much and—”

The adorable flush on her cheeks decided him. He knew what it meant, had watched for it every time he had teased her back in their offices. That was when he should have made his move instead of waiting for the perfect time when they would be abroad and away. Note to self: stop planning and go for the moment.

“So, wait, does that mean—”

She got no further because that was when he pounced, crossing the distance between them. He clasped one arm around her waist, cupped her jaw with the other hand, and kissed her. Long, lingering, and full of pent-up desire—he let her have it all. 

“Oh,” she said when he finally lifted his head. His eyes tracked the movement of her wet, pouty lips.

“Yes, oh,” he said before bending his head to kiss her some more.

[flipomatic]

A New World Chapter 13: Growth

Author Note: Me, rearranging the second half of the fic because Yukina was too angsty? More likely than you think.

First Chapter Previous Chapter

_________________________________________________________

At home, Ako shared the drum set with Tomoe. It was in the main room of the house, where it could be easily heard. She loved to watch her sister practice, to listen to her play and learn her techniques. That hadn’t changed, even as Ako went to watch other drummers too.

When they both needed to rehearse at the same time, Ako used a drum pad instead. That was a great time to work on smaller techniques, like improving her trills and changing tempo smoothly. Maintaining tempo was also something she was always working on, truly a never-ending struggle between darkness and light. Ako couldn’t help it; her hands always wanted to play faster.

Well, that wasn’t completely true. By practicing and focusing, Ako was able to reign herself in. She had already improved a lot this year, especially since she was learning from more drummers and focusing on practice.

Today, with the weather outside hot and the sky cloudy, the drum set was free for Ako to use. Tomoe had gone out after school to practice with her band, so she had the house all to herself.

Ako adjusted the drums before playing, the same way she always did. Tomoe liked to space them farther out, with some of the cymbals in different spots.

Ako also picked up the stool so she could change the height. Tomoe was a lot taller than her, and thus always sat much much higher. It had evenly spaced lines marking each centimeter. Ako unscrewed the knob that kept it from moving and pushed it down until only four lines showed, which was the perfect height for her. She screwed the knob tightly shut so the stool wouldn’t sink, before placing it back at the drum set.

With that done, she was ready to play. Ako picked up her drumsticks and sat down on the stool, taking her starting position.

She decided to work on some drills to start, the ones she learned from Tomoe. They would make a good warmup.

With that set, Ako took a deep breath and began to play. She worked from slower drills to faster ones, stretching out the muscles in her arms and legs as she settled in. The drums felt somehow closer than usual, but she didn’t think anything of it.

As Ako neared the end of the first set of drills, she noticed an odd twinge in her right ankle.

That was unusual, since she could usually play for at least half an hour straight with no discomfort. It had only been about ten minutes.

Ako paused for a moment to roll her ankle, trying to stretch it out, before continuing her drills. For a couple minutes it felt fine again, but the twinge soon returned. It felt like a cramp.

In fact, Ako’s other ankle was developing one as well. Ako stopped playing as she looked down at her feet, hitting the drums with them both a couple times. Her knees bobbed with the motion.

Wait, weren’t her knees higher than usual? Ako leaned forward, frowning down at her legs.

Then, as if a bolt of lightning had struck her, Ako leapt up from the drums. She hurried to the bathroom, where there was a tall mirror. As Ako turned the light on and appraised her reflection, she knew that yes, she was right. She had finally grown taller.

This wasn’t a complete surprise. At the start of the school year, Ako had needed a new uniform because she had outgrown the old one. She had been slowly growing ever since, but every time she looked in the mirror it felt like nothing had changed.

Now though, Ako was pretty sure that she was at least 152 centimeters, maybe even 153. She felt giddy with excitement as she hurried back to the drums. She knew what the problem was.

Ako would need to raise the stool, to accommodate her towering new height. The question was, how tall should she make it? Ako had been drumming at the same stool height for a few years now, since her growth had largely stagnated. It had been so long since she needed to change the height.

Ako unscrewed the knob on the stool and moved it up by two lines. When she tightened it and sat back down, she checked her knees. They were lower again, though perhaps lower than they used to be.

If it was wrong, she’d see as she played. Ako flourished her drumsticks to start playing once again, going through the same drills as before.

This time, she had only played for a few moments when she noticed a new problem. Now, as she switched from drum to drum, she felt off balance.

Ako had to lean in to drum in different spots, shifting her center of balance as she did. When she brought her right foot down on the drum pedal she almost slipped off the stool, shouting in surprise as she regained her balance.

Well, this was most certainly wrong. Perhaps the forces of darkness were working against her, Ako pondered the idea as she stood once again.

She moved the stool back down, to about halfway between where it was now and where it had been before.

But, when Ako resumed playing for the third time, it still felt wrong. She still felt off balance, though not as much as before.

Ako adjusted the seat three more times, each time trying to find the right spot. Each time, she was unhappy with the results. She fluctuated from a lack of balance, to cramped ankles, and all the way back again.

When her back started to hurt, Ako moved away from the drum set and glared at the offending object. She wished she remember how this was supposed to be done, then she wouldn’t be guessing like this.

Ako was on her way to retrieve her cell phone, where perhaps she could look the answer up on the internet, when the front door to her home opened.

“I’m back!” A familiar voice, one that brought a wave of joy to Ako, called from the door.

“Welcome home!” Ako returned the greeting, abandoning her cell phone quest without a second thought. She skittered into the front hall, practically leaping onto her sister for a hug.

Tomoe wrapped her arms around her, looking down at her sister with a smile. “How was school?” She asked as Ako released her and bounced back towards the main room of the house.

“Great!” Ako ignored the drums and sat on the couch, watching as Tomoe stowed her school bag. “I harnessed all of my magical strength for the English quiz.”

“Did it work?” Tomoe sat next to her on the couch.

“Of course!” Ako flourished with her right hand over her face and laughed, not mentioning that she had barely passed. “Did you have fun today?” She changed the subject before Tomoe could ask.

“I did, rehearsal was productive as always.” Afterglow still practiced after school most days; Ako missed doing that. “We’re preparing for a local show.”

Ako remembered; Tomoe had told her about it last week. “I’ll be there!” Ako beamed. She loved to see her sister’s band play.

On that topic, she remembered what she’d been doing before Tomoe arrived.

“Onee-chan, could you help me with something?”

“Of course.” Tomoe replied without asking any questions.

Ako stood from the couch, walking over to the drum set. “I’ve been having trouble with the drum stool.” She picked it up.

Tomoe was by her side a moment later, squinting down at the object. “Is it stuck again?”

“No, that’s not it.” Ako unscrewed the knob to demonstrate. “I’m too tall for where I usually sit.”

Tomoe’s eyes, wide with surprise, moved from the stool up to Ako’s face, then down to her legs and back up again. “No way.” Tomoe lifted one hand to Ako’s head, measuring her height against her own shoulder. “When did you get this tall?”  

“The darkness has accelerated my growth.” Was the only reasonable guess Ako had.

“It sure has!” Tomoe ruffled her hair, a small smile present on her lips. “Next time I look blink, you’ll be taller than me.”

Ako lifted the stool again, bringing Tomoe’s attention back to it. “I can’t seem to get the new height right.”

“Yeah, that can be tricky.” Tomoe took the stool from her. She moved it down a little, then tightened the knob into place. “Let’s try something.” She set the stool back in its place and gestured for Ako to sit down on it.

Ako complied, putting her feet in their proper places.

“Lift your knees, but keep your toes on the pedals.” Tomoe instructed, stepping closer to where Ako sat. Again Ako did as she was told, lifting her legs. At the highest point, with her feet still touching the pedals, her legs were tilted up slightly.

Tomoe told her to get up again, before readjusting the stool. “One more time.”

Ako sat back down and did the same thing as before. Now her legs were almost level at the highest point, tilting ever so slightly down.

“It should be good now.” Tomoe nodded as she took a step back. “Go ahead and try it.”

For what Ako hoped was the last time today, she picked up her drumsticks and started her drills.

After a few minutes of playing, still felt fine. Her balance was good, and none of her joints were complaining. Her sister, as always, had proven to be the best drummer ever.

“It’s perfect!” Ako stopped playing to say, turning to grin up at Tomoe. “Thank you thank you thank you!” She jumped up to hug her sister again.

Tomoe’s eyes practically sparkled. She lifted one hand as if to pat Ako on the head, but stopped midway and set it on her shoulder instead. “You’re very welcome.” She said, before stepping away. “I have some homework, so I’ll be in my room.”

“Ok!” Ako plopped back down at the drums as Tomoe left the room. Later, she would check to see exactly where the stool was set, so she would know for next time.

Now, she was finally ready to move from drills to real practice. There was a part in Yakusoku where she had trouble staying with the guitar, so Ako decided to focus on that.

She practiced and played and grew, day by day. Drumming felt the same as it had before, but her limbs could reach slightly farther and she sat just a little bit higher off the ground.

As Ako struck the drums, having moved the stool up barely a centimeter, she wondered if this was what it felt like to grow up.

_______________________________________________________

End Note: As I wrote this, it occurred to me that I’ve never written about these two before. Resources for this chapter because I actually know nothing about the drums.

Schillemans, Bob. “How to find the perfect drum throne or stool height for drummers.” 13 May 2020, skillzdrumlessons. https://www.skillzdrumlessons.com/blog/perfect-drum-throne-height/

Next Chapter

[heartslogos]

newfragile yellows [96]

Ellana did not see the knife in time.

It killed her fast.

Bull is certain of that much.

It killed her fast. It killed Solas faster.

There was nothing left to bury. And there was nothing left to charge or indite. Ellana and Solas combined made sure of that.

Ellana did not see the knife in time.

When she went to Solas with open arms, ready to embrace him and welcome him back - or maybe to cry and hold him one last time - Solas responded with a knife to her heart. And Ellana’s body - or maybe Ellana’s heart, in a final and incredibly delayed response to incoming pain - reacted by erasing everything in a three league radius. Down and up, included.

It looks like Blighted land, without the feeling of unease. The ground was glass, molten. And the air tasted like the implosion of heat.

Bull could still feel the heat through his boots when he got there. Not the first, not the last.

Inquisition soldiers, Orleisan troops, Ferelden warriors - all of them looked for clues, hoping to outdo the other and slam down their own ruling.

There wasn’t anything to find.

Or perhaps, Bull thinks in hindsight, she did.

Maybe Ellana saw the knife coming before any of them did.

Maybe she’s the one who put it there.

Maybe, when Ellana smiled at him and didn’t say anything, just as they went off into that last battle it meant something. Maybe he didn’t see it then because he had gotten complacent. Maybe Ellana had outgrown him, and learned to hide better than he could seek out. Maybe Ellana had known this was coming since that morning all those years ago when she first woke up - lucid - after losing her arm.

Perhaps this is what she intended when she sat up and told him, It is not yet over, not until I say it is. And I have not yet said that it is over.

And what, Bull thinks, about the rest of them?

Ellana went forward with open arm and open stump, with an open heart and an open face. She went to Solas - away from Bull and Dorian and everyone safe and proven true. And he proved them all right by stabbing her for it.

And then she proved them all wrong by destroying Solas and everything around them so completely and utterly it was as though they never existed.

“She did not want you to mourn her like this,” Cole had said at the funeral were everyone was dazed and confused and not quite certain what was happening.

She had returned from death so many times that without a body to prove it - it seemed surreal. She would walk in at any moment, they had all felt as they checked over their shoulders and double checked every window and doorway. She was still present.

“This was not the end she had chosen for you,” Cole had insisted to everyone who would listen.

Ellana saw the knife in time.

-

“You knew this day would come eventually,” Dorian says softly. Sometimes Ellana looks at him and for a moment she sees another face. Still his face - but younger.

Dorian, for whatever reason, in her mind is eternally frozen in that first moment for her. That moment when he was sweating, tired with magical exhaustion and physical fatigue, and her hand was outstretched. Not for his - but for the Rift he had been holding off. It is that moment, when he turns to her with awe and surprise and relief in his eyes and sweat shining on his skin and heat in his breath that has lingered with her after all these years.

His hair is white and his skin is not as deep and vibrant and full as it once was.

They are all, she thinks, a little washed out.

“I thought I had more time,” Ellana replies, fingers loosely rolling the tooth between them. It has been worn down with so much time, so much touch. Perhaps if she warms it with her fingers enough, she can pretend she took it right off of his sleeping chest.

She buried her half with him, instead. The groves of his feel unfamiliar under her fingertips.

She would rather the familiar of his skin over this.

“We always think so,” Dorian replies.

There are fewer of them, now.

Ellana marvels at this.

They were all so young once.

Every funeral, every wake - there are fewer and fewer of them.

And suddenly Ellana is afraid that she will be the last one. She doesn’t want to be the last one.

It is a terrible fate to wish on someone - to be the last. But she would rather, for once, it not be her who draws the unfortunate lot.

How peculiar to wish to die, Ellana thinks.

Age must do that to you.

For a brief moment she wonders if this is what Solas wanted.

There’s really no one left to tell her not to think about what Solas wanted. He never cared for what she wanted, after all.

Ellana looks down at the soil, fresh and dark and promising.

She’d saved a seed for this day, but she had hoped never to use it.

“Thank you for coming out,” Ellana says softly. They two are the only ones left at the grave, everyone else went on to the wake. It will be full of drinks and food and merriment. That is how he would have wanted it. That is how it should be.

Ellana feels like crying again.

“Of course,” Dorian draws her against him, kissing her temple, “We didn’t get along at first, and I admit it was touch and go for a while - but he’s.  He was a good friend.”

“I practically had to force you two to get along for the first year or two,” Ellana sniffs.

“To let you in on a secret, after that first year we only pretended to get along to make you feel better,” Dorian says, “And then after that it got easier to actually get along and we did eventually become sincere friends.”

“Either way it worked,“ Ellana squeezes the tooth in her palm. “I’ve only just buried him and I want him back terribly.”

“I’d make a joke about necromancy but honestly it would be in bad taste,” Dorian says, rubbing her arm with his warm palm.

“That’s alright, he’d appreciate it,” Ellana sniffles, “Dorian, it doesn’t get better, does it? It just keeps on going.”

“I’m afraid so,” Dorian says, “How strange. We all fought so hard to have a chance to live this long and we’ve fought off assassins and opposing factions and mercenaries and all sorts of life-threatening trouble in between, and now here we are, sad that we lived through the chances we took and won.”

“The incredible irony,” Ellana agrees.

Dorian allows her to wallow in her sadness and grief for another few minutes before he squeezes her arm meaningfully.

Ellana nods.

Dorian takes the dragon tooth necklace from her hand and slowly raises the chord of her head for her. The weight settles on her - not nearly enough.

He kisses her forehead, “Come on, love. Let’s give him the sort of send off he’d be proud to laugh at the hangovers of.”

“You know what the saddest part is?” Ellana asks as they walk away - she has to resist looking over her shoulder, digging in her heels and throwing herself on the ground to stay there with him.

“What?”

“He didn’t die fighting,” Ellana says, “He always wanted to go down swinging.”

“Ellana,” Dorian sighs gently, “He died happy. With you with him. It was more than he ever wanted. I promise you that. The Iron Bull died satisfied. You gave him more than any war or battle or skirmish or promise of order could ever have given him.”