#he needed the IL and frankly i can’t believe that they let him do this AGAIN when he’s injured

[davidjohnlemahieu]

just so we’re clear, if dj ever breaks out of this slump i WILL absolutely lose my fucking mind

[timextoxhajima]

Love Me A Little Less: Chapter 1 - Frankenstein

LOVE ME A LITTLE LESS CHAPTER MASTERLIST

Member: (3rd person pov) arranged marriage au with Lee Juyeon

Genre: angsty wangsty

Taglist: @hyunvelies​

“We buried you.”

The feast before Kim Jang Won is absolutely stunning. Lemon meringue tarts, strawberry smoothies (with actual strawberry bits in them), pancakes and freshly buttered croissants, a gorgeous transparent glass pot with the golden shade of chamomile tea and a beautiful tray of puffs and eclairs.

It would be even more stunning if it wasn’t her view every morning though.

“Hey, um, don’t we have like alternating menus or something for breakfast? I feel like I’m eating the same thing every morning now, it’s kinda getting tacky.”

“Miss Kim, I hope you know you’re the one who decides what the menu is. You chose this set like a week ago and you told us not to change it for the next two weeks.”

Jang Won sneers at her butler, arguably the only person on the property to has the guts to talk to her in a way that could get her fired.

“You’re lucky I can trust you.”

Ro Il Jung purses his lips into a thin white line, scratching his cheek with one of those knuckly, wrinkly-skin-covered fingers of his. “You seem to forget that I wanted to retire last year, Miss Kim.”

Jang Won huffs childishly, sticking her tongue out, now a gentle, thick shade of smoothie on her tongue. “I’ll let you retire when I find someone else I can trust, Mr Ro. It’s just too bad I don’t have anybody in mind right now.”

Mr Ro shakes his head like a parent disapproving of his child, but a house guard pulling the heavy doors of the entrance over accompanied by some urgent yelling tears his attention away from the owner of the mansion. 

Jang Won looks up from her butter and croissant, at Mr Ro, who excuses himself before heading for the entrance hall. 

“Sir,” He begins before he can even note the visitor. “If you could--”

“Mr Ro!”

Jang Won hears her butler’s words fade to a complete silent, only listening to their visitor talk. But it’s strange, because it’s a familiar voice...

Mr Ro cannot believe the sight before his eyes.

“I can’t believe you’re still working here. It’s so great to see you again!” Then the visitor pulls Mr Ro into a hug, harshly patting the space between his shoulder blades. 

The lady of the house cannot take it anymore, not when she can’t eavesdrop on the conversation occurring in her own halls. So she gets up from the table, heels clacking against the marble floor as she heads into the entrance hall.

“Alright now, who’s got the guts to stop me in the middle of my French breakfast this morning?”

Mr Ro turns in silent shock, eyes wide and glaring while Jang Won processes the face of the visitor. 

The man hadn’t looked like he aged a day since he was--

“I’m sorry,” Jang Won scoffs, waving her beautifully done manicured fingernails in the air. “If this is some impractical joke, please do tell because my brain is just about to explode from the sight right now. Y’know,” She gestures to her head and mimics the sound of a bomb. 

“Jang Won...” The visitor strides towards her, arms wide. But she raises a palm and shifts backwards, a cautious half-smile mixed with a frown plastered to her flawless skin. 

“Not another step, nuh-uh,” Waving a finger before his nose, she shakes her head. “There is no way in Hell you can be standing here.”

“Oh, but I am, love,” Once a warm voice that sang her to sleep, Jang Won cannot decide if the tears in her eyes are welling from relief or fear. “I’m home.”

“No... no!” She slaps away his outstretched hands. “We... we buried you...”

“And I can only imagine what you’re feeling right now, my child, but... we have more important things to worry about.”

Mr Ro’s face is contorted with a mess of confusion and anxiety and he watches the first tears fall down Jang Won’s cheeks. 

“What...? ‘More important’-- No, how is anything more important than you... standing here?” The last word comes out like a final breath, at a volume just enough for him to hear. 

“I came bearing news, Jang Won. I-- Well...” He rubs the back of his head, eyes tilted down to his feet. “Because I’ve return to the board of administration now... part of the company now comes back to... me--”

What?

“And... you cannot inherit any part of the company unless you are married to someone from a family from the same administration board.”

Jang Won’s tears solidify into fumes of anger as the thought runs through her neurons. The middle aged man begins to panic when he can read the rage in her eyes, her fists now clenched and the markings of her rings probably embedded into the flesh of her palm. Her knuckles begin to turn white as does his face, ever so slightly.

“Now, now, love. I know what you’re thinking and we can sit down and have a chat about this--”

“‘Sit down and have a chat’?” Jang Won scoffs miserably, lower jaw hanging agape. “Why don’t we sit down and let me ask you whiCH SCIENTIST MADE YOU FRANKENSTEIN?!”

The hallways of the mansion echo the shouts, the sound waves bouncing back and forth between the marble walls mostly adorn with gorgeous, one-in-a-million paintings. 

“That’s not important now, hun. I just need you to understand that without this marriage, you will lose the house and everything you own from HERA & ARTEMIS.”

“I built HERA & ARTEMIS after you were fucking bURIED! Who are you to tell me that you will inherit it ownership and I can’t just because I’m not married?!”

“These were instructions from The Board, Jang Won. I had absolutely no say over this--”

“BULLSHIT! If you have the power to take ownership of HERA & ARTEMIS just because you climbed out of your own grave, why don’t you have the power to help m-- Oh, oh...” Jang Won frowns in disdain, disgust welling her lungs and her gut. 

“What?” His eyes widen and shoulders shrug.

“You came back just to tell me this... because you want HERA & ARTEMIS for yourself.”

“What-- No--”

"You... low-life... scumbag!" The sharp shatter of the glass cabinet behind him echoes through the entrance hall of the mansion. One of the palm-sized statues sitting on the table in the middle of the circular hall lands amongst the billion pieces of glass on the marble floor.

"You give me my freedom and now you tell me I have to get married?!" The final word is literally pushed through her teeth when she cannot clench her jaws even harder. The tremors vibrating up her fist and into her arm and then her entire body makes her look like a volcano ready to erupt, so if these people haven't gotten enough, they have yet to see what's in store.

"Just who the HELL do you think you are?!" Grabbing another one of those tiny statues, Jang Won throws it into the other glass door of the cabinet.

"Jang Won, will you calm down?!"

"Don't you DARE tell me to calm down! You waltz back into this house after GOD knows how long- Hell, we BURIED you!"

"There was a mistake of the body identification and frankly, I expected a warmer welcome from you!"

"HA! A ‘warmer welcome’?! What do you want me to do? Set the entire house on fire? Do you want me to? Because I will!" The man has his brows furrowed back, palms out stretched to her. The mansion staff have all gathered a safe distance around the two of them, Mr Ro and some of those closer to Jang Won trying their best to get to her and calm her nerves but there is just absolutely no way she isn’t going to hurl a brick at her father.

"I can't BELIEVE you're standing there as if you own this place," The muscles around Jang Won’s nose twitches as the frown sinks deeper into her forehead. "I want you to hear this mighty well and crystal clear. You may have been the one who gave me life, but you will never EVER be my dad.”

The huffs that are billowing out Jang Won’s nostrils are starting to hurt.

"There is not a single cent you're stepping on - or touching, for that matter - that belongs to you. The only reason why I haven't fucking put a bullet through your right eye is because I'd go to jail and every thing I've worked for would be thrown out the window.”

“Now, now, love, we can sit down and be civilized about this—”

“Fuck you,” The anger surges through her, and she picks up one more palm-sized statue from the blue resin table. The heavy bronze weight leaves her fingers, and before it can hit the slightly aged man, someone reaches out and catches it instead.

“What the HELL are you doing?!” The scream echoes through the hall of the mansion. Younghoon sighs heavily, hand retreating back to his side as he hands the statue to one of the house staff.

“You have no right to get involved in this—”

“Jang Won, let’s go,” Younghoon strides across the space and grabs her arm, back-facing his father and trying to pull her in the opposite direction. “We can talk about this in your office.”

“How are you thinking straight?! We BURIED him! We watched his coffin get lowered into—”

“I know! I was there!” His eyes flutter shut in frustration, shoulders raising as he sucks in a deep breath, flaring his nostrils. “There’s no point destroying your own property over this. We can carry out some investigations, figure out what really happened, then we’ll work from there.”

The grip on her arm tightens when her instincts try to writhe away from him, but obviously, he doesn’t relent.

“Don’t do it. It’s not worth your time, or mine.”

He stares down at Jang Won, but it doesn’t scare her, not when she has a ghost standing right in the middle of some shattered mess. Not one cut on him.

Younghoon grimly shuts the door as Jang Won stomps over to her office desk and rests her palms flat against the Agar Wood surface. With a sharp, swift feat, she swipes nearly all the documents off the furniture. But when she misses the empty glass (that would usually be filled with some kind of alcohol or soda), she doesn't hesitate to pick it off the desk and propel it into the marble by the television mounted to the wall.

The shatter startles Younghoon as he whips around, eyes darting frantically between her and the mess she’s made.

"Jang Won!"

"Should I be concerned you don't seem one bit bothered that a dead man is standing in our living room - MY living room?"

"That dead man is our father."

"No, that dead man WAS our father before he ditched us! How are you not- UGH!"

Frustrated, furious and absolutely exasperate, she plops down into one of the two sofas sitting in the middle of the office, feet almost tempted to kick the frosted glass table in the middle but she holds herself back. Younghoon manages to get a few house staff into the room, who hurriedly help clear the glass and return the documents to the table. Fingers pressed into her temples, Jang Won could only imagine the gratification she could receive have if she had the chance to ram her first into someone's face.

Younghoon waits for the staff to leave, then stands by the sofa opposite her, one hand on his hip and the other running through his hair. The late morning sun reflects off his soft, dark brown locks when he absent-mindedly rubs the back of his head and he proceeds to unbutton his blazer to allow him a seat. The leather squeaks under his weight before he leans his elbows on his knees, knuckles resting under his lips and chin.

"Please tell me you're actually thinking and not just trying to look pretty. You're in my house now, not some studio photoshoot."

"I'm thinking about where to put a whole person for you."

"Don't bother, he's moved half his things into the first guestroom. He's probably holding a conductor's wand right now and asking the staff to help him with the second half."

"Have you called the funeral services?"

"And say what? 'Hey sir, have you... perhaps mis-screwed a coffin about 2 years back and now we might have a problem of a zombie'?"

"I'm just saying someone might've paid someone to replace the bodies!" Younghoon frowns, eyes stuck to the rug under his feet. "We don't know how it happened but someone MUST know, right?"

"I think your best bet is the asshole living down the hall now."

"He's not gonna budge, we both know that."

"Well, Sherlock Holmes, thanks for pointing out the obvious."

"I'm just trying to help. You need to stop your nonsensical whining and use your brain like how you used it to get all this money."

Jang Won picks up a pillow and hurls it into Younghoon. “You’re lucky you still stick around, else I’d have the both of you screwed over.”

Younghoon catches the pillow, holding it to his side. “The day I stop looking out for you is the day I die, alright? So you can be rest assured I’ll--”

“Miss Kim!” Mr Ro’s voice calls out from outside the office. 

“What is it, Mr Ro?” Younghoon turns and returns the call, head tilted towards the door. It croaks open, and Mr Ro’s eyes are tired, wary as he sticks his head in.

“Your father just left and... and I think you should see the news.” Mr Ro pushes past the heavy door and reaches for the remote sitting on the frosted glass. The television screen mounted above the fire place flickers on, and there it was, her father’s face.

“The Board has just confirmed the ownership of HERA & ARTEMIS will thus forth be returned to Kim Jo-Pil, father of Kim Jang Won, the current owner. Investigations as to Kim Jo-Pil’s supposed death two years ago are still ongoing.”

“I’m gonna kill him.”

“You can’t.”

“Watch me.”

“We’ll be-- Wha-- The Board’s just come in with some new information! Kim JO-Pil has announced a marriage between Kim Jang Won, current owner of HERA & ARTEMIS and Lee Juyeon, the next-in-line to becoming the next Director of Apple, South Korea.”

Younghoon’s eyeballs are about to bludgeon out of his eye sockets. “Jang Won... I know what you’re thinking... But don’t--”

“I’M GONNA FUCKING KILL HIM!”

[thatesqcrush]

Fall From Grace, Pt. 9

Bryan Kneef x Reader. Fandom: The Good Fight. Reference: S4, E.4, “The Gang is Satirized and Doesn’t Like It.” CW: Angst, language, fluff. AN: Our lovely REE was on The Good Fight for all of 3 minutes so I am taking lots of liberties. I am obsessed with the anti-Barba. He was just delicious.

WC: 2313

Six months.

It had been six months since you moved to the East Coast and enjoyed all that NYC had to offer. However fast paced Chicago seemed to be, New York City moved just a little bit faster.

You had crammed a bagel with an obscene amount of cream cheese in your mouth when a plethora of emails with electronic case filings came through your inbox. You switched gears and began associating the files with the respective cases when one in particular caused you to freeze.

STR Laurie

Bryan Kneef, Esq.

233 South Wacker Drive, Suite 8000

Chicago, IL 60606-6448

Attorneys for Defendants

APPEARANCE OF COUNSEL

LIBERTY LIFE INSURANCE COMPANY,

HOLBROOK SECURITIES LLC (Defendants)

 V.

 Allison Kensington (Plaintiff)

Pearson Specter

Civil Action No. 10-cv-3752

TO THE CLERK OF THE COURT AND ALL PARTIES OF RECORD:  PLEASE TAKE NOTICE that the undersigned is admitted to practice in this court, and hereby enters an appearance as counsel in this case for defendants. Please serve all papers related to this action on the undersigned.

By: Bryan Kneef

STR Laurie

BKneef@STRLaurie.com

Attorneys for Defendants

 You swallowed the half-chewed bagel, grimacing as it scraped your throat as it went down.

“Motherfucker!” You swore loudly, slamming your hand on your desk.

“Am I interrupting?”

You jumped in your seat. You looked up and found yourself face to face with Rachel, who was standing in your doorway.  

You felt your cheeks grow hot in embarrassment. “Oh, uh…”  

“Safe to say you saw the notice of appearance.” Rachel remarked, her brow cocked.  

You nodded. “Yup.” You smacked your lips on the end of the P, emphasizing it.

“I wanted to know if you still wanted in on the case.” Rachel sat in the chair in front of you, her arms crossed.  You had been at the firm maybe two weeks tops before you spilled everything to Rachel about Bryan.  

“Yes, I do.” You replied. “And before you ask me if I'm tough enough to be in there, I want you to know that I am tough enough.”

“That's not what I wanted to ask.” Rachel replied. “I want to know if you think it will rattle him.”  

“Frankly, I think it was purposefully done.” You sighed. “Is there a deposition?”

 “Of course there is. Monday.”

--

The week surprisingly went quickly, and Monday came before you knew it. You looked over your appearance in the mirror. Suddenly your go-to pantsuit and button down didn’t cut it anymore. You hemmed and hawed in front of your closet and settled on a crisp white top and a muted grey pencil skirt. You popped the collar slightly and rolled up your sleeves. 

Your mind flew to the memories of what happened whenever you did wear pencil skirt – somehow it’d end up over your hips or by your ankles with Bryan bringing you to the height of pleasure. You pinned your hair up and kept your makeup minimal, with the exception of a bold lip. 

Your heels clacked against the pavement of the city’s sidewalk as you approached Pearson Specter. And sure enough, Bryan was in front of the building, pacing while on the phone.  

You ducked your head hoping that he wouldn’t notice you. But curiosity got the best of you and you looked over your shoulder as you entered through the revolving door. Your eyes met Bryan’s as he pivoted while on the phone. You quickly turned and hurried into the building.

---

Bryan walked down the hall of the firm after being directed to the conference room.  He was anxious to see you. He knew he was playing with fire being here in New York. When the case fell in his lap, he knew he had to see it through and maybe, just maybe, see you. He missed you immensely. Truth be told, no other woman had ever gotten to him like you did. Through the glass, he noticed you setting up and his pulse quickened. Bryan rapped on the door before swinging the door open.

“Good morning.” You clipped. ‘Shit. Stay strong’ you thought to yourself as you drank him in. You nearly forgot how good he looked in his three piece suit. His gaze was smoldering and you shifted uncomfortably in your stance.

“Y/N.” Bryan greeted, with a small smile. “You look well.” 

“How’s everyone in Chicago?” You replied, ignoring his compliment as you stapled some paper together.  

“Good. You’re remembered fondly.” Bryan replied.

“I mean, can’t say I am surprised.” You retorted, as you finished organizing the conference table. “I’ll be sitting in on the depo, just so you know.”

“You think being in the room is going to keep me from doing my job?” Bryan asked, his brows furrowed.

You pointed at Bryan and then at yourself. “Aren’t I the reason you even signed on counsel?”

“Liberty Life is my client. Of course, I had to show up.” Bryan replied.

“So what – you figured you’d orchestrate this stunt and then –” 

“I didn’t orchestrate shit.” Bryan sighed, irritated. “I am doing my job.”

You cocked your head and leaned over the table slightly. “Is this a joke?” 

Bryan walked around to where you were standing. He was dangerously close to you and your eyes met his. “I miss you. Can’t we just talk?” 

You stood silently, racking your brain as to what to say. “About what? Us? What is there to say? Our relationship…” 

You moved to push back some hair when Bryan noticed the sparkling bracelet on your wrist. “You are wearing it.” 

You looked at the tennis bracelet. “Oh. Yes. It’s beautiful. Thank you. It was very generous of you.” 

Bryan reached for your hand and at the same time, Rachel entered the room. “Am I interrupting?” 

Bryan shirked back his hand. “No. Just catching up. Reminding Y/N that Chicago has better hot dogs. And that we should have never let her go.”

 ---

The deposition was grueling, lasting a few hours. Bryan was relentless in his questioning. As he fired his questions, your mind was transported back to the case you first helped him with and how you got to watch him in court.  Your whatever it was, with Bryan was complicated and was tempestuous. Deep down though, you still had deep feelings for Bryan. You spent your first month in New York crying your eyes out, wondering if you had made a mistake leaving.

You escorted your client out and then returned to gather the rest of your belongings. You paused before entering the conference room again, watching Rachel and Bryan speak. They shook hands and you wondered what that was about.  

Finally you took a breath and entered. “Everything okay?”

Rachel smiled. “I think we’ll be settling. Bryan has made a very generous offer.  

You smiled. “That’s great. I am happy to hear that.” While you were happy for your client, you were disappointed because you knew that Bryan would be leaving town. You groaned inwardly, hating how Bryan caused such a mix bag of feelings within you. 

“Walk me out?” Bryan asked. 

“Sure.” You blurted out, not even giving it so much as a second thought.

The walk to the elevator bank was silent. Finally, Bryan spoke. “Can we go out to dinner?”  

You raised a brow and sucked in a breath. “That … sounds sincere.” You searched Bryan’s eyes and realized he was indeed being genuine. “Okay.”

“Is your number the same?” Bryan asked and you nodded. “I’ll text you the details. I’ll see you tonight.” Bryan replied as the elevator dinged, signaling its arrival.

You bid Bryan adieu and went back to your office. Despite the piles of work on your desk, you found yourself distracted. You couldn’t focus one bit. Your mind kept going back to the events prior. You kept checking your phone to see if Bryan had texted you.

Groaning, you took your phone and threw it into your drawer. You opened a new browser window and were just about to throw yourself completely into your work when your phone buzzed loudly from inside your drawer.

It was Bryan. Reservations made at The River Cafe. 7pm.

You texted back. See you then.

You threw your phone back in the drawer and dropped your head into your hands. “What have I gotten myself into?” You wondered out loud. You knew you were playing with fire and that there was a real possibility of getting burned, but you looked forward to the date.

“It’s two people sharing a dinner. Nothing more. You got this.” You muttered to yourself. Part of you knew it was a lie. Part of you figured if you said it enough times, you’d believe it.

--

You left work an hour early to get ready. The River Café was situated right on the East River, just a hair south of the base of the Brooklyn Bridge. You knew you needed enough time to get back to your apartment in Chelsea and then all the way down to Brooklyn. You decided to wear a cream-colored tulip hem skirt and a black lace deep v-neck blouse. The material of the blouse was quite thin and you decided to forego a bra to avoid lines. You knew your outfit was dangerous with Bryan. Simultaneously, you wanted Bryan to eat his heart out and maybe tempt fate so you could get dicked down.

You left your hair loose, just curling it slightly to make loose waves. You kept your makeup the same, just touching up your liner and lipstick. A spritz of perfume and a change of shoes to heeled strappy sandals and you were well on your way.  

Your stomach lurched as the cab sped downtown to the restaurant. You watched as the city flew by in a blur and subconsciously you played with your tennis bracelet. The cab came to a stop and you found yourself in front of the restaurant. 

Bryan was at the bar and the corner of his lips turned up into a devilish smile as you approached. Bryan wore dark jeans, a white button down and a matching navy suit jacket. The restaurant is gorgeous and the wafts of the various smells of food made your stomach rumble. 

“You look gorgeous.” Bryan complimented as he embraced you into a hug.

“Thank you. You look great yourself.” You replied. You inhaled his cologne and emotions flooded you. ‘Relax.’ You commanded to yourself.

 “I took the liberty of ordering you a glass of Malbec.” Bryan replied.

 “You remembered.” You smiled as the bartender came over with a glass.

 “Of course I did.” Bryan replied. “It’s your favorite.”

“The Catena Zapata Malbec Argentino for the lady, and an Old Fashioned for the gentleman.”

Bryan thanked the bartender, tipping him generously. You barely managed a sip when the hostess came over and seated you both at a table overlooking the East River – providing a clear shot of the Brooklyn Bridge. The view is breathtaking and you find yourself captivated by Bryan once more – all of the inner guards you had in place crumbled.

You both easily catch up over the last few months and dinner goes by quickly. Dessert is brought out and as you lick chocolate mousse off the spoon, you become acutely aware of Bryan’s lustful gaze on you. You give him a bashful look and you put the spoon down. Bryan paid for dinner while you excused yourself to the bathroom to freshen up.

The weather was warm and the breeze was inviting so you decided to walk along the Brooklyn Bridge back towards Manhattan. The tips of Bryan’s fingers grazed yours and the feeling is electric. The second time your fingers grazed his, they interlock and you hold hands the rest of the way until you get to the midpoint of the bridge. 

You take in the view of Manhattan ahead. Bryan stood next to you, also taking in the view. 

His hand traced concentric circles on your back and you involuntarily shivered. Bryan tilted your chin towards him. “I—I had a really nice time tonight.” You reply and you are surprised by how genuinely you mean it.

Bryan’s gaze lowered to your lips and instinctively you parted them. People on the bridge walk by but your oblivious to anyone else around you but Bryan. He pulled you flush against him. Instinctively, your arms wrapped around his neck. Bryan’s lips ghosted yours and then he paused. You both breathed in each other’s air and finally you gave in, colliding your lips against his.  His kisses taste like the mousse you shared and the cocktails he had had during dinner. His tongue swirled against yours. Arousal shot to your core. A hand slipped up the slope of your side and somehow, discreetly, Bryan cupped your breast. His thumb ran over a hardened nipple and you let out a quiet moan. Finally you pull away breathless. Your lipstick was smeared and you could see evidence of it on Bryan’s lips. “Bryan we can’t do this.”

Bryan’s brows knit together and jaw tightened. He pulled away from you and faced the view of Manhattan. “Why? Because we’re on the opposite sides of a case now? I settled.”  

You don’t reply and you could feel your eyes brimming with tears.  

“I still love you. I haven’t stopped loving you. I know I hurt you. And I have apologized.” Bryan replied, his voice clipped.

“I know you have.” You replied. Your voice cracks and you kick yourself inwardly.

“Then what is it?”  

“I’m afraid.” You admitted. “I am scared you’re going to hurt me again.”

“I will do whatever it takes.” Bryan replied. “It won’t be easy since you decided to move to the wrong city.” He adds with a slight sneer.  

You laughed haughtily, rolling your eyes. “I wouldn’t have had to move if you just treated me like a human and not as if I were disposable.”  

“I told you I didn’t do the girlfriend thing. And then things got complicated. And I fucked up. It was all fucked. I…” Bryan paused. “I said I was sorry for fucks sake Y/N.”

You knew he was baring his soul. You turn back to him, and cup his bearded cheek. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Bryan furrowed his brow once more. “What the fuck does that mean? Does that mean you and I...” 

You nodded slowly. “We’ll try again. Because the truth is that I still love you too. And we owe it to at least really try. No more hiding anything to anyone.”

Bryan pulled you into a kiss once more. The kiss was with such intensity, it left your breathless. 

“Now would be the time for you to show me your bedroom.” Bryan growled in your ear.  

You smile. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

TBC.

Tag list: @madpanda75 @mgarner1227  @delia26   @tropes-and-tales  @beardedmccoy @youreverycolor​ @neely1177​ @the-baby-bookworm​ @mrsrafaelbarba​ @skittle479​ @ottosuricato​ @sass-and-suspenders​ @mommakat32​ @dreila03​ @beccabarba​ @garturbo​ @lovebennycolon​ @imjustreallynosy​ @sweetsummertime99​ @whyissvuruiningmylovelife​ @annabelleb49​ @scarletsoldierrr​ @cesarofangirl78​ @redlipstickandplaid​ @redlipstickandblacktea​ @zoeykaytesmom​ @differentshadesofgray​ @misssirenlove​ @esparza-army​ @bananas-pajamas​ @mishaissocoolike @kscarlett1 @thefanficfaerie​ @theenchantedgalleryofstories​ @catnip987 @choppedgalaxynerd @pieceofshittytitty​ @ktiz90​ @evee87​ @itsjustmyfantasyroom @blk0912 @detective-giggles​ @rampantmuses​ @jazzyjoi​ @caked-crusader​- anyone else, just ask!

[missbugaboo]

LadyNoir July 2020 | Day 1

"Chat let his fingers hover over her fist, coming close enough to nearly brush the back of her hand with the tips of his claws, but not close enough for her to feel it distinctively. Ladybug wanted to scream."

Written for @ladynoirjuly2020

And a big shout-out to @nerdypanda3126​ for proofreading it for me again!

Day 1: A Wall Between Us

C’est fort quand je le vois Je veux crier sur tous les toits Notre amour qui nous tend les bras Mais je sais que je ne dois pas Ce n’est pas le moment Il faut être patients Être patients

It is strong when I see it I want to shout it out on all the rooftops Our love that reaches us But I know I shouldn’t It is not the moment We need to be patient Be patient

"It doesn't matter, does it?" he asked the night before him, his words echoing in the cool Parisian air with a note of resignation that surpassed even the sadness in them. He was calm, he was composed, he was anything she could wish him to be, handling the situation with all the dignity of a true young gentleman.

A true hero.

And yet, as Ladybug watched his back, stiff and tense under his ebony suit, she couldn't help but regret every wish she had ever made regarding his conduct.

It would have been so much better if he had just screamed with annoyance at her.

"It doesn't matter if I say it or not," she heard him pick up after the shortest of pauses and refocused her wandering gaze at the back of his head; she wished she could look into his face instead, but clearly, that wasn't an option now... and who knew if maybe it wasn't for the best, for both of their sakes. "It doesn't matter if I hold back and pretend that I've moved on or if I throw caution to the wind and go back to telling you how much I actually care. Meaning, there really is no point acting as if I don't."

"Chat, please-" she tried to respond, but he gave her no chance.

"You know that I love you, Ladybug," he said, his voice as firm as it was cold. "You do, so don't hurt me even more pretending that you don't. It's bad enough as it is, without you treating me like a fool."

She nodded, biting her lower lip as she fought desperately in the battle against her own misery. There was a stinging behind her eyes and a wetness under her lashes; a lump rising in her throat and a headache she could feel coming.

Her nails dug against the palms of her hands, so deep that even the magical fabric of her costume wasn't enough to nullify the pain.

She saw Chat turn around slowly and suddenly, she realised that it was far more difficult not to look away on her part. She had prayed for him to face her, she reminded herself, forcing her rebellious body to remain still and meeting her partner's gaze steadily. She would not succumb to her own weakness and run, no matter how much she wanted to.

After all, she owed him that much.

"I do know," she whispered at last, hoping that her resolution would be enough to keep her from falling apart, if only for a little while. "But I never intended to hide it from you. I just... didn't think it would do any good bringing it up again. Perhaps I was the one being foolish this time."

He was closer now, so close that she could see that sad smile of his without even looking directly at it. It made her heart clench with pain; all the more so when she once again recalled that there really was nothing she could do about it.

They were in a pit, and there simply wasn't a way out at this point.

"Because you can't love me back, right?" Chat mused quietly. "But Ladybug, I know that. You've been as clear as you could be and even if that weren't the case, the last two years would have been enough to teach me that sometimes you just can't change how things are. That... stubbornness... regardless of how noble the intentions might be, may often lead to suffering, for both of the parties involved.

"However, the same experience that made that clear to me also taught me something else. Namely, that no matter how much I try, what means I take, I just can't get over my feelings for you; and my hopeless endeavours to do so were exactly what hurt people most."

She felt it rather than saw his next movement, when he raised his hand and reached towards hers. Her instincts told her to step away, or at least to clasp her hands together in a way that would make it impossible for him to grasp her - and yet, that first first impulse was soon overcome by the next, one that made her freeze in space, unable to as much as lift her finger, and much less to make a motion that was not only conscious, but effective as well.

And then it turned out that all of it was of no importance, as Chat himself was the one restraining himself in the end.

She almost wished that he had gone through with it.

Yet, he didn't. Instead, he let his fingers hover over her fist, coming close enough to nearly brush the back of her hand with the tips of his claws, but not close enough for her to feel it distinctively.

Ladybug wanted to scream.

"I'm not asking you to change your mind, you know," he continued in a hoarse whisper that matched her trembling murmurs from before. "Mostly because I know it's not your mind that needs changing. I've learnt first-hand that you can't make your heart feel differently than it does, whether you want to fall in love or to fall out of it... So, I would be an idiot trying to impose something like that on you."

"I've never felt that you did," Ladybug answered quickly, before he could start another monologue. She saw him raise an eyebrow at her and blushed, abashed. "I mean, I did in the early stages, I guess. In those first months of this whole superhero thing... At the time before you found a girlfriend two years ago. But never after that."

"Even though you knew how I felt?"

She shrugged and crossed her arms, embracing her own body tightly. "Maybe? It's not like I knew all along, after all. I really did believe that you'd moved on at first... I mean, you seemed to glow whenever you mentioned that girl of yours, so it couldn't have all been fake. And even when I realised that you still thought about me that way, it was different. You were different."

"I thought I was," Chat agreed with a smile. This time, Ladybug did sense his touch against her hand, before he stepped back and turned away from her. His hand rose to scratch the nape of his neck; once again, she had to restrain from reaching out and grasping it herself. "Though it's certainly good to know that it was more than my wishful thinking. The last thing I wanted was to make you uncomfortable, even if I knew the odds of that happening were slim. So, I'm relieved."

"I'm glad that you are," she offered with a weak smile of her own.

"And I swear that hasn't changed," he went on, as if he hadn't heard her say it; then again, it really could have been the case. "I'm not trying to convince you to reconsider your stance, or to give me a chance. I know that I don't have any. The boy you've always talked about... I don't know if you've reached an understanding with him - quite frankly, I don't think I want to know - but it's obvious that he still means the world to you. That in the same way that I was unable to get over you, you can't really give up on him. And it's fine, it really is... Because I have no intention of standing in the way of that. All I want is for you to let me admit my own feelings and to acknowledge them. I won't ask for anything more than that."

He spun on his heel one more time, ready to face her. His initial animosity was long gone at this point, his trademark grin back in his place with no sarcastic vibe attached to it. There was a melancholy in it. Anguish, perhaps.

Nothing but that.

Ladybug watched him for a while, processing his speech, analysing word upon word of what he had said. She could almost feel herself drowning in all the warmth that had radiated from his assertions, the selflessness and attentiveness with which he had treated her for the longest time, unable and unwilling to break the comforting silence with her own untimely response.

And yet, she was bound to respond.

"You're wrong about one thing," she chose to say eventually. "The boy you mentioned... He's not the reason why I'm keeping my distance with you."

The shock on his face was as great as it was expected, and it almost made Ladybug chuckle - or it surely would have, had the matter not been as serious as it was. Still, it made some of the tension between them dissolve; Ladybug quickly decided that it was an opportunity she should not allow to pass.

In for an inch, in for a mile.

"I don't want to play with your feelings, Chat, which is why I didn't say anything before. Maybe I shouldn't say anything now, either... But you were honest with me, and I feel it's only right if I repay you in kind," she explained carefully. "I don't want to go into details, not yet... However, I believe you have the right to know the reason I'm  still keeping you at arm's length at times - or at least to know what isn't that reason."

"So, what you're saying is... You're no longer in love with him?"

Again, Ladybug nodded.

"But... You still won't fall in love with me?"

His question resonated in her ears for a good few moments, silence falling over them once more as she let herself ponder over his words, trying to find a way to answer him in a way that would be both safe and sincere. There was still so much at risk, way too much for her to easily disregard the first of the requirements, yet at the same time, she couldn't lie to him about a matter so major.

Sadly, she couldn't exactly tell him that she had fallen in love with him already, either.

Which was precisely what had happened. She couldn't tell how or when, though certainly not for the luck of trying to determine it ("I've fallen for Chat Noir, Tikki! When did I do that?!"), and no one, no one had been more surprised than the young superheroine herself (again, not that she was in the position to tell anyone about this insanity). She didn't know if there was a specific moment or event that made her heart speed up for him, or even if there was one that only made her realise her advancing infatuation when she'd been in too deep to even think of going back.

It was unclear, unsettling, confusing... while simultaneously, the more time had passed since she had first accepted a possibility of thinking of her friend in terms of romance, the more obviously natural it appeared.

Because she did love Chat Noir.

Of course she did.

Still, it had taken her aback at first. When Adrien and Kagami broke up (a good five months after she had parted ways with Luka), she was sure that her treacherous heart would take over her brain again, making her go back to square one despite the progress she had made beforehand. Sure, she probably wouldn't fall apart every time Adrien might decide to talk to her when she'd been perfectly able to speak with full sentences (or paragraphs, when her creativeness struck her) for the majority of the previous year. However, that could hardly be a guarantee of her overall success.

Surprisingly, though, the catastrophe she had feared so much didn't come. Weeks and months had passed and the two became closer than ever before - and yet, their relationship never reached the point of being a romantic one. There were a few... instances when it seemed it might go that way - a farewell embrace that lasted a little longer than necessary, a cheek kiss that held more to it than a traditional greeting required.

A few of the many night-time calls that hinted at the prospect of not remaining entirely platonic after all.

All those were one time incidents, too few and too trivial to be given any consideration afterwards. Nothing but hints which, not taken up by the other person, were left alone and forgotten about.

The funniest thing?

It was Adrien who dropped those hints most of the time.

But he wasn't petty or disappointed about it. They were friends - best friends - who also happened to be testing waters a little, after both of their relationships had gone south. She stopped doing it as soon as she realised to whom her heart really belonged now; Adrien went on with it still, though frankly speaking, it seemed more of a habit he'd developed than a serious offer on his part.

So there she was, head over heels in love with her other best partner and friend, who apparently never managed to get over her. A perfect situation with a perfect ending in sight.

If only it was some other time.

"I'm sorry, what?" Chat asked suddenly, making her snap out of her reverie.

The disoriented look he was giving her made her realise that she had said the last part out loud and, not wanting to confuse him more, she rephrased, "The time. It's not the right time."

She had no trouble noticing the change in him, prompted by her words. His eyes widened behind the mask; his breathing hitched for a second while his mouth opened a bit, the hope and anxiety visible in every inch of his being.

Oh, how she wanted to tell him more! To run up to him and throw her arms around his neck, heedless to the risk that was bound to such an act. To forget about Hawkmoth and their duty to defeat him, of Chat Blanc and the tragedy meant to occur if they gave in to their own dreams and needs.

To tell him that she loved him and that she was sure she always would.

But she couldn't tell him that. Even if she made the condition of not becoming official and waiting until Hawkmoth is no more, it would have been to risky. Official or not, a couple or not, they would not be the same after the confession was made - and as much as she yearned to say the words, it was not something they could afford right now.

The moment just wasn't right.

So she stared back at him, their eyes locked together as she tried to convey her affection without making a statement itself. Then she took a deep breath and, making sure he was listening carefully, she asked:

"Will you wait for me, Chaton?"

The gleam of happiness she saw in his irises was all she could ever ask for.

[camp-half-mess]

To Find your Lover...

Sam... doesn’t really have a happy story after Aloys’ death, in their own original universe. They frankly die in an horrible manner after weeks of agony. Since Jason can’t allow himself to alter the fate of a universe to much, he has no choice but to bring back people on the brink of death or of vanishing forever. If eventually, the people he brings back start gaining back their memories from their lives in this universe, at first, they clearly don’t recall a thing. Which... kind of explains Sam’s terrified reaction in this...

Anyways, enjoy the drama?

-A

ps: French at the end

TW: Implied abuse, mention of death, starvation

---

Sam was shaking, huddled in a corner of the small room everyone was cramped in, giving terrified glances around them. Jason had arrived with the wounded naga about an hour ago and, since then, they had attacked anyone that looked “too human” to their taste -even the boy that had saved their life, much to Liang’s displeasure- as one would have expected a wounded animal to do. No one had dared approach the naga since they had scratched Orion’s face to blood and the more time had passed, the more worried had their friends -the same one Sam couldn’t remember yet- become.

“We can’t leave them like that any longer, their going to bleed out at this pace.” The giant huffed, crossing his arms.

“So you’d rather go back and get killed this time?” Liang raised an eyebrow. “Jason found them with poachers, humans poacher. They won’t let anyone come close if they think we’re part of them. The only thing we can do is either wait for their memories to return or tame them.”

“Tame them?! You’re speaking as if they’re some animal you sick fuck!” Kitlyn growled, only held back by Ace.

“I’m just stating the facts…” The vampire replied.

“Yeah well you know where you can shove your facts.”

“Don’t talk to Len like that!” Jason defended, as his Lenlen looked down with shame.

“It’s okay J, you don’t have to-”

“Yes I do! There ain’t no way in Hellheim I’m letting her talk shit about you!”

Kiltyn opened her mouth to reply when Delia intervened.

“Everyone. I believe now is not the time to argue about that. Someone needs help and they’re refusing it. We need to find a solution.”

Silence fell on the small assembly, only troubled by quiet sobs -Sam’s quiet sobs-.

Ace turned to his… friend? Lover? Spouse? To the complete stranger? To the naga that shared the face, the personality, the identity of the person he loved yet wasn’t them? If all those years of knowing them had taught him anything, it was how to read them and, in that very moment, Sam was terrified. Ace could understand why, after all, he too had been pulled out of his own universe into this one, forced to live in hiding, to remember a life that wasn’t quite his, forced to deal with being two people at the same time.

As the group when back to debating -well, more accurately, to arguing-, Ace took a step towards Sam.

And then another.

And another.

They looked up from behind their arms, giving him a terrified look, as if they were convinced he came to kill them; yet they didn’t make a move.

Ace took another step.

Their scales were drab, colourless, almost as you’d expect a wilting flower to be, stained with their own blood. It felt strange to Ace, seeing Sam with a tail like this, but, in a way, their fascination with snakes and the way they had always been felt fitting with being a naga.

And he took another step.

Sam was skinny. More than Ace had grown accustomed to see. It felt terrifying, especially considering the amount of time he had spent feeding them until they had finally stopped being so bony. They almost looked like skin draped over bones, their cheeks hollow, skin pale as death, ribs showing from under their ragged clothes.

Ace took a last step towards Sam, now standing right in front of them, and the terrified naga almost looked about to faint.

“Pitié, ne me tuez pas…”

Ace’s heart shattered.

‘Please don’t kill me.’

He knelt in front of Sam, gently extending a hand towards them as the naga attempted to make themself look smaller.

“Ça va aller… je te tuerai pas, okay?”*

They didn’t reply, staring at him.

“J’te le promet… Chuis là pour t’aider, okay? Tu te souviens probablement pas encore de moi mais on est-”* Ace’s voice caught in his throat.

What were they? Could he tell them they were lovers? Friends? Something… else? Could he tell them they had talked countless times, over and over again, about how their wedding would go? About what they’d do for Christmas with the kids? Could he tell them about the family -the one thing Sam had wished for the most- they had built together?

“On est amis…”* he mumbled, grabbing their hand with all the gentleness he could muster, resisting the urge to pull them in his arms and to run anyway somewhere -anywhere- safer than here… as if such a place existed. “Ça va aller…”* he repeated.

Sam tensed, breath itching in their throat as they nearly pulled their hand away, somehow deciding not to at the last second. They looked at Ace with a mix of fear and sadness, as if he vaguely brought back the memory of something better, of something safer.

“J’ai peur.”* They whispered. “I-ils vont me faire du mal… C-Comme à papa et maman! J-je veux pas mourir! Je veux pas mourir!”*

“Sam… shh... non… non… tu vas pas mourir… j’te laisserai pas…”* He pulled them in his arms as the naga started to sob violently.

“Je veux pas mourir! Je v-veu-eux vivre! Je veux v-vi-ivre et f-faire plein de cho-oses-! Je-e veu-eux plus a-avoir m-mal! Je veu-eux plus! Je veux plus je veux plus je veux plus!”*

---

“Ça va aller… je te tuerai pas, okay?” => “It’s alright... I won’t kill you, okay?”

“J’te le promet… Chuis là pour t’aider, okay? Tu te souviens probablement pas encore de moi mais on est-” => “I promise... I’m here to help you, okay? You probably don’t remember me yet but we’re-”

“On est amis...” => “We’re friends...”

“Ça va aller…”  => “It’s going to be okay...”

“J’ai peur.” => “I’m scared.”

“I-ils vont me faire du mal… C-Comme à papa et maman! J-je veux pas mourir! Je veux pas mourir!” => “T-they’re going to hurt me... Like they did with mom and dad! I-I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die!”

“Sam… shh... non… non… tu vas pas mourir… j’te laisserai pas…” => “Sam... shh... no... no... you’re not going to die... I won’t let you...”

“Je veux pas mourir! Je v-veu-eux vivre! Je veux v-vi-ivre et f-faire plein de cho-oses-! Je-e veu-eux plus a-avoir m-mal! Je veu-eux plus! Je veux plus je veux plus je veux plus!” => “I don’t want to die! I w-wan-ant to live! I want to l-li-ive and d-do many thin-ings! I-I don-on’t want to s-suffer a-anymore! I don-on’t want to! I don’t want to I don’t want to I don’t want to!”

[doktoreth]

Rebuttal against dragon-ball-meta

So my stupid ass has no idea how tumblr works, even to this day. After meta responded, I wasn’t able to reblog his stuff, message him, or even follow him. I’m quite certain he blocked me, which is . . . unexpected to say the least. And sad. A real eye-opener, that is. Here’s my rebuttal to his response. Someone let me know if he replies again or something, maybe copy+paste his shit for me, I dunno. Let’s begin:

Hey, thanks for responding, man. Appreciate it.

It’s Toriyama’s words against yours, pal. Regardless of how it was ignored or overwritten, none of this actually precludes its canonical connection with the main story. This isn’t actually an argument against filler’s canonicity, it just reaffirms the admittedly nonsensical connection Toriyama himself decided to establish. Let’s examine the entirety of the last scan(remember, fourth post):

“12: From time to time, il would happen that people whom I didn't even know were approaching me about the anime. Things were often said like: "Oh jeeze, between the manga and the anime, you must never take any time to let yourself breathe!". In reality, I had hardly worked at all on the anime, I had put confidence in my collaborators. I had enough to do just with the manga. I didn't want to work myself to death, you know...

Toriyama: I want to live until I'm 100 years old!

13: For example, drawing an image of a movement in a manga is relatively simple, but to animate this image, you had to decompose the movement and draw all the intermediary movements. That demands a colossal amount of work. (Ok, the example of Kame-sennin might not be the most appropriate...)”

Nothing much here. He’s essentially elaborating on how much his work is cut out for him. Now all that’s left is the final quotes:

“14: Of course, those who have read Dragon Ball have noticed that certain stories which are found in the anime didn't existe in the manga.

Oolong: What's this? I never saw that in the manga....”

Toriyama and Oolong mention the original stories found in the anime, the filler stories. Obviously.

“END: As one adventure in the manga corresponds to about 10 minutes of animation, and since one episode comprises on average 30 minutes, the entire series of Dragon Ball would have passed by very quickly. The team of animators therefore had to insert some original stories. I admire what they have done, that's a hell of a job!”

Toriyama’s reasoning for inserting original stories is padding, as you know. He’s not talking about how it’s fine if people like both or how the padding didn’t upset him. Anywho, we know that when he speaks of “original stories”, he’s speaking in a narrative context.

“Toriyama: Dragon Ball, it's the anime and the manga!”

Whereas the previous quote denotes his reasoning, this final quote confirms his overall treatment of the anime, being that it along with the manga comprise one wholesome narrative. Everyone knows it’s for the sake of padding. That’s been obvious from the very beginning. Still doesn’t negate Toriyama’s clear and explicit connection between the two mediums. Remember, Toriyama > You/Me.

I’m not sure what your point is in saying I think those types of alterations are “akin” to the driving episode. My view on the filler’s canonicity is akin to Toriyama’s. I also think it was a stupid decision on his part to establish such a connection for reasons I’m sure you’d agree with, such as character breaking moments and inconsistent power levels. I see filler as supplementary evidence for Plague, honestly. He doesn’t need ‘em to defend Tien.

See, the issue there is that all that fandom backlash and meme shit is frankly an insignificant indicator as to where his popularity is concerned. Weekly Jump 1993 has Krillin living the good life just behind Piccolo, Weekly Jump 1995 has Krillin taking more of a backseat and yet he’s still popular enough to remain in the top 10, and Dragon Ball Forever has Krillin just catching up back to Piccolo. He’s evidently the most popular human character, so I’m not at all out of line in connecting the dots (or votes, in this case) to his relevancy in the series. No conceit or irrational dislike here, meta, when I’ve mostly no problems with Krillin’s treatment in the series, only how others like Tien are being left in the dust.

Christ, this again? I can tell this conversation is heading to, “Oh, Krillin’s progress makes sense for his status as the strongest human” instead of addressing Plague’s overall gripe. Frankly, the exact point of plateau is too vague and arbitrary to pinpoint for any of these guys. Meta, please listen, just listen: I believe you. Krillin’s progression making him surpass Tien WITHOUT artificial power boosts is realistic. Would it have happened eventually or inevitably? Neither of us know, but that was never the point, which is that Tien’s importance as a fighter is no less than that of Krillin, and yes, even Yamcha. Plague’s premise was never reliant on Tien being the strongest, he touched on that for literally only a few seconds near the end, so let’s drop this tangent on who would’ve surpassed whom, yeah?

Well, first off, I would respectfully ask you to quell your bias for Krillin, as Plague’s video on Tien touches on him quite infrequently anyway. You spend too much time on this subject, and while I’m happy to engage you on it, it’s quite the digression. His videos being internet comedy videos (scroll down and you’ll find his comment), he makes sure to stay on point without rambling off-topic. The comedic value of his content would be severely diminished if he was all like, “Tien is fading into irrelevancy in comparison to other fan favorites”, instead of saying, “This is a Toriyama handjob.” You can call this intellectual dishonesty from a dishonest hack, I call it what it is: comedy. If you can discern no difference between the two in relation to his actual points, then I can’t help you there. I can only hope I’ve made everyone here more open-minded and vice versa.

I’m beginning to think you haven’t watched his video, meta. He doesn’t think Toriyama hates Tien. He called Tien’s stand against Cell his “greatest accomplishment” in the end of the video, albeit begrudgingly. Any examples in Z are mere digressions, anyway, as he specifically criticizes Tien’s treatment in SUPER. Anyone can look at Tien’s entry into the ToP and take that to mean he was kept important; Tien’s performance was a joke comparatively even in terms of strategy, forget power. His only notable achievements are Tri-Beaming an already incapacitated Za Priccio, courtesy of Roshi, earning Tien a knockout and his FIRST EVER ATTACK landed on an enemy that isn’t a Frieza soldier, and the most humiliating ringout ever in the form of using clones to tackle Harmira off the ring AFTER Tien’s original body was thrown off when he just as well could’ve used one measly clone as bait beforehand. Yes, power isn’t the sole indicator, but it’s the most important one in Dragon Ball. So when the ToP is played up to be needing more strategy, Tien is still treated as a joke of an afterthought.

That’s great, meta. Neither do I and neither does Plague.

I wildly disagree. His thoughts are spot on precisely because he acknowledges Tien’s motivations as a character. I don’t find them argued from emotion any more than I find yours regarding Krillin, tbh. It’s okay for you to be wrong sometimes too, meta.

P.S. You’ve said this already. I agree. I think the same can be argued for Tien given the extremely vague context as to what certain side guys have been doing off-screen. I’m literally watching the Tien video for the third time (you don’t stop talking about this, so I need to make sure), and I get the impression that Plague’s mad about Tien’s piss-poor performance comparatively rather than him being the strongest human (again, this was NOT the crux of his argument).

P.P.S You’ve . . . made this point already. Nobody said this. Plague didn’t say this. Jesus. He never even spoke of Krillin’s popularity to begin with. I know why Krillin’s popular. Hell, I loved his character from the very beginning. Krillin, Krillin, Krillin, Krillin, Krillin. We get it, meta.

[spootiliousrps]

My first Drarry

Stranger: ((Post DH. Not est. 8th year.)) Sharing a common room with the other repeating students wasn't actually awful. He had his own private bedroom, at least. He was only there to satisfy his probation, which meant when he wasn't in class or in his room... that was his only real option. So two months in, he was actually used to reading and ignoring the other students milling about. It would drive him mad, just being alone in his room all the time. Some of the others were playing some sort of game. Weasley was made to wear his trousers as a shirt and vice versa. Granger had to recite  the alphabet backwards. Draco rolled his eyes.  Silly. He tunes them out. Then an apparently slightly tipsy Blaise is tugging at his ankle and he kicks him in the shoulder, about to tell him to piss right off, when he hears that apparently it was Potter's turn. And the prompt was 'The person to your left has to talk dirty to you' Blaise succeeds in yanking him off the couch and onto the floor with the rest of them. "Oi! You mother- What?" He looks around. Then to his right. Potter. "... Oh, come on. I'm not even playing." He sighs, hangs his head in one hand, kicks Blaise again when he keeps tugging at him, and looks at Harry. "... How long do I have to talk?" Blaise supplies, "Until he can't keep a straight face any more." And Draco sighs. "Fine. Get over here, I'm not going to shout pillow talk at you."

You: [reading]

Stranger: ((Thanks! Sorry about lack of separation I'm on mobile. Also I have another prompt, if you'd rather.))

You: [No worries!]

You: [I love this! LOL... bare with me its been some time since I've been in the fandom and honestly this is my first Drarry ^^; ]

Stranger: ((Nah dog no worries right back atcha. Heads up Draco is gonna speak some French later do you want ooc translations ou non? PS my French is Not Great so bear with me.))

You: Harry listened to the others rambling off, a small amused smile playing on his lips as his gaze followed each person in turn. It wasn't until Blaise turned it from harmless amusement to something dirty and embarrassing. To top it all off he had yanked Draco in to all this. His brows furrowed at the words but he wouldn't back down if the blonde didn't.

"Fine. But I doubt shouting is going to work." Harry huffed, glaring off in the opposite direction.

[No worries. I took a few years of French but I'm pretty shite at it so ooc trans would be very appreciated. ^.^]

Stranger: Draco rolls his eyes and leans forward to tug Potter closer to him, until their knees almost touched. "There we are. Now I don't have to shout." He paused. "Does it have to be in English?" He glances around. Blaise is /cackling/. He gets a few shrugs. "... Est-ce que quelqu’un parle français? Non?" He looks around the group. No one seems to know what he said, "Ta mère est une sale pute" he tries glancing around, then directly at Granger, "... et tu peux sucer ma jolie bite rose. No, nothing?" He eggs on, and she actually shrugs at him. "Why would I know French?" Draco scoffs. "Ah yes because you have abaolutely no arbitrary knowledge bumping about that brain of yours." He tolls his eyes, then he's looking around again, blank faces. "So... ne pas de problem? Bien." He looks back to Harry. "Ready?"

Stranger: ((Does anyone speak French? No? Your mother is a dirty whore (possibly bitch?) And you can suck my pretty pink cock. So... No problem? Good.))

Stranger: ((Testing to see if anyone would react to him throwing insults around was then going idea there. This way if you want anyone to say they know any specific word or something you can))

You: [Got it ^.^]

You: Harry tensed as he was yanked forward, heart beginning to race a bit. He didn't pull away as his own gaze followed Draco's to each individual. He waited until Draco spoke once more before mumbling a few words under his breath. It was a small incantation he had learned during the Triwizard Tournament to translate for one of the French speaking students. It would only last a short time but it would do the trick. The words where practically a whispered and he wasn't sure if anyone heard it but it was worth a shot.

[That is... if this is okay. If you don't want Harry knowing, thats fine too. :3]

Stranger: ((No omg that is fantastic. And hilarious Draco is bout to say some DIRTY shit lol))

You: [lmao!]

Stranger: He heard Harry speak, but didn't quite catch it. "... Alright." He rolls his eyes, and under the protection of the fact that Harry wouldn't understand him anyway, he licks his lips and leans in a bit, some of his weight on his hands, and he pitched his voice soft, "Tu veux m'enculer, Potter?" He asks, and even Harry's last name rolls off with an accent. "Tout ce que tu as à faire, c'est.. demander gentiment.." His lips twitch there, teasing, a bit wicked, "Tu sais... Je pourrais juste vous laisser." He throws in a lovely little look at him, through his lashes. The room is too quiet suddenly. And the way Potter is looking at him is... almost like.. He knows what he's just said.

Stranger: "D'you wanna fuck me, Potter? All you'd have to do, is.. ask nicely.. You know... I just might let you."))

Stranger: ((The word he used for fuck actually might translate more directly to bugger))

Stranger: ((In fact scratch that f word it would translate to bugger))

You: Harry's gaze was focused on the floor as Draco began to speak, there was something about the way the accent rolled off the other man's tongue in a way that made Harry want to shiver. Draco had always been attractive... and frustrating... but he had purposefully never considered him like that. But when the question left his lips, Harry's gaze shot up to meet his. Still, Harry was fairly good at schooling his features; keeping them from showing any real reaction. To everyone else, it was as if he was simply listening to the words he didn't understand. It was all in good fun after all... he couldn't believe any word of it... right?

You: [Kk]

Stranger: Harry actually managed to keep a straight face through all that, so Draco sighs. He probably didn't understand him after all. He wonders if he should just say something shocking in English to make him break, but there was supposed be a 3 minute timer anyway so it hardly mattered. "... Ton yeux vert es.. beau, vraiment. Je ne sais pas.." He shakes his head, just a little, a movement so subtle it was barely there, a subconscious little thing. "Je ne sais pas... Je ne puis me détourner.." he laughs, a breathy little chuckle. And somehow he was just. It all just came out, "Ils sont si verts.. t'es un sacré pagaille.. mais... t'es charmant. C'est terrible..."

Stranger: "Your eyes are gorgeous, honestly. I don't know... I don't know.. I just can't look away sometimes. They're just so green. You're such a damn mess... but... You're charming. It's awful."))

You: Harry's brows furrowed a bit more in confusion, though it no doubt seemed as if it was simply because he didn't understand and in a way he didn't. Draco's words didn't make any sense. He comprehended them but not there meaning... it just... couldn't be right. Still, his emerald gaze seemed to darken with intensity as if he were searching for something that could only be found in the mirrored blues. Other than the furrowed brow, however, he gave no other reaction to the words. [I feel like I'm leaving a lot of this to you and for that I am srry ^^; ]

Stranger: Three minutes was apparently more than Draco thought. Blaise behind him says something about Draco not getting anywhere and he rolls his eyes. "I'm just wearing the bloody clock down." He lies, and somehow looking at Harry's confused expression just. Hurt. It felt like he knew what Draco was saying but just, couldn't even comprehend it. And suddenly he felt disgusted with himself, it was an old feeling. For a split second, it shower on his face, and he looked down, then back up at Harry, "Sod it." He rolls his eyes, all snark and none of the flirtation or the hurt and shame that had been there before, he just leans in real close, back arched, and honestly dramatically, he moans out, "Oh, /Potter/" as he basically flops down, rolling as he went so he was almost, almost laying his head in his lap. He was careful not to actually touch him. "All I want is your big, fat, Saviour cock in me." Which at the very least gets a hearty laugh out of Blaise, and Pansy, and even Longbottom chokes on a chuckle. Weasley and Granger both just choke, "/Pleaase/ pump one of your /perfect/ loads in me," he writhes on the floor next to him, hands roaming over his own body dramatically, with a frankly /perfect/ pork star moan, "Oh, Merlin, I /need/ it Potter, save me, Chosen One, save me with your /massive cock/"

Stranger: ((pork star is officially my favourite typo of ALL time))

Stranger: ((Porn***))

You: I

You: am

You: fucking

You: dying

You: LMAO

Stranger: XDDD over just pork star or over Draco's display??

You: [Mostly the pork star but Draco's display is perf. *applauds*]

Stranger: ((Yeah no pork star is fucking typo gold))

You: [Agreed!]

You: Harry waited, practically hanging on for the next word. There was a brief moment of silence before the moan of Harry's name filled the room and he frowned, letting out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. He watched Draco's ridiculous display, his frown only deepening before he gave his own eye roll. "You win." He stated flatly as he pushed to his feet, obviously done with it all. Draco's drastic change had gotten to him. He was confused and suddenly exhausted.

Stranger: "Oh, come on!" He laughs, watching him go. "That was /funny/." He says, grinning a bit hollowly up at him, upside down on the floor. His hair was longer, worn a bit loosely, he hadn't been bothering with doing much to it, so it was spread out under his head in a white-blonde, wavy halo. "Don't you think I'm pretty, Potter?Tu as écouté si attentivement à Mon français" he taunts, "Am I not good enough in the Queen's English, Potter?"

Stranger: ((You listened so carefully to my french"))

You: Harry gave a dismissive wave, as he turned to storm towards his room. He paused at the sound of the French once more, his annoyance only growing with the words.He turned on his heel with a glare, just inside the thresh hold towards his room. "C'est simplement parce que vous étiez plus intéressant en français." He shot back, only wanting to wait long enough to catch Draco's reaction before he would disappear down the hall.

You: [still with me?]

Stranger: It was, admittedly, a bit clunky. And formal. And it didn't sound conversational or casual. And his accent was... awful. Draco's mouth snapped shut, though. Because that was definitely French. And. Oh. Oh, fuck. There was the look of utter shame, again. Blaise is laughing, "look at Malfoy's /face/ oh, Merlin. You poncey bastard." And. Okay. That was about all he could take. He sits up, "You know what, Zabini? Go fuck yourself gently with the business end of a dragonhide mace, you smarmy cunt." And now it's Draco's turn to storm off. He bumps against Potter on his way to his room and mutters, "You're a right foul git, Potter." As he goes. There's a pause, throughout the room. Draco's door slams. Neville pipes up, "... He left his book..."

You: Harry didn't move to stop him, just shot him another glare as he pushed by. He should just leave it at that. He should have never used that stupid spell... It was better not know. Besides, his French was bad even to his ears; the spell had done just enough to get him by at least. His attention went from the door to Draco's room back to the common area at Neville's words and after a moment's hesitation he strode back to the boy and offered his hand out for the book silently.

Stranger: Neville looks a bit uncomfortable. But then he hands the book over. "I... didn't know you spoke much French, Harry." He says. Hermione looks surprised, too. Ron scoffs. "Bloody hell if he was saying anything like that in French I don't know how you kept such a straight face.." And cue Blaise, "What DID he say?"

You: Harry took the book, and flipped through the pages briefly, not making eye contact with anyone.. "I don't." He answered Neville, "And he didn't." He answered Ron before completely and obviously ignoring Blaise, before turning back towards his room, book in hand.

You: Draco obviously didn't expect anyone to understand his words which meant they were private. Harry might not quite understand what they all mean but he knew it wasn't for any of them to know at the moment.

Stranger: Draco was leaning out his window, cigarette hanging off his lip, a hand in his hair. He'd shut the door but- shocker. He wasn't allowed a lock. He'd already been barefoot and timeless, out there. (He recalls the first time Potter had seen Draco walk out of his room like that. He stared at Draco's feet for an uncomfortable amount of time. Until Draco had finally said 'what did you think I just had little pegs that expensive shoes attached to?" And he'd actually gotten something almost like a laugh) The memory makes him groan, now. Sucking a drag off his cigarette and thumping his head against the windowsill. He was already more undressed, now, having immediately shucked his trousers and pulled on a thick jumper. It was dark blue and had a cowl neck, wide sleeves, and he'd yet to bother with pulling anything on over his trunks.

Stranger: ((To remove confusion bc I've no idea where you're from precisely and am not actually sure how common the term is or who would even know this trunks are basically pants somewhere between boxer briefs and reg. Briefs. An American once asked why he had a swimsuit on when I used the term xD))

You: [XD lol I'm from Texas but I actually watch way to much British Television but I really do appreciate the clarification. I remember the first time I actually had to have someone clarify. It was pretty embarrassing lol]

Stranger: ((I live in the states now but spent some of my childhood in Manchester so everything is all screwy. Half the time I'm positive something is American slang and am dead wrong. I called fireworks bangers once and was greeted with so many chuckles.))

Stranger: ((Then i said "Oh you thought i meant sausages" and there were even MORE laughs))

You: Harry stepped into his room, book tucked under his arm, closing the door behind him. He gave a huff as he plopped onto the bed, stretching out a bit as he stared up at the ceiling still frustrated. Did Draco really think that about his eyes? Did it really matter? Surely it was just one of those passing thoughts that everyone had. Kind of like the way he could appreciate the way Draco's shirts squeezed his upper arms so well or his perfectly form fitting jeans... okay no. He gave another huff, kicking off his shoes. This was just stupid he just needed to forget about it.

He sat there for some time, trying to do just that, distracting himself the best he could with anything he could think of; like reciting the alphabet backwards like Hermoine had or listing every spell he knew by heart... but after a bit he finally threw in the towel and pushed to his feet, collecting the book he had tossed on his nightstand and heading across the hall. He'd just knock on the bloody door and demand to know what it was all about... Right... Easy...

Still he hesitated, lifting his hand only to pause... try again... same result. Finally he gave a curse under his breath and knocked.

You: [Lol I love it! Thats super cute. I actually started using the word trouser instead of pants a long time ago and everytime I had to write an order form for uniforms at work I'd get made fun of lol. All in good humor of course.]

Stranger: Awe lol s'cute. Brb I have to ice my arm))

You: [???]

Stranger: ((I broke my elbow))

You: [Oof. Srry to hear that.]

Stranger: ((Still healing lol))

Stranger: ((Well dislocated it. It happens. ))

Stranger: ((I have a joint thing in one arm. ))

You: [Sounds painful]

Stranger: ((Oh 10/10 worst pain of my life. ))

You: [<3]

Stranger: By the time Harry knocked Draco was starting his second cigarette, though it wasn't lighted yet. He rolls his eyes. It's probably Pansy, trying to worm her way back into his good graces. "What." He says flatly as he yanks the door open, still not wearing any trousers. And that was Potter. At his door. He drops his cigarette. "... um."

You: Harry had planned on exactly what he wanted to say but as Draco pulled open the door, all coherent thought left him; his gaze lowering to take in the other boy's state. His stare lingered briefly before he cleared his throat and glanced away. What was he doing? Oh the book! Right! He lifted the book high enough to almost use as a barrier between them, gaze still averted. He didn't say a word, still unable to.

Stranger: He bends, picks up his cigarette and snatches the book away from him, hastily, slamming the door in his face right after. He smacks himself in the face. Stupid. Fucking. Stupid. He pulls a pair of sweats on, they were knee length, sinched at the ends and lacing up the front. He swings the door open again. "Ta." He says, and then goes to swing the door shut again.

You: Harry did /not/ want to watch Draco bend to pick up the fallen fag, absolutely NOT. He didn't have long to think about it before the door was being slammed in his face. He blinked, staring at the polished wood dumbly before it opened again. He let the other boy close it in his face once more, jaw setting in annoyance. Fine. Obviously he was indeed over thinking it.

"You're welcome!" He called loudly, tone exposing his mood. "Prick." He grumbled more under his breath as he turned back across the hall.

Stranger: The door doesn't open but Draco's voice is clear enough, "Fuck you too Potter! You don't get to be pissy at me right now!" And there's a thump. He threw something at his door. You know. Like an adult.

You: That did it! "Oh?! And why is that?!" He snapped in return, from where he stood in his doorway. "Because you're having your own tantrum! I was just returning your book you knob!"

You: [I'm going to have to go soon. But I don't want this to end T.T could we continue elsewhere?]

Stranger has disconnected.

[petri808]

How We Got Here

9-chapter story, each day/prompt will be 1 chapter.  Some portions of the story chapters are made up and some are based from the manga/anime.  There is a reason for that but if I say more it may give away too much spoiler info.

@hakyonaweeks Day 2- Teasing

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3

 Once he had taken the position at the castle, and pledged to protect Yona, that promise became both his curse and his salvation; if he could manage to keep his emotions in check.  Sarcasm became his way of dealing with the Princess.  Hak knew she hated it, but what would be his alternative? Admit to being desperately in love with her and when she turns him down shattering his heart into a million pieces, run away to commit suicide, maybe jump off a cliff or run his own blade through his chest? Sounds drastic, yes, but a possibility when you know deep down there will never be another woman for you like her.

This situation was the ultimate torture that you could ever put any man through and not expect them to go insane.  Every day, week, year that goes by and you are forced by your title and position to be around the one person that your heart desires and the one person you believe you’ll never have.  To sit back and watch them fawning over another that wasn’t you, have to listen to them talk about it, ask you about it and why, because you are the only one they’ve told this secret to.  

Hak told her that he would be happy for them, would serve them for as long as he lived, and said that enough to where he had tricked himself into believing it too.  Her cousin wasn’t a bad guy, a little strange and airy, but they had all grown up together, played together on the castle grounds, and if it made Yona happy, then that was all he wanted for her.  

Most days he could keep his heart in check, and then there were days that the cliff sounded like a better alternative.  It was like being in an out of control carriage on a very hilly road and you wonder should I jump now, then talk yourself into believing that it will eventually get better.  He wasn’t sure what Yona saw him as, maybe a big brother by the way she behaved around him, but when she would act all cute and innocent, say things that could be misconstrued…  Yeah, those were the days he wanted to jump…  

~~xx~~

After Hak helps Yona to get on her cousin’s horse, she makes a comment about his handling of women and that he must be entertaining many at home… “Don’t get the wrong idea,” Soo-Won tells her.  “We’ve been discussing who I’m going to be engaged to.  But, let’s stop talking about this, I can’t talk to you about this sort of thing.”

‘What!!!  And he’s still treating me like I’m some little kid!’   “Well,” trying not to seem flustered, “I’m about to be engaged too.”

“Huh?  To whom?”

“To Hak.”   ‘Did that just come out my mouth!  And Hak needs to stop staring at me like I’ve gone crazy, even if it’s true!’

“That’s great!  Congratulations...”

Once the horseback riding is over, and her cousin leaves them alone, Yona is sulking with Hak standing nearby.  “To think he’d believe such a lie,” she drops her head onto the railing.

Hak mumbles to himself, “You’re the one who’s cruel. And annoying…”  She has no idea how much those kinds of statements hurt him…

~~x~~

“But father this hair!  Why is it so red?  Even my mother had flowing black hair.  It makes me look weird.”

“It’s not true.  Right Hak?”

“Yes, Emperor Il, nobody has said that the Princess’ hair is strange.  But if I may be so bold to say, there’s definitely something wrong with her head.”

“Shut up servant!  Father do something about this guy!  Even though he’s my servant, he’s so arrogant!”

~~x~~

From all the work she put into preparing for her cousins visit, being harassed by Hak at every turn, being told by her father that she couldn’t marry who she wanted, scared by some strange stalker, and being somewhat rejected by the person she loves, Yona retreats into her room for the evening. She was confused, angry, conflicted, and frankly tired that everyone was treating her like a little girl, ‘I’m turning 16 in less than 5 days, I’m not a little girl anymore!’  Flopping onto her bed, part of her wants to cry, maybe scream, definitely scream but that would only bring people running to check on her.

What her father had told her had scared her as well, being the Princess, she would always be a target so whomever was around her could get hurt too.  Could she have been seeing things when she thought there was someone following her? Maybe her father’s words were still messing with her mind?  Yona curls her legs up, this was easier to deal with when she was younger, because whenever she was feeling scared she’d run to Hak and crawl into bed with him cause he would hold her hand and make her feel safer.  

‘Hak!’  Speaking of that man, ‘how dare he say I had a strange head?!  He’s always making fun of me, teasing me, taunting me…  Why is he so mean to me when we’re supposed to be friends!  I just don’t understand it.  I mean, he’s always been blunt and never holds back what he says, but the older we get the worse it became and now he’s such a sarcastic ass!

Ugh and now Soo-Won thinks we’re engaged no matter how I tried to say otherwise.  Okay, I guess I can see how it seems believable because Hak’s always with me, but that’s because it’s his job!  Great, that makes two men that think Hak and I are in a relationship, not that I care about what Tae-Jun thinks…  That’s totally not the point!  He didn’t even try to disagree when I said it, just stood there with his mouth hanging open catching flies!  Where was his stupid comments when I needed it?!’

She sighs, and closes her eyes, there was nothing more she could do tonight but hope that things will change…

[thetruemage-blog]

WW1 Short Story

                                                      Part I

The Fate of Europe hung on a fine thread for the last coming decades as unwanted and unneeded pressure strained the great continent like the powder kegs that felt a great compulsion themselves to tear across the land. Finally, when the thread was snipped by golden scissors and the deprived kegs blew up grander and more devastatingly than anyone had anticipated, it left people to wonder when this was all to end. And, when it was to end—if it was to end—what misfortunate shadow would be cast over the lives of the millions of people that lay claim to the great country of Earth?

In the great maw of bloodshed were necessities, and comfort, and everything that made life for the many fragile creatures normal, but as the aggression propagated and swallowed up Europe the commodity hardest to find was family. Stripped of their husbands, their children, their brothers, and their lovers, too many were forced to start anew with their hearts so badly broken. In the years that followed the war, there were some who received the pleasure of saying their hero returned home. For most others, the company of ghosts lingered in their cold living rooms and parlors, unseen and unheard, but not unwanted.

Arthur sat in a worn armchair in the dimmed light of his small London apartment, thinking about the ghosts that lingered in his cold heart. In the empty chairs and quiet air was the present memory of a charming young American who lived in these walls not so long ago. The only vestige Arthur held of the youth was a distressed photograph that only grew increasingly worn, and the scarce stack of letters Arthur wished had been larger. The tired man sighed wistfully and out of sheer force of habit, he began reading the letter dated September 1914.

Dear Arthur,

The army isnt as bad as you made it out to be. You really do worry for nothing, you know? The drills ain’t bad and I think the only thing I could really complain about is the food. We’ve been doing a lot of marching and rifle drills. Who knew I’d be a good shot? And you’d said I’d shoot an eye out in a week. Well, Art, I’m sorry to inform you I still have both my eyes.

I’m sitting in my tent right now with a few new buddies of mine. Though, they’re a loud sort and I don’t think you’d like them much. But you don’t like anybody much, do you? I’m honestly surprised you tolerated me staying at your place as long as you did. You know how while we were still in university you said that you wanted to travel around the world? Maybe I’ll live long enough to take you with me through Europe after this is all over.

It’s been raining for the past day which is the only reason I’m able to write you at the moment. It’s too muddy to go out for drills and we’ve been stuck in our tents for hours. I can’t imagine the poor blokes fighting out there in this weather. I suppose that’s something I’m not looking forward to, frankly.

Have you ever been to France? It’s a nice change in pace, I’d say. Nothing like the dirty streets of London. Everything’s so spread out and the land is so green. The locals are nice, and the girls are pretty. You’d like it here, I think.

Au Bientot,

Alfred.

P.S. I’ve been working on my French.

Arthur let a sad smile play his lips before he gently folded the paper. Placing it neatly on his end table, he picked up another letter. The date read April 1915.

Dear Arthur,

We have settled in a small town in the north of France. It’s interesting how few people live here. The town seems to have far fewer men than women, and most of the males are elderly or adolescent. I suppose this war has dwindled the population of men in all of Europe. The locals are rather disturbed by the presence of soldiers in town, but I’ve been looking past that. It’s nice to get a break from all the fighting, and if that means disrupting a few, I’ll gladly take it. On a side note, if you ever do go to France the natives do not appreciate being talked at in english. One young lady had the honors of hitting me with her purse. It seems the months of hardship have stripped away all my charm . Matthew and I hit the pub yesterday. What I call beer and what the French call beer are disappointingly different. It’s watery, flavourless, and weak. And I can’t say the wine is much better.

I suppose I have to take what I have. A break is more than most get in this war. Though, in a few weeks time I’ll be back in the trenches killing germans.  As the locals say, “Quand on a pas ce que l’on aime, il faut aimer ce que l’on a”

Yours truly,

Alfred F. Jones

A shadow consumed the confinement of the room at the sight of a particularly doleful letter. Arthur’s hand brushed over the worn parchment warily and he could not be certain if he had the will to read this one. “Oh Alfred.” He sighed, lowering in thought. “You were so innocent in a time less straining than now. I wish you could have remained that way.”

Dear Arthur,

I think I’m going to hell. I didn’t think it’d be so hard their the enemy but dammit I can’t do this anymore. Their people just like you and I and their dead because of me. I killed a man. He didn’t do nothing just think about his family oh god they're gonna miss him and I can’t do nothing about it. He was so young and handsome there's probably some girl back home waiting for him. They make you hate them. They make you want to kill them but dammit they're just people too. I’m going to go home when so many others lost their lives to meaningless war.

Alfred.

November 1914

Dear Arthur,

I’m writing to let you know all is well. Today there wasn’t much enemy fire so instead we spent our hours shoveling out water and mud and refortifying fallen trenches. Let me tell you, it’s much more exhausting than you’d think. The mud is almost impossible to walk through and I fell down more times than I’d like to admit. Matthew was there right beside me to make sure I didn’t fall down too much. It was actually quite a funny endeavor and I pulled him down with me a few times. Our commander wasn’t impressed with the mess we made, but I couldn’t care less. We need to cherish laughter, because you don’t know what day’s going to be your last.

Right now I’m sitting around a makeshift fire sharing letters with some soldiers. We just got in our Christmas mail today and I’m smiling from ear to ear. Thank you for the chocolate. It really means the world to me! How’s London doing these days? I honestly can’t wait to get back and see you. Please do tell me about everything when you write me next. I want to know how your Christmas went. Did you get to see your family?

Merry Christmas, Art. Matt says Hi.

Jusqu'à notre prochaine reunion,

Alfred.

(December 1915)

Alfred had become impermeable to normal emotion as the decades of each battle passed.  On one occasion, he witnessed the gruesome sight of a thousand casualties being carried off in stretchers from the front lines and fell in a fit of depression, not for the men who gave their lives, but for himself, for he would have to go into the hell in which they had come. It was impossible to stay human in the company of combat and it was impossible not to strip the given title of human from the men who fought on the other side. But every soul knew, and refused to admit, that they were all simply human. Alfred did not have the will to think of that now, but perhaps it would haunt him in the years to come.

My dearest Arthur,

How much longer will these poor young men have to lay down their lives for reasons unknown? I’ve been stuck knee-deep in this muddy hell hole and I still have not a clue when the fighting will end. It seems as if the only time of peace is in the early hours of the morning when the larks have not yet started to sing, and the sun has not yet risen over the trenches. Though, behind the hellish wall of smoke and artillery, the sun is barely recognizable. They told us we’d rotate- a few months of fighting and one on leave. But I have been stuck fighting for… oh god, how long has it been now? I believe 7 months. Four of the men I’ve started with still live, but I can’t say for how much longer we’ll hold up. I hope to get Matthew out of here alive. He’s the friend I told you about. I miss seeing your face and I

Alfred put his pen down and stared into the distance.

~ ~ ~

Through the dust and dirt of yesterday advanced a force with more bravado than any other. Every morning it came without fear to the trenches, through the land of no one unchallenged, and remained upon these men until the late hours when another more pernicious force would march and take its place. With the Great Red General (given the name ‘le soleil’ by the locals) came the army band to get the men on their feet. Every morning these larks would shout the orders to commence the fighting once more.

The band’s bloody cry rang through the hills, the valleys, the thistled black bushes and it rung through the sleeping corpses and the living skeletons who stood in attention, answering the cry and ready to die on both sides.

Dug seven feet under in the grave that would soon claim the lives and identities of these skeletons, not a sound escaped a spectre or the dying dead men with lacerations and mutilations too useless to be bothered with. Deep in the veins of the once thriving country, small creatures held their breath along with the breathless battlefield and waited, and wanted and wielded the fear and anger and sadness and shadows on their slumped shoulders alongside their weapons.

Skeletons sprung to their feet and ran. There was shooting and then shouting. Screams and smoke penetrated the air. It used to be so quiet. All of the skeletons were shot down and forgotten. From the graves there were plenty to take the fallen’s place. They were all dead. More shouts. The earth lurched and people fell and more dead. Whistles dropped from above, explosions rattled on both sides and there was the deafening clapping of thunder. Still more dead.

It was Alfred’s turn to die. He ran and dove and ducked and dared not look back. He still ran and ran and one more jump. He was in another’s grave and none but Matthew joined him. One jerk from a shaking finger and the enemy was dead but his face was still screaming. The screaming wouldn’t stop. Make it stop. Alfred covered his ears but he was the one screaming.

                                                      Part 2

The sound of silence once more touched the ears of the phantoms that burrowed themselves deep into the cavities of earth. The Great Red General had long called his men back, and to take his place emerged an assailant woman clad in robes of silver. Her militia shadowed her closely and gazed down on the dual armies with blinkless eyes, yet they were unseen through the cloudy fog. The Great Red General advanced and pricked the creatures with smoldering heat, but the moonlit mistress preferred other antics.  From her hoary robes, thin cloths were cut and gently placed over the eyes of Earth’s children.

The quiet never lasted long and both men, deep in the lines of earth, huddled closely in a desperate attempt not to lose the other. When one sense was stolen, the others became critical and so they listened urgently for any signs of life or death.  Their labored breath pierced the air and echoed louder than it should have. Fear assimilated in their very bones and perhaps if a rat had skittered past, both men would have sprung to their feet with guns drawn and ready, but the soundless air still blew gently through the darkness.

“I don’t like it,” Whimpered the echo of a once assertive voice.

“I know. I don’t like it either.” Another answered back. He blindly clutched a shred of humanity in his tremulous hands. “It’s too quiet”

“Well it would be. Would it kill you to whisper—!” Hissed the twin phantom. There was a prattling of bullets picking up on their own old conversation. Sound was the only thing to be trusted, and the shouting and advancement of ambiguous allegiances were leagues away and not to be worried about. The guns and grenades discussed gallant matters while they took turns drowning out the wails and wretched cries from those material beings.  It was a while before the two soldiers could continue where they left off, but they were used to this motion of breaking in and out of a conversation like nothing had ever interrupted it.

It was far from silent, but it was also far from the worst it had been. The one with trembling hands took this as an opportunity to remind himself of the earthly plain. “We’re still alive” he croaked, trying desperately to remember what speaking sounded like.

“Yes, we are.” echoed the other despondently.

“For how long?”

“I can’t say.”

There was a long pause to let that other tedious conversation go on.

“I remember when the sky used to be blue.” He laughed nearly innocently. “I think I used to walk with Arthur through the park every evening after class and watch the sunset—we wanted to travel, I think—I wonder if he’d like to come to France with me when we’re done here. I think he’d like that—I wrote him a letter.” His blind eyes from both darkness and gas stared unmoving towards the void in front of him. “I hope… I hope that he hasn’t forgotten about me.”

Another pause.

“It’s better to be forgotten than a wound gnawing away at the hearts of our families. I pray to God that my family can forget about me.” The pratting of machine responded with fervor. “Every second’s our last, ain’t it? We’re dead men.”

“If you think like that you are—”

“Don’t tell me you still think we’re getting out of this! You’re too naïve for your own good.”

“And you’re a pessimist.”

Not a word after was spoken, but perhaps he had wished there had. The echoes of conflict advanced them until the roars and howls pounded in their ears like a frenzied beast. Both, in their muted dread, waiting with tenacious horrors flooding their minds, equally knew that the other shared the same anxieties and thoughts that refused to be suppressed. It was mankind that dragged men down to hell and it was mankind that ruined the lives and minds and freedoms of all the creatures that lay claim to the great country of earth. But it was also mankind that laughed and shared moments with their fellow compatriots and brought hope to many, but there was not a sliver of hope that dared show itself in morbid countenance of battle. The sounds of battle still swallowed the peace of the night and refused to be muted.

He was hit before the deafening, yet familiar pratting of bullets reached the aching ears of the phantoms. The ammunitions that nipped all life in its path would never feel remorse for the innocence it had reaped from a boy too young to die but too old to go on in the world of the living. The boy lurched forward, collapsing on his knees while a shaky, desperate hand scratched at the wound lodged in his ribcage. His eyes felt heavy and his mind was becoming milky and inky as years drained from his face in seconds until he was older than the country itself. A sliver of childhood refused to leave his wet, fading eyes. “I can see it.” He croaked, laughing and coughing red spots.

“Shh” Matthew pleaded, “I know, just hang on. Listen to my voice.” His shaking hands clutched Alfred’s matted hair and softly placed him on the ground so he could rest.

“The sky is so pretty. Do you see it Matthew?” He chirped like the early larks.

He dimly nodded, and pressed bloody fabric against the wound. “It sounds lovely, Alfred. Tell me more about it.”

“Me and Arthur used to take walks. He liked to watch the sun set. It reminded him of… of… Home. I miss home—”

There was a long pause.

“Alfred? Please go on.”

Another pause.

“Alfred please!” Matthew begged “tell me more.”

“He’s forgotten about me.” His voice was so inaudible and frail that the wind carried it off towards the stars. Great curtains were beginning to drop over his eyes.

“No, Alfred.” He pleaded, and desperately shoved the other to his senses. “He has your letters, he hasn’t forgot. He’s read all of them. He needs you.”

“My letter.” Alfred whimpered and looked desperately with unmoving eyes. Matthew placed the red dotted parchment on Alfred’s chest. He fingers did not bear the ability to grip, but knowing Arthur was with him gave him peace and he let sleep overcome him.

[ladydracarysao3]

In Love, Serenity  

Chapter Eleven: Calling Creation to Wake from its Slumber

Chapter Summary Aurora has been avoiding anything and everything pertaining to the day of Knight-Commander Barris’ promotion. She’s tried to consume herself with work, to hide from her shame and the feelings she refuses to acknowledge. But life rarely gives us what we think we want.

Note Title is from Trials 1:3

So, I edited this on my phone while sitting in the passenger seat on a road trip!! Wooooo! Hubs and I are visiting his family over the next week. I’d like to put out another chapter while I’m gone, either here or for Skyhold Abbey, but I can never be sure what the days will be like when I’m in Georgia. If you don’t hear from me in a while, that is why!

Also, I know Rory is in her ruined blue robes, but…. I just didn’t have the time to make a new version of her, or a fancier cover, so please forgive that ;)

I will miss you

Couldn’t link directly to chapter 11 because on phone - sorry! [ILS home on AO3]

-Aurora-

In a groggy state, Aurora travels across Skyhold from her barracks to the library. Today will be much like the previous day. A day of reading and searching for answers from sun up to sun down. As the Inquisitor’s trip to the Approach nears, Aurora’s task of finding everything she can about blood rituals or the wardens grows more intense. She doesn’t mind the work, it helps her keep her mind off of the handsome Knight-Commander, the ridiculous display of her covered in ale, and that kiss he laid on her hand.

Upon entering the great hall, she passes by Varric sitting with his writings by the fire. He notices her and furrows his brow. “Hey, Blaze, have a sit, would ya?” He gestures his hand in a way to signal for her to sit at the adjacent chair.

She hesitates, glancing that the door ahead that would take her safely up the stairs to the library. A risk-free, secure place where she could continue to pretend the other night never happened. She looks at the dwarf, when he raises his brows, spreads a slight and hopeful smile, and points at the chair again, she concedes. She quietly sits, shamefully staring at the table as to not make eye contact. She thinks she knows what this will be about.

Varric speaks, his voice pitched low, with an undertone of friendly concern, “What was going on with you the other night? As long as I’ve known you, you’ve never backed down to anyone. I was surprised when you didn’t give that Templar a new asshole for spilling the drinks. And you were so tense all night. Every time Barris spoke, you flinched. What’s up?”

“It’s a long and embarrassing story, Varric,” she responds to the table.

“I’ve got the time.” He stacks his writings neatly, sets them aside, crosses his arms, and leans back in his chair. She flits her blue eyes up to his, sighing when he returns an expectant look.

She drums her fingers on the table, taking a few moments to collect her thoughts. Where does she begin? “Do you know about what happened in Kinloch Hold during the last blight?” she asks.

“Not really.”

“Okay well, you know how Knight-Commander Meredith wanted to evoke the right of annulment due to a suspicion of blood magic in the Kirkwall circle? And then you, Hawke, and Cullen stopped her?”

“And a few other people, but yes?”

“Well… the right of annulment was almost used on me…and everyone I knew…those who were still alive anyway…” Aruroa stares into the fire burning at the hearth. “But the Knight-Commander at my circle had cause. We were overrun with blood magic, abominations, possessed Templars, and demons.”

“Shit.” Varric shakes his head and rubs the back of his neck.

“A group of blood mages decided to take over the tower. When the demons started to take over the circle, the Knight-Commander locked us in. The corrupt mages tried to convert the rest of us, those who refused were killed. They corrupted some of the Templars that were trapped inside with us. They tortured and killed most the others…” she trails off into her thoughts as she remembers how much Cullen had been tortured. It’s amazing how he functions due to what he went through.

“I was lucky. There was a powerful mage, Wynn, she put up a barrier near the entrance protecting some of us and the children. Somehow the Hero of Ferelden arrived at the circle in time. She managed to convince the Knight-Commander to spare us. She and Wynn stopped the blood mages, saving our First Enchanter. Together they convinced the Knight-Commander that the survivors were not corrupted.” Aurora looks over at Varric, a very serious and thoughtful expression on his face.

She takes a deep and steady breath. Aurora has never talked about what happened at the circle before. There is something about Varric that makes me feel she can open up to him. Maybe it is because she’s known him well from bonding over drinks in the tavern for months, or maybe it’s his mesmerizing chest hair, but it feels good to tell him about her past. Her eyes travel down to the always displayed coif of hair on his chest. She quirks a soft, distant smile.

“So, all’s well that ends well, right?” she continues, “Wrong. While the order formally acknowledged a trust that we were not blood mages or abominations, the reality was that many Templars didn’t believe it.” She holds back tears wanting to escape. Pressing her smile firmer to hide the tremble developing in her handsn she clasps them in her lap.

“It was terrible,” she hurries through her words, “that’s all you really need to know about that part,” she shakes off her emotions and wipes her eyes. She directs a larger, forced smile at the dwarf who is looking at her uneasely. This is enough emotion for one day. “So, I found a way to stop it.”

“How?”

“The Knight-Commander…Greagoir… I noticed that he fancied me. I indulged him. No more harassment from his ranks,” she says frankly, sitting straighter and looking back into the fire.

“Ah, I see… you must have been very young.”

“I was about twenty, he was much older, but he was kind.”

“Did you care for him?”

“I cared for the protection his affections gave me. That’s all that mattered. I’ve never allowed myself to actually feel for someone,” she says unemotionally.

“Really?” he asks. “Why?”

I wish he would stop looking at me that way.

Sighing in annoyance, perhaps she responds a little too harshly, “What’s the point, Varric? A mage can’t fall in love. A mage can’t have a family. A mage can’t have a Happy Ending.” Aurora softens her tone when she notices shock flash over his face. “Why would I tempt myself to want a normal life when I can never have one? Truly loving someone would only make the hurt worse.”

“Shit kid, I’m sorry.” They sit in silence a few moments until he says, “But why did this affect you the other night?”

She fidgets with her finger nails and looks down. “Because it is starting again. Somehow, the Templars know where I came from. I see some of them sneer at me and whisper to each other. I try to ignore it, but yesterday one of them…” she pauses, voice choked from the memory. Varric says nothing, patiently waiting for her to regain her strength.

She crosses her arms, a serious and dour expression overtakes her face, and crinkle forms between her brows. “I thought I could save myself in the same way. But I can’t. I made a terrible mistake. I went to Ser Barris after his promotion, and… I made a terrible mistake.”

They sit in silence again, both watching logs burn in the hearth, listening to the cracking of the wood.

“You know, you could tell Cullen that Templars are harassing you,” Varric says cautiously.

“No.”

“But…”

“No, Varric. Leave it. This is my problem.” The last person Aurora wants to trouble with this is the former Kinloch Hold Templar.

She plasters a pleasant smile on her face again. Reaching over to Varric’s hand, she gives it a friendly squeeze. “I should go, I actually have a lot of work to do,” she says, giving Varric a quick wave as she lifts from her seat. “I will see you around, Varric.”

Just as she is about to walk away, she spins around, pointing at him while winking, “Don’t go putting me in any of your stories, Dwarf.”

Varric raises his hands in surrender, “Who me? I wouldn’t dream of it…”

She chortles, “HA! Of course not.” She resigns herself with the notion that she will probably see her likeness in a story of his someday. A day when this is all over and he is too far away to feel my wrath.

--

Reading through a dry tome in the dimly lit library, searching for any information she can find on wardens or blood rituals, she yawns. The near constant reading of the last two days has tired her eyes. She never fully caught up on the rest she lost from her late night in the tavern, either.

Memories she's been trying to avoid flash in her mind, freshly woken after her conversation with Varric. Thinking of the events sends a shiver down her spine. Envisioning the Knight-Commander’s kind eyes on her makes her heart clench.

Ser Barris. Gorgeous, kind, bewildering Knight-Commander Delrin Barris.

She can almost feel his touch on her fingers, skin tingling as she remembers his lips pressed upon them. He said he wanted to see her again. How could he want to see her again? He could have been being polite. He didn’t make an actual plan to see her. But he kissed her hand in a manner that she’s never witnessed unless the man is…

No he can’t be. Stop being silly. That man is not interested in you.

She shouldn’t even toy with the idea, anyway. She can't trust herself around him. He shows up and Aurora goes to mush. She has never reacted in such a way before. He brings out a version of her that she doesn't like, a version that she has no control over.

You can’t let yourself feel for him.                                            

Her heart feels heavy. It aches with a longing she has never allowed herself to feel. She senses a deep burning inside her, like there is a part of her that has been released from prison. She wants it to just go back into its cage. She needs to stop thinking about him and never see him again. Maybe then her life will go back to normal. Yes. That’s it.

Put that gorgeous man out of your mind….

“I know that look, you’re thinking of a man,” the Tevinter Altus Dorian Pavus quips, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.

Aurora glares are him and crinkles her nose, “I am doing no such thing, Vint.”

“Oh, come now, we've been working alongside each other long enough, when are you going to realize that you like me? I like me, you should really give it a try,” he smirks and sits at the small table she occupies. He looks so proud of himself, with that ridiculous black, curled mustache of his twitching as he smiles.

Aurora finds the man is absurd. He always struts around the keep like a peacock with his wild and flashy clothing. He must spend an hour or more every day preening and perfecting his hair, and the curl of his mustache. He always wears garments that expose only one arm, to show off his tan and muscles no doubt. The rest of him draped in a garment made of high quality leathers and cloths, covered in glinting metals of straps, clasps, and buckles. Really, so much is going on, Aurora isn’t sure there could be a purpose for any of it beyond him saying ‘Hey look at me!’

Varric calls him ‘Sparkler’ for a reason…

“Why would I trust a Vint that appears out of nowhere the day Corypheus destroys Haven… who is also a Vint… with his army of Venatori…who are a bunch of crazy cultist VINTS?” she asks, crossing her arms and returning a smug look in his direction.

“The Inquisitor trusts me. You need to get over this hang-up, my dear. Not all people from Tevinter are ‘blood magic’ and ‘Let’s tear down the world.’ I came to help put a stop to all of this, and so I am.” He leans in, “One mage to another, I’d think you would understand.” He gestures his hand in a twirl, “Bad reputations of your brethren preceding you and all that.”

She lets out a long sigh through her nose, continuing her glare into his eyes. He has a point, but Aurora doesn’t have to like him for it. He chuckles, “Come now, I know you were daydreaming about a man. We could bond over mutual appreciation.”

“Maker, preserve me,” she says as she glances above.

“You know, you and Cullen have a lot in common. You’re both prudes with gruff exteriors. Is that because you were both at the same circle for a time? Was your circle full of angry little Andrastians?”

“I am no prude, Vint.”

His eyes light up and he claps his hands together. “Well now we’re getting somewhere. Do tell me it’s Cullen you pine for. Oh, that would be wonderful. I bet you two groan with disapproval while you--”

Aurora slams her book, rises from her seat, and walks toward the stairs down to the lower rotunda as he speaks. “Wait, where are you going?” When she doesn’t respond, he calls out, “As you wish. I do rather like watching you leave.”

Aurora enters the rotunda with her tome in hand, surveying the surroundings for the apostate who usually lurks in the area. She finds him atop some scaffolding, painting one of his murals. Ever since their arrival at Skyhold, the elf has been covering the curved walls with murals depicting major events of the Inquisition. The subject matter of this one seems to be centered on the Templars joining the cause.

Politely, she clears her throat to get his attention and silently waits for recognition. After a few long, silent moments, he finally turns a glance over his shoulder in her direction. “Aurora,” he says curtly.

“Solas.” She nods while approaching the scaffolding. “Will it bother you if I read in here? I need to escape a Tevinter invasion.”

“I heard that!” an indignant Dorian bellows from the library balcony above.

Silently, Solas gestures the long handle of his brush toward the large couch in the room. She takes a seat on the plush sofa, opening her book across her lap. Solas returned to his project quickly, ignoring her once again. She takes the opportunity of his distraction to observe him, watching him as he gracefully adds pigment to wet plaster.

Aurora doesn’t know him well, but what she does know, she thinks is a strange. She heard that he had appeared to Seeker Pentaghast after the destruction of the conclave. He also was the one who realized that the mark on the Inquisitor’s hand could close the rifts in the veil. But no one knows much about him, including where he came from. He claims to have always been an apostate. Unlike Aurora, who was bound to a circle for her entire life, he roamed free. She has trouble understanding how he kept himself hidden from Templars for so long, as he looks to be her senior by at least ten years.

He is taller than most elves she’s seen, with a long and lithe frame, quite muscular considering how thin he is. He has long ears that are more pronounced by his pale bald head. Foot wraps expose his toes, which make her wonder how he can safely or comfortably travel as much as he claims.

“He is lost. In darkness. Looking. Searching.” Aurora jumps with a start as a ghostly, young man appears in front of her, “She thinks she is unworthy. Hides in the shadows.”

Solas stops his work, turning to view the boy. “Hello, Cole,” he smiles.

“This is Cole?” Aurora asks. She thinks she recalls hearing that name before, perhaps she has even met him before, she cannot be sure. He seems both familiar and foreign. “What is he talking about, how did he just appear like that?” She peers at the young man with deep furrow in her brow, “How did you appear like that, Cole?”

“Cole is a spirit,” Solas answers. Aurora tenses immediately, darting her eyes between the two men. “Calm yourself,” Solas continues, “he is a spirit of compassion. He appears to you because he is trying to help you. You must be in pain in some way.”

“What? No I’m not. Why is there a spirit in Skyhold? Does the Inquisitor know? Is he a demon?” She glares at Cole, “Are you a demon, boy?” She can feel herself start to panic, remembering the demons she had ‘met’ over a decade ago.

“He will not harm you, please relax.” Solas urges calmly as he descends from his scaffolding and approaches.

“I want to help,” Cole says softly, sweetly. He looks into Aurora’s eyes with concern and sadness.

“What? Why? Are you trying to trick me?” She closes her book, firmly holding it against her chest behind tightly crossed, gripping arms, as if shielding herself.

“This is no trick, Aurora. Cole came to the Inquisitor while she fought through Therinfal Redoubt.”

“I helped,” Cole smiles.

“He has been here with the Inquisition ever since, most people have trouble remembering they have seen him, or even see him at all. It is remarkable that he is coming to you in this way.” Solas actually seems excited about this. It is no wonder, the elf spends so much time in the fade conversing with spirits, she supposes it would be exciting for him to safely interact with one in the physical world. If anyone should know if the spirit can be trusted, it would be Solas.

“Alright,” she says tentatively, trying to relax. She keeps a keen eye on the boy as he approaches closer.

“You don’t need to hide from him. He will heal you,” Cole urges, but Aurora has no idea what he is talking about.

“I’m not hiding from anyone,” she says as she desperately backs her body tighter against the couch in an attempt to repair the ever shrinking space between her and the spirit. Common sense is screaming within her to not let the young man nearer... Or what she has always regarded as common sense, in any case. With the way Solas is looking at her, it feels as if Aurora is being inane. But it is difficult to ignore the decades of training to fear or distrust spirits.

Cole looks to Solas, “She needs let him find light. He needs the dawn.” He looks back at the mage, “Aurora.”

“What is going on!” she yells in panic. “How do you know my name?” The spirit isn’t making any sense, and now he is throwing her name into his strange speech. This is extremely unsettling. She desperately looks at Solas, but he is still calm. A neutral expression on his face.

“Not a name… a light.” Cole furrows his brow as if to concentrate. “This isn’t working I need to try again,” he reaches toward her causing her to scream.

“Don’t touch me, demon!” Aurora propels herself from the sofa and darts away across the room.

“Aurora! Be still, it is against his nature to harm you. You are in no danger.” Solas comes to her side, holding her shoulder in reassurance, “Cole, I do not think it is wise to make her forget. She needs to know you,” he says calmly to the spirit.

Aurora’s confusion grows. Make me forget? She begins to feel that running was exactly the right decision, if this creature could alter her mind from a touch, or just the will to do it. How can it be safe for this demon to be roaming the halls of the castle? Could he not do whatever he pleases and just make everyone forget? Maybe this explains why he seemed somewhat familiar.

She stands there in a cold sweat. Has he made me forget him before?

Cole keeps his distance and thinks silently. All eyes on him. Even curious sets from the library balcony joined the scene, due to her outburst. Dorian’s voice calls down from above, “I know it is unsettling, Aurora, but in the months he has been here, I have yet to witness any malicious activity. He is truly a wondrous creature.” Dorian has gotten carried away with himself again and starts to ramble, “You know, back in Tevinter, we keep spirits as servants. The things they can be made to be are quite marvelous. You should see them… Do you use spirits as servants, Solas? You’d have no trouble capturing them.”

“No. They are intelligent, living creatures. Binding them against their will is reprehensible.” Solas glares toward the Tevinter on the balcony. Aurora silently questions the rationality of discussing the binding of spirits in front of a spirit who seems determined to mess with her mind.

Before Dorian can issue a rebuttal, Cole speaks again, “Screaming. Crying. So much blood. How can they do this to us? We have never done harm.” Aurora’s attention snaps back to the spirit. It is as if he is reading her thoughts from a time long since passed, “You do not have to fear them any longer. They are gone. Dead,” he says to her.  Aurora trembles, prompting Solas to move behind her, bracing both of her shoulders.

“You can be happy,” Cole continues, “The world is different now. You are not there any longer. He will never let harm come to you."

Tears begin to well in her eyes. She blinks them away and quickly wipes off the wetness with the backs of her hands. She struggles to determine what he is talking about, but also she is powerless to stop a flood of emotions hatching from somewhere in the pit of her stomach.

He couldn’t know about… He can’t be referring to…

“I think that is enough for now, Cole.” Solas softly urges.

As quickly as he appeared, Cole vanished.