#its still angsty but now its a little bit less bleak

[angorith-arts]

A Hopeful Reverse Ending

So I’m changing up the ending

Julian Devorak x fan apprentice (Elris)

(Rewritten Reverse Ending)

————

The door stood solitary in the crumbling Arcane realm. The aura of the Devil’s magic was especially potent here; it seemed to leak out from under the door and seep through the cracks in the wooden frame. Elris brushed off the dampness clinging to the rickety wooden sign hanging beside the mundane looking barrier. ‘The Hanged Raven,’ it read.

Malak and Parita shuffled nervously on Elris’s shoulders, the raven and magpie both eyeing their surroundings with distrust.

Elris gently lifted her avian familiar off of her shoulder and placed black and white bird on the signpost. “Stay here, you two,” she instructed as Malak hopped up to perch alongside his corvid counterpart, “I don’t know what to expect in there.”

“Be safe...” Parita croaked in Elris’s mind. The magician scratched her familiar’s jaw, just where she liked it, and smiled as her feathers fluffed up.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure I’ll be fine.” She adjusted her well-worn traveling cloak as the pair of birds dismounted her shoulders, pulling the dark fabric to lay more comfortably across her shoulders. Taking a deep breath, Elris turned back towards the door and grasped the rickety handle. The cracked wood and chipped paint on the door reminded her of the Rowdy Raven, a bar that had become much more popular once word got out that the man who sacrificed himself to save the world had been a frequent visitor. But something about it was... forbidding. Like something inside didn’t want Elris to enter. She hesitated on the doorstep, suddenly unsure.

Elris heard Scout sniffle impatiently behind her. She glanced at the minor Arcana, who motioned with her fluffy hands to open the door. Her heart racing, the shaky mage pushed the heavy door aside.

The light within the disembodied pub was red hued and dim, but it offered enough clarity for Elris to instantly spot the lone patron in the corner booth. They were shrouded in their own puddle of shadows, hunched over in the corner where the light could barely reach. A long, dark cloak cascaded from their caved-in shoulders and dragged the floor below. A mountain of tankards and heavy glass mugs lay scattered across the table and floor around them. The swinging door hit the wall with a resounding thud, and the figure jolted as if startled, whipping their head upwards to face the door.

The frantic beating of Elris’s heart slammed to a stop as the organ leapt into her throat.

Her voice came in a breathy whisper.

“...Julian?”

The figure in the corner booth bristled. Literally. Black feathers that ran along his shoulders and arms and head ruffled upwards, making him look twice as big as he really was. A surprised expression slid onto his face. Within seconds, however, his expression had soured and he looked resolutely down at the tabletop. His eyes were shadowed by heavy brows, obscuring his expression from Elris’s view.

But it was him. It was him.

“Oh my god, Julian!” Elris’s voice rang with joy. The mage moved forwards on instinct, trembling as she reached a tentative hand towards her lost love. Those eyes, that face, she would recognize him anywhere.

But that wasn’t to say Julian hadn’t changed. His time trapped in the devil’s realm had changed him in much the same way that Lucio’s servitude to the Arcana had. He wasn’t exactly human anymore.

As her eyes adjusted more fully to the dim light, Elris could see in stark clarity the extent of the changes Julian had undergone. His pale complexion and shockingly red hair had been replaced by grey colored skin and dark plumage, which started at his brow and cheekbones and traveled downwards, trailing across his shoulders and down his arms and back. They lay flat down his chest and stomach, fluffing ouwards just below his collarbone and bare hips. His legs were folded under his chair, but instead of feet, long, black-scaled talons gripped the floorboards, drawing long gashes in the wood where they rested. His hands were similarly clawed and scaled, the long, sharp nails scraping against his pewter mug as his feathered hands tensed around it.

Tension. Why was there tension? In fact, this wasn’t the reaction Elris was expecting at all. Instead of joy, instead of excitement and celebration, Julian conveyed sheer and utter hopelessness and aggression. He stared hard at the table, refusing to look at Elris. His shoulders were hunched, but the mage could see bunched muscles trembling beneath his cloak of black feathers. His sharp face was twisted in a grimace, his lips pulled upwards in a jarring sneer. Elris hadn’t seen an expression like that on his face since the front he had put on while pleading guilty for killing Lucio. His altered state only made the gesture more discomforting.

“Julian?” Elris asked tentatively, heart sinking, “are you okay?”

His claws dug grooves into the pewter mug as he slammed it down on the table with a momentous rattle. Several of the tankards clattered to the floor, and the glass ones shattered around Julian’s avian feet. His feathers rose, his eyes burned. Elris, for the first time, found Julian truly frightening.

“You’ve made your point, Devil.” Julian sneered.

Elris felt her heart stop completely. She spoke around the rapidly forming lump in her throat. “...what?”

“Dissipate, fall apart, do whatever you always do when I see through the illusion.” He seemed to recoil and shrink into himself then, although his cobalt eyes retained their intensity. “There’s nothing more you can take from me.”

The defeated tone of his voice made Elris’s throat completely close as tears pricked at her eyes. She choked out Julian’s name desperately, coming to the realization that this may all be hopeless. After all this time, after all they had done together, after Elris wandered the arcane realms for the stars know how long to find him, Julian didn’t even believe she was real.

“Julian, please,” pleaded the desperate magician, “I’m real, I’m here.”

“Ah yes, the begging.” Julian retorted scornfully. “You’ve done it all before.” He straightened and waved his hand dismissively. “Try something new this time, Devil.” Julian hunched back over and took another long swig of his drink.

The retort made Elris’s eyes well up. “I’ve been looking for you for so long. After we stopped the Devil I left immediately,” Elris watched as Julian’s face contorted in confusion.

“Stopped the Devil? Impossible.” He spat, but he looked unsettled. Some of the angry tension returned to his feathered shoulders. Elris continued unfazed.

“Asra said it was a fools errand. That I would never find you. He left after we found his parents here. But I knew you had to be out there, somewhere in the arcane realms. So I found Scout. Traded her my tarot deck for her help. I brought Malak and Parita-“

“Stop.” Julian hissed dangerously, rising slightly from his chair. The black feathered cloak on his back rustled outward suddenly, and Elris realized that it wasn’t a cloak at all. Julian had wings.

“Julian,” Elris tried to diffuse the tension, “I was starting to think I would never find you. I was so afraid of what the Devil did to you. But you’re here, and I can break your bonds, dispel whatever is left of the Devil’s chains.”

“Stop it now.”Julian stood, rising to his full height. He was immensely tall now, taller even than Muriel, perhaps. His clawed hands clenched at his side, his talons dug into the floorboards. His wings moved upwards and started to spread dangerously.

Desperately and thoroughly frightened, Elris tried again. “I’ve missed you,” she couldn’t keep the pleading tone out of her voice. All she had wanted was to find Julian, ever since the moment the Devil dragged her love away into the storm. “Please, Ilya. Let’s go home.”

“THATS ENOUGH!” Julian roared, his face twisting in agony and rage. He hurled his tankard at Elris, who had only enough time to drop down below the metal cup before it hit her. Instead, it clattered against the door frame, flipped itself over, and doused Elris with the alcohol inside.

The tankard fell to the floor with a heavy thunk. She shuddered to think what would have happened if it had hit her. Elris looked up at Julian, who had his back to her. His sides heaved and he trembled all over. His wings sagged. Elris could hear his ragged breathing from across the room. She moved to comfort him, but stopped suddenly short when a repugnant smell hit her nose.

Her eyes watered as though she had just been punched, her nose stinging from the strong alcohol scent. She wiped a splatter of liquid off her face. She recognized the smell.

“Ugh.” Elris made a disgusted noise deep in her throat, scowling down at her dripping clothes. There was no way that tankard could have held this much liquid; it must have been enchanted. “Did you seriously just douse me in Salty Bitters?”

Elris looked up to see that Julian had whirled around and was staring at her hard, eyes wide, wings extended, and mouth agape.

His voice was a husky rasp, full of desperation and tainted with the remnants of disbelief. “You didn’t disappear,” he stated numbly.

“Why would I do that?” The magician snapped.

“Elris?”

“In the flesh,” the magician picked herself up off the floor, holding her arms out at her sides. A drop of Salty Bitters slid off of a soaking strand of hair on her cheek. “And covered in liquor, now, thank you.” Elris added with irritation.

Julian didn’t reply. He took a shaky step forward, all of the strength he had drawn from his fury seemed to have left him. “It’s you,” he whispered as though he was afraid to say it out loud.

Elris softened. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, dingus.”

He took another step, but his knees gave out beneath him. Julian sank to the floor like all of the life had been taken out of him.

The mage rushed forwards to help him, bracing his shoulders while his hands grasped her forearms like a lifeline. “Woah, woah. Hey, take it easy.”

Julian sagged against Elris, her name falling from his lips over and over. His hands shook where they gripped her forearms, his claws digging uncomfortably into her skin. Elris saw tears drip down his beakish nose. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m here,” the mage assured him, running her hands over his shoulders and arms. His feathers were rough beneath her palms, like Parita’s felt when she hadn’t preened properly. “You haven’t been taking care of yourself, darling.” Julian huffed out a shaky laugh in response.

They sat for a while and embraced. Elris couldn’t know how much time had passed; minutes, hours, one could never be sure. Time worked differently in the arcane realms, especially in ones that were actively falling apart.

“You, you can’t be here. It’s not safe.” Julian stammered eventually. His voice was raw and choked, Elris had to strain to hear him. He didn’t look her in the eye.

“I know. That’s why I had to come here. You need to come home, Ilya.”

His head snapped up. “Home? What home is there? What’s left? The Devil won. The realms collided, everything is over.” The transformed doctor shrunk into himself.

“What? No, they didn’t.” Elris replied, recoiling in surprise. “Asra and Nadia sabotaged the ceremony; they poisoned the courtiers who were lending the Devil their strength, and replaced Lucio’s blood in the pitchers with mine.”

A dry scoff. “Your blood? Really?” Julian pulled away slightly. Elris could tell his suspicions were returning.

She rushed ahead in her explanation. “I came back to life after dying, broke the laws of nature, so my blood is... different. It granted everyone immunity from the Devil’s compulsion. When the ritual failed, the Devil exerted so much of his power trying to force the realms together on his own, he became weak enough for us to bind.” Elris shuddered at the memory. The Devil’s display of power had been truly scarring, both physically and emotionally. But it had all been for nothing. With the help of Asra and the other party guests who held connections to the Arcana, Elris has been able to bind the Devil with his own chains and drag him back to his own realm.

Julian pulled away, shaking his head. “No. That’s... that’s not right.”

Elris reached forward and cupped Julian’s cheek, moving his face so he had to look her in the eye. He leaned into the contact, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before he focused back on Elris’s face.

“Ilya.” She spoke firmly, but not unkindly. “We won. It’s over now.”

“That can’t be!” Julian dragged his face away from Elris’s touch. “Right now we’re- we’re in...” He trailed off. The room flickered momentarily, disappearing from sight to reveal a red-drenched wasteland of cracking stone and smoking rubble. The room flickered back into existence. He looked around in disbelief. “...are we?”

“No.” Elris asserted. “This is an illusion. We’re not in the Rowdy Raven, we’re in what’s left of the Devil’s realm. It’s crumbling and weak, but it’s the only place he still has any power.”

“No, I’ve tried to leave, the world is a wreck outside that door.” Julian pointed a clawed index finger at the open doorway.

“It’s an illusion, Love.” Elris insisted. She reached forwards and brushed her fingers over Julian’s chest, feeling the rough chains of the Devil’s bonds against his skin. They manifested at her touch. Julian shuddered. “The Devil is using the last of his power to keep you here. To get back at us for defeating him. He’s using your memories against you, trapping you in an illusion of your own subconscious making.”

Julian sagged, looking hopeless. Elris touched her forehead to his comfortingly. “I can break the chains, yours are brittle and I know how to do it.” Elris reached out to touch the chains again, but Julian reared back, wings flapping as he launched himself away.

“No! These are the only things keeping you safe from the Devil! If you break these...” he gripped the chains where they looped invisibly over his chest, “...I won’t be able to protect you.”

Elris moved forward and grasped Julian’s scaly hands with one of hers, cupping the side of his face with her free hand. “I don’t need you to stay trapped here just to protect me. The Devil is gone, we’ll be safe as soon as we leave this place. It’ll be okay.” Julian still didn’t meet her eyes.

“I’m... look at me. I can’t go home. If I go back to Vesuvia I’ll be run out, and if they see you with me, you’ll be exiled too. I can’t do that to you.” He protested weakly. Elris could tell his heart wasn’t really in the attempt.

“They’ll welcome you,” she assured him, “everyone in Vesuvia and Prakra and beyond knows you as a hero. The way you look won’t change that. And the people who matter —Asra, Nadia, Portia and Mazelinka— they won’t care either. They’ll love you all the same. Just like I do.”

Julian’s eyes flicked up to meet Elris’s earnest gaze. He looked like he wanted to accept, like he wanted to be hopeful but wasn’t allowing himself to feel it.

“Please,” Elris whispered, bringing her face close to Julian’s, “let me do this for you.”

His response was minute, minuscule. Just a tiny tip of his head, a familiar look of longing in his eyes, and the barest trace of a smile on his lips. He brought his hands up to Elris’s face, touched her cheeks carefully, taking special care to keep his claws from touching her skin.

“What did I ever do to deserve you, my love?” Julian whispered breathlessly, closing the distance between them until he was tantalizingly close.

Elris answered with her lips on his.

The contact was soft and tentative, tainted with unfamiliarity from their time apart.

The kiss was brief, briefer than Elris would have liked. But when they pulled away from one another, both she and Julian were smiling. “You taste like Salty Bitters, dear.” Julian purred as he nestled into the crook of Elris’s neck. The feathers on his jaw tickled her cheek.

“And whose fault is that, I wonder?” The magician retorted, stifling a laugh.

“Sorry, the illusions usually disappear after I douse them with alcohol.”

Elris chuckled. Her arms wrapped around Julian, clasping around his shoulders just above the wing joints. They sat for a while, relishing in one another’s presence and absorbing the fact that they were together again. Really and truly reunited.

Eventually, Julian repositioned and drew Elris in for another kiss. This one was longer, just as warm and savory and priceless as the first. Elris drew her hands up Julian’s chest, placing her hands over the brittle links of the chains around him. Between kisses, she whispered, “I’m going to break these.”

“Please,” Julian breathed in response before capturing her lips again.

Magic surged between them, crackling and glowing intensely. The chains burned red for a moment. Julian gasped, and they clanked to the floor, dissolving into ash as they fell.

He pulled away, rolling his shoulders and flexing his wings experimentally.

“Better?” Elris asked.

“Immensely.” Julian replied, a hint of his former rakish smile flitting across his features. He kissed her once more before pushing himself to his feet, offering a hand to Elris once he was upright. She took it gratefully. They stood together, hands interlocked, and faced the doorway, which no longer looked as heavy or forbidding as it once did. The illusory pub started to dissolve around them.

“We should go.”

“Agreed.”

“Grab a drink for the road?”

“I think I’ve had enough Salty Bitters to last a hundred lifetimes.” Julian retorted.

“In that case-“The room gave a shudder, “exit stage left?” Elris asked. Julian nodded,and the pair of them dashed out of the doorway just before it melted into the ground, cut off from Julian’s deal as its power source. Only the signpost remained, the pair of corvids on it looking distinctly ruffled from the tremors. Parita jumped to Elris’s shoulder, the familiar brushing against her partner’s cheek as relief surged through their bond. Malak, still on the signpost, tilted his head and cawed at Julian, shifting on his feet.

“Hey there, old friend.” The transformed doctor smiled ruefully. Malak croaked again and hopped immediately onto Julian’s shoulder, settling himself in his usual place on Julian’s right and picking at some of the feathers there.

Scout stood up from where she was resting beneath a large, red tinted boulder in the wasteland of the Devil’s realm. She shook herself and motioned cheerfully for Julian and Elris to follow her, heading back the way they had come.

“Looks like it’s time to go.” Julian allowed a slight smile to grace his changed features.

“Already?” Elris remarked dryly.

Julian chuckled and leaned down to kiss her again, but was interrupted by a sharp bark and a stern look from Scout. Feathers ruffled, and Julian stood back up hastily, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“We really should go,” he stammered.

“Yeah,” Elris agreed, twining her hand into his once more, “we should.”

And they walked, hand in hand, towards Elris’s gateway just outside the realm. Towards freedom, towards home, where they would never have to break apart again.

[denimjacketkisses]

Changed.

Description: Eddie is changed. Personality wise, he’s still the same Eddie. Physically, he’s gained a new look. You look after him, while he adjusts to his new life.

Pairing: Vampire! Eddie Munson x F! Reader.

Wanings: Mentions of blood, wounds, “death”. There will be sexual themes at some point. Fluff. Just make smart choices. MINORS DNI.

A/N: Ah! This first little chapter of this series is a bit dark, sad and angsty. So I apologize in advance. I needed to get my backstory going. BUT there will be cute moments. Truly this is inspired by a tiktoker named ars.de.elysium, who does animations of BAT EDDIE. They are my heart and soul right now and I wanted something in writing of the shenanigans of Bat Eddie and the gang, and reader of course. If you have the tiky - toks, you should go follow her! She also has a tumblr so I will be tagging her as well. Hope y’all enjoy!

Comments are always welcome! Please let me know what you enjoy! (:

The world seemed a bit less bleak. You had all survived the perils of the Upside Down. Mentally, you all were a hot mess and physically, some of you were doing - alright; but you were standing on two feet and making the best of what the after effects of the Upside Down had handed you. 

Standing on your two feet meant something different to everyone currently. You were a family, of course, bonded by the trauma that only the Upside Down could cause, but everyone was doing and dealing with something different. 

You had decided to take on the role of caregiver, to a “dead” Eddie Munson. Hidden away in the woods of Hoppers cabin, you laid in the pitch black darkness. Thick sheets covered the windows, the sound of an air conditioning unit running on full blast was your background noise, along with the small snores of a sleeping Eddie.

—-

[Then]

After what you assumed were his last breaths,begrudgingly the team had rushed out of the Upside Down, the cracks in its foundation ripping away and seeping into the Rightside Up; your small town of Hawkins. 

You had refused to leave Eddie there, alone in the cold of that Hell. As soon as you knew everyone else had made it Rightside Up, you ran. You ran back to Eddie. He deserved a proper burial, he deserved to be mourned. You gripped onto his wrist, pulling up his body with whatever strength you had left. It was when his body had collided with yours you heard it, the sound of faint breaths. He was breathing. He was alive. 

“Steve! He’s alive! Steve, please!” You screamed into the void of the bright red sky. Steve, who hadn’t gone far. Steve, who was trying to console a fragile Dustin, came back. You watched as he placed his index finger on Eddie’s wrist. The look of shock covering his features, before he pushed you aside so he could scoop up Eddie under his arms. 

“Grab his legs, come on. He’s barely there. We’re getting him out of this shit.” You two, with the future help of Dustin, dragged Eddie’s slowly dying body out of the Upside Down and took him to the only place you knew he could be safe from the ridicule of Hawkins. 

Hopper’s Cabin.

With the help of Murray, Joyce and Nancy, they had managed to clean, sew up and bandage most of Eddie’s worse wounds. It was then, a waiting game. You, Steve, Robin and Dustin had all taken shifts. You would sit and watch his chest, slowly rise and fall. He hadn’t  woken up in two weeks. Two whole weeks. You were starting to lose hope, that is, until that rainy Sunday afternoon. When you heard the horse rasp of a familiar voice that you hadn’t heard in weeks. 

“H - hello?“ 

You were slowly drifting asleep when you heard it, thinking that your mind was once again playing tricks on you, you closed your eyes once more. 

“W - where am I? H - hello? Is anyone -“ a loud thud snapped you out of what you thought was a daydream. You scrambled off the couch and ran into the direction of Eddie’s room, flinging the door open your eyes landed on him. Fallen on the floor, face flat on the ground, was Eddie. He was awake. He had moved. He was on the fucking floor.

You moved as fast as your shocked body would allow. Immediately lowering yourself and gripping Eddie from under his arms, lifting him up slowly.

“Holy shit. Eds, are you alright? What hurts? How can I help? Are you hungry? Do I need to change your bandages, again? Do you need wa-“ your ramblings cut off as the cold and calloused hand of Eddie covered your mouth. Your eyes bounced around until they finally landed on his brown ones. Or, they used to be brown. Now, they were more a dark crimson.

“Listen, Starshine. I’m glad your concerned about my well being, but I need about point five seconds to figure out what the fuck is up with my body. It’s hot as hell in this house. Where are we even? And, I’ve never wanted liver in my life, but it sounds good?” The rasp in his voice rattled your ears and though it sounded like your Eddie, something was different - he had changed. 

——

[Now]

You watched as the clock on the nightstand turned to 9:00pm. You figured he’d be awake soon. Wanting his new favourite dinner item, liverwurst. Your skin crawled at the thought, but as he had informed you it was a better option than actual blood. You shivered at the mere idea of Eddie killing someone just to drink blood. That wasn’t your Eddie. He would find other ways to sustain himself in his new body.

Your knuckles rapped on his door, before a silent “come in” floated through the air. You pushed the door open slightly, peeking your head inside. Your eyes fell on Eddie, who was sitting in bed, shirtless and drawing in his sketchbook. 

“Are you ready for dinner? If not I can just wait, it’s no biggie, I don’t wanna rush you. I know you probably just woke up and -“ he was in your direct line of sight in what felt like seconds; it probably was. Super speed, as Dustin called it. Vampire things. You blinked, looking up into those crimson eyes you had slowly gotten used to looking into. 

“Stop rambling, Starshine. I can eat. Maybe we can watch a movie? I’m getting kind of lonely here, by myself.” He scratched the back of his neck nervously, his scars stretching out over his paler skin. 

He watched as you nodded your head in silence. It was a yes. It was approved. Something he felt like he hadn’t had with you since that day. You had volunteered to care for him as he adjusted to this new life and yet he felt like he was losing you at the same time. You were so close and yet, eons away. 

In silence you two made your way into the kitchen, Eddie’s bowl of liver sitting on the small table, and your bowl of HoneyCombs cereal sitting by the sink. You both ate in silence for a while, watching silently as Eddie’s pale skin slowly regained some colour, he began to look - alive.

“Man, I miss the taste of those.” He mumbled aloud over a fork full of liver. He watched as you rolled your eyes, shaking your head softly.

“You aren’t missing much. This box is older than dirt. So it’s stale and would probably taste good with milk, maybe…but that went bad yesterday and I already succumbed to a mouthful of curdled milk earlier this morning so - dry as sand cereal it is.” You shrugged, pointing your spoon towards his bowl.

“I’d rather take this, then liver though.”

You watched as Eddie shrugged, taking another bite of the liver, his newly developed fangs poking past his top lip, “I didn’t ask to become undead, so, win some lose some, right? Least I get to hang out with my favourite, Starshine. Don’t tell Dustin that though, I think he’ll actually cry.” 

Your eyes found Eddies, shaking your head and letting a chuckle past your lips. 

“I don’t call him that by the way, just to clarify. That name is only reserved for you.” He stated  putting a hand up defensively. Knowing he was in the clear as he watched you laugh softly. “He’s been asking about you, by the way. Really want’sta come see you. I told him I’d ask you first before letting him, and probably the rest of the gang just barged in here. You know they come as a package deal.” You shrugged, tapping the spoon on the edge of the plastic bowl.

Eddie’s eyes watched your spoon, as if it was telling him some secret. He muddled over the idea of Dustin and the gang coming to see him. He knew you had told them about him. The whole being part vampire and living like a recluse. He missed them terribly. He missed the interaction. He missed being awake before 8pm, he succumbed to depression. Lied and said it was from being undead and only being able to come out after the sunset , but he had opened the window up enough when there was light to figure out - unlike the horror novels he had read - he wasn’t going to catch on fire if he went outside.

He heard you clear your throat, he’d obviously been unfocused for a minute. 

“Sorry, yeah. I - I’d like to see them.” With a huff, his head fell, “I miss them. I miss being normal.” He began to play with the rings on his fingers. He may have felt not normal, but the old Eddie was still there, nervous ticks and all.

“Hey.” He felt your hand, warm, lay on top of his and gave it a squeeze. His eyes find yours, the source of comfort.

“I’ll tell them. Dustin and Steve honestly haven’t stopped calling and asking about you for weeks now. They’ll be ecstatic. As for you not being normal. You're still Eddie, our Eddie, my Eddie.” Your hand gestured to his body. 

“You may be as pale as my thigh now, and your pretty brown eyes are now a pretty shade of red. And -” you leaned in, poking one of his exposed fangs, “you have these cute little fangs, but you're still The Dungeon Master, metal music loving, overdramatic, Eddie Munson.” 

With a smile, and a soft fall back into your chair, you squeezed his hand once more. 

“We can figure this out. Never forget who you are, Eddie. It’s just another challenge, but we’ll face it together.” Feeling the warmth of your hand retreat, he watched as you held out your pinky finger towards him, “Pinky promise me.”

A small smile crossed Eddie’s features as he leaned in slightly, wrapping his pinky finger around yours. “Promise, Starshine, now - how bout that movie?” A toothy smile covered his features.

Jumping out of your chair, you picked up your two bowls and dumped them in the sink, turning your head in Eddie’s direction.

“Lucky for you, I already had Steve bring me some movies. I already decided, we’re watching ‘Little Shop of Horrors’, it’s payback for having to cook you liver for the last two weeks.” You announced to him, making a disgusted face of the mentioned liver.

“Told ya, Starshine. It’s either you feed me liver, or I’m going to have to pull a scene from ‘Interview with the Vampire.” he mentioned as he quickly removed himself from the dining table and next to you, his face mere inches from yours. You made a mental note that you would never get used to the speed. “Until we find another alternative that is. Sadly, Yoo-Hoo doesn’t taste the same anymore and brings me no substance.”

“You and Yoo-Hoo.” You laughed, pushing his chest softly to push him away, “Come on, Lestat. It’s time for you to test your vampy patience with me while I serenade you.”

For the first time in awhile, Eddie allowed himself to grip your hand and lace his fingers with yours. He watched as you looked behind you, looking at your interlocked hands and then smiling back up at him. He saw his girl back. Not just his caretaker, his girl. Normalcy. 

“I’m all vampy ears, Starshine. I’ll retreat back to my coffin if it gets too bad.” His ears picked up on the laugh that escaped your smile, maybe he could adjust - be the old Eddie.

Tag List: @ars-de-elysium @munsons-maiden @savemefromanepicoftimewasted @mentalfictionleftmyassbehind @reddisteddie

[musicallisto]

without fail tag

THE “WITHOUT FAIL” TAG — List five things that you, WITHOUT FAIL, weave into or explore in your stories, whether it be specific themes or tropes, character archetypes, allusions to other literary works, what have you! It really can be anything that you consistently include in your narratives for whatever reason. Then invite others to share theirs by tagging them!

I was tagged by @deadlymodern - thank you so much for tagging me, this tag is amazing and I loved reading your answers! I can tell you have a very thorough approach to your writing & themes, it’s so cool!

(tagging people at the bottom of the post if you want to skip)

1. flowers, skies & words

grouping them together since they're all related to a wider, general literary device: symbols and allegories in my stories. Without fail, I’ll always use flower symbolism to evoke certain themes, places, characters... withered petals for death, blossoms for youth, you name it, it’s probably been in one of my stories. just consider my main WIP’s title, The Grave of Roses (Le Tombeau des Roses). It’s a little basic, and has been used time and time before in literature, but I still love it.

Other elements that often make it into my stories as symbols are planes (because I love aviation obviously, but also as a symbol of breaking free, independence, of man’s domination on mortality, what with having tamed the skies, but also his frail condition and how everything hangs on a thread). Also, the sky is pretty.

And lastly, words, stories, novels always have their place in my stories, and more often than not one of my characters is a writer, or someone who uses words and stories as some kind of comfort, outlet, or a driving force.

At its [the tombstone] foot, below the name, red roses piled up, enough of them to cover ten graves. A single vermilion bud, a wind-swept poppy, clashed with the rest of the bouquet, and Samuel knew that it was William's children who had placed it there. Only they knew that he didn't even like roses anymore, and that he would come to lay poppies on his father's memorial every time he returned to London...

The tomb was both smaller and prettier than Samuel imagined, less opulent than England would have wanted to give its precious child. The morning sun, like a caress, illuminated the epitaph, a Latin verse that Samuel had known in the past. “Bury me southward,” he heard William say so clearly that he almost turned around, "so that I can look at England and France in the same breath." His name, however, was drenched in full light, facing east, and inexplicably this saddened Samuel.

“And there it is... it's pretty, don't you think? I don't know if he would have liked it... You probably know it better than I do...”

“And why do you care about that, huh? You don't even believe in God.” “He's a writer. He believes in symbols.” “He believes in vanity, alright.”

“I think he would have liked it anyway,” he nodded in agreement, his eyes glued to the lonely poppy. (Translation)

2. parental roughnesses

this was bound to come, because I feel like we were all pretty fucked up at some point in our lives from our upbringing. I didn’t go for straight up “parental issues” because I don’t deal with like, abusive or absent parents or anything, just complicated relationships between parents and their children, but who still love each other. Oftentimes it has to do with one of the children idealizing the heck out of their parent and slowly realizing that they make mistakes and are not a hero at all, and/or unmeetable expectations and parental pressure. but it’s not like I’m projecting or anything lol

“You never knew Father, William,” Grace stopped him immediately [...]. “Don't you dare pretend you know what it's like.”

“Growing up without a father is not necessarily better than losing him in childhood! Everyone here has suffered from his disappearance, Grace. You have no idea how much I miss him, despite never meeting him. But that's all in the past now. And there's no reason for there to be another war.”

“Of course there is!” she retorted ferociously, despite the tears spilling from her eyes. “Of course there is, and they're going to send you there like Father, and you'll want to play hero like Father, and then you'll get shot down like a dog! Where's it going to be this time, huh? Above Luxembourg, just like him, or maybe somewhere in your beloved France?” (Translation)

3. patriotism

One way or another, all my stories always deal with patriotism, nationalism, pride in one’s country and more broadly speaking one’s relationship to it. It questions what it means to belong to a country, to share one culture, one language; does it justify acting in the benefit of one’s country, and where do you draw the line before you intentionnally harm others’; what even is a country, a nationality, and it what sense do you belong to one, and what do you owe it, if you even owe it anything? Is it wrong or right to feel love and attachment to your place of origin? And what does it mean to fight for your country, for its values, for its people? & other things of the like. It probably stems from my own experience as a binational person; growing up, I was always asked stuff like “but who do you root for in a football game” “but are you like really French or not?” “if Spain and France got into a war what would you do?”, and this all lead me to question “am I more French or am I more Spanish - which one am I, and which one would others perceive me to be - do I need to pick a side? And how can I express my affection to these places that raised me both differently, without undermining the other - or others? can I still be proud of my heritage given the horrors my countries have committed in the past?”. I still haven’t found a definitive answer, so my writing is just me throwing trails out to the world and hoping I’ll figure it out someday. that’s why my stories often have a war setting; firstly I just love historical fiction, and secondly it’s the perfect backdrop for all these questions to unfold.

William laughed at the idea - he, a true Frenchman! It was a very silly thought. He may have loved what he had seen of Charlotte's country, but England was not to be ashamed of any other land, for it was the only one he would love until his last breath. (Translation.)

4. just a hint of supernatural

I love me a good ghost story, and I’m a fan of everything spooky, but what’s subtly spooky, and not the gory, in-your-face horror. This particular theme may have increased since I saw The Haunting of Hill House which completely OBLITERATED ME with how it uses the house and its ghosts to tell a story of family and trauma and memories... but I’ve loved ghost stories forever. Another piece that truly resonated with me was One Hundred Years of Solitude (Cien años de soledad) by Gabriel García Márquez. It was my first dive into the world of magical realism and I didn’t make it out of there the same person I was when I entered. This one is not necessarily included in every piece without fail, because some are just too anchored in reality, but if it’s not a straight-up spirit or an otherworldly creature, I’ll always find a way to include an aspect of superstition, a myth, a legend, a tale from faraway that is neither proved nor disproved throughout the story. It truly adds to the atmosphere of the world, even in a very realistic and gritty setting, I believe.

I hear murmurs of legends among the soldiers. [...] One of those stories caught my attention, I must admit... It is not very special, nothing more than a children's tale, but I thought it was beautiful enough to please your Romantic soul. Some pilots speak of a cemetery, somewhere in the countryside north of London, which has something mystical about it, lost in the flowers that sway as far as the eye can see, in the calm rhythm of the wind, wrapped in the heady scent of eternal spring, and where the bravest warriors would go to rest forever, tired of their exploits and the continual explosions. No one knows exactly where it is or what to do to be buried there, but this beautiful image simply floats like a dream in the minds of many and, I confess, in mine as well since I first heard about it.

It is said that there only flowers dare to disturb the heroes in their sleep... This fragment of silence is called the Grave of the Roses.

So if I were to leave you, if you were to hear that I am gone...

With a bit of luck, that is where you will find me.

5. love

this one is broader and less obvious than you might think. Of course, I’ll always, always implement an element of romance to my story (and more often than not it’s angsty with star-crossed lovers or insurmountable obstacles or forbidden romances and whatnot), but there’s more to it. I don’t think I have ever written a story that is entirely grim and bleak, simply because I do not believe the world is built like that. I’ve said time and time again that love is my favorite thing in the world, and I believe it is the force that drives us all forward and connects us all together; love is, to me, the truest power of humanity, and its inherent purpose. And love covers all subjects and all types of relationships, but my absolute favorite ways to explore and show love in my stories is through long-lasting, rock-solid friendships (because friendships are often overlooked both in fiction and real life), and just a grandiose love letter to humanity as a whole. I’m an optimist, and many people who have suffered more than I have would deem me naive for thinking this - and I cannot blame them -, but as Anne Frank put it more bravely than I ever could, “despite everything, I still think humans are good at heart”. My stories are always born out of love and made for love. For the love of humanity and kindness and literature and love of myself, too, because sometimes I just like rereading the words and thinking, “wow, I’ve made it this far. look at me go.” In a word, yes, I would say that is what it boils down to; my work, but also what I hope my entire life and being will be. An ode to love.

“He admired you and truly loved you, you know. You were a good leader, I'm sure, and a good friend, above all.”

He thought she was going to put her hand on his shoulder, and prepared to bend to avoid it, but instead she came to rest on the polished marble of the tomb, which was already beginning to erode at the corners. The soft light bathed her hand, and Samuel's on the other corner, still resting above William's surname, the only thing he had been proud of from beginning to end.

“And I loved him too. I loved them all. If you only knew...”

well, I got carried away, as I always do when talking about my writing, but it made me miss it so much. I haven’t worked on any of my projects since literally October and I’m feeling the void rn. anyway, thank you again for enabling me to ramble about what I love most, Thais! and I’m tagging @softeninglooks, @lxncelot, @myriadimagines​, @swanimagines & @randomfandomimagine + plus any writer who wants to talk about their marvelous work <3

[inthefamilyway]

And We All Float On, Alright.

The morning my brother died, we were all just so very tired. And we had been for quite a long time, but the direct moments afterwards, we were a special kind of exhausted. It’s the kind of fatigue that weighs down your feet at the ankles and piles on you like an albatross on your back. Your teeth ache from grinding them in your sleep, your neck hurts from sleeping on wooden armrests.

If you have ever watched someone die, over the course of months, and then get better, and then begin to die again, you know it’s a complicated kind of fatigue. Praying and sleeping on hospital floors and couches for extended periods of time, wrecking your back combined with the emotional fatigue that comes from the roller coaster of hope and fear is really something you can’t explain unless you experience it.

If you are reading this, and you have, my heart goes out to you. If you have not, be grateful. I know this is a really condescending thing to say but be thankful if you’ve lived this long without losing someone with which you used to share bathroom sink space.

You keen and you cry and you pray and you exhaust yourself trying to keep your mind off things for periods of time and then you feel guilt for those moments, too. Then you cry again. There’s something so very bitter about losing a family member to a disease that is taking them too soon. And is somehow taking so long to do it. It is heartbreaking to watch them suffer and even harder to watch them go. And then you are left with feelings of guilt when you get a sniff of relief that they are not suffering.

Because of all that heaviness, it’s also the kind of weariness that leads you to giggle, nervous titters when a doctor sounds like Marj Simpson or when a social worker suggests you get out and take in a street fest when your brother is on life support. The absurdity makes you erupt with laughter as you all stumble on a documentary, in a hospital waiting room, of the organist at White Sox games who also has a hobby farm on which she happens to unfortunately have a donkey by the name of one of your family members (Mandy).

You do things that an outsider might consider gauche but you don’t care because it’s relieving stress and just to make it clear, your brother is dying, so the world needs to cut you some slack. One of those special interests my family took on together during this very bleak time was playing Rock Band* in my sister’s basement. Almost all of us were there. The months leading up to the end, my siblings who live elsewhere came in and out from out of town. Those of us who were close slept a twilight sleep and awoke with gritty eyes waiting for an update, anxious on what it would be and which one we wanted.

I have absurd memories of crying and then turning back to see my young niece playing the drums to Battery by Metallica, adult brothers fighting over who got to play bass and whose turn it was to get a beer before Don’t Stop Believing.

My family had always been a musical family, having been raised by music lovers, musical theater supporters and surrounded by theatrical hams in ourselves. On our way to midnight mass one Christmas Eve, some of my siblings and I were late because we all drove together and were listening to Babylon by David Gray and wouldn’t get out of the car until we had the four-part harmony right on the chorus. My younger brother and I have a “thing” about the song Stomp by Kirk Frankland. If we are someplace and we hear it, we’ll record it and play it into our phones and send it to each other. Once we were carpooling to and from the hospital and he called me urgently to tell me to turn on a radio station because Stomp was on a religious music station. I dare you to not feel good after listening to that song and I am still mad the DJ at his wedding wouldn’t play it. Long story short, if you know me, you know, I love music. And if you don’t know me, I think you get the idea. I love music. I love its healing powers. It is therapy in whatever form it takes. And it can make a difference. My brother loved music, too. He played the guitar and had a great singing voice. He played in the marching band when he was younger and enjoyed listening to music and watching his daughters and other family perform in his adult years.

There’s so much I could tell you about my brother. That would be pages and pages of things. For now, I’ll tell you he was the responsible oldest child and took that role seriously and with great patience. He was the kind of guy who, when he came home from college for the summer, shared his bedroom with his toddler sister, twenty years his junior. I have actual memories of him picking me up out of my crib in the morning and bringing me down to breakfast without complaining about it, which I realize now is not the normal reaction of a twenty-one-year old (or an almost forty year old for that matter) being woken up at 6 am on a weekend.

On the morning right after Brad died, we all stood on a concrete slab outside the hospice center and tried to pretend like we knew what to do next. It was raining out and that made us feel better. “It should rain today,” my mom said with great dignity. We all agreed. One of my brothers counted heads to make sure if we had everyone, a logistical thing that we had been doing for decades before we departed someplace. He had tears in his eyes when he realized there was already one less of us. So we all stood and cried a little bit more, looked at the rain and smiled. My mom insisted on driving herself home, which is a very mom thing to do. She didn’t want anyone to go with her and she wanted to be alone until she met up with us later. Sometimes I think about my mom driving herself home from saying goodbye to her son and it takes me a long time to get out of that sad place.

Later that morning, we reconvened shortly at the house of my brother’s wife/widow and his young children, who shared their own unique pain I will hopefully never know. This part is truly a blur. And after some time, we decided it was right to give them some space and we headed back to my sister’s basement.

We cried some more, we drank. I don’t remember eating. I remember making the joke. “I’m drinking my calories today.” Nobody laughed because the joke was just plain sad. I don’t remember whose idea it was, but soon we were doing what we had been doing for a very long time to relieve stress. We rock banded.

Sometimes I find myself in the ice cream section at the store (how did I get here?), or in the car, and popular Rock Band songs come on and I am immediately transported back to this very particular and sad time. Our song list then was just the one that came with that version of Rock Band, so it’s a niche and memorable list.

One of those songs is Float On by Modest Mouse**. And this is one of the songs we played the day my brother died. On the surface it isn’t a heavy song and perhaps that’s why it snuck up on me and continues to be tied to this time and this memory. Looking at this some objectively, it’s short. Two verses only with a repetitive bridge and very repetitive chorus. It has very distinguishing guitar and drum components, so you can understand why brothers were always fighting over whose turn it was to do each. Float On was and is extremely catchy perhaps because of its uncanny way of being simple and complicated at the same time.

I want to take this moment to say that while I am a lover of music (minus Country music, sorry ((not sorry))), I am not going to pretend to be an avid Indie Rock person or that I know everything about Modest Mouse. I am fluffy pop rock and musical theater gal who also enjoys angsty female songwriters. But in that moment, this song was all of our songs. We belted it out, we kept rehearsing it. When someone messed up, we yelled at them furiously, took it from the top. We really unfurled the emotion with the ‘’take it from the top” business. Our chance to start over. We closed our eyes so we couldn’t see our reflection in the television and pretended we were someplace we weren’t and someplace far, far away in time and space. We all floated on.

On that day my brother died ten years ago today now, I remember being accompanied by my brothers on the guitar, bass, drums and my sister singing our song. There’s a not very emotional line "A fake Jamaican took every last dime with that scam, it was worth it just to learn some sleight of hand." I turned around and saw all their eyes glistening with tears and playing fake instruments like their lives depended on it. Then I started crying so hard I couldn’t sing anymore. The throat burning, painful kind of cry. That’s the thing about grief, it sneaks up on you when you least expect it and makes you cry again when you think there’s absolutely no possible way you have enough saline in your system to produce more tears. You dry out and you are human jerky. But you still somehow produce tears. There I was crying, trying to get through: "bad news comes, don’t you worry even when it lands. Good news will work it way to all them plans." When my drumming brother said to me, without missing a beat. “Keep rocking, Mand. Keep Rockin’”

That little bolstering in a silly, absurd situation I found myself in where I was drinking wine in the afternoon in a dark basement on a hot sunny day we’d been waiting all winter to be out in, was all I needed to keep going.

"And we’ll all float on okay. And we’ll all float on alright." So if you see me in the frozen food (or wine, more likely let’s be honest) or at a bar or Midwestern chain restaurant and those opening cords come on and I begin bawling like a cartoon baby, you know why. And maybe if you see someone else pumping gas at the gas station crying, it’s because their grief song is Chumbawumba. You just never really know. And it’s not your place to judge even if their song is Party in the USA. In closing, I’ll remind you that grief is hard, music can cross boundaries and make things better. Support science and cancer research; support funding for the arts. Don’t let anyone make you feel like you have to choose one. Almost lastly, don’t shame people for grieving in a way that is different than how you would do it and is keeping them alive as long as it’s not self-destructive.

It’s been ten years since my brother died and it still hurts. It’s taken ten years for me to be able to type “dead, die, death,” instead of “passing, loss, departure.” It will never not hurt but knowing people care can help. Reach out to someone who has suffered loss, even if its been awhile, even if they don’t seem like they need it. You’ll feel better doing it and they’ll feel better reading or listening whenever they are ready to hear it.

Already we’ll all float on alright. Already we’ll all float on okay. Don’t worry, even if things get heavy we’ll all float on alright.

*This is not a paid endorsement for Rock Band. I haven’t really played it since the period around my brother’s death. I think if someone walked into my house with it, I would scream and run a hole through an exterior wall Kool-Aid***Man style crying.

**This is not a paid endorsement for Modest Mouse, but if you see this Misters Mouse, I thank you for saving me during a very sad and dark time and for making me smile cry on a regular basis when I hear Float On.

***This is also not a paid endorsement for Kool-Aid

[screaming-bigbang]

Scarred - A Big Bang Mafia AU

“From the second that you’re in this world they tell you what is ‘fair’, all the questions you’re allowed to ask and the ones you wouldn’t dare...”

Chapter 4 - Masterlist

Genre: A little angsty…  Group: Big Bang Pairing: Seungri x Reader Warning: None Word Count: 3,644 Author’s Note: OK, IF ANYONE’S WONDERING WHERE THE FUCK SEUNGRI IS, DON’T YOU WORRY! The next chapter will more than make up for his absence. 

@vipnetwork

Chapter 3 You woke to the faint sounds of cars in the distance and the downstairs ahjumma yelling at her television again. You shut your eyes and attempted to rub away the sleep nestled in the corners of them. You felt calm and refreshed before the faint thought of work crept into your mind. You quickly glanced at your alarm and saw that it was 1:30PM and you sat bolt upright. You wanted to cry. What a terrible impression to make on your first day of work! You were frozen in your bed figuring what to do before you realised that yesterday was your first day, that fact not comforting you in the realisation that you would be, at least, an hour late today... You were frozen in place even more by the sound of your bedroom door slowly starting to open. You wanted to turn and look but you couldn’t. “Oh, you’re awake!” It was Daesung’s voice. Every ounce of fear and anxiety fled your system in a rush to be replaced by sheer confusion. Why was he in your house and how did he get in? You turned around in the bed to face him and the look on your face was enough to have him smiling anxiously. “I was worried after yesterday evening so I stayed in case something happened and you needed help.” He explained.

You frowned harder and continued to stare. Daesung’s expression went from awkward to concerned as the silence lengthened. His mouth flapped open and closed a few times as though he was trying to figure out what to say or how to say it. He was interrupted by his phone ringing and he apologised and quickly left the room to allow you to sit in silent confusion. You pulled the blanket off yourself to get out of the bed when you noticed you were still in your clothes from yesterday. A dull ache began to throb at the back of your head as you tried to make sense of what was happening. Flashes of memory came back to you as you shut your eyes tightly against the expanding pain in your head. Passing out in the bathroom. Daesung staying for tea. The lawyer. His briefcase. The white letter. His awful news. The ache seemed to leave your head only to settle heavily in your heart.

You pulled yourself out of bed and padded towards the door that Daesung had left ajar, questions swelling in your mind and only Daesung to answer them. You reached the door and were just about to pull it wide when the sound of urgent whispers reached your ears and caused you to pause. You didn’t want to eavesdrop but you were certain you’d heard your name and if it was any normal conversation you assumed he wouldn’t be whispering.

“Yeah, I’m closing the HR Department for a few days... I’ll go see Youngbae and ask him again.” There was a long pause but just as you thought the phone call may have ended, Daesung began whispering.  “You what?! That’s crazy, Jiyong, we don’t know anything yet! ...Yes... I can’t tomorrow, I have some personal business to attend to... I got it, I’ll go this evening...” You heard Daesung sigh and chose that moment to fully open your bedroom door and leave. You looked into the kitchen to find Daesung filling up the kettle.

“You didn’t have to stay...” You said awkwardly. He looked over to you as he flicked the kettle on and smiled.

“I know, I... I was just worried.” He said. The truth was, he’d found one of the photos you stuffed under the couch sticking out Seungri side up and he couldn’t ignore it. After discussing a few things with the lawyer so he’d have all the information you needed ready, he pulled out the rest of the photos to examine. Seeing Seungri he’d decided that it was his business to look, afraid that you weren’t as innocent as you seemed. Considering you were part of the pictures’ contents, and that there were even some of you without Seungri he figured that it was you being targeted. The bloodied cardigan had confused him. The blood was old, he could tell, so he couldn’t figure how that fit in but considering the fact that it was a girl’s he figured that it belonged to you. All this had him figure that you had lied to him about the cans. They were a poor-man’s alarm. His attention rested fully on the handwritten address on the parcel paper in the bin. He’d taken a photo of it to cross reference once he got home. Once he had all the information, including an in-depth background check on you, Daesung had decided to approach you about the situation. If you were being targeted, he would make sure you were protected. If you were being targeted by the person he suspected, you were in a lot of trouble whether you knew it or not, that was really why he’d stayed the night.

“I’m sorry for worrying you, it was very kind of you to stay albeit unnecessary...” You felt a little weird about the situation but there was nothing to be done now. You sat on one of the stools but the kitchen island and leaned forward on the chair, rubbing a sore spot on your forehead. You could feel a small lump and prayed that it wasn’t bruised.

“Hey, stop poking at it. You hit your head pretty hard when you came down. I left ice on your forehead for a few hours so it wouldn’t swell so much.” You smiled gratefully at Daesung as he pushed a cup of tea across the counter at you. “Also, don’t worry about work for the next few days...” He paused tentatively before continuing on after you nodded your head. “The funeral is tomorrow. You should go to see the lawyer the day after. He left his card and a letter for you, apparently your neighbour left something in his will for you so you might want to go collect that.” You sighed and nodded, taking a sip from your mug to avoid looking at Daesung.

“Listen, I want you to call me before you go to the funeral. I’ll come and take you, it’s a kind of awkward location to get to via public transport and a taxi is going to cost you a bomb. Don’t worry-“ He said, cutting you off before you could protest. “I have some business to deal with out there, it just so happens. I’ll leave and be back in about an hour and then I’ll bring you back home. It’s convenient for both of us, so I won’t take no for an answer.”

You looked at him for a moment. There was being nice and then there was being whatever the hell Daesung was being. He was too nice for a co-worker and you didn’t know how to feel about it. You were definitely a little creeped out, but he was making things easier for you and you couldn’t say that you didn’t appreciate it. You tried to brush aside your misgivings and focus on the positive side of things.

“Thank you.” You said. He nodded giving you a reassuring smile and for a moment, the world seemed a little less bleak. A smile like that had to be some sort of superpower.

“Anyways, I better get going. I’ll leave my card with you so you can call me.” And with that, he left you to your thoughts, his card on the counter.

After you finished your tea you went to shower and change, feeling grubby from having slept in yesterday’s clothes. You tried not to let your mind wander and tidied your apartment a bit before surrendering to the calls of the white envelope. You hadn’t want to think about, never mind read it but it say on your coffee table staring at you like an offensive item, demanding to be addressed. You wished you were back to the day before yesterday, Mr. Song sat safely in his apartment and you without any new hurt in your heart. Unfortunately, though, you were here and he was not.

Sitting on your couch you picked up the envelope and let out a nervous, shaky sigh. You felt anxious, the unknown contents threatening in their ambiguity. You slid your thumb under the lip of the envelope, ripped it open and pulled a sheaf of paper from the inside. Unfolding it with trembling hands, your eyes were greeted the familiar script of Mr. Song. The note read:

“Dear _____, You are probably wondering why I have written to you, but I hope you can understand and appreciate the importance of the unusual request I am about to make. I have left, in the hands of my lawyer, a spare key to my apartment under instruction that you should receive it if I should pass. However, I would like to apologise for asking you to do what I am about to. Upon receiving the key, I ask that you return to my apartment and retrieve an envelope I have strapped to the underside of the table in the hallway. You must not tell anyone about this, and you must hide this envelope completely, but please do not open it or destroy it. This must only find its way to one man and you will know him when you meet him, but I hope that you do not search for him. If necessary, he will come to you. All I will tell you is this: he represents a part of my life, years since past, a part I have striven to emancipate myself from, and I have done so (I believe) quite successfully. I hope this life does not find you, too, and that if it does, I hope it leaves you as swiftly as it descended and I will apologise here, in the only way that I can. I hope none of this comes to you and I hope you live a beautiful and quiet life. In the last few weeks, you brought a warm peace to my life, and you became the daughter I never had. I will be forever thankful to you, for your kind company, and ever-ready ear, that listened to the ramblings and reminiscing of an old and lonely fool. I am ashamed that this is my repayment. In regards to the identity of the man, all you must remember is to look out for the green dragon. Yours faithfully, Oh Juk Song.”

Tears swam in your eyes but you blinked them away, your minded clouding with confusion. A key and an envelope? Quite frankly, and irregardless of circumstance, you were beginning to get sick of envelops and mystery, and you would much rather be done with both of those things for the rest of your life. You couldn’t, however, bring yourself to refuse the last wishes of Mr. Song.

You sighed and lay back on the couch, mind swirling and tears spilling as you contemplated, not only the days to come, but the disparagingly bleak day that lay ahead. A day of nothing. You lay there for a few hours, allowing yourself to wallow in a murky pool of self pity and sorrow, dredging up memories that were best left alone.

You don’t know when it happened, but it was clear that at some point during your pity party you’d fallen asleep because when you opened your eyes it was dark. Sighing and tearing yourself away from your couch you grabbed a glass of water and headed to the bathroom to grab a sleeping pill. You didn’t want to lie awake until dawn broke with only your thoughts for company, so you crawled into bed and washed down the little tablet and not long after the land of dreams embraced you once more. ~ Your alarm beeped incessantly beside you and you groaned, pulling yourself off the bed and turning it off with a little more force than necessary. A feeling of dread roiled in your stomach and your refused to acknowledge the reason for its existence. That was until you realised that you had two hours until the funeral and decided that it was probably best to call Daesung and quickly get ready.

About 45 minutes later Daesung had arrived outside your apartment. As you walked towards his car, you kept your eyes firmly directed away from Mr. Song’s garden. Even in the car, until you’d exited the lot and cruised halfway down the road, your eyes were glued to your hands in your lap. The one time you’d met Daesung’s gaze your realised that, even though you had slept plentifully, you must look like shit. Sometimes it’s hard to recognise how bad you look until you see someone else recognising it for you. You had spotted the circles under your eyes and taken note of the deep blue and purple bruise blooming on the right side of your forehead and your slightly pale skin in the mirror before you left your apartment but you hadn’t given it too much thought, until now.

“I’d ask how you’re feeling but...”

“But I think my face answers that question.” You finished for him and you saw him nod his head out of the corner of your eye. Sighing, you stretched your arms out in front of you in an attempt to relieve the building tension in your shoulders. “I’m sorry-“

“Don’t apologise. Just try to relax as much as you can before we get you there.” It was your turn to nod. You sat back comfortably and allowed yourself to stare out the window ignoring the silence that should have been awkward but wasn’t.

Daesung surprised you by attending the funeral with you. He responded simply to your raised eyebrows by whispering “The business thing was postponed...”  You wanted to tell him that he should have told you and you would have made it to the funeral yourself but he had been a great support in there and, in any case it was too late now to change the fact.

After the funeral, you stood outside Daesung’s car, taking deep breaths as your cigarette sat between your lips. Daesung was talking on the phone but it sounded to you like he was speaking Japanese which surprised you, but also left you in the dark in relation to what he was saying. 

“Sorry!” He called after hanging up the phone and walking back to the side of the car you were leaning against.

“I didn’t know you could speak Japanese.” You said, allowing yourself to sound as impressed as you felt.

“I didn’t know you could either.” He replied and you could have sworn he looked a little uneasy. 

“I don’t, I just know what it sounds like. Unless you count saying ‘Hello’ and ‘One beer please’ as being able to speak Japanese...” Daesung started to laugh and look a little more at ease all of a sudden. You frowned but wondered if he maybe had a Japanese girlfriend and didn’t want you to overhear whatever had been said between the two. Again, though, it wasn’t your business so you left it alone.

Driving back towards your apartment from the funeral, Daesung asked you if you wanted him to stop off at the lawyer’s office. You sighed and started giving out to him for doing too much already, feeling like you’d never be able to repay his kindness. Daesung simply laughed.

“I will stop being helpful if you tell me you have anyone else to be helpful to you.” He looked over at you quickly grinning as you bit your tongue. “It’s hard being in a different country by yourself, let me help. One good deed and all that.”

You eventually consented and Daesung seemed to look rather pleased with himself.

“It’s my moral duty as a human!”

“I feel so burdened!” You exclaimed, flopping your hands into your lap. You hated feeling like you owed anybody anything. Daesung stopped outside the lawyer’s office and looked over at you.

“Ok, so if I ever need help with anything, you will be exactly the first person to know so you can repay this debt.” He said, blinking innocently.

“You make that sound kinda weird...” You side-eyed him as you got out of the car and entered the office. You quickly retrieved the key and were back in the car on the way to your apartment before you knew it. Arriving back at your house you assured Daesung that you would be fine on your own and thanked him profusely before you watched his car drive out of the parking area and away.

You turned around, facing Mr. Song’s garden and sucked in a deep breath. Unlocking his door felt like some sort of violation, so you looked around to make sure you weren’t being watched. Seeing no one around you, you quickly slipped into the apartment and shut the door behind. You stood, back against the door and closed your eyes, listening to your slightly elevated heartbeat settle.

The silence of the apartment was unnerving and you didn’t want to open your eyes because you knew the stairs sat just a little to your left. You didn’t want to see it, because you knew your mind would only paint more vividly the image of Mr. Song’s body lying crumpled at the foot of it. Turning to face the wall to the right of the door you looked down at the small antiquey ornament stand that sat beneath a silver pot of marigolds. It was the only table in the hall so it had to be the one mentioned in his letter. Placing your hands beneath the small table, you felt the smooth texture of paper and ripped the thick envelope from its bindings. Before you had time to contemplate anything you heard something fall upstairs. Your stomach clenched in fear as you froze, whipping around to stare up the staircase. You couldn’t see anything but as your buzzing senses began to dull with thoughts of ‘unsteady ornaments’ or ‘draughts’, you heard an upstairs floorboard creak.

There was no way you could pass off multiple noises for something silly so you wasted no time in ripping the front door open and slamming it shut as you ran to the main entrance of the apartment building. You didn’t even want to wait for the elevator and instead, decided to take the six flights of stairs as fast as you could. You burst into your own apartment, pausing for a split second to listen for any sounds of pursuit, before you closed the door as calmly as you could before sliding down the door, tears welling in your eyes in the wake of your adrenaline rush. Your heart beat furiously in your chest, so much so, that you thought whoever else had been in Mr. Song’s apartment would be able to find you because of the noise.

You ambled over to your couch and fell onto it, tossing the thick envelope onto the coffee table before hanging your head in your hands. You tried to steady your breathing and after a while you decided to make coffee. Your mind was racing over thoughts of ‘who’ and ‘why’. You briefly wondered if, perhaps, somebody else had gone in search of the envelope that must be hidden and not destroyed. It sounded like a very suspect item in your mind and very much like the kind of this one might be searching for in an old man’s house who claimed to have a past filled with enough mystery to rival that of the forbidden envelope.

Suddenly filled with a strong urge to open the envelope, you stared at the contents on your coffee table; some magazines, a half drank but long gone cold cup of coffee, some bobby pins, a hair tie and last, but not least, the letter from Mr. Song. He had specified for you to not read it and you were not in the business of placing yourself even further out onto the precipice of danger.

Instead, you picked it up and went to place it back in its envelope when you noticed something that you had missed before. Inside the envelope, there was a small piece of card. When you pulled it out to inspect it, you saw it was a business card of sorts. It really didn’t say much as to what sort of a business it was for. All it said was ‘S’ and a phone number in gaudy silver letters that were embossed on a matte black backdrop. You turned the card around in your hand to find Mr. Song’s writing on the back. It read:

“They call him the problem solver. Call when you feel like you need help the most.”

You held the card tight in your hand as though it were your only friend in the world, letting the words roll around and around in your head. ‘When you feel like you need help the most’... You plunged your hand into your pocket and pulled out your mobile, opening the dial pad and tying in the number. Your thumb hesitate about the green button before the cardigan and photos swam to the front of your mind. You did need help. You needed help confirming that he was back, you needed help confirming he had something to do with Mr. Song’s death and you needed help finding out if the person in Mr. Song’s apartment was, in any way, related.

You pressed the call button and waited, nerves building inside you, as the dial tone sounded once, twice, three times-

“Hello?” The voice on the other side was rough and cold.

“I’ve got a problem. When can we meet?” ____________________________________________________________

Chapter 5 

[trulycertain]

The Great Big Masterpost

A post for pretty much everything I’ve ever written. Since I started writing fic. Yes, the scroll-bar really is that size. I know. I’m sorry too.

F!Amell/Alistair, Dragon Age Origins to post-Inquisition. Began 2011. Protag: Morgana Amell. If you want later, better writing, avoid ff.net links. Look, just… do that unless you’re a completionist, honestly. Stories marked with * will eventually be chapters in the rewritten Armour. I hope.

Pre-Blight

She Dreams Of Paradise: ff.net, 2011. Pre-Blight, character study. Morgana and growing up in the Tower.

Blight

Armour: ff.net, 2011. 81k-ish. Series of linked shorts. Morgana Amell and her companions all have their own personal battles - whether it’s finding your family, betrayal, or learning to trust. What you don’t see in the game, or a different perspective on what you do.(Armour was my first, somewhat shoddily-written fanfic, and it gave me Morgana, who I still have a terrible soft spot for. Eventually there will be a proper, revised, rewritten and finished version of Armour on AO3, but until then, I’ve just kept writing fics in this ‘verse.)

Beginning: Tumblr drabble. She has blood in her hair. Alistair tries not to stare but, you know. Blood. In her hair.

Control: ff.net, 2011. In all the ways that matter, templars have as little freedom as mages. Morgana, Alistair and an argument at camp.

things you said when you were crying*: Morgana stumbles on Alistair shortly after Ostagar, and admits that he might just be human after all.

Sweetheart: ff.net, 2011. History ultimately repeats itself. A tale of mages, templars and memories. Morgana/Alistair UST.

Scars: He thinks she’s staring at his scars. The truth is a little more complicated than that.

the heart is hard to translate*: Sometimes it’s not the first kiss that’s the problem.

Dark*: Morgana Amell really, really hates the Deep Roads. Alistair makes things less awful.

Admission: AU. Near-death experiences and love confessions.

A Blessing*: Morgana is really, really glad to be out of the Deep Roads. Wet shirts, sad Chantry pasts and near love confessions.

Right*: Morgana, Alistair and their first time, or: awkward virgins panicking about being awkward virgins. Far safer for work than you’d think.

This: An NSFW “deleted scene.” Morgana, Alistair and their first time - with the actual first time included rather than just implied.

things you never said at all: He nearly said it so many times, the words at the tip of his tongue. (Fluffier than it sounds.)

Hate: She called it hate at first, because hate was simpler. Or: a templar-phobic mage finds herself falling in love and panics.

Morgana attempts to give a squirmy Alistair a massage

Superstition*: So fluffy it’s been banned in several countries for causing tooth decay. Leliana says that you can tell a lot about a person from how they sleep. Morgana and Alistair confirm her theory completely, and yet neither of them is aware of it.

Sweet Dreams*: Leliana, Morgana, friendship and nightmares.

Shades of Red: Written for #sexlaughterhonesty Week 2015, though as safe for work as you can get when you’re writing about implied, er, intimate mishaps. As Morgana says: “It worked in The Rose of Orlais!”

Youth: ff.net, 2011. Teagan and observing Morgana/Alistair.

things you said when you thought i was asleep: What it says on the tin, pretty much.

Hindsight: Miserable Ultimate Sacrifice AU drabble for a prompt. Alistair reflecting on grief.

An unsent letter: Sort-of AU. More miserable Ultimate Sacrifice AU.

Post-Blight

Epic: ff.net, 2011. In which Morgana and Alistair discover bad fanfic about themselves. Yup, really.

Post-Awakening

Subtlety: Do the Wardens actually have rules about “caboodling”? Well, neither Morgana nor Alistair knows. A reunion at Vigil’s Keep, and trying to keep their relationship quiet.

Nearly: A close call and some tears. For the prompt: “Person A, the more stoic/serious of the two, treating a severe injury that Person B sustained. Person B notices A’s hands shaking and tries to crack a joke, which only serves to send Person A bursting into tears over nearly losing B.”

Fresh Meat: A Vigil’s Keep Warden lays down the ground rules.

Crossroads:  She finds her phylactery in Denerim.

First Edition: “What do you mean you dropped my signed copy of Harry Potter in the bathtub” AU

Inquisition and onwards

Endings: An old piece, rewritten. What could have been and what could be. Morgana, Alistair and nine endings to their story.

things you said when you were scared: Post-Inquisition, Alistair remembers the Nightmare.

AUs

Me too: AU. For the prompt: “I can’t do this anymore.” In which two lonely escapee kids meet.

perchance to dream: The Sleeping Beauty AU no-one asked for. Where the sleeping beauty is a six-foot-something man. Yup.

Square One: AU. Amnesia promptfic drabble for “Who are you? Where am I? What is this? WHAT IS GOING ON?!”

A Moment: AU.Written for an OTP Prompt: “Person A has died. Person B gets sent on an adventure that sends them a few years back in the past. Once their mission is complete they are about to go back to the present. But right before they go, they see their past self meeting person A and they stay a little longer to watch.” Morgana and a meeting at Ostagar.

Give & Take: AU. The Bookworm Amell Squad returns, i.e., I steal @nanahuatli’s Sayanee Amell and let her torment Morgana.

Lost & Found: AU. Dragon Age 2. A fix-it fic for the drunk!Alistair ending. Amell turns up at The Hanged Man.

on the underground: Modern AU. The “I had to take the bus to comic con dressed in full knight regalia please stop laughing at me” AU, with a few changes.

this is my truth, now tell me yours (WIP): An AU in which, rather than being the Warden, Morgana is the grumpiest companion ever. She still ends up falling in love with Alistair. No-one is surprised. Part 1 | 2 | 3

Misunderstanding: Alternate take/deleted scene from this is my truth. Awkward, quiet love confessions, because these two can never seem to Spit It Out.

the weight of water: AU oneshot. Someone asked me to write Morgana and Alistair in an AU where he was crowned and there was a sort of semi-tragic reunion. Lots of duty and angst, so on. (There’s a happy ending. It just takes a while.)

F!Trevelyan/Cullen, Dragon Age Inquisition onwards. Began 2015. The adventures of Yvaine Trevelyan: good mage, awful comedian, bane of Cullen Rutherford’s life. Stories about my dorky purple Cullen-mancing Inquisitor.

An Unquenchable Flame

The main fic, on AO3. 43k+.  

She winces and tries desperately to correct people when they call her “Herald”. If he were a crueller man, he’d find it amusing.

A cynical, awkward mage who lost her faith a long time ago, a worn-down ex-templar and an unlikely friendship. The Inquisitor and her commander, through each other’s eyes and those of the Inquisition.

Accompanying drabbles:

Pre-Inquisition

Pink: Tiny pre-Inquisition drabble. Yvaine and her first love.

Haven

Notes on “the Herald”: Cullen’s observations about Yvaine.

Skyhold

Tradition: AU. Christmas/”Satinalia” drabble. Yvaine, Cullen and a mistletoe kiss. Before they got together. Well, this will be awkward/fun.

“Oh, just digging myself a nice grave, you?” Promptfic. AU. Yvaine, Cullen and accidentally overheard love confessions.

Birdsong: Yvaine, Cullen, and an episode of sparrows. Also some pining, and thoughts on finding your home.

Light: The Inquisitor has nightmares, too.

“I think I may have found a song that accurately describes how I feel toward you.” - Fluff.

Thud: Very silly modern AU written for an AU prompt of “we always run into each other on the stairs but we’ve never said more than hello but when we found out that we both hate the other neighbours, we became friends”.

we are full of stories to be told - Or: Yvaine and the tales that don’t go into her reports.

Of Gifts: Someone’s leaving Cullen flowers.

Five minutes: Yvaine’s thoughts on Skyhold. For a flash fic challenge

”You’re awful. I love it.” Prompt drabble. Yvaine, Cullen and bitching about nobles.

Post-Inquisition

“I love you” - said in a way I can’t return: Bleak AU where the Mark killed Yvaine in Trespasser. Look, I did say bleak.

Sunset/Hats: Prompt drabbles.

Post-Trespasser

There Are Days: Post-Trespasser.Yvaine tries to deal with the loss of the Mark and her arm. Cullen helps.

The Canticle of Shartan: Post-Trespasser. “But what do we call him? Not Dog. Dog is a function, not a name.”

Satinalia (Unfinished): AKA: “An Unquenchable Flame, The Christmas Special.”

“I love you" - Broken, as you clutch the sleeve of my jacket and beg me not to leave: Speculative post-Trespasser/DA4 angst.

AUs

Six Things That Never Happened: A set of AUs for what could have happened instead of Inquisition.

no sea left for me: Vaguely mermaid-inspired first meeting AU. With no actual mermaids.

M!Trevelyan/Dorian, Dragon Age Inquisition onwards. Began 2016. Shield Raised is a series of drabbles about my stoic, awkward Trevelyan, Gal, and his romance with Dorian. a.k.a., “A Marcher nearly-templar, a Tevinter altus, and a slow understanding.” The Inquisition-era ones (though not the pre- and post-game ones) are collected on AO3 here.

Pre-Inquisition

sans peur et sans reproche: Basically, Gal’s angsty backstory. Chantries, angry young men and controlling mothers.

Haven

Rejection:The Herald has barely spoken since he arrived. (Josephine, Gal and the beginning of a tentative friendship.)

Futures: Dorian thinks the supposed Herald of Andraste is rather… odd.

The Measure: Dorian, Gal and a slow understanding. Also Dorian working out. Because apparently that’s important?

Drinking with the Tevinter: The Inquisition isn’t happy having someone from the Imperium in its ranks. Gal feels rather differently.

Questions and Answers: Gal gets upset and a bit drunk and finally opens up about his past. That’s pretty much it.

pictures in the snow: The attack on Haven and Gal’s apparent death.

Skyhold

Crossing: Turns out Gal’s alive. Cue Skyhold, UST and a step forwards.

Sweet Nothing: The companions attempt to be helpful because the UST is getting painful to watch. Gal and Dorian do not appreciate it, but it gives them food for thought.

Liminal: Dorian tries to deal with being chucked into the Fade, and then with his father, and lines are crossed. Angsty as hell, even by Shield Raised standards.

Out Of My Head: Post-Last Resort Of Good Men. Dorian gets drunk, tries not to snog Gal and is homesick.

Answers: In which they finally spit it out. Only took them 21k.

Attachment: Some fluff, some angst, some snogging. In the aftermath of That Kiss, Gal and Dorian try to work out what this thing between them is.

Truths: Homesickness, making out, and Dorian playing the “what, of course I’m not falling for him, what do you mean I called him amatus, I don’t even know what that means” game.

Promises: “Wishing but wondering, wounded and wistful. What if he doesn’t want me after?” A seduction, and Dorian waiting to get his heart broken. As usual.

the light of day: In which all the companions have an opinion. Of course.

Chess: Gal gets trounced at chess by a twelve-year-old. Oh, and he and Irene talk about happiness.

Pretexts:  SFW, despite subject matter. Gal attempts to find time to do some “paperwork.” Said paperwork has a moustache.

Gifts, and surprises: Two short drabbles for the prompts “Did you do this?” and “So uh. I noticed you’re kinda naked. Is that intentional, or… ?” Gal and Dorian attempt to be spontaneous, with varying levels of success.

Sers: SFW, but written for #sexlaughterhonesty Week and the theme “coitus interruptus”. In which a messenger is privy to too much.

A Request: Short snippet. Josephine and Gal, pre-Winter Palace.

Formality: Why they got scruffy!Gal at Halamshiral, despite Josephine’s wishes.

A letter found on the Inquisitor’s desk: For the Dragon Age 100 prompt “Family.” Gal and an old friend from the Chantry days.

The Golden Floor: Halamshiral fluff, and why dancing can sometimes be an act of bravery.

Kohl: The adventures of Gal and Dorian and their battles with eyeliner. Does a little bit of timeline-hopping.

Mornings: On waking up together and Gal’s ridiculously large bed.

Mutual Domesticity: “You didn’t think I lived in leathers, did you?”

Dignity: Gal's battles with the Helm of the Inquisitor and the right of  prima sandwicha. Rampant plotless fluff.

Ironically, Zombie Spider: Pretty much what it says on the tin. Dorian really, really needs to stop with the idle magic experiments... Argyle's debut in canon.

“So if Gal’s ‘amatus’, what does he call you?” Very short headcanon drabble thing.

Post-game

A Problem: Spans from shortly after their meeting to post-game. About 7k. Dorian and his struggles with The Dreaded L Word.

“I love you” - said loudly, so everyone can hear

The Trespasser hair: Short, silly headcanon drabble.

Post-Trespasser

Depth Over Distance: Gal, Dorian and managing the long-distance thing. Partly epistolary. Also, the return of Erren.

The Trespasser hair, part two: Gal has opinions on long-haired Dorian.

“I love you” - said as a thank you

Pain: Gal gets another tattoo. Dorian has… thoughts on it. Written for a Dragon Age 100 Challenge prompt.

A Question: What it says on the tin.

AUs

it’s running you with red: A short, miserable red-templar!Gal drabble.

Birthright (AO3): Another of the not quite fairy tales: the Cinderella AU no-one asked for. In a world where things happened slightly differently, Dorian takes a masked ball as a chance to covertly investigate this Inquisition he’s heard so much about. It’s only one night. Not much can go wrong. Can it? (Spoiler: The answer is yes. Or it can go very, very right.)

“Omnia mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis.” (All things change, and we change with them.) For a prompt. In which a time travel experiment goes wrong and Dorian ends up meeting a very sad eighteen-year-old stuck-in-the-Chantry Gal.

Reprise: Or “the one where Gal freaks out and breaks up with Dorian in Trespasser because he is an idiot, and they have to sort things out nearly two years later.��� Guessing it'll be an eight-parter (there is a lot of mess to sort out). Over at AO3 | On Tumblr: Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | Angsty extra drabble

Miniseries with recurring protagonists, multi-part fics, etc.

KOSH ADAAR/CASSANDRA

Frost: Kosh, Cassandra, scarf-knitting and UST. Just another day at the office.

Dark red: Kosh bakes for Cassandra.

Hesitation:  Cassandra notices it: sometimes there is a moment of hesitation before Kosh kisses her; a moment where he doesn’t quite pull her closer, his hand too gentle on her waist, his mouth too slow. Kosh, old scars and the perils of loving a human.

Cassandra and flower crowns

“I love you” - not said to me: Prompt drabble. Kosh Adaar, Cassandra and some accidental eavesdropping.

“Oh shit. Am I - Am I in love? That’s not supposed to be happening. That’s not right.”  Very short promptfic drabble.

Leaning: Kosh, Cassandra and stupid, stupid puns.

CROSSOVERS

Memory: Angst, AU. Prompted by this: “Oh maaan, the HoF finding the cure, marching off to find the Inquisitor. She doesn’t know about Alistair being left tho, so it’s all smiles and stuff and then, alright, enough chitchat where’s Alistair? Can you imagine the complete silence that follows. Cullen/Josie tryin’ to smooth things out maybe, Leliana bitting her lip…” Yvaine and Morgana… don’t meet in the best circumstances.

From the Underworld: The fix-it fic for Memory. Yvaine and Morgana mount a rescue mission to retrieve Alistair from the Fade. Angsty in places, disgustingly fluffy in others.

Wednesdays: Modern bookshop AU with Gal as Yvaine’s grumpy twin brother.

Selected Wednesdays: Crossover tying all the modern AU ficlets together and explaining a few gaps, spanningAn Unquenchable Flame verse, Shield Raised ‘verse, Armour ‘verse and whatever the hell Kosh’s ‘verse is. Features Yvaine/Cullen, Gal/Dorian, Morgana/Alistair and Kosh/Cassandra. Days in the life at Yvaine’s bookshop.

“Gal, what do you mean you’re marrying my best friend? I didn’t even think you were dating.”  Same AU as Wednesdays. Gal, Yvaine and a really awkward conversation. Retconned as of Selected Wednesdays, where Yvaine found out about Gal/Dorian much earlier, because her and Dorian’s friendship was too good and I couldn’t do that to them.

“Yeah uh - Yeah no, that sounds awful.” Yvaine, Dorian, Gal, and embarrassing childhood photos.

Crossovers: Some actual, ridiculous crossovers between Dragon Age and other canons. Featuring princess!Morgana, angel!Dorian and superKosh. Yeah, really. I don’t know either.

Tru’s characters go and pep-talk everyone else’s characters: Just that, really. With apologies to nanahuatli, aphreal42, withthebreezesblown and fanfoolishness.

C O R O N A

F!Tabris/Alistair, Origins AU. After the queen is killed at Ostagar, Grey Wardens Anora Mac Tir and Kallian Tabris are left to seek the widowed king’s aid in stopping the Blight.

Based on this post by the-champion-of-the-citadel: “Dragon Age AU where everything is the same except Anora is the bastard heir and the Gray Warden following you, and Alistair is the monarch’s widower.”

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

Irrevocable: An extra scene. Drabble for someone who prompted Kallian/Alistair, “things I wish you hadn’t said.” Tabris says something she shouldn’t have.

Fadewalking (F!Lavellan/Cullen):  The “Oops, I accidentally walked into your dreams and saw all your vulnerabilities and your screwed-up younger self, which is awkward because I barely know you, and I keep wandering through your memories, and now we’re bonding in the Fade but I can barely look at you in real life” AU. Part 1 | 2 | 3

VAS NORMANDY (John Shepard/Tali, Mass Effect 1 - 2)

Vas Normandy: John, Tali and trying to deal with difficult fathers.

Ad astra per aspera (“To the stars, through difficulties”): Promptfic.A skinny kid in the Tenth Street Reds called John, and becoming Shepard.

EVA SHEPARD (F!Shepard/Kaidan, Mass Effect 1 - 3):

Encore: Shepard and the Lazarus Project.

counting steps: Predictions and outcomes. Introspection, angst.

Drafts: Beginning of ME2. In an unsent message, Kaidan mourns.

Oneshots. Yes, they happen too. Sorry.

Slip of the Tongue (F!Lavellan/Cullen): In the heat of an argument, Cullen makes a surprising confession.

Masquerade (F!Lavellan x Alistair, post-Inquisition): Also known as “Tru reads As the World Falls Down and thinks too much.” A masquerade ball is held at the Fereldan palace to celebrate the closing of the Breach, and there Ellana Lavellan meets a mysterious stranger…

Love (M!Trevelyan x Dorian): It’s thrown about so much, that word, as if it’s just something simple and decorative. People have the sheer bloody arrogance to think that they know what it means. Dorian used to know, once. (This one’s not nearly as sad as it sounds.)

Compassion and Joy (F!Cousland x Alistair, post-Inquisition): Written for the prompt: “Imagine if King Alistair and the Queen reunite sometime in the future and Cole is there to hear their minds…I wonder how that would end up? I just wanna hear Cole speak about them haha pain aside”

Grace (Leliana x Marjolaine): Leliana and her lover, before betrayal and Blights. Pre-Origins, inspired by Leliana’s Song.

Innocence: Cullen, Amell and the demons of Kinloch Hold. Angst. Morgana is in this one if you squint.

Grounded (F!Brosca x Alistair): She runs her hands along walls and sometimes, when she’s sitting, she’ll lay her palms flat on the floor and close her eyes. It takes Alistair a long time to ask her why, and the answer surprises him. (Part of the Nat Brosca series.)

Rules (Bethany x Alistair): There are certain things she won’t let herself think about her commanding officer. Roughly 2k of Bethany/Alistair, trapped-in-a-storm and hurt/comfort for thinkdragonage.

Minted: A newly-crowned Alistair’s thoughts.

Rapport: Aveline finds out Cullen is leaving Kirkwall and has a word with him.

That time Cullen went on the Great British Bake-Off: Yes, it completely happened. Based on an excellent piece of fanart.

Happiness (Alistair x Warden):As a manAlistair looks back on his childhood, and wonders how the hell he got here.

things you said that i wasn’t meant to hear (F!Amell x Alistair): More accidental love confessions. Solona eavesdrops, and receives a very pleasant surprise.

Truths (F!Cousland x Alistair): Those Who Wait ‘verse. Alistair overhears Patience talking to Fergus, and discovers something he probably shouldn’t have. Or shouldn’t have yet, anyway.

Snow-Dragons:  Liss Cousland and Fergus.

Constellations (F!Cousland x Alistair): More Liss. Longish drabble written for a prompt on the kink meme: Asexual!Warden is affected by something everyone figures is sex pollen. Turns out the problem can actually be solved by platonic intimacy, because curses are contrary and nonspecific that way.

Other Stories (F!Hawke x Varric): Things between Varric and Bianca have come to an end. Hawke wonders why, and the answer surprises her.

Introductions: For a prompt. Morrigan, Kieran and Alistair, trying to understand each other and the mess they’re in. Can stand in or out of Armour ‘verse due to vagueness.

“HA! Loser!” - Sayanee Amell and unsanctioned uses of Fade Step. Pre-Blight.

Doglords together (F!Hawke x Anders): Marian, Anders and a surprise pasty.

Rare and wonderful (F!Mage x Alistair): In which elf!Alistair gives a lonely, curious apprentice a rose.

A chess match:  Dorian and Cullen, older, happy and trashtalking.

And… that’s it. No, I mean, that’s really it. There’s nothing else. We made it. Phew.

[tinnefoil]

Shipping preferences

I’ve always really enjoyed character dynamics where one character is morally regal in some way (maybe even in some area) and another character is a challenge to that. 

That’s why I loved Bonnie on Vampire Diaries. And why I stopped watching when I saw they were gonna run full force with the “vampires are awesome, killing is angsty and romantic” (complete with douchy: if you kill somebody I love you are horrible, if I kill people who presumably have loved ones, toodles!). 

Not all of dynamics that I find fascinating that way are the kind that I actually ship it in a romantic way, as opposed to “I find this dynamic fascinating and want to see more scenes”. 

Gul Dukat (pre Pah-wraith) was a character like that who really tested the restraint of Kira and Sisko to the max. But there is no way this could be shipped without major brainbleach. 

Mulder and Krycek is another example. Fine for fic, but yeah, probably good that it never got to canon. 

It’s actually in a way that I frequently dislike it when ships like that are resolved, because I hate a lot of the ways these ships are often resolved. IMO ships like that gain their power from the taste of “If things were just a liiiiiiittle bit different, then....”. 

A popular way to resolve it is to come up with a way where the moral character just stops caring. Buffy after she returns from the dead. Elena after she is turned into vampire/suffers from sirebond/turns off her switch. I usually hate it when that happens. I like the moral characters because they are moral, because they fight to stay moral in world that trying to bring them down. Their struggle with their morality is a ship in its own right and for them to just give up and throw morals out of the window is feels like a failure to me. IMO it’s very hard to construct a world where it is believable to me that the moral character would change their mind, for example that their loyalty is no longer deserved without it being something that just feels totally bleak on tv. (it sometimes works better in fanfic) 

Redemption of the bad guy character. => often disliked by me. Sometimes it is too saccharine. Sometimes it feels too onesided. A lot of the time the problem is that the shows start writing their moral characters was being basically reasonable and understanding, so the character in question must usually have done some really terrible things in order to upset the morality of the moral character. => Which might often lead to things that I flatout don’t think should be forgiven. That’s how we end up with characters who do more and more outrageous things, just so we can still have this sense of moral outrage. Except that is what makes the redemption stories more and more ridiculous. 

Turns out the moral character was unreasonable all along! => I can’t actually think of a concrete example, mostly because I think I just flat out wouldn’t like the “moral” character if they were too obviously just being an asshole for not accepting the other person. 

(very rarely there might be a “he was good all along, it was just mind control/secret superspy business”, talking more about fiction here) 

So, where does Karamel slot into this fondness? Like I said, I like the hard headed moral characters. And I think it is fun to see them challenged. 

And compared to some other dynamics, I’m sorry, Mon-El is basically a baby. Yes, I know that “well, at least he is not a serial killer” is about the faintest praise you can give to anybody. 

But in a world of Spikes and Dexters and Hannibals and Kai and Klaus and Damon and Tony Soprano and Walter White and Lucifer and Chuck Bass apparently that is a real thing. (yes, Chuck Bass is not a serial killer, but I think “at least he didn’t try to sell you for a hotel” is still pretty up there, together with “well at least he didn’t murder your father/baby brother”) 

And let me mention first that very little makes me gag more than the “mob moll” mentality of “I don’t care that he murders people left and right, at least he’s nice to meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee”. 

Yes, I realize that that puts me very squarely in the minority, but that’s just the way it is. That’s also why I have a soft spot for the “stuffy” ,”boring”, trying to be moral characters rather than just the cool, violent with a snarky line on their lips “I murder for my loved ones” antiheroes. 

And no, I don’t hate people who ship those kind of couples or love those kind of characters. It’s just I personally have a hard time getting excited about them. 

So for me, redemption stories do have a bad taste to me, but when I think redemption stories, it’s the Damons and Chucks of the tv world I think about. And I just dislike Mon-El a truckload less than any of those. 

The other side is Kara and her anger over Daxamites. I think that that is an okay flaw for her. It’s something where it would be realistic for her to get over without making her look like she is betraying her morals (after all, you really shouldn’t have generic prejudices), but imo the show gives her enough freedom that the Daxamites are pretty wretched, so she doesn’t sound too unreasonable. 

On top of that imo Karamel have like a cocktail of fairly classic concepts. The funny/humor couple, the bickering working together couple, the “from different worlds/Romeo and Juliet” couple. 

Now I personally think that those elements aren’t always 100% well balanced and handled by the show (like sacrificing character development for a joke). But imo there are a lot of angles from which somebody might approach the couple and be drawn to them. Because they do happy, they do funny, they do fight-y, they do angsty.