#blink and she’s gone excerpt

[isalisewrites]

TERRIBLE, BUT GREAT - CHAPTER THIRTY

SUMMARY:

“Harry Potter.” The cold burrowed into his flesh, the scent of cloying death and molding earth clogged his senses.

“The Boy Who Lived.”

A strange sense of loss and disappointment rose within him. That brilliant, yet cruel boy could’ve been so much more if he’d not stepped down this bloodied path.

Terrible, but great. He pitied this creature.

“Come to die.”

Harry Potter faced the flash of green light with the bravery of a Gryffindor and the broken heart of a Hufflepuff.

---

When Death gives Harry a third option, one that can save everyone he ever cared about, he takes it unflinchingly. Even when that means doing the impossible: falling in love with the enemy, Tom Riddle.

---

THIRTY EXCERPT:

“And you, Hatchling,” said Nagini, her eyes on Harry now. There was an air of contentment surrounding the two of them, as Tom stroked her scales. Harry’s heart swelled with warmth at the fond gaze Tom held for his familiar. “Have you agreed to learn how to better speak my language, Hatchling?”

“I’ve agreed to lessons, yeah,” said Harry. “It’d be nice to learn how to control it.”

“We’ll practice parseltongue tomorrow while everyone has gone to Hogsmeade.”

Harry sank in disappointment. “What?” he said, looking directly at Tom and not noticing his switch to English. “But I’ve been looking forward to the Hogsmeade trip. Aren’t you going? Don’t you have a plan for it?”

Tom raised an eyebrow. “Plan?”

“Yeah, do you want to get some sweets or check out the bookstore?”

“I’m not going.”

“What?”

“I don’t need anything,” said Tom, shaking his head. “Why would I go?”

Harry was at a loss now. He wasn’t sure why he felt so disappointed about the fact of missing a Hogsmeade trip. It wasn’t like he really needed to go either. But… I’d like to go with Tom. “I dunno,” he said, scrambling for a reason. “Uh, for a change of scenery?”

Tom folded his arms. “Harry, have you seen the grounds?” he asked with a sardonic lilt. “There’s plenty of scenery to take in. If you’re in dire need of the outdoors, we can always take the lessons to the grounds.”

“Not quite what I meant and you know it.”

“You know it’s rude to exclude the other party in the room from your conversation. Are you two fighting again?”

Huh? Wait, I wasn’t speaking in parseltongue?

Tom rolled his eyes. “This is ridiculous. You are not convincing me.”

“Yes, yes, forget I exist again, why don’t you?”

“Nagini, he’s being difficult.”

“Me?” protested Harry, shifting back to parseltongue when his gaze rested on Nagini. “I just would like to go to Hogsmeade.” With you. “And the others are going, too. Come with us. It’ll be fun.”

“A Hogsmeade trip is a waste of time if you’re not buying anything in particular,” said Tom, shaking his head. “I’m not interested.”

Nagini’s eyes were sharp as she eyed them both. She uncurled from Tom’s lap, slithering away silently, until she disappeared from the curtains. Neither Harry nor Tom noted her absence.

“But aren’t there other interesting places to visit? We could get a butterbeer.”

“It’s frivolous spending.”

Oh.

Harry blinked. Oh. That was right. While Harry knew what it’d been like to live without money of his own as a child, that had changed when he’d gotten his Hogwarts letter and discovered the wealth his parents had left him. He hadn’t exactly been ‘frivolous’ with his money, but he hadn’t paid attention to it either, not like Ron had often worried about money.

Even now, with his funds somewhat limited, he hadn’t really thought about it too much or what he’d have to do in the future to earn a living. But Tom, on the other hand, was on an assistance fund here at Hogwarts. The only reason he could attend the school at all was because of that fund. Though Tom had always appeared immaculate in his appearance, Harry couldn’t help but wonder now if his belongings were secondhand.

“Right,” whispered Harry. “I forgot.”

Tom frowned. “Forgot what.”

“Well… you haven’t got any family, so I forgot that also probably means you haven’t got money either.”

A mixture of embarrassment and anger flushed through Tom’s cheeks. His chest puffed up; the light in his eyes grew flinty.

#harry potter #tom riddle #tomarry #hp #fanfiction #fanfic #harrymort #terrible but great #hp fanfic #mywriting #harry potter/tom riddle #hp fanfiction #isa's writing

[undertheorangetree]

Love in the Dark

Summary- Aemond must speak with his lover following the events at Storm’s End

Warnings- MDNI. Female reader. Angst. Hurt/no comfort. Unhappy ending. Thoughts of war, death and sex. Reader is from the Reach. Aemond is being a dick.

Author's Note- This came to me in the car while I was blasting Love in the Dark by Adele so I’ve decided to make it everyone else’s problem. It’s just a little guy so this excerpt is short and the full thing is on AO3 in the link below :)

dividers created by @firefly-graphics

Though they are not stained, Aemond can feel the blood on his hands. Rainwater has been the only thing to soak through his clothes, gone cold with the wind chill, but it may as well be blood. Hot, red blood, coating his hands, staining his clothes.

It had been an accident, that much he knows. Some convoluted attempt to gain the upper hand and frighten his bastard nephew that had gone horribly wrong. Some dark part of himself thinks that perhaps Lucerys deserved it, but that is masked by a sickening twist in his gut. Shame, guilt, horror. The realm will be plunged into war now, that much he is sure of. Truthfully, he knows it was inevitable, despite what his mother wanted. War was always going to be how this ended, but there is something akin to guilt eating away at him now, knowing that he is the one who has brought it upon them.

He had not truly been in control of himself when he came here. It was as if he was possessed as he made his way through the secret passages and into her rooms. It is the middle of the night, she is fast asleep and curled into the plush of her pillow, and yet here he stands, watching over her like a spectre. He isn’t sure how long he has been standing here. It feels wrong and he almost turns and makes his way back into the passage, to put as much distance between them as he can, but then her eyes open, blinking up at him blurrily. She is still half asleep and in that daze but still, she smiles at him, so affectionately that he thinks his heart may burst. He does not deserve her affection, to ever see that smile again, and he is almost relieved when it morphs into confusion, brows drawing together as she notices his appearance.

Slowly, still stunted by sleep, she pushes the quilts away and stands from her bed. He sucks in a heavy breath as she comes toward him, clad only in a nightgown. It is one that he has gifted her and he does not know if he can take the sight of her in it. Her hands come up, cupping his face for a moment and he closes his eye, relishes in the feeling of her skin against his own, warm against the chill. They leave him far too quickly, running over his neck, his shoulders, wrapping around his arms and tugging him closer. He sucks in a breath as she moves him but he does not dare touch her. He will not stain her with this blood. It is his alone.

The confusion on her face is apparent, voice flooded with a concern he does not know if he deserves. “You’re soaking wet. What-”

“I killed Lucerys.” The words come out of him without permission. He still does not know why he has come here, not really. For comfort, maybe. To speak the words aloud and make them true. To reveal the truth of it to someone kind as when word spreads in the morning he will never be treated with a tender hand again. “He arrived at Storm’s End not long after I did with demands from his mother. I- we, Vhagar and I- followed him out into the rain and… and I killed him.”

The horror on her face is apparent immediately. Her hands freeze where they are on his arms, face dropping and whole body going rigid. For a moment he thinks she is about to retreat, to put as much distance between herself and a kinslayer as possible. But then her hands tighten on his sleeves and she lifts her face to look him in the eye.

“The storms there are legendary. If you were both out flying in poor conditions, no one could blame you if-"

“I meant to.”

He doesn’t know why he says that. He hadn’t. At least, he does not think he did. Perhaps a part of him- one full of anger and malice- had been the only part of him Vhagar could feel and she had acted on that deep hidden urge within him. As it had been Vhagar who had truly acted and that was something no one could ever know. No matter what others think of him now, they cannot know he lost control of his dragon, that she acted without his word and that he could do nothing but sit helpless upon her back and watch. That would be worse, he thinks, to look weak in that way. A dragonrider was a god among men, a dragon a weapon more powerful than any other, and he cannot afford to look weak. Not even to her.

Suddenly the reason for his arrival here is obvious. It is clear now, excruciatingly so, what will happen. He has brought war upon them all, has condemned them all to a fate worse than death. The realm will be plunged into chaos, but he could spare her from it. If she were far from it all, she will not suffer the consequences of his actions. And perhaps that will be enough for him, to see her safe.

Read the rest here

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #Aemond Targaryen angst #Aemond angst #Aemond Targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond targaryen #hotd #hotd x reader #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon

[underforeversgrace]

under the river

DannyMay 2023 Day 11: Underwater

title: under the river

words: 1181

Part 1 of 2

(Part 2: after the water)

Excerpt: Is this really a choice she was about to have to make? Dying together with her husband or leaving him to die on his own?

~~~~~~

Honestly, considering her husband’s driving, maybe Maddie should have expected this to eventually happen, she thought as the glass began to crack from the pressure.

“Jack!” She called again, uselessly trying to shake her husband.

He said nothing, red blood dribbling down his face from the injury to his forehead.

Maddie looked around, desperately trying to think of something, anything.

They were at the bottom of a river, the dark murky water rendering it impossible for them to see anything. If only they had been in the GAV, instead of borrowing Jazz’s car, it wouldn’t have mattered when Jack accidentally ran off the side of the cliff, through the guardrail and into the water below.

Stupid parking deck - at the stupid doctors office they were going to for their stupid annual checkup - not being big enough to accommodate the size of the GAV. 

Maddie was doing her best to not panic. She could get herself out easily, of course, just bust the window and swim, but she had no way of getting Jack out. Unconscious as he was, if she busted the window now and got out… he was done for. As it was, though, water was starting to leak in from under her feet, the spider web crack grew in the glass. 

Is this really a choice she was about to have to make? Dying together with her husband or leaving him to die on his own?

A mental image of Danny and Jazz came to her mind and tears began to flow. Jazz would be graduating high school in just a few months and, despite how much he’d pulled away from them, Danny still needed them.

At least… he needed one of them. Jazz would be fine on her own, but she couldn’t care for her brother and Maddie wouldn’t leave her in a position where she had to. Maddie blinked hard as tears began to pool in her eyes.

She had a choice here and she could not choose to leave her kids as orphans.

“I love you.” She whispered, pressing a kiss to Jack’s cheek, doing her best not to feel the gentle pulse under his skin, proof he was alive.

And then she turned her attention to the passenger window beside her and kicked, shattering the glass with the metal on the heel of her shoe. She refused to look behind her as she threw herself through the window frame and swimming for the surface.

Her head broke the surface and she began coughing, swimming to the opposite bank, where a small bit of land was.

“Maddie!” A voice called behind her, echo amplified in the slight valley they were in.

Seriously? Now? She couldn’t have five seconds to grieve the death of her husband or to figure out how to get out of this valley?

“Go away, Phantom!” She shouted, fists clenching angrily at her side. Her weapons were, unfortunately, not waterproof.

“Where’s Jack?” Phantom questioned, looking for him.

“Go away!” She simply shouted again.

Phantom scowled and dove down to her, grabbing her upper arms and gripping too tightly, anger and panic successfully mimicked on his face. “Where is he?” He shouted.

“I couldn’t get him out too!” She yelled back, finally sobbing, going slightly limp in the ghost’s hands as grief overwhelmed her.

“He’s down there?” Phantom said, eyes widening in shock. Why did he insist on pretending to be human? She was just so tired of it right now. He let go of her and she collapsed to her knees, sobbing as she wrapped her arms around herself, not even noticing as Phantom dove into the water.

The love of her life, gone. Because she left him behind.

Less than a minute passed before Phantom re-emerged, soaked with water, Jack in hand.

“Move!” He shouted at her, laying Jack down on the ground beside her. Maddie, shocked, did as she was told. “Fuck!” The ghost said, beginning chest compressions. “One, two, three, four…”

Maddie watched in amazement, her mind short circuited from grief and surprise. Phantom, the ghost they’d been trying to capture for nearly a year now… was correctly doing CPR on her husband, who’s body and chest were still. Why would he be trying so hard to save someone who wanted him dead? Why did he even know how to do CPR?

After the chest compressions - which he continued to do, even as he mumbled so lowly Maddie couldn’t hear him - he inhaled, pinched Jack’s nose, and pushed air into her husband’s mouth.

Phantom could breathe?

“Please,” he whispered when he pulled away, frantically beginning compressions again.

This had to be the most surreal sight Maddie had ever seen, a ghost trying to breathe life into her ghost hunting husband.

Wait… a ghost…

“Wait, Phantom!” She said, scrambling to her feet as her brain finished its restart.

“I’m trying to save him! Shoot me later!” He shouted at her as he moved to do mouth to mouth again, wet white hair plastered to his face.

“Intangibility! Get the water out that way!”

He groaned. “Dying really didn’t give me any more brain cells, did it?” He said, intangibility sweeping across Jack’s body, the water falling harmlessly from him.

As soon as that happened, Jack drew a heavy breath, trying to cough up water no longer in him as Phantom returned him to tangibility.

“Dad!” Phantom yelled, throwing his arms around Jack’s neck and burying his face into his chest.

Jack instinctively wrapped his arm around the ghost as he finished coughing.

Maddie, again, was stunned into silence as the ghost began to shake, audibly crying as he clung to her husband. The man he’d just called dad. Jack seemed likewise confused as he sat up, arms still wrapped around the crying ghost, looking to her in bewilderment.

“You’re okay!” Phantom said, clenching the fabric of Jack’s suit into his fists as he further burrowed into Jack.

“Uh, thanks, Phantom?” Jack said unsurely.

At Jack’s words, Phantom tensed and jumped away, hovering over the water. “Oh, haha, no problem, citizen!” He said, saluting at them.

“Phantom…” Jack started, standing and reaching for him.

“Oh, uh, would you two like a lift up?” Phantom asked, pulling nervously at his hands.

Maddie had always thought that gesture looked somewhat familiar and suddenly she could place why it was familiar.

“Danny?” She asked.

Phantom - Danny Phantom - went rigid. “Uh, haha, yeah, that’s my first name, everyone knows that.”

“Danno.” Jack said, holding his hand out towards the ghost.

Danny just eyed it warily and a knife twisted in her heart. He was afraid of them.

Danny’s accident had been worse than he’d told them, hadn’t it? He’d died long enough to make a ghost. She wondered how weird that must be, her son seeing his own ghost flying around town.

…seeing his ghost be shot by their parents.

Phantom floated a little closer, stopping just out of reach. His eyes flicked between the two of them and the next time he spoke, it was with fear and hope in his voice. “Mom? Dad?”

#danny phantom #grace writes #dannymay2023 #Underwater #maddie fenton #I actually don't hate this one????

[universe-friday]

EXCERPT #11:

Hello. I hope somebody is listening.

I shouldn't have left you like that, old sport. I really am sorry.

The days are getting shorter and suddenly I’m patrolling the night for more hours than I would ideally ever want to.

I keep getting pulled away from the radio by the distant sounds of monsters and creatures slowly emerging… And don’t get me started on the ringing I can still hear from the telephone box…

Although I hate him, Nightcrawler would be a useful asset right about now… these patrols last forever.

[...]

Agh. Sorry, sorry! Back to the subject at hand.

Uhhh where was I? That story… that girl. Yes!

I think we were sitting staring at each other for like 5 minutes straight, mouths both slightly agape. We were both so excited, yet… confused at the sheer sight of each other. We studied the other’s being as if we were to be tested on them later.

She had hair shorter than mine, just reaching her chin. It had these faded purple streaks, with a mix of greens and blues… I presumed she must’ve dyed it often.

It was freezing, yet she had this dress on that cut down to just her knees, which were red, presumably from the cold. The dress was a floral pattern, with soft, warm colours. I wondered whether she had somewhere to be. Or maybe, she was truly like me. Fancy dress with nowhere to go.

Her eyes, filled with this deep brown hue, darted up and down, sometimes to meet mine. Sometimes to try and understand.

She stared at my hands for a while, then at my hair and then at my chest. The pink hair might be a distraction, sure, but I don’t think my suit and gloves are the craziest of sights. Not in the City, that’s for sure.

Especially if she’s decided to wear a dress in freezing temperatures.

I almost decided on something to say. But, with no warning, she just runs off…!

No joke, old sport. I actually wish I was kidding.

With a single blink, as if I had lost a staring contest right there, she starts her victory lap by running straight past me.

I shout after her. Nothing. I start waving my arms back and forth in the air, despite being in the middle of a moving crowd, still. Nothing. So, I started running.

For a while, I could still see her, as the crowd was parting a path for her, one which I was easily able to follow.

But suddenly I turn one corner, and the parting disappears. In fact, the whole crowd just… seizes to exist. And the street is empty.

I searched, old sport, I swear to you I searched.

I ran down that street more times than I could count. Checking every little side street and alley I could see. Double-checking. Triple-checking.

She was gone.

[...]

#aled last #alice oseman #frances janvier #original work #radio silence #osemanverse #universe city #universe city podcast #carys last #february friday #universe friday excerpts #universe city excerpt #universe friday #daniel jun #hstv #aled and frances #original fiction #original story #osemanverse books

[adelaidedrubman]

(reformatting for top post maxing) wip whenever i fucking say it is

i was tagged yesterday by my beloved @g0dspeeed for wip day and scrambling in a day late to say yeah, it is.

here’s an older bit from hook, line, and sinker chapter 4 (which will happen eventually). also apologizing because i believe i have posted small excerpts of this before but i needed to share the full scene for reasons.

It never came — instead he felt his back slam into the metal net of the fence as hands caught beneath his arms, shoving him against the chain link.  “A-Ah!” his hands found the gaps of the chain link, and he hurried to curl his fingers around the wire to stabilize himself.  He heard a low growl, then felt the hands gripping below his arms slide down his sides to squeeze his hips, pulling them toward her only to slam him harder against the fence.  “Look what you fucking did!” she screeched at him, pressing her thumbs down against his hips so hard they ached from the ridges of bone cutting against skin.  He finally blinked his eyes open at the command, finding her furious, smoldering glare and following it to the place it pointed at the ground, aimed at the glistening cascade of ice and fish sliding along the hill as if the entire school had chosen to swim downstream in a hurry.  “That was an entire fucking day’s catch! Gone!”

John narrowed his own eyes before fixing them back on her scowling face. He tightened his grip on the fence and attempted to straighten his legs and gently lower himself to the ground to beat her to her undoubtedly intended punch of dropping him — his efforts quickly thwarted as her hands shifted to the backs of his thighs to keep him propped up and at her mercy, hanging there wriggling for freedom like a fish dangling from her hook.  But he wouldn’t helplessly gape and flounder like one. Instead he stretched his back to push against her and test her force as he replied, plastering a pleasant and casual smile on his face in spite of the situation.  “We’ll add it to our ledger then, hm?” he hummed, tilting his head to the side with a sweet flutter of his eyelashes. “I owe you one plastic cooler — does forty-eight quarts sound right? Plus fair market value for all the fish — I’ll trust your inventory, fishermen are famously honest. And let’s not forget the $2.99 for the bag of ice, of course. And you…” He dropped his smile, neck snapping forward. “You owe me a fucking boat!” “You owe me your fucking life,” she hissed, lunging forward with teeth bared in turn. “I didn’t have to catch you,” she grumbled, glare darting suddenly downward as she did. “I could have caught the fuckin’ cooler…” “Yes, well…” he glanced to the side at the cooler laying on its side and spilling its contents onto the pavement. She could have caught it instead, and he was rather surprised she didn’t — but he wouldn’t waste time speculating on what misfired reflex led to the result, because it certainly wasn’t a matter of human compassion. “I wouldn’t have needed catching, had you not wrecked my —” “Enough fucking yapping!” she barked authoritatively as she shoved him back, chain link clinking and screeching as it stretched with his weight pushed against it. He felt the hard bends of the metal dig into his back, cold air hitting his stomach as a fast and forceful hand shoved the hem of his shirt up past his collarbones. “Mouth open.” “Wha —” 

sending belated and good for whenever wip day tags out to my beloveds @wrathfulrook @fourlittleseedlings @galaxycunt @cassietrn @florbelles @g0dspeeed @unholymilf @belorage @shallow-gravy @roofgeese @socially-awkward-skeleton @corvosattano @inafieldofdaisies @direwombat @afarcryfrommymain @poetikat @blissfulalchemist @deputyash @confidentandgood @captastra @voidika @just-another-wasteland-merc @strangefable @8bitpizzacoupons @stacispratt @orionlancasterr @v0idbuggy @jackiesarch @strafethesesinners @henbased @simplegenius042 @clicheantagonist @firstaidspray @quickhacked @miyabilicious @nightbloodbix @thedeadthree @shellibisshe + join/unjoin my wip day tag list by liking/unliking here!

#wip #had thought i had shared the entire thing before but not according to a scroll through my wip tag

[cream-and-tea]

LAY ME DOWN. chapter seven excerpt. unedited. featuring: agnes’s attempt to understand a new and troubling situation through understanding a new and troubling person. light body horror. self-harm adjacent behaviour. general freaky magic stuff.

[transcript under the cut]

oh brother. these guys again.

TAGLIST (ask to be +/-). @vellichor-virgo @transmasc-wizard​ @houndmouthed @muddshadow @just-wublrful @corkywantstowrite @shrunkupthejams @andromedaexists @caninemotiff @lungs-and-gills @lychniscitrus @phantomnations @onomatopiya @deer-in-headlights-stare @arctic-oceans @redbloodprose @definitelynotclayface @cannivalisms @atthenian

“Show me then,” the words are out of her mouth before she has time to think. Animal instinct. Too distracted to remember to bite her tongue.

Pallas blinks at her once, slowly. “What?”

She can walk it back, that would be safest, the nothing already crouched expectantly in the back of her throat. Instead she uncrosses her legs and swings them over the edge of the bed to better face them. Having feet on the ground makes her feel more solid, more certain.

“I want you to show me. Vita. I want to see it.”

Pallas raises an eyebrow. “Show you?”

She scoots forward slightly and nods, made a bit braver by the fact that they don’t seem to be angry or condescending, just confused. Probably really confused because Agnes is awful at telling what people feel by their faces and even she can see it clear as day.

“You’ve already seen it,” Pallas says, setting down the pen and shrugging back into their jacket. “You know what it does.”

And that’s true isn’t it? In the Haithwood and in the library. Pallas winding every bit of her body around their fingers and holding her frozen to the ground, Pallas making Calliopes nose break and bleed in a burst of icy rage, Judge reaching under her skin to pull her injured flesh back into shape. Vita. Blood and flesh and living bone. Honestly she’s seen enough for a lifetime. There’s still that sick feeling in her gut whenever she thinks about any of it.

So maybe it has less to do with the magic and more to do with Pallas, who’s spent every hour of every day since she got here pushing her to reach for the dead in a way she never has before. Pallas has had everything to do with her ghosts and her gravespeaking but every time they’ve used their power she’s had absolutely nothing to do with it, a bystander at best and a victim at worst. It's not that she’s upset, or ungrateful, just that she wants to see them the same way they’ve seen her. That isn’t so much to ask? Right?

“Yeah.” Agnes moves to rest her chin in her hands. “But I haven’t seen you use it when you’re not…”

Scaring me? Attacking people?

“...y’know,” she finishes lamely.

Pallas has gone still in the chair and she can’t help but feel the same hot embarrassment as before at the expression on their face, nakedly baffled in a way that feels too intimate for her to be seeing. It’s like something about what she’s asking has managed to fully shock the danger out of them, leaving just a person who doesn’t understand what’s happening. Agnes hadn’t thought that was even possible to do, and the revelation that it is fills her with a kind of mad, giddy joy. You’re just like me. You don’t know what’s going on right now.

All this time she’s been tiptoeing around Pallas, but now she’s knocked them off balance and hasn’t been reduced to a pile of blood and guts. So there are some things she can do. She is not totally helpless and they are human after all and they are being awkward! Being awkward in front of her!

“I don’t exactly have a broad scope,” Pallas says dryly. “I doubt you’ll like anything I have to share.”

Agnes doubts it as well, but that’s not really the point. And nothing they said just now was no.

“Maybe it’ll be nice. Maybe I’ll think it’s nice.”

Pallas stares at her like a chicken confronted with a bicycle. Then they look away. Then they let out a long, quiet breath and close their eyes before shifting to face her properly, both feet on the ground as well.

“Sit back,” it’s closer to their normal voice but with a faintness to it. Not quite trembling, but definitely not steady either. Agnes straightens up and tilts back onto her palms as Pallas shifts forward. It feels like too long before they open their eyes, which are just as grey and bad as ever.

“I won’t do anything to you,” Pallas says, as if that’s an option they were considering. Agnes can’t help but feel a twist of relief, the memories of that first meeting in the woods are never far from her mind and no matter how much she wants this, any chance to avoid something like that happening again is a welcome one.

“Right.” She nods.

“If you start screaming, or vomit, or pass out, I will cease interacting with you alltogether. That is a promise.”

“I’ll be okay.”

Pallas’s brows furrow with what could be concentration or could be concern. Their mouth opens, floundering for half a second, like they were about to say something else before closing back into a tightly pressed line. They hold their left hand out in front of them, like they’re waiting for a high five, and somehow Agnes knows that, whatever it is, it’s about to start and her anxiety feels like victory in the face of that.

At first it is nothing much, just a thin red line slicing down their middle finger. So straight and clean it could’ve been made with a scalpel. Not even that much blood. Then, simultaneously, the line begins to creep down their palm and out to each of their other fingers, dripping beads of crimson down the clammy pale of their skin. Somehow it doesn’t seem real, like Agnes is looking at a diagram in a book that’s mysteriously been animated in front of her. If Pallas feels any pain at all they don’t show it, face unchanged as the skin starts to peel back from their hand.

That does make Agnes draw in a sharp breath, even though she’s been very good at staying quiet and still up until now, fearful like she was in the classroom with Judge that any sudden action will throw the magic off-balance. But she doesn’t look away, because she asked for this, and Pallas doesn’t pause in their unfurling even if their brows furrow slightly at the sound. It happens in one smooth motion, practiced, effortless, performed with all the ceremony of taking off a glove. Agnes does not start screaming, or vomit, or pass out. She’s dressed animals before and, apart from how Pallas is not dead and the effect is contained to just the one hand, this isn’t really different. There's the careful separation of skin from muscle, the delicate definition that separates the parts underneath, the red and pinkness of it all.

Of course it’s not really the same either, because the parts of Pallas being stripped away are not set aside for later use; instead they stay floating in the air around the hand, held frozen in the same way her body had been back in the forest when they first met. Warm, wet flaps of skin, fresh as the blackgreen bark stripped from trees back home, hover drowsily like something pickled in a jar. It is also not separated, not really, everything still intertwined and beating with red and alive, muscle and artery and nerve working together, just lifted up and away. Agnes never paid her own hands much mind beyond the work they could do and how cold they got in the winter, but now she imagines her skin split apart and away the way Pallas’s is, wonders if all of that really exists inside her too. It feels wrong somehow, what’s in front of her now is just meat. A person should be made up of more than that. There are so many small parts to a hand, parts she cannot name but Pallas probably can or else they would not be able to do any of this. They don’t stop until the muddy white of their fingerbones begin to show, then the entire thing spasms with an uneven spurt of blood, a pulse that Agnes feels in her own chest, and goes totally still.

In the silence she can’t help but lean forward, marvelling at the web of flesh in front of her, and even as her scalp prickles and her stomach turns over and the air around her seems to hum with the urge to run a part of her itches to reach out a finger and touch. That really would just be the same as fiddling around with the guts of an animal, but also it would be different. Somehow she knows it would be different. Different in a way she’ll never be able to understand unless she does it. Which she won’t. Because Pallas is terrifying and this has only proved that a hundred times over.

Though maybe not as terrifying as she thought before. They did listen to her, or humour her, or whatever this is. It’s something for sure. Agnes can always make do with something. It’s how she stays alive.

Her breath ghosts across the bloody strand of a muscle, and that is what breaks the spell, that or Pallas is just done or some other condition she doesn’t know has been met. The coming back together seems to take a good deal longer than the taking apart, sweat glueing dark strands of hair to Pallas’s cheeks and the grinding of their teeth made audible despite the damp, slithering sounds of their hand seaming itself back together until the only trace of what just happened is a rusty crusting of blood packed around their nails and in their palm lines.

They pull the hand away while Agnes can’t help but keep watching, transfixed as they flex it in and out of a fist with a disinterested glare, impatient while a few stray cracks and pops fill the newfound silence. Once that’s done they hold it out one more time, as if proving to Agnes just how inconsequential vivisecting a part of them in front of her really was.

“There. Happy?” Pallas slumps slightly, tipping their head back enough that she can see their pulse fluttering frantically just beneath the skin of their neck. Again she resists the urge to touch it. She likes all of her flesh right where it is. Thank you very much.

Palla shifts to look at her and Agnes remembers that she’s been staring, not answering them, and internally kicks herself for being such an idiot.

“I am,” She breathes out, makes the monumental effort to meet their eyes. “I actually really am.”

#agnes: haha how you only ever seem to killmurder things with your powers that’s sooooo silly #pallas: i cannot express enough how that is literally all i know how to do #anyways! they’re bonding! yippee! #me writing agnes wishing she could mess around with pallass internal organs like. hold that thought for about #five more chapters girl. i’ve got you don’t worry. #she is NEVER beating the ‘obsessed with that freak’ allegations #this was one that was hard to write the little description bit for but i wanted to share pallas doing magic #because it’s one of my favourite things to write lol #wip: ghost story #pallas and agnes #creme does a writing #tw gore #tw body horror #tw sh related

[sugoi-and-spice]

Chapter Three - Careful What You Wish For

Pairing: Bully!Dabi x Fem!Reader, (3rd Person)

Summary: If a boy is picking on you, it means he likes you. She could almost laugh. By that logic, Dabi must’ve been fucking in love with her. That thought was what finally made the tears start to spill. Not because of how ridiculous it was or how isolating it felt.

But because it was exactly what she wanted.

CW: Alternate Universe - No Quirks (My Hero Academia), Dubious Consent, Unhealthy Relationships, Bullying, Manipulation, Humiliation, Childhood Friends, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Power Play, Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Drugs, Alcohol, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Attempted Sexual Assault, Rough Sex, Hate Sex, Smut, Porn With Plot, Explicit Sexual Content, Angst and Porn, Sadism, Loss of Virginity, Unreliable Narrator, Suicidal Thoughts, Dirty Talk, Name-Calling, Depression

A/N: An extra little content warning, there are instances of displaced anger and resentment, as well as suicidal ideation in this chapter. I feel this is a good time to remind readers that both Dabi and the MC in this story are unreliable narrators - they think things that are objectively untrue due to their traumas.

Remember, it is never a child's responsibility to save another child from abuse. And living a purposefully destructive life is a form of suicide.

Read Full Chapter on AO3

[excerpt]

When she was eight years old, she fell out of a tree in front of Touya’s house and hit her head on the concrete. 

Despite the many warnings from her parents, she and Touya played in that tree all the time. What was she supposed to do? It was way too big and twisty to pass up, a tree almost custom-built for climbing. She hadn’t even gotten the highest that she’d ever climbed that day, and Touya was several branches up ahead of her, teasing and goading her to follow him, catch him— faster, faster!

One moment she was climbing — her foot catching on a strangely pliable-feeling branch — the next, Touya was holding her in his arms, sprinting to her house as he cried for her mother. She didn’t even remember the fall really, she was pretty sure she had blacked out. But she remembered the pain and fear after, the tears already gushing down her cheeks when she came to, not to mention Touya’s own as he held his hand tight to her gushing forehead.

She’d made it out of the ordeal with a skull fracture and some stitches, not to mention a good old-fashioned concussion, but overall okay. When she returned home from the hospital, however, she was distressed to see that the tree was gone and that Touya had a black eye. He’d told her that it was because he fell too. And she believed him.

At the very least, she could honestly say that her head right now didn’t hurt as bad as it did that day.

But it was pretty damn close.

She lifted to her elbows with a groan, trying to rub some of the blur from her eyes. Things did get clearer as she blinked away the last of her sleep, but it wasn’t quite right yet. Blue. Everything was blue. And unfamiliar.

It looked like she was in a hotel room, a small one. It was more like a ship cabin, just large enough to fit a narrow walkway around the king-sized bed to one of two doors, and to open the drawers of the dresser doubling as an entertainment center with its surprisingly large flat-screen. The one currently turned on to some late-night variety show.

“Look who decided to wake up.”

She snapped towards the voice, where Dabi sat up against the pillows next to her in just his white undershirt and boxers. He didn’t even look at her, seemingly more interested in whether or not the idol on screen could guess what was in the box she was currently sticking her hand into, than anything to do with her .  

“Where—?” she started to sit up, glancing down as she felt the bed sheet fall down into her lap, then froze.

She was wearing nothing but her thin little white bra and (luckily, upon quick further inspection) panties.

“Oh my God!” she yelped as soon as she realized, yanking the covers up to her nose, “D-D-D-Did we…?” She couldn’t even finish the thought.

Dabi scoffed, “Hell no.”

“But… W-We’re not wearing any clothes.”

“That’s because you threw up all over them.”

And here she’d thought it was impossible for her to get any more embarrassed.

“I-I did…?”

“You’re lucky this place has laundry services.”

“Oh God,” she groaned.

A rush of nausea ripped up her throat before she could get any other question or apology out, brought on seemingly by the bloodrush of sitting up fully, and made even worse by the dry, rancid taste she was suddenly feeling on her tongue.

Dabi sighed, grabbing one of three water bottles off of the shelf behind him and tossing it into her lap.

“Drink.”

“I—” she gagged again at the thought, “I don’t think I can.”

“That wasn’t a request.”

He didn’t need to tell her twice with that tone. She quickly tore off the cap and started to down the water like no tomorrow. Dabi watched the frantic bobbing of her throat, sighing as a not small amount of water spilled down her chin and chest in a frustratingly not unattractive way. 

“Yeah alright, enough. You drink the whole thing that fast and you really will be sick,” he tapped her arm with the back of his hand before pulling a little Altoid tin from the shelf behind him and popping it open, “Take three of these.”

She eyed the tin of pills nervously then looked back up to Dabi.

“W-What are they?”

“Vicodin,” he said, completely stone-faced, “That’ll knock that hangover right out of your system.”

Her eyes widened commedically, “N-No, I don’t think I—!”

“It’s Tylenol you dipshit.”

She was relieved, of course. Although, not completely.

“...I read that you’re not supposed to mix Tylenol and alcohol.”

He groaned, loud and obviously annoyed. What the hell was he even doing here at this point? He’d met the requirements to not be a shitty person when he’d brought her to the hotel in the first place, he should’ve just fucking turned around as soon as she’d dropped onto the bed. She had a roof over her head and a door with an automatic lock, his duty was done. So why the fuck was she actively trying to make him regret sticking around even more than he already did?

“Do what you want, girl scout. I literally couldn’t care less,” he barked, snapping the tin closed and moving to climb off the bed.

“W-Wait,” she breathed, after a particularly rough throbbing knocked her brain, “I’m sorry, can I… Please?”

Luckily, he didn’t give her any extra flack for her indecision, just tipping a few pills into her hand.

“Small sip, alright? I mean it,” he said, “I’m not gonna clean up your puke twice tonight.”

She nodded sheepishly, popping the Tylenol into her mouth — all three at once.

“What time is it?” she exhaled after her last sip, not really worrying too much about the answer yet.

But that’d change on a dime.

“Three A.M.”

“W-What?!” she shrieked, throwing the covers off her, “Oh my god, oh my god, I gotta get home!”

As soon as her feet touched the carpet, a giant wave of dizziness crashed over her, causing her to lose her balance and fall back onto the bed.

Dabi just rolled his eyes at the sight. 

“Fucking relax,” he spat, “You’re in deep shit anyway, right? What’s an hour later? Might as well wait until the trains are running again at least.”

She couldn’t exactly argue with that logic, although it did very little to ease her anxiety. That seemed to matter even less to Dabi, she noticed, as she hazarded a look back at him. He just returned to flipping through channels, tired of this particular game show and fruitlessly searching to find something at least slightly more engaging.

He was being just as aloof and uncaring as usual, not giving her even the slightest time of day outside of taunting and demeaning her. 

But still, the fact of the matter remained…

“...you stayed with me.”

Continue on AO3

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#dabi #touya todoroki #dabi x reader #touya todoroki x oc #touya todoroki x reader #dabi x oc #dabi x female reader #bully!dabi #smut #dabi smut #touya todoroki smut #touya smut #quirkless au #mha #bnha #mha dabi #bnha dabi #burnt bridges fic #mha smut #bnha smut

[wangxianficrecs]

Every Mother's Son by Chrononautical

Every Mother's Son

by Chrononautical

T, 11k, Wangxian

Summary: When the former Madam Lan hears that the new Sect Leader Lan married a criminal who is kept in the same house where she once lived, she has only one choice. She has to return to Cloud Recesses to rescue Wei Wuxian! Kay's comments: Ah, I love a good Madam Lan lives AU! And this once is absolutely beautiful. In this one, she faked her death and fled to ancient Japan, where she helped other women in unhappy marriages. Hearing of Wei Wuxian living in her former prison, she draws the wrong conclusions and returns to rescue him, which ends with her finally meeting her sons again and there's some complicated feelings, especially on Lan Xichen's side and I really loved that. The backstory was also really cool and Madam Lan interacting with Wei Wuxian was perfectly written as well. Excerpt: “I know you are a criminal called the Yiling Laozu and that Lan Zhan married you. I do not know what you like to be called.” “Lan Zhan,” echoed the young man. He probably wasn’t used to hearing his husband called by that name. Little A-Zhan was a person who belonged to the distant past—a gentle, loving boy who liked rabbits and sweets—now only Sect Leader Lan remained. Hu Mingyan needed to remember that, if they were caught. “My name is Wei Ying, courtesy name Wei Wuxian. Beautiful mystery women may call me what they like!” “Well then, Wei Wuxian, I’m sure you have a number of questions for me. I will do my best to answer, but first we have to find a corpse.” “Sure, sure,” he said peaceably. “You’d be surprised how many conversations I have that go in this direction. Usually I’m the one saying it, in fact! Was there a particular flavor of corpse you had in mind? Different sorts are useful for different things.” “Ideally, a young man of your approximate height and build. I know a few tricks to make a dead body look like a different person. If we disguise a corpse and sneak it back into the Gentian House, the Lan won’t search for you once you’re gone.” “Yeah,” Wei Wuxian said slowly, “I’m not going along with any plan that makes Lan Zhan think I’m dead, even for a minute. Sorry. This has been really fun, though!” Hu Mingyan blinked at him. “Fun! He will hunt you down if he thinks you’re alive. The Lan don’t let things go. They don’t let people go. Not ever.”

canon divergence, post-canon, established relationship, madam lan lives, lan family feels, madam lan backstory, madam lan deserves better, reunions, misunderstandings, japan, implied/referenced rape/non-con, lan xichen in seclusion, chief cultivator lan wangji, sect leader lan wangji, family fluff, adopted children, hurt/comfort, happy ending, @chrononautintraining

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

#Wangxian Fic Rec #The Untamed #wangxian #MDZS #Kay's Rec #canon divergence #post-canon #established relationship #madam lan lives #lan family feels #madam lan backstory #madam lan deserves better #reunions #misunderstandings #japan #lan xichen in seclusion #chief cultivator lan wangji #sect leader lan wangji #family fluff #adopted children #hurt/comfort #happy ending #Every Mother's Son #Chrononautical #short fic <15k #teen

[rosie-b]

Centuries Overdue

Chapter 4

Excerpt from the ninth journal of Adrien Agreste, written at the Agreste mansion in Paris, France, on the twenty-fourth of June, 1810.

I think this House is full of Ghosts. Around every corner I hear Laughter; through the Walls there comes a Sob; beneath my Bed the Darkness hides, ready to pull me out and slaughter me for its Revenge…

Did I write before that we never found the Mage responsible for the Darkness, even after we defeated it? There was no Body, no Spellbook, not one single Sign of who it was who betrayed us.

At the end of the Battle there was a great Cry, a loud Wailing which still haunts my dreams. Then the Darkness gathered into itself and exploded in a great display of power and Cowardice which left us no doubt that the Mage behind it was Dead.

I have told myself that I ought to be relieved, as the other Mages are, that at last the Darkness is vanquished. For a time, I fooled myself into thinking that I was!

But as all lies ever must do, this one I told Myself crumbled, leaving more Pain in its wake than it had initially hidden.

I cannot help but feel that I have failed. There was no moment when I saw the Face of my parents’ murderer, no time when I felt Closure for bringing safety to the rest of our Community.

The Mages are safe. The Talents are not; they have died, they have died in great numbers and no-one will answer for their deaths. Death chosen by one who finally sees that their loss is imminent brings no peace to the ones they have hurt. The Mage of Darkness was a Coward who faced no punishment despite committing very many crimes. Am I wrong to feel like that Mage won, and not the group who vanquished the Darkness?

I find myself flinching at every Shadow, and there are many in my parents’ house. It has been empty of their Presence for decades, but it searches for them, it waits on them to return. And it finds Me in their place, instead. I can only imagine it to be Angry.

I never lived in this House, but I came here and claimed it as mine with an old Deed given to me by M. Bourgeois, who kept the House from falling apart while my Parents and I were gone. I look like my Mother, and a little like my Father, and yet I am nothing like them. They will never live here again, but I, a reminder of their Existence, do presently. Were I this abandoned House, I would be angered, too, by the situation. A new Darkness lives in this place. I can feel it, and I cannot blame it for existing.

But I still find myself sensing Darkness elsewhere. Along my journey to my foreign home country, I felt It ever at my back, always reaching out for my shoulder as if to tap it, yet It vanished the moment I turned around. It is in the streets of Paris, on the rooftops, in the warm restaurants, in my Home.

There is something afoot in Paris, something sinister stirring yet again. I begin to believe that the Defeat we handed the Darkness in Blå Jungfrun was not as decisive as we had hoped, that the Darkness I feel now is the same as the One we had thought destroyed.

And yet…

I know that we defeated the Darkness. I saw it with my own eyes. This Feeling of mine is nothing more than Mischief and a passing fancy.

I will not write any more on the matter.

__*__*__*__*__

“Repeat after me,” Alya said, and Marinette immediately nodded.

It had been one week since she somewhat-accidentally infiltrated the Mage meeting, and now she was at another one, this time as an invited guest. And possibly, a new Mage, if this test proved that she had magic powers, that was.

“It’s just one spell. One tiny illusion, and we’re not going to throw you out if it doesn’t work.”

Marinette nodded again, blinking rapidly as her anxiety whispered a dozen ways this could go wrong in her ear.

“You don’t need to worry at all.”

Another nod, this one barely visible.

“What I’m trying to say is, relax , Marinette! The worst thing that could happen is you accidentally making a fake flower a few sizes too big! Illusions never hurt anyone, remember?”

From her perch on top of the new sofa the cafè had gotten, Alix leaned forward and grinned. 

“Well, technically. They can be pretty deadly in battle. But only indirectly!” she backpedaled at Alya’s glare.

Marinette leaned her head back and groaned, “Ohh, Alya, do you really think I should do this?”

Alya folded the spellbook under her arm and reached out with the other to pat Marinette’s shoulder. “Of course, girl! There are literally no bad outcomes, and can you imagine how cool it would be if you turned out to be a Mage of Trixx, too? I’ve been hoping for this ever since I met you, even though I thought it was unrealistic at the time! Come on, Marinette. I’m not letting you leave this cafè until you at least try!”

Marinette smiled at Alya’s firm brand of encouragement. “Okay, okay! I’ll do my best,” she said, stretching out her fingers and wiggling them like she was warming up to draw a design for class. “I’m ready.”

Smiling approvingly, Alya opened the spellbook to the dog-eared page. “All right. First say, ‘mirage,’ and then picture a flower.”

“That’s it?” Marinette asked, astounded. None of Adrien’s spells looked this simple! And none of them were in French! “Let me see that.”

Standing on her tippy-toes, Marinette strained to look at the spellbook and scoured the page for the gibberish language from Adrien’s journals. There it was! But Alya wanted her to speak the spell in French anyway! How did that make sense?

“Trust me, Marinette,” Alya said, amused. “Just because a spell is recorded in a way that keeps it safe from enemy eyes doesn’t mean it has to be spoken in the same way. This code is protected by magic, but it represents all the same letters the normal French alphabet does. Spells can be spoken in any language, as long as they’re properly translated. Look, this one is in French; this symbol is ‘m,’ this one is ‘i,’ and if you put them all together, they make the word ‘mirage.’ Do you get it?”

Sinking back onto her feet, Marinette nodded, feeling a bit stupid. “Oh. So, it’s like there’s an eternal illusion spell cast on the letters?”

“Close! It was cast on the concept of the code itself, so that anything written in it can only be decoded by someone who was willingly taught the code by a Mage or, in the past, a Talent. I’m going to teach you how to decode it, too, and then you can read as many spells as you want.”

“Even the ones in Adrien’s journals?”

Alya nodded. “Even those ones. Although from what you’ve told me, deciphering his French will be your main problem!”

Marinette laughed. “It isn’t that bad once you get used to it!” she insisted, playfully defending Adrien’s abnormal writing habits.

“Whatever you say, girl. Okay, for real this time, say mirage!”

“Mirage!”

“Great! Now close your eyes and picture the flower. Doesn’t matter what type, just add as much detail as you can. When you’re done, say, ‘I call on Trixx’s power to create this flower’ and then you’re done.”

Marinette giggled as she followed Alya’s instructions, and her friend immediately protested.

“Wha— hey, don’t laugh! My spells don’t usually rhyme!”

Marinette nodded, keeping her eyes closed, and let out a deep breath as she prepared to try the spell.

“I call on Trixx’s power to create this flower,” Marinette said after a moment’s pause, and her heart thumped loudly in her chest.

Then she cracked open her eyes and looked for the flower.

“Nothing’s there,” she said, looking up at Alya dejectedly.

“You’re right,” Alya said, looking at the space between them where the flower should have been. “You could try again or just give up if you think you did it right. Being a Mage is pretty rare these days. And there are other spells to try, to test whether you’re a Mage of a different kwami than mine!”

“I tried as hard as I could,” Marinette said, rubbing her arm. “I don’t think I messed up, except for when I almost laughed. I just don’t think I’m a Mage, Alya.”

“Not Trixx’s, anyway,” Alix said as she hopped off the couch and landed on the floor with a thud, which scared Marinette. “But,” she said as she appeared behind Alya’s shoulder, reached around her, and flipped to a different page in the book, “You might still be Fluff’s. Repeat after me.”

Alya handed the spellbook to Alix and  moved out of the way as she gave Marinette an encouraging smile.

“I promise to keep this short. Come on, just one more spell and we’re done! We only have Trixx’s and Fluff’s spells, so we can only test to see if you’re one of theirs. If not, who cares.” Alix raised one shoulder and dropped it back down.

Marinette sighed. “Okay, fine. What’s the spell?”

“Say burrow, then say the place and time you’d like to go to. So like, this same spot, five seconds from now.”

“Burrow, right here, five seconds from now?”

“Aaand you’re not one of Fluff’s Mages. Congrats!”

“That’s not— how do you know I didn’t mess up? I didn’t even say the same words as you did!”

“It doesn’t matter for that spell. Makes it pretty dangerous if you say something like outer space for your location, or if you go back before the Earth formed, but it’s the most basic spell we have.”

Marinette was briefly seized with an image of her accidentally falling into a black hole or falling into a star because she said the wrong thing by accident.

“Alya! Did you know that spell was so risky?”

“Well, no and yes. I’m not overly familiar with Alix’s spells, but all of Fluff’s magic is more immediately dangerous than Trixx’s. That’s why Fluff’s Mages get so much credit for helping defeat the Darkness with that Adrien of yours. Without their help, the battle could easily have gone in a very different direction.”

“It’s also theorized that one of us killed the Mage behind the Darkness,” Alix supplied. “And that whoever they were, the evil Mage is spiraling across the universe like a dead fish thanks to us. Maybe one day we’ll find their body,” she said, grinning evilly.

Marinette swallowed. “That’ll be fun.”

“Oh yeah, I’m so looking forward to it.”

“Uh-huh. Well, thanks for your help, Alix!” Alya took the book back from her and snapped it shut. “How are you feeling, girl? Worn out from the tests?”

Cocking her head, Marinette responded, “Not really. I’m kind of disappointed, but mostly relieved. Being anyone’s Mage doesn’t sound like the right fate for me. I’m just a normal girl with a normal life!”

Alya hummed. “Maybe you are. But you could still turn out to be a Mage, or even the first Talent in over a century! I’ll give up on tests,” she said at Marinette’s weary look, “But maybe you’d like to learn the Mages’ code, instead? Then you could really read all of Adrien’s journals.”

“My one true desire,” Marinette joked. “That does sound nice, actually! He records so many different spells, and it’s driving me nuts that I can’t read them. Like, there’s a spell for making ingredients hop into a pan and cook themselves! I need to know what it says, even if I can’t actually make the magic work.”

“Sounds like a universal spell to me,” Alya said thoughtfully. “No one’s tried one of those in forever! If it still works, any one of us Mages should be able to use it, even you, if you’re at all Gifted!”

“That would be pretty nice,” Marinette said as Alya led her over to a table and pulled out a chair.

“On to the lesson! Or, I guess it isn’t much of a lesson, exactly. I’m going to write down each of the code’s symbols next to their translation on a piece of paper for you. Once you have it, you can decode any spell you want with minimal work. And soon, you might even have the code memorized and not need the key anymore!”

“Thanks! That’s really cool, Alya,” Marinette said, watching as she quickly muttered a spell under her breath and pulled a paper from thin air. 

Once the paper appeared, Alya grabbed it, making it glow golden orange, said another spell, and then set it down on the table once it stopped glowing.

“There. Once you have the key memorized, the paper will cease to exist. And if anyone but you sees it, it will look like a menu for the cafè. Sound good?” 

Marinette nodded and Alya smiled.

“Great. Now, can I borrow a pen?”

“What, you can’t just summon one?” Marinette teased.

“I could, but that would be another complicated spell, and I just did three of those. You can’t normally touch illusions like this, or they fall apart. That’s part of why I wasn’t worried about the flower spell, because it just casts a basic illusion, nothing more. Anyway, the more complex a spell, the more tiring it is for the Mage casting it.”

“You mean, if you cast too many spells at once, you die?”

This was not good! Being a Mage sounded more dangerous with each new fact Marinette learned about them!

“No, there’s a safety built into the concept of spells. If you try too many at once, you might faint or go into a coma, but if it's a combination that would kill you, then you just can’t finish the spell. It becomes physically impossible.”

“Oh, that’s smart! Which Mage figured it out?”

“No one knows. In any event, while you don’t have to worry about me dying, I don’t feel like sleeping for twenty hours just to make up for summoning a pen.”

“That makes sense. Here,” Marinette fished around in her purse and pulled out a pink gel pen. “Will this work?”

“Perfectly. Thanks!”

Alya wrote out the code on the left side of the paper and then the translation on the right side.

“A last note: the symbols for numbers overlap with a few of the letter symbols. To show the difference, use the guide at the bottom. And that’s all there is to it!”

“Thank you so much!” 

As she took the paper from Alya, Marinette hesitated. 

“Hey, did I ever ask you what happened to Adrien? I mean, he’s dead, obviously, but when did he die? Did he ever write any other journals, aside from the lost ones? Was he happy?”

“Oh,” Alya said. “That’s… hard to answer, actually. We know more about how Adrien’s parents died than we know about how he died. It was in the catacombs, here in Paris. He told one of the Bourgeoises that he was going to visit them, illegally, I might add, and that was the last we ever heard about him. According to the Bourgeois family back when they still acknowledged our existence — although I’ve been promised a response to my email soon, at least — Adrien went a little crazy before his death.”

Marinette took a sharp breath. Adrien, crazy? Sure, she’d considered it, herself, back when she hadn’t known that magic was real, but now that she knew she could trust the stories he wrote in his journals, she didn’t think he was crazy. She thought he was very smart, in control of his thoughts and able to tell when his emotions were threatening to take over. His writing had become something of a constant in her life. What did the magic community think happened to him, that Adrien could be thought ‘crazy’?

Alya continued the story. “He thought the Darkness was coming back; that someone was killing off all the Talents; and towards the very end, he told his closest friends that the Mage of Darkness was hunting him down to get revenge. Revenge, of course, for that time when we ganged up and defeated that same Mage. We killed them, so like, what Adrien thought was happening was just impossible. It’s sad; he cared so much about keeping the Gifted community safe, and he contributed so much to our survival; but in the end, what he’d gone through for our lives cost him his own. He was a hero. But sometimes, being a hero means you don’t get a happy ending. 

“I’m sorry, Marinette,” Alya said, covering her trembling hand with a warm, firm one. “I know you got attached because of those books. But it’s in the past. Adrien Agreste got lost in the catacombs at age twenty and died before he could find the way out. That’s all we know.”

Marinette was suddenly finding it really hard to see. At some point during Alya’s tale, she’d begun to silently cry for the Mage she’d begun to feel like she knew. He’d done so much for her, and she’d never get to thank him!

She licked her lips, tasting the salt there, and took a deep, rasping breath. 

“Did you ever find his body? Is there a grave I could go visit?”

Alya shook her head and held Marinette’s hand tightly, offering the only comfort she could. “Nobody’s ever found his body. Plenty of Mages have tried, but they’ve had to turn back. The catacombs are dangerous if you go off the known trail, and it wouldn’t do us any good to find one body just to leave another one there with it. So because of that, we really can’t teleport straight to the spot, we can’t go back in time to stop it, nothing. According to Fluff, ‘everything is the way it should be’. The way it has to be. But it’s always hard to lose one of our own. I wish things were different, ‘Nette, I really do.”

Marinette’s hand shook in Alya’s as she fought off her tears. How could she be crying for a centuries-dead man? She’d known he was dead before she even asked what had happened to him! Crying about it didn’t make any sense!

“It hurts more than it should,” she whispered. “He gave up everything to protect his people, led them to victory, finally won and got to go home. And he went through all of that, just to die as soon as he got back to Paris? That’s completely unfair!”

“I know it is,” Alya said softly. “We all do. He will always have a place of honor in our histories, and a statue at Plagg’s cave. He is and always will be remembered. That’s more than most can say.”

Marinette wiped her eyes and nodded. “I guess it is,” she forced herself to say. Far more people's names are forgotten than remembered, in the grand scheme of things. Even detailed journals, like the ones Adrien had written, were lost or destroyed more often than they lived on even one century after their writer, let alone two. 

How fortunate, then, that she’d gotten to read his journals at all. Even the best Mages couldn’t say they had done that, but finding them had been a blessing for them all, and soon, the Agreste journals would be back where they belonged. Their stories would live on.

Written for @mlbigbang

#adrien gets better I swear #don't worry about him :)) #this chapter is really just the calm before the storm #ao3 links at the top #ml fanfic #rosie-b writing #miraculous ladybug #ml au #centuries overdue

[your3fundamentaltruths]

tell me about "do not disturb" (the missing book scene). is it about what i think it's about 🌚

It probably is, my leafy leafs! Because it is me, it takes some turns as suggested by the [. . .] in the excerpt below.

Without further ado, the missing book scene based on the following line from TSPWL: And so one day, after she’d gone to visit Penelope, only to be informed by the butler that Mr. and Mrs. Bridgerton were not able to receive visitors (uttered in such a way that even Eloise knew what it meant) . . .

When she arrives at Penelope and Colin’s house (how strange that thought is, still!), she’s met with a slightly puzzled – and faintly alarmed – expression on the butler’s face.

“Miss Bridgerton,” Dunwoody says, blinking several times in rapid succession before locating a few more words. “Is Mrs. Bridgerton expecting you?”

What an odd question.

Even in the very brief time since Penelope married Colin and moved into his Bloomsbury townhouse, Eloise’s more-frequent-than-her-mother-thinks-appropriate calls have made it clear to their staff who she’s really here to see. 

[. . .]

“No,” she replies. “I thought I would surprise her. Is she out, then? I can wait.” 

Dunwoody does not step aside to admit her. “I, er –” He clears his throat. “That is to say, Mr. and Mrs. Bridgerton are not able to receive visitors at present,” he says meaningfully. 

“I see,” she nearly whispers. 

“Shall I tell Mrs. Bridgerton you called?”

“Please don’t!” she says over her shoulder, cheeks flaming, before all but flying down the steps back to the carriage.

Over the years, her married siblings’ love matches (and covert explanations from maids) have provided quite the education and mostly inured her to maidenly fits of outrage, but really –

Good heavens, it’s the middle of the day! 

#polin #bridgerton #bridgerton fic #eloise bridgerton #dunwoody #missing book scene #fic meme #my fic #do not disturb

[throughtrialbyfire]

WIP Whenevers-day!

welcome to a very very late wip wednesday! thank you to the lovely @viss-and-pinegar @wispstalk @totally-not-deacon @skyrim-forever and @thequeenofthewinter for tagging me! i'm tagging @mareenavee @kookaburra1701 @dirty-bosmer and @gilgamish !! feel free to join in if you arent tagged and want to! i'm bringing an excerpt of chapter 27 from "Cycle of the Serpent" today, where athenath encounters daedric prince meridia <3

The Vigilants reeled back, the Dunmer's spell rising to her hand, shrieking light in her palm as she attempted to shoot the beacon down. Her spell only gashed the air with electricity, the beacon unmoved, the statue unmarked. Athenath stepped back, the world spinning beneath his feet as they grabbed their own blade. Stones turned to mud, the skies fractaled into fuzzy shapes of sunlight. Senses dulled, Athenath swam for consciousness, groping at the air for something to hold onto and finding nothing but the ground that turned to distant, dull sensations. Blinking hard, their stomach threatened to spill out. The words of the Vigilants reverberated in their head, the warning he'd just ignored and Mara damn them, the warnings of years and years before, the stories of the Mythic Dawn cult and the rumors of Daedra worshippers and the hells that it brought- When Athenath blinked away the blurring edges of his vision, he looked up. No longer pressing palms into the ground, he stood, watching as what could have been a tiny sun twisted in angles before them. Every edge circled in rainbow refractions, crystalline and gleaming, every center brighter than Magnus' own hole in the heavens which he fled through. The light before him spoke, bitterness treading every word carelessly. "It is time for my splendor to return to Skyrim," her voice broke through the ringing in Athenath's ears. The world had gone eerily silent, and more, he couldn't feel anything around him as the voice spoke again, "but the token of my truth lies buried in the ruins of my once great temple, now tainted by a profane darkness skittering within. The Necromancer Malkoran defiles my shrine with vile corruptions, trapping lost souls left in the wake of this war to do his bidding. Worse still, he uses the power stored within my own token to fuel his foul deeds."

Athenath looked around, weightless in the heavens that swamped his form, nothing below and nothing above. The mountains, distant and faint, twitched in their vision. They swallowed harshly and tried to stifle the shaking in their voice as he said, "I'm- um- where-" As though not hearing him, she continued, "worse still, he uses the power stored within my own token to fuel his foul deeds. I have brought you and your companions here, mortal, to be my champion. You will enter my temple, retrieve my artifact, and destroy the defiler. Guide my light through the temple to open the inner sanctum and destroy the defiler." "That's a lot more than what I signed up for." The words fell out of his lips before he could stop them. Unfazed, Meridia gave a low exhale, as though holding back a much more exhausted sigh. "A single candle can banish the darkness of the entire Void. If not you, then someone else. My beacon is sure to attract a worthy soul. But if you are wise, you will heed my bidding." "But what do I even-" "You have your instructions, mortal."

Athenath paused, the deafening quiet filling their senses with nausea. He looked around, but all they saw for miles were the tops of trees, the sea, the sky, not a sign of their friends nor the Vigilants, just the swamping of their vision with a world that grew more and more alien the more time they spent here, wherever here was. "What's this-" they swallowed dryly, "what artifact?" "Mortals call it Dawnbreaker, for it was forged in a holy light that breaks upon my foes, burning away corruption and false life. You will enter my shrine, destroy Malkoran, and retrieve this mighty blade." The gleaming, twisting fractals of light entranced him, the warmth spilling over their form, whatever form they took up here. He didn't even check to see if he was himself, deciding against looking down. They inhaled, filling their lungs with the crisp air, smelling nothing, feeling nothing. "Okay." A satisfied hum left Meridia's voice. "Malkoran has forced the doors shut. But this is my temple, and it responds to my decree. I will send down a ray of light. Guide this light through my temple and its doors will open." Athenath stumbled. The world fell away and reformed under them, a new world, the same one, what did it matter? It swayed under his feet, the skies congealed, sticky and melting, the clouds brandished heavy lights into their weary eyes, the ground still swung as though he were a fish caught in a net and being tossed aboard a ship.

As Nirn came back to him one piece at a time, he blinked hard against the pounding in their head. A faint, high humming thrilled the air, nerves spiking the hair on the back of their necks. Athenath looked up from where they'd bent over on the ground, knees aching from the stone beneath him. Wyndrelis stood mere inches from him, Restoration magic readied with one hand, Destruction with the other. "Are you alright?" Emeros called out, catching their attention. Athenath snapped his bleary gaze to him, the pounding in their head subsiding. "Yeah, I'm good," they managed out through dry swallowings of air, attempting to steady themself back to the world around him. Stumbling to his feet, Athenath ignored the ranting of one of the Vigilants, eyes finding the statue, the stairs down the mountain, head full of the words Meridia spoke to him. Emeros sent a cautious look their way, expression calming as he shot a glance where Athenath had been looking, then back to the Altmer.

#skyrim fic #tesblr #tes v #skyrim fanfiction #tes fic #bishop.txt #oc ; athenath #cycle of the serpent #my writing #oc ; emeros #oc ; wyndrelis #wip wednesday #daedric prince meridia #meridia #tes meridia #skyrim #tes v skyrim

[moreclaypigeons]

Mountain Goats fans how are we feeling

Jenny 2... I will put all my analysis about what these things mean under the cut. I would also like to note that after i took these screenshots the 11th (pirate ship sunset) just... disappeared? The post was gone for a fair bit but then came back. may have been a glitch. or maybe a ghost ship.

Here's what I'm getting story-wise:

Someone rode away on their custom Kawasaki with a stinger on the back, leaving the speaker there at the curb so they had to take a bus. But they never saw them again, no one did. Flaky yellow paint of the Kawasaki.. staying up late thinking about how the relationship ended. Time passes and it's winter and they have search parties out for this person. The person crashed while on their bike. And then the speaker realizes it. And the person is dead the end

Now in terms of allusions to the song Jenny:

"You roared into the driveway of our southwestern ranch style house": the house in the first image reasonably fits that description. "Our house faced west": based on the shadows here, the house DOES face either east or west because of the direction that the sun rises.

"on a new Kawasaki, all yellow and black, fresh out of the showroom.": It's the same bike! But, based on the line in the third post, "flaky yellow paint," some time has passed.

"the big orange sun" we see in the 11th image, where the pirate ship sails into the sunset. the image also alludes to "you pointed your headlamp toward the horizon," and "the pirate's life for me!"

post 10 is interesting because it too draws from the pirate's life line, but the imagery is different, and definitely connects/foreshadows the graveyard image. Here is an excerpt from the wikipedia page for jolly rogers: When the pirates' intended victim was within range, the Jolly Roger would be raised, often simultaneously with a warning shot. The flag was probably intended as communication of the pirates' identity, which may have given target ships an opportunity to decide to surrender without a fight.

Miscellaneous:

image 7, with the grecian vase imagery is reminding me of spent gladiator.

i have no idea what the fuck the water tower means.

image 12 depicts a music staff with some notes on it. i know nothing about music but i do know the internet does so i am currently trying to reconstruct it with a program. update mmaybe will follor?

other songs:

According to what John Darnielle has said in hit podcast "i only listen to the mountain goats," Jenny has appeared in 2 or 3 other songs.

"She calls on the phone in Night Light" and "she calls on the phone in Straight Six" and was the sender of postcards in Source Decay. He says, "She is defined by an absence, she has yet to speak. She's in the song Jenny; the other two songs she's in, she's already gone. …She's not there when things are going well, and she's not remembered when things are going well. Jenny is an emblem of more difficult times for people, of wilder times. But also times that they're pretty clearly romanticizing, right, that they're also remembering as the time when they were on a motorcycle with no responsibilities, livin' the pirate's life."

Of course I'm going to listen to those three songs <3

Night light: "Jenny calls from Montana/ She's only passing through / Probably never see her again in this life I guess" oh but we WILL see her again... And then never again. "I was a red dot blinking on a screen up overhead / And then the room went dark" and "Plug a night light in / Leave the porch light on" remind me of the bedside clock and the gas station.

Holy shit Straight Six. I didn't realize this was on Jam Eater Blues until I went to its page on the wiki, but- this is significant cause on their linktree, "stream jam eater blues" is at the top and i was confused cause they also released a bunch of other shit. this is foreshadowing...

Anyways significant moments of Straight Six:

"Dull powder blue paint job / earl scheib special" this could either be the auto station (#2) or the fact that the speaker's car has an earl scheib special paint job (had to research this), which maybe he got from the same auto shop. This song talks a lot about a car. "Rabbit skull hanging from the rear-view" "And I glide down the streets of this city / All night, uptight" "There's a crack in the windshield eighteen inches long / Evaporating snow forming crystals on the chrome" it's hard to tell from the drawing of the van whether there is a crack on the windshield or whether it's just stylized, but..this does intrigue me. And when I heard them mention SNOW immediately after... when the caption to the van post says "searching in the snow".......

Source Decay also mentions driving and cars a lot. Couldn't find anything more significant than what the other songs have though.

If anyone has any other thoughts to share or disagrees or like I missed something- PLEase share i am so eager to hear/talk about this!

#sierra speaks #tmg #the mountain goats #jenny 2 #tmg jenny #mountain goats

[mizgnomer]

Behind the Scenes of Blink - Part Six

Excerpt from The Times interview with David Tennant - Titled Who's Hot - by Caitlin Moran (March 30, 2007)

Dismissing the possibility that, paradoxically, becoming the Doctor could ultimately ruin the show for him -- "I know what you mean, because all the surprises are gone, but I'd have gone mad if I'd turned it down and watched someone else do it" -- Tennant instead spends the next hour discussing the show with all the enthusiasm and mild geekery of a fan, albeit a particularly privileged one. Discussing certain titillating morsels that Russell T. Davies has thrown into previous episodes, then not returned to - such as the intriguing news that the Doctor has, at some point, been a father - Tennant yelps and says "I know!  I'll be reading these things going 'When are you coming back to that?' Often he does. But sometimes," he says, leaning forward, "he just drops them in for wickedness.  There's something he's done in the next series, and I said 'What's that all about?' and he replied 'Oh, I've just put it in because it's funny'.  The internet forums will go into meltdown." He beams.  "But you know, he knows what he wants as a fan. You want to be discussing it all the next week.  You want to float different theories on what will happen next.  That's part of the pleasure." Tennant is stalwart in his enthusiasm for his new assistant, Freema Agyeman. "It's a totally different energy - she comes from a totally different starting place. She's very upfront about fancying [the Doctor], so he has to be very upfront about not being into it. It's a completely new dynamic." It's Who 2.1, perhaps, I suggest. "Yes!" Tennant beams. "Who 2.1!"

Link to [ part one ] of the Blink Behind-the-scenes posts, or click the whoBtsBlink link, or the full episode list [ here ]

#david tennant #freema agyeman #doctor who #rtdedit #blink #I do love stories of enthusiastic david #stuff i posted #whoBts #whoBtsBlink #I wonder whether RTD's funny thing is the Face of Boe #or the Macra

[revvethasmythh]

trick or treat! 🦇

okay I THINK I've shared this particular excerpt once before but it's both relevant and makes me laugh so *captain holt voice* you'll read it again!

“What really happened?” Luc asked, blurting the words out so quickly it took her a moment to register what he’d said.  She blinked. “What? What really happened when?” He hesitated. It was never a good sign when he hesitated. Usually he just said whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. “That time,” he said, nervously plucking at his pant leg, “when you were gone. What really happened? Dad never told me. And I…I guess I never had the nerve to ask you before. Because you were gone, Mom. For, like, a while. And I remember being with Edith? I think? Because Dad was gone, too, and-and, yeah. That sucked. But you guys have never…you’ve never told me what was actually going on. And Caleb always speaks in these long-winded Zemnian riddles. I think he does it to throw me off so I won’t ask him about it any more.” “You’ve asked Caleb about this?” Veth asked with a jolt. “Well, yeah,” Luc said, like this was an obvious conclusion. “At least he says more than Caduceus does. All Cad’s ever said was ‘It was a lot.’”

#me @ me on the floor thinking about how much luc does and does not know about what happened when veth was gone #rotating it in my brain as we speak #asks #essektheylyss #trick or treat #luc brenatto #veth brenatto

[averysexyleon]

in which wintersberg progress

(longest excerpt ever, sorry)

Karl squinted.  He took Ethan’s hand, and just when Ethan wondered what in the world he was doing, Heisenberg turned the palm over and pulled away the gauze. Then, Heisenberg looked up, with that suspicious squint. 

“Don’t you uh…have a uh.  Partner.  Who’ll tell you those things?  That boulder punching asshole ?” 

Ethan frowned at the name, and then frowned more deeply at the question.  He tried to formulate a response, and realized this felt entirely too similar to the days he had to cover for Mia.  To formulate, for his friends and colleagues, an explanation of what happened with her.  Why she disappeared.  And before that, why she was gone for so long even though they were married.  

As Ethan fumbled an answer, Heisenberg nodded, an almost ethereal light filtering into his irises from the moonlight behind Ethan.  “Ahhh.  I see.  He never told you.  Never intended to.”  Heisenberg bit his lip.

Clearly he wanted to say more, chastise Redfield worse.  But at the very miserable expression on Ethan’s face, he forced himself to sigh instead.  Karl took both of Ethan’s hands, cradling them with a gentleness he didn’t quite seem capable of. 

“Ethan.  I’ll tell you, I will.  But I’ll also tell you…this kinda secret.  The kind Mia had, the kind Chris has–these ain’t the secrets you get to learn, and keep your relationship.  Why the hell d’you think she worked so hard to keep you from knowin’? Cause she wanted to keep you.”   A calloused thumb stroked over Ethan’s hand, and he could feel his own heart beating in his throat.  

His voice really was a whisper.  “How…how do you know all that, about Mia?”

“D’you understand what I’m tellin’ you right now.  You don’t get to know the truth of things, and then go back to playin’ housewife, Winters.  With anybody.  Knowin’ the truth isolates the fuck outta you.”

Why did Ethan’s heart feel like it would explode?  The same relationship anxiety that he’d always felt was creeping in on him.  He’d known all this was true, hadn’t he? Heisenberg just had the guts to put it into words.  And oh no, his vision was blurring, the intent, scarred face in front of him fading in sharpness when tears stung his eyes.  Oh no.  

The hands over his hands made their way to his cheeks.  Karl was going to kiss him, wasn’t he? He was right there, he was staring at Ethan’s lips, and his breath was hot, and he was RIGHT THERE…Ethan tried very desperately to speak or blink or do something that didn’t involve a trembling sob, but he failed, and Heisenberg didn’t kiss anything.  He held Ethan’s face, and tilted his own head to the side slightly.  His voice became a rumble, audible somewhere in Ethan’s throat, alongside the heartbeat.  

“I just want you know what you’re gettin’ into, by askin’.  If you can handle that.  You can hate me if you want to.  But I’ll tell you the truth.” 

Heisenberg’s question was sincere, his eyes almost pleading.  “You still trust me?”

There was a thick silence between them, Karl not daring to move, and finally Ethan wiped his eyes again and nodded, fervently.  His wandering eyes met Karl’s again, and he saw the relief there.  The satisfaction.  The silence stayed.  Ethan was staring at Heisenberg strangely; the engineer drew away, finally-slightly, and countered the stare with a, “What?”

Deeply embarrassed, the blond admitted with fiery red cheeks, “I thought...you were gonna kiss me.” 

Heisenberg looked confused, and finally the bright, dangerous smile returned.  Wide, in all its glory, with cheek creases and a raised brow that put more wrinkles onto the scarred forehead.  He pulled farther away, and adjusted the coat jacket, which had come unbuttoned during his fiery pacing earlier.  “Don’t be ridiculous, Winters,” he teased in a more characteristically exuberant tone.  He tipped his head sideways; it looked even more boyish without the hat. “Not til you’re single.” 

With a wink, he strode out the door, leaving Ethan to feel the fire on his cheeks and the sudden return of a cold bite – wind against his neck.  

le full chapter here

#wintersberg #karl heisenberg #ethan winters #chris redfield #mia winters #wintersfield

[sunsafewriting]

turn to above - chapter 1 (3.4k)

Beatrice is the one who goes through the Arc. She doesn't come back the same, but that's alright.

chapter excerpt:

Ava kneels at the base of the Arc. 

She holds Beatrice as carefully as she can, but no amount of care will make any difference now. 

"It’s okay," Beatrice says, even though it isn’t. She lifts her hand, the tips of her fingers brushing Ava’s cheek, and Ava can feel the blood they leave there: proof that they touched. 

A blue glow flickers down over them. 

Is there a sun in Reya’s realm? Ava wonders suddenly. Will she be sending Beatrice somewhere dark?

"I’ll come with you, okay?" Ava promises. "We’ll go together." 

Beatrice shakes her head. "They need you here." 

All that’s really left is to let Beatrice go, but Ava finds that she can’t, that letting go is actually physically impossible, that she’s incapable of it. 

Beatrice isn’t crying, but Ava is; it makes everything blurry, and she does her best to blink it away. 

"It’s okay," Beatrice says again. It’s the last thing she says. 

There’s the echo of Lilith’s footsteps as she approaches, and her presence behind Ava no longer feels like a threat. "You have to send her through." Lilith’s voice sounds flat. A sheer drop. "Ava, send her now ." 

It does have to be now — Ava’s hands are warm with blood and Beatrice’s breathing is getting shallower. 

"I love you," Ava tells her, but already, Beatrice’s eyes have closed.

For a moment, she looks kind of peaceful, and when Ava lifts her, she passes through the Arc so easily, drawn by something on the other side. 

There's a shimmer of brilliant light before the Arc shuts off.

And then it’s just Ava and Lilith, alone in the room where they both tried to kill each other and neither of them died. 

"She was still alive, right?" Ava asks. "She didn’t — she wasn’t — I didn’t wait too long, did I?" 

When Lilith next speaks, she’s closer — beside Ava, as she hasn’t been in months. Maybe they’re not enemies anymore, even if they’ll never forgive each other. "She was still alive," Lilith swears. She grips Ava’s shoulder, and this time, she doesn’t leave claw marks. 

Ava repeats it tonelessly: "She’s still alive." 

Beatrice is still alive, still alive, still alive. 

But she’s also gone. 

#forgot to post about this yesterday i just went to bed #anyyway new fic lmao (we have to laugh) #sunsafewriting #avatrice #ava x bea #ava x beatrice #avatrice fic #avatrice fanfic