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It takes him many years to finish, and he knows he isn’t really done so much as arbitrarily chosen a stopping point for the moment. He presents the manuscipt to the Queen. To his amusement and horror, she makes him a Duke for it.
It will not return his fingers. He doesn’t expect it to. But when Will finally destroys the blade of the subtle knife, it makes him finally feel whole again.
He’d still have gone to Vermont, if there had been an oracle warning him about his future (especially the parts about walking around inside alien guts). It’s just, you know, he’d have been better prepared. Maybe brought better shoes.
Mary Malone, ocelot:
It’s not that she’s disappointed to have a bird daemon, because she understands some of the symbolism behind it, and it’s not like she could have chosen anyway. Her daemon was formed before she ever knew him. But a little bit of her likes to think she’d have had something more dangerous, like a wolf or an ocelot.
Otto von Chriek, oscillate:
There is a moment, just before he dissolves, where Otto can feel the whole of the world oscillate in perfectly imperfect waves. The light hits everything just so, making his nerves sing. And then, nothing.
Sometimes it pains her to think that she will be dead one day. It is, of course, the natural conclusion to the life she leads. But it still makes her heart ache to know that she will leave behind a skeleton, bones in a family crypt, while he will turn to dust.
When Lady Fire and her husband the Prince come to Lienid the first time, the King escorts them to a symphony as part of their welcome. Brigan spends the evening watching Fire, who watches the orchestra with delight. She smiles at him after, and he falls in love all over again.
Will struggles to explain to his classmates at university why his girlfriend always has her ferret with her, because it’s frankly a little weird. Lyra just gets indignant that they don’t know the difference between a ferret and a marten. He just shrugs, and sighs, as if it were perfectly normal: “Symbiotic relationships.”
1. The bench is gone. Will stands in the dappled sunlight of midsummer, staring in confusion at the place where his heart has rested for more of his life than not. The bench is gone, wisps of pollen dancing in sunbeams like visible Dust where it ought to be. There is a small, craggy rosebush in its place, and a sundial.
Will is thirty six years old, but he feels its loss like he is thirteen again, like he has lost his fingers again, like he has lost Lyra again.
"That old thing? It’ll be cut down for mulch. Half of it lost to rot," explains a gardener when found and pressed. But even so, he lets Will carefully saw off the arm carved with their names, and accepts his thanks—and cash—with an amused smile.
2. The bench is gone. Lyra is not surprised, because it feels like most things are gone from that brief part of her life by now, even as it reopens hurts she isn’t sure have ever healed. Will ever heal. She stands in the garden, the day overcast and a little cool to be midsummer, frowning at the place where it ought to be. There is a new sundial in its place surrounded by a bed of of rose bushes, still mostly thorns and little else.
Lyra fingers the papers in her pocket and sighs. She had brought with her the official notice of Iorek’s death, addressed to her from the embassy, to read to Will. Everything is being lost, it seems.
"Over here! Look, Lyra, over here!" Pan chatters excitedly, so she goes to him by the new rose bed. Scattered amongst the stems and thorns are pieces of dark wood, chipped into mulch, and near the top of the pile is a piece with her name carved into it, as familiar as the grain of Pan’s fur. So the bench hadn’t moved so much as changed form, she realizes with a laugh. Together they dig out the matching piece with Will carved into it. Lyra pockets them both, and strolls out of the garden towards home. A change, yes, but not lost. Not forever.
ETA: ao3 link: The Bench, Will/Lyra, G
The Boat - Iorek/G/sobbing. For andtheworldahead and Nina, for maximum crying.
Everything turns to dust, and Dust, including the bears in the end.
To be afraid of death would be to reject his innate nature as a panserbjørn. Iorek is not afraid, or sad, simply ready. He has seen other worlds, travelled to their shores and tested the boundaries of life.
Rarely, he has found himself wondering if bears truly do not have souls because they do not have daemons, and what that would mean upon his own death. Panserbjørn do not go in for introspection. But he would like to know Lee again, when he becomes dust. And, maybe, Dust.”
“Meditations on Death by the Panserbjorn" by bitterblue (AO3)
#y’all better shut your damn mouths #hdm #into this wilde abyss#WAIT OMG ALI WROTE THIS#THERE’S AN ALI QUOTE ON MY DASH COMPLETELY UNASSOCIATED WITH ALI OTHER THAN THROUGH ALI’S WORDS#ALI RAD RAD ALI #seriously tho ali can imitate any style it’s eerie and amazing
Tags from the OP: “WHY WOULD YOU WRITE SOMETHING LIKE THIS #DO YOU WANT ME TO LIE FACEDOWN IN MY TEARS #HE WOUD LIKE TO KNOW LEE AGAIN WHEN HE BECOMES DUST. AND MAYBE DUST. #WHY #HIS DARK MATERIALS #FANFICTION" Yessssssss it feels so good yessssss.
in the courtyard: she meant to back away, to leave them in private, and later she wouldn’t have been able to explain what possessed her to shrink back behind one of the endless topiaries and watch through the leaves. [bitterblue, katsa/po]
the kissing traditions of monsea: the library smells of ink and paper - and nothing like blood. [death, leck]
eta: hahaha it took me so long to figure out i typoed katsa as katniss
that happens more often than i’d like to admit actually
<3 I love it when people rec my stuff.
Could I maybe get a prompt or six in any of the fandoms I typically write for? If you have a specific fandom in mind, mention it, otherwise suggest 3-7 random/”random” words and I’ll run with it.