The Bartimaeus fandom keeps breaking my heart so I'll break theirs for a change

There are so many people at her funeral.

He doesn’t know whether to be should be glad or angry at this. On one hand, she’d deserved it. She deserved to have people sobbing and shedding tears at her absence, people who realized what a gap her death left in the world (or his world, anyway, you’d think he’d gotten used to these wounds by now, but each hole still stings after all these years and this brand new one is huge, a Kitty-shaped hole that will never, ever heal)

But these people don’t know her. They shed a tear for the hero of the Resistance, the one who brought the magicians down, without even thinking of what she’d done for them. Everything that she had given up for them (she’d also had wounds, and her own prime one was a Nathaniel-shaped scar), all the years and energy and strength and tears and blood—

They don’t care. They never will. He doesn’t blame them, because how can they mourn someone they didn’t know? They might mourn Kathleen Jones, but he’s grieving for Kitty, for the shifty-faced human who burned brighter than twenty thousands suns whenever he changed eyes, for the girl who’s gone to hell and back for him, who slept badly and liked climbing and dancing in the rain. He grieves for the fire that burned in her eyes, the way her face lit up after a long day’s climb, when she finally saw the view (it was stupid of her, he could take her up much quicker but she’d always refused because even though her bones and muscles had eroded forty years too young she loved to feel them sing, she loved the sweat and heavy breath and concentration that came with her using her body. She’d asked him a few times to recite sonnets for her while she climbed and from another human he would never have taken it and yet he spoke words that were hundreds of years old just to see the delight spread on her face), her passion and strength and sheer force of will that had brought an empire and the endless cycle of history to its knees.

They’re descending her coffin down in the earth and he has to struggle not to burst out of the crowd and yell at them because it isn’t right, Kitty shouldn’t be resting down there in the cold, dirty earth, she doesn’t belong there. She should be given to the air and fire, her ashes dancing across the sky, in a last dance of triumph. She should be here besides him, snorting at the way people are treating her body and grabbing his arm so they can go run in the park and then stop to rest under a tree, laughing and talking as though she weren’t a fragile human and he weren’t a five-thousand year old djinni, but just two old friends spending their lives together. She should be back in the Other Place part of a whole and him part of her part of him part of all so that they’ll never be apart.

People never get what they deserve, don’t they?

Nathaniel, his last words for the two people who had mattered the most to him before the spectre unleashed white, white light, Ptolemy so young and strong and smiling crookedly even as blood ran down his young old face when he gave him his last gift—

He wonders why his essence isn’t bleeding out and packed with silver, because surely it would hurt less than the gaping wounds in his soul. Wounds in the shape of people he’d loved.

Kitty, face ravaged by years that had never passed and a thousands suns hugging her body

i hate yongguk

Clearly HBO got word that America hates Sean Avery. Since he was not in an episode except the first one, doing his modeling crap.

edit: Well this makes this claim even better: He got waived…again. when you dont play much, and when you make it on the ice all you do is get penalty minutes for your team, this is what happens to ya. Best of luck asshole Avery.

fragileasapapercup replied to your post: fragileasapapercup replied to your post: plot…

So you really are *the* queen of the Bare fandom. Wow.

mmhmm you betcha