AVATRICE FOR THE WIN

when you find a fanfic writer whose work just sings to you… i would read anything you write…. i would wade into a tag no matter how deranged… i would travel to the ends of the earth for you if only to soothe your little oyster shell just so you would be comfortable enough to make another pearl whenever you felt like it … i would love you tenderly and support you as you carefully place every grain of sand onto your little castle, regardless of how long it takes, if only to enjoy your words just a little longer

hey op,

WHAT THE FUCK THIS IS INCREDIBLE

Made an arcane fan animation hehe

Could you reblog this if you enjoy seeing your writer friends ramble about their wips on your dash?

not me trying to write 4 aus because i got too many ideas at once

(it’s actually great tho)

OAAAAAAAAA LOUDER FOR THE PEOPLE IN THE BACK

what a beautiful day to remember that trans people of color exist and deserve better

losing my shit over this

In approximately 2 hours half of my exams will be over jsjajdhdhhs

exCUSE ME WHAT THIS IS VERY RUDE AND IT ALSO SCRATCHES MY BRAIN IN EXACTLY THE RIGHT WAY I NEED MOOOOOOREEEEE

Ava was dying.

Strangely enough, it wasn't what bothered her the most. 

Beatrice had been angry at her. They had had an argument and Ava had stormed off like some god damn child and avoided her for the rest of the day. 

It wasn't like she knew this would happen. It wasn't like she had planned to stumble into the church with a hand pressed against her waist in an effort to keep the blood from slipping through her fingers. 

Her hands were slick as she fumbled with her phone. The screen lit up and momentarily distracted her from the glowing divinium blown into her skin. She typed in the number she'd memorised by heart – which was a fact that had annoyed her a few hours ago, and it took a few tries to get her phone ringing. "Pick up, pick up, pick up…" –hello, this is the voicemail of Beatrice Young. I can't reach the phone right now– "God damn it!" 

Ava hung up, clicked again, willing herself to stay conscious as it ringed. One, two, three... hello, this is the voicemail of Beatrice Young, I can't pick–"Fuck! Shit. I need you to pick up, Bea." Her voice wavered, "I need you..." 

She clicked again. 

Hello, this is the voicemail of Beatrice Young. I can't pick up the phone right now so leave a message after the beep, please. 

Ava choked back a sob. She wanted to hear Beatrice's voice so bad. She wanted Beatrice to speak to her. If a voicemail was the best she could do so be it, Beatrice must still be giving her the silent treatment. 

Her voice shook. "Bea, I'm sorry– I'm sorry. I love you so much. I'm sorry." 

She paused, almost waiting for a response.

"It's Ava. Please call me back when you get this. Please." 

Ava hung up. She wanted her to call her back. So she dialled the number again, not caring for the red marks on the screen anymore. 

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Hello, this is the voicemail of Beatrice Young. I can't pick up the phone right now so leave a message after the beep, please. 

"Bea, I'm scared." Ava began. Her mouth was dry. "The- the halo won't heal me... I want to see you again. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said those mean things. I love you so much, you make my life worth living." 

Ava was broken. Her vision was doubling and she was losing the will to stay awake. 

"I think I'm... think I'm dying... I just wanted to say sorry. I love you so, so much. I'm at the church on the west side, please come as soon as you can." Ava had no clue what else to say. "I don't want to leave you. It's so scary. I'm scared."

She laid back with an audible gasp of pain. Shouldn't have done that. "Is it okay if I stay on the line?" 

"I wish you were here... Bea..." 

Ava grew silent afterwards, having nothing more to say. She no longer had the energy to say anything. And she didn't have the energy to pick up the phone when it began frantically buzzing a minute later. 

I PULLED MY PHONE OUT OF MY POCKET BUT THERE WAS A RECEIPT THERE SO IT PULLED OUT A RECEIPT WITH IT AND THE RECEIPT FLEW INTO THE TOILET