#both unedited except for the typos i caught in copying over to tumblr el oh el

[pricemarshfield]

last six sentences

tagged by @wetcatspellcaster, and ty for the tag!!

okay so TECHNICALLYYY the last several sentences i've written are on one of my queen b fics but bg3 my beloved is still the main thing Haunting me. soooo a bit of the next "all things end" chapter (which will, god willing, be out tonight or tomorrow) AND some of an as-yet-unnamed raphtav fic which will be out, presumably. at some point

tagging @reallyhatethiswebsite @pouralaura @atrueneutral @a-treides aaand @bravestworriers, as well as anyone else that'd like to :))

all things end

Ina's not an idiot; Bea watches the realization of what that means wash over her in real time. Surprise and upset and relief, most of all. Bea could throttle her for it. She lets the mutual acknowledgment of what they're here to talk about linger in the air for a moment before leaning forward. "...I see." Bea can't help from roll her eyes at that. "Oh, you do, do you?" Ina frowns. "Bea." Bea smiles, a sharp-edged snarl of a thing. (She's seen pictures; it looks like a baring of teeth when she's not actively trying to make it sweet.) "Ina." Ina sighs, exactly like a professor disappointed in their student would. No--like a disappointed school teacher, like Bea's not even an adult yet, let alone a full person worthy of having an actual relationship with. Bea half-expects Ina to chide her, call her childish, but she just says, "Don't make this conversation any harder, Bea." "Fine, then," Bea says, placidly calm in the way that Zoey would recognize as alarming, and that Ina just looks further relieved by. "Then let's not drag this out any longer than it needs to be. It's over. That good enough for you?"

raphtav but they're both still the worst people in the world <3

Loath as Raphael is to admit it, the idea isn’t without merit. No longer is his arena one governed by reason, logic, order; no, instead it’s a contest determined by the shallowest of appearances, rather than true charisma and vision. Certainly he beats out the would-be tyrant in spades, in all matters, and yet: the polls show the brat leading. No matter that Gortash’s top priority “of utmost importance” flits between whatever fad strikes the populace, no matter that all his so-called allies loathe him, no matter that his hair is the only thing in the world greasier than the diner Raphael’s been summoned to. It’s a test, because it must be. No one would enjoy the Blushing Mermaid, unless Ms. March herself is suffering from a far worse bout of smoke inhalation than he thought. Can such a thing cause brain damage? But then, the glee on her face as she slides across from him suggests an active malice on her part. He’s relieved by it; that’s certainly easier to keep in check. “Raphael,” Tav greets, smiling politely at the waitress as she passes. “A pleasure to meet you again.” “Likewise,” he says, because she certainly looks far better out of the soot-stained, bulky gear she’d had on last they met.