#more flashbacks

[dia-viller]

I kinda wish that in "Murtagh" there would've been some scenes of Murtagh's life in the court after he swore fealty to Galbatorix.

How Lyreth and his crew reacted after Murtagh became a dragon rider. How did they react after finding out that Murtagh was fighting for the Varden and was Eragon's friend once. And the scene where Murtagh tries to scry Eragon

[everykabuto]

[naralanis]

Perhaps, Chapter 47

AKA: Druella is a despicable monster, I'M SORRY

Read on AO3

“That document details the proceedings of an investigation of my family—of me, more specifically—that took place from late 1980 to early 1984, give or take.” Narcissa spoke firmly but softly, in a monotone shrouded in practiced nonchalance. It contrasted horribly to the clear worry in her gaze.

“However, I do believe it would be... beneficial for us to go a little further back, if only so that you may perhaps understand it all a bit more clearly.”

Hermione nodded, watching intently as Narcissa perused the numerous phials neatly arranged on the wall with a pained expression. “Whatever you think is best.”

Narcissa took a long time to select a memory—she hesitated between several, running her fingers over the phials and making them rattle faintly as she murmured to herself under her breath. Once she finally settled on one, her eyes seemed to glaze over as she read the label. Hermione couldn't read it from where she stood, and before she could try, Narcissa's palm closed over the phial in a white-knuckled grip.

Her gaze was icy when it met Hermione's.

“I will warn you one last time,” she said sombrely as she uncorked the phial, pouring the silvery smoke of her memories down into the ethereal swirls of the Pensieve. “You will learn awful things. You'll witness awful things, and you'll wish—” her voice broke— "you'll wish I had never showed you.”

Hermione met her gaze head on, refusing to falter. “I'll make up my own mind—but thank you. For warning me.”

Blue eyes narrowed and Narcissa's arm stretched over the Pensieve—her hand was cold to the touch once Hermione took it, and her words were lost to the swirls of the memories below.

“Very well, then.”

[marcirose]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

I almost forgot to update this chapter oops. Anyway one of the few truths of this chapter has been revealed, and there will be more on the way. I also wanted to write more of Terra and Aqua and sprinkle in a little more of their backstory. We're gonna switch the focus up a bit next chapter. Anyway comments are always appreciated, and stay tuned!

[ask-felixhugofraldarius]

Ha poor Dimitri. What about Ingrid, what was the funniest thing that happened to her when she was a kid?

Ingrid always loved the peagsi that were in the stables. Once she hopped on one without supervision and it took off with her. When they landed they had traveled from Fraldarius all the way to Fhirdiad.

I had actually witnessed her hop onto the Pegasus. I had to tell Glenn and he panicked before a few days later she can be back with the boar.

[official-wolf-adam]

"Hey Takashi... Since it's the last day before thanksgiving break I thought we might go out for a nice dinner?" Adam suggests, turning to look at Shiro.

@official-priest-shiro

[leggylance]

season 3 isn’t even out but i Know it’s gonna be my favorite. it’s my best friend and it has my trust

[beautifulthingsbook-blog]

I paged ahead through Human Beauty In Art; the next section contained mostly women. I blinked at every page and every girl I'd ever felt for flashed against my eyelid, like a film reel. Shoshanna in a sundress from my primary school, Margot Fletcher the subversive in Docs from year twelve, Elle Graham from Cambridge who certainly deflowered me rather than the other way 'round. Rosie Herriot, my Pallas.

I smiled, and felt warm. Warmth and fondness in the very bottom of my stomach, that was all. No pain, no breathlessness. Warmth. That was all.

That was all.

“Ulysses! Ulysses Earnest!”

I was six years old. My mother's burr woke the dust in every corner of the art museum. I could feel my father's footsteps vibrate up through the gilded arches.

“I know where he is, Madge, he's checking out the old Greek nudies again; you saw how thrilled with them he was the first time we went through...”

“Mummy,” I called from the sculpture room. The steps quickened. I heard my father's chuckle, full of pipe smoke.

“Ulysses,” she cried, her knees buckling in front of me as she took up my hands. “Don't wander off, if I've told you once I've told you a thousand times...”

“I'm sorry,” I sighed. “I just really like the statues.”

“What a little rascal,” my father said, laying a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Found the naughtiest room in the museum, did you?”

I was stunned. How offensive. “W- No sir, I-”

“Nothing to be shamed of, boy; curiosity is only natural.”

“It's time to go, Sweets,” said my mum, cutting off my protestations. My father had already strode off towards the front door, and her heels clicked off in his direction.

I reached for her hand and clasped her wrist. “Mum,” I huffed, exasperated.

She heard me and stopped hard, hearing brevity in my little voice that drew her eyes up wide. “Lyss.”

“It's- it's not the bodies,” I breathed. “It's their faces. I love their faces.”

Margaret Exeter examined me through the eyes she gave me. Her black curls bobbed about her round face as she nodded, buying time. Her thin, soft lips pursed and opened.

“Madge! Taxi's waiting!”

She lingered on me another second or two, then slipped her wrist through to my hand and held it tight. “Alright Warwick, give us a moment; it's not our fault you walk so quickly!”

We rode to the station in a black cab. I leaned my face into the window and thought of cheekbones and chins, and of absolute languor and delicious thoughtlessness and imminent greatness and optimism to be seen in the pupilless eyes of the Hellenic statue boys, before words like 'languor' and 'Hellenic' were the first to come to mind. They were beautiful things. I smiled to myself.

“It's a relief, isn't it,” my father said lowly, in Mum's ear. “To see him doing... normal boy things. I was worried about the little chap for awhile.”

She took a deep breath. I felt her eyes on my back for the briefest second. “Yes,” she replied. Her resolve was mere plastic. “It is.”

I rubbed my face hard and slammed the book shut.