wintersday (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wintersday) wrote2021-05-23 08:36 pm
wintersday) wrote2021-05-23 08:36 pm
Fic: Survivors
Title: Survivors
Fandom: The Magnus Archives
Characters/pairings: Melanie/Georgie
Wordcount: 200
Rating: Teen
POV: Third person
Summary: Two scenes from after the end of the world.
Notes: Originally written as a giftfic for borderparasol on AO3.
They’re doing everything they can. Melanie reminds herself of this, because her therapist is now her fucking follower, so nobody else will remind her. She needs patience. She keeps her knife close, stepping into the world, and she doesn’t use it.
Blindness is no disadvantage when geography warps underfoot; she’s got a surer chance of finding her way home than Georgie, because it's memory and certainty that guide her. But she still hears the water drip in someone’s basement nightmare, smells the rot and mold before they pull him free.
This will end. It has to end. She’ll end it.
She’ll find a way, one day, to burn it down. She dreams of it, and wakes shivering, Georgie’s arms around her and Georgie’s face pressed to the back of her neck, her breathing soft and even. And on those nights, or mornings, she lies there, wanting to believe that Georgie’s dreams are clean and peaceful, hoping that losing fear also stole a little grief. Then Georgie wakes. Her hands slide over Melanie’s hips, slow and easy or rough and urgent, and Melanie twists to face her. Her fingertips find heat in the darkness. She remembers a different kind of fire.
Fandom: The Magnus Archives
Characters/pairings: Melanie/Georgie
Wordcount: 200
Rating: Teen
POV: Third person
Summary: Two scenes from after the end of the world.
Notes: Originally written as a giftfic for borderparasol on AO3.
They’re doing everything they can. Melanie reminds herself of this, because her therapist is now her fucking follower, so nobody else will remind her. She needs patience. She keeps her knife close, stepping into the world, and she doesn’t use it.
Blindness is no disadvantage when geography warps underfoot; she’s got a surer chance of finding her way home than Georgie, because it's memory and certainty that guide her. But she still hears the water drip in someone’s basement nightmare, smells the rot and mold before they pull him free.
This will end. It has to end. She’ll end it.
She’ll find a way, one day, to burn it down. She dreams of it, and wakes shivering, Georgie’s arms around her and Georgie’s face pressed to the back of her neck, her breathing soft and even. And on those nights, or mornings, she lies there, wanting to believe that Georgie’s dreams are clean and peaceful, hoping that losing fear also stole a little grief. Then Georgie wakes. Her hands slide over Melanie’s hips, slow and easy or rough and urgent, and Melanie twists to face her. Her fingertips find heat in the darkness. She remembers a different kind of fire.