#lyra belacqua fanfic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hatters-workshop · 1 year

Text

Last night I finally watched the finale of His Dark Materials, and of course it made me cry. I've read the final chapters of the Amber Spyglass so many times, and cried at each one. Was it perfect for me? No. But it never could be, because perfect for each individual reader is impossible, and an unfair thing to hope something would achieve. But it was excellent. And Dafne and Amir acted their hearts out with those lines between Lyra and Will when they're raging against the fate they're faced with, and with their promises to each other, and they broke my little heart with it. And finally hearing the "every atom of you and every atom of me..." speech... ooft that kicked me in the gut in all the right ways.

But this morning I happened to read the poem by Clare Harner that goes

Do not stand at my grave and weep

I am not there, I do not sleep

And I was hit suddenly by image after image invoked by each line, of each of them, old now and lying in bed (yes I want peace for them in the end. Some would want them to have a victorious or adventurous end but I think they deserve peace.) Pan pressing his face to Lyra's in a final embrace, and Kirjava pressing hers to Will's, and both humans whispering to their daemons that their atoms will find each other, just as they found each other when they were separated before, and Will telling Kirjava to keep Pan's atoms company while Will and Lyra find each other and look for them, and Lyra saying the same to Pan. They tell them that they know where the opening is, if they want to meet them there, but that they would find them either way. And Pan and Kirjava whisper an unneeded reminder to their humans: tell them stories.

And then a wisp of golden fire and Dust curls around a face in each world. Lyra sees her Death again, and they lead her as true as they did the first time. And Will meets his Death, and recognises them though its the first time they've met, but they lead him true, too.

And maybe Will and Lyra find each other in the land of the dead. I'm a romantic, and think even though they are so far apart and couldn't possibly know that the other was dying, they die in the same moment in their own worlds, whatever their lives have gone on to be. Because the universes kept them from being reunited in life, the least they could do is let them see each other again in death, and even with all the changes of their lives and the years they've lived, they know each other instantly. How could they not? And it's a feeling like finding something precious you have looked for every day of your life (because they have) and finally feeling the relief of finding it, and their ghosts are thin and cold and made of almost nothing. They should pass through each other, except they're made of the same kind of nothing. It doesn't feel like it did when they were in their bodies, but it's enough. Soon they'd be closer than they ever could be naturally in life. And they’re the closest they’ve been in so long. So for now, it's enough to hold each other, hand in thin, cold, ghostly hand.

They are at the jetty and the ferry man greets them, and at first he doesn't know them. He hasn't ferried anyone twice before, and he hasn't been hugged and greeted as an old friend, and Lyra wishes she could jokingly scold him for making her leave Pan last time but even now, decades later that wound is too fresh to come out as a joke, and she misses Pan even though she knows she'll be with him again soon, so she let's the chance for the joke go, and they talk to him the whole journey. They don't know if he's alive, or dead, or some other form that is just his, but he looks so genuinely cheery as they speak to him, in a way that his face looks unfamiliar with being, with so many years of his heavy duty weighing on him until now.

They tell him what happened last time they were here, of how they found their daemons like they said they would, and how the opening would let everyone he ferries back out into the world. He looks genuinely shocked at the news.

"Did no one tell you?" They ask.

"Who would tell me?" He replies.

So they tell him, that his job is not to escort people to a prison, but to deliver them back into the world to rejoin every living thing. That the people he ferries need only tell the harpies their stories: and stories, as long as they’re true, of what they saw in life, no matter how small or boring or painful, and to tell them the good news. And the weight lifted from him further, his back straightened and his face brightened, and as they stepped to the shore, he waved to them rather than regretfully returning to his collections as he had every other time, and they heard the echoes of him whispering the phrase they passed down the line last time they'd been there: "Tell them stories."

And no sooner has the sounds of the lap of his boat been eaten by the mist, but they are replaced by flutter of heavy wings.

Of Gracious Wings.

The voice that greeted them was familiar but different: still loud and bold, but it has lost its strained, cracked and painful sound. Her lips were pink instead of the red of caked, vomited blood, and her hair hung soft around her face. A diet of varied stories, even for just the years of Will and Lyra's life, exchanged for millennia of screeching cruelties in the ears of the dead, has clearly suited her, and the smell of putrefaction had faded entirely. She welcomed them, and other harpies gathered themselves around the little ghosts, as they had all been waiting to hear these tales most of all, and they will pass them on to the others, the ones that are away guiding the ghosts to their freedom, so that they can enjoy the tales too.

So Lyra and Will began at the beginning, though they knew that some of it had already been heard by their audience. They added to each other's stories, filling in details and perspectives. It wasn't a short story, and though they were eager to rejoin the world, they enjoyed the reminiscence of the triumphs, and even the pain of the losses and separations could not be skipped over, as they were all a part of their story and to avoid any part of it would be a disrespect to each other.

But then their story as each other know it finishes: their final clumsy kiss before closing the window between their worlds. Every word from then on is new, and they watch each others lips make the shapes of their tales, food for each other as much as for the harpies. The only shared touch point was every year, their shared moment of peace and closeness each Midsummer. They learned of each other's friends and families, loves and losses. Of Will's life with his mother and Mary, and Lyra's learning in St Sophia's and reconnecting with the alethiometer at long last. Of who they were leaving behind in their own worlds, who would mourn them, despite their promises that they were going to go on to be a part of in every world. And as they reached the end of their stories as they could be told; as they reach that very moment, sitting on the floor of the world of the dead, surrounded by harpies and holding each others hands, their words ran out as they just. Look at each other. And smile. Hand held in cold, thin, ghostly hand.

So they rose, and Gracious Wings escorted them personally to the window they had made so long ago now. They waited their turn, though the queue was constantly moving on eager ghostly feet, desperate to return to the world as were, to feel the sun’s rays on their face once more, before they become part of those rays.

They take a moment, hanging back as other ghosts pass through, to look back out across that other world’s horizon. With delight they find it’s changed for the better: the huge seed pod trees seem to be growing stronger and healthier, and though they only had a small view through the window, there are no signs of them dying off like they were before.

They whispered amongst themselves briefly about doing as Will’s father and Lee Scoresby and all those brave people that held their ghosts together to step out into the world to fight in Asriel’s last stand against Metatron. To hold their particles together long enough to return to the mulefa’s world, revisit the trees they knew, see that spot by the river where they held those little red fruits to each other’s lips.

“No,” says Will at length. “We’ve made Kirjava and Pan wait long enough. We’ve waited long enough, too.”

“Plus,” Lyra says, almost giddy, “Soon enough we’ll be part of that river and those berries and everything else too.”

So they step up to the edge of the window, and smell the air and feel the warmth of the sun with the last time on these faces.

Do not stand at my grave and weep.

I am not there. I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.

I am the diamond glints on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain.

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning's hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry –

I am not there. I did not die.

#his dark materials #hdm #northern lights #philip pullman #golden compass #lyra belacqua #lyra silvertongue #will parry #pantalaimon #hdm spoilers #fanfiction #i didnt actually mean to write fanfiction but i think i did #headcanon #do not stand by my grave and weep i am not there i do not sleep #kirjava #long post #fanfic #hdm fanfic

173 notes · View notes

queenofnabooty · 1 year

Text

Children like this are considered an act of cruelty. A modern update to the idea of cursed at birth. She would usually scoff at such a notion, but considering the circumstances... this child should have been a boy. The son of Asriel and Marisa wouldn’t simply survive, but thrive. No matter what he was marked with, he could make it a lurid allure.

A son grows in both directions: his branches spreading out over the land casting his long shadow (so like his father) and his roots deep into the soil breaking the world's core while also rooting him as a crucial part of it. The beauty would be a wonderful bonus adding to his mystique. And she did imagine he would be beautiful. How could he not be? A girl, even if beautiful, grows and trouble waits. A prayer: God grant her the dim wit to accept the things she cannot change and the malleability to change the things she can.

Marisa did not want to be changing the stinking nappies or any of the other indignities that squealing creatures demand. But from a distance, she could take some pride in knowing a son she made would infuriate those sycophants in the Magisterium just by being alive. A daughter wouldn’t infuriate anyone. Too easy to be dealt with. Where could Marisa find pride in that?

#hdm #hdm fanfic #mrs coulter #marisa coulter #lyra belacqua #lyra silvertongue #mine #this was gonna just be 100 words but i needed to add more deets #it's not meant to be marisa making a feminist critique in her head and more marisa getting absorbed in how this affects her legacy #i hope that comes across but idk how effective it is

33 notes · View notes

glove23 · 1 year

Text

love me there

read on AO3

2.4k, His Dark Materials, Lyra/Will, Rated: T, Post-Canon, Reunion

Summary: Lyra is tired of doing what she's told to do. Her soulmate lives in another world and she would do anything to get back to him.

Even if that means creating a way to travel to other worlds without the use of the Subtle Knife.

#his dark materials fanfiction #his dark materials #hdm #lyra silvertongue #will parry #silverparry #lyra belacqua #lyra x will #lyrawill #his dark materials season 3 #lyrawill reunion #fanfiction #fanfic #archive of our own

23 notes · View notes

labcoatsaresexy · 9 months

Link

Chapters: 1/3 Fandom: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, His Dark Materials (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Lyra Belacqua/Will Parry, Mary Malone & Will Parry Characters: Lyra Belacqua, Will Parry, Mary Malone, Kirjava (HDM), Pantalaimon (HDM), Elaine Parry Additional Tags: Caring Mary Malone, mary my beloved, Now That's What I Call Melancholia!, Everyone Needs A Hug, Canon Compliant, (frowny face), POV Outsider Summary:

this horror will grow mild, this darkness light (Paradise Lost, Book II, Line 220)

Will and Lyra attempt to heal. It's mostly successful.

#his dark materials #HDM #will x lyra #mary malone #(she comes back in chapter 3)#Elaine Parry #Will Parry #lyra silvertongue #lyra belacqua #post amber spyglass #mostly canon compliant #(i just kinda gesture towards a secret commonwealth it's not 100% on the facts)#the amber spyglass #the golden compass #the subtle knife #fanfiction #my writing #ao3 #fanfic

2 notes · View notes

mirameana · 1 year

Text

Some time after

She remembered that excruciating feeling, that devastating day in the mulefa world when Xaphania told them about their fate.

It felt as if the universe collapsed around and into her, merciless and suffocating.

They were to live their whole lives without each other, long and supposed-to-be-meaningful lives without the only person in the universe who could understand them fully.

It felt like being gutted.

Lyra smiled distractedly, caressing the old bench she lounged on.

When she was fourteen, she didn't understand that the universe had robbed Will and her of much more than loving each other openly, or kisses, or romance.

She didn't know then that loving an idea of a person was quite easy.

She couldn't imagine that she would mourn extremely mundane things.

Something everyone else got to experience every day with their loved ones.

Lyra longed to know if Will snored. Or, if he did, whether she would complain about it to him every morning. She wanted to burn his coffee at least once, to do renovations and bicker about wallpaper colours. She wanted to buy things together, read together, steal food from his plate and sip from his cup. To fight about... about something, anything, and then make up, and kiss his brow. To not be forced to replay his every touch from memory, because there wouldn't be need for that. Lyra wanted to whisper Will's name to wake him up, to warm up her feet against his scorching skin. To never let him work, to parade him around and sneak away to dark hallways to kiss, giggling.

She longed to have a life with him. Just this domestic life, so sweet your teeth start rotting at a mere thought of it.

But no, of course not.

They would never have that with each other. The fate made sure of that.

Lyra gripped the edge of the bench tighter and felt, with a grim satisfaction, a splinter lodging itself deep in her palm.

Hey eyes burned. She bit her lip so hard she could taste blood, and exhaled shakily.

Envy, anger and pain were swirling in her chest like poisoned water.

Why her? Why Will?

They gave everything, why did they have to give up each other?

That Midsummer Day the loss of him hurt different.

Perhaps, the deepest.

Because she didn't lose his love. Lyra knew she couldn't possibly lose it.

She lost all the ordinary days she could have spent by his side.

Somehow it was even worse.

#his dark materials #silverparry #lyra x will #his dark materials spoilers #lyra silvertongue #lyra belacqua #will parry #this may become a fanfic one day #my heart

10 notes · View notes

rhaized · 2 years

Text

Chapter 1: For You

A light chill filled the air as Lyra stepped outside, eyes adjusting to the blare of the sun as Pan curled against her neck as an ermine, staying close.

“Here, my love.”

Her mother was guiding her, grasping her arm softly and nudging her along. Lyra hadn’t left the cabin in a long while—weeks, perhaps, or maybe a month. Her legs felt numb and stiff as she moved forward, soles of her feet crunching against some kind of gravel.

Are we on a road? Pan asked, barely able to discern their surroundings himself as they moved forward, warmth and heat touching their skin and fur.

Lyra didn’t know, and she said and thought nothing as Mrs. Coulter continued to lead her, a soft fragrance whirling through Lyra’s nostrils as they continued down some sort of travel path.

((read more on ao3))

#his dark materials #hdm #marisa coulter #lyra belacqua #season3 #fanfic #so inspired actually #backonmybullshit

10 notes · View notes

penny-anna · 2 years

Note

I just binged "He Says He Is an Experimental Theologian" by ErinPtah (Night Vale daemon au but also HDM crossover) and I'm now on the sequel and it's INCREDIBLE. I love how the author thinks through things like public transit and football games with daemons (they also cite an animorphs daemon au as being formative but I cannot remember the title or author. They're somewhere in there)

He Says He Is An Experimental Theologian by ErinPtah

Ever since Carlos was little, he and his daemon have been fans of Dr. Lyra Belacqua. Both as the most groundbreaking experimental theologian of the 20th century, and as the heroine of dozens of fantasy-adventure children's stories (based very loosely on her own mysterious childhood).

But Lyra's true legacy is still bigger than Carlos ever imagined...until he took a team of scholars to study Rusakov particles in the most theologically interesting community in Hispania Nova. Now his own day-to-day life is full of things like angels, witches, hooded spectres, portals between worlds, vague yet menacing branches of the Magisterium, and a man who walks around without his daemon and can read an alethiometer as easily as a stop sign.

AH so i have read this one (at least all of the first fic, i think?) and it is a good one, however it tends not to make my rec lists when the subject comes up bcos i gave up on the series after the length of it got kind of overwhelming. also, some aspects of it just aren't to my personal taste as daemon AUs go.

and YES i know the animorphs series you mean!

Daemorphing by Poetry

They can't tell you their real names, or their dæmons' names. The Yeerks are everywhere. But they're going to fight back.

i've read some of it but it's not a personal fav of mine due to the exact same reasons cited above ^

fun fact tho, i actually knew the author a bit waaaay back in the day on a web forum and i remember when they first started posting the series on livejournal so the fact that it turned into such a Huge thing just blows my mind. author living their best fanfic life. love that for them.

#daemon au recs #fic recs

57 notes · View notes

amarionetista · 3 months

Text

Qual é a fórmula correta para escrever uma história?

A resposta? Se você estava esperando que aqui eu iria pontuar uma grande lista de "ain, não faz isso. É feio e eu não gosto de ler". Sinto muito por te decepcionar, mas a resposta é que não há algo totalmente certo ou errado.

Claro, eu vou ter um probleminha com quem romantiza relações e situações abusivas, mas se a sua história for para se aprofundar nisso e você não romantizar nada eu tenho muito respeito por você.

O real motivo de eu ter decidido escrever isso é porquê ontem @lanternadosafogados veio até mim me contar que existem alguns posts aqui que querem ditar a maneira como vamos escrever nossas histórias. Claro, não confunda com os posts que as pessoas realmente dão dicas legais para a escrita. Já usei alguns em minhas histórias e foram de imensa ajuda.

Aqui estou falando daqueles posts, aqueles que você, escritor dedicado e que só quer que esse espaço seja divertido, revira tanto os olhos e suspira pesadamente.

Aqui estou me referindo sobre posts como "Como escrever personagens em imagines para que eu me sinta representado". E quando você lê é uma pessoa chorando as pitangas dela porque, veja só, uma personagem de um Imagine não age como ela agiria.

Bom meus leitores aqui eu devo dizer Lyra Belacqua não age como eu agiria em muitas situações e ainda assim eu me identifico e acho ela a minha protagonista favorita dos livros.

O que quero dizer com isso? Que 1• Escritores não vão ter bola de cristal para vigiar você e escrever histórias com alguém 100% igual a você. 2• Se quer uma personagem que seja você cuspida e escarrada abre um docs no Google ou world e escreva você, eu não estou recebendo para escrever e muito menos para aturar gente chiliquenta.

E agora algo que eu já vi com meus próprios olhos. Uma vez, em outro site de fanfics, uma guria publicou um texto onde ficava reclamando que autores não terminavam suas histórias do Denki Kaminari, sim o Pikachu de bnha. Em nenhum momento ela disse que o autor podia estar passando por um bloqueio criativo ou por um momento difícil na vida ou só sem tempo e saco mesmo. Não, não, a alecrim juntou um pequeno número de pessoas para ficarem reclamando sobre histórias descontinuadas e como o autor não podia fazer isso com elas.

Foi aí que eu não me aguentei. Eu mesma já recebi várias mensagens do tipo: "Po, vc excluiu tal história? Gostava tanto dela" ou "Vc vai continuar tal história? É a minha favorita sua". Então eu resolvi ir até lá e comentar algo do tipo: "Sinto muito que vocês não estão podendo ler as suas histórias favoritas desse personagem, mas se eu posso dar uma dica de amiga eu recomendo que vocês tentem escrever uma história do jeitinho que vocês querem. Assim, quem sabe, vocês vejam como é difícil escrever e não vão mais cobrar o autor assim".

E sabem qual é a melhor parte? Enquanto os comentários defendiam o ponto de vista dela ela respondia com o maior gosto do mundo. Só que depois do meu ela simplesmente excluiu a história. Juro que eu queria colocar um monte de risadas aqui, mas isso quebraria o texto. Mas saibam que estou rindo muito enquanto escrevo essa parte.

Gente desse tipo só sabe cobrar os escritores, se soubessem o tanto de tempo que dedicamos a uma história ou o quão frustrante é passar por um bloqueio criativo vocês não fariam isso.

Ah, e se você acha que o absurdo já acabou, não meus queridos. Ainda tem mais desde que abri essa caixa de Pandora dos infernos.

Vamos ao último, e ao que eu considero o pior de todos. Em meados de 2016 ou 2017 se não me engano meu tio faleceu devido a uma doença contra a qual ele estava lutando havia anos. Para lidar com o luto, tal qual fiz quando perdi meu pai, eu escrevi uma história em sua homenagem. Só que eu acho que eu não estava tão bem psicologicamente para escrever algo desse peso, sabe? Saber que eu estava escrevendo essa história para alguém que morreu mexeu muito comigo então pelo meu próprio bem eu deixei essa história de lado. E qual foi a mensagem que eu recebi? "O luto acabou e você desistiu de escrever?".

Juro, se eu estivesse 1% melhor da cabeça eu já tinha mandando a pessoa a merda. Só que estava tão para baixo que só arranquei o app do meu celular e por um tempo pensei em desistir de escrever.

E, só para não fechar esse post com histórias de dar nos nervos eu digo, eu decidi voltar e não deixar essa pessoa mal amada e mal educada me atrapalhar de fazer o que eu mais gostava. E quanto a ele? Depois de me mandar a mensagem nunca mais nem triscou na conta naquele site. Então acho que cada um de nós fez ótimas escolhas nesse ponto.

Isso é tudo! Muito obrigada por terem lido e um forte abraço a todos ♥️

#Histórias #Imagines #Ships #Existe realmente um jeito certo e errado de fazer histórias?

2 notes · View notes

aconfusedkitten · 3 years

Text

his dark materials au where you have your soulmate’s daemon on your skin like a living tattoo. and maybe they’re meant to be your lover, the one who’s made to be yours, and maybe they’re meant to be the family you’ve never had.

if your soulmate’s daemon hasn’t settled yet, then their shape changes on your skin. sometimes there’s a bird on your shoulder, and others there’s a moth on your wrist or a fox on your back, because if they haven’t settled yet, then why should your mark?

if they’ve settled, then maybe you’ve gotten a glimpse into a person’s soul, before you’ve even laid eyes on them. maybe a snake daemon means they’re resourceful, or a badger daemon being hardworking. or maybe they’re nothing like they should be, because life isn’t always easy to guess.

~~~

lyra’s always had too many marks, three of them to be exact, and she already knows one of them. roger, of course, is the closest thing to family she’s got, so of course salcilia has a place on her skin, a mink running across her shoulders. the others though, she has no way of knowing.

there’s a hare that tends to sit on her wrist, her paw on lyra’s wrist.

it’s not one of her parents, and it’s not anyone at jordan college, so sometimes, lyra likes to stroke her fingers across the hare’s back, and think about who they could be. maybe they’re diligent, she thinks, or maybe they’re swift, quick on their feet just as lyra is. none of that matters though, because regardless of anything a hare could tell about them, lyra can’t wait to meet them.

the other mark, however, is unusual, even by her standards. a simple, black print, shaped in the pattern of a bear’s paw, resting on the small of her back. this one, lyra knows, to be that of an armored bear.

soulmarks are different for different types of people, and everyone knows this.

humans like her have their soulmates daemon forever with them, always there to comfort them, and they say that the witches give up their marks when they part with their own daemon. so why can’t bears have their own way? what’s to say that a bear can’t leave a mark on a human’s soul?

years pass, and lyra thinks she understands soulmates.

thinks that she knows all that she can, all that there is to learn, because she’s travelled from her world to the next, and to the towering city in between them. now she knows that humans are marked with their soulmate’s daemon because that means family, and that witches lose their marks, but not their soulmates, and that when bears find the one for them, they carve their mark into their armor.

she was wrong.

she was wrong and lyra wants to cry, to shout, to scream. because the hare, who’s name was hester and had an amazing human called lee, who was kind and comforting and always there when she needed them, is crumbling into dust.

golden eyes blink up at her, bright and warm and everything lyra wants to, no, needs to get back to. but then the hare is gone.

lyra thought she knew everything there was about the marks painted across her body, but that’s not true in the slightest, and all that’s left is gold, a constellation forever scattered across her wrist.

#cheshire writes #fanfic #my fanfic #fanfic idea #his dark materials #lyra belacqua #lee scoresby #iorek byrnison #roger parslow #soulmarks #soulmate au #i'm gonna write a fix-it for this au #but this hit me while i was working #and then this turned into some angst #ima write the longer fic eventually #and it'll get the happy ending #but sometimes ya gotta embrace canon #and *then* you kick it

65 notes · View notes

singstar234 · 3 years

Text

Summary: What if Lyra went with Tony Costa that night to break into her mothers house and got caught? What if she spent longer with her, knowing who she truly was? And what would of happened if on the same night she finally ran away, she was found my a Aeronaut who had just finished up on a job? How would their story of played out?

My own little version of Season 1 of His Dark Material. What would of happened of Lee found Lyra, but she had Selective Mutism? Had this idea for a while but not normally the kind of thing I write about. These will only be test chapters to see if people would like the rest of the story.

#lee scoresby #lyra belacqua #his dark materials fanfic #his dark materials #his dark materials fic #hdm fanfic #hdm fiction #selective mutism #lee scoresby fanfic #lyra belacqua fanfic #hdm fanfiction #his dark materials FanFiction

6 notes · View notes

three-atoms · 11 months

Text

Aurora Borealis (1865), oil on canvas by Frederic Edwin Church

A masterlist of my completed HDM fics (mostly Masriel):

The Day Before (M, 12 100 words) A Nutcracker-coded Chaos Family Christmas story The Space Between (E, 12 300 words)

The only thing more destructive than Asriel and Marisa going up against each other is them collaborating. (The Magisterium has a new research station in the North and Asriel is curious.)

There is a Sea (M, 79 100 words)

Marisa centric. Marisa's childhood backstory

Memento (E, 28 000 words)

How Asriel lost Lyra / why Marisa started wearing a locket for Lyra (Plus lots of Masriel being dysfunctional soulmates)

Son of the Dawn (M, 63 100 words)

Asriel centric. Asriel's backstory, from his childhood to the airship crash that took his brother's life, with prophetic dreams/a thread of destiny throughout. (He was always destined to change the world, just not in any way he would've imagined.)

In Winter, in Oxford (T, 47 600 words)

How Asriel and Marisa met

Unholy (E, 24 800 words)

Masriel Affair Era. Lyra is conceived in the North

A Nativity Scene in Late Summer (M, 7 900 words)

Baby Lyra's arrival, from Asriel's POV

Clemency (M, 11 400 words)

Why Marisa spared Thorold's life at the end of S1, from Thorold's POV, with an appearance by baby Lyra

Your Fortress (E, 17 100 words)

Based on book canon: Asriel and Marisa's missing scenes in the Adamant Tower

In-progress fics and any new fics I write will be added as they're completed

#hdm fanfic #masriel #asriel x lyra #lyra x marisa #asriel belacqua #marisa coulter #masriel fic #chaos family #my fic #hdm fanfiction #his dark materials #🌌🌌🌌

54 notes · View notes

hatters-workshop · 7 months

Text

His Dark Materials Masterpost

Because as we know, the tumblr tagging system is shockingly bad, to the point where searching word for word tags on my page do not, in fact, return all items that are tagged with those exact words, I thought it would be a good idea to make a master post for the His Dark Materials content that I have put out, and pining it to the top of my blog. Ngl i was surprised when collating this how much there was, and even then I've only included things i think people would actually want to read. There's a lot here that I'm quite proud of and so would prefer it not to be lost to eeby deeby.

Fic:

The post that became a longer fic on Ao3

I am not there. I do not sleep. On Ao3

Artwork from my Northern Lights illustration project

I've given a link here to a post that should have working links to all the other images on the series

And here collected into smaller views and includes my Subtle Knife design

Mrs Coulter analysis:

Miscasting the Golden Monkey

TV series Mrs Coulter is not book Mrs Coulter (and that's okay)

Is she a witch? (Adding to someone else's theorising)

TV series general posting:

Alamo gulch scene

Women with a good work ethic

World building/theorising/meta:

Daemons and stage performances

Alethiometer reading

Was Yambe-Akka originally just a Witch's personified death?

Can daemons have venom?

Daemons that change over their life cycle

Could Asriel's photos have been developed with rose oil from the secret commonwealth?

Additions to others' posts:

Daemons fighting of their attackers in Bolvanger

Mispronouncing Iorek's name

Lord Asriel's age and complaining about hair again

Things that are normal to include for Daemons in Lyra's world

(This link features both my current screen name and my old one, sake-chan) Naming the golden monkey and analysis

Theorising about the abyss

Book suggestion of Mrs Coulter being separated from her Daemon

Inconvenient daemons

Complaining about Pullman's vague rewriting:

Asriel HAS BLACK HAIR??

He gave April an extra day???

Why would Mr Coulter recognise blonde Lyra as the child of black haired Asriel??

Meme jokes:

Sometimes a family...

Will: What in the Jesus Chris was that??

Lyra: WHAT IN THE JESUS CHRIST WAS THAT??

This sh*t is bananas let's be honest

#his dark materials #hdm #mrs coulter #lord asriel #lyra silvertongue #lyra belacqua #daemons #golden monkey #analysis #worldbuilding #hdm art #hdm fanfic #masterpost #his dark materials bbc #iorek byrnison

20 notes · View notes

queenofnabooty · 1 year

Text

Ficlet Week Challenge (schedule here)

Day 3: Wish I Was Here - character fails to connect to the present moment

Lyra/Will - His Dark Materials

It was an unusually hot midsummer’s day for Oxford. The pond before Lyra looked inviting enough to jump into. Just the other day, she and Dick Orchard took a dive off his parents’ boat into the river risking flu and disease. She laughed from her chest when he squealed after mistaking slimy seaweed for a creature from the deep. But she mustn’t let her mind wander.

Will was here just on the other side of that bench, of that thin barrier between her world and his. He was there every time she came here. That thought had lost its heat and turned warm, getting cooler by the year.

She really must stop thinking like this. Who knows what Pan would think of her if she shared this with him. She didn’t need more of his judgement.

Will can feel his phone vibrating in his pocket. Just texts, short buzzes that he can ignore while he sits here and remembers. He told his mother she could call if there was anything urgent and he’d come to her right away. If there was ever such an emergency he hoped Lyra would understand, even though she would never know.

It might be Amelia wondering where he’s gone off to. He imagined her going to the library to check up on him only to see he’s nowhere to be found. He hated lying to her, but it wasn’t like he could tell her what he was up to. Kirjava paced in front of his feet desperate for something to occupy her time. Amelia thinks it’s so sweet how Will more often than not brings his beloved pet around. His mother wonders why he won’t allow her to touch Kirjava.

The idea that Will had called it quits, stopped coming to the bench, pierced Lyra just as sharply as the first time she ever considered it. He would not, she reassured herself, because she had not and on this they had to be aligned. But it was never impossible, never completely. She could understand if he decided he would not return for whatever reason he had. Be it too painful or too... she struggled for the world.

Lyra was not bored. No, she would deny that wholeheartedly. If she could reach through the fabric of the universes with her own hands she would pull Will to her in a second, but she can’t. Her friends were waiting for her at the pub. She shouldn’t feel impatient sitting here, she’s supposed to treasure this hour. Pan reminds her of this by the way he curls up under the bench pressing his nose to the soil.

Will checked his watch. If he fails this exam tomorrow he might as well call this term a waste. He’ll have to study into the night, miss his dinner with his mom. Air filled his lungs and he took a deep breath. What was Lyra studying in university? What sort of options are there in her world? Maybe it is something to do with armoured bears or witches or something equally unbelievable. Was she dating someone too?

His phone vibrated again, this time it was a phone call. “Shit,” he muttered, “Hello?”

A coursemate of Lyra’s waved at her from across the pond. Lyra blushed all the way down to her neck. She broke eye contact hoping that she was quick enough that she could pretend she didn’t recognize them, but the footsteps got closer.

“Lyra! How are you?”

Will sighed, “No, I can’t come tonight. A party is the last place I need to be tonight. I’ll talk to you later... What?”

Lyra tried to take up as much space on the bench as she could. Pan leapt up to her side to help. “Oh, hello.”

“What are you doing here? I thought you were with everyone else?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but her words caught in her throat when the course mate sat in Will’s spot.

“Look,” Will made his voice more firm, “I really can’t talk right now. I promise we’ll talk later.”

“Can you move?” Lyra said a little too firmly. The order was obeyed silently and Lyra felt an instant rush of guilt. “I’m sorry, it’s just.”

“It’s alright.”

When did this sharp meanness develop in her? This judgement she had of others had made itself comfortable inside her chest. Maybe this was part of getting older. She hoped that Will felt differently.

Will hung up the phone. His annoyance was unjustified for how could anyone in his life know how important this hour of this day was to him. If Lyra was here she would laugh at him for worrying so much.

Lyra checked her watch.

#lyra belacqua #will parry #lyra silvertongue #silverparry #hdm #hdm fanfic #ficlet week challenge #mine

13 notes · View notes

lyracordelia · 3 years

Text

What I have learnt from publishing my first ever fan fiction online

After publishing my first ever attempt at writing around four months ago, just thought I would share what I have learnt thus far.

1. Despite doing English a-level I still spend ages figuring out how to structure sentences, basic grammar, and I am constantly utilising my thesaurus. I truly question why creative writing is so ignored though most mainstream education, it’s really helped my connect with my language the way writing essays never allowed me to do.

2. I have no clue how to express emotions. I’m still taking massive inspiration from the original texts or other books- it’s not coming that naturally.

3. I can’t spell.

4. Are my characters accurate enough?

5. Metaphors love them or hate them?

6. The concept of a word count drives me mad- especially the way it makes me write, as if nothing I write is good enough until I reach a certain word count.

7. I still can’t establish the difference between writing for myself and getting approval from those who read it. This has definitely been the biggest thing I have discovered about myself. Writing Hireath was originally just a way to express all these stories that were filtering around my head, but now it’s gained some attraction, I keep craving approval. I can’t figure out if it’s excitement which makes me check my phone every five minutes after posting a new chapter, or simply the crippling fear of failure. I base my worth of this fan fiction off the amounts of comments/hits I get, which is simply absurd. After taking a break for a while, I aloud myself to take a step back and wait for that drive to write because i enjoy it, rather than wanting to reach my new hit goal.

8. Am I good enough? Let’s face it, I am not a writer. Before a few months ago, I had never attempted creative writing before, but i’m still learning as I go. However, I know now that whether or not, I do enjoy it and that’s what counts. I just hope other people do too.

9. I need to stop comparing myself to other writers in my fandom. Whilst i’m on the subject, the HDM fan fic writers are incredible and so many of them are huge inspirations to me (please check out @jamlavender , @obsessedsleepygirl44 , @rhaized , and soo many more). But when I read other people’s work, I spend way too many time questioning if my own writing is as good? Are my characters as compelling? They are getting more comments than me, long detailed comments, am I just not as good? I even stopped reading anything for a while because it was getting too much. But I do think I’m still very much learning how to comprehend all these things.

There are probably way more things that I have learnt or that are sitting deep in my mind, but these have been playing with my subconscious for a little while. Overall, I know that I need to take a step back from putting this pressure on myself to ‘succeed’ though hits or comments, and just write when I enjoy it. Because I do really enjoy it when I relax a bit more.

Thank you to anyone who will read this, and anyone who has kept up with Hireath, hopefully new content coming soon.

#his dark materials #lord asriel #lyra belacqua #marisa coulter #ao3 fanfic #hdm fanfiction #fan fic writing #fanfic #hdm

22 notes · View notes