#might as well give the king of the Realm of Dreams some nightmares

[achromant]

Hey Epaaaaaaaarch~

[sponsored by ArenaNet]

#gw2 #guild wars 2 #charr #furry art #i JUST made those so i can annoy people #might as well give the king of the Realm of Dreams some nightmares

[marichive]

𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 : 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄

Writing / roleplay prompts collected from the POV chapters of Cersei Lannister in A Feast for Crows , the fourth book of the ASOIAF saga. Feel free to adjust pronouns / etc. as needed.

tw: dark & mature themes, death, violence, suggestive / sexual content

❝ We are not alone. ❞

❝ Where are my guards? ❞

❝ I must show no fear. ❞

❝ What do you want of me? ❞

❝ The Lord Commander said come get you. ❞

❝ I am dreaming still. I have not woken, nor has my nightmare ended. ❞

❝ A dream, that’s all it was. A dream. ❞

❝ I drank too much last night. ❞

❝ These fears are only humors born of wine. ❞

❝ I will be the one laughing, come dusk. ❞

❝ My children will be safe, his throne will be secure, and my twisted little brother will be short a head and rotting. ❞

❝ He keeps guards around him night and day. ❞

❝ We found a hidden door behind the hearth. A secret passage. ❞

❝ Who is with the king? ❞

❝ Allow me a moment to dress. ❞

❝ The bright star of the west has fallen, and the nights will be darker now. ❞

❝ They would not dare lie to me about such a thing. ❞

❝ That is not the way a lion dies. ❞

❝ Now there is a hole in the world where he once stood. ❞

❝ There will be no more talk of forcing me to wed again. ❞

❝ Such a man deserves a retinue to attend his needs in hell. ❞

❝ No one is to enter or leave without my permission. ❞

❝ He had steel in his voice as well. ❞

❝ I am the only true son he ever had. ❞

❝ This cursed tower has too many steps. ❞

❝ Should I scream and tear my hair? ❞

❝ Did you weep for your own father? ❞

❝ How could you leave him like this? ❞

❝ And how shall I deal with the girl? ❞

❝ What is she doing here!? ❞

❝ He was questioning her, to be sure. ❞

❝ And what better way to question her than naked, with her legs well spread? ❞

❝ Do you expect me to believe that you knew nothing of her plans? ❞

❝ Later he will come to me, for comfort. ❞

❝ We are his heirs. It will be up to us to finish his work. ❞

❝ Don’t ask me to rule. ❞

❝ I shall rule until my son comes of age. ❞

❝ I don’t know who I pity more. ❞

❝ I must have been mad to think he could be Hand. ❞

❝ The hand does not argue with the head. ❞

❝ I will need to move carefully with that one. ❞

❝ The girl is twice his age and twice widowed. ❞

❝ A man may prefer the taste of hippocras, yet if you set a tankard of ale before him, he will quaff it quick enough. ❞

❝ I will not suffer guards to sleep on watch. ❞

❝ He is in the walls. ❞

❝ I laughed in her face, but she had powers. ❞

❝ I saw my future in a drop of blood. ❞

❝ It is blood I need, not water. ❞

❝ We will not appear at the sept wet and bedraggled. ❞

❝ The gods are weeping for him. ❞

❝ If the gods could weep, they would have wept for your brother. Rain is rain. ❞

❝ I thought there would be more people. ❞

❝ He never wanted love. ❞

❝ You cannot eat love, nor buy a horse with it, nor warm your halls on a cold night. ❞

❝ The mob must have its show. ❞

❝ Let him run to the ends of the earth, he will not escape me. ❞

❝ The man is as useless as nipples on a breastplate. ❞

❝ His eyes could see inside you, could see how weak and worthless and ugly you were down deep. ❞

❝ It is my look they will flinch from now, my frown that they must fear. ❞

❝ I am a lion too. ❞

❝ I shall be greater. ❞

❝ She has a good many ladies waiting attendance on her, night and day. ❞

❝ I am happy to see you looking so much stronger. ❞

❝ The riverlands have need of a strong hand. ❞

❝ And you are going to be wed as well. ❞

❝ May your wife give you strong sons. ❞

❝ Knighting him was a mistake, and bedding him a bigger one. ❞

❝ Do you have many friends across the water? ❞

❝ She even smells of sin, like some exotic lotus. ❞

❝ You are most kind. I know that we shall be great friends. ❞

❝ If there is aught that I might do to serve in this dark hour, you need only ask. ❞

❝ Do they think I will just serve the realm up to them on a gilded platter. ❞

❝ I will see you dead. ❞

❝ We’ll see how sweet a corpse you make. ❞

❝ You will not speak of this with anyone. ❞

❝ It may be that the cause is . . . less natural, let us say. A spell, I think. ❞

❝ The archmaesters are all craven at heart. ❞

❝ Need I say that it will go ill for you if any word of your labors should pass beyond these walls? ❞

❝ Your secrets are safe with me. ❞

❝ He broods too much. ❞

❝ He needs to be put to work to get beyond his grief. ❞

❝ I scarcely knew what I was saying. ❞

❝ He is gallant, but a bit of a fool, let us be frank. ❞

❝ You were unwise to shame him in front of half the court. ❞

❝ Every man needs someone he can trust. ❞

❝ You ask much of me. ❞

❝ If you are resolved against another marriage, I will not force it on you. ❞

❝ My place is with my son. ❞

❝ Open your eyes and look around you. The kingdom is in ruins. ❞

❝ I shall set matters right! ❞

❝ He never thinks, he laughs at everything and everyone and says whatever comes into his head. He is a handsome fool ❞

❝ You are as unfit a mother as you are a ruler. ❞

❝ By what right do you presume to give me terms!? ❞

❝ You would be wise not to take me lightly, and wiser still not to make of me a foe. ❞

❝ Are you threatening me? ❞

❝ They are both able men . . . and loyal ❞

❝ Name either one and make him yours. ❞

❝ That is my counsel, take it or no. ❞

❝ My brother is dead. I am going to take him home. ❞

❝ Tighter. Cinch it tighter, you simpering little fool. ❞

❝ He will be safe, I promise you. ❞

❝ He will not kill the same way twice. He is too cunning for that. ❞

❝ He could be under the floor even now, listening to every word we say. ❞

❝ I will not have him alone with her, not for so much a s half a heartbeat. ❞

❝ Husband and wife should sleep together. Even if they do no more than sleep. ❞

❝ Let them warm each other in the night. It will bring them closer. ❞

❝ A man should not sleep apart from his wife on the night of their wedding. ❞

❝ I cannot bear to look at it. ❞

❝ Wildfire is treacherous. ❞

❝ It will be a lesson to our enemies. ❞

❝ Now you sound like him. ❞

❝ Guard your tongue. ❞

❝ How could I ever have loved that wretched creature? ❞

❝ He has become a stranger to me. ❞

❝ This is wrong. It is too soon. ❞

❝ You forced me into this travesty of a wedding, and I shall not soon forget it. ❞

❝ It was the cloak my lord father used when he wed my lady mother. ❞

❝ Insolence has its price. ❞

❝ When a dog goes bad, the fault lies with its master. ❞

❝ I do not believe she is a maid. ❞

❝ Once a man puts on that cloak, it changes him. ❞

❝ It certainly changed you, and not for the better. ❞

❝ His crown was all you ever wanted. ❞

❝ She is pretty enough. ❞

❝ Only a fool would ever claim she was more beautiful than I. ❞

❝ I cannot let them see me cry. ❞

❝ A woman may weep, but not a queen. ❞

❝ If this is true, why tell me? ❞

❝ Why would you betray her? ❞

❝ No one who wears a crown is ever safe. ❞

❝ Do not presume to smile at me, you treacherous little bitch. ❞

❝ You will be begging me for mercy before I’m done with you. ❞

❝ All the wine in the world would not be enough to see me through this wedding. ❞

❝ It is my day now. It is my castle and my kingdom. ❞

❝ The flames are so pretty. I want to watch them for a while. ❞

❝ You should not stay alone. ❞

❝ Off your knees. Show me what you’ve brought me. ❞

❝ She said that a forgotten prophecy couldn’t come true. ❞

❝ Have you attended to that little task I set you? ❞

❝ A tiresome creature, this prince. ❞

❝ Their leaders preach of doom and demon worship. ❞

❝ The Red Wedding was an affront to all the laws of gods and men, and those who had a hand in it are damned. ❞

❝ He shares his father’s taste for treason, too. ❞

❝ She fancies him. She likes his scars, I think. ❞

❝ Scars make a man look dangerous, and danger is exciting. ❞

❝ I did not come a maid to his bed. ❞

❝ Who was this lover who was so . . . full of danger? ❞

❝ Men have scars, women mysteries. ❞

❝ I will have his name out of you soon enough. ❞

❝ Come sit with me by the window. Will you take a cup of wine? ❞

❝ You have a bold tongue. You will make me forget myself again. ❞

❝ You are a wicked man, and no true knight, I think. ❞

❝ I want you. ❞

❝ You’ve had me. ❞

❝ You did me a valiant service, and you had your reward. ❞

❝ Do you think our little queen is pretty? ❞

❝ Lying with a queen is treason. ❞

❝ I’ve killed more boys than I can count. ❞

❝ A queen must have a consort. One who knows no fear. ❞

❝ I am your man. ❞

❝ Will you dream of me tonight? ❞

❝ And when you’re abed with her, in her, will you dream of me then? ❞

❝ I was made for this. ❞

❝ She has a secret admirer, a knight so smitten with her beauty that he cannot sleep at night. ❞

❝ I’m the king. The throne belongs to me. ❞

❝ I have grave matters to decide. ❞

❝ Matters that you are far too young to understand. ❞

❝ I suppose she thinks you ought to be at my council meetings too? ❞

❝ When you are older, you can attend as many councils as you wish. ❞

❝ I promise you, you will soon grow sick of them. ❞

❝ I waited, so can he. ❞

❝ I waited half my life. ❞

❝ If she thinks to cheat me of my hour in the sun, she had bloody well think again. ❞

❝ No mother should outlive her children. ❞

❝ No captain should outlive his ship. ❞

❝ His sigil ought to be a fat man sitting on his arse. ❞

❝ An irritating name for an irritating man. ❞

❝ The number seven is sacred to our gods. ❞

❝ It pleases you to make a jest, I see. ❞

❝ When I make a jest I smile. Do you see me smiling? ❞

❝ I assure you, when I make a jest, men laugh. ❞

❝ How is your little brother faring? ❞

❝ I am running short of patience with him. ❞

❝ It’s past time he broke in that little filly. ❞

❝ Would she prefer someone else? ❞

❝ She’s always touching him when they talk. ❞

❝ It’s me he’s eager for, fool. ❞

❝ All he wants of her is the lordship between her legs. ❞

❝ I hope his sword is quicker than his wits. ❞

❝ It is not like me to forget myself. ❞

❝ Walk with me. I need a word with you. ❞

❝ He calls her that to irk me. ❞

❝ Bruises and bloody lips are all part of being a knight. ❞

❝ We keep no slaves in Westeros. ❞

❝ A bastard in the belly would explain that. ❞

❝ She and I would play together when the two of us were small. ❞

❝ The poor girl is quite . . . exhausted. ❞

❝ Are you drunk, or merely stupid? ❞

❝ It is all because I am a woman. ❞

❝ He still wants me. ❞

❝ Pining for what you’ve lost? ❞

❝ You’re a fool. A beautiful golden fool. ❞

❝ Pray all you like, she will be dead before the moon turns. ❞

❝ What is a queen’s honor against a mother’s fears? ❞

❝ My enemies are everywhere and my friends are fools. ❞

❝ He was more than a man. His blood was the blood of Old Valyria, the blood of dragons and gods. ❞

❝ He has been wounded, but I will mend his hurt when we are wed. ❞

❝ A man does not marry his heir to his servant’s daughter. ❞

❝ Have you ever seen a lion weep? ❞

❝ He will find another man for you, a better man. ❞

❝ Do you think she is still a maiden? ❞

❝ He is your only child, is he not? ❞

❝ My husband has asked the gods to bless us with another son. ❞

❝ It is good of you to care. I know you love me well. ❞

❝ If I had known I was going to have to walk, I would have dressed for it. ❞

❝ We ask no vengeance for our dead, only protection for the living. ❞

❝ A king who does not protect his people is no king at all. ❞

❝ Why are all men such children? ❞

❝ These false kings espouse false gods. ❞

❝ We have been picking autumn flowers in the wood. ❞

❝ Such a restless girl, our little queen. ❞

❝ Every day in every way she tries to steal him from me. ❞

❝ I have no time for riding through the woods and picking flowers. I have a kingdom to rule. ❞

❝ I know what a burden you bear. You should let me share the load. ❞

❝ There must be some things I could do to help you. ❞

❝ It would put to rest all this talk that you and I are rivals for the king. ❞

❝ Is that what they say? ❞

❝ How foolish. I have never looked upon you as a rival, not even for a moment. ❞

❝ Beauty can sometimes mask deadly danger. ❞

#rp memes #rp prompts #roleplay prompts #roleplay memes #inbox memes #rp prompt #[memes ; mine] #[memes ; literature] #[memes ; for muse] #[memes ; general] #[memes ; sentence]

[davidfarland]

David Farland’s Writing Tips—Why You want Your Books Turned into Film

Many authors dream of seeing their books turned into films, but for some it’s a nightmare.

After all, filmmakers tend to take liberties with an author’s story, often making changes that seem detrimental to the tale just to “make it their own.”

For example, P.L. Tavers, author of the Mary Poppins series, burst into tears when she saw what Disney had done to her books. Now, the film “Mary Poppins” won the Academy Award for “Best Picture of the Year and became a huge hit, but Tavers didn’t like it. In the same way, Tolkien didn’t want to sell his rights to Lord of the Rings, but filmmakers got them anyway. When the rights to Harry Potter went up for sale, Rowling went so far as to put an ad in the New York Times decrying the sale.

Heck, just a few weeks ago I pulled my Runelords books from consideration with a large television studio because I had an artistic disagreement. They wanted to add more sex and violence, I didn’t.

You might not always like what a studio does with your books, but usually the film sale will work out very well for a writer. Why? Because one of the biggest costs for making a film comes from promoting the film.

Promoting a major movie typically costs $35 million spent on ads in-theater, on television, in print media and on the internet and radio. All of that advertising doesn’t just sell the movie, it also spills over and increases sales on your book.

Once a book gets turned into film, the book gets a new lease on life. The book will get wrapped with a new cover—one taken from stills for the movie—and will be distributed widely in better supermarkets and gas stations everywhere. The book will also be put in special displays in bookstores, and the publisher may engage in a bit of print advertising.

All of this will sell a lot of copies. A few years ago, a terrible movie was made from a popular book that I won’t name here. The movie was a real dog, a classic disaster. But the publisher told me that they sold an extra two million copies of the book anyway.

Think about it. The royalties paid to the author would have equaled about $1.6 million dollars. You could crumple those 1.6 million-dollar bills all up and make a very cozy mattress out of them!

This example comes from a movie that was a disaster, but what if a genuinely good film were made from your books? The Lord of the Rings movies helped sell about 100 million books globally, from what I can tell. The Harry Potter movies helped make the book the bestseller of all time.  And Tavers with Mary Poppins—I’m sure she cried all the way to the bank.

The same can happen in television. The Game of Thrones series helped make the books into a phenomenon.

You can of course turn a book into a huge hit without having a movie tie-in.  The problem is that it requires a lot of investment from the publisher in cooperation with the bookstores. The stores have to agree to give the book special face-out advertising in prime locations in the stores. They may have to agree to put up special displays. If the books are selling at a high-enough velocity, this makes sense for everyone. But coordinating these efforts with bookstore owners who might be harried, lazy, or stupid is emotionally draining for the publisher, and often doesn’t work.

That’s why, if an author like JK Rowling or Stephen King or Dan Brown breaks out into the “phenomenon realm,” where they are actually selling more books than the genre’s audience would seem to allow, it is almost always done because a good film tie in was made.

This is why, with my Apex writing group, I want to stress that writers be open to filmmaking. You should begin nurturing contacts with film producers and agents early. You might find it helpful to attend large film festivals, or even begin mastering the fine art of writing a screenplay.

For more on David Farland's Writing tips, visit https://mystorydoctor.com/writing-blog/

And you can also click here to get your David Farland Daily Meditations.

#writing help #writing #writing advice #writing tips #author

[the-everqueen]

look. this fic started as crack taken seriously except now it's getting longer than a one-shot and we haven't even reached the crack yet. so i'm posting a snippet to like. encourage myself to finish it.

.....................

One thing has proven consistent in Matthew’s life, both as a human and as a raven to Dream of the Endless: changes in management are never smooth. It doesn’t matter how much you plan in advance, it doesn’t matter whether the new boss is qualified—things are gonna go sideways, at least until everyone adjusts.

Don’t get him wrong, Matthew doesn’t doubt that Morpheus did everything he could to ensure the Dreaming’s wellbeing before the Kindly Ones came for him. But jeez. Daniel Hall was a toddler just a few months ago and now he’s the next Dream King. Which Lucienne keeps telling Matthew isn’t quite right: the boss isn’t gone, the Endless are their functions, in some cosmic-fate sense Daniel was always already going to be Dream, yada yada.

Matthew doesn’t buy it. He went to the wake. He gave his tribute.

The kid is all right. But Matthew can’t shake the memory of him clutching the emerald at his throat, the echo of that familiar deep voice cracked down the middle. I am afraid. Hard to hold anything against him—he couldn’t have known what he was signing up for, and this ain’t exactly the kind of job that attracts volunteers. Still…the newness is unsettling. The realm feels like it’s on edge, waiting with bated breath to see what happens.

Which is how Matthew finds himself in search of a delinquent Nightmare.

The Corinthian, Dream tells him, has not shown up to work for the past several days. Dream doesn’t use those words, says failed to perform his function with a kind of detached precision like he’s reading from a script. It makes Matthew feel a little sick, though he’s ashamed to admit it: Morpheus’ words in an unfamiliar mouth.

He ignores that for the more pressing question: “He’s back in the Waking World?”

“No, he has not departed the Dreaming.” Dream’s brow furrows in transparent concern. Weird weird weird to see an identifiable emotion on that face—at least, one that isn’t annoyance or resignation. “I would know what he is doing, if not attending to dreamers.”

“Can’t you—I dunno—check in? You’re the boss.”

What Matthew doesn’t say is, that bastard promised me a reprisal. What he doesn’t say is, I heard Lucienne say he was supposed to be your masterpiece, but he gives me the creeps.

Morpheus would have heard these unspoken protests and said, You don’t need to like him to fulfill your duty to me. This Dream frowns and says quietly, “I don’t know that he would welcome my intervention.”

And that’s new, Dream taking into account someone else’s feelings, particularly one of his creations whose past incarnation—pardon the French—royally fucked him over. Then again, Daniel would have known the Corinthian as a protector of sorts. Maybe he’s feeling a residual fondness, that kernel of humanity come back to haunt the rest of them.

The thought makes Matthew sad. He ruffles his wings. “Yeah. Yeah, all right. I’ll fly around, see whether I can find him.”

Dream doesn’t give him any hints about direction, but Matthew figures it can’t hurt to swing by the Corinthian’s house. Well, “house” is a generous term for the architectural Kleenex box where the nightmare chooses to reside, as close to the shoreline as Dream would tolerate. Matthew wasn’t around to know whether it’s a relic of the first Corinthian, but he thinks it’s an eyesore regardless.

He swoops in through an open skylight. The place is too fucking massive for just one person, in his opinion, so it might take him awhile to search—

“Hey, birdie.”

Matthew lets out a croak of surprise and banks to land on something that might be a side table, might be a piece of driftwood enlisted for Aesthetic Purposes™. The Corinthian is sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by skeins of colorful thread. Instead of a knife, he’s got a needle pinched between his fingers, which he’s stabbing into…surprisingly not a body, but a piece of fabric stretched across some kind of wooden hoop.

“Man, what the fuck,” says Matthew.

“You’re the one who came here uninvited,” the Corinthian says with a shrug. He resumes the stabbing. Matthew can make out the vague outline of something that might be a duck, embroidered in grey and orange thread. It’s got a knife in its beak. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Delivering an HR report.”

“That’s a lie, Lucienne wouldn’t talk to me even through a middleman.”

“It’s from our mutual boss.”

“The Dream King?” The Corinthian frowns. “What’s he want?”

“For you to do your job, apparently.”

“I’ve been doing my job.”

“Uh, no, you haven’t. Not in the past week or two.”

If the Corinthian were a normal human being, Matthew would say the expression that passes over his face is guilt. The fine lines around his mouth(s) tighten, his eye teeth grind together in a gesture that might be glancing from side to side. But then the Corinthian refocuses on his embroidery project. “Well, tell him not to get his panties in a twist. I’ll be on the clock tonight.”

“If you want PTO—“

“—we don’t actually get paid—“

“—you gotta talk to Lucienne—“

“—I know, I know, submit the requisite forms, blah blah blah—“

“—and not just fuck off on your own, I mean, you of all people should know that.”

The Corinthian tilts his head. Something about the motion makes Matthew’s feathers stand on end. “Me of all people?”

“Well. Yeah.”

“No, no, birdie, why don’t you say what you mean.” The Corinthian flips the needle over his fingers and it transforms into knife. “Tell me how I’m special.”

Matthew lets out a nervous kraw, spreading his wings. “Man, you’re on thin fucking ice, you think Dream is gonna be chill about you killing another one of his ravens?”

“Alex Burgess shot Jessamy.”

“Because you made sure she was cut off from the Dreaming.”

“That wasn’t me.”

“Close enough.”

“Really? You think the current Dream King is close enough to Morpheus?”

Matthew shuffles from one foot to the other. He ought to take flight, tell Dream that he found the Corinthian and his lord’s former masterpiece has taken up arts and crafts. Let Dream decide what the punishment for that offense is. But he feels the need to protest, to prove his loyalty. Maybe because he’s the New Guy (if not as new as the latest incarnation of the boss). Maybe because the Corinthian doesn’t get to question his commitment to the job.

He says, slowly, “He’s Dream of the Endless. That’s all there is.”

The Corinthian barks out a surprised laugh. “Guess you’ll stick around,” he murmurs cryptically, and the knife is a needle again. He lowers that awful not-gaze back to his embroidery hoop. “You can tell our Lord Shaper that his renegade hammer will be back to pounding nails tonight.”

“Was that an innuendo? It felt like it wanted to be an innuendo.”

“What doesn’t?” The Corinthian’s smile is all teeth.

Matthew ignores that. “So is this what you’ve been doing while AWOL? Making home decor?”

“What’s it to you, birdie?”

“I dunno, seems out of character. Shouldn’t you be plotting murder?”

“Maybe I’ve been slipping into the Waking World.”

“Nah, you aren’t stupid. You wouldn’t be that obvious about it.” Matthew pauses. “Besides, Dream said you hadn’t left the Dreaming.”

“So he is keeping tabs on me.”

“You’re dreamkin.”

“Yeah, veritable tracking chip built right in.” The duck is gaining feet, bright flashes of color making a pantomime of long strides. “Like knowing where your right hand is.”

“Does it bother you?”

“Would it bother you?”

“Not really. I mean, it doesn’t. When the boss rides along. Uses my eyes or whatever. Feels weird, but that’s what I’m here for.”

Matthew looks around the room. It’s organized like a human apartment, albeit one of those fancy places in Architectural Digest: sleek white sofa and matching chairs, glass coffee table that doubles as modern art, hardwood floors so gleaming Matthew can see his reflection in them. He’d assume it was for show except for details like the discarded books and the blood-spattered “Home Sweet Home” cross-stitch framed on the opposite wall.

“Are you…bored?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Taking up new hobbies, skipping out on work.” Matthew gestures at him with a wing. “I dunno, feels like burnout.”

“And what do you care?”

“Well, the last time you got dissatisfied with your job, a lot of people died—caw, fucking shit!”

He takes flight just in time to dodge the wicked blade that comes at him with eerie accuracy. It sticks in the table with a thunk, before it dissolves into sand.

The Corinthian snarls in triplicate, “That. Wasn’t. Me.”

“Okay! Okay, sorry, fuck.” Matthew circles in the air a few times before landing on the back of a chair. “You could just say so, don’t gotta get all murderous about it.”

“S’my nature,” the Corinthian says, mulish. His fingers sort restlessly through the rainbow of thread. It’s a minute before he chooses a sprig of green and starts threading it into his needle. Sunglasses materialize on his face, hiding his terrible eyes. “What are you hangin’ around for? Don’t you have a report to deliver?”

You don’t have friends, huh. Matthew is smart enough not to speak his observation out loud this time. Makes sense, though. The Corinthian is a Nightmare, and in the narratives he inhabits, all his overtures end in murder. Probably other dreams don’t want to get too close, even if this incarnation is supposedly collared and muzzled. Hell, Matthew didn’t want to come here just to see what the fucker was up to. In hindsight, he assumed something nasty. Not…whatever the fuck this is.

He thinks about what it might have been like, being Morpheus’ favorite. He thinks about Dream saying, I don’t know that he would welcome me.

He thinks maybe the Corinthian is lonely.

“I’m not a messenger pigeon,” Matthew says, ruffling his feathers in mock outrage. “Besides, Dream asked me to check out what you’re doing. You really want me to tell him you got distracted making home decor? Won’t that tarnish your image or something?”

The Corinthian frowns at his wobbly duck.

“He already caught me slacking on the job,” he says.

“Look, I’m just saying—if you want me to tell him you got distracted by some cute nightmare, I’ve got your back.”

The Corinthian curls his lip like a dog. “Why? You think I’m gonna forget about you ditching me back in Svartalfheim? I know you don’t fucking like me.”

“What, I can’t do a favor for a coworker?��� The Corinthian’s fingers twitch, and Matthew croaks. “Fine, fine, sure, if it makes you feel better. I cover for your ass and you stop threatening to kebab me, how does that sound?”

The Corinthian stitches a whole patch of grass before he says, “All right. You got a deal.”

“Cool.” Matthew tries not to dwell on how it feels worse than if he’d made a pact with the literal Devil. Okay, no, that’s an exaggeration, Matthew went to Hell the once and he’s not keen on having another interaction with Their Unholiness anytime soon. But keeping a secret for the Corinthian feels a lot like betraying Dream, even if it’s harmless.

At least, he thinks it’s harmless.

Man, he’s going to feel so stupid if it turns out the embroidery is part of some scheme.

He mantles his wings, preparing to take off.

Hesitates.

“You got anything you want me to tell the boss?” he asks.

“Thought you said you weren’t a messenger pigeon.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t pass a word along. As a favor.”

The Corinthian doesn’t respond for a long minute. Matthew starts to think that’s his answer, but then he says, all lazy cheer, “Nah. I got nothing to say to him.”

And Matthew thinks that’s the biggest lie he’s ever heard but it’s not his job to argue, so he heads back to the palace.

#sandman #sandman fic #my writing #the corinthian/matthew the raven #enemies to friends to lovers #daniel!dream #the second corinthian #corimatt #i like the buddy cop dynamic they had in the dreaming comix #but mostly i think i'm very very funny

[griombrioch]

7.

7.  Post a snippet from a WIP

From the Hob-whumping oneshot that I might one day, eventually, possibly finish😅

----

“You were attacked in your sleep,” Dream supplies and his voice betrays none of the judgement Hob is expecting. Out of sheer politeness, he’s sure. Though Hob has never exactly known Dream to be polite in even the most lenient of terms. “Often.”

It isn’t about nightmares or not sleeping well. It’s about the vulnerability of being asleep. The fear of waking up in an unfamiliar situation, to uninvited hands on him, to pain. He opens his mouth to elaborate, maybe, but his throat dries up at the thought of having to recount what it was like.

He shudders.

“Yeah,” Hob gives an awkward, empty chuckle to try and dislodge the discomfort in his chest. He’s lived a long time. A couple years with some sadistic lowlife is nothing in the grand-scheme of things. “Anyway, like I said, it’s nothin’, Dream.”

“You did not tell me,” he says, “When I returned from Hell and asked you about the last century. You omitted this.”

“Dream, I-” Hob pauses, trying to think about how to word this without risking scaring Dream away or offending him. “You had just told me that you’d been in a cage for over a century. How could I possibly complain about anything? It was a couple years. Love, I’m fine-”

“Stop.”

“What?”

“I said stop.” A cool hand is suddenly tugging on his jaw. When Hob turns his head, Dream is no longer across the table from him, but knelt on the ground next to his chair. The King of Dreams, looking up at Hob-fucking-Gadling like he deserves it. “Stop pretending like your pain does not matter. Least of all to me.”

Hob swears he isn’t imagining the soothing swipe of his thumb against his cheek.

“I dislike anyone being refused access to my realm. But you…you are mine, Hob Gadling. Anyone who takes that right from you is committing a personal attack against me.”

“He’s long dead now, dove.” Hob gives a weak smile and raises his hand to cover Dream’s. “I’m afraid there’s no one to enact your revenge on.”

“A shame. I suppose I must let my sister know, then.”

This man is ridiculous. “Dream-” Hob starts, exasperation and maybe a little bit of fondness seeping into his voice. But honestly - who has he ever dated who was willing to torment some poor sod beyond the grave?

“Come,” Dream murmurs and rises to his feet with all the gracefulness of…well, an Endless. “Let me tend to your sleep.”

Hob doesn’t fight him. He lets Morpheus pull him up and stumbling to his feet. The stress of his worries has all but dissipated now that Dream is here. He knows that he wouldn’t let anyone hurt him.

Of course, he knows that anyway. Intrinsically. The idea of anything else seems laughable. But that isn’t quite how this shit works. He’s learned enough of that in his six hundred-something years on this earth. In watching his fellow soldiers cower against their sheets weeks and months and years after they’ve been brought out of the trenches.

#asks #griombrioch #the sandman #my writing #hob gadling #dream of the endless #dreamling #whumpity whump #WIP

[avelera]

Your fic reblog reminded me - after reading your fic last night I was musing about Dream calling the human cultural practice of forcing a couple to wed if they came to be with child barbaric. I mean, he's not wrong but I did think it somewhat ironic considering the Endless and Greek gods (and presumably other entities of Higher Power) can be bound to the whims of cruel humans due to unjust laws. It was just a thought that I had and forgot to add to my comment on your fic. ^-^

Oh definitely! I was absolutely intentionally invoking the canonical experiences of Dream and Calliope in the 20th c with Dream's outrage in that moment.

(Cut for some Giving Sanctuary Behind the Scenes rambling because I CAN)

On a deeper level, I can imagine that in the world of gods and goddesses who can, theoretically, absolutely control their own bodies and are never at the whims of a lack of resources (like money, food, etc.) the idea of being forced to bind yourself to a person against your will to survive or for your child to survive, and/or for that child to not be an active choice, would be especially barbaric to them, because I often write Dream as not seeming to quite understand, beyond the abstract, that humans have these needs like food and other resources to survive. Sure he knows Hob might have grown up through famines so him sharing largess in 1589 was an act of generosity as well as triumph, but since Dream has never personally experienced those privations, he mostly sees Hob as being boorish. Of course, if you confronted Dream about his ignorance, he'd use his abstract knowledge of these limitations as proof that he understands them, but I truly doubt he does unless he personally experiences them, much like many people who live in the ultimate privilege bubbles (like limitless resources, immortality, beauty, and magical powers, Dream).

Now, I did wrestle with the line a little because obviously, Greek myth in particular is rife with women being forced into lives they don't want, to give birth to children they didn't consent to, and experience relationships they did not agree to. For that, I'd defer to Dream being Endless and not being a god, indeed being disdainful of gods as lower than him. Mere gods might engage in such behavior, but he is Endless so he finds even gods barbaric in ways, but they're still an order of magnitude (on average) more civilized than your average human (like Hob).

Of course, Dream definitely wouldn't like anyone to ask whether or not his dreams and nightmares get paid or otherwise compensated for their total lack of autonomy to even choose if they are dreams or nightmares, but sure Dream, tell us about the unquestionable evils of human slavery and non-consensual marriages while you were born to a position of absolute authority and rule your realm as an unquestioned god-king over entities who are forced to live according to your whims without compensation. I mean, good on you for knowing these things are horrifically evil, but like... idk, maybe look around your own house, dude?

Which is all an elaborate way of saying: Dream isn't wrong but man, don't go digging too deep without expecting to find some deep hypocrisy in his pronouncements.

#1689 fic #giving sanctuary

[music-is-love-90]

A Dream of Starlight

A/N: just a little idea I had. It probably won't go anywhere, but I thought someone might find it interesting.

Astraea dreamed.

She had always dreamed.  It was her nature, what she was created to do, but even as she dreamed, it was never her dream.  She walked the path set before her feet that led between dreams, ensuring all who entered The Dreaming were safe and where they should be.  She knew not who created her or gave her this task, but she did it to the best of her abilities and with light in her steps.

“Well met, Lady of Stars.”

She was in a far-flung corner of the Land of Dreams, where nothing dwelled but nightmares of cold and loneliness, but, still, she was not surprised to see him.

“Well met, King of Dreams,” she replied, bowing to the Lord of the Dreaming.  “How may I serve you?”

“Walk with me awhile and tell me of my people.””

She nodded and fell in step as they continued on her appointed road.

“Your kingdom thrives, my King,” she reported.  “I walk my path and find no problems that require your attention.  All who dream remain safe within your borders.”

“And are you ready to tell me who set you on your path?” he asked, as he always did.  “You are not my creation, little star, and yet you traverse my realm as if it were your own.”

“My answer remains the same, Dream of the Endless,” she replied, as she always did.  “I know not who created me, nor who sent me to your realm, only the path I have always trod.  I know only that I serve The Dreaming and, by extension, her King.”

“Do you enjoy your task?”

This question surprised her.  He had never asked her that before and so she gave it the consideration it deserved.

“I do, my King.” She said softly.  “I enjoy the watching the ways mortals can imagine any possibility, for good or ill, and I take pride in keeping them safe while they dwell within our borders, but…”

“But?” he prompted.

“I find I envy them at times,” she admitted. 

“Why?”

“Because they can dream and I cannot,” she replied simply.  “I have walked through every dream imaginable except my own.  Whatever made me, it made me to guard them but will never allow me to be one of them.”

“I had not realized,” he said, stopping to look at her.  “You are right, of course.  You are the only creature who’s dreams I have never walked in, save my siblings and the Creator themselves.  Even my dreams and nightmares have dreams of their own.”

“Truthfully, I do not mind most of the time,” she told him, resuming their walk.  “I serve a purpose and it is one I am happy to do, but, sometimes, I do long to experience it myself.”

“I would give you my gift, were it in my power to give to you.  Perhaps, one day, we will discover who it is you belong to and I will beseech them myself.”

“Perhaps.” She smiled slightly.  “But until that day, I will walk my path through your lands and look forward to our meetings.”

“As will I,” he said with a small smile of his own.  “I confess I did not come just for your company this night.  I am setting out to hunt a rogue nightmare and hoped you might have knowledge of his location from your tracks.”

“You hunt the Corinthian.”  It was not a question, but he nodded all the same.  “I wish I did.  I fear he will cause more trouble before he is done, but alas, he has cut himself off from The Dreaming, as you well know.  He has taken refuge in the waking world where I cannot walk and unless he choses to dream, I cannot find him on my path.”

“I thought as much,” he admitted.  “I will be going after him.  I will see you when I return.”

“I look forward to it, my King.”

Dream of the Endless, Lord of The Dreaming and King of The Nightmare Realm, bowed before fading into the darkness while Astraea, Lady of Stars and Guardian of the Path, continued on her way.

She walked and walked and walked some more.  She traveled from dream to dream, from paradise to hell and back again, never stopping, never pausing, until, for the first time in her existence…

She faltered.

A searing pain tore through her chest as if a great wound had been dealt to her.  She fell to her knees and landed at the base of the Throne of Dreams.

“My lady?”

She looked up as she clutched at the invisible wound to find a concerned Lucienne kneeling in front of her.

“He’s gone,” she whispered.  “Morpheus is gone.”

And then all she knew was black.

#The Sandman #Dream of the Endless #The Sandman Netflix #Dream x FOC #Maybe #if you squint #and live in my brain #fanfiction #I gotta finish Best Laid Plans before I let myself do anything else #Hear that brain #One fixation at a time #please

[mismaeve]

Surviving Grief

↳ Surviving Grief, Thranduil x Fem!Elf Reader Warnings: angst, grief, dealing with grief, emotional pain Taglist: @rainbowvamp Gif Credit: @ironmaidenbands A/N: This is a personal fic that I wrote for myself in order to cope with my own grief and emotions. Therefore, it's not about the plot and not even quality. I'm sharing it because maybe there is someone out there who needs the kind of comfort that I do. It's not much but it's all my mind could come up with.

The nights were by far the worst. It always began early, as dusk settled over the realm, the thoughts came, accompanied by excruciating pain. Walking side by side with her husband, her footsteps grew slower, unsure, almost as if to prolong the inevitable. Thranduil slowed down as well, no doubt wanting his wife to take her time. Y/N knew how much it pained him to see her this devastated, it was clear on his face and in his eyes. She knew he would give most anything to take away her pain, alas he couldn’t. In the face of grief, even the King of the Woodland realm was rendered powerless. ㅤ The Queen gently dismissed her chambermaids after they had drawn her a bath, she would prepare for bed by herself tonight. Just like the nights before, and the nights yet to come. It was the silence of their shared chambers that brought on the first sob which she tried to quietly swallow. Y/N had allowed the subtle roar of laughter and conversation to distract her during their supper in the great hall, but now there was only silence, and when silence came, so did the memories. Taking off her crown, she could no longer stifle her sobs. Her lord husband was immediately at her side, offering to assist her in any way she might require. ㅤ As Y/N sat with her knees pulled up to her chest in the wooden tub, Thranduil was gently running the washcloth up and down her back, her sides and her arms. Tears were silently streaming down her cheeks as she listened to his whispers. She recognised them as soothing Elvish poems, some were healing words from a time long forgotten and some were magical verses meant for relieving one’s soul. His words were a soothing salve for her aching heart and soul. ㅤ Thranduil’s voice was soft and soothing as he told her stories of old while his fingers were lightly stroking Y/N’s hair. He would occasionally plant a soft kiss either on her forehead or on the top of her head. His Queen was neatly tucked in at his side with Thranduil’s arms around her frame. When her sobs made her entire body tremble, he held her even tighter, pulling her even closer. “Let it out, my love,” he would whisper in her hair as he held her trembling body. Y/N knew he was right, trying to bury it would do her no good, she was meant to feel it, to live through it and survive it. And with him by her side, she knew she had a chance of surviving her grief. Even if her heart broke, Y/N knew her husband, with the help of time, would help her put it back together again. ㅤ She must have screamed in her sleep because when she woke, Thranduil was brushing her hair away from her face. Y/N felt soaked, hot and cold at the same time, her nightclothes were hugging her frame in an uncomfortable way. “Did I dream it?” Y/N asked her husband quietly, hoping that perhaps this time, this time it would turn out to be an incredibly vivid nightmare. But when she saw the sadness in the King’s eyes and the gentle shake of his head, tears welled up in her eyes. All Thranduil could do then was kiss them away. ㅤ As dawn rose over Mirkwood, the King would silently wait on his Queen. Y/N had taken notice of Thranduil not leaving their bed unless she was. There were days when they would lie there in silence for as long as Y/N needed, there were also days when she would leave their bed at first light, eager to do something, anything to occupy her mind with. Some days there would be sobs as light as whisper as they were getting dressed, other days the Queen’s eyes would be vacant of any emotion and thought. Yet something always remained constant. Each morning, as Y/N donned her crown and took her husband’s arm to leave their chambers, she would lock her grief away. She was the Queen of Mirkwood, her people were her responsibility, and no matter the aches that she bore, she would be strong for her people. And therefore, each morning, as the King and Queen of Mirkwood made their way to the great hall to break their fast, they were the very picture of serenity and bliss.

#thranduil #thranduil oropherion #thranduil x reader #thranduil x you #thranduil imagine #thranduil one shot #king thranduil #king of mirkwood #tolkien #the hobbit #lord of the rings

[thenightling]

Enough with the anti-kingdom crap in regard to fantasy fiction

Maleficent (2010) starts with “Once Upon a time there were two kingdoms” and then (In regard to one kingdom) “had no King or queen for they relied on each other.”  Then that’s a land, not a kingdom.  A kingdom literally requires a monarch to rule for it to count as a kingdom.  That’s why “King” is in the word.  Maleficent: Mistress of Evil had Aurora give up her rights to her father’s kingdom and “left it to the people.”   Yeah, that won’t lead to chaos and civil wars in a medieval European-style setting...  (sarcasm intended.)   Disney’s Descents films turned the fairy tale world into a pseudo-United States where they “elect” a king.   (That’s not how monarchies work..) 

Once Upon a Time ended with all the Lands of Story united and Regina “elected” as the ruler.   No more kingdoms...   So much for fairy tale worlds, eh?

Game of Thrones ended with a council electing Bran as the new king.   A fantasy setting modeled after Medieval War of the Roses suddenly understands democratic elections?!

Just a few months ago I saw a post on Tumblr where someone saw Nightmare before Christmas for the first time. The person decided that the film was “over rated” and suggested how they would “Fix” the “dumpster fire.”  Their suggestion was that Jack “needed to be punished” for what he did because (according to their reasoning) you cannot learn you are truly wrong without punishment.  Their suggestion was that the mayor should strip Jack of his Pumpkin King title.  I guess they missed the “Jack, please!  I’m only an elected official here.  I can’t make decisions by myself.”  Jack is their king. He out-ranks the mayor.  Even as a child I understood this.  The mayor does not have the power to strip him of his title.  Also what kind of person thinks everyone needs to be punished in order to be forgiven? 

There’s this weird anti-monarchy trend in fiction.  In the real world, yes, democracies are great, but most of these fantasies are not set in the real world.  They’re setin fantasy settings.  Some of these settings are specifically modeled after medieval Europe.   These characters would have no concept of a democratic government.  

You can’t go from a settling that looks like 10th century Scotland (Disney’s Gargoyles example here), and then suddenly “F--k yeah!  ‘Murica.  We’ve got a president now and everyone has equal right to vote!”

Even in a fantasy setting that’s very, very jarring.  

  I know that in real life kingdoms aren’t necessarily that great.  Many monarchies are thinly disguised dictatorships.   And fantasy settings don’t necessarily glorify or romanticize them but they were the norm when a lot of fairy tales were written or where a lot of fantasy stories are set.  They just make for fun writing and drama.   But if you start with a kingdom and a culture that has never had anything else, you can’t abruptly switch gears to twenty first century sensibilities even in a fantasy.   There has to be cohesion in the fantasy setting.  A consistency. 

Even in settings that are fantastical and have things like dragons and elves you have to consider that within that setting changing an established culture so drastically and suddenly might not make sense. Fantasy or no, there needs to be an internal logic and consistency.   Imagine if Lord of the Rings ended with Frodo inventing TV and Legolas inventing wifi and having a skype call with Gandolf simply because it’s what is familiar to us in the real world.  It would be very jarring and out of place even for fantasy.  A well written fantasy can be tainted by this sort of hamfisted cultural commentary.  

I was discussing Neil Gaiman’s The Sandman with someone who is very anti-Monarchy and this person tried saying that The Dreaming should have free elections.  Free elections ...for Nightmares?   Do you know what The Corinthian’s platform would be?   “Human eye balls in every pot!”   They also suggested that Morpheus might be taxing the dream-folk without representation.   What taxes?  They’re dreams!  He doesn’t even have a currency system!  All the inhabitants are either technically his own imaginary friends (since he created them) or spirits of deceased humans who decided they wanted to stay in the realm of dreams (often transformed into dream-folk, themselves).  He pays his servants with favors and giving them things they like.  Lucien loves books, Lucien gets to be the librarian of every story never-told. That’s how it works.   

  So help me, if Netflix decides The Sandman needs to end with Daniel making The United States of The Dreaming I might have a stroke. 

As I said, it’s reasonable to be anti-kingdom in the real world but certain fantasy settings democracy just doesn’t make sense.    

#Kingdom #Kingdoms #Fantasy #Nightmare before Christmas #Descedants #Once Upon a Time #The Sandman #Game of Thrones #Song of Fire and Ice #Fairy tales #Maleficent

[mxvladdy]

Diavolo- True Form

Whoooooooo weeeee! ‘Pologies for the wait on these longer posts. I’ve been hit with a one two punch of house emergencies and sudden costly ass repairs, so my creative juices have been rightly squashed as of late.

Plus side I got my drawing tablet and drafting table back so I can neaten up my blog lay out now (yay!) 

Anyway this one was a challenge in the best possible ways. I really like Diavolo because of how little we know about him so it gave me some wiggle room. Or at least what I know of him- im only on like chapter 23 of the stories. Idk if I did him justice as this is angsty af but I sure had a blast writing it!

Hope ya like! Next up: Beelzebub 

Trigger warning: Mention of blood, and swearing. 

Diavolo-

He'll never show you, so don't ask. His true form is god-like in its own right and such knowledge, such truly raw demonic power in its natural form is not for your mortal eyes.

No matter what your lineage, it would break you. And despite his roles and being the literal devil, he doesn’t want you suffering.

Sometimes when he thinks you wouldn't notice he relaxes his hold on reality, just a fraction. He wants to relieve some of the tension that is always building just below the surface. Like closing your eyes when you have a tension headache. The mental energy he has to exert to keep face is enormous. Regular glamour doesn’t work nearly as well as his own, or Barbato’s magic.

But you see hints during your downtime spent in his company. A ripple in his reflection on the window pane. Unexplainable shadows dancing across his exposed skin. Too many teeth in his mouth when he laughs. Sometimes when you stare into his eyes you see something indescribable staring back behind them. His usually warm and inviting gaze darkening. A barest flicker, a hulking bestial thing kept locked behind in his golden gaze. It's enough to freeze the blood in your veins.

On certain nights when you can slip away from the brothers you stay in his room. Lying  awake, you watch his magic wane and shift as he slumbers. Sometimes you see runes, or at times letters. You are tempted to write them down and ask Solomon. But something stops you each time.

The worst images are the faces. Unknown souls trapped beneath his flesh clawing to be freed. Silent screams fading back into his body as he dreams. Your fragile fingers trace the patterns they leave as you wait for the next day wrapped in his embrace.

Only once have you seen more of his form then he would ever wish. The depths of his strength and mental fortitude were unknown to you so the slip up took you both by surprise. He masks the error well, but the sudden shift in energy in the room couldn’t be suppressed .

You are suddenly so aware of the oppressive weight of gravity on your frame. Your bones grinding together under the force of his aura. You panic, desperate by the need to breathe, but are unable to draw even the smallest bit of oxygen as it is robbed from the room. Time and reality wrapped too, distorting in ways only you thought only Barbatos could do. You knew in that moment the sudden dread of death, how mortally was but a rusty shackle tethering you down.

He collects himself, dispelling the energy and locking his glamour down tight to protect you. But that split second of fury felt like an eternity to you as you sink to the floor. You hiccup a shaky sob and shiver. Your fragile human mind bowing under the strain of what it cannot comprehend. Scolding hot tears fall from your cheeks, before splashing crimson the stone below you.

You didn't approach him again for over a month. No matter how strong you are, some things were better off unseen.

Mini Fic

He didn’t know. For once in his ancient pitiful existence, he had been unaware of his surroundings. It had been for just a moment, one tiny crack in his veneer. The foolishness of Mammon and Belphegor’s actions finally poked the right nerve. He wouldn’t hurt them, for Lucifer’s sake. That prideful demon would never forgive him if he did. But he could scare them. A quick look at his true self; a flash of the deepest bowels of hell. Enough to give them a reminder of their positions and standing in his court. He had expected their whimpers of fear, could taste the acidic tinge of it exuding from their pores. What he didn’t expect though was your blood curdling screams alongside.

Ironically, he would have to thank the second eldest later. His fast thinking is the only thing that saved you from complete damnation. His body shielded yours, taking the brunt of the stronger daemons hellish might for you. What little magic Mammon still had left used to protect you. Though, while your vision was blocked, you could still feel his oppressive presence. It racked your mortal flesh. Diavolo knew what affects his power had on humans. He spent years breaking and consuming damned souls with zeal after all.

The brothers had run from him after that, screaming for Simone. Barbatos following close behind, a look of consternation on his usually impassive face. You had been so limp in Mammon's arms. Diavolo could do nothing, shocked by his own weak will and realization that he might have ruined everything. You had been whisked away so quickly by his faithful servant and the brothers that he hadn’t had a chance to look you over himself. But the brief moment he saw will haunt him for years to come. Your eyes red from the sudden haemolacria, the blood staining your clothes and face. Your fingers digging away at your soft skin, black and purple blotches staining what he could see. Mouth opened wide on a silent scream. He knew what you must have seen. The souls of the damned trapped under his glamour breaking free to latch on to your unmarred soul trying to drag you back with them.

Against his butler's advice he stands at your door now days later trying to see you. He couldn’t sit around and just hear updates second hand. The brothers had been keeping guard most days in a valiant attempt to keep him away. But he could only be waylaid for so long before he used his rank against them.

He had arranged a full council meeting. Every one of the brothers knowing full well it was to get them out of his way. Yet, the order was absolute. This time none of the brothers could reject it. Barbatos would keep them in that room for eternity if he so wished for it. He hated using his age and power against them, but he saw no other way to get to you.

It was foolish now, standing as he was in front of your door. A part of him hoping you would turn the knob and let him in. Let him comfort you for once, instead of the asinine distractions the brothers offered. He could help too. Hells, he wanted to. He wanted to be closer to you. Power discrepancy be damned. The other part of him knowing it was for the best that you didn’t. Your guardian and tormentor all in one. He listens to your muffled sobs for a moment fighting with his feet to stay cemented to the floor instead of heading back in defeat.  

"When my father was still around he took me down to the deepest depths of the kingdom. Where the worst of the traitors and sinners are imprisoned." His deep baritone rumbles through your door during a break in your crying. "It’s a place few seldom go; even now I have yet to return. Back then he told me ‘there will never be a human soul that is undeserving of punishment. Even the ones destined for the celestial realm are tethered to sin.’ At that time I believed him. The things I saw in your realm... " The prince chuckles wearily.

He remembers the ever present scowl on the old King's face. His dark eyes looking out at the sea of damned souls he controlled. Even as a young daemon, fresh into his wings and still sharpening his horns to impress others he could tell how much his father detested his position. How it had warped him, turning him bitter and cold, even to his mate and only child.

Diavolo never wanted to be like that. Not to the ones he supposedly cared for at the very least. "I think that is why he hated the other realms so much.” He continued. “Humans, for their ability to choose which realm they would eventually end up in after they pass. That even the worst sinners could find redemption enough at the last moment to get to the pearly gates. While daemons, no matter how well they served, or the duties they did for the good of their own would never be seen as equals to our celestial counterparts or yours. That this existence is all we'll ever be destined to have. Nightmares and monsters, stories to tell little human children to keep them in line.” He pauses, collecting himself. “I believed wholeheartedly that every human deserved the punishments only my kind could dowel out. But, in this past year I have spent with you, I find myself changing. You are so undeserving of such torment. Somehow you are understanding and forgiving beyond measure to us. You handle our ill tempers with such grace. For daemons such as us, it is staggering, and humbling. I regret that I have hurt you so deeply and have broken your trust. I swear it as the head of this realm I would never intentionally do so." He looks at the door handle willing it to open. " I am so sorry."

Your crying picks up again. Huge heaving sobs that rattle your chest. Great Father, he just keeps making it worse. Clearing his head Diavolo turns.

Rejection of this nature was new to him. No one had ever dared to ignore him, especially such as this. The royal in him- his father's blood- seethed that he would even stoop so low as to grovel to a short lived thing like yourself. Even deeper yet, it demanded another taste of your essences. You little soul kept safe behind your rib cage. He wanted it added to his collection, kept tucked away deep within his maws.

It was sick; it was wrong. He chokes on the idea. The intrusive thought burrowing deep. How deplorable was he? Perhaps the angels were right to keep him out of heaven.

You didn't show to class the following day, or the days after. Unsurprising to him and the seven of the inner council. He figured the other day wouldn’t change anything. But it was utter agony to him. These days trapped in his office only getting short and curt updates on your health from Lucifer. It had been a special kind of torment.

Today he sat once again at his desk staring at some godforsaken bitching of a royal cousin. He knew this whelp. Some backwater thrice removed eons ago. Yet he was demanding an audience? The gall. The ink of their eligible handwriting makes him cross eyed. Would this day ever cease? He looks to his hourglass, the sands within seemingly frozen in time.

"My Lord, perhaps you should take a moment to stretch your legs?" Barbatos moved from his corner. Gloved hand coming to rest on top of the same three lines he had been reading for the past two hours. "This work could wait another evening I’m certain ."

"Did I do the right thing my friend?" Diavolo doesn't even bother answering the question his servant posed. They both knew he wouldn't. "This program. Our human exchange students. Solomon is one thing, but-"

"Your will and path is absolute." Barbatos states. "There are no mistakes within you, merely stumblings onto different paths."

With a gentle push Barbatos moves the hulking demon out of his way to collect and organize the scrolls and letters scattered about the large desk. "You made the right choice bringing them here. Look at what they have done. They are entertainment to you are they not?"

The prince rose knocking his desk aside and descended on his butler. His true form out in all its unholy glory now. His highly condensed magic distorting the study as if he was a black hole. The axis of the room shifts. His priceless collection of books and toys disintegrating from the cold radiation he emits.

It was all for show really. There was nothing he could do to an ancient being such as Barbatos. So he lashed out, throwing a tantrum in the security of his office. The hopeless agitation he felt fueling the flames of his rage. His butler had only added holy water to his already festering wounds.

Barbatos had been by his side for time in memoriam. The crafty bastard had helped raise him. Had shaped him into the ruler he was today. If anyone could break and remold him it would be his oldest companion.

The dark haired daemon waited for the waves of agitation to dry up. Moving only when the prince was in his more presentable demonic form. Large barrel chest heaving as he reined himself in. “Are you back to your senses?” He asks coolly, already categorizing the items to replace and furniture to be mended.

"I had not meant for it to go like this."  Diavolo croaks into his hands collapsing back on what remained of his desk. Building a bridge between realms, yes. That noble idea was the greater purpose of this program, but the rest of it. The classes, and dances. The parties where he threw his newest toys about to see how they would react to things other mortals worshiped? That had been for his own curiosity and amusement. Lesser beings navigating a foreign world blind to the dangers that were right under their very nose. Bring a mortal with no magic into his realm? Deep down he knew this was an inevitability. Especially with the freedoms he granted them. He just didn’t think he would get so attached.

“No one believes that you would hurt them on purpose.” His butler cuts off his downward spiral. “It would ruin the program. That is what you are so stressed about, right?” Barbatos eyes him skeptically. Diavolo, himself, and Lucifer had spent many sleepless weeks constructing and negotiating this program. If the Arch Angels heard a mortal was hurt down here it could very well end this little escapade. But the look in the prince’s eyes told a different story.

A warm glow emanated from his cheeks and he was unable to meet the old daemon’s gaze. Ah. "Or perhaps things have changed?" Barbatos smiles coyly up from beneath his bangs. "You are your mother's son after all. Neither of you were ever able to stem your bleeding hearts for long." Diavolo squawked indignantly but didn’t argue. Instead he merely turns a darker shade of red and curses under his breath.

He skipped out on court that evening. Not that he cared much. The other nobles would no doubt use the time to gossip about his whereabouts and uncouth behavior of late. Truth be told, he was avoiding the brothers more than anything else. They had made it expressly clear (some more then others) how they felt about him currently. He wouldn't doubt that Belphegor had a few more brothers on his side now.

Instead he stood at your door once more with a tea tray in hand. He had bumped into Simone on the way. The angel had come to bring you dinner and to check up on the last of your wounds. Celestial magic worked miracles on those who have been touched by the darker arts. Diavolo was grateful for his talents. And, by some miracle, Simone had made it abundantly clear he was not going to bring this to the higher ups on his end either.

Upon seeing the prince slinking up the house's stairwell the other man had simply smiled and offered him the tray. “I suddenly got a message from Luke. Could you perhaps drop this by our friend’s door?” Diavolo had accepted without preamble, large hands dwarfing the platter of little tea cakes and sandwiches. The young cherubs work no doubt. His cooking was a fine treat, and a great incentive to at least open the door.

“Hello again.” He knocks twice. “I just wanted to check in on you. I know I am the last person you wish to see but I was hoping to talk?” Silence greets him. Were you awake? He breathes deeply and focuses on picking up your vitals. You were up, your heart thumping steady somewhere in the room. That was good. “I also have dinner for you. Simone had an urgent matter to attend to so he- for better or worse- entrusted this to me.”

Diavolo searches hopelessly for something else to say. He couldn’t just leave the food and go. He needed to see you. “I don’t plan on staying long today. I understand when I am not wanted, but I cannot help myself but be worried for you. Perhaps this is just me contritioning, because I know I caused this. The amount of times I have been called a ‘ass’ by Solomon over this have been staggering.” He rambles. After another bout of silence from your end he coincides. “I see- I will leave the food by the door and let you rest.” Defeated he puts the food down and turns to leave.

The door clicks open slowly. One bloodshot eye peeking through the crack. “Oh mio piccolo mortale.” He loses his grip on your shared tongue at a loss. You looked- you must have been in the hall longer then he or the brothers had known. Such damage couldn’t be done in a few moments. Your skin was healing as nicely as Lucifer had said, but the deep purple scarring still remained on the surface. The burn pattern of it all was random. Twisting wounds that reflected an oily sheen from the light of the hallway. “I-.”

“I know-” You cut him off with a raised hand. “and I feel as though I owe you an apology too.” Your voice was so weak and shaky. A mockery of your normally strong and jovial tone. Hearing you laugh at school had brightened the dreary halls. He hadn’t realized it until you weren't there.

“You owe me nothing.” Diavolo says in earnest. He watches you contemplate your next words before throwing whatever you were going to say away.

“Would you like to come in?” Your eyes drop to the tray. “Luke always makes more than I can eat.”

“I don’t think that would be wise.” He backs out. All his plans crashing and burning around his feet. His actions had been irreparable.

“Perhaps not,” You open the door wider taking the tray and heading to your side table, leaving him no room to argue. “But then again, being a lamb among such wolves as yourself and the brothers isn’t smart either.” You meant it as a joke but he couldn’t even muster a chuckle. It was true. Gods. “Dia-” You approach him again but falter at the last second.

As much as you wanted to be close to him again the memories were still so fresh in your mind. The cold hell fire of his magic ensnaring you, searing your skin. The whispered words of sinners long since past still echoing in your head, all in languages you’ve never heard before. The worst though had to be the screaming. Lost souls begging for help. Some sounded so familiar…You shutter involuntarily.

You wanted to hate him for this. Curse him for putting you through this pain. But how much could you blame him? Or any of them? They were daemons. Whether he meant to hurt you or not, it truly had only been a matter of time before it happened. It would be hypocritical of you to fear or hate him forever over this. Six of the seven brothers have threatened your life before, and you have forgiven them. Hell, one of them actually killed you. What’s more was that Diavolo’s wrath hadn’t even been directed at you.

Wrong place at the right time; seemed to be your forte. “Please, come in.” You repeat again firmer than before mustering up either courage or sheer human stupidity to order him in. You couldn’t tell the difference anymore. “We need to talk.”  

He enters, following at your heel like a lost puppy. All air of princedom gone as you clicked the door shut. Diavolo fiddles with his hands, old habits from childhood coming with his nerves. He didn’t know what to expect anymore. Yelling? Some kind of beratement? A plea to go home and never look back?  He would let you.

You pass by him, giving him a large berth of space to get to your seat. “Tea?”  

Diavolo jerks his head to you. He had forgotten momentarily the plate of food he had used to get access to you. You smile sheepishly pushing it and a plate of sweets towards him with your unbandaged knuckles. He doesn’t move till your hand retracts back to your lap. You jerk your head to the open seat waiting for him. You weren’t going to take no for an answer.

“I- thank you.” The daemon sits making himself as small as possible in the straight back chair. He takes the porcelain and drinks mindlessly. The scalding hot tea doing little to help the tightness of his throat, but it did thaw some of the ice in his mind.

“Are-how…” He fumbles so unsure of what to do next. “I see you’ve been keeping up with your school work.” Diavolo closes his eyes, wincing internally at his words. That’s what he comes up with? Idiotic.

You smile anyway, eyeing the massive pile of books and paperwork spewn about your bed. “Yeah. I’ve taken to doing my school work with Levi in his room. Mammon and Beel are nice enough to drop it off to the teachers when they are due.” He nods. He knew this of course. But it was nice to hear it from you. But yet, you don’t meet his eyes. Far too afraid to see what hid behind them.

The thought of being dragged back into those dark depths again makes your pulse quicken. You instead stare at your nail beds, finding them more interesting. They were purple now. The nails stained black by the contact with his magic. “Will- will that go away?” He asks. Demonic curses or taints were nigh impossible to remove fully. Disgustingly, he hoped they didn’t. Then your nails would match his. The darker depths of his soul coo at the idea, happy that in a small way every daemon would know your his. Not as good as a pact, but as close as he could get to being a part of your little mortal life.

“I’m not sure.” You reply honestly bringing your hands up to place them on the table. “Simone and Solomon have done what they could. But, it is as good as it’s going to get for now. They say it could fade with time.” You look up at him, eyes gazing to the left of his face. “Luke thinks I should see a stronger angel.” Diavolo winces, the thought stung, and terrified him. “I told him no.”

That surprised him. This was your chance. The celestial realm had been skeptical from the beginning. If they knew, it would be a perfect caveat for them to step in. “Why?” Finally you look at him. The fear was still there. Hesitation evident in your eyes. Yet you forced yourself to look at him, fighting through your trepidation.

“Did you mean what you said earlier? About your father and what you think of me?”

“Of course.” He replies without hesitation reaching for your cold hands. You flinch but don’t move away. It felt-nice. His warmth chasing away the perpetual chill that covered your fingertips. Idly you stroke his strong hands with your thumbs.

“Then, I think we can work on this privately.” Slowly but surely you felt like you could fix this. Not for the program, but for yourself.  

#obey me #obey me diavolo #obey me headcanons #gods have mercy I wanna smooch him so bad

[feralphoenix]

HOWMST BELL THE CAT? - A treatise on one aspect of how the Pale King sealed the Radiance

sup hollow knight fandom, i’m back with the picante takes again after having Noticed A Thing.

as with my previous essays i’ll put this guy up on dreamwidth later for accessibility purposes, since my layout text may be too small for high-res pc users. i will attach that in a reblog at a later point.

CONTENT WARNINGS FOR TONIGHT’S PROGRAM: This essay discusses canon-typical body horror and bodily boundary violations, with some side mentions of colonialism.

all game screencaps are mine. the screencap of the wiki is from the “developer notes” (style guide) section of the “cut content” page.

ALSO: if youre from a christian cultural upbringing (whether currently practicing, agnostic/secular, or atheist now), understand that some of what i’m discussing here may challenge you. if thinking thru the implications of this particular part of hollow knight worldbuilding/lore is distressing for you, PLEASE only approach this essay when youre in a safe mindset & open to listening, and ask the help of a therapist or anti-racism teacher/mentor to help you process your thoughts & feelings. just like keep in mind that youre listening to an ethnoreligiously marginalized person and please be respectful here or wherever else youre discussing this dang essay, ty

HOWMST BELL THE CAT? - A treatise on one aspect of how the Pale King sealed the Radiance

We understand more or less how the Pale King’s plan was supposed to work. Stuff Radiance into a no-thoughts-head-empty and silent Pure Vessel to trap, isolate, and silence her, both putting an end to the Infection and killing her for good. Stick that vessel in the Black Egg, which harnesses Void BS to both keep the vessel alive indefinitely and to cover Hallownest (and its neighbors) in a time-defying stasis so that the Pale King could successfully hoard his favorite shiny FOREVER, threatened by nothing. Then put a seal on the Black Egg to prevent anyone from getting inside and harming said vessel while it’s strung up and helpless. And THEN, put protective seals on the anchors (the Dreamers) to the Black Egg seal to protect them from any external harm: The stasis means the Dreamers won't die of old age or starvation.

All in all, a pretty foolproof plan!

...except that the Dreamers are still vulnerable to having their minds breached with the moths’ magic... and the Pale King failed to take into account that his Pure Vessel was a person actually and the amount of toxic stress his training/upbringing put on them made them REALLY POORLY SUITED FOR THEIR JOB... and also that killing 99% of his million children and turning the Abyss into a landfill for baby corpses would take enough of an emotional toll on his wife and #1 enabler the White Lady that she would walk out on him, ensuring he’d only ever have one shot at this whole deal...

Basically it’s the sort of plan that an emotionally constipated, low-empathy sort of guy who pours all his points into INT and has a big fat zero for WIS might think is foolproof. It has big holes in it that the Pale King did not consider to be big holes until he got owned by the various consequences of his actions and fell down said big holes, making the shocked pikachu face all the while. Rip in die, my guy.

Anyway, there’s a lot of incidental information scattered about the game that gives us more insight into the stages of TPK’s plan. Looking at Monomon’s notes in the Archive suggests that she was probably involved in designing the Black Egg; the hidden room in the Weavers’ den points to their being the ones to blueprint the Dreamer seal; the White Palace’s hidden rooms reveal both TPK’s morbid fascination with the Void and his mea culpa wrt his motives and the Path of Pain is certainly suggestive of a lot of things. The White Lady tells us straight out that she walked out on the Pale King because she wanted no part in a second vessel batch, but how TPK didn’t handle that is only revealed via map design and some incidental dialogue from the Old Stag.

This stuff presents us with, if not a full picture, then at least a decent connect-the-dots of certain aspects of crater politics and Pale Court drama at the time, and how exactly TPK’s plan came together.

But there is still one glaring question that these cookie crumbs do not provide us an answer to:

Who shall bell the cat?

How did TPK et al manage to stuff Radiance into Hollow in the first place?

This is the subject of a lot of memes and jokes within the fandom because it's so absurd. Radiance fuckin hates that dude! She’s probably gonna be pretty wary of him considering how he stole her people in the first place! And considering the anti-colonialism slant of the writing - beyond the general sympathetic view Team Cherry gives of each indigenous bug society, Seer makes it very clear that Radiance has very good reason to take violent action against Hallownest - the answer is probably not something like “she’s just that stupid” or “she rolled a crit fail”.

Well... I have an idea of how TPK managed to get Radiance in there. It raises about as many questions as it answers, mind, but it may be someplace to start.

[desc: the hollow knight's entry in the hunter’s journal. top text/ghost’s comment reads: “Fully grown Vessel, carrying the plague’s heart within its body.” bottom text/hunter’s comment says: “The old King of Hallownest... he must have been desperate to save his crumbling little world. The sacrifices he imposed on others... all for nothing.”]

Here we have Hollow’s bestiary entry. Most of what we’re concerned with here is the top text, which says the seal has literally trapped Radiance inside their body. (First of all, ew, TPK.)

We already knew Radiance is literally actually inside Hollow, though: The Infection is leaking out of their body, and to get to fight Radiance, Ghost has to go traipsing into their sibling’s mind. So what’s significant about that here?

[desc: screencap of the outside of the black egg temple, post-infected crossroads. there are large infection blobs in the foreground and background, connected to each other by veins that come from inside the temple.]

The infection blobs are weird and get weirder if you kill enough Lightseeds for the Hunter to tell you their origin story, i.e. that the literal actual sun has been having a very long bad day and cried a lot, and some of the liquid coalesced into living flesh, and some of that living flesh took on a mind of its own to become Lightseeds. (Hollow Knight is a WILD place.)

Lightseeds are Radiance’s accidental children and share a lot of her traits: They are harmless creatures that try to avoid conflict if possible but if pushed will get creative and find ways to fight regardless of their physical limitations. (For the Lightseeds this involves hiding inside Broken Vessel’s corpse and puppeting it around to try to stab you.) They even have her same distinctive yell. And according to the Hunter, they’re born from the infection blobs. These enemies only ever appear in the Ancient Basin, which both Radiance and the Void have ransacked, and in the Infected Crossroads.

The infection blobs are connected to and sort of a weird extension of Radiance because the Infection itself is sort of a weird extension of Radiance. In the game’s internal style guide Team Cherry explains that the Infection started as an accident, not her original intention but what happened when Hallownest tried to block her out.

[desc: screencap from the wiki of style notes attached to seer that describe a sketch of radiance’s finalized backstory. text reads: “The moth tribe were (perhaps) descended from Radiance. However, the King convinced them somehow to seal Radiance away. I guess so he could rule Hallownest with his singular vision, as a god/monarch with no other gods. The moths sealed Radiance away by forgetting about her. Hallownest was born and flourished. However, the memory of Radiance lingered (eg [sic] the statue at hallownest’s crown) and soon she began to reappear in dreams and starting [sic] exerting influence. The King and the bugs of Hallownest resisted this memory/power and it started to manifest as the Infection. Thus the first attempt to seal Radiance failed, and the King had to try another method - the Vessel.” emphasis mine.]

Some fans have posited the blobs as deposits of pupa juice, but given Team Cherry's description of the Infection’s origins I don’t know how likely that is. Since the Void also sticks its squamous tentacles into things via veiny looking things and the Nightmare’s Heart has similar veiny nonsense in the Nightmare Realm, I wonder if it isn’t just a Meddly God Shit thing in general.

Whatever the case, the blobs are very much connected to/a part of Radiance.

And when you’re hanging around them, you will notice two things: They pulse like they’re part of a circulatory system, and you can hear Radiance's heartbeat emanating from them.

[desc: screencap of the game’s title screen with the infected menu theme in use: a glowing orange ball at the center of a lot of black tendony webbing.]

Let’s also think of the Infected menu theme, which you unlock after getting either of the endings where Ghost takes over from Hollow and absorbs Radiance out of them. Ghost is infected and then sealed inside the Black Egg in Hollow's place. It’s suggested by the animation’s staging that Radiance briefly struggles to get out of Ghost after absorbed but is ultimately stuck in them, at which point the seal is reestablished.

If you haven’t used the Infected menu theme yourself, the... interesting thing about it is that it moves organically. The light ball expands and contracts - y’know, sort of like a living organ - and so does the black webby stuff around it.

Also, Radiance’s heartbeat is included in the theme's ambiance.

[desc: hollow’s bestiary entry again]

To cut to the chase, this part of Hollow’s bestiary entry that says “the plague’s heart”? I don’t think that’s just Ghost/Team Cherry being poetic. I think there’s a good chance it’s LITERAL.

I think TPK is the sort of person who could cram a native woman’s literal living beating heart inside his own child’s body so they can use it as... say, a focus to absorb and trap her mind/spirit inside their body, too. Mr. No Cost Too Great is capable of a lot in the name of keeping other people’s claws off his Big Shiny kingdom. This is kind of his whole brand.

But also, like, yuck.

This fits the worldbuilding too; generally speaking Hollow Knight is Body Horror City. Also there’s the case of Grimm: While he and Radiance are loose counterparts at best with WILDLY disparate outlooks and ethoses, his existence serves as precedent that a Higher Being’s heart specifically can be separate from the rest of them.

As I said before, though, this DOES raise as many questions as it answers. If this is another piece in the puzzle of how TPK belled the cat, we’re now left wondering how he got Radiance’s heart to use as Hollow's focus to begin with.

We know he has access to the Dream Realm because that’s ultimately where he hid when Hollow’s seal failed, but who did he send to do the stealing and how did they get away with it? (TPK certainly wouldn’t have gone; his own life’s the one cost too great for him to willingly pay.) Was Radiance’s heart separate from her like the Nightmare’s Heart, or was it a part of her body? (I think the latter is more likely just from her personality; Grimm’s hidden heart makes sense because of how he keeps even his own servants at arm’s length emotionally, whereas Radiance is all heart all the time. I think this makes more sense with their equal opposites schtick too. But this would make for a WAY riskier mission.)

I can imagine all kinds of possibilities. None of them are definitive, but the thing they have in common is that they are all Awful... and how on-brand that is for Hollow Knight as a whole is, maybe, the most persuasive argument for It’s Literally Actually Her Real Physical Heart there could be.

#hollow knight #hollow knight spoilers #hollow knight meta #the radiance #hk radiance #not sure if i should tag tpk bc i doubt therell be anything in here his stans will enjoy lol #long post under cut - #essay

[davidfarland]

David Farland’s Writing Tips—Why You want Your Books Turned into Film

Many authors dream of seeing their books turned into films, but for some it’s a nightmare.

After all, filmmakers tend to take liberties with an author’s story, often making changes that seem detrimental to the tale just to “make it their own.”

For example, P.L. Tavers, author of the Mary Poppins series, burst into tears when she saw what Disney had done to her books. Now, the film “Mary Poppins” won the Academy Award for “Best Picture of the Year and became a huge hit, but Tavers didn’t like it. In the same way, Tolkien didn’t want to sell his rights to Lord of the Rings, but filmmakers got them anyway. When the rights to Harry Potter went up for sale, Rowling went so far as to put an ad in the New York Times decrying the sale.

Heck, just a few weeks ago I pulled my Runelords books from consideration with a large television studio because I had an artistic disagreement. They wanted to add more sex and violence, I didn’t.

You might not always like what a studio does with your books, but usually the film sale will work out very well for a writer. Why? Because one of the biggest costs for making a film comes from promoting the film.

Promoting a major movie typically costs $35 million spent on ads in-theater, on television, in print media and on the internet and radio. All of that advertising doesn’t just sell the movie, it also spills over and increases sales on your book.

Once a book gets turned into film, the book gets a new lease on life. The book will get wrapped with a new cover—one taken from stills for the movie—and will be distributed widely in better supermarkets and gas stations everywhere. The book will also be put in special displays in bookstores, and the publisher may engage in a bit of print advertising.

All of this will sell a lot of copies. A few years ago, a terrible movie was made from a popular book that I won’t name here. The movie was a real dog, a classic disaster. But the publisher told me that they sold an extra two million copies of the book anyway.

Think about it. The royalties paid to the author would have equaled about $1.6 million dollars. You could crumple those 1.6 million-dollar bills all up and make a very cozy mattress out of them!

This example come from a movie that was a disaster, but what if a genuinely good film were made from your books? The Lord of the Rings movies helped sell about 100 million books globally, from what I can tell. The Harry Potter movies helped make the book the bestseller of all times.  And Tavers with Mary Poppins—I’m sure she cried all the way to the bank.

The same can happen in television. The Game of Thrones series helped make the books into a phenomenon.

You can of course turn a book into a huge hit without having a movie tie-in.  The problem is that it requires a lot of investment from the publisher in cooperation with the bookstores. The stores have to agree to give the book special face-out advertising in prime locations in the stores. They may have to agree to put up special displays. If the books are selling at a high-enough velocity, this makes sense for everyone. But coordinating these efforts with bookstore owners who might be harried, lazy, or stupid is emotionally draining for the publisher, and often doesn’t work.

That’s why, if an author like JK Rowling or Stephen King or Dan Brown breaks out into the “phenomenon realm,” where they are actually selling more books than the genre’s audience would seem to allow, it is almost always done because a good film tie in was made.

This is why, with my Apex writing group, I want to stress that writers be open to filmmaking. You should begin nurturing contacts with film producers and agents early. You might find it helpful to attend large film festivals, or even begin mastering the fine art of writing a screenplay.

For more on David Farland's Writing tips, visit https://mystorydoctor.com/writing-blog/

And you can also click here to get your David Farland Daily Meditations.

#writing help #writing tips #writing advice

[waiting4inspiration]

Darkness before Dawn III: Trying to Scream

Summary: The hauntings don’t stop. Not even in your sleep. 

Warnings: slight horror, angst, mentions infidelity, curses, slight violence, strong language, small fluff

Word Count: 2,715

Darkness before Dawn Masterlist II The Witcher Masterlist

Geralt suggested that you get an early night’s rest. You were a bit hesitant to sleep, feeling as though you won’t be able to know if or when that spirit comes back. But Geralt reassures you that he won’t leave your side. 

You should feel safe with that knowledge, but you don’t fight with the fact that he won’t be able to see the spirit. You don’t fight because he’s a Witcher. You’ll let him do this job. 

Your mother would have a fit if she finds out that a man was in your room when you were getting ready for bed. She’d be disgusted to think that a man was in your presence when you were undressing. Nevermind the fact that he would be in your room while you’re sleeping. But you’re sure Geralt has the modesty to not try anything. 

After all, you saw you look of pure focus on his face before you fell asleep. His mind is on the spirit he can’t see.

You dream that you’re in a dark place. By the stone walls around you and the crypt you bump into, you realize that you’re in a tomb. Why, you don’t know. Which tomb, you’re not sure either. 

But the eerie feeling the place gives you, the shiver that runs down your spine like a water droplet unsettles you. You rush to the door of the tomb, pushing and pulling it to try and open it. But it doesn’t budge. 

And when you glance out the small window to see if there is anyone you can call for help, you see the figure you saw in the hall. 

Gasping loudly as you push yourself away from the door, the fear inside you weights you down like lead, making your heart race in your chest as a shadow appears on the ground. The shadow stretches as you walk back away from the door. Bumping into the crypt again, you place your hands on the stone and continue to stare at the door. 

Then, you hear a sound. A sound that reminds you of bones breaking and cracking. It makes your head slowly turn over your shoulder. And you regret that action instantly. 

On top of the stone crypt is that same figure you saw outside, his jaw hangs open, seemingly detached from his upper face and no matter how much you try to scream, you can’t. When you try to push yourself away from him, he grabs your injured arm and makes a pain shoot like fire through your arm. 

Your eyes snap open, and you find yourself back in your chambers. In your bed. It was just a dream. 

Breathing a sigh of relief, you close your eyes and try to calm your pounding heart. The relief doesn’t long when you get a feeling of something being behind you. You dread turning around. 

Opening your eyes again, you look for Geralt that you remember being seated in a chair before you fell asleep. But you’re alone in the room. And you don’t know why, but you turn around onto your back and glance to the side. 

Nothing’s there. 

Running your hands over your face, you shake your head to yourself and lightly laugh at how stupid you’re being because of the nightmare. 

You hold your bandaged arm to your chest and keep your eyes closed for a moment before opening them to stare at the ceiling. 

Just like in your dream, you try to scream when you see that dark figure with a detached jaw hovering above you but you can’t. And instead of the figure grabbing your arm, it wraps its hand around your throat. 

When Geralt left your room, you were still peacefully sleeping. Your father had come in and asked to speak to him in a whisper. And he thought that nothing could go wrong if he would be right outside your room. 

“I thought about your suggestion about obtaining a Mage,” Dominic begins, turning around to face Geralt who slowly begins to close the door. “And sent a raven with a letter to the Chapter asking to send a Mage as soon as possible,” he adds, glancing back at the door and imagining your figure sleeping on the bed, how you held the blankets close to your chest. 

Geralt nods his head and hums as he shifts on his feet. “And what of the queen?”

“What of her? She no longer has a say of what I wish for my daughter,” he snaps, keeping his voice low to prevent him waking you even if you’re behind a door. “She might be her mother, but she doesn’t love her how I love her,” he mutters, shaking his head and he looks back to Geralt. “Uza would rather see (Y/n) dead than ascend to my throne. So much so, I’m starting to believe that she hired this witch to place this curse on my daughter.”

Shaking his head negatively, Geralt takes a small step forward and unfolds his arms from his chest. “The witch had her eyes on Charlotte when she placed the curse. Not (Y/n),” Geralt points out, narrowing his eyes at the king. 

Dominic sighs and nods his head, knowing that Geralt is right. He was just trying to find some other explanation for this in his anger for Uza. “What do you need the Mage for?” he questions, changing the topic from the curse to what can be done to break it. 

“We need to create protective spots in the castle, in the rooms she spends time in so that this spirit can’t attack her,” Geralt begins to explain, but his thought is cut off when he hears your gasp behind the door. Dominic does hear it because it was very faint. And Geralt turns his head back to the door. 

The king nods and glances down to the ground. “She doesn’t roam around that much-”

His words are cut off when Geralt abruptly throws your door open and storms into your chambers. 

You’re gasping for air desperately, clawing at something above you as you squirm on the bed. Dominic can see slight indentations around your throat, like handprints. First, this spirit clawed your forearm, and now it’s trying to choke you. 

Your eyes shift over to Geralt as he stands beside you and you reach up to grip the figure's shoulders to give Geralt a sense of where the thing is so he can stab it like he did in the Hall. 

But just as Geralt raises his sword, the figure lets go of your throat and disappears. 

Gasping deeply, you push yourself up and clutch your throat as you try to keep your tears at bay. Your father is by your side in the blink of an eye, and when he places his hands on your shoulders, you break down and start to sob into his chest. 

Geralt glances around the room, trying to find something he can’t see or at least a sigh of where it is. And hearing your cries makes his grip on his sword tighten and his jaw to clench. 

When you glance up, you see the figure stand behind Geralt with dark eyes. “Oh Gods,” you whisper, catching Geralt’s attention and making him look back at you. “It’s behind you,” you say as quietly as possible. 

Geralt turns his gaze over his shoulder and just as he suspected, he doesn’t see anything behind him. He doesn’t even sense something. 

You watch the spirit raise a clawed hand. Gasping loudly when it brings it down intending to slash the Witcher across the face. But his hand passes right through his head, surprising you and making you stare at him with wide eyes as the spirit carries on trying to attack Geralt. 

The spirit looks at you with dark eyes before it vanishes. You frantically search the room for it. But it’s nowhere to be seen. 

Geralt looks back at you, confusion on his face as a frown creases his forehead. “Why couldn’t it attack you? It couldn’t touch you, but it can touch me?” you question, your father turning his gaze to Geralt and waits for an answer. 

The Witcher remembers something the witch said. “The veil is broken with you,” he repeats her words, turning around to put his sword away as Dominic pushes himself off your bed. 

“The veil? What does that mean?” he questions, stepping forward as you shift slightly on your bed. 

Geralt turns around and looks down at you. “The veil is what keeps us separated from the realm of the dead. They can’t harm us because of it,” he explains, a breath catching in your throat that begins to hurt. “This curse has made her open for any attack from any spirit where we are otherwise protected.”

“What does it want from me?” you whisper, grabbing Geralt’s attention and making him glance down at you. 

He shakes his head and takes a step forward. “Sometimes, a spirit just wants to be heard. Some have unfinished business in the realm of the living and just want some help,” he begins, pausing for a second as he runs his tongue over his lips. “Others are more twisted and like to make those living feel their pain,” he explains.

You feel your heart sink to your stomach at the knowledge of what those words mean. “You think this spirit wants to make me feel his pain?” you question, your voice starting to sound hoarse and you bring your hand up to touch your throat. 

“Well, I don’t think it’s here to have a conversation about how they died, princess,” Geralt says, your head dropping between your shoulders and you stare at your bandaged arm. “You should go back to sleep.”

A laugh falls from your lips and you shake your head. Looking back up to him with tears in your eyes, you find both him and your father staring at you with sad looks. “What makes you think I’ll be able to sleep after that?” you question, bringing your knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms around them. 

Dominic walks up to you and reaches out to touch the side of your face. “You need to rest, my dear,” he whispers, your eyes shifting up to him as you sigh. “Or at least try.”

“I’ll keep you company if you can’t sleep,” Geralt mentions as he steps forward. 

You smile at him and nod your head before looking back up to your father. “I’ll be fine,” you say when you notice a look of concern on his face. 

He smiles at you and steps forward to lean down and place a sweet kiss on your forehead before he turns around to walk away, leaving you with Geralt. 

Geralt shifts on his feet, unsure what to do next or what to say. He’s not the one that keeps people company. Jaskier does that. Jaskier knows how to fill a silence, knows out to get a conversation going. Geralt never really speaks that much to people. The only people he’s had actual, meaningful conversations with have been Jaskier, Yennefer, and Ciri. 

What possessed him to say he’d keep you company when all he’d probably do is sit in silence and stare at you?

“So, you and Jaskier seem close,” you speak first, making Geralt feel relieved that you’ve decided to choose a topic. “I mean, I can understand now where he learned how to bandage a wound,” you chuckle, glancing down at your forearm and biting your lip. “And he’s told me so much about his ventures with you, it kind of makes me jealous.”

Geralt steps forward and slowly sits on the edge of your bed. “Jealous? Why?” he questions, indulging in your conversation, knowing that it would take your mind off of what’s been happening. 

You shrug your shoulders and look up at him, a smile growing on your face when you see that he’s sitting and relaxed. You don’t really like it when he’s standing and tense. It makes you feel like there’s a threat around. “Because of all the places he gets to go. The places he travels to, the people he gets to meet, the dramas he experiences in the songs he signs-”

“You know, some of those songs aren’t even close to being true,” Geralt interrupts, your eyebrows raising and your shoulders to relax as you shift slightly closer to him. 

Laughing, you swing your legs on the side and lick your lips. “I wouldn’t be surprised though. Jaskier does tend to over exaggerate things just to make sure they rhyme.” Your words make Geralt chuckle, the low sound causes your head to turn to him and a smile to grow on your face to know that you made the Witcher laugh. 

Geralt nods his head and glances at you. “How does a princess become friends with a bard?” he asks.

You chuckle at the question and bring your leg over the other to sit cross-legged as you hum at the memory. “It was at a celebration for my father winning some war a few years ago and Jaskier was playing his music at the feast. But I wasn’t allowed to be at the feast because my mother thought that I would take away Charlotte’s chance for the people to get to know her as the future queen,” you begin, glancing down to your hands that lay in your lap as you recall everything in your mind. “I decided to spend that time in the library, and on my way there, I bumped into Jaskier. He knew right away who I was and asked why I wasn’t at the feast. And I didn’t hesitate to tell him the truth. That’s when he decided to keep me company for the night.”

That sounds like something Jaskier would do, Geralt thinks with a smile on his face. 

“But my mother realized that the Bard was missing and had the feeling that it was because of me. And when she found us…” you trail off, biting your lip as your head drops between your shoulders. 

“She punished you,” he finishes for you.

You nod your head as you look up at him. “And she told Jaskier that if he knew better, he’d stay away from me,” you add, your eyes meeting his and locking. “But he didn’t care. He snuck in the next night, asking around how to get to my chambers. And we spent the entire night talking.”

Geralt shifts in his spot, but his stare never leaves your face. “Has there been anything other than just ‘friends’ between you two?” he asks, making you laugh and tears your eyes away from him as you shake your head. 

“Goodness, no,” you giggle, looking up at him with a big smile and a certain gleam in your eyes that he finds somewhat mesmerizing. “I see him as the brother I never had. Nothing more, nothing less.”

After that, you and Geralt’s eyes lock again and there’s a small silence between you and him. You bite your lip and clear you as you put your gaze to the floor when you realize that you’re staring. 

Geralt folds his hands in front of his and turns his head to the side where the unfinished painting in the corner catches his eye. “You like to paint?” he asks, looking back at you as you lift your eyes back to him. 

You give a small smile and nod before slowly standing up and walking across the room to the painting. “It’s how I can see the world, how I imagine it to be,” you state, wrapping your arms around your body as you glance over your shoulder to Geralt as he stands to follow you. “Seeing as how I’m not allowed to leave this castle. Ever.”

He shakes his head in disbelief as he walks up to your side. Running his eyes over the painting, he imagines that it’s the view from the window it stands beside. And he can’t help but think that you deserve to see the continent, all of it. 

He can’t help but think that if this curse isn’t broken, you won’t live to see any of it.

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#geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia imagine #geralt imagine #witcher geralt #geralt #the witcher #the witcher x reader #the witcher imagine #witcher x reader #witcher imagine #darkness before dawn

[justjessame]

Glorious, Before The Burden - The Mourning ~ 3

Frigga was as confused as me, but it didn’t last - Odin can be quite vocal when he is displeased.  Thor - with Loki and his warriors, had taken it upon themselves to invade Jotunheim.  Not simply a diplomatic nightmare, even after the disruption caused by a few Frost Giant invaders who chose Thor’s coronation to attempt to steal back an artifact, but cause for war between Asgard and another realm.  

Peace was hard fought for, and the Allfather is NOT willing to lose it, not even at the cost of his heir.  The flash I witnessed - the Bifrost acting strangely - was Odin banishing Thor to Midgard.  Heimdall was at a loss to bring him back - not at the chance of displeasing his king - and in a further show of how far Thor had fallen from grace, Mjølnir, his hammer was sent to Odin knew where.  

  I sat with Frigga, completely stunned by the events of the day - from Thor’s failed crowning to THIS madness, and felt that all I wanted was Loki’s arms around me - but he was NOT beside me.  Instead, he tries to assure his mother that he will calm Odin - that he will FIX it.  His eyes don’t seek mine.  

When I crawl into our bed, it’s alone and I have a flash of nostalgia for when I first arrived at ten.  Small and unsure, I’d sought the solace of the garden.  

Sliding out of the coldness of our bed, I wrapped a cloak around myself and tucked a set of the picks Loki had given me during our first trip together into my hair.  Safety, especially now, felt paramount.  There were multiple gardens, and while I would have loved to have gone back to the one where Loki had once stood guard over me at, I chose the one closest to our rooms.  

Different trees, different flowers, but the same starlit sky overhead - I let the hood of my cloak fall back and my closed eyed face was bare and offered to it.  Breathing in the stillness, I caught a hint of a scent I would know anywhere - apples, jasmine, leather, sandalwood, and that undercurrent of galbanum.  

“I should have known you’d come out here for the calm and quiet,” he almost sounded normal, like MY husband and NOT whomever had taken over his being.  “Sigyn,” I sighed.  

“Did you know I was here, or did you stumble upon me on your way to some type of conniving, my prince?”  While I’d brought my head up straight, I hadn’t opened my eyes.  I couldn’t stand to look at him and see - NOT see HIM.  

“Sigyn,” it was a plea, and that gave me hope.  “My love, please.”  

“Loki,” I turned and was gratified to see that he looked like the prince I fell in love with and married.  “What happened?”  

“Come inside,” he held out his hand and I reached for it, scared for a moment that he was an illusion and I wouldn’t be able to touch him.  “I’m HERE, Sigyn, I swear it.”  

Our fingers touched, and he pulled me to  him.  “You weren’t,” I argued, giving reason for my distrust.  “You WEREN’T.”  

His eyes - how often had I found solace and shelter in the shimmering blue of his eyes - searched the depths of my green.  Had his always looked so feverish?  So red tinted and manic?  “Come inside, Sigyn.” His cool fingers were linking with mine and I nodded.  “You’ve had your fill of the garden?”  There was a hint of my husband in the inquiry - the concern for my well being, the worry about my need for peace and serenity.  

“I have,” the tease of having him return to me, allowed a hint of a smile to flirt across my lips.  “Let’s go inside, Loki, so you can tell me what has happened.”  

Loki - MY Loki - tucked me into his side, his arm wrapped around my shoulders and holding me close to him.  As though he couldn’t get close enough to me, as if whatever had happened between the time he’d gone off with Thor to the moment I’d witnessed Odin announce Thor’s banishment had caused him more agony than learning Odin had chosen his brother to rule instead of him.  

I was gratified to see he hadn’t stopped in our rooms to cause mass destruction before finding me in the garden - my book sat forgotten in the window seat the only thing out of place - he let me go long enough for me to remove my cloak and if was as if without me in his arms, he couldn’t stay still.  He paced, jaw clenched and hands searching - it looked like he felt like his own body was WRONG somehow.  

“Loki, my love, what IS wrong?”  I stopped him, standing firm in front of his progress across our rooms, staring up into his crimson laced eyes - reaching out to cup his cheek.  “Tell me?”  

Tears threatened to spill, and I was terrified of what could possibly have hurt him so - was it Thor’s banishment?  While they had a complicated relationship, they were brothers, and the boisterous rough blonde had stood beside Loki while we wed.  Loki looked like he was fighting himself - but I didn’t move - he’d promised he was with me and he would explain.  

“Please?”  I pleaded.  “I cannot help you if I don’t know what’s wrong.”  

He groaned, low and as if I’d thrust one of the sharp hair picks he’d had made for me deep into his heart, and it felt as if I were pierced too.  His hand came up to touch mine where it still touched his face, holding me tight, but feeling so much colder than ever before.  

“Loki?” I didn’t understand, not when he wouldn’t SPEAK.  As I watched, his eyes - always so blue and warm - went from red rimmed to red irises, his skin - always slightly cooler than mine, turned positively frigid and hadn’t I once thought it had looked blue?  Well, now it most certainly WAS blueish.  

“How, my darling wife, do you intend to fix THIS?” He bit out - pushing my hand free from his face and letting out a growl of true anger.  “I’m one of the monsters they tell their children about, Sigyn!” I shook my head, moving closer to him. “DON’T!” 

“I told you before, Loki Odinson!” He glared down at me, red eyes practically glowing, but I didn’t care.  “You DO NOT tell a woman you love her then rush away - OR push her away.”  I moved closer still.  “I LOVE you,” reaching out, ignoring the flinch and twitching that he made, I touched the same cheek that I’d held before he pushed me away.  “You looked blue that first night -” I’d grown quiet, as one might for a scared child, or startled animal - he was watching me with fear and distrust - and my heart ached from it.  “The first night you showed yourself in the garden.” Loki stared at me in disbelief.  “The light, dim though it was -” I bit my lip.  “Blue, just a hint, and I fell asleep thinking how beautiful you were.”  

“I’m a mon-” shaking my head, I refused to let him say it.  “Sigyn,” his head fell forward, defeated, but still so broken it pained me. “He stole me - I’m NOTHING more than a relic from war.”  

“I don’t believe that,” my other hand joined its sister, framing his face so I could stare into his eyes.  “I don’t believe that for ONE moment.  Frigga adores you, Loki.  You couldn’t be MORE hers if she’d dreamed you into existence.”  He was looking at me like he wanted nothing more than to latch onto my words with BOTH hands and cling to them.  “I love you, and I will stand beside you no matter what - Do you know that?”  

He didn’t answer, not with words - his lips met mine, icy, but sure and then his arms were around me pulling me tight against him.  And for a while Loki pushed away thoughts of Thor, Odin, and the Asgardian throne - or so I thought. 

#loki #loki x sigyn #loki series #thor 2011 #sigyn #mention of smut #angst #bear with me #alternate universe

[avelera]

Hi hi it's given sanctuary anon again I've been busy with life and I come back to 3!! New chapters?? I feel so spoiled. I haven't entirely caught up yet but im just about tearing up over dreams talk with Lucienne. I have a soft spot for "Character realizes they've hurt those they care about, feels horrible about it, and tries to do better" and you write it so well! I read a lot of hob/dream fics so of course they are the focus, but theres so much to explore with Lucienne too! She probably bears the brunt of dreams moods and she still stands by him with nearly love and loyalty, (though it was so satisfying to see her actually be upset with him in the show) it's very mirrored to hobs situation i feel?

Aaah, my favorite Anon is back!! :D :D :D

It's funny, I was talking with my amazing beta @thornfield13713 a little about Dream's growth arc in the story. "Giving Sanctuary" really is about giving Dream an alternate redemption/growth arc from the canon storyline of "getting captured and tortured and forced to face his own flaws against the backdrop of losing everything" which sort of hampers his realization and growth because he's so wrapped up in rebuilding his realm and getting his tools back that the fact he's decided to change and be better towards people like Lucienne and Hob is sort of one change of many that's happening.

Because yes, as you say, Lucienne absolutely is a saint for bearing the brunt of Dream's acerbickness over the years.

(Cut for some "Giving Sanctuary" behind the scenes rambling)

Giving Sanctuary also bears at its heart the thesis that Dream's cruelty and callousness had strong roots in the loss of Orpheus. He could be spiteful and full of rage before that, as a capricious god, but the being who is exhausted of this world, contemplating ending his existence, and delights at the prospect of making Hob hate living as much as he does with the curse of immortality is a result of Orpheus's death. And thus, what breaks that shell and allows him to see what he has become is Hob reaching out a hand and commiserating with him over this shared pain.

And I admit, I agonize a bit over whether Dream is changing too quickly, but there is a Doylist element of "Maybe, but this is self-indulgent so he'll change as quickly as I damn well please, so long as I've earned it within the story" and a Watsonian "Well, the events of the show take place over a similarly short time so far, and Dream is super distracted from his own growth post-fishbowl with all the other stressful events. Maybe he would be apologizing, checking himself, trying to do better and be better with those who love him sooner if he had the space and will to do so."

Furthermore, GS takes place so far in very private, interior spaces, where Dream is, for the most part, only ever dealing with the few people who love him most and who most respect his privacy, and all of these interactions are happening in the kind of solitude Dream would want and need to begin to tentatively work towards making these overtures of improvement. Hob won't laugh at Dream for trying to be better with him, neither will Lucienne, and while Death might tease, she at least can pull rank if Dream gets bitchy about his pride with her.

But Dream of the Endless, Morpheus, the Lord of the Dreams and King of Nightmares is still there. We just don't see him as much in GS because we mostly see him through Hob's eyes and around those he's most motivated to make amends to, like Lucienne. But, in theory, if an enemy crossed his path, if a dream or nightmare challenged him, if a stranger mocked him for going soft, we would see just how much the Dream everyone knew is still very much there. He's only decided to be better with those closest to him. The tragedy of Dream's depression up to the point of GS is that it robbed him of even interacting with those who care for him in a positive manner, like Hob and Lucienne.

And at risk of spoilers, I will say that Dream (and Hob) still has a ways to go. We're going to see some emotional beats besides Dream and Hob being sweet and perfect to each other all the time, very soon. Doesn't mean they're not good for each other. Just means they're still human (sort of) and not all progress is made at once.

Lucienne is perfect, though. That's of course a given ;)

#1689 fic #sandman meta #dreamling #lucienne

[animerunner]

Luz’s Not So Great Luck: I am Not the Monster in Your Story

Fandom: The Owl House

Relationship: Eda Clawthorne & Luz Noceda

Characters: Eda Clawthorne, Luc Noceda, 

Warnings: Implied Verbal and Physical child abuse, heavily implied past medical experimentation

 Summary: One of the first things Eda noticed about Luz was just how many scars she had. The pattern of stitches were hard to miss.

Something doesn't feel right about it but at this point Eda doesn't know enough to articulate what. 

Maybe it was just the number of it. Or maybe it was the uneasy familiarity she felt when catching a glimpse of a scar that nearly mirrored her own.

Which considering what that scar was from...it was concerning to say the least.

Notes: Not much else to say here today. Most questions were addressed in the last chapter posting here.

Ao3 Link Here

If you want to read it on Tumblr fic is under the read more:

One of the first things Eda notices about Luz after the fact she’s human is the scars.

It’s hard to miss. From the first time Eda took off Luz’s shirt to try and get her temperature down. The patchwork of scars scattered over the girl’s body stare back at her.

It unnerves her for some reason. Though she can’t entirely put her finger on why.

Maybe it’s some of the locations?

After all one of the scars would be right above where a bile sac would normally be in a witch. She would know since she has a similar scar on her own chest.

However in a human, Eda’s not entirely sure why there would be a scar there.

Humans didn’t have bile sacs right?

Something to worry about another time. She had bigger concerns on her plate.

                                                    --------------------

The second time Eda thinks about the scars is after Luz first casts magic around her by accident.

Once she’s got Luz calmed down and asleep her mind flashes back to that one scar. Suddenly everything she had thought she had understood about humans is thrown into question.

The magic and the scar makes her wonder, maybe humans do have bile sacs?

But if they did then why had Luz needed surgery there. Most witches and humans she supposed didn’t need surgery for it. So what gave?

Why did Luz have an almost identical scar to her own?

Why did it feel like there was something sinister afoot?

Maybe the healer she’s going to call can answer her questions.                                                    --------------------

The third time Eda is reminded of the strange stitched scars that are over Luz comes when the girl has her first nightmare since arriving on the Isles.

The healer wasn’t able to tell her much on the mystery that is Luz. She had been hapless as Eda was on why Luz had so many scars.

All Eda knows is that there must be some time to the fact Luz can do magic. Though she doesn’t understand it yet.

King’s the one who wakes her up in the middle of the night.

“Luz is having a nightmare I think?”

“You think?” Eda stares at King for a moment. Hoping he just didn’t wake her up at 2 am on a whim.

“She’s not saying anything. Just a lot of miming. But she is sweating a lot and-”

“-she could make herself sick at this rate. Got it.” Eda concludes summoning Owlbert to her side.

The kid had just started getting better. The last thing they needed was for Luz to work herself into such a frenzy that she makes herself sick all over again.

Luz is still in the throws of a nightmare when they reach her room. King’s description had been accurate. The kid was tossing and turning in her sleep but Eda couldn’t hear a sound from her.

Eda frowns before she realizes why. Silencing spell. Well that’s easy enough to fix.  Thankfully she hadn’t used up all her entire yesterday.

What she doesn’t expect is the near scream from Luz when the spell is cancelled. Jumping back slightly in surprise for a moment. She catches a few phrases that make her stomach sink further. Before she moves closer and decides a simple spell to wake up Luz is in order.

It’s probably maybe not the best course of action Eda realizes as she draws the spell circle. But Eda’s more worried what might happen if the nightmare is allowed to continue.

The kid’s fever just finally broke three days ago. She really doesn’t know if the kid can afford to be sick again so soon after.

Luz cuts herself off rather quickly as she rejoins the land of the living. Stares up at Eda who had been holding her, not entirely sure what would happen when she came to, for a moment confused. “Eda?”

“The one and only.”

Luz finally wakes up enough to realize what happened and immediately starts panicking. “Oh my god I am so sorry-”

Eda cuts in as the kids' words get more frantic. “Kid breathe. I’m not mad.” A bit concerned about what Luz might be having a nightmare about to begin with that would leave her in such a state. But not mad.

“But I woke you up.”

“King woke me up actually. He noticed you having a nightmare.” Eda said with a shake of the head. “And even if he hadn’t you don’t need to hide them from me.”

Titan knew she was familiar with having her own fair share of nightmares.

“But people don’t like it when I scream in my dreams and wake them up.” Luz says after a moment. She was supposed to be quiet. If she had to have magic then this was the one good thing she could do.

Or that’s what people liked to say to her a lot anyway.

What the actual hell? Eda wondered for a moment. Who were these people that apparently needed a head smacking? You couldn’t control nightmares.

Luz continued seemingly unaware of the growing horror in Eda. “They don’t like being reminded that things happened to me.”

Eda stares for a moment, mouth slightly agape. She is left again wondering what Luz’s story is. The kid had been dodging questions about it since she had finally become well enough to hold a resemblance of a conversation.

For now though she pushes it aside. Luz didn’t need questions. As much as Eda wanted answers that could wait.

“Well it doesn’t bother me. I know all about horrible nightmares.” Eda admits with a shrug. Titan knows how many she had had herself. “You can scream if you need too and if we need to find another outlet for the nightmares. We can look into it.”

“Still I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.” Luz shut her mouth with a click. Eda realizes she made a mistake a second later. “Kid I just-” Eda breaks off not sure what to say. “I’m not mad. You don’t need to apologize. I don’t know what they’re about but you’re allowed to have nightmares.”

“No I’m not.”

Some part of Eda is growing exasperated. “Yes you are. No matter what other people say you can’t control your dreams. And anyone who thinks otherwise is foolish.”

“Then why does everyone get mad at me when I have them? It’s not like I chose to-” Luz cuts herself off before she finishes the sentence.

Eda raises an eyebrow. “Choose what?”

She’s guessing whatever the end of the sentence is deals with Luz’s nightmare. But the girl just looks away. Refusing to answer her question.

“It just hurts less.” Luz finally just says.

What the actual hell. Willingly muting yourself hurt less? Less than what exactly?

“Well around here you're allowed to let them loose. I know what nightmares are like. I know what trying to bury them is like. Just let them loose okay kiddo?”

Luz looks like she wants to question it but decides finally against it.

Eda knows she’s probably wondering what will happen when she goes back to the human realm. Not that will be an issue for a while. She wasn’t letting Luz out of her sight until she knew exactly how the girl was doing magic. Maybe there was a bit of projection going on. But Eda felt that Luz, whether she would say it or not, needed some guidance.

Guidance that she definitely wouldn’t get back with the humans.

Also there were concerns Eda had just from the fact Luz could do magic at all. And letting the teen back into the human realm without knowing what the story was didn’t sit well with her.

Especially with where some of Luz’s old scars were.                                                    --------------------

Eda finally finds out about the story of the scars by accident.

Any plans of Luz returning to the human realm had long been scrapped by this point. Eda’s not entirely sure what happened that caused her to find Owlbert and the door. But whatever it was she doesn’t feel comfortable letting her out of her sight.

Not when Luz has magic that she can’t seem to always control at least.

Luz still hasn’t talked about how she has magic. Eda does know that humans normally wouldn’t be able to cast. And Luz really doesn’t cast that often. Most often it’s an accident.

“Magic just gives me grief sometimes.”

“So you hate it?” Eda asks, quaking an eyebrow. She certainly wouldn’t have pinned that based on the fact Luz seemed comfortable staying on the Isles.

“‘Hate it’ are probably the wrong words. Magic is pretty. I love it when you do it.” Luz slowly admits. “I just, I’ve always been able to do this and no one can tell me why.”

“No one?”

Luz shakes her head. “I accidentally cast my first light spell when I was seven. It’s just been a long downhill mess since.” Her voice cracks. “Everyone looks at me like I’m a freak. And I know it has something to deal with the fact I don’t remember anything before I was six. But I can’t figure out what.”

Woah wait what?

Eda stares at Luz for a moment not sure if she heard right. “You don’t remember anything from when you were five?”

Luz shakes her head. “I know something happened. But everything’s sealed. No one can tell me. No one’s willing to tell me.”

Eda stares at Luz for a moment. A nastier theory starting to form in the back of her mind. She really doesn’t like the possible implications that are lining up here. “Alright, why don’t you tell me what you do know and let's see if we can’t maybe figure something out to help.”

The kid probably knew more than she realized. However, it was obvious that no one had tried to help her before now.                                                    --------------------

Eda is right. Luz does remember a bit more then she realizes about her younger  childhood years.

It would be more accurate to say Luz doesn’t remember enough to make things make sense. Then it does to say Luz doesn’t remember anything at all of those years.

Though Eda gets the impression she would rather just not remember at all.

Luz does know snippets. Mainly thanks to her nightmares. Men in lab coats. Needles and words she never understood.

There’s more there. Luz occasionally cuts herself off from saying something. However, Eda doesn’t push for more. Obviously whatever Luz can remember is hard on her.

Eda only ever asks one question. “Can you tell me how you got some of your scars?”

Luz hesitates for a moment. "You don't have to answer that if you don't want to kid. I was just wondering."

“The thing is like everything else I don’t really remember how I got them.” Luz finally admits after a second. “I know they’re from back then. But other than that…”

“Nothing else?”

Luz nods.  

Maybe that’s a blessing Eda reasons. If these ‘people’ (if you could even call them that) were willing to do all sorts of experiments on young children. Then however Luz got her pattern of stitched scars was not a pleasant one.

“Why did you want to know anyway?”

“Curiosity mainly.” Eda says with a shrug. “I have a similar scar to one of yours on your chest.”

Luz’s scar was smaller all things considered. Which made sense considering this happened when she was a small child. But the location was not that far from her own scar.

She thought Luz would just accept the answer. Instead Luz seems to grow more curious. “Why do you have a scar there?”

There’s a beat for a moment and Luz realizes she may have asked too personal of a question. “Sorry-”

Eda holds a hand up effectively cutting her off. “It’s fine. I should have expected that question, all things considered.”

Of course Luz would wonder why she has an identical scar.

Eda sighs debating for a moment. On one hand telling Luz makes sense. On the other she’s worried what telling the kid about the nastier side of magic is like might do to a witch who is just starting to accept her magic.

Though really she supposes it's only a matter of time before Luz finds out the truth anyway.

“When I was younger, someone cursed me. The why and who to it really doesn’t matter now. Point is it was using my magic and my bile sac against me. So I was given two options. One was to hope to find an elixir and hope in the meantime it didn’t cause too much damage. Or two, since the curse was mainly centered around my bile sac still. Have it removed and have an artificial one put in place thus eliminating the curse entirely.”

“You went with option two.” Luz realizes eyes widening putting the puzzle pieces together.

“Yep.” Eda confirms with a nod. “Bitch of a surgery and I still have to take medicine just like you do. But it's better than the alternative.”

It was better than possibly dying.

“Anyways my scar from back then is pretty dang close to yours.” Eda finishes knowing the question that’s on the tip of Luz’s tongue.

“Oh.” Luz says quietly. “But I don’t have a bile sac.”

Yeah that much was obvious. They would have found it within Luz’s first week. Hard to miss on a medical scan.

“True but I’m guessing in whatever they did to give you magic. Some haphazard attempt at giving you a bile sac like a witch would have happened at some point.”

Oh.

“They were trying to make humans into witches.” Luz realizes what Eda has already figured out.

“Seems like it.”

“But why?”

“That’s the million snail question.”

What did humans want with magic?

Better yet how had they even found out they existed?

If they knew about bile sacs. That suggests that they knew how witch anatomy worked. Or at least enough to know that they needed them to do magic. Which raised a whole other set of questions.

Eda needed to talk to Lilith. Because she really didn’t like where the implications of this might be pointing towards.

“Would finding out why you can do magic help with your unease?” Eda says trying to push the disturbing thoughts out of her mind. And circling back to why they had started talking about this to being with.

Luz frowns for a moment. “Maybe. It could just make things worse.”

Eda hums at that thought. She hadn’t really considered that. “True. But it could also help with your health issues. If we know what was actually done to you.”

“You really want to look into it don’t you?”

“Only if you're comfortable with me doing it.”

It’s a sensitive topic Eda can tell that much.

Luz still hesitates. “I just don’t want you to think of me as differently afterward.” She finally had somewhere it didn’t feel like she was a monster. Somewhere that felt like home. What if-

Luz is surprised when Eda pulls her into a tight hug. Squeezing her tight for a moment. Her tone’s surprisingly soft and gentle when she speaks. “You're not a monster kid. And whatever happened to you, me knowing isn’t going to change my view on that. I just want to help, please just let me help.”

Luz's voice chokes for a second, she feels the start of tears, as she tries to talk again only getting a couple of words out. “But I-”

“Hey no buts.” Eda says. “The only monsters are those freaks that did the experiments okay?”

The fact Luz doesn’t say okay back immediately is telling. However Eda supposes it will take time. She only knows pieces of the story but obviously doing magic had a negative impact.

Convincing Luz to embrace her magic and that she wasn’t the monster in the closet in her own story is going to take time. But Eda is sure that with enough time she can do it.

Something in Luz breaks at that and the tears start cascading fully then.

“Kid?” Eda asks now, more worried than before.

Between a few hiccups and the tears Luz manages to get out. “No one’s really ever said that before.”

Part of Eda feels like her heart’s breaking all over again for Luz. Though this time it's out of a sense of familiarity as much as having known Luz went through that. No kid should ever have to think that. She knows that pain all too well herself. And the grief it causes. She doesn’t hesitate a moment to pull her kid back into a tight hug.

For a few minutes neither of them said anything. Eda doesn’t let Luz go when she speaks again there is a sadness to it with an undertone of fury.

“I’m so sorry kiddo that you went through that. But I promise you you’re not the monster in this story. And you may not realize that now, or tomorrow, but someday you will understand that you're not the monster for something you can’t control and never asked for.”

#the owl house #the owl house fanfiction #toh fanfiction #Luz Noceda #eda clawthorne #mama eda #toh au