brb-on-a-quest
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Collector of shiny things and stories
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so it's come to this
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@walkthruthewords for u
Gift from a faithful friends
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PSA: SAID IS NOT DEAD. Said is not an overused word you need to cull out of your drafts. Said is not the devil. Said is a dialogue tag that your reader's eyes glaze over, barely noticed, allowing your dialogue to shine. Allowing your characters to speak without the narration overshadowing them. Said is doing a wonderful, thankless job! Said is not dead, you take that back—
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how many books do I want to read? all of them. there is no limit. my frail body will one day be crushed under the weight of my tbr pile and my mind will rejoice at all the lives I have lived, at all the new words that I have learnt and yet there will still be more books that I wish to read. i am simply a gaping chasm that only books can fill.
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@ fic authors what do you personally consider a successful fic? What’s the bar?
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i dont “have ptsd” that’s all just the wizard’s curse
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happy death day Jaybird!!
And happy one year anniversary to my wall collage :)
I painted this a year ago on this very day (it’s from @sardonic-sprite’s Celeb Batwaynes series, naturally):
and itt started quite a collection:
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you came back wrong and i am racked with guilt because i cannot bear to see you like this and i should have let you rest. i loved you so much that i defied death itself but i do not think either of us are happy
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i think what’s on a person’s nightstand is very telling so reblog this and put in the tags the things you have on your nightstand
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Currently opening up my Google Drive to check for writing motivations with about the same frequency I open my fridge to see if there are any new snacks.
#there's never anything new#i don't know what I would've expected#writers on tumblr#writeblr#writing memes#writing#brb-writes
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Guys, I've found another scene in Project Throne that is, in fact, complete. Tagging you once more, @hiddenvioletsgrow.
Once again, please don't mind the names or how accurate these events are!
Thank you for reading!
The Truth Will Out
“Your Majesty.”
Before her stands Barird, a little behind him three women. She smiles, though she thinks it comes across more as a grimace, and beckons him to continue; her throat feels too dry to even attempt speaking.
“There is a matter of consequence I must trouble you with, and I apologize if I am disturbing you right now.” She shakes her head at Barird’s gentle tone, so very like a hesitant father’s.
“Please,” she croaks, and regrets it immediately. Her coughing grows harsher until Kanore rests a hand upon her shoulder and murmurs a few words. He offers her a glass of water, and the warmth runs down her throat gladly.
She nods at Barird’s worried face, and he understands, straightening.
“Your Majesty, I, as King of Dallein, offer you a formal apology on behalf of the atrocities of my men.”
She blinks. “What?” she wheezes, coughing once more and taking a sip of the glass in her trembling hands.
“The abuse that you suffered at their hands was,” — here, he gives the women an apologetic look — “Unpardonable.”
But she doesn’t understand his words. She feels Kanore’s fingers tighten, and she looks up into his troubled eyes, still confused. “Do you not remember what happened to you, Your Majesty?” When she does not answer, he says softly, “You were attacked by three men with ill intentions. We thought you dead when your father rode back to us in tattered clothing and drawn face. Indeed, he himself believed you dead, having seen you pushed off a cliff. But he slew the men in his wrath where they stood.”
Her father? But he was lost at sea, he could not —
Oh. Oh.
No, not he with the kind blue eyes. Not him, not him. The sea and storm had swallowed him up years ago and left a gaping hole in her heart.
She remembers. He with hands of iron, with voice like thunderous deeps, with eyes of terror. He, fierce and great, whom she loathed with such strength that it made her gasp.
“Where is he?” she breathes, her person shaking, not just with coughs, “Where is he?”
“He has returned over the Ferrius Hills past the Eruhn to convey your death to the Steward and his siblings.” A smile lifts Kanore’s mouth. “It shall be a pleasant surprise for them when you return.”
But she cannot think of joy of any kind. Swallowing is a painful endeavor, but she does so anyways and asks, “How did you find me?”
“Staggering and soaked.” comes Teleron’s sharp reply from the window. “Bruised black and blue, hair plastered, eyes unfocussed. As if you had just climbed out of the river. Perhaps you had.” His eyes are haunted with the memory. It pierces her quaking soul.
“Your Majesty,” begins Barird once more, beckoning the women behind him to come closer, “These are the wives of the men who treated you thusly. They have come awaiting your command.”
Her command? There is a mixture of fear and resignation in their eyes; the youngest dares to hold herself in defiance.
“We have come to ask for your forgiveness, Your Majesty,” speaks the eldest of them, her head bowed, her voice steady, “Forgiveness for the actions of our men.”
“Ne’er did we think they would behave so ignobly, Your Majesty. A thousand pardons.” The second’s face is puffy and red, her hands clasped with white knuckles in front of her.
Did they — oh no, they couldn’t. They mustn’t.
She stares at them for a while, at their bowed heads. She feels her throat tighten.
“Are all three of your husbands lost?” she whispers. She cannot manage a louder or braver voice in her broken state.
“Yes,” breathes the youngest, lifting her bright-eyed gaze to hers. Eruvanda feels the tears come to her eyes at the aggrieved look in so young a face.
“They have fought well. May their souls rest in peace. I give you all my deepest condolences.” They share astonished glances amongst themselves, uncertain as to her words and how to respond.
She continues. “I am forever indebted to their lives.” She feels the weight of that statement and might have sagged had Kanore not been standing beside her, his hand holding her firmly and tenderly. “Their sacrifice shall not be forgotten or taken lightly. I —”
She knows loss and its sting better than any woman in this room. She reaches out a hand and the youngest, the most audacious, takes it. “I wish,” Eruvanda whispers, “I wish to Alfar Himself I might bring them back to you. I wish I might do more than give your families mere honor on behalf of your valiant men. I am sorry. So, so very sorry.”
The woman comes to sit beside her, tears running down her cheeks, looking very much like a lost child as she clasps Eruvanda’s hand in both of hers. “But I don’t understand,” she speaks with choking voice, “Why do you speak to us with such kindness, such sorrow, when it is our husbands who have hurt you?”
The fury that rises in her is so ferocious she might have burnt the room in her wrath. “Because it is a lie.”
A stunned silence breaks all over them. A silence only she dares break.
“You have been told a lie. Your husbands did not attempt to deal dishonorably with me. Rather, they saw me in peril and wished to rescue me from my danger. But they did not realize what threat would be posed if they intervened. They perished in their high courage, but I shall never forget them.”
At once, the second woman breaks out in loud weeping and throws herself to hide her face in Eruvanda’s bedcovers. Even the first covers her mouth with a hand and turned her face away.
“Who,” stutters the second as she raises her flushed face to Eruvanda, “Who did they wish to save you from?”
Eruvanda closes her eyes and clenches her teeth. “My father.”
#i've never been more intrigued??#keep going if you can this is amazing#you make me want to go write now
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girl help i managed my time poorly and now im suffering the consequences
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