#writer perspective

[ticklingtimetickstotest]

[succulentsiren]

Get over it. When you’re a Goddess, your presence is loud and you’ll be seen whether you like it or not. So why not own it? Stop shrinking and start basking in the spotlight. Don’t let being seen drain you, let it strengthen you. Envision yourself as a flower and envision the spotlight as the Sun, that is here to bring life, vitality, recognition, praise, prosperity, creativity, abundance and nourishment into your life.

[thefirstlioveyou]

haven't moved on from this sorry

[dr3amfyr-e]

brat. - j.v. ( w. 4.5k )

꒰ in which the boy you see every summer enrolls in the same university as you. ꒱ — modern!jacaerys velayron x reader

୨ ⎯ i cannot stress enough, football means ⚽️ not 🏈. childhood-friends-to-lovers, but you have to get through my 2000 word psychoanalysis and backstory first. light angst. mention of the death of a parent. lots and lots of talk about the velaryon-targaryen-hightower family dynamic. light make out action. reader's family is implied to be wealthy enough to have a summer home. almost everyone lives au. set in the uk, not westeros. omitted daemon rhaenyra marriage because there’s no way to to make it even semi-normal. realizing now i omitted daemon entirely erm sorry. pushing the laenor agenda bc he’s my favorite character. this is abhorently long. extreme overuse of the em-dash. uhh the perspective is wonky in a few places. will prob get a pt.2. ⎯ ୧

i had to write this twice. i'm offering this to you with shaking hands, like a peasent child begging for coins. i may write a part two because i have more to say, but i don't want to figure it out rn.

On the cold January morning that Jacaerys Velaryon-Targaryen was born, the media went into a frenzy. 

The Targaryens were old money, their fortune rooted a century back in good investments. Historically adept at finding their way into things, the empire had a string to pull in every industry. From art and law to technology and shipping, if business prospects looked good there would be a Targaryen investment.

And then there were the dogs — regal greyhounds, with long, thin bodies and sleek coats. The Targaryens bred them as far back as bloodline records went. The pups were never for sale; sometimes they were used as show dogs, and successful show dogs they were, but more often they were pets. It was a status symbol, to nonchalantly own such a coveted creature. 

The Targaryens were idolized in the public eye. They were all stunning, with sharp features and silver hair, and each member of the family seemed to possess a Midas touch. But, where Valyrian blood ran hot, so did the press. It was no surprise when magazines started to turn a profit from silver heads plastered across their glossy covers. It was the price that came with God-like aristocracy.

From editorials to gossip columns, people devoured the insider life of the untouchables. When Aemma Targaryen died, there was a four-page spread in nearly every magazine; complete with pictures and quotes. Business papers filled with opinion pieces about Rhaenyra’s inheritance claim to her family’s empire; magazines exploded with the announcement of her engagement to Laenor Velaryon, and subsequently Viserys’ marriage to Alicent Hightower, the daughter of his lawyer. 

When Jacaerys was born, reporters lined up outside of the hospital doors. There were cameras and microphones and crew trucks, and Rhaenyra hated it. It wasn’t the way she wished to welcome her child into the world — swarmed by people who didn’t know nor care for him.

Laenor had always been good at navigating the attention, and Rhaenyra was constantly grateful. So, when he pulled his gaze from the babe and steeled himself to deal with the onslaught of reporters outside, tears pricked at her eyes. Appreciation, exhaustion, adoration? She couldn’t be sure. 

Looking down at her son, she thought, he’s perfect. He had a smattering of dark hair, and he was quiet but not concerningly so. Wispy lashes fell upon his cherub cheeks, and when he eventually blinked up at her his eyes were dark. He looked nothing like her — she didn’t care. 

She refused to talk to anyone outside of her family, and had the curtains in her private room drawn. To expose her son, her heart, to the prying eyes of the bored masses with nary a care for his well-being was a nightmare. She wouldn’t have him exploited. 

At the time of Jacaerys’ birth, she and Laenor had been married for a little over a year. Laenor’s father, Corlys, managed the bulk of the import and export for Viserys’ company. Corlys was a good man, he hadn’t dreamed of marrying his son off. But Laenor and Rhaenyra were both in the same impossible situation: the wiles of youth mixed with the ever critical public. 

They had both fallen into scandalous relationships, both preyed on by paparazzi. If they married one another, it would save face for both of their families. Plus — both being the eldest and heir, this would clear the expectation of a dignified marriage. They agreed to leave each other to whatever youthful fun they wanted to have, as long as everything was discreet. 

Both the Velaryons and the Targaryens kept a summer home in Dragonstone, a private community in coastal Wales. It was the perfect place for Rhaenyra and Laenor to begin their life — far from her father, close to his parents, and out of the line of sight for any nosy journalist. 

The public eye had looked to other things by the time Lucerys was born, two years later. Again, Laenor dealt with the small gathering of reporters with the utmost grace, and Rhaenyra submitted a written statement. 

Alicent divorced Viserys that same year. 

As she watched her boys grow up, full of energy and life, Rhaenyra thought, there was no one better to parent with than her best friend — a title Laenor had rightfully earned. They hadn’t had much choice in knowing each other, and they certainly would never have chosen to be married, but he made a bearable roommate. They had things in common; they liked the same music, and the same men. They drank the same wine and frequented the same restaurants. And, they both loved their boys. 

As Jace and Luke grew up, they found the best company in each other — the school in Dragonstone was so small, though, that there were very few other options. They both played on the school’s small football team, and Jace took piano lessons while Luke learned to fence. Where Jace was driven by emotion, Luke was level-headed; where Luke was cautiously quiet, Jace spoke his mind. It was an ideal childhood, the Welsh coast was an idyllic backdrop to grow up upon, with the sea in their backyard. 

They were ten and eight when Joffrey was born, both excited for their new brother. Their mother brought him home, bundled in a soft red blanket. The boys sat on the couch beside Rhaenys and stared at him for upwards of an hour. 

Hardly a week had passed when Harwin Strong died. He was a family friend, a frequent presence in their home and life — Jace and Luke had been upset by this, of course. 

In time they came to understand the situation fully. Jacaerys first, fitting the pieces together with the evidence he found in the mirror. Neither Rhaenyra nor Laenor had dark hair, like he and his brothers. 

His matriline was uncontestable though, as he grew into himself. He possessed the same nose, jaw, brow, and high cheekbones that Rhaenyra wore. The comparisons between the two became more frequent as he grew older, and he found himself to be quite proud to look like her. 

Her attitude lived in him as well, the temperament she had been so notorious for as a girl festered in her eldest son. She had once been christened ‘The Princess of Dragonstone’ after flipping off a reporter at their summer home. Jacearys earned it for himself when he was fifteen, after loudly berating a reporter. He had been defending Luke, but no one seemed to care when they deigned him ‘The Prince of Dragonstone’. He took it with grace, claiming that he couldn’t help but be his mother’s child.

It instilled a sense of public propriety he strove to uphold. 

Rhaenyra remarried the same year — to Alicent Hightower — and moved her children from Wales to London. It took a while to adjust to the new life — Jace liked his new school, but he detested his step-brothers. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t come around to the idea of living with Aemond and Aegon, who took so much pleasure in making he and his brothers miserable. 

After the first month, Jacaerys fell in brilliantly. He performed well in school, quickly being enrolled in the advanced literature and history courses. He got on well with his peers, and made a number of friends. He joined the football team and spent his Sunday afternoons learning piano concertos. 

Living in London made him a more publicly prominent figure in his family's legacy. He knew how to play his role as heir; he carried himself perfectly — confident and charming and elegant. He didn’t particularly like being in the public eye, but there was a certain sense of satisfaction when he did something to receive positive public attention. 

King’s Landing, much like where he had grown up, was a community reserved for the upper echelon. Situated in Northwest London, and surrounded by wrought iron gates, it was regal and dignified. The house had high, vaulted ceilings, large stained glass windows, and more than enough bedrooms. It rained more, Jacaerys noticed in the first month. When it had rained in Dragonstone he would watch the droplets bounce off the sea, where it lapped at the sandy bay. Here the rain splattered unceremoniously upon the pavement. 

For as wonderful as life in London had turned out, Jacaerys found himself longing for what was left behind in Dragonstone. Laenor lived there still, and while he called often and visited as much as he could, it wasn’t the same. Jace’s childhood bedroom remained, along with all of the memories in the house he grew up in. And his friends. There was an assortment of people he only saw between late May and early September; the children of the other seasonal residents. The number had dwindled in years past, with fewer of them returning for break — favouring more interesting places, like Ibiza or Rome, as they got older. 

Far too few of his childhood friends he kept in contact with, especially after the move to London. You were the exception. 

He was grateful, on days when it stormed in London, to receive a silly text or too-long voice note. It made things feel less dull — you had a way of doing that. 

He took to reading theory around the time he turned seventeen. It’s queer theory, at the suggestion of his cousin Baela, who lent him his first Judith Butler book. He finished it that weekend. 

His aunt Laena and her two daughters lived in London, and Jace found a close comrade in Baela. She played competitive tennis and listened to riot grrrl, she was much cooler than him and he knew it. Her bedroom held two massive bookshelves, and she let him pillage her collection for De Bouvier and Didion and Gay. Hours were spent lying across the floor in Laena’s house, studying, or reading, or talking. He enjoyed Baela’s company more than any of his school friends, favouring anything with her over anything with the boys from his football team. 

His youngest sister, Visenya, turned one around the same time. Baela, staying with Jacaerys while he babysat one night, inducted him into the eldest daughter club. 

“You’re so keen on driving your siblings around, and taking care of them. Plus, aren’t you your mother’s closest confidant?” She asked. 

True, Jace supposed. He was the oldest of Rhaenyra’s children, and the most responsible of his brothers and step-siblings. His mums both worked full time, they were busy but as involved as possible. Jace just did the menial things. He made Joffrey breakfast, picked Luke up after school, and watched Visenya when necessary. He didn’t mind.

Baela argued that he should mind. 

He had been a sensitive child, more so than his brothers, but it made him incredibly emotionally adept as he aged. So many boys his age prided themselves on stoicism, but that was never something Jace felt connected to. He always felt things too deeply to bottle them up — it accounted for the occasional temper that flared up when he was upset, but also how empathetic and kind he was. 

Jacearys was set to graduate with honours in the first week of May. It was three months before when college acceptance letters began to appear in the mail. He had applied to a number of places, and been accepted everywhere. The University of the Vale was where his hopes hinged though. 

Just after Valentine's Day, it showed up. The envelope was wide and stuffed full, and sealed with a wax stamp. His acceptance letter was on the very top of the stack of papers — the thick paper heavy in his hands, as he admired the blue printed border and silver flocking. 

Rhaenrya sorted through the informational packets while Jace reread the letter. Part of him couldn’t believe it was real.

He sends you a picture of the letter, and you respond in kind with one of an identical nature. 

You hadn’t planned to go to the same university, but it certainly was a happy coincidence. 

After graduation, he was beyond excited for the reprieve that Dragonstone granted. The promise of early morning hikes, and evenings spent on the beach — the once empty house, full of life and bustling with bodies. 

You were the first thing Jacaerys thought to look for when he set his bags down in the summer home. 

It was late May, and you were guaranteed to be out of school. I’ll text after I unpack, he thought, pulling clothes and books from his suitcase. 

His room in Dragonstone had once been his childhood bedroom. The walls were a warm tone of white, and the small bed was still covered with his blue and white checkered duvet. Piano scales and pictures of his brothers and friends adorn the walls. There was a soccer trophy on the back edge of his desk, something he had won when he was eleven. It was stuffy from nine months of stagnance, but familiar all the same. 

He pushed the curtains back from the window to let sunlight filter into the dusty room, gazing down at the beach, when he spotted your figure. He was quick to rush downstairs, out the backdoor, and across the stone path that leads from the patio to the beach. He greets you with a call of your name and a tight hug, sunglasses perched atop his head and linen shirt half buttoned. 

It had been a year since he’d last seen you. You had kept in touch during the school year; Jace favoured Snapchat and FaceTime, delighted with the pleasure of seeing the mundane things you were up to. There was a nearly constant text thread, and voice memos passed back and forth. But, it all paled in comparison to physical company. 

He abandoned his housekeeping duties, keen to sit on the beach and talk. And you did so for hours, about everything and nothing. He tells you about his last year of school and listens as you do the same. When the sun dipped past the treeline, he leaned back on his elbows, watching the water crest on the sand. He felt more at ease than he had in a while, enraptured by the ease of your presence. The conversation flowed, there were no awkward lulls and no pressure to talk about something dignified. It was comforting to be so close to someone who didn’t see much of his life in London — you knew the best version of him. 

Your friendship had always felt like that, from a young age. On days that smelled of sunscreen and sea salt in his mind, you would meet in the mornings and depart past dark and then do it again the next day, never tiring of each other. Your parents knew his, so you had always been welcome in his home — invited or not. You had shared a bed during sleepovers, drunk from the same cup, and fallen asleep on the couch during movie nights countless times. Quick glances and imperceptible expressions were a language you communicated in, reading each other without words. In your presence, Jace was the most comfortable.

The summer slipped away as it always did, taking long nights and leaving memories of sand and sunshine. The days were ambled away in the water, on rocky hiking paths, or in the meadow that sat a mile away from all of the homes. 

Jace had started The Hobbit before school ended — most days he found himself sprawled out in the park or on the beach, reading. He had also taken to running with his dog, Vermax, in the mornings. He relied on the serotonin boost to start the day, and with no football to play a jog was a decent alternative. 

When the summer drew to a close, the typical melancholy that befell the return to the real world wasn’t present in Jace’s mind. He presumed it had everything to do with the fact that he would see you every day now

You have one college class together — a nine a.m. medieval literature discussion. 

Clinging to familiarity in the new environment, he glued himself to your side for the first week of classes. He memorized the way to your dorm, meeting you outside every morning to walk together to your first lessons. The meandering conversation was a good start to the day, and he silently relished in your tired eyes and quiet voice, not yet used to the early schedule. 

On Friday he all but begged you to come back to his dorm after the discussion; it was your only class that day so you had given in. You hadn’t seen his living quarters yet, and he wanted to spend time with you, worried for when your schedules would fill up and you would lose room for each other. 

The discussion had been mind-numbing. You reviewed the same syllabus as the lecture, and went over the same rules and policies as every other class. With the thirty-five minutes remaining, the teaching assistant made everyone watch an incredibly monotone video about the history of medieval England. 

Jace linked his arm into yours in the hallway after class, pulling you to the doors. The cool morning air was refreshing, waking you up more as you walked across campus. His dorm building was new and modern, seventeen floors with grey siding and big windows. It was private housing, clearly expensive. 

He had a single room with an adjoining bathroom and a small common space. The walls were typical dorm white, with laminate wood flooring. Joffrey’s school photo is hung on one wall, the frame clearly decorated by the child with glitter and string. Scattered across the other walls were photographs in thin silver frames, a large world map, a clock, and a cross-stitch of a rainbow stag beetle.

Sitting on the couch, you observed the unframed photos that lay across the coffee table, inspecting a leggy grey dog as you plucked it from the pile, “Who is this?”

Jace leaned into your side, gazing at the photo, “My mum’s dog, Syrax,” He reached over you to tap the picture, “Syrax is my dog’s mum.” 

He slipped his hand into yours as you walked with him to his second class of the day.

In the third week of school, Jace asks you to attend a mixer for a pre-law society with him. He doesn't know anyone, and doesn't want to be alone at the party. You meet at his dorm at a quarter-to-six so you can walk to the event together. 

The dress-code is emi-formal, and when he opens the door to you his hair is slicked back with water and he smells like his cologne — musk, sandalwood, and amber. 

“Are your clothes pressed?” You ask, grinning at his freshly ironed slacks and the three buttons undone on his shirt. 

He rolls his eyes, locking the door behind him as he escorts you down the hallway. The walls of the elevator in his dorm are mirrored, and you laugh at him when you catch him taking pictures of himself. He makes you take one with him, and sets it as his lock screen. 

The mixer was in the dean of law’s massive house, buzzing with young people in smart outfits. Jace abandons you about fifteen minutes in, spotting a group of poli sci majors from his social psychology class. 

From his childhood spent between galas and his mother’s business meetings, Jace was good at navigating these situations. He was charming, leveling the professors with charismatic smiles and confident posture. He was good at holding an intelligent conversation, discussing theory and strategy. 

You were on the patio, watching the stars, when he found you an hour later.

His arms brushed yours as he leaned against the railing, “Sorry for leaving you,” His voice was quiet, and he stared at your profile, watching the way the moonlight illuminated your skin. 

You wave his apology off and make him buy you coffee in recompense on the way home. 

You’re stood talking together on the quadrangle a few weeks later, a cup of hot chocolate warming your mitten-less hands, when you realise just how cold it’s gotten. It's just too cold for the thin jacket that you try to sink further into, hiding from the wind that bites at your delicate skin.

Jace watches you shiver, observing your lack of appropriate attire. 

“Are you cold?” He asks, reaching out to run his hands up and down your arms, half to warm you, half to gauge how thick your jacket is. Not very. 

You nod, “I didn’t check the weather this morning.” 

He sighs with exaggerated exasperation and slides his arms around you, careful of the paper cup you held. Of course, he’s worn the right coat, and you feel the downy material of his hood against your cheek as he rubs your back to generate some warmth. You smell the cologne on his collar and the expensive shampoo he uses; he grumbled something about taking better care of yourself. 

Then, one particularly cold Friday morning he has forgotten his coat. Dressed in a hoodie, he mirrors your excuse from the week prior, smiling sheepishly — face flushed from the chilly air, dark curls blowing around his head like a halo. You take pity on him, slipping your scarf off. You loop it around his neck, tucking the ends down into the collar of his sweater, and leave him with a fond peck on the cheek; his skin is cold. 

He's appreciative, though the scarf does little against the cold wind cutting through his sweater. Still, he doesn't give the scarf back. 

With the cold, comes midterms. You’re the first person Jace asks to study. 

Your dorm room is closer to the central part of campus, and thus a shorter walk in the bitter cold. Jace brushes snow out of his hair as you unlock your door, ushering him inside. It's small. Two twin-sized beds, one on each wall, with nary enough room for two bodies between them; a desk is crammed into the small space between your bed and the window. You let him take the desk, spreading your books and notes out across your bed.

Your dorm is old, and the room has very little ventilation. Despite the frigidity outside, the room is stuffy and almost hot with both of your bodies inside. An hour into studying Jace shrugs off his heavy, knit sweater and pushes his glasses up into his hair. 

“What are you working on?” You ask, leaning forward. You’re bored, working on the same power point you started yesterday. You want to talk to him, though he doesn’t seem keen on the idea

He doesn’t look up from typing as he speaks, “Analysing The Art of War.” 

You shut your laptop, bent on distracting him, “The book?” 

He nods but doesn’t give a verbal response. 

“Who's that by?” You ask, fighting to suppress a grin

This time he does look up, glaring at you over his glasses, “Sun Tzu.” 

His tone is short, but it's amusing to annoy him so you grin, suppressing a giggle, “Sounds very interesting.” 

“What do you want?” He asks after a beat, still holding your gaze. 

You shrug, “Nothing. I’m bored,” 

The next time you study is even less productive, school work discarded on his floor in a matter of minutes. 

“We can’t be trusted to work together,” He tells you, watching as you calculate his astrological chart, geometry homework forgotten. 

You attend your first college party together in November. When you arrive at his dorm, he’s dressed much more casually than normal. 

You reach out to tug at the thin silver chain peeking out from his shirt collar, “This is fun,” You tease, giggling, “Aiming to impress tonight?”

He rolls his eyes in mock-offence, turning you around by the shoulders to shove you out of the doorframe. 

The lights in the house are dim, and they strobe slowly through different colours. It’s too dark and too bright all at once. The music is almost unbearably loud and people are packed in like sardines, it’s all incredibly overstimulating. 

When he senses your unease, Jace takes your hand, pulling you tight against your side to lead you through the throng of bodies. He’s looking for someone, but you’re unsure who, and he canvases the whole space before giving up on finding them.

The backyard of the house is quieter, but the ground still vibrates from the bass of the music. People are scattered about, smoking cigarettes and sipping from bottles of cheap beer. 

You both learn what Jell-O shots are, and make out in the bathroom back at his dorm. It’s not the first time you’d kissed each other, trying it a few times in your adolescence just to see what it was like. But this is different, tipsy and sloppy, as you giggle into his mouth. 

It's forgotten in the morning, when you wake up in his bed still dressed in your going-out clothes, head pounding.

But then it happens again, the week before finals.

You had stayed at the library far too late studying, leaving the pair of you to walk back to his dorm in the dark. It's positively frigid, cold December air whipping snow into your face. 

There are still snowflakes in your hair as you shed the thick coat you’re wearing, pulling off your gloves and hat. 

There's a bottle of wine in Jace’s freezer, left by Aegon the weekend before. It's expensive and rich and red, and Aegon would likely skin you if he found out you were drinking it — but, that's part of the fun. There's a baking show on the small television, and you’re curled into Jace’s side to steal some of the warmth from his body.

When the program lulls he brings his hand to your hair, combing through the tangled strands. You pay it little mind, leaning into his touch as you watch a contestant on-screen whip macaron batter. His fingers slide down to your jaw, turning your head so your eyes meet his. He’s studying your face, cheeks flushed from the wine or the cold. 

The attention is odd, and you giggle nervously under his gaze. His hands come to cradle your jaw as he leans towards you, nose brushing yours. The air is charged with an unusual tension, his mouth a breath away from yours. 

When he kisses you, he’s slow and gentle, his whole body angled into yours. Everything feels warm, a welcome contrast to the weather outside, and you chalk it up to the glasses of wine coursing through your bloodstream. 

It's pleasant, different from times past; this certainly doesn’t feel like an innocent, experimental kiss. It's heated, tinged with passion. He uses the placement of his hand to ease your jaw open, tongue sliding slowly into your mouth. 

There's a vibe, something you hadn’t felt before with him. It's communicated through the gentle touch of his hands, and how his breath hitches when you kiss him back with the same sort of force. 

The moment is broken by the announcement of a winner on the television. His hands slide down, resting on your shoulders, pulling your frame into his. 

You don’t talk about it afterwards. 

[project-sekai-facts]

(TL by Kimane)

According to chapter 1 of the This moment with you! event story, the Hatsune Miku version of Leo/need's debut song reached over 8 million views online. This is not exactly notable if we assume the song was uploaded on YouTube, however if we assume the song was uploaded on Nico Nico Douga (which is referenced in the event as Smile Douga) this is actually incredibly noteworthy.

Assuming Smile Douga's viewcounts reflect its real-life counterpart, the 8 million viewcount would put Leo/need's song in Smile Douga's Hall of Legends, and less than 2 million views away from the Hall of Myths, which as of posting only contains 24 songs, and only contained 11 songs at the end of 2022, the year this event is supposedly set in. As of posting, the Miku version of Leo/need's debut song would rank at least #39 on the site's most viewed Vocaloid songs, if not higher depending on the exact viewcount. Though again, if we take into account that this event is supposed to be set two years ago, it would rank much higher.

While the amount of time between the Parallel Harmonies ending, chapter 1 of The Night Sky We Saw That Day, Someday in the Distant Future (where L/n's vocaloid song had 1 million views), and chapter 1 of This moment with you! is unclear, it is fairly safe to assume that if Leo/need uploaded their song to Smile Douga, it is one of, if not, the fastest growing Vocaloid songs in the site's history.

[erdariel]

Maybe it's just me, but one reason I love getting comments on Ao3 that point out details of the fic that the commenter liked, is that for a moment it lets me see the fic through their eyes

Like, I have a pretty big self-criticism problem, like usually within 24 hours of posting a thing, be it a drawing or a fic or whatever, I start finding more flaws than good sides in it and feeling that actually it's a pile of shit, utterly pointless and bad and thoroughly unlikable. I know this is my issue, and something I need to work on, btw, but I just. struggle ever seeing the good sides of my own work. Even work that was an idea I truly deeply liked and wanted to see done! Even things I enjoyed working on!

But when someone leaves a comment that's like "oooh I like how [x] and I love [y] detail!!" it kind of. Let's me for a moment see past my own issues. It lets me look at the work, and the details pointed out, and go "you know what? yeah, that thing there is very good". Sometimes, on a good day, it might even give me enough time to actually re-read my own fic and enjoy it

So, readers: if you read a fic, and there's a detail you like - no matter how big or small, whether a minute detail of the description of someone's clothing, or something about the way the story is structured, or literally anything! - let the author know! If there's any detail that stood out to you in a way you liked, and you feel at all inclined to leave a comment, then please, let the author know the detail that caught your eye! It can brighten up their day so, so much!

[iambrillyant]

“september, elevate my perspective and lower my tolerance for anything pushing me out of alignment, nourish my self-assurance and starve any feelings of comparison. water my discernment with love so flowers can grow from all my decisions. may i find clarity every time i choose me.”

— billy chapata

[shatteredstarsart]

The Macaque flower trend

Land also some lyrics from the gay gay song Six Ears by Everender —> @/lostvox (which was made with LMK Shadowpeach in mind) that I think pairs well with it :]

“I can’t forget your face

An image I’d give anything to replace

Betrayed by my own hand

It happened before, but won’t happen again”

[astrosouldivinity]

𝑯𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒐 𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒍 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑬𝒗𝒊𝒍 𝑬𝒚𝒆: ⁺⋆🧿⋆⁺ (𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚃𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎)

𝑬𝒗𝒊𝒍 𝑬𝒚𝒆 𝑻𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒔 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑷𝒆𝒐𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝑼𝒔𝒆:

1. 𝑬𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒈𝒚-𝑺𝒊𝒑𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 (➖)

• Recruiting Allies: They recruit other people to help with undermining you, knowing they can't succeed alone.

• Obsessive Monitoring: They engage in gang-stalking behavior, fixating on you, plotting and praying on your downfall.

• Controlling Behavior: They nitpick and belittle you, trying to manipulate your emotions and provoke reactions.

• One-Sided Relationships: You invest your energy into them, but they offer nothing in return. Essentially, pouring into an empty cup, leaving you drained and feeling entitled to your energy.

• Deteriorating Health: Their influence can manifest in negative effects on your well-being, leading to visible changes such as decreased vitality, increased illness, and persistent brain fog.

2. 𝑬𝒎𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝑴𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒑𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 👹

• Gaslighting: They make you question your reality through passive-aggressive tactics, engaging in psychological warfare that is truly diabolical. This involves throwing stones and hiding their hands, creating confusion that drives you to doubt your perceptions and feel like you’re going crazy.

• Isolation: Following a smear campaign, you may find yourself ostracized, leaving you vulnerable and unprotected. This isolation is even more distressing if you don’t fully understand what’s happening.

• Existential Neglect: They act as if you don’t exist, undermining your self-worth and causing you to doubt yourself. This behavior pushes you to seek their validation, aiming to disconnect you from your true self.

3. 𝑻𝒓𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒀𝒐𝒖 🪢

• Commitment to Misunderstanding: They are dedicated to misinterpreting you, and people who dislike you will always find faults, fueled by a relentless desire to undermine you.

• Projection: They impose their limiting perceptions on you, trying to box you into a version they can control.

• Stagnation: They resist your growth, attempting to keep you in a state where they had the most control over you, and project their own lack of evolution onto you.

4. 𝑯𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒐 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 🪬

1. Wear Protective Crystals: Utilize stones such as black tourmaline, obsidian, and smoky quartz. Wear evil eye jewelry, and incorporate protective practices like spell jars, mantras, and visualization techniques.

• I create evil eye-themed jewelry, crystal jewelry, and spell jars, which will be available for purchase soon. 💟

• 𝚂𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝙹𝚊𝚛𝚜 🌱🫙

2. Pray for Protection: If necessary, consider return-to-sender or freeze spells. However, these are most effective when you know the source of the negativity. Identifying the evil eye source can be challenging, especially in omnipresent situations.

• 𝚁𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚂𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛/𝙵𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚣𝚎 𝚂𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚕

3. Practice Energetic Detachment: Employ the "grey rock" method—remain unresponsive and stoic. By becoming an emotionless force, you deprive them of the energy they seek to access.

4. Embrace Your Inner Power: Recognize that they are sending negative energy towards you. Channel that energy back to them, transmuting it into your own strength. Remember, these individuals are ultimately weak; their attempts to bring you down are driven by a desire to feel powerful and in control.

𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 1

𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 2

𝚃𝚒𝚙 𝙹𝚊𝚛 🫙🙏🏿

𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

𝙽𝚘 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚣𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚍. 𝙷𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛, 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚝: @𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚢 🖤

*✧🧿 *✧･ﾟ🧿✧･ﾟ🧿 *✧･ﾟ🧿✧･ﾟ🧿 *✧･ﾟ🧿✧*

𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚍𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚕 𝚎𝚢𝚎. 𝙸 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚒𝚌 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎, 𝚊𝚜 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜. 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏, 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙. 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚢 𝚜𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎; 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚠𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚊 𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚢. 😓

[absolute-hooligan]

Fun fact: I found out David tennant has a podcast with a guest that cycles out each episode (it’s very good, you should go listen) and one of them has Neil in it!

You can yell at me if this is old news now but this little bit about “have a nice doomsday” and episode threes cold open is so… agh, I love it

(hearing about Neil’s writing process in general is also incredibly neat)

[tododeku-or-bust]

My positive thing to ask for Black History Month this year is to follow Black bloggers! Support Black artists, fic writers, original authors, photographers, craftspeople, gamers, cosplayers, models, political blogs, and more! We're here too, and we have a lot to give! 💕

[ticklingtimetickstotest]

Just wanted to share this song with you.🤍

[rigginsstreet]

The thing about billy is that he was marked for death the second his mom left him with neil.

He was either gonna die by Neil’s hands or, as we saw on the show, he was gonna go down such a self destructive path it would send him into an early grave of his own making.

So him dying at 18 isn’t really shocking. The part of it that was never written in the stars for him previously is that in his final moments he got to take some of his power back. He made the choice to stand against his abuser (the mindflayer) in the name of saving someone else. He got to fight back against the thing controlling him and contribute to its demise. Something he likely would’ve never gotten a chance to do with neil.

The tragedy is that he dies anyway, and no one can even give him the courtesy of acknowledging what that tragedy is. Not the writers, not the fandom, not the characters within the show.

His death becomes Max’s tragedy, it can’t even be his own. Nobody cares what billys death means in the context of billys life. Just like how nobody cared about billy when his mom left or when his dad was getting physical with him or when he started lashing out because of the abuse.

Nobody ever cared for billy, so why was he expected to care about anyone else?

He was never treated as a person, just a presence. And an inconvenient one at that. So of course he was never gonna make it to a long fulfilling life. And nobody ever thought to step in and intervene because well, Billys a problem, right? So what does it matter if he’s gone?

And you start to realize how inherently cruel the entire stranger things narrative is because there’s a clear line of people “worth” saving and those who aren’t. And if someone’s too much trouble then well, they’re expendable.

Billy was too much trouble for his mom to make her clean escape. He was too much trouble for not fitting in to Neil’s ideals of the perfect son. He was too much trouble for max as a brother. Too much trouble with all the rage and hate he had built up for the world around him for not protecting him.

So in the end, really, what was left for him to do?

[disco-troy]

It drives me insane that as time goes on Dick is more and more willing to drop everything and go to Gotham as soon as Bruce calls

He used to have boundaries! He used to be clear about how much he was sacrificing!

He used to be angry when he wasn’t consulted!

And then at some point he starts turning around to go back to Gotham

Like this is insane to me! LIAN IS MISSING !!! LIAN?! And Dick chooses to listen to a Bruce summons over helping to find her.

These days writers don’t even bother explaining why Dicks in Gotham. Him dropping everything in Bludhaven is just expected

Part of it is I feel like that at a ome point Bruce stop sharing, he stopped asking for help. Dick is afraid that if he doesn’t show up when he’s called he’ll never be called again.

[charmac]

I think getting railed by Mac would give Dennis a new perspective that doesn’t change who he is and is consistent with his characterisation... Just a thought tho.

[writingwithfolklore]

Specificity, Voice and Backstory

                Today we're talking about character voice, backstory, and writing with specificity. I’ve talked about all these elements separately, but combined these three are the most important elements of your description. Why? Because describing something is the best place to learn not only what the character is experiencing, but more about them and their backstory.

                We do that through drawing comparisons not to abstract ideas, but to specific moments the character has witnessed. Okay, consider these two examples:

The room smelled of warm spices and herbs like a fancy restaurant kitchen.

Vs.

The room smelled like the thyme and basil that clung to my mother's hair when she had finished making dinner, kneeling to hug me after I came in from school.

                They convey the same information, but we learn so much more about the character in the second example.

                In my Differentiating between Perspectives post, I talked more about attitude in character voice. What your character compares things to is a great tell for voice. Here’s the example from that post:

                “The bar was filled to the brim with sweaty drunks falling over each other, barely cognizant of the drinks they were spilling--much less so the people around them.”

                Versus

                “Upbeat dance music filled the bar. A crowd had formed in the middle of the floor, people cheering and dancing together like the rest of the world hardly mattered.”

                Right?

                Check out the full post here:

                So when you’re describing something and reaching for a metaphor or something to liken it to, try to make it personal, in the character’s voice, and specific. We can learn a whole lot more that way.