#deep pov

[wackus-bonkus-maximus]

The Horse Miraculous gave him a dark brown suit, white hair pulled back like a mane. He detransformed quickly before Plagg could make a quip.

That didn’t stop him, though. “Nice of you to finally canter in here, Pops.”

I love this little exchange! The thought of Gabriel with a ponytail (shudders) and plagg punning at him and Gabriel knowing he looks dumb and trying to drop it as fast as possible… (and I know the holders supposedly design the suits themselves, but I like to think Kaalki did a little sabotage). I love how you sprinkle humor throughout the story, knowing the right places to add it so it adds to and doesn’t take from the mood of the scene- whether it’s a tense mood or a sweet or emotion in between.

So my first question is do you see yourself as a funny person?

And secondly, how in the world do you write a character who is not like you? You said somewhere that Felix and Lila are hard to write because they are both “smarter than me.” I’ve always wondered how authors do this…

lolol odnlb plagg HATES gabriel 😂 he will take any excuse to mock the shit out of him! although this gabriel has been stuck in a i-deserve-everything-bad-that's-happened-to-me mindset, so he would just take it 💀 kaalki DEFINITELY sabotaged that man though. she wasn't about to let gabriel walk around looking good!

thank you i'm glad you like my humor 🥺 i think i'm averagely funny honestly! i'm probably funnier on paper than in real life, and i know lots of ppl funnier than me in both ways. but it does make me feel really good when people laugh at my jokes 💖🤩 especially if they work in my fics!

felix and lila ARE smarter than me okay. to write them i have to plan out their dialogue and what they say vs what they think and what each of them are thinking during that conversation or exchange. their minds work more quickly and make connections better than i do, but that doesn't mean i'm not capable of getting there on my own eventually! luckily i get to make them go at my pace, and let their brainpower show through the deductions they make with the information given.

as to writing characters different to me... idk! i just like putting myself in others heads/shoes. you've seen my enneagram thing so you know as a 9 i just do this anyway. it's all about focusing on what they think and how they think it and how they're going to react. i literally go into their head and think their thoughts and feel their feelings when i'm doing this! it really is like being possessed.

thank you so much for saying all these nice things<333 most of all ty for thinking i'm funny! favoriting this ask forever 🤩

[thepedanticbohemian]

Sadly this writer has deleted her Tumblr. She has great advice on her website, though.

[theprissythumbelina]

Alyss

The Alyss POV comes in the form of her diary, which she is keeping as a therapeutic tool. 

Junius 2

There’s a letter for me. A letter, a letter, with a name I used to remember. Your friend, it says. I have no friends. I have a ghost in every mirror and a familiar that never talks and never shuts up but I have no friends. Letia. There’s a smear there, a dark face with eyes. I don’t remember her. She calls herself my friend. Private Letia Breeks. I should remember someone who sends me a letter. How are you? She asks. People always want a certain answer when they ask that. They want well. They don’t want to hear how I feel. They want me to make them feel better. They want to believe I’m better. So I write Dear - 

I write Letia -

Was writing a letter always this hard? I’ve gotten used to talking to you, my little book wrapped in soft leather. You never speak back. I don´t want Letia to write back. I don’t want her to be real. 

Letia - 

I am broken. There’s something wrong with me and I think it's just me. Don’t waste your time on me, because I have nothing to give you. Find someone alive to think of. Please don’t waste time on me, because then I feel like you care, and you shouldn´t care for me. I can’t stand you to care for me. 

Letia -  whatever they told you is a lie. 

Letia -  I never came back alive. 

Letia - don’t waste letters on the dead.

I’ll ask cousin to write a letter for me. 

[daffodils-loverrs]

Jackie Taylor (+ Shauna) | miscellaneous character study

F. Scott Fitzgerald, Flappers and Philosophers

Carol Rifka Brunt, Tell the Wolves I'm Home

Leanna Firestone, Two Week Notice

Black Wing, Twinkling

Madison Beer, Good In Goodbye

a.j., vulnerability

Rainer Maria Rilke, The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge

Caroline Polachek, Pang

Pablo Neruda, Tonight I Can Write (The Saddest Lines)

Taylor Swift, Fifteen

[pechrpeach]

Void Burns - Lizzie

(Finale countdown pt.2)

[lucky-fy]

For the Laicion nation (aka, me and three other people)

I had this illustration commissioned (a big thank you to @lunehowls) for my werewolf AU Laicion fic (still a WIP).

The general pitch is as follows :

AU in which Laios never got to meet his sister again, putting his life on a whole other path, a more desperate one. A military deserter with barely a coin to his name, Laios hitches a ride on a boat to one of the elven continents, where he learns about magical tattoos that binds one’s soul to a wolf’s, effectively making them artificial werewolves. Illegal magic be damned, this feels like the answer to… everything.

In the process, he learns about the existence of an illegal fighting ring in one of the elven cities, where beastmen gladiators gather. Freshly tattooed and without anywhere else to go to, Laios decides to head there, where he meets Lycion, an elf and artificial werewolf gladiator. If they first bond over a simple shared meal, by spending time together (sharing the same room in the barracks, maybe the same bed? gasp) they find that they have a lot in common, notably a shared distaste for the body they were born in, a dysphoria partially remedied by becoming a werewolf.

They bond :)

[strawberrybyers]

i truly would not be mad if nancy breaks up with jonathan and tells steve to move on. and for vickie to tell robin she’s not interested but is willing to be friends. so nancy and robin decide they need to hang out after a long day of heartbreak and throughout their convos of explaining everything that’s been going on, they realize they have feelings for each other. i truly would not be mad at that. in fact, that’s exactly what i want to happen 😌

[suiheisen]

If you still make hockey gifs there’s a moment with Sid “working out” in that documentary where he makes the Most Obscene face (you’ll know it when you see it) 👀

let men wear slutty knee high socks and get pegged

[shpepyao]

i am having too much fun in drg i wanna draw silly dwarfs wot de heeell

[hylialeia]

the more I read and re-read other fantasy, the more impressive asoiaf becomes to me in its unabashed embrace of the darkness in its characters' POVs. and I don't mean in the "edgelord grimdark" way that so many people (wrongly) ascribe to it, or even in the "historical accuracy" way that so many people use to defend it. I mean more in the way it actually aids in the immersion of the world and story.

other fantasy series will relay the events and the world through their characters, sure, but I never realized just how censored they feel in comparison to asoiaf. things happen, characters feel a certain kind of way about them and relay that to me-the-reader. then they do things, plot happens, etc. sometimes it's quite compelling, even! but in asoiaf, I-the-reader am a brain parasite. the characters think thoughts they would never tell me. I see their worst impulses, their immediate instincts, their intrusive thoughts. a lot of it is unsavory, but it's done in such a way that it all feels deeply real and true to life.

in asoiaf, the characters are not telling me the story; I've invaded their internal dialogue am drinking it in through their biased yet genuine perspectives. I feel less like a reader and more like a ghost that's possessed them through the page. and I think that's the thing that the sets the series apart from others for me

[fuckalicent]

i know everyone is like no no alicent wasn’t jealous of rhaenyra she always had her best interests at heart etc etc but i want to propose: alicent was jealous of rhaenyra. maddeningly so. like imagine being married to your childhood best friend’s father who has a weird valyrian fetish and can’t seem to let go of his doomed homeland which isn’t even really his homeland and then you’re suddenly being put on a pedestal with all these expectations placed on you while (as far as you are aware) your friend seems to escape all the scrutiny and despite being afforded all these options and freedom that you had a hand in convincing be given to her, she still doesn’t seem to understand nor care. i would be green with envy and i think that is alright!!!! let her be jealous! because what else did u expect from the child bride who’s been fed alternating agendas from everyone around her since the moment of her marriage??!

[jaimeslanisters]

dominoes cascading in a line — the library

Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!Reader

You beam, bright and happy, and he wonders if the real treasure in the Rock wasn’t in its gold or its wealth but rather in the daughters it produced. or moments in aemond's life with a lady of house lannister

crossposted on ao3 masterlist word count: 2.5k notes: surprise bitch. i bet you thought you'd seen the last of me i promised you guys a dominoes before pawn, didn't i? (: pawn will be coming up and i will be hitting 100k with the next chapter lol sos

Aemond had been six when he first realized his father didn’t love him. It hadn’t been a momentous occasion or anything like that. There hadn’t been an offhand comment or a particular action that had prompted this realization, no big dramatic scene that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

He had just looked up one day and looked at his father, at the rotting king in all of his glory, and known that Viserys Targaryen would never care for any of his children with Alicent Hightower, that he would be a stranger to all but one of his children.

He had been six and it had been his birthday.

The children of Viserys Targaryen had had differing responses to that disquieting truth. Aegon lashed out, drinking and whoring and failing at being anything resembling a leal son. Helaena turned inwards, closing herself off from everyone except her brothers, focusing her attention on caring for her insects in a way their father would never do for her. Daeron was inarguably delusional about the whole thing. Father loves us! He’d used to cry, face bright and red, fists clenched at his side. It’s just really hard for him to show it! He loves us! He loves us! He loves us!

At least, he had been delusional. Across the continent in Oldtown, perhaps he had come to terms with it. Father hadn’t gone along to accompany him and say goodbye even if Lord Hand Lyonel Strong had tried to insist on it, had wanted to frame it like an act of goodwill and diplomacy.

Father had said no. He hadn’t given a reason or tried to excuse his behavior. He simply hadn’t wanted to.

Even Daeron couldn’t be foolish enough to try and twist that truth.

Aegon strayed. Helaena hid. Daeron lied.

Aemond couldn’t afford to do the same.

If his siblings couldn’t confront the truth, couldn’t face it, he would. He would be their shield, their sword.

That involved training with the knights in the yard, focusing rather than goofing off like Aegon and their Velaryon nephews. It involved learning all the warrior arts and practicing until he felt like he was about to collapse and then continuing to train past that point until he actually did.

But mostly it involved studying.

Otto Hightower no longer lived in King’s Landing - he hadn’t since even before Aemond had been born - but that did not mean he had relinquished his tight control on his family that still remained in the capitol. His grandfather must have exhausted the ravens and the couriers with the long journey from Oldtown to King’s Landing, sending a couple of letters every month. Sometimes there would be one for Helaena and those were usually accompanied by an ivory statue of a bug or a book that he bought her as a present. Rarely there would be one for Aegon and his brother would always read it as soon as it was handed to him and tear it to shreds as soon as he was done. Once, Aemond had managed to snatch it from him before he could and, in the seconds before Aegon had tackled him to the ground in an uncharacteristic fit of violence, he had managed to catch onto one line.

The greatest curse onto this family is that you were born before Aemond.

It had been easy to let Aegon snatch the letter away after that. He hadn’t tried to get a hold of another letter since.

His grandfather had plenty to say to Aemond directly as it was.

There was always a letter for Aemond from Grandfather. Otto Hightower was not an affectionate man and the letters were always dry and straight to the point, outlining lessons and books that Aemond needed to read if he was to be a good and faithful son of House Targaryen. Rarely did he ever express any emotions in his words and, if he did, it was always shadowed by a sharp reminder of his duty to his family and to the realm.

Still, reading his letters always made Aemond desperately wish that his grandfather was still the Lord Hand, that he was still in the capitol to personally supervise his studying, to give him critiques and the rare praise.

Otto Hightower was a cold father. A poor father if his mother’s neurosis was anything to go off of.

But a poor father was better than no father at all.

It didn’t matter at the end of the day. He didn’t need anyone to hold his hand through the process, certainly didn’t want anyone to. Years of being on his own with only books for company had trained him well. He was used to holing up in the library, hidden away in the back by stacks and stacks of books with only an old, half-deaf septon for company. People didn’t usually come looking for him but people never came looking for him in the library.

Which is why it was especially a surprise when you stumble onto his hiding spot, eyes wide like a doe.

Since the week of your arrival, admittedly, Aemond has been avoiding you. If he thinks back to it, about how his cheeks had flamed red with embarrassment, how you had smiled and he had thought there was never anything as beautiful in the world, he wants to throw himself off the highest tower in the Red Keep out of pure and utter shame.

As sweet as you are and as kind as you can be, you’re a Lannister.

People always said that there was no limit to Lannister pride or ambition and that certainly had to be true for even a little lioness like yourself.

You might be kinder and sweeter than Aemond had thought you would initially be but that didn’t change the fact that there was only one reason that a daughter of House Lannister would stray so far from the Rock.

You were looking for a husband and, if there really was no limit to Lannister ambition, you could only have one goal set in mind.

Aegon.

With the image of you turning your pretty smiles onto Aegon playing before his eyes, he straightens up in his seat as you slow to a stop in front of him.

“My apologies, my prince. I did not expect to find anyone else here.” You say, stumbling slightly over your words in your rush to explain yourself. In your arms, you clutch a book tightly to your chest and it’s only the fact that he’s read that specific book more than a dozen times over that he can recognize it without seeing the name.

His throat is dry and there’s nothing he wants more badly than to just nod and turn back to taking extensive notes on the history of the Andals landing in the Fingers and stubbornly ignoring your existence.

Instead, he rises to his feet, bowing his head, wishing desperately he didn’t feel that slight warmth inside of his chest. “It’s no problem.” He looks down at the book in your arms and, before he can stop himself, he blurts out. “Are you reading Watchers on the Wall?”

You nod, smiling, and Aemond wonders if this is how animals feel when they first stumble into a trap, when their feet land into the snare and they’re yanked upwards to dangle defenselessly.

It can’t be. He doubts they enjoy it as much.

He starts pushing you on the book, carefully and cautiously. You may have just convinced someone else to give you a summary of it, after all, in order to endear yourself to the royal family.

But just as you had when you had first met him, you catch him off guard again.

You’re sharp and quick-witted and, if the fact that you had asked Maester Rodrik to give you further insight on Brandon the Breaker meant anything, you were just as voracious with learning as he was.

He wants to resent you.

He wants to resent you so bad.

But he can’t, not with the way your eyes light up as you talk about the Wall, about the Night’s King and his corpse queen. You lean in close to him, closer than anyone who wasn’t a member of his family has ever done. It’s not inappropriate, nothing that someone would scold or deride you for, but it’s closer than anyone has ever wanted to be to him.

It’s intoxicating and, for once, Aemond understands why Aegon is constantly imbibing, why he drinks more wine than he does water.

If it feels as nice as this does, some of his brother’s behavior finally makes sense.

When you finish your conversation, and you rise to your feet to leave, Aemond feels an unfamiliar panic rise up in him and, before he can think it through, he speaks. “If you’re not busy, you can stay and read some more. There are other stories in the book that I’d be interested in hearing your thoughts on.”

You smile as bright and lovely as ever.

You settle back in your seat and Aemond turns back to his notes except now, he can’t think about the crossing of the Andals, can’t make his mind focus on all of the petty kings that had fought in vain against the invaders. All he can think is about how the two of you are sitting close enough that, when you flip a page in your book, the sleeve of your dress catches on his tunic.

It’s all appropriate. You’re both ten. You’re children sitting and reading in a library. Not even the most pious septon could find fault nor could the most insidious gossip find any fodder for their rumors.

But it doesn’t stop his heart from beating loud and hard in his chest.

No one ever wants to be this close, save his mother.

There must be something wrong with you. There must be. Perhaps you think that he’ll tell Aegon about your sweetness, about your cleverness, and your desire to learn.

He won’t care, he wants to tell you. He won’t care about anything except for what’s between your legs.

But he doesn’t say it. He doesn’t say anything. He just sits with you, listening to the sound of you turning the pages quietly and the rustle of your clothing.

Eventually, he turns back to his notes, forcing his eyes to focus on the book in front of him.

House Shell was only one of several Houses to ally with the Andals when they first arrived, believing that their only chance of survival was capitulating to the vastly stronger invading force. Their faith was ill-placed.

Eventually, he gets a fraction of his focus back but you’re still there, teasing at the periphery. Occasionally he’ll get a whiff of the fragrant oil that you must use in your hair or you’ll hum or mumble about something you read. You don’t just fade into the background. You seemingly are impossible to minimize, impossible to shove into a box.

Aemond sighs, wishing he was stronger. How could he be a loyal and brave son of House Targaryen if the first pretty girl to give him attention made his head spin like this? What would his mother say? What would Grandfather say?

He continues to read, burying his head deep into the book until the only thing he can think about is the Shells - the Shells and the complete and total destruction of their House. He focuses on the story of Dywen Shell, about how the Andal warlords roasted him inside his own longhall. He focuses until he can hear the screams and wails of the Shell family as they watched their patriarch burn, until he can almost feel the flames licking up his sleeves.

He scratches down his notes, pretending that he doesn’t notice you similarly keyed in on your book.

What part is she at?

If you had stopped at the Night’s King and his corpse queen… next up was the Rat King. After that was Symeon Star-Eyes. They were both popular stories, ones that people told to their children without ever having touched Watches on the Wall. The book went into slightly more detail, particularly with Symeon. The songs liked to say he was blind and that he had placed sapphires in his eyes to show his devotion to chivalry.

The maester who wrote the book had a starkly different opinion. Symeon Star-Eyes was, more likely than not according to Maester Lewys, a sworn Brother of the Night’s Watch, renowned for both his skill in combat and his abnormally bright blue eyes. Chivalry, the maester postulated, would not be introduced into Westeros until after the coming of the Andals, well after the death of Symeon.

You hadn’t been wrong when you had said that the truth was remarkably less interesting than what the singers liked to peddle out.

Far off in the distance, Aemond hears the belltower ring, indicating the turn of the hour. For the first time in his life, he feels a flash of relief that he has to meet up with his brother and nephews in the yards for sword training. While their words could be cruel, they at least were easier to understand than you were.

“I have to go,” he says, gathering up his books and notes as quickly as he can.

You hum, rising to your feet. “I should also probably go and meet up with Princess Helaena. Our septa can be awfully strict about punctuality.”

“It’s a virtue,” he replies, more out of instinct and a desire to fill the air with something than truly believing his words.

He regrets it immediately when you snort in laughter. “Perhaps you could teach us instead of her. You might be less inclined to rapping me on my knuckles when I slip up on a proverb.”

The words spill out of his mouth before he can stop them. “You can come to the library at this same time tomorrow if you want to avoid her. I wouldn’t mind.”

He would mind. He would mind very much if you showed up tomorrow with your easy smile and your bright eyes.

You don’t notice this internal conflict, though. You blink owlishly up at him, as if stunned by the offer. The silence drags on and Aemond feels that all-too-familiar sensation of humiliation and shame creeping up his neck and he opens his mouth to apologize, to take it back, but then you grin broadly at him. It lights you up entirely, brightening even this dark corner of the library.

“Thank you for the offer, my prince,” you quietly reply. “I think I might just take you up on it.”

You bow your head, dropping into a slight curtsey. Your manners are impeccable. Everything about you is designed to endear, to paint the picture of a perfect lady, one gracious and honest and kind.

He knows it's a lie. He knows that you’re hiding something fierce, something mean within you. He wishes he didn’t know that you were. He wishes he didn’t remember that snarl on your face when he had scared you, the way you had seemed ready to claw out his eyes.

He wishes you had never left the Rock.

Aemond doesn’t say any of it, doesn’t poke and prod until he can see that flash of rage that you had shown. He simply nods and prays that you don’t take him up on his offer.

[thepedanticbohemian]

[theregardedminecrafter]

As someone watching from q!Charlie’s/Gegg’s perspective, is definitely interesting to watch people talk about those who openly speak against working with the federation naive/idealistic when it really doesn’t feel that way. (Warning: there will be rambling and ranting and what feels like disjointed thoughts)

(I am mostly going to talk about Charlie because he is the one I watch so I understand him the best.)

The first exchange after the debate that Baghera and Charlie had was Charlie commenting that no matter who was voted in they would be doomed and her almost immediately agreeing.

I’m pretty sure Charlie is fully convinced he isn’t going to make it to voting day. For more then what felt like 90% of the stream he and Gegg were holding a totem. Even when Bad gave him extras and assured him he should only hold them in case he feels endangered. The only time he stopped holding a totem was in between the end of the debate and Bad handing him more totems in a reminder of The very fragile single life that the self aware very accident-prone Charlie has and when he was back in Eggsile, his lonely little beach.

While he is trying to stay alive, Gegg’s platform isn’t really to become the president. The point of running is to spread the message. He even admitted that not only does he think none of the people running are fit for president, including himself, but that the role of president is entirely forced onto them by The Federation. And is just another way to control them.

Being an Anarcho-Socialist, all government is sorta on Gegg’s list. Charlie did say that Gegg would definitely probably light himself on fire if he were to become president when Forever asked.

Also Charlie is very very aware of the power imbalance the federation has on them. (note: the life system he keeps stressing about) I don’t consider him the most haunted man on the server for nothing.

This man has however literally dealt with both the devil and angel Rubius toying with him and his family.

And one of the only times Charlie has dealt with Cucurucho was in a situation where Charlie was in caves deep beneath his eggsile, with his location off so noone can find him, stumbling into Cucurucho who then vagued him about his daughter(she was dead at this time but because of where he was he didn’t know that) and when Charlie got pissed and started to pressure for more open concrete answers, Cucurucho held him at gunpoint and shot around him. And Charlie made it clear that he knew Cucurucho wasn’t there to kill him and was unafraid. And after having El Mariana’s pov of Juanaflippa’s final death seemingly forced into him like a flashback.

He then tries to murder Cucurucho, got shot and then revived by it, tries to kill it again, and then swears to find a way to kill Cucurucho after it leaves. (Even though he acknowledges that it seems to know everything/is omniscient and how it took nothing from his sword)

After all, Charlie is someone who has lost everything he cared about more then twice over, he has had nothing to lose.

Which is probably why the whole openly fuck The Federation attitude he and Gegg have make sense to me. It doesn’t matter how strong they are because Charlie has always been stubborn and fighting against all the odds. He and Gegg refuse to be silenced and want the people to think and will cling at the chance to do that until either of them (in their own mind) inevitably die. The election might be rigged and there might be a target on his back, but he is very clearly aware of that and acknowledges that.

This is not an election for Charlie and Gegg, it is a stand against it and all of what The Federation stands for.

Thank you for listening.

[fromtheseventhhell]

Renly had seemed anxious to know if the girl reminded him of anyone, and when Ned had no answer but a shrug, he had seemed disappointed. The maid was Loras Tyrell's sister Margaery, he'd confessed, but there were those who said she looked like Lyanna. "No," Ned had told him, bemused. (Eddard VI, AGOT)

This is literally people in fandom trying to make shallow connections between Lyanna and [X character] and presenting them as equally important as parallels drawn directly in the text. In fact, this coming after Ned tells Arya she reminds him of Lyanna (in looks and behavior) feels like George cementing the importance of their likeness. Other characters might have passing similarities to Lyanna, but Arya's parallels are much more meaningful than that and are being highlighted for a reason.

[teddy-bear-d]

I love that the family just haunted Etho after they all died. Something about family connection and symbolism.