Night Court Star Light @nightcourtstarlight - Tumblr Blog

there’s no one correct interpretation of a book/film in fact there’s as many interpretations as there are readers/watchers however i think it’s important to point out that my interpretation is always a bit more correct

fantasyfox10123-deactivated2022

Once upon a broken heart fanfic

I noticed there was no fanfics for once upon a broken heart yet, so I decided to write one

(BTW I’ll continue when I get the chance, I am working on 2 other fanfics)

Apollo smiled at Evangeline, eyes looking at her with adoration. And Evangeline smiled. She tried to smile, but she felt like she was forgetting something. She felt like her memory was gone. Like she forgot someone important. She looked at Apollo, who just smiled at her, his eyes filled with utter adoration.

She shook her head. It was probably nothing, but she couldn’t help but think it was someone she loved, Or maybe she didn’t?

“You know…” It’s the perfect Karma.“ Lala drawled.

Jack clenched his fist, glaring at the unwed bride.

"How so?” He spat.

“Well, you did try to force her to love you. And you did it twice, manipulating emotions. To have her completely forget you, when she’s possible your one true love…

Lala shrugged. "It’s proof karma exists.

"She didn’t forget me it’s a damn spell, Jacks argued.

"Apollo manipulated her emotions.”

“And you’re any better.”

The prince of hearts glared at his fellow fate, she just smiled at him. “Think of this, she might actually be happy.”

“She won’t be happy with anyone but me” Jacks growled, and with that he left, trying to think of a plan to break that spell.

sweetingseva

ONCE UPON A BROKEN HEART’S SEQUEL TITLE + TRUE LOVE (PART 1)

Hello, everyone!

We finally have a title for the sequel, The Ballad of Never After! How exciting is that? And to my surprise, the title and the emojis that Stephanie Garber posted confirmed a lot of my and @amani8907’s theories!

(Update: This post was getting long, so I'll have to discuss the theories to The Ballad of Never After in Part 2 🌸)

Before I start rambling about the True Love affairs, I’ll add a spoiler warning. I will discuss spoilers to Once Upon a Broken Heart (2021) Legendary (2018), and Finale (2019). So, if you have not read Once Upon a Broken Heart, please read it because it’s freaking good 🦊🍎❤️

lily-stans-legend

OUABH B&N EXCLUSIVE CONTENT

OUABH SPOILERS!

Hi everyone! I’ve started writing a story on Wattpad, so if you've even enjoyed my fanfiction it would mean a lot to me if you checked it out! Thanks so much!!!

The Wise Princess (on Wattpad) https://www.wattpad.com/story/271200764-the-wise-princess?utm_source=web&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=share_myworks&wp_uname=mistymilan&wp_originator=P7HwJDr7Oy2Xy6AFxxcEquAQXvY2axNAfAn%2B0PoQE1JOLr5yAyMh319Z4MWawIY0d3DDRC0QQTNEu8ZjfyFmQox2FxZsf3%2F13sc56sg%2BZqqEC1eZRqCEkhcjqCZ45lAE Once, long ago there lived a clever princess that felt more like a picture on a wall than a human. She was displayed, she fancied, in a castle-shaped cage. A treasure trove filled with objects but no people. For thirteen years no one had entered the palace nor left, and no one had laid eyes on the princess either. But things are changing within the castle walls. The princess is about to turn 19 and a Competition between 3 Princes to compete for her hand in marriage is about to begin. But no royal competition ever goes as planned, no one ever plays fair. After a midnight bargain is struck will one ever curious prince uncover more than he ever expected?

pascalcampion

Wasting time.

Aka. I just wanted to draw kitty cat.

#pascalcampion

etherealplum

me: *speaks to boy once* me: i love being a hoe………it’s so….liberating………..just hoeing it up…..love it

hanleialuke

5 things your character can't do while speaking

Choke. Just think about it, seriously. Think about what choking is and imagine speaking while it’s happening. That would fuckin’ hurt, man.

Hiss. Look, it’s just not possible, okay? No matter how “evil” you want your character to seem.

Snarl. Animals snarls. The Beast from Beauty and the Beast snarls. The Hulk snarls. You know who doesn’t snarl? PEOPLE WHEN THEY’RE SPEAKING.

Shriek. Come on, 99% of the time, “shriek” is not the word you want.Let’s face it: if you put an exclamation point at the end of the sentence, your reader gets the picture. Don’t bring to mind banshees and screaming toddlers.

Sneer. I’m not even going to bother explaining this one. “SNEER” ISN’T EVEN A SOUND.

phrux

Choked is not meant to be taken literally, an obstruction in the throat. It means they’re having difficultly speaking, they’re forcing the words out with difficulty. Often used when the character is convulsed in tears or laughter.

Hiss is a low, threatening whisper. Raw, guttural, vicious. It is NOT a literal hiss like an animal, it is a tone of voice that serves the same function. Someone will hiss that they’re going to cut your throat- a message from one person to the other.

Snarl is the same kind of thing. Not literal, it’s a tone of voice that serves the same function. It’s raw and gutteral like a hiss, but more savage than vicious. It’s loud, it’s showy, it’s intimidating. It’s very alpha male, big man, look at how fucking dangerous I am. I’ll take ALL of you on. Even if they’re snarling at one person in particular, nobody better back them up or they’re gonna get fucked up too.

Shriek. Come on, seriously? We’ve all heard people shriek either in fear or outrage. High pitched, loud, out of control, feminine. Men can shriek, but it’s funny and emasculating. Think angry italian women throwing pots and pans or ladies on tables who just saw a mouse.

Sneering is contempt whether it’s a facial expression or a tone of voice or both. There are a hundred different ways to sneer with your voice, but it all adds up to the same thing.

carnivoredeer

How descriptive words work 101

susspirria

Op radiating cinema sins energy with that list lol

animalcrossingmemes

lucklessrat

Will Draw For Food

wordsnstuff

Resources For Describing Emotion

Emotions

Without Making Your Character Feel Too Self Aware

Showing Emotion Without Telling About It

Emotions Associated With Body Language

Telling Readers What The Character Doesn’t Want To Show

Hiding Emotions

Expressing Cardinal Emotions: Masculine vs. Feminine

Writing Extreme Emotion Without Melodrama

Specific Emotions

Conveying Shock

Conveying Embarrassment

Conveying Disappointment

Conveying Love/Attraction

Conveying Annoyance

Conveying Relief

Conveying Uncertainty

Conveying Impatience

Conveying Shame

Conveying Resentment

Conveying Panic

Conveying Guilt

Conveying Desperation

Conveying Sarcasm & Verbal Disrespect

Conveying Confusion

Conveying Stubbornness

Conveying Frustration

Conveying Indifference

Conveying Indignation

Conveying Confidence & Pride

Conveying Smugness

Conveying Enthusiasm

Conveying Curiosity

Conveying Hopefulness

Conveying Unease

Conveying Reluctance

Conveying Worry

Conveying Humility & Meekness

Conveying Happiness & Joy

Conveying Amusement

Conveying Disgust

Conveying Resignation

Conveying Jealousy

Conveying Anticipation

Conveying Contentment

Conveying Defeat

Conveying Excitement

Conveying Fear

Conveying Hatred

Conveying Hurt

Conveying Being Overwhelmed

Conveying Sadness & Grief

Conveying Satisfaction

Conveying Somberness

Conveying Sympathy & Empathy

Conveying Wariness

Conveying Defensiveness

Conveying Desire

Conveying Doubt

Conveying Energy

Conveying Exhaustion

Conveying Hunger

Conveying Loneliness

Conveying Physical Pain

Emotional Wounds

Keep reading

inkskinned

abuse they said would be a bad word, a slime in my mouth that grew overnight that spread in calla lilies on me, on this body he prized. they didn’t tell me i’d love him. they didn’t tell me that when it was good, it was sky good, lick the moon good. he was proud of me and i could die in that moment. when he was happy he wrote it in big letters, in dinners and movies, in perfect romances. they didn’t tell me it would be so easy to see it was my fault - i even thought i was the abusive one: after all, didn’t i hurt him? didn’t i let him down? it was my fault i had friends that took up my time. that i went out once a week, had fun alone at night. it was my fault i had family and work and other things to pile in between us. i was already so unsure of myself. so convinced i was burden before i even met him. all he did was point out the truth of what i already knew was happening: that i was manipulative, ignorant, selfish, cruel, unwilling to do the work to save us. i thought i was drowning him. i couldn’t stop the ugly melting off of me. i told him i was trying, i was trying, i was trying. i thought i was the broken part. i saw how good we were when i was behaving and i knew if i could just be better, undo the sticky parts of me, unscrew all the screwy, if i could unwrite the burden of my mental illness and untie my hands and skewer myself on perfection: i could bring it back. i could make it good again.

inkskinned

when i was seven the sea-witch cursed me.

she cursed my great-grandfather, actually, who had spat on the hands of the ocean and disrespected the beating heart of the earth - for what else are waves but a pulse - who was silly and violent and who tried to rip from the water what was hers by rights. we were wealthy, before that, a family of merchants. my mother says in her youth she recalls white horses, the gleam of candles, early mornings with bread baked fresh by a horde of servants.

he didn’t ask permission to cross her. that’s what my mother tells me while she spoons porridge with no flavor into the wood of my bowl. he had no faith in superstition, rode with boats that were more decoration than strength, the folly of a man who was cruel and vain and proud of his own gold teeth. the sky had been blue, so regardless of what the village witch said, he would sail that day. and when his boat sank; their lives turned blue like the sky that day.

my mother says she thinks the curse on the men of our family, even if they come in when they marry, is that they will forever be violent, too foolish to see the storm on the horizon. she whispers this to me on the eve of my seventh birthday, while father is his own storm, thundering around the house, looking for her. later, when i am cleaning the cut by her cheek, she tells me the curse is on the women to forever be unhappy, to wane until they are shadows, to walk into the deep like a sinking ship.

we don’t burn candles often, they are too expensive. she tells me this in the silk of a dark room. the moon kisses her hair.

in three days, my mother will walk into the ocean, and my father will be my own problem. the curse will pass onto me.

my father does not believe in superstition, no curse to conquer him. when he is gone, and i am heartbroken, i go to the village witch. i ask her to teach me about magic, and other things, and about how the ocean can be coaxed, and how to save my father’s soul.

and my hands rot too, keeping a house by myself with things i barely knew. i learn the art of a good scrubbing, keep my mind full of white horses while i endlessly clean, dream of candles in dark while i make the bread that he will not allow me to eat. he keeps me from the ocean, from visiting the place that took my mom, from following in her footsteps where the water makes women undone.

i am sixteen when i see her in the water of a bowl. she scares me so completely that i drop it, and my father comes in with his hands, and the curse, and i almost forget all about it. it isn’t until after that i realize she is beautiful, and young, which surprises me.

i think about it every evening. her face becomes distorted to me. i can no longer remember the exact shape of it, only the impression of beauty.

i turn seventeen and wait for the high moon. i pin safety to my vest in little witch herbs and runes. i put naked toes on the sand and slip closer, closer, to the avenue of my family’s doom. i find a little private beach, small and surrounded by rocks, hidden from my father in the event he ever thought to come looking. at high tide, it is barely the span of my body. at low, it feels empty.

the witch of the land has given me what i need to call in the witch of the sea, but i do not use it. it feels wrong, somehow, standing here in the wind and the quiet pulse of the world. i put down the incense and sage and i sit just close enough it feels wild, dangerous - but not close enough to get caught up in thrill.

when nothing happens, i go home and i make bread that i will not eat.

for months i do this. i climb down to my beach. i learn to do it when the moon is half, and then when the moon is empty. i learn to do it so well that sometimes i go to sleep in my own bed and wake up by the water. i take to sleeping with warding runes to keep me from being pulled in the rip out to the waiting hands of a hungry sea-witch.

i don’t know when i start talking. more often i sing, because singing in my house is not allowed, and something about the way the rocks echo my voice feels comforting. the older i get, the more i can pretend i hear my mother’s voice, answering me, harmonizing gently. i sing songs about sadness and lullabies about curses. when i have exhausted every song i know, i write new ones about fathers who have never learned how to be kind, about the house i work in but do not love, about mothers who left, and about a sea witch.

i see her sometimes. in a puddle, in the drop of rain, in the strangest places. i never expect it, although i always hope. i am never able to see her for more than the length of a wave, breaking, and each time, it does something new to my heart.

at eighteen i am too much of my father’s burden. he tries to unload me onto other men. the land witch helps me with this. i rub hemlock, burn wolfsbane. we arrange so these men have other women to marry. the news of my curse is bad enough to scare most away. my father is not happy.

after a particularly savage night, i wonder how bad it could be. i could marry some boy from the village who didn’t quite bother me. i suppose they’re not ugly. timothy had always been gentle to me. i think about a life, and how i am cursed to be unhappy. my father would finally be proud of me.

i walk to the beach and i tell the waves about him and how i could convince myself it was love if i just never wanted from him. how i could be okay, if not content, how i could be free, how i already had learned life down on knees.

but i go home and i write a rune of warding. and the years pass and i find reasons each suitor is wanting. and the sea witch i see, sometimes, peeking out at me, staying long each time in the water, looking, watching. i see her in mirrors when my father storms against me. it is bad because he mistakes the cause of my smiling. it is better when she is there the next morning.

and i go to the ocean. when i am too sad to speak, it seems like the ocean is whispering for me. i picture my mother’s voice and tell myself i am happy. i am seven again and we are sewing. i am seven again and the curse has not been given to me. i am seven and she came home after she walked to the sea.

i grow silly, brave, unthinking. i leave behind the herbs and i wade deep. i teach myself the art of swimming. i am bad at it, at first, but something about it feels good to me. like the ocean wants to buoy me. in the day i think of it, guilty. what if there was a rip tide, and the water took me? who would care for my father if i stepped off the beach into a long drop? wasn’t i clever enough to know that the ocean is uncaring?

it is not this that does it. i go out after a rain and i slip on the rocks and suddenly i am in water above my head but without the moon i cannot see the up of it. i kick and i thrash and the water surrounds me. the tide pulls on my body and in the cold i feel my body grow weary. water spills into me. it punches through my body, up my nose and into my lungs and some part of me knows this is what mother felt before she was gone.

i kick ground by accident, reorient, drag myself heaving and spitting into the air. i lie there for a long time, half in and half out of death, enjoying the sensation of breathing and of life.

when i look up, i think i see her, watching me, her brows knit with something like worry. but we make eye contact and my heart leaps and then she is gone and i am left alone with nothing but the dawn breaking.

my father is furious when there is no bread. he finds my hair wet, and the salt of the ocean still smelling on me. and that is it. that day he goes out and pays someone to agree to marry me.

this feels right to me, i think. i’m twenty-one, three times seven, a perfect number for a curse to fully come down on me. i will be wed in three weeks.

the land witch comes to visit me. she looks like she’s sorry for me. she gives me a spell and tells me to put it under my pillow; i’ll dream of love and it will soothe me. instead i dream of the seawitch, and how wonderful she is, and the sight of her, out on the water, worried.

even though it is risky, i go down to the beach. i do not bother with protective spells, i have already seen that the water can kill me. fear alone keeps me from wandering. i sit on the beach and in the sand i draw runes for understanding and i make the small magicks i’ve spent years learning and i close my eyes and i ask the ocean “why do you do this to me.”

i fall asleep. i dream that the sea witch talks to me. i dream she is my age, that she is the great-granddaughter of the first to curse my family. i dream she has spent years watching, learning, finding the truth of me. that she just needs to get the courage to come and speak, that she has fallen in love with my singing, that she knows no curse but the one in her heart that brings her back to a human, to a creature of air and not water, to a mistake in the making.

in the dawn i know it is a dream and no more. i make bread. i pour water out before it can make mirrors. i do not look. i do not like the ache that has filled me, as if i’ve been looking for an answer and the answer only leads to longing.

the man i meet - my husband-to-be - is delighted by the house i keep. he believes a woman should keep in her place, and her place should be clean. he hears from neighbors that sometimes i sneak out to the land witch’s house. laughter barks out of him. not going to allow that behavior, not me. he does not believe in curses. he will pack me up and move me from the ocean to somewhere in the mountains, where i know nobody. and i will, he promises, learn to keep my place, and that place clean.

i tell myself i could love him. he is not ugly. he says i’m pretty enough after whiskey. my father mentions i used to sing. i refuse to perform for these men so instead i make them cookies. they laugh and talk about me, even when i am in the room, as if they cannot even see. they shake hands and talk about how useless a woman is for much else than breeding. it’s very funny. the man meets my eyes and promises he’ll put a baby in me. i look down and pretend the thrill i feel is excitement, not fear brewing in me.

the land witch comes by a week before my wedding. she is smaller these days, aging. her apprentice and i get along wonderfully. the two women stand before me, holding something.

a small box, so tiny and lovely. “break the curse,” the witch whispers, “learn to be happy.”

i smuggle the box, take it everywhere with me. it is days before i have a moment to slip away, to open it by the sea. i take a candle with me, even though my father will notice and be angry.

by the light of fire i read the spell they have left me inside, and then i am so full of gratitude i cannot stop crying.

it must be a full moon, so i must wait. in the meantime, i walk home, and i bake.

i do not see the seawitch, even though i look for her. maybe i have wounded her, getting married. my father asks why i keep smiling. i tell him it is because i am finally with a man. he grunts and says to stop looking so silly.

the man kisses me. i let him. we are married on a night with a full moon, and i poison him and my father in the bread i did not eat. i think of how these men were cursed so they could not see a storm coming. i watch them as they lie there, dying, and then i put all of the things i own into a basket for the land witch. i leave it there with a song i wrote for her, a spell i know will make her happy, will stop the aging of her joints, will give her the kind of relief she gave me.

i go down to the water. i find myself running, even though i am in no hurry. i know the way so well it is like i wake up there, panting. i ask permission first. i lay out the contents of the box, i organize and practice and when the needle and pain comes, i am ready for it. i am used to pain at night. i breathe into it and walk naked into waters that swallowed my mother.

i chew bitter herbs. i swallow fire. i feel myself drown as i change from land witch to sea witch.

when it is done, i open my eyes in the deep of a moonlit ocean. and i see her.

this time she does not flicker. this time when i reach for her, she is there, and she is pushing my hair out of my eyes, and we are kissing with the ocean rejoicing around us, and i am laughing, and i hear her voice as clear as bell inside me.

and we live like this, a whole world between us where white horses are the size of pinky fingers and swim with their thin snouts, where i need no candles because i was raised lightless, where we have no servants but the water takes care of us. i show her the magic of land and she unfolds the magic of water. together we are unstoppable. when i come up to the air to sing little girls a promise that they can survive the madness, she sings with me, and we make a beautiful harmony.

forget-me-not-s

✨SURPRISE ✨

In a few day it marks 5 months since ACOSF was released, a LOT has happened since then in the fandom. I have received threats, hate and bad words for the simple fact of shipping Elriel. Thankfully I found a family of friends that became my safe heaven were hatred doesn’t exists. So I wanted to gift this to them, you know who you are, this gift is for all of you, but also to the entire ELRIEL FAMILY.

I have always wanted a fanart of Elriel dancing and happy so this is Elriel first Starfall as a couple. The talented and amazing human soul that is @mellendraws was on board with my personal commission! She’s truly talented and every day I am in love with her talent

Love you all!

Elain’s dress is by Teuta Matoshi.

If you want to repost it please give credit to the artist and me!

Characters belong to @therealsarahjmaas

✨Twitter | Instagram ✨

Ps treat people with kindness

talkingstoriesandstuff

How would you go about flipping positive character traits on their head? What's your philosophy behind this and can you provide some examples of this idea in action?

I once watched a really interesting video about how femininity and masculinity is portrayed in literature (and more specifically, modern literature) and it focused mainly on “strong female characters”. I really liked something that this person said near the end of the video about how suppressing certain positive emotions and traits can make them negative, and have since adopted that as my personal manner of fleshing out character depth.

I wrote out the examples she gave and linked her video below if you’d like to watch the entire thing. It’s really well done and she gives a really eloquent and complete perspective that resonates a lot with me as a writer.

Positive Masculine Traits/Emotions

focus when suppressed becomes small-mindedness

confidence when suppressed becomes ego

discipline when suppressed becomes control

protection when suppressed becomes aggression

Positive Feminine Traits/Emotions

vulnerability when suppressed becomes oversensitivity

desire to nurture when suppressed becomes neediness

cooperation when suppressed becomes submission

subtlety when suppressed becomes manipulation

ability to create beauty when suppressed becomes vanity/shallowness

Basic Emotions When Suppressed

love when suppressed becomes possession

sadness when suppressed becomes depression

anger when suppressed becomes rage

fear when suppressed becomes terror

If you’d like to check out the video that inspired this response, I’ve linked it here. The Authentic Observer makes really interesting and well-thought out video essays about literature and media, and I definitely recommend you check her out. If you do, tell her I sent you!

VISIT THE WORDSNSTUFF WEBSITE AT WORDSNSTUFFBLOG.COM

If you enjoy my blog and wish for it to continue being updated frequently and for me to continue putting my energy toward answering your questions, please consider Buying Me A Coffee or supporting me on Patreon.

Wordsnstuff also has a newsletter, which you can subscribe to by filling out the pop up on wordsnstuff.tumblr.com.

I’d also really appreciate it if you would check out my studyblr, which helps keep me motivated as a full time student. I also run writing sprints over on snapchat.

parentheticalaside

The bookselling behemoth is making life harder for writers, but so is the public perception that art doesn’t need to be paid for

“People have always felt a sort of ownership over art, and that’s actually good. It’s why you keep a book on your shelf and return to it, it’s why you hang a picture on your wall that speaks to you. But when this gets out of hand and you mistake access or a personal connection with your rights, as happens so often in our Internet age, it leads to a dangerous sense of entitlement. That’s why readers feel empowered to complain, directly to the creator, that a book or show doesn’t have absolutely everything they want: the romantic pairing they’d hoped for, the language they find most friendly, the ending they desired. And it’s also why, for instance, the last Harry Potter book leaked on the internet before it was officially published: fans saw the book as something they were owed, not the product of labor that deserved compensation. Not that J.K. Rowling needs more money—but she, and all authors, deserve to have their work recognized as work.

“Consumers hold a pernicious power, so this trend towards free content won’t reverse itself unless we want it to. This is a sad thing, and we will all be much worse off if we can only hear stories from people who can afford to write.”

roane72

Please please please do NOT pirate books if you want to keep having books to read. The median income for full-time authors in 2017 is reported at $20,857. That means half of all authors reporting income made LESS.

And of the authors that reported that they were, in fact, full-time authors, only 63% had ANY earnings to report. The average of those who did earn something was $43,247. Which means, looking at the difference between the median and average, the average is heavily weighted by the superstars.

MOST of your favorite authors are either working a second (or third, or more) job, have a partner who earns more money, or is living hand-to-mouth, or some combination of the three.

Libraries are your friends. Most have ebook collections now. I know readers gotta eat, but writers do too.

Signed, Someone whose book isn’t out for another 4 months, and is ALREADY being pirated :(

fishwrites

Oh gosh :( this really hit me: “This is a sad thing, and we will all be much worse off if we can only hear stories from people who can afford to write.”

stelamaris

A post from Maggie Stiefvater’s deactivated Tumblr about pirating killing the Raven Cycle boxset

Another post about how piracy meant that her publisher cut the print run on the last book because the previous book wasn’t selling as well and how she teamed up with her brother to prove that online piracy was responsible for the lower sales

starry-eyed-guttersnipe

If you cannot afford to buy books, please go through your public library! When you get a library card, you’ll also be able to sign up to rent audiobooks; a librarian can help you if you’re not sure how. Libraries are an important part of the book ecosystem, and when you get a book for free from the library, you’re still supporting the author.

elisiarin-deactivated20220114

When The Party’s Over 🥀

Art by me

nikethestatue

Beautiful Elain and her necklace

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