#And you were brilliant.

[acourtofquestions]

"Better than that other one—the swaggering assassin."

Yrene knew. All of it. She knew every scrap of history, knew whose note she carried in her locket. But it didn't ease the blow, not as his father added, "Who, it turned out, is Queen of Terrasen." A mirthless laugh. "What a prize you might have had then, my son, if you'd managed to keep her."

"Yrene is the finest healer of her generation," Chaol said with deadly quiet. "Her worth is greater than any crown." And in this war, it might very well be.

"You don't need to bother proving my value to him," Yrene said, her icy eyes pinned on his father. "I know precisely how talented I am. I don't require his blessing."

She meant every damn word.

"Don't you talk to him like that," Yrene said with dangerous calm.

His father ignored her.

But Yrene stepped up to Chaol's side once more. "I am the heir apparent to the Healer on High of the Torre Cesme. I came at your son's behest, back to the lands of my birth, to help in this war, along with two hundred healers from the Torre itself. Your son spent the last several months forging an alliance with the khaganate, and now all of the khagan's armies sail to this continent to save your people. So while you sit here in your miserable keep, tossing insults at him, know that he has done what no other could do, and if your city survives, it will be because of him, not you."

His father let out one of those joyless laughs. "I like you better than the assassin-queen, I think. Perhaps marrying the rabble will breed some backbone into our bloodline once more."

Chaol's blood roared in his ears, but Yrene's lips curved into a smile. "You're exactly as I'd pictured you to be," she said. His father only inclined his head.

Yrene snarled. "He's worse than you portrayed."

Chaol gave her a tired, small smile. "And you were brilliant." Utterly brilliant.

And his wife, however bold and fearless, needed to rest as well, whether she admitted it or not.

So Chaol pushed off the door, prowling to where Yrene paced in front of the bed. "I'm sorry for what he said to you."

She waved him off. "I'm sorry you ever had to deal with him for longer than that conversation."

Her temper, despite all that loomed, despite the bastard ruling over this city, warmed something in him. Enough so that Chaol closed the distance between them, halting her pacing by taking her hand. He brushed his thumb over her wedding band.

"I wish you were meeting her instead —my mother," he said softly.

The fierceness in her eyes banked. "I do, too." Her mouth quirked to the side.

[cecoeur]

it's hell on earth to be heavenly them's the breaks, they don't come gently

[lbhslefttiddie]

youve heard of sex flowers get ready for the flower that makes you into a celestial shoujo herione complete with particle effects you cannot turn the fuck off and creates a wifebeam so powerful it can incapacitate and maim and keeps making you burst into tears and fall on your ass which makes the wifebeam More Powerful and you also cannot turn this off either. and is also still, sort of, a sex flower

from one of my favorite fanfictions, Celestial Afterglow by elanor_pam, a fic that defies description in the best possible way

[a-realproblem]

armand: “my daughter was my sister was my throwpillow when he wouldn’t look at me kindly lestat lestat lestat lestat lestat lestat lestat lestat lestat lestat lestat lestat lestat lestat lestat lestat lesta-”

me:

[siflshonen]

Izuku so help me god if you really think you’re any different from those first years following around those boys they think are cool and screaming at them, then you need to start this manga over from the beginning and think about what it means to see yourself in others. What is not clicking.

[efverse]

i can't live up to what you left...

[fictionadventurer]

I'm fascinated by the ways in which the things a creator is good at making don't necessarily line up with the kind of art that they respect or even enjoy.

This has haunted me ever since I saw a Youtube video about the downfall of The Band Perry, a country band that I had liked until their music got weird and they kind of fell off the face of the earth. Well, it turns out that they tried to reinvent their image and their style of music several times before the band finally fell apart. When they started, they had this weird Southern Gothic homeschooler style that really worked for them and was reasonably popular, but then they tried to switch to a cooler type of pop music--a style they supposedly admired and enjoyed--and it just did not work at all. They failed because they chased what they wanted to make instead of sticking with the style that they were good at.

It's a tension that's present in all creative work. At one point does "going outside the box" go too far? Can one be happy making good work even if it's not the kind of stuff they like or admire? Are the techniques and styles that are most appealing to us appealing because they're things that we can't create ourselves? As in, our minds don't work that way, so seeing these things from other creators is exciting, but the fact that our minds don't work that way is exactly why we can't imitate those things. Where's the line between creative integrity--pushing yourself to make better things--and pride--wanting to make something more prestigious and impressive instead of humbly making the type of art you're best suited to make? Can one even clearly see what they're best at making, and appreciate the good that's there rather than chasing after styles and techniques that seem better? There are no solid answers, which is why I'm going to be endlessly thinking about this.

[corvidaequeer]

Rapunzel missed their banter

[vees-wax]

Jonathan-as-Oscar threatening to kick any audience member out who suggested Hull as the location, immediately followed by Ruth and Lauren setting it in Hull anyway.

[thelaurenshippen]

man, not to brag about my own show or anything, but while there are always things I would change about anything I make (and definitely PLENTY of things I could have done better as a writer/the showrunner of this show) Evan really fucking nailed the score for The AM Archives. it's just.....very fucking good.

[thirdeyeblue]

[djarinvettel]

what if? what if the “he” rogue referred to at the beginning was the doctor? what if rogue already knew him? what if the doctor was the one to give him the ring first? and he just gave it back? and when the doctor refused to sacrifice ruby and rogue said “i know” was because he refused to sacrifice rogue at some point? what if it’s another river situation somehow? what if? WHAT IF?

[crookedfivefingers]

“Impossibly thick, I was.”

Doctor Who . Titan Comics

The Thirteenth Doctor | Read: 201/204

[themiddleofthehill]

As an arospec person I am almost morbidly curious about romantic relationships. They're like unicorns prancing about in broad daylight and no one else seems to think it's weird.

"What do you mean? Everyone has a unicorn", they say. "If only they would't get me into so much trouble", they say. "Sometimes I wish I could stop the unicorn from eating my arm, but alas! there's nothing you can do about unicorns", they say.

How absolutely fascinating. And you see these "unicorns" everywhere? Tell me more!

Whenever I stare at someone for an extended period of time it's because I have left the physical realm and exist solely in a fantasy land doing something far more interesting than whatever was happening in the real world prior to said staring. And apparently for some other people that fantasy land intentionally includes the person on the receiving end of the stare?

There are sparks and butterflies and fireworks flying all over the place. Hearts are skipping beats and lungs forget how to breathe and the bones in your legs change their state of matter. Tongues are tied up and hands are shaking and brains are malfunctioning. And all of it is considered not only normal but desirable?

There are peope willing to uproot their entire lives for the sake of one person? There are people relating to the obviously fictional stories told in love songs and romance novels? There are people staying in toxic situations because they're in love, because they're told they are loved?

It sounds like magic. It sounds scary and inriguing and wonderful and absolutely crushing.

Sometimes I feel like I'm missing out. Sometimes I'm really glad I can look at all of it from the outside. Sometimes I wonder if people forget love exists outside of romantic contexts.

Everywhere I look there are unicorns frolicking in the bushes and no one seems to realise how absurd it really is.

It gets me every time. People actually feel like that.

[euthymiya]

I’ll never forget that one alhaitham fic I read ages ago with probably the smartest reader I’ve ever seen in a fic ever. And to this day I wonder how that writer was so smart to write such a smart reader like. How. Are. You. So. Smart. Wtf man

[miroana]

“It is better to know one book intimately than a hundred superficially” (Tartt, 31).

I am absolutely fascinated by the fame and reverence this quote from the Secret History has achieved. It terrifies me. Let me explain.

Who’s line is this? Oh, yes. Professor Julian Morrow. Julian, in his lecture on how death begets beauty, on how Dionysian madness lends immortality. Julian, who isolates the greek class, buries them in the glories of the past and in their privilege, and submerges them beneath illusions until his students can’t tell right from wrong and real from imagined.

These words are satire. This is NOT a lesson any teacher should impart, and should NOT be beloved and relatable. In one sentence, Donna Tartt summarizes the entire cautionary tale of the novel: the selective, warped, and obsessive view on life the greek class held, born from entitlement and cultivated by Julian, led the students to tear themselves to pieces.

What’s more, the way people quote it all the time makes this line all the more haunting. Widespread parroting of Julian’s teachings only reinforces Donna’s themes: human minds are easily manipulatable, it can be hard to think critically about what you are taught and what you read, and that the easy, self-assured conviction belonging to the reader that, “I, personally, would have behaved differently than Henry, Richard, Francis, Camilla, Charles, and Bunny” is nothing but another illusion.