#this is my favourite quote from the entire book

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

quotes from alex turner's favourite authors that make me want to put my face through a wall:

"although i have never been an actor in the strict sense of the word, i have nevertheless, in real life, always carried about with me a small folding theatre" - vladimir nabokov, despair

"there is a terrible emptiness in me, an indifference that hurts," - albert camus

"there is no trap so deadly as the trap you set for yourself" - raymond chandler

"at eight, he had once told his mother that he wanted to paint air" - vladimir nabokov

"no man ever understands quite his own artful dodges to escape from the grim shadow of self-knowledge" - joseph conrad

"everything i've ever let go of has claw marks on it" - david foster wallace

"we're all lonely for something we don't know we're lonely for. how else to explain the curious feeling that goes around feeling like missing somebody we've never even met?" - david foster wallace

"i turn over a new leaf every day, but the blots show through" - keith waterhouse

"the truth will set you free. but not until it's finished with you" - david foster wallace

"curiosity is insubordination in its purest form" - vladimir nabokov

"i'm me and nobody else; and whatever people think i am or say i am, that's what i'm not, because they don't know a bloody thing about me" - alan sillitoe

"we live as we dream; alone” - joseph conrad

"i liked, as i like still, to make words look self-conscious and foolish, to bind them by mock marriage of a pun, to turn them inside out, to come upon them unwares" - vladimir nabokov, despair

"whatever you get paid attention to for is never what you think is most important about yourself" - david foster wallace

"i continued to stir my tea long after it had done all it could with the milk” - vladimir nabokov, despair

"i remained too much inside my head and ended up losing my mind" - edgar allan poe

"all the information i have about myself is from forged documents" - vladimir nabokov, despair

"how odd i can have all this inside me and to you its just words" - david foster wallace

"you will never be happy if you continue to search for what happiness consists of. you will never live if you're looking for the meaning of life" - albert camus

[lebedame-wegelagerin]

I have Questions. I don't want Answers, I'm just confused.

[mammonsrockstargf]

700 WIVES

contents: solomon x gn!reader, fluff, fluff, fluff, repost

"Is it true that you had 700 wives?"

Solomon looks up from his book to where you're lying on his bed, homework in hand. He'd convinced you to take the class "Rhetoric 101: How to Win Any Argument with an Angel Using Biblical Quotes" because he thought it'd be fun to watch you try to spark up an argument with Simeon. It was a nice perk that you could study together.

It hadn't even occurred to him that he might get mentioned in the coursework. You read over the pages, your eyes brimming with amusement.

"What could you possibly need 700 wives for?" you ask, and he shrugs. "Mostly politics and gaining land," he says, but you don't seem entirely convinced, as the corners of your lips turn upward.

"Might I remind you that this was happening during a period of 80 years?" he says, attempting to somehow save his reputation, but you just raise your brows at him.

"That's still like nine wives per year, though. How on earth did you have time for that?"

You're beginning to laugh now, really laughing, the kind that makes Solomon’s heart pound slightly and he has to fight a smile.

"What, they'd get like a month and a half each before you were on to the next one," you continue, wiping the tears running down your cheeks.

"Actually, I never even met most of them," he says, hoping to help his cause, but it only causes you to laugh even harder.

Solomon huffs and pretends to read his book again, letting your laughter subside. You slowly calm down and pick up your book but once you read the next line of your homework, you're laughing again.

"You had 300 concubines? How is that even possible?" you cackle, and Solomon rolls his eyes.

"That was a rumour. I did not have that many," he says, but you're far gone, clutching your belly as you gasp for air.

"I'll have you know that having a pact with the Avatar of Lust gives you a very high libido–" he begins.

"Oh, trust me, I know," you wheeze. He's on you in a second, pushing you down on the bed, placing a hand on each side of your head. You giggle when he presses kisses to your face, to any surface he can reach, your cheeks, your forehead, your nose.

"Stop," kiss, "teasing," kiss, "me!" kiss, he whines, but you've only just begun.

"Oh, I'm sorry, my lord, it's just that I haven't seen you in three years; you've been so busy with all your wives–"

Solomon shuts you up with a kiss on the lips, and you bury your hands in his hair, leaning into it. Your lips move against each other languidly, as he savors every inch of you, before he pulls away. He lays down on top of you, using your chest as a pillow, refusing to move an inch.

"Sol, you're crushing me," you complain, and he grumbles. He presses a kiss to your collarbone and grabs your homework, throwing it into a corner of his room, before getting comfortable again, this time crushing you a little less. You run your fingers through his hair, humming softly.

You both know that it doesn't actually matter how many wives, concubines, or past lovers he's had. Sometimes Solomon thinks that it's all just been a buildup and that none of it actually mattered.

His real life didn't begin until he met you, and he's completely fine with that.

"Sooo, did you have a favourite? Or perhaps 30 favourites?"

"Oh, shut up."

masterlist | divider by cafekitsune

[tales-from-elysivm]

★。／can i be a hero too?＼。★

ask: "I have a really cute request, Bakugou from Bnha with a little sibling reader. They weren't able to get a babysitter and Bakugou bring his little sibling to school, the reader is the complete opposite of him though"

pairing: bakugo x gn!sibling!reader

fandom: boku no hero academia

word count: 1,196

tw: none! purely some platonic, wholesome fluff. of course, a bit of cussing from bakugo but that comes with the territory

notes: thanks for being one of my first requests anon! it was really fun to get back into writing fanfic, and bnha is one of my favourite animes so writing this was a lot of fun - i just hope i did it well and you enjoy reading! i used primarily they/them pronouns for the sibling just in case ;)

! this is a repost from my other blog !

‘Can’t we just hire that old fucking neighbour?!’

Mitsuki doesn’t even bother smacking her son this time, too busy fixing up the bento box she has already begun making in the kitchen. Rice and egg and soft pretzels which [Y/N] always insisted on. The same thing everyday, which Katsuki found increasingly frustrating. Their name is painted on the lid, which sits on the sink.

It’s one of the only memories that Mitsuki repeatedly brags about to her mom friends. How her son eagerly decorated a bento box for his anticipated sibling, and how he ended up despising them when born. That’s what it looked like anyway

‘She’s too old for [Y/N], you know this.’ Mitsuki snaps, snapping on the box lid. ‘They’ll get bored if they have to sit in her living room all day.’

‘The place smells like shit too.’

‘Katsuki!’ This time she does hit him.

‘It’s just one day. All you have to do is keep them busy for a while, and they’ll find a way to occupy themselves for the rest of your classes.’

Mitsuki packs the bento box and several colouring books and pencil sets into a tiny school bag that’s been sitting open on the dining room table. Just as [Y/N] comes skipping into the room in an All-Might tracksuit that they demanded they ‘had to have’ when they saw it at a convention a while ago.

‘Aren’t you so pretty, hun?’ Mitsuki coos at - arguably - her favourite child. ‘Guess what?’

[Y/N] mumbles something around a mouthful of a soft pretzel. Where’d they even get it from?

‘You’re going to school with Katsuki today!’

Oh shit their face got a fuck ton more bright when he looked down again. Even the mention of U.A on any given day made them bounce around while babbling about how they’d love to be a hero when they got their quirk. 

‘Really?’ [Y/N] attaches themself to his leg, bouncing up and down to make sure they’ve heard Mitsuki just right.

She glares at him when [Y/N] looks away.

‘Yeah, yeah, whatever.’

No one’s expecting anything entirely different when Aizawa starts class that morning. The only thing that seems slightly out of the ordinary is Bakugo being late. Kirishima is counting through the minutes and soon enough a whole half hour passes without him being there to yell at anyone. Even Midoriya is having a particularly stress-free morning!

However, no one was expecting for him to parade into the class an hour later with a six year old sitting on his shoulders, because (as he said) “they didn’t want to use their damn legs”. 

‘Bakubro,’ Kaminari is already laughing his ass off in the back corner. ‘Ya got a hitchhiker there.’

Bakugo is almost fuming by the time he drops off the child at his desk, standing by Aizawa to demand - or ask - that he ignore the situation. Number one, [Y/N] got a day off school because of a downtown villain attack, and Mitsuki couldn’t find a babysitter after their current one caught the flu. With no other options and both of his parents going to work early that morning, he had no choice but to drag them along as long as, and quote:

‘You don’t make a damn noise, and no questions, and no playing around, you sit down and shut up.’

Did [Y/N] listen? Nope. Not really. 

Halfway through the first lesson of the morning, and little [Y/N] is sitting in the lap of half of his classmates, messing with Hagakure’s invisible hair in utter curiosity, and playing heroes with Midoriya and Kirishima. At which point they all stand on their desks and put their fists in the air yelling ‘Detroit Smash’!

Katsuki just stands and watches as [Y/N] jumps from person to person, playing with quirks and planning out their future hero name. Kaminari is the most excited to stand on his desk and create a fake hero mask out of tape and paper, and theorise all the new quirks that could be made for [Y/N].

‘[Y/N] sit down for God’s sake!’ he growls at them, and they do so as they nestle themselves into a corner of his desk. Katsuki squeezes on with her. ‘No more talking to these... damn extras during class, ok?’

Mitsuki would skin him alive if he even thought about swearing properly in the same room as her “precious angel”.

‘But why?’

‘’Cause it’s annoying.’

[Y/N]’s eyes widen a bit, but then they beam at him and nod again, picking up a pencil as if they actually are a student and begin doodling a picture while others begin homework. Aizawa doesn’t collapse into his sleeping bag this time, instead keeping an eye to ensure he isn’t sued later for the death of an unrelated child. Midoriya and Iida are the first ones to finish of course, followed by Katsuki, who has to steal his pages when [Y/N] isn’t looking, handing it across the teacher’s desk with glitter flowers and stars in the margins. 

The bell goes to signal the beginning of their hero training, and [Y/N] clutches Katsuki’s hand as they shyly approach the scary-looking racoon man to hand him a (“professionally signed”) artwork by [Y/N] Bakugo. A misshapen house with a cat and a very dead looking racoon. 

(Aizawa does frame it later, like a dad of course.)

(Katsuki does call his teacher roadkill exactly three times after that.)

For hero training All-Might stands with his hands on his hips with [Y/N] at his side to help conduct the lesson. Together they order drills and [Y/N] gets to practise their hero voice and pose. The class ends with the whole group playing games and kicking a soccer ball around so they can pretend that [Y/N] has to save it from various situations. Which they do so successfully - “a top-rate hero” in All-Might’s words.

For Katsuki, he’s glad to get home and die in bed when 8:30 rolls around. It’s been non-stop questions and poking and prodding even though he told [Y/N] not to, but they wouldn’t listen! And when they got home Mitsuki hounded him to make sure they hadn’t done anything stupid while at school. 

But 9 rolls around and [Y/N]’s socks cast shadows over the door frame, and the door handle jiggles. Katsuki waits and doesn’t move to help them with it. They come padding in with a stuffed Midnight plush, and crawls onto his pillow. 

‘Kat, can I come to school with you everyday?’

And god-fucking-dammit, they look so damn excited to go to school with their big brother that all he can do is turn off his lamp and pull the covers up and pat their hair. He can feel his chest swell with pride, because his sibling wants to come and watch him become a hero.

He can’t help but wonder what kind of hero [Y/N] will be. What would their quirk be? 

Oh, Mitsuki would kick his ass if he even thought about surpassing his own sibling.

He smirks at the thought. His sibling would be the best hero at U.A, not like those fucking extras. 

‘Yeah, whatever.’

i really enjoyed writing this!

let me know if you want to request anything, and i'll try my best to get to them as quickly as possible.

[terastalungrad]

Sometimes, you’re a comedian with a touring show to promote, so you do an interview with a regional newspaper.

I think that’d be the funniest possible time to reveal a big scoop, wouldn’t it?

Stewart Lee is currently touring, and to promote his Yeovil performance, gave an interview to Blackmore Vale Magazine.  According to Wikipedia, the Blackmore Vale is an area of north Dorset, south Somerset and southwest Wiltshire.  According to the comedian Jake Baker, the magazine would cover his school sports day as he grew up in Dorset.  That’s the level of news you’d expect.

The questions are friendly and easy, from a journalist clearly familiar with Lee’s work and history.

The first question is about the show’s angle.  Lee describes the nature of the show, and here’s an excerpt:

So it looks like stand-up, and sounds like stand-up, but it’s actually a kind of character piece about a desperate person who’s frightened and trying to organise the world in a way that puts them in control. And I guess you could argue that’s what a lot of stand-ups are doing anyway. Ricky Gervais to me looks like a very frightened man. He’s frightened of transgender people coming after him, the act is a defensive wall.

Fun!  This is a Ricky Gervais hate blog, so it’s nice to see a sudden, unexpected attack in an unrelated promotional interview.

Lee mentions Gervais again in response to question four.

Sometimes I become bitter and think ‘I get all this good press, why can’t I get 10 million quid for a TV special like Ricky Gervais?’ But on the other hand, I wouldn’t want that audience, it wouldn’t allow me to be better.

And then again to question eight, where Lee explains why he spends six months running new shows in the relatively small Leicester Square Theatre (as opposed to arena comics who might do 10 warmup shows followed by 60 tour dates).

You can still run it like a club gig, you can interact with people in real time. Also, you wouldn’t get better at the show because you wouldn’t have done it as many times. You can see this with an act like Gervais. Those shows have not been run in, they’re not fluid, they’re a succession of inflexible statements that would snap like twigs if the pressure of an unforeseen event was applied to them.

The journalist finally addresses this head on.  It really is worth reading the entire article - there’s a lot more than I’m quoting, including an interesting story about Sean Lock:

But here are my favourite bits:

[Gervais] still kind of copies me though, which is the weird thing. There’s still a lot of cadences of what I do but they’re used in the service of evil. In Star Wars, he’s Darth Vader and he’s taken the force, which is me, and used it for evil purposes. He was a fanboy, he was actually the booker at University of London and used to book me and Sean Lock all the time. And when he became famous for the Office, he wrote an hour-long act that was so indebted to us it was awkward. [...] If he’d come up through the circuit that would have been rubbed off him because you find your own voice doing club gigs. It took me two years of gigging five nights a week to come through the mesh of things I liked. But he didn’t have that experience in the same way. [...] Funnily enough, in his first show there were bits I’d never recorded that he’d do almost verbatim. He’d clearly remembered them. I went to see him at the Bloomsbury – on his invitation actually – with my then girlfriend and she was very concerned for me. I’d given up at that point due to lack of interest, and she was concerned for what it felt like to see my act being done to hundreds of people, it was quite weird. On the other hand, that sort of did make me think I don’t want it to be consumed into someone else’s vocabulary. And also, I think because he had a residual sense of guilt, he would always credit me in interviews as being an influence – that helped me in 2004 to get the audience back.

This is, to my knowledge, the first time Lee’s ever claimed that Gervais stole his material.  He’s certainly talked about Gervais clearly taking influence from him (though in the past, he downplayed this compared to the account given in this interview).

It’s a pretty big thing to accuse a comic of stealing material.  That’s a big taboo.  I reckon this is partly because Lee wants to discourage fans of Gervais from coming to the show.

Anyway, let’s finish by quoting the end of the interview:

It must be strange to have that level of financial remuneration and those audience figures but not really a single good review. And I expect what that does for you is create a cognitive dissonance where you have to manufacture a worldview by which the whole world is wrong and you’re right. Which can’t necessarily be very good for your mental health, although I expect the money’s nice.

[myladysapphire]

His Sapphire Princess (IX)

After the night in the brothel Rhaenyra is married to Laenor Velayron to protect the birth of her child. who in the years to follow is the only one of Rhaenyra's children that is believed to be his, she is loved by all in the red keep, even queen Alicent adores the girl, so when Rhaenyra proposes a marriage between Aemond and Rhaenyra's daughter Visenya, Alicent happily agrees.

The children having been best friends in their youths are more than happy to be wed but when the incident at drift mark occurs things change, will it be for better or worse?

word count: 2,455

CW: angst? some fluff (like they reunite and don't hate each other and decide to start over), tensions, refrences of past SA, not proofread!

Fem!oc x Aemond Targeryen

Masterlist | series masterlist | previous part | next part

disclaimer:  i do not own any of claim any of the A song of ice and  fire characters, all rights belong to GRR MARTIN, all characters are his except for my OC

a/n i hate this, but it's kind of a filler chapter anyway

Aemond

Aemond had been both eager and nervous for her return.

Though counting down the days, planning on how he would greet you, he also was scared.

He know she felt ignored by him, betrayed by how he had just stopped replying to her letters. Ignored her name days, ignored her completely.

But that was not entirely true.  He had wanted so badly to reply, writing letter upon letter, though some were just mindless scribbles. But not once did he find he wrote a letter worthy of her, worthy of the emotions he felt. He needed space and he had shown he needed it in the worse possible way.

He had hated how he knew some version of her, a guarded version. Her letters expressing less and less, over time just mere updates of her life before stopping altogether. And he hated that the version she knew of him was the scared little boy he had tried so hard to get ride of.

The version of Aemond he had gotten ride of, in all ways but with her. He wanted to be the old Aemond with her, but hated that he did. It was why he needed the space, the time to heal, the time to become the man he is today.

But as he stood in the training yard, staring at her as she talked to him, so ddiffernt, so cold.

He knew he made a mistake.

She was so different, she had changed, and not just her personality.

But her looks also. Gods she was the most stunning and beautiful woman he had ever seen, he had always thought it impossible for her to become more beautiful.

But her beauty was clouded by the look in her eyes, the anger, the hurt and the loneliness.

She looked so alone, even as she walked out the courtyard with her brothers, laughing. She same old melodic laugh that could capture a room. The loneliness ceased slightly when he looked into them, as if she was finally being seen.

He understood. There eyes always talked to each other, expressing their true emotions, it why he knew his eyes mirrored hers, but they also showed another emotion, regret.

Regret for reading your letters time and time again, annotating them as if they were quotes from his favourite novel. Regret from the stack of unsent letters he kept in his bedside draw.

Each filled with his thoughts. Most mindless scribbles, unfished letters ending with angry scribbled out words as words escaped him, as  fear filled him.

He had tried to write of the events in his life even detailing his fights with Ser Criston, his rides with Vaghar, the books he read. And yet he could never send them, fear of her seeing his liefe and not understanding why he needed the space, or fear that he would see the darkest parts of his mind grew as the years went on. The sweet kind boy she had once new fading, and a cruel, vengeful man taking his place.  

He had once longed to be a protector, her sworn sword, doing good in her name. now…now he revelled in fear. He loved how the woman would run at the sight of his sapphire eye, a sight he knew deep down she never would. He revelled in revenge, revenge by going to the brothel, the place of his hurt, and burning it.

It was ruthless, but the second he had done it, he felt free, healed.

And yet fear still gripped at him, fear of wheat you know thought of him.

Fear that she would not accept the new him, but as he had started at you he felt like the old sweet Aemond was still in there somewhere, but only for her, his Sapphire.

Watching her sway away he knew he had limited time, this week was the first week of their official courtship, but the week after they would begin the moon long celebrations for their wedding.

Celebrations were they would spend day after day, hour after hour together being the perfect couple.

And he didn’t want it to be an act.

He had returned to his rooms, opening his bedside draw, but instead of reaching for her letter he reached for his own, and realised what he wanted to do.

He waited, two days. Two days of agony.

He had somehow hoped those two days he would be able to approach her, talk to her. But now, all he could was watch her. Watch her spend day after day in someone else’s company

Whether it was one of the tens of ladies begging for her favour and chance at becoming her lady, or her brother Jace, or even Aegon.

Gods he had forgotten about Aegon’s obsession with her. He knew they wrote, Aegon often bragging about it. With Aegon telling him about her, their little jokes, their shared secrets.

Not that he was jealous, no. He was not jealous of how Aegon seemed to act as if they were betrothed to each other. For two days they seemed to walk everywhere together, sit with each other at dinners. Though her eyes were often searching for Aemond’s, Aegon’s eyes were always firmly planted on her. And whenever she wasn’t with him, he was like a lost pup, waiting for her to appear.

Those two days, though never alone they often found the other staring, their mouths would being to form words that they were never able to form. And so he finally built up the courage and sent her his letters.

Visenya

When she had received Aemond’s letters she did not know what to expect.

They had appeared on her dresser, all 112 of them. Though some were scrapes of paper with random thoughts scribbled across them. One just one word repeated, 110 times.

Her name written, again and again, in the same neat, perfect handwriting Aemond had always had.

She then realised what this was, an apology.

She found the first letter he wrote that was left unsent, and she felt her heart break.

Dearest Visenya,

I am so sorry, I can not say why it has taken so long for me to only now reply.

Prepahs it was the guilt.

I never should of come to Winterfell, You had been kind and sweet, but I fear your kindness is unwarranted. I do not desire pity, I regret coming that night, I regret allowing you to see me so weak and scared. My whole life I have sworn to be your protector, your sword. And that night as I cried in your arms I felt like a small child, I felt smaller than when I did when Lucerys tore out my eye. And I hated it.

I have tried to look past it, look at it in away where I do not come across a whiny little boy and I am nothing but ashamed.

I had hoped to write you, bragging of my successes and yet all I can do I wallow In self pity at how I acted that night.

It matters not that I bested ser Criston for the first time, or how often I ride Vaghar.

For all I can think about it the look of pity you gave me.I do not need nor want your pity, my sapphire.

You gave me a place to stay and a place to cry, but I shall make it clear to you that the Aemond you saw that night is long gone. And shall never return. He can never return, not for you not for anyone.

So sweet, I shall not answer your request to come to Winterfell, I need the space, the time and so do you.

I fear distance is what we need, though we may hate it, I need to become Prince Aemond, and not just scared little Aemond, the boy who lost is eye, the boy who cried in your arms.

Yours, whether I say it or not,

Aemond

Dearest Visneya,

It has been near six moons since I last wrote you, and you are writing less and less.

I have been cruel, I know. I have ignored you in the favour of bettering myself.

I do not deserve you, or your kindness even still.            

You seem to be doing well, a fact I envy not too see. But I myself am not.

I miss you more and more each day, I find myself looking for you ate very turn. And yet it has been over a year since you were at the red keep.

So much has changed, Aegon and Heleana are to wed soon, I have started training with a real sword.

I no longer wake in sweats from that night.

So much has changed and yet I have so little words to say, I hate it!

I used to have all the words in the world for you, never once fearing how you viewed me. For I knew how you viewed me then.

And now I fear you will judge me.

Hate me.

Resent me.

I fear I have become a stranger, and yet I have a dozen unsent letters all addressed to you, read and read time and time again your own.

I know you, and I fear you.

Fear your opinion of me, how you view me.

I fear-      

Most of his letters just ended, frustration finding him far to quickly, some were just mindless words and phrases.

Visenya,

I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you  I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you .

Some were hateful, words said in anger, at how she still cared.

Dear Visenya,

Stop writing me.

How long must I ignore you to realise I want not to know you as we once did.

How am I to become the man you desire we spend all our time writing each other, stuck in our silly little heads!

Then gossip filled the red keep, gossip that Cregan had asked for your hand.

Visneya,

please, my sapphire, I beg of you do not marry him!

Your mother bids it but I do not!

Please.

And then her letters had stopped and he left once last letter to her.

Visneya,

Please, don’t stop writing me!

I know I have not been a friend to you but a stranger but without your letters the world has stopped.

I now I am a hypocrite, a hypocrite who cannot find the words. Who never has been able to speak his feelings, but show them.

I know not of a gesture to prove I want you till, I crave you and I need you.

but please, I cannot live without you, knowing you, please.

Please!

forever your Aemond.

Gods, she thought, he had to been hurt. Though not by her, and she had resented him for it. Resented how he had opened up to her, and then abandoned her ignored her for so long.

She knew it was hard for, he was never one for words. Gestures yes, but words? They always frustrated him, he could never formulate his feelings and yet this, the scribbled erratic thoughts and letters, unedited and rushed. They showed so much but also so little.

She has spent the whole day reading those letters, seeing no one bar her maid delivering her meals. And had it not been for her mother coming to grab her for dinner, demanding her presence, she would have sat on her thoughts all day and night.

But as she was sat next to Aemond she realised she would have less time to think on what Aemond’s gesture meant and what it meant for them.

“Aemond” she greeted, flipping her hair to the side as she sat.

“Senya” he greeted in response, eyes firmly on her.

 She squirmed in her seat, unsure on where to start. “Senya” he said again, capturing her attention, as they made eye contact some tension left her body.

“why?” she asked, its all she could think of, why?

He coughed awkwardly, clearly not expecting this conversation now, “I was never one for words, Visneya. But gestures, have always been something I excel at.” He moved his head closer to her, their conversation too private for prying eyes. “ I never should have ignored you, I know realise, it hurt us both, more than I ever thought” he shifted in his seat “seeing the look in your eyes when you arrived and realising I had made a mistake”

She nodded, urging him on, as she began to plate up her food.

“I focused solely on myself, I was selfish, but I won’t lie to you, my sapphire”

My sapphire, she liked that.

“I have become selfish and cruel, I have become a man who craves fear, but not from you, never from you”

“then what do you want from me?” she asked softly, before nervously looking to make sure no one else was listening to their conversation. “you did not want companionship from me, you ignored me for years on end, and yet by the end of the moon we will be wed!” she took a breath “if you have truly become selfish, and cruel, how do I know that it is for your betterment? And how will I know that you wont ever make me fear you?”

“because I became that person, so that I never have to feel fear again, feel the fear I felt at Driftmark, at that… at that brothel” she sighed, taking her hand in his “ I want to be your protector, it is all I have ever wanted, and how could I become that if I remained that scared, naïve little boy?”

Everything he was saying was true, but it also made her realize she did not know him anymore.

She breathed in “perhaps we should start over? Get to know one another again?”

He nodded, “I would like that”

next part

Taglist

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to be added to Taglist

[emeritusemeritus]

AHH HI! i was hoping i could request some weasley twins (mostly fred) Christmastime headcanons?

Hello my dear! Your wish is my command, hope you enjoy!🖤🎄

{Christmas Headcanons}

Fred

He’s a last minute shopper, joining in with the frenzied crowds on Christmas Eve having left it all to the last minute to get gifts for his entire family. But somehow, to your constant amazement, he always manages to find good presents that no one ever seems to realise had been purchased mere hours before.

The only people he truly cares enough to think about ahead of time for are you and George. He and George made a pact years ago that they wouldn’t buy anything extravagant for each other but instead treat Christmas as a time to find the most obscure, strange or hilarious item to exchange. You inevitably get dragged into this year after year, sometimes as early as autumn to keep an eye out for the most bizarre things you could find.

Despite his natural prankster nature, he usually chooses very sentimental and beautiful gifts for you, never caring for the price now he had some money in his pocket, even despite your protests of keeping the budget small. A necklace with your favourite gemstone and the date you started going out, a limited edition print of your favourite book, a non-aesthetically pleasing but nevertheless thoughtful hamper of the snacks you’d discovered on holiday with him years ago that weren’t available in London- but of course Fred had found a way.

He longed for that moment when your face would light up and you’d look at him with a face of pure surprise and adoration. He’d give you his widest grin and open up his arms for you to jump into, proud and if not a little smug that he’d once again nailed it.

Absolutely cannot wrap a gift to save his life. There’s an equal amount of wrapping paper and tape used on each present and somehow it still doesn’t work, even on the easier and cleanest of square gifts. After the year he got fed up and used tin foil from the kitchen, you took over wrapping for him, unable to see his loved ones suffer through unwrapping his monstrosities anymore.

Christmas is a time for complete, unadulterated joy and should not be done by halves in Fred Weasley’s opinion. The tackier the better, the bigger the better and the word ‘minimalist’ in relation to Christmas is a personal slight against him. Tinsel? Beautiful. 1000 string lights? There’s still room for more.

Though the Weasleys had very little money for extravagant christmases when he was young, it had been a time that he’d adored for as long as he can remember. The food, the lights, the music- all of it could be unbeaten.

Cannot cook a single thing. He’s happy to let you take the reigns on this one and failing that, he’d treat you to Christmas dinner out at your favourite restaurant so that you could just enjoy the day without spending all day in the kitchen.

Loves muggle Christmas movies and would watch them religiously every year. His favourite is Christmas Vacation and would quote it multiple times during the season, even though most of the wizarding world wouldn’t have a clue what he’s referring to. Little full, lotta sap.

Christmas crackers are his absolute favourite thing. He loves to mess with the seemingly simplistic brand that Molly buys every year by inserting mini pyrotechnics and other surprising ‘gifts’… like the one with the enclosed, spring loaded boxing glove that Fred ensured Ron was on the receiving end of. He was particularly proud of that one, even if he did get a lecture from Molly.

George

George Weasley underneath his vivid hair and fun loving prankster character, is a simple man. He loves his family and revels at any chance for them to get together and Christmas is the perfect example of that. The smells and the sights, the delicious food and the sense of magic in the sentimentality of the season are the reasons why he loves it so much. Unlike his twin, George likes a laid-back, simple Christmas with year long traditions to look forward to and a nice peaceful break (after the season-long chaos of owning the busiest shop in Diagon Alley).

Again in stark contrast to his twin, he’s a natural planner and likes to think ahead of gifts for his loved ones, starting late November until he’s done by mid December, leaving the stress of Christmas behind him.

Has a natural talent for wrapping gifts and they somehow always come out looking professionally wrapped, even if the bows and paper don’t always match.

His gifts are always thoughtful and personalised to the recipient but sometimes he blurs the lines of something you need becoming much too practical, his logical mind taking over. You mentioned that your feet were cold around him? You’re getting multiple pairs of socks that year, all anaesthetically pleasing in very practical colours. Your vacuum isn’t working right? Here’s a new one! Not the most exciting gift but it’s perfect, right?

Sometimes misses the mark slightly but it’s okay because it’s the thought that counts.

Surprisingly a really good cook and would have no difficulty whipping up a perfectly timed Christmas dinner with all the trimmings without breaking a sweat. He’d researched recipes for weeks and had tried out many of the different techniques in the weeks prior to ensure he finds the very best method for the big day.

Hates being cold. It’s one of the reasons he never minded getting the handmade creations of scarves, hats and jumpers from Molly because at least they kept him warm.

Secretly dreams of a Christmas somewhere warmer, just for one year, though he’d be worried that it just wouldn’t be the same and so he never risks it and stays at home.

Had a lethal right arm when it comes to snowball throwing, making him the most sought after team player in all the Weasley family snowball fights.

[imustspeakmyheart]

Here's my Earthsea tattoo I got as a little birthday present to myself. This illustration comes from the Bantam paperback editions; it's the little icon above the very first chapter of A Wizard of Earthsea, depicting the island of Gont.

Ramble about my FAVOURITE Earthsea passage below :)

So I've been obsessed with this quote ever since I first read it a couple years ago. The full thing goes as follows:

"As their eyes met, a bird sang aloud in the branches of the tree. In that moment Ged understood the singing of the bird, and the language of the water falling in the basin of the fountain, and the shape of the clouds, and the beginning and end of the wind that stirred the leaves: it seemed to him that he himself was a word spoken by the sunlight" (35).

This happens in Roke's courtyard, the first time Ged enters the school and meets the Archmage. Objectively, it's just a lovely passage in a book series full of beautiful prose. It exemplifies exactly what Roke is: a place where magic coalesces and an understanding of the world can be reached. This knowledge is the very thing Ged has been wanting throughout the book so far, what has driven away from Ogion where the learning was too slow. And look here! He steps foot in the school and at an instant, this moment of transcendence. Lovely stuff in a small atmospheric scene.

But it does another thing I find way more interesting in that last phrase I put in bold. See, Wizard is a book very preoccupied with mastery over the world, in particular Ged's continuous longing for power, for overpowering others. That's, you know, his whole arc in this thing. Learning that power means knowing when or even whether to use it, and that magic (which in Earthsea means change, even the tiniest change, that ripples and ripples onward) takes consideration, time, patience.

So how wondrous is it that we get this phrase still at the very beginning of Ged's inner journey, still in his full hubris mode, that shows the world's influence over him. And look, I know this is a tiny itty bitty sentence right and it might not seem all that, but I don't think anything like this happens anywhere else in the books either? In a series where words are power and influence and change, literal magic, I think it really does mean something here that Ged feels like "he himself is a word spoken by the sunlight".

What does this mean? What does it mean to be spoken by the sunlight? That he feels made, created by the sunlight? Changed? Held in place? Either way, some influence is held over him by the very powers that wizards usually command themselves. The landscape is speaking him, the sunlight is commanding him, subsuming him, he's part of the world in the realest most primal way you can be in Earthsea. He's a word.

And another thing! Ged's entire struggle in this book is with what? His shadow. Yet this phrase reminds us that even at a moment where Ged has not learned his lesson yet, when he is yet to commit that terrible act, he has light in him. He's changed by that sunlight all the same. Light and shadow both; there can't be one without the other.

(Also this fountain Ged's at in the courtyard in this scene is the very same place Nemmerle dies after saving Ged from the shadow. Very important place, this.)

ANYWAY suffice to say I love this passage and I will never stop thinking about it.

[ladymirdan]

I have seen that “Everything is canon”, post like its some kind “gotcha, this is stupid”-response, and I have balked how dumb some of the takes are.

But then I realised not everyone is as autistically obsessed with warham as I am. And I should take a step outside my own bubble and try to see things from other people's perspectives. Especially people who perhaps do not read much lore, but just enjoys Youtube lore videos or such.

The entire quote is “Everything is canon, not everything is true”.

It was written so armies would have something to fight over in this war game. There were little differences to quarrel over that didn't have a right or wrong side. Even armies who were usually allies could find something to beef over when the usual beef of MacGuffin or land had gone stale.

One of my favourite examples of the “Everything is canon, not everything is true”-rule is how in the Ultramarine codex they say “No Ultramarine has ever fallen to chaos”, while in the Black legion (I believe it was, some chaosy codex anyway) says they have a renegade Ultramarine. Not both of these can be true.

It is up to the players to pick what side you want to belive, both sides have good reasons to lie about this.

So when we say “Lore isn't important, its just fluff”, that doesn't mean we don't care about the lore, it's the fact we have been told since the start that you are allowed to believe what you want, because that makes for a more exciting story.

Finding inconsistencies is not a bug, it is a feature (and it also makes this increadibly vast fictional universe bearable to manage since no one person can realistically keep track of it all).

The Codices are propaganda, plain and simple. The books are told from a perspective, (usually the imperium because humans are relatable I guess 🤷‍♀️)

The unreliable narrator is the core and essence of Warhammer, and if you want to cling to only one true story, you will go insane. For this setting is blessed and ruled by the Changer of Ways.

[semiotomatics]

i meant to make some big well-written post abt it but unfortunately my brain was otherwise occupied experiencing The Horrors so instead, have some wordvomit

this past monday marked twenty years since i went on a field trip to the library and ran my hand along a bookshelf in the children's fiction section and found a book called So You Want To Be A Wizard* and brought it home and read it cover to cover in like. a day. and i couldn't even begin to explain how that day has shaped my life but i do just wanna acknowledge it and say that i'm so glad my friend let me borrow her library card (cause i didn't have my own yet) so i could bring the book home and i'm so glad my mum special ordered the rest of the series from the local independent bookstore almost immediately after i finished it and i'm so glad i discovered the forums and i'm so glad i found so many cousins on tumblr—including my best friend and platonic soulmate @astraldepths—and i'm so glad i got to help plan and execute crossingscon (twice!!) and that i got to meet so many of you in person—INCLUDING DD HERSELF—and i'm just. so glad i discovered this series

i have like twelve copies of SYW but i think my favourite is the twentieth anniversary edition (which is now, itself, twenty years old—wild), because it contains both the short story Uptown Local, which i adore, and an afterword by DD, which i have read entirely too many times. anyway, i wanna share a quote from that afterword, bc it seems fitting:

Wizardry, too, changes with the times, because its practitioners do...and indeed it must change, to keep up with the Lone Power, Itself never averse to using new means to Its old end. Even the Wizard's Oath will seem to change from time to time, altering its appearance according to species, age, cast of mind, and (sometimes) simply according to where you're standing, in time and space, when you examine it. But beyond that, as the series continues, I can promise that some things will always stay the same—the knowledge of a partner's dependable friendship; a shared go-for-broke determination to get it right when the Universe is watching; and the glad adrenaline rush caused by the sudden incursion of the unexpected...as when you run your hand down a row of books on a library shelf and one of them catches your finger.

so yeah. in lieu of a more coherent post abt it, i just wanna say. thank you @dduane. for everything 💚

[thatlittlered]

what is in a name | celebrimbor

warnings: afab!reader, no spoilers

GIF by @winterswake

author's note: quoting shakespeare in a celebrimbor fic, I am the devil :) special thanks to @morganas-pendragons for being a babe and helping me pick names

all parts of "the craft" series can be read here

-.-.-

 ‘Man cárat, Hîr vuin?’

 The book in your lap lies abandoned when Celebrimbor steps out from the shadow of your room, flustered to have been caught staring. Your keen ear forestalls any knock on your door, and it seems that the Lord of Eregion himself cares little for impropriety, if it will bring him to you faster.

 ‘I was watching you.’

 You smile for him, always.

 ‘What for?’

 ‘To commit you to my memory.’

 ‘Our memory does not fail. You will not forget me.’

 ‘Perhaps, but I wish to be able to recall every detail. Every strand of your hair. Every bead on your dress.’

 ‘You must study me from closer then.’

 He closes the distance as if drawn to you. His hand upon your cheek, where it has belonged ever since the fateful day of his confession. It almost burns to be away from you.

 ‘You might only see my eyes from this distance, my precious heart.’

 ‘I shall cherish every eyelash then.’

 ‘My lovely Celebrimbor! You speak of my tongue, but what about yours?’

 ‘You have taught me.’

 ‘You have taught yourself.’ you whisper. ‘Or, perhaps, love has taught us both.’

 ‘Love,’ he speaks the word, as if tasting it on his tongue for the very first time.

 ‘Does it come as a surprise that I love you?’

 His eyes slide shut of their own accord. He wishes to remain in this moment forever, to have the words echo in his mind until the End of Days.

 ‘It does, my Lady, for I do not know how to be deserving of it.’

 You frown, ‘I would say that you are and always have been, if you did not insist on calling me by title, even now.’

 The moonlight hides the emerald of his eyes, yet his dark irises are maps entire for you to get lost in.

 ‘What should I call you then?’ His kiss falls first between your eyebrows, melting the line of displeasure away. ‘Meleth nîn?’ then on your nose, ‘Guren vell, as I called you on the first eve that we kissed?’ and your cheek, ‘Or, a new name entirely.’ ending with a soft touch of his lips to yours.

‘Melthoreth,’ he whispers, ‘for the honey of your mouth.’

 ‘Melthoreth,’ you cannot help but trace your lips back over his, branding the name upon his mouth. ‘Is my mouth sweet, my love?’

 He lets you take charge, his valiant efforts are rewarded with the generosity of your lips and tongue. There is a sigh; muscles relaxing as if his very soul is being breathed into your being. He would accept that, too, and trust that you keep it safe.

 You part to allow him to breathe, but he would much rather prefer you didn’t.

 ‘As all parts of you, but I venture to say it is my favourite one.’

 You kiss him again, this time slow enough that he might hear his heart beating in his ear. If it is his favourite part, then he should have it.

 ‘A bit uncouth that you might give me a new name, while you get to keep yours.’

 The way you are looking at him might well and truly shatter him.

 ‘I will take whatever name you wish to give me.’

 Your forehead comes to gently rest on his, your lips replaced by the tip of your thumb on his own. He gazes at you like you are the Moon, and flushes at your touch like you are the Sun. You are both, to him. Every heavenly creation.

 ‘Celebrimbor,’ you roll his father-name on your tongue as if to caress it, ‘the silver fist.’

 Your free hand comes to tangle with his own, bringing it to your mouth so you might show your reverence. What has an Elven-smith ever made that was important enough to have his hands kissed by holiness itself?

 ‘The silver fist and the hands of gold,’ you hum, ‘Malthenhir.’

 His eyes shine with emotion.

‘That is the only name I wish to be called when we are alone.’ A single tear escapes him, but you quickly kiss it off his cheek, ‘A name born of your love.’

 ‘I shall call you by many names when we are alone,’ you promise, ‘and they will all be born from my love for you.’

-.-.-

‘Man cárat, Hîr vuin?’’ = What are you doing, My Lord?

meleth nîn = my love

guren vell = my sweet heart

Melthoreth = (poetically translated) she who speaks sweetly

Malthenhir = (poetically translated) master of golden hands

[zahri-melitor]

What can you infer about the editorial meddling Young Justice went through?

Oh god. It’s like the old quote about pornography: you know it when you see it. Spend enough time reading comics and you can just tell.

Notable problems with the Young Justice 2019 run that smack of interference:

You can really tell there was external pressure to include Steph in the run and that she was not originally intended to join the team or appear any further than occasional cameos such as the flashbacks at the Hall of Justice as a link to Tim’s final scene in Tynion’s Tec run. Structurally her story makes no sense whatsoever for how to put a plot together. Steph’s not an original Young Justice character, the run already was supporting two new female characters plus a reboot of Amethyst introducing Amy to a new generation, even before we look at the crossovers from other titles in the imprint. The fact they ended up throwing in a single issue entirely about 'what Steph has been up to and her fight against Cluemaster' in the last section of the run makes it even worse, as that was valuable page time wasted pandering that could and should have been used to give Jinny Hex or Keli Quintela more development.

The entire ‘Drake’ situation, which for a costume change had very little build up, was under-designed, and then disappeared with Tim back in the Robin costume between two panels. It was a test balloon from someone that was comprehensively shot down by some mix of the fandom and editorial, and I remain convinced that DC is gunshy about a new costume and identity for Tim all the way up to the present day because of how badly it was handled.

It was being used as the anchor for Wonder Comics, leading to the required mega crossover (that also spilled over into Bendis’ Action Comics to give it some more space), putting even more pressure on the title to be telling a big crossover story when it was still trying to re-establish “your favourites are back” and suggesting potentially expanding the Young Justice lineup out to around thirteen characters, a massively oversized team that the title was not set up to handle.

Lost in the Multiverse was where the story started to get bogged down by being pulled in too many directions by expectations.

It’s also super telling that the last third of the book got turned over to essentially doing one-shot character pieces about the Core Four, the last defence of a run that can see cancellation coming and doesn’t feel confident launching a new story arc they don’t expect to get to finish. Some of this stuff was clearly background character work they would have preferred to have dripped out over a longer run.

Also I know I’m repeating myself, but having the Tim piece focus on Steph mostly, in the frame of Tim and Steph’s relationship? That’s not where I’d be spending my time when looking at Tim Drake in the focus of Young Justice. How he’s coping with his returned memories of having two or three different lives now? Thinking about what ‘Tell Conner you’re sorry’ means? Discussion about his feelings in terms of moving on from being Robin or not? Nah let’s talk about Steph's problems with her dad instead. That’s not a natural fit compared to what everyone else got and does not follow from any of the preceding story.

Still ropeable that the whole set of storylines about regained memories and alternate timelines doesn’t get to intersect with Lois Lane (which spoilers but also is committed to storytelling about ‘people have memories of other places bleeding through’ prior to the full Infinite Frontier retcon) or explore how those memories change things for Tim, Bart or Cassie (Kon at least does get a story about reconnecting in Action).

And that’s just off the top of my head, ignoring any of the more subtle signs.

I love Young Justice 2019. It is a run that adores Bart, Kon, Cassie and Tim (and particularly Bart. I cannot explain to you how much this story adores Bart if you’ve never read it) and the opening 6 issues make me feel warm and fuzzy every time I read them in terms of how cleverly it works to explain how we get everything back. There are clever subtle moments in the text that give a lot more depth to the story that are implied rather than spelled out: how Cassie suddenly remembers Bart when Bart comes near her, suggesting that her returned memories are a Speed Force side effect from being a lightning rod to Bart; Cassie and Tim sense Kon using TTK and recognise it as familiar, something the new characters cannot; the fakeout in the art where when Tim’s memories are restored, he sees Cissie in his memories, but unless you know the exact YJ98 page being referenced you’d think it was Steph; etc.

But gosh it would have been so much better if it had not been required to devote so much page time to crossovers and to pandering to fans, among other elements.

[midnight-bay-if]

OMG i just have to say the way you write your characters is amazing! Often times when I read books with a large cast of characters a lot of the characters feel like the same and their characters aren't the most distinct but each and every one of the RO's feels like their own individual, with their own voice. If someone threw a random quote from one of your characters in my direction i feel like i could easily distinguish which characters said it because they are each so unique, which is amazing writing on your behalf! 👏 I'm currently working on my own IF and I was wondering if you had any tips on making unique characters or just writting in general? And I hope that your feeling better after your illness and that your writting is going smoothly <3

This is such a nice compliment! 🥺 I'm a little speechless, haha. But this is precisely why I like answering asks from each character's POV. It's great practice, and I've learned a lot about my own characters doing it that way.

Firstly, do not be afraid to start with a trope. They can be great stepping stones to get you started. For me, the beginning stepping stone for the wider story was Umbra. I was going through a really personally tough time when I created them. I needed a way to voice my desperation. Then came N, and with them came the devil on my shoulder. I played around with the character tropes I've loved for so long while figuring out the greater story after. So much of The Midnight Bay was designed alongside the characters.

Empathising with your characters will help you find their struggle and voice. It can be uncomfortable for me to write Umbra at times because so much of my own anxiety has been put into that character, but some people will connect with it, and that's important.

When it comes to finding a character's voice, it's best to start with their background. Consider how the character got to their position and how it has affected them. Their psychology will determine a lot about what they say and how they say it. But equally as important is what they choose not to say, and why.

Their personalities are going to play a large role in their speech. For example, S is a tactician, smart, to the point, but can turn on the charm when desired. All good things, right? Well, yes and no. They have a bit of a hero complex and will always put their teammates in the most advantageous position, even to their own detriment. A fatal flaw of character will always make your characters more interesting. Their best traits can also be their greatest weakness.

Sometimes, it can be fun to switch up which aspect of a character you choose to keep secret. Taj wears all their flaws out in the open, unlike the others. They stand out against the others because their softer side is what is secret.

Also, this is an old tip that gets passed around quite a bit, but it's one I think about a lot; could each of your main characters work as the story's protagonist? Are they fleshed out enough to work as a main character? Can you imagine following them through the main story and still have a compelling story to tell? If the answer is no, consider why not - what's missing?

I'm fighting my imposter syndrome right now in order to deliver these tips, but hopefully, they are helpful and don't come across as pretentious, haha.

This is going to be an anticlimactic final point, but it deserves saying. Writing often is going to be the biggest help. Even if you can only manage a couple of lines a day, it'll help. Some days I really struggle; my imposter syndrome takes over and I feel utterly hopeless. On days like that, I'll search my inbox for a new ask to inspire me, reread my favourite novels or move onto another scene entirely to unstick my brain from its patterns. The most important thing is to have fun with it.

Anyway, hopefully, this was at least slightly helpful. I fear I have just rambled nonsensically, but it's pretty accurate to what my process is like, haha.

Thank you again for such a kind message. It really helped brighten up my day since this illness has been lingering much longer than I would like. I'm getting better as the days go by now, and I'm hoping to get back to work on chapters 3 and 4 starting tomorrow :)

[ilminnestrone]

Meet Terry!

Name: Theresa Doris Monday Nickname: Terry Age: 4,5 Zodiac: Aries Occupation: Princess, most envied girl in Midgar Family: Anthony Monday (dad), Rebecca Shinra (mom), President Rex Shinra (uncle), Rufus Shinra (cousin), Lazard Deusericus (cousin ♡︎) Ethnicity: white (mom), costan (dad) Eyes: brown Hair: curly, blond Style: girlypop&frilly, cute patterns, big sunglasses Favourite colour: pink (red is dark pink, right?)

Likes: Oreos, foxes, pink, Sailor Mars Dislikes: papaya, Reno, unfair depiction of witches in fairytales Loves: Genny-sis

Backstory Miss Terry is the only daughter of the industrialist Anthony Monday and his beloved wife Rebecca Shinra, younger sister of the Head of Mako Empire. Mom and dad call her the happiest of incidents, since she came into existence when Rebecca was almost forty, after a long series of failed attempts.

Sassy and resolute, she tricked Commander Genesis Rhapsodos into being her secret boyfriend (publicly sworn knight) by making him kiss her hand, which implies being paraded around Shinra Palace in his arms, being called Little Princess, giving orders to cadets, pretending to read (and gifting Genesis random books) and receiving cute gifts like those apple-themed socks. The Commander handled her age appropriate crush with utmost sensitivity and never belittled her feelings.

Quotes

Seffirof is cool but Genny-sis he's cooler because he looks like a fox

Genny-sis is a boy that's pretty like girls are

Sorry mom, I can't tell you Genny-sis is my secret boyfriend

Angiee is like a mom in a dad body

Reno is evil because he stole red from Genny-sis

Iffy neat in misery is the gift of the god S (when asked about why the entire pack of Oreos misteriously had the cream licked off)

[joannerowling]

https://www.tumblr.com/joannerowling/758372387687399424/theyre-like-their-favourite-boy-writers-only

I read this post and got really surprised of how many authors were so salty (to not say worse things, GRRM made me disgusted) about JKR’s success. In this context, what do you think about Ursula K Le Guin’s opinions of JKR? Those always sounded to me like a bit of envy.

It's definitely envy, as well as misplaced ego, and i think subconscious misogyny even if she wouldn't have liked hearing that. For context i'll put the quote of hers about Rowling below:

[…] What’s the difference between being influenced by a body of work and admitting it, and being influenced by a body of work and not admitting it? This last is the situation, as I see it, between my A Wizard of Earthsea and J.K.Rowling’s Harry Potter. I didn’t originate the idea of a school for wizards — if anybody did it was T.H.White, though he did it in single throwaway line and didn’t develop it. I was the first to do that. Years later, Rowling took the idea and developed it along other lines. She didn't plagiarize. She didn’t copy anything. Her book, in fact, could hardly be more different from mine, in style, spirit, everything. The only thing that rankles me is her apparent reluctance to admit that she ever learned anything from other writers. When ignorant critics praised her wonderful originality in inventing the idea of a wizards’ school, and some of them even seemed to believe that she had invented fantasy, she let them do so. This, I think, was ungenerous, and in the long run unwise.

Two things here:

First, like others, Le Guin apparently couldn't fathom that someone else might have come up with a similar concept as she did all on their own, without having ever read her books. It's worth noting that AWoE was published in 1971 in the UK, when JKR was already 6. While it was praised by critics on release and moderately successful, you could hardly have called it a classic. I mean, it's not like Brits don't have an entire genre dedicated to stories set in private schools, and a love for wizard and fairy tales older than the US. The idea that a British woman couldn't possibly have imagined "a school for wizards" without reading some newcoming American is hilariously conceited.

(Made even funnier by the fact that many of the criticisms that were thrown at Rowling over the years involved a variation of, 'her plot/character/ideas/world-building is too generic'.)

Secondly, no male writer would ever be blamed for the exaggerations and mistakes of journalists. Nor would any man be expected to be "generous" to fellow writers, by pretending to have been influenced by them when they were not. No man who were as open about his literary influences as JKR has been would be suspected of lying.

The fact is, Pratchett, Le Guin, GRRM and co. simply didn't like that JKR cited classics in those interviews, rather than their favoured brand of genre literature, sci-fi and fantasy. People like Pratchett were and are still convinced that they are an oppressed and unfairly derided caste amongst writers, which the snotty elites wrinkle their noses at but the pure of heart lower classes love.

[jvliaxox]

My favourite quotes from the Neapolitan novels

To cause pain was a disease.

... there are no gestures, words, or signs that do not contain the sum of all the crimes that human beings have committed and commit.

'What does "a city without love" mean to you?' 'A people deprived of happiness.'

I thought of the neighbourhood as a whirlpool from which any attempt to escape was an illusion.

'For your whole life you love people and you never really know who they are.'

'Life without seeing and without speaking, without speaking and listening, life without a covering, life without a container, is shapeless.'

They dived in without hesitation, Lila with a long cry of joy. They were happy, full of their own romance, they had the energy of those who successfully seize what they desire, no matter the cost.

... the beauty of things is a trick, the sky is the throne of fear; I'm alive, now, here, then steps from the water, and it is not at all beautiful, it's terrifying; along with this beach, the sea, the swarm of animal forms. I am part of the universal terror; at this moment I'm the infinitesimal particle through which the fear of every thing becomes conscious of itself.

It was as if she wanted to take the power away from even the realistic possibility of violent death by reducing it to words, to a form that could be controlled.

... it's not the neighbourhood that's sick, it's not Naples, it's the entire earth, it's the universe, or universes. And shrewdness means hiding and hiding from oneself the true state of things.

... every choice has its history, so many moments of our existence are shoved into a corner, waiting for an outlet, and in the end the outlet arrives.

The mind, ah yes, the evil is there; it's the mind's discontent that causes the body to get sick.

While men devote themselves to undertakings in space, life for women on this planet has yet to begin.

The new living flesh was replicating the old in a game, we were a chain of shadows who had always been on the stage with the same burden of love, hatred, desire, and violence.

How much I had lost by leaving, believing I was destined for who knows what life.

... we struggled to understand what a woman was. Our every move or thought or conversation or dream, once analysed in depth, seemed not to belong to us.

Eve can't, doesn't know how, doesn't have the material to be Eve outside of Adam. Her evil and her good are the evil and good according to Adam. Eve is Adam as a woman. And the divine work was so successful that she herself, in herself, doesn't know what she is, she has pliable features, she doesn't possess her own language, she doesn't have a spirit or a logic of her own, she loses her shape easily.

Oh God, how out of order everything was: they, I, the world around us: a truce was only possible by believing lies.

In what disorder we lived, how many fragments of ourselves were scattered, as if to live were to explode into splinters.

Should I remain this shadow -- my mother, all our female ancestors -- or should I let her go?

So what resurrection? It was only cosmetic, a powder of modernity applied randomly, and boastfully, to the corrupt face of the city. It happened like that every time. The scam of rebirth raised hope and then shattered them, became crusts upon ancient crusts.

Where is it written that lives should have meaning?

... evil took unpredictable pathways. You cover it over with churches, convents, books... and the evil breaks through the floor and emerges when you don't expect it.

Every intense relationship between human beings is full of traps, and if you want to endure you have to learn to avoid them.

... I want to leave nothing, my favourite key is the one that deletes.

I am still alive -- I thought -- and yet I can't feel any different from that big body lying lifeless in that sordid place, in that sordid way.

Unlike stories, real life, when it has passed, inclines towards obscurity, not clarity. I thought: now that Lila has let herself be seen so plainly, I must resign myself to not seeing her anymore.