#category: Inanities

[phoenixkaptain]

Canon straight ships in Star Wars always crack me up like

You have Mutually Obsessed and Making That Everyone Else’s Problem (anidala)

Or maybe you want Roguish Princess and Rogue Turned On By That (hanleia)

Maybe even a little “I’m Trying to Kill You, Stop Daydreaming About Being My Best Friend” (lukemara)

And over there in the corner is Only Considered Normal In Comparison to the Given Competition (obitine)

And outside, not even apart of the conversation: Actually Normal Human Beings Who Just Love Each Other With Little to No Murder Being Involved (Bail&Breha, Owen&Beru)

[sleepnoises]

I've thought about it and I don't like the Bustle deleterious effects of therapyspeak in friendships article

[child-of-hurin]

.

It's funny that most anons i get are either like, overly confident, rude and a hundred percent thoughtless, or so polite they apologize a hundred times for complimenting your (public, amateur) posting and still worry they sound creepy or weird

[tanadrin]

Look, nationalism is stupid. Nationalism is a grift. Nation-states are a bad basis for the global international order. But “your nation is fake” is just… it’s an inane argument! It doesn’t matter of your nation is 350 ethnicities in a trench coat, or if it’s not old enough to drive, or if it was invented to justify the rule of some inbred tyrant in the Middle Ages. Nations exist by virtue of people identifying with them; the only way a nation can be fake is if nobody identifies with it. And people plainly identify as Americans! Enthusiastically so! Of diverse ethnicities and languages!

“America isn’t a nation” is just a basic category error. You have misunderstood what a nation is. It’s not a bloodline or a patch of land or even something that has to be philosophically coherent and defensible. It’s a feeling! It’s a vibe! You think Germanness is any more coherent than Americanness? It’s completely fuckin’ arbitrary! They all are!

[liaromancewriter]

Mine

Premise: Cassie can’t help feeling jealous of Ethan’s admirer.

Book: Open Heart Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine) Rating/Category: Teen. Fluff. Words: 1,315

A/N: Submission for @julychallenge prompt "bold." This is for an anon request from the Kisses prompts: kiss of jealousy. The story is set during their secret dating phase in Lia Land.

If the busty redhead touched his arm one more time, she would not be responsible for what happened next.

Cassie Valentine huffed at the sight of her boyfriend getting hit on at the bar. Not that anyone besides them knew he was hers. Still, it was the principle of the matter.

Ethan Ramsey knew he was taken, but did he tell the other woman off? No! He just chuckled inanely like the selfish jerk that he was.

Okay, maybe that wasn’t entirely accurate. He was a jerk but never selfish.

Didn’t he always make sure she came first when they made love, sometimes more than twice, before he let go himself?

“Hey, Valentine, hit the ball or forfeit the game.”

Cassie stopped staring at Ethan and his admirer long enough to throw Jackie an annoyed look. They were at Donahue’s decompressing after a long shift over beers and pool. But right now, her mind was on anything but the game.

Eyes snapping with green fire, she bent over the pool table, took aim with her cue stick, and struck the cue ball with such force that the other balls scattered loudly in every direction. She got lucky, pocketing two solids before her streak ended.

Just as well. Focusing on the game meant she couldn’t see Busty Red make moves on her man.

Cassie was used to Ethan getting hit on by nurses, doctors and even patients at Edenbrook. It usually didn’t bother her. Most of the time, he was oblivious, wearing a cloak of indifference as comfortably as his white coat.

But tonight was different. He was actually laughing with the other woman.

The bastard!

She took a violent swig of her beer, disappointed to find the bottle empty.

Time for a refill, she grinned wickedly at the idea of interrupting the Great Flirtation.

“Hey, Si?” She called out to her bestie, who was watching from the sidelines. When Sienna walked over, Cassie handed her the cue stick. “Take my turn, would you? I’m parched and could use another drink.”

She walked off before Sienna could say anything.

Muscling her way through the crowd on the minuscule dance floor, Cassie slowed her pace as she neared the bar. There was an empty spot a few stools down from Ethan, but she deliberately eased her body into the tiny space beside him. Her arm brushed against his, and feeling him stiffen gave her immense satisfaction.

She leaned her elbows on the bar, arching her back slightly and pushing her hips out seductively. Her jeans hugged her curves perfectly while her silky off-shoulder top shimmered in the light. She looked damn good tonight, and she knew it.

Reggie, the bartender, gave her a hold-on sign as he served another patron, but Cassie wasn’t concerned, ear cocked to the conversation occurring beside her.

“You must tell him I said hello,” Busty Red gushed, leaning closer, practically hugging Ethan.

Cassie was not a jealous person by nature, but she had her limits. Unable to take it anymore, she pretended to stumble, crashing into Ethan and causing him to spill his drink.

“Crap,” he cursed and jumped off the stool as the whiskey dripped down his shirt and stained his pants.

“Oops,” she gasped with faux sincerity. “I’m so sorry, Dr. Ramsey. Here.” She grabbed some napkins off the bar and started dabbing at the wet stain on his shirt.

Cassie smiled nastily as the woman stepped back from Ethan and wiped the triumphant look from her face before anyone noticed—not quickly enough. He caught her smug expression, and his blue eyes narrowed in suspicion and annoyance.

“Forgot how to walk, Rookie?” he grumbled, snatching the napkins from her hand to swipe at the front of his pants.

“It was an accident, doctor,” Cassie said, trying for remorse but failing miserably as a light giggle escaped. “Uh, maybe you should retreat to the men’s room. That stain is spreading.”

Ethan turned back to the other woman. “I’m sorry, Dee. I better take care of this.” He pulled the wet shirt away from his chest.

He glared at Cassie, then turned on his heel and marched towards the restroom.

Cassie stared briefly at the other woman, who was now watching her with a bewildered look, and walked away, shrugging her shoulder in apology.

Instead of heading to the pool tables and her friends, she made a beeline for the restrooms in the back. She stopped outside the men’s room door, took a bracing breath and pushed the door open to peek inside.

Sighing in relief at the sight of Ethan alone by the sinks, she hurried inside, letting the door swing behind her. He met her eyes in the mirror.

“Happy with yourself?” he asked, lips curled in a sneer. He whirled around to face her. “You did that on purpose!”

Cassie stalked toward him; her eyes were on fire as she stepped on her toes, tugged his head down and pressed her lips against his.

A mix of anger and jealousy fueled the intensity of the kiss. His initial surprise gave way, and he responded, his hands instinctively gripping her waist. The kiss was fierce, almost desperate as if she was trying to claim him, to make a statement that he was hers and no one else’s.

Cassie broke the kiss just as abruptly as she had initiated it, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps.

"Maybe I did," she shot back, her voice trembling with defiance and desire. "But you’re mine, and no Busty Redhead gets to put her hands on you. Is that clear?"

Ethan stared at her, eyes widening as her words hit home. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

Instead, he reached for her again, pulling her closer. “Were you seriously jealous of Dee?”

“Yes. She was all over you, Ethan.” Cassie snapped in exasperation. “I know our relationship is secret, but that doesn’t mean I will stand by and watch other women paw at you. Not right in front of me.”

“So, just in private?” he said, amused.

“I don’t find this funny,” she retorted.

He started to respond when they heard voices outside, and Cassie’s eyes widened in panic. The last thing she could risk was getting caught with Ethan in a restroom at Donahue’s. Her reputation could survive an ethics trial but not this.

“Quick, get in there.” Ethan shoved her into a stall just as the outside door swung open.

So, Cassie hid in the stall, rolling her eyes at her predicament, and waited for Ethan to let her know when the coast was clear. This was why she never let herself get jealous.

Five minutes later, Ethan knocked, and she unlocked the stall door and stepped outside. He grabbed her hand and dragged her behind him, briefly popping his head through the door to check the hallway.

“All clear.”

They stepped into the hallway and stood facing each other, a respectable distance between them.

Ethan folded his arms across his chest and stared down his nose at her, as he used to when he joined them on morning rounds. The way his biceps rippled under the sleeves of his shirt made her feel hot under the collar.

“We will discuss this in detail later, Cassie,” he said sternly. “But, for the record, Dee is an old family friend. She’s visiting Boston with her family and could only meet for a drink tonight. There’s nothing for you to worry about.” He looked over her head at the main bar area beyond. “Now, go before our luck runs out.”

Cassie nodded and walked away before she did something reckless again. Like drag him outside and order him to take her up against the wall.

One stupid act was enough for today. She’d worrying about eating humble pie tomorrow. Tonight, she needed a cold shower.

---------------

All Fics & Edits: @bluebelle08 @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @jerzwriter @lady-calypso

@mainstreetreader @peonierose @potionsprefect @queencarb @quixoticdreamer16

@justyourusualash @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction

Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Ethan & Cassie only: @cariantha @custaroonie @youlookappropriate

[the-chessiad]

Double-knight strike team: arrive at the Clue board, entering via the front door into the Hall.

Well in point of fact, the part of the Clue board that the Strike Team is closest to is actually:

Cramped in here with four Pieces, Addie says, feeling inane.

Seven says what are all these green things? Aside from, like, the whole room.

Kingsknight says they're plants. Plants are like.....

.................................................

...hey Leftie can you explain what the fuck plants are.

Leftie says, sweetly, that plants are one of the secrets of the universe!

Kingsknight says thanks Leftie, that's exactly word for word what I was hoping you'd say.

Kingsknight says plants are a kind of. Uh. They do not really share a category with anything that exists on a chess board. They are sort of like a horse, and a horse is sort of like a Knight, except that none of the things that a plant has in common with a horse are things that a horse has in common with a Knight, so that's not really a helpful comparison. Plants are the soft flutteroofy things that exist in this room and maybe some other places.

Seven says waow..........

Addie also says waow, under her breath.

[eclecticprincecollector]

The real lives of the great seven + my flower

Chaos

That is what it is, pure unadulterated chaos.

The cradle, the house my yuu grows up in, is full of it.

Whether it be Grimhilde chasing yuu to give her a bath, or Mary Elizabeth ( queen of hearts), depending on the day. ( they have a rooster)

You, my flower are naturally at the center of this chaos, getting front row seats to every inane argument, that these so called god tier mages get into.

Now, the conflicts in this household are divided into the following categories: The silent wars, the raging rows, the arson inducing kind and lastly the conflicts of your parents(7) vs you (yuu).

The silent wars occur only between the great seven when you were younger and include you in your teenage ' none of you get me' era.

Maleficent and Grimhilde are the ones most likely to he these types of conflicts, they last up to one week or so, with conversations like: " humph" "hmm" and you are like: " why is mama fighting with grandma" and Jafar is like sipping tea and saying " Fashion, dearest, fashion.".

Sometimes Jafar himself can have this with either one of the queens stated above.

The raging rows most obviously include Mary Elizabeth, usually with Ursula and Hades pitching in: " what do you mean i cAnT LEt fLoWer-" " I MEANT WHAT I SAID YOU USELESS TORCH LIGHT" " HOW DARE YOU VERTICALLY CHALLENGED MORTAL" sighing you ask "whose going to remind him all of you are immortal now.", "most certainly not me little fry" answered Ursula.

Ursula often instigates these occurrences, and sometimes even has a row of her own with Scar.

Speaking of him, he and Maleficent have a nasty habit of working out there...differences through elaborate, illeagal, ways. Arson being the most popular: "Hmm, only a dozen, my royal lizard you are losing at your own game." Gulping you say " Grandmas about to lose it." Indeed her eyes were slits at this point.

The last type of conflict, happens often as soon as puberty hits, you lot will be seeing more about it in future parts.

In conclusion when they aren't about to rip eachother apart on what you are wearing or doing or whats best for you or petty stuff in general, the g7 and you(yuu) are a lovely family.

Only dysfunctional 85% of the time.

Also, if you want to know who is called what and who calls you what, vote on it.

taglist

@twistedcece

Im not able to tag the other person who asked sorry ghosty.

Reblogs and likes are appreciated.

[nerdishpursuits]

Can you elaborate on your tags about reading jk Rowlings original post?

Just that I admit that at first, when the JKR discourse started back in the day, I didn’t actually go and read the essay she published on her blog, which is the one that started the entire thing. I did go and read it, eventually, because I tend to like forming my own opinions on things. Personally, I didn’t see any evidence of transphobia. Same with her tweets. Sure, she’s a sarcastic troll some days because she’s, probably, tired of this topic. She was arguing there is such a thing as biological sex and people transition from one to the other in order to embrace living authentically. And that kids should be kids as they have no way to consent. They need to be left alone, or helped to make informed decisions they’ll not regret later in life. Perfectly fine and I’m very much supportive of that.

Everyone should love and live as they please, and no one has the right to ostracize them for it. What she called problematic was the complete denial that biological sex exists, hormone blockers in kids who can’t really consent, self IDing as a woman without actually transitioning and some trans activists saying a biological woman’s experience doesn’t matter. I don’t see that as being transphobic. Just logic and concern.

Over the past few days my partner and I went on a deep dive on this topic and found there’s plenty trans people agreeing with JKR. We’ve seen videos of trans women competing in women’s sports and winning, then commenting they don’t care at all about the medals and winning, but simply enjoy having a good time with their friends at the gym. Why compete in the women’s weight lifting category if you don’t care about winning then? Aussie surfer Bethany Hamilton was dropped by her lifelong sponsor in favor of a trans woman who previously competed, and won, in the men’s division. Swimming, wrestling, roller skating even etc. There’s trans women out there claiming they’re the ones who know what a woman is because they’re forced to think about it, whereas a biological woman is simply born and therefore, inferior. Others who claim they experience period cramps or that their genitalia is superior to a biological woman’s etc. As far as I’ve seen. JKR and other trans people have spoken out against these kind of situations, comments and claims. That’s why I think that cancel culture is so toxic. We need to look at the whole picture and stop claiming things are black or white or the damaging adage of if you’re not with me you’re against me.

I think a very loud minority, who doesn’t represent the entirety of the trans community, might actually be doing more harm than good. Not just to the trans community, who deserves nothing but acceptance and support and love, but the rest of the LGBTQ+ community as well. Pushing a narrative too fast, and forcefully, isn’t helping. It’s actually turning people against us and it’s frustrating and depressing. Denying actual biology and elbowing your way into biological women’s spaces won’t win you their love. Calling them birthing people won’t win them over. Calling them lesser won’t open doors either.

There’s a ton of material to be found on YouTube, there’s podcasts, articles etc. Personally, I think people need to sit down and talk and debate and be diplomatic. I’m not saying JKR isn’t without her faults but I do think she’s been demonized for speaking her mind and voicing her concerns about women’s spaces and kids. It’s as if people can’t have a healthy debate anymore. We need to cancel those who don’t agree with us. It’s the all or nothing mob mentality and, personally, I’m sick of it. This is a nuanced topic and should be treated as such. But now you can’t even be a centrist anymore. You have to be for or against and nothing in between. How about we look at what’s right or wrong, for both sides, and decide accordingly. Why this inane ideological war that radicalizes people who should be having a productive conversation instead.

[eddiegettingshot]

AND. what's also really fucking troubling is that a lot of people are attaching this sentiment to meaningless feel-good notions of social justice that aren't actually about interrogating anything but about making sure people arrive at the correct conclusion, in a way that's almost laughably transparent. if the harm is being articulated that's one thing, but to say shit like "it's homophobic to dislike a canon queer ship" "it's homophobic to want a different queer ship" "it's homophobic to dislike this character who's gay" "it's homophobic to ask for [x benign thing]" "it's homophobic to interpret x as y when the show/writers/god-who-came-to-me-in-my-dreams said it's z" "this makes me as [identity category] feel good so when you criticize it i'm sad and that's [form of bigotry]" while clearly doing zero work to actually understand what you're talking about or who you're leveling your inane accusations at, and then to expect to be taken seriously, is as funny as it is concerning. not because of what it means for the show but because it's so obvious that there is no baseline understanding of how structural power/oppression even works or manifests, and because it's reflective of how a lot of people view those things and how to tackle them in general. you quite literally cannot call out oppression in the same breath that you deride people for literally. thinking about stuff too deeply or differently for your liking. that is not how anything works!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and this is not even beginning to get into the stuff external to the show that's arguably more important to be criticizing rigorously. what do you mean i have to get my opinions from tim minear?????

[tianshiisdead]

if it’s not on here leave it in da tags 👍 the categories are like that for a specific reason (bc of what I want to see)

ESEA is east and southeast asia

[windvexer]

Sorry for the random question. I forgot a term and I have no idea how to look it up and I'm too embarrassed to ask publicly. What's the opposite of Baneful Magic? As in, what's the new term for light/white magic? I'm so sorry for bothering you with something so inane. 😭

Sorry for very late reply, I've been preparing to go out of town (this ask brought to you from a train!)

There's not really a very widely used term, at least not as far as I'm aware. It would be called beneficial magic, probably.

However my friend I think you may agree with me that the reason there is no widely used term is because the basis of defining light/white magic (versus dark/black magic) is silly bonkers, and there is no "new" term that fixes these problems.

If you like, jaunt with me down these garden paths:

Baneful magic doesn't work to define "types" of magic very well. We might try to say hexing and cursing are types of magic, but are they?

Because a hex, or a curse, is really just any sort of spell which is intended to harm someone. So you can use a blessing to hex a person, right.

Like if I blessed destructive and harmful forces in a person's life, so that the destruction prospers and ruins a person's livelihood, is the "type" of magic I'm doing a blessing, or a hex?

And furthermore, what if the purpose of blessing this harmful force is to remove an abusive boss from a position, therefore protecting several employees? Did I engage in baneful magic because I blessed someone to hex them, or beneficial magic because I even though I caused harm it was for the greater good?

We can take it back around the other way. Suppose I set an aggressive dog spirit on my friend to chase them and "hound" them until they are banished and driven away. But, the thing they're being driven away from are high-risk habits that could lead them back to a dangerous lifestyle they want to escape. And the friend provided fully informed consent. Did I really perform beneficial magic just because I set an aggressive spirit on someone for good reason?

One of the earliest lessons I learned is that sending huge amounts of "white light" to issues can easily make them worse, because harmful and unwanted energies can feed on that yummy white light just as easily as benevolent energies. Whereas a nice juicy dose of vampiric and consuming energy can gobble up a cancerous energy in someone's life and return them to a state of wellbeing.

The idea of there being two categories of magic, one being baneful and one being beneficial, and everything fits into one of these two categories, IMO doesn't work out.

So, I'm currently of the opinion that there's not any great use for either the terms benevolent or baneful magic, except to imply that you generally are trying to be an asshole, or generally not trying to be an asshole. But the categorization of most magic is beyond me.

[cc-horan28]

Be My Valentine - 6

Let Me Be Your Last First Kiss

Soulmates AU (G) 1.3k

Louis Tomlinson x Harry Styles

There was one boy in particular, with rectangular glasses and a beanie pulled down over his hair who caught his eye, gesturing extravagantly as he boomed out the lines to what sounded like Grease in front of a small group gathered appreciatively in front of him. 

OR

Harry just changed schools, and finding his soulmate wasn't what he expected at all

No warnings!

A/N: I am back at it with the Oops, Hi! Headcanon. I’m obsessed. Sorry not sorry. For the purpose of this fic, lets assume H and Lou are the same age. Also i wandered into the love at first sight category instead of first love but eh. As always, huge thank you to Akeyla for this fest! <3

Title from 1d's 'Last First Kiss'

Harry brushed his fringe aside, digging his other hand awkwardly into the pocket of his jeans. “I know, mum,” he said, doing his best to keep his voice level, not wanting her to sense his apprehension and fear. “I’ll keep my nose clean, I’ll behave, drink water and message you when I leave. Don’t worry, I’ll be responsible,” 

“When are you not, baby?” Anne smiled, reaching up to adjust his hair for him, Harry already gangling over her at 16. 

“Oh, don’t cry mum,” Harry said, scrunching his face up as he furtively looked around to see if anyone had noticed them yet, “It’s not like it’s my first day of school or anything. It’s just a new one. I’ll survive,” 

He wasn’t sure he would. Moving here hadn’t been easy. Holmes Chapel had been so small, everything was so familiar. Everyone had known everyone else, and Harry had had his own group of friends. 

He’d have to start over again, and this school was so much bigger. Swallowing down his worries, he smiled and waved goodbye to his mum, walking into the big brick building, looking around from the admin block as he passed through the huge glass doors.

A couple of minutes later he was standing in front of another set of double doors. He quickly glanced up at the room number, cross checking it with the time table clutched in his hand. He could peep through the little glass inlays in the door and see people moving around, but he didn’t want to take any chances. 

Sure that it was, indeed, the room he was supposed to go to for his first period drama class, he pushed the door open, eyes catching at the grey anchor on his wrist. He tugged the sleeve of his jacket down as he entered. 

It wasn’t exactly like he was ashamed to know he had a soulmate, many did, but he didn’t want it advertised in front of everyone. He shivered a little at the prospect as he made his way to the back of the class, the entire room empty with all the desks pushed up to the sides.

Everyone was loud enough to not have noticed him when he entered. Many were grouped together, going through what seemed like lines. There was one boy in particular, with rectangular glasses and a beanie pulled down over his hair who caught his eye, gesturing extravagantly as he boomed out the lines to what sounded like Grease in front of a small group gathered appreciatively in front of him. 

He pulled his eyes away, wondering if there was some pre-requisite reading he had somehow missed out on. He set his bag down on a desk as he leaned against it, riffling through his bag to check if he had actually missed something. The last thing he wanted was to make a bad impression on the first day.

“Hi,” he heard a soft voice to his left and whipped around, mind already reeling with how he had practiced he would introduce himself. All thoughts vacated his head at the sight in front of him. It was Beanie-Boy. He could see his eyes more clearly now and was seized with an inane urge to rip his glasses off and just stare at his eyes. 

His gaze wandered up to the feathery bits of hair peeking out from under his beanie and found himself wondering why Beanie-Boy covered everything up. His hair looked very soft and Harry wondered what it would feel like between his fingers,

He was jerked out of his reverie when the other boy cleared his throat, blushing.

“Oops,” he mumbled, “I didn’t mean to stare, I just-” he held out his hand, shooting him a small smile. “I’m Harry,”

“Louis,” Beanie-Boy smiled back and Harry barely had time to notice that there was a grey mark circling his wrist before he felt his own burning up. He glazed down at his hand shoved into the pocket of his jacket and oh-

The anchor was getting darker.

Louis was frowning down at his own hand, and Harry stared at him for a moment before the realization hit him. 

“Is that an anchor?” Louis said, voice low enough that Harry had to lean forward to hear. Louis’ eyes were now fixed on Harry’s jacket. 

“Yeah,” Harry breathed out, too dumbfounded to say anything else. 

“Oh my god,” Louis exclaimed, “I- mine’s a rope. I always thought it was a bit stupid. Like- i was tied up or something but I-” he broke off, staring at Harry’s face now and Harry felt a bit warm, blushing a deep red. 

“We’re soulmates?” they both said simultaneously, Harry sounding like he was in disbelief, Louis nothing but overjoyed.

“This is not how I pictured my first day going,” Harry admitted with a sheepish chuckle, letting go of Louis’ hand almost grudgingly.

“Me neither, Curly. But I like it,” Louis grinned and Harry found himself a lot more flustered than the nickname called for. 

The door swung open and everyone hushed, lining up against the walls as the teacher walked in. 

“What say, Curly?” Louis smiled, taking Harry’s left hand in his right and leading him to the back of the class, rope lining up with the anchor perfectly. Harry smiled at the sight. “Bowling sounds good?”

“Yeah,” Harry smiled back, biting his lip as he tried to disguise the look on his face. “Bowling sounds great,” 

He couldn’t wait for the day to end.

“I can’t believe this is all actually happening. I mean, if you would have told me back then- when I joined, I mean- that I would be at prom with my soulmate. I wouldn’t have believed it,” Harry whispered to Louis, looking down at their joined hands. Louis turned his head to press his lips against Harry’s temple, leaning the chair onto its back back feet as they watched the rest of their year dancing. 

“Me neither,” Louis said, and Harry could’ve sworn he could hear the smile in his voice, “I mean when I saw you coming in, looking around and like- you thought no one noticed you,” he chuckled, “Have to be blind to not notice you, by the way. I’d made up my mind already, but to… see our marks. We were always meant to be,”

Harry flushed, batting his free hand weakly against Louis’ thigh. “Stop being so over the top,” 

“I’m not!” Louis protested, “We’re literally soulmates!”

“Doesn’t mean you have to be soppy,” Harry giggled, flushing despite his words.

Louis paused for a moment, and Harry raised his head off Louis’ shoulder, a little concerned as he tried to read his expression in the dim lighting. 

“I love you, Haz,” Louis said softly,

Harry smiled back at him, tilting his head to the side and watching him for a few moments before leaning in for a soft kiss. “I know. We’ve been over this,” he quipped, raising an eyebrow with a smirk, ducking when Louis made to ruffle his hair. 

“Hey, it took me hours to get my hair right,” he giggled, slightly out of breath, “Now will you ask me for a dance already,” he smiled, getting up with his fingers still linked with Louis’.

Louis shook his head fondly as they made their way to the centre of the floor, looping his hands around Harry’s waist as they turned to face each other, moving slowly. The younger boy rested his head on Louis’ shoulder.

“I love you, Louis,” he whispered. 

“I love you too, baby. We’ve been over this,”

A/N: Reblogs are always appreciated 💕

[child-of-hurin]

.

some ship flavors i highly appreciate:

"oh my god, we have the same abusive boyfriend"

Adoration, by Gustav Vigeland

cryptids in love

siblings!

[flawseer]

Since we are at the mercy of Tumblr's layout, here is a pinned post to hopefully add some structure to this blog and future-proof it.

About this blog

This is a blog where some random internet person (me) airs their thoughts and talks people's ears off as a hobby, mostly about dragons, more specifically about the Wings of Fire novel series written by Tui T. Sutherland. Sometimes I also draw pictures and/or sketches.

Navigation

Here's what's what to help you find your way around. More categories may get added in the future as they become relevant. Images will usually have descriptions in alt text.

Stand-alone posts:

#flawseer art - Artwork that was drawn by me.

#flawseer scribble - Also artwork by me, but less polished/more experimental.

#flawseer talk - Posts where I ramble about something, mostly my own headcanons. I don't expect anyone to take them seriously, but maybe you'll have fun reading them regardless.

#flawseer story - Posts that have a narrative element, be it a written story, script, or comic.

#flawseer stupid - Miscellaneous and sometimes inane nonsense posted on a whim.

Referential posts:

#flawseer reblog - Post made by another person that I reblogged, with or without commentary.

#flawseer reply - Reblogs that I've added commentary to, or responses to prompts submitted to me.

Content Tags:

Preferences and sensibilities vary from person to person, and not everyone wants to see every piece of content. I will add these tags to my posts if they are relevant so you can block content you don't want to be exposed to. More tags will likely be added over time.

swearing - Will tag if expletives are used. Some of the less severe swears might remain untagged.

romance - I'm a very sappy and sentimental person myself, but I also want this place to be welcoming to people with ARO or ACE viewing preferences, so if a post contains romantic overtones, I will tag.

Notable Projects:

On Seawing insults - (link)

On Mudwing culture - (link)

Wings of Earth - (link)

On the False Dragonets of Destiny - (link) (follow-up)

Foeslayer's Lament - (#1) (#2)

JMA students collage - (#1) (#2) (#3) (#4) (#5) (#6) (#7) (#8) (#9)

3000 AS collage - (#1) (#2)

Smaugust 2024 - (tag)

Also check out the blog of my partner, Flamebringer.

[womenaremypriority]

(I promise this is relevant to people who don’t play the sims)

So, in the Sims 4, you can choose between having a masculine and feminine style for your sims hair, clothes, etc. Thankfully, you can mix and match between the two, and it’s not locked in that female and male sims have different options like it was in previous games. You can also make transgender sims with an update(this post is also not about trans people.) This way, you can choose between making a woman or a man, and it will default for the man sims to be able to impregnate others, to pee standing up, and to have a masculine frame, and vice versa for women, but you can mix and match. But what is also in the same drop down menu, is whether a select sim has a masculine or feminine style of dress. The man sims have masculine selected, and their clothes default have that filter you have to remove, while woman sims have feminine selected, with the same filter. And I just find it crazy, that feminine and masculine styles of clothing and hair are considered so inherent and so obvious that it’s like that. I’m not saying I don’t understand why, because most people will design the sims like that, and it’s still a step up from the previous games. The pieces you can choose from aren’t completely limited, it’s not as if the only things in the feminine catalog are dresses, skirts, and blouses, but there’s still a distinct difference between the two. And while you can choose the other style, or not filter through the two, some of the masculine styles don’t fit right on the female frames, and it’s clear they made the outfits with only one sex in mind. For me, I find it most obvious how ubiquitous and inescapable gender roles are when it’s mundane stuff like this- and while you can also choose to filter between sporty styles, preppy styles, basic styles, etc, that’s harder to find, and the masculine-feminine dichotomy is the most important and obvious in game. I find it depressing that such a ridiculous, cultural, and even subjective categorization is considered so important in style. It only holds us back and is so meaningless. You could claim that ‘masculine’ style is just a way to say ‘made for masculine frame’ and vice versa in the game, but the outfits and hairstyles for each one still have a clear theme. Even if you know these categorizations are meaningless and not inherent, they still hold a part of your subconscious. Most people, even relatively progressive and open minded people, don’t realize how much these stereotypes are everywhere. Another mundane example- when searching for content to put in my game, if I see a little decorative dress (not something to wear) that you can place in your house, my subconscious associates that with a little girls room, and not a little boys room. But why? There is no reason that it couldn’t be. No reason at all. And when people make houses or rooms for their characters in the game, they act as if one of the most important considerations if whether it’s a man or a woman living there(and not just for obvious small things that actually relate to sex, those things don’t even really exist in game.) People who are generally open-minded and I know don’t want to box people in, but still can’t help but primarily divide people’s interests, style, and overall vibe into gender categories. Even things like sports and video games, despite being quite different, are considered to have commonality because of the body configuration and genetics of the people assumed to be interested in them. Everything we do, as humans, our outfits, our bedrooms, our living rooms, our interests, has to fit into this weird dichotomy that reflects something seemingly completely unrelated- our birth sex, which is just a neutral category we’re born with- and even people who know that strict gender roles are silly can’t help themselves but divide everything we do by those lines, no matter how inane or random, and it shows in everything we do, but primarily, in little pixel versions of our lives.

[littlemuoi]

The tiny woman with dazzling blue eyes who turned me from a republican to a royalist by Louis de Bernières (September 2nd 2023)

Somewhere in my possession I have a snotty letter I wrote to my mother from university about not being interested in the Queen's 1977 anniversary. I was a young philosophy student at the time and being enthusiastic about the Monarchy was definitely not cool, especially as there was some kudos to be accrued from pretending to be Leftist.

I found myself puzzled and irritated by all the street parties and general celebrations, as if it was nothing to do with me. A few years earlier I had 'enjoyed' five months of officer training at Sandhurst where I had to swear allegiance to the Queen, her heirs and successors and I remember protesting inwardly that if one were to fight, it should be for a cause and not for a person.

However, in the 1990s I won the Commonwealth Writers Prize in three of its iterations. It meant that I had had my books chosen not by the usual London literati, with whom I have never been in favour, but by judges from all over Africa, Asia and indeed the world.

As I found out, the Queen's great passion was for the Commonwealth rather than Great Britain. It had been the means whereby the British Empire had miraculously and almost seamlessly transformed itself into a cultural and diplomatic club, so successfully that by the end of the Queen's reign there were countries in it that had never been in the Empire at all.

As the head of it, the Queen had, let's face the truth, literally charmed a succession of heads of state out of any post-colonial resentment that may have been niggling away inside of them.

She treated them with love and respect and had her love and respect returned. Julius Nyerere [Tanzania's leader] and Nelson Mandela are examples of two people who became close to her.

One of the perks of winning that writers prize was that the winners in all the categories were invited to Buckingham Palace to meet the Queen. You were advised about steps to be taken, how to bow and so on, and then you went in.

Some people are apparently tongue-tied and terrified but I found myself face-to-face with a tiny woman in sparkly clothes, with dazzlingly blue eyes, perfect complexion and a smile that seemed to break her face in half.

If you said anything boring or inane, she would say: 'How fascinating.' She made a joke about somebody important and self-important she had just met, which I am honour-bound not to repeat.

Her voice and turns of phrase were just like my mother's, they being of the same vintage. My problem was not that I was terrified or tongue-tied but that I felt warmly enough, relaxed enough, to want to be over-familiar. As the cliché goes, I went in a republican and came out a royalist.

I remembered how I had adored her as a little boy because she was so outstandingly pretty, and now I reflected that perhaps my previous resentment of her had been nothing more than the pique of somebody who had no hope of ever entering such a charmed circle.

Now that I had entered it for a few minutes, all the pique and sullenness suddenly evaporated.

If you had met the Queen, you assumed that she really wanted to know you and would become a little sad when no more invitations ever arrived. I was relatively lucky in winning that prize three times because I automatically got to see her three years running. Somebody told me she'd read my book Captain Corelli's Mandolin on a long flight to New Zealand but I have no idea if that is true or who told me; perhaps it was a lady-in-waiting.

There was one present on one occasion with a fag in her hand and I remember thinking: 'The Queen must be very tolerant to put up with that.' I bent down to pat the dogs when I should have been talking to her but she seemed unperturbed, as she was when I trod on one and made it squeal.

She had recently invented the Dorgi and was pleased about it.

I can no longer remember the order of things. As I drove (and still do) a Morris Minor, and had even worked as a mechanic in a Morris Minor garage for a year, I had been able to rescue a young woman in a broken down Morris near Richmond Park, who worked for the Royal Academy.

Thereafter I received free invitations to everything as long as she worked there. There was a do where I found myself in the company of the likes of Paul McCartney and Brian May, who are both outstandingly tall, but no one was talking to me until the Queen spotted me and made a beeline.

She was ever conscious of the number of people she had to talk to and would end her conversations very suddenly, even a very entertaining one, by suddenly turning her head to one side. Then the rest of her body would swivel sideways and she was off, like someone in a hurry to catch a train. It should have been very rude but it was both comical and endearing.

She had a party for poets at Buckingham Palace, which struck me as a dangerous and peculiar idea. I was standing with another poet when the Master of the Household approached me and said: 'Don't move, the Queen wants to have a chat with you.'

There was another beeline, another brief conversation, another swivel of the head, another charging away. I got on so well with the Master of the Household that we are still friends years later.

She had a party at Windsor Castle that was, I believe, the first after its restoration. She looked out across the courtyard at my Morris Minor Traveller and said: 'Goodness, we haven't had one of those here for years.'

The dinner party was a kind of glamorous sleepover. My luggage was unpacked for me by a valet who was very unimpressed that I was going to wear the same white shirt to dinner as the one in which I had arrived. 'Economising on effort I see,' he said drily.

The dinner was on silver plates. I hope I have not made that up. I was sitting next to Prince Andrew to begin with and we chatted about golf. I liked him and had no reason not to.

I eavesdropped on the German Ambassador talking to Tony Blair and I was impressed. When the latter stood up to leave with the ladies, the laughing Queen ushered him back into the room with her hand in the middle of his back.

I was struck by how frugal her appetite was; she was no trencherwoman. In her position and with such good cooks, I would have been the most massively globular monarchical flumper that the world has ever known, considerably larger than Edward IV and Henry VIII and Edward VII combined.

I spent the next morning in her library. She had many genealogy books and I found one with an inscription by Winston Churchill, so flowery, elaborate and humble that I felt guilty and embarrassed about the cheery informality of my own exploits on the flyleaf.

There was another party at Windsor for people 'in the Arts'. The Irish poet Seamus Heaney was there, surrounded by admiring young poets. 'Your passport may be green,' I thought, 'but you're as much a sucker for all this as anyone else is, aren't you?' The last time I saw the Queen was when she invited me to lunch at the palace. I think she had had a notion to invite a few people from each county one after the other, so as to work her way around the entire country. One of the guests was a fireman.

On the way, the sole of my shoe came off and I had to buy a new pair from a shop in Oxford Street.

At the gathering beforehand I had a conversation with the Duke of Edinburgh, about death. He said that the older one got, the more one was forced to contemplate it.

I liked him. He was intelligent and humorous, a man who clearly saw the absurdity of pretty much everything. He once teased me about being a novelist and a poet, as if it were altogether unnecessarily too much to do two such fatuous things in the same lifetime.

The Queen had a system for making things happen, which was that she would make a sudden move. When I was talking to the Duke, he suddenly stiffened and looked up because the Queen had made her 'action stations' move, just as I was asking him if he spoke Greek. She said: 'Well, do you speak French?'

I found myself sitting at her right hand side and during my half of her attention (she would switch halfway through a meal) we talked, among other things, about speaking French. We talked about Norfolk and I entertained a brief fantasy of being invited to Sandringham.

I think I may have disgraced myself by taking two quail breasts from the dish. She had only taken one but they are terribly small.

Afterwards I was standing at the gate of the palace when she whizzed out on her next mission, without even the slightest break or smidgen of a snooze. I was standing next to an armed policeman in all the gear and he suddenly looked down at me and asked: 'Ere, do you live in Denton?' I said, 'Yes, how did you know?' He relied: 'I beat you in the Father's Race.' I said: 'It was my sandals. I'd have won if I hadn't tripped up on the finishing line.'

While the Queen was hurtling off to her next appointment, I fell asleep on a bench in Hyde Park to recover from lunch.

That was the last time I saw her, waving from her car.

Thereafter I sent her books via my friend the Master. Books from their authors are just about the only gifts the Royal Family are allowed to receive. We have a large room in my house that we call 'The Queen's Room' because I used to tell my children that that's where we'd put her if she came to stay.

One day my little daughter wrote her a letter inviting her to stay, telling her that we had a very glamorous bathroom, and received a reply about being too busy. I don't think Sophie ever forgave her, and might even still be a republican.

I don't think it is possible to make a friend of anyone in the Royal Family, or make any assumptions if they are kind to you or seem interested in you. All that can happen is the occasional flash of communication or warmth that gives you a glimpse of the person within.

Princess Anne is intelligent and direct, the Duke of Edinburgh had a philosophical turn. The question is, what do they get from us?

I think the Queen mostly enjoyed herself because her enjoyment coincided with her duty. There was an eagerness in her manner as she suddenly looked away and shot off to talk to somebody else.

It's her heirs and successors I worry about. We, their subjects, are just going to try to make them as miserable as we can, aren't we? We are too chippy to speak generously of them and we are piqued about not being royalty ourselves. I found that having encountered the Queen, I was unable to be impressed by anyone else. Madonna invited me to lunch once and I still don't know why. I said no because I had a commitment in Northern Ireland. Sting wanted me to fly to Milan to interview him and I don't know why I said no to that either.

I've met many of my heroes, I've shaken hands with Nicolas Cage and President Clinton and been kissed on the cheek by Penelope Cruz. Only being kissed on the cheek by Penelope comes anywhere close to meeting the Queen.