if you’re irish and you complain about britain “erasing culture” but can’t even speak the language/ don’t know shit about ireland before 1910 then just shut your cakehole nobody cares
Them being Irish and not being able to speak the language/not knowing shit about Ireland before 1910 is a direct result of Britain erasing culture, you goddamn Vitamin D-deficient circus clown
Can I Not Find Work Because of the Pandemic or Am I Really Just THAT Massively Unemployable: The Musical!
With hits like ‘Yeah No Yeah I’m Definitely Baking Bread for Bread’s Sake and Not Because I Find It Therapeutic to Punch Something for 15 Minutes Why Do You Ask’ and ‘Scrolling Indeed, Reprise’
Other YA fantasy heroines: Only shallow stupid girls care about things like fashion!
Other YA fantasy heroines: I’m not like the other girls! I don’t like girly things like embroidery. It’s so pointless!
Attolia Irene: When I was a child and sold into a political marriage, I would spend my time doing needlework and spinning quietly in the corner as I listened to my future husbabd and his father discuss political plots, and I used what I learned from them to establish my own rule after I poisoned that same husband at our wedding.
Atollia Irene: My jewelry is an important political tool and my fancy dresses are an important part of my carefully crafted image which I use to keep my country in line.
when we treat love as something sacred and rare, we miss opportunities to critically engage with it or even explore different types of love. when we treat love as sacred and something to be found, we are implying that the relationship and construction of love is perfect from its inception. that prevents open dialogue and transfer of ideas and definitions of what relationships are and what is desired from them
we should treat love as something to be built rather than found
when we treat love as something to be built, we allow for the opportunity to love anyone we meet and the threat of finding The One fades. when we treat love as something to be built, we allow for nuance in any and all our relationships and for those relationships to hold more weight on our lives. when we treat love as something to be built, it becomes a communal act, rather than something we do alone
my mom says she’s not a hugger. but when i put my arms around her on a gloomy day or after bad news she’s the last to let go.
my dad says he doesn’t want gifts on his birthday, but i see the way his face light up when i get him a card with a nice message and a box full of chocolate anyway. he’s just a kid inside, still. it makes him giddy.
my brother never says i love you. but when i tell him “i just need to finish the dishes before i vacuum!” he wordlessly goes to vacuum the entire house before i can, and if he sees me struggle with a wrapper or a jar or a bottle he mutters ‘c’mere’ and opens it for me without even sparing me a glance.
the thing is, people love you quietly, and you love them quietly, and the air is buzzing with tiny but grand gestures & once you look for them, you find them everywhere. i think that’s really beautiful.
I cannot stop thinking about Good Bones by Maggie Smith as an irondad poem so I’m posting it here solely so others can ache with me:
Life is short, though I keep this from my children.
Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine
in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,
a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways
I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least
fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative
estimate, though I keep this from my children.
For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.
For every loved child, a child broken, bagged,
sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world
is at least half terrible, and for every kind
stranger, there is one who would break you,
though I keep this from my children. I am trying
to sell them the world. Any decent realtor,
walking you through a real shithole, chirps on
about good bones: This place could be beautiful,
right? You could make this place beautiful.
“I just want to know if the stars are looking back. I want to know if we taught them about love. I want to know if we taught them about fear. I can’t bear thinking that they might be out there and disappointed in us, watching us learn the wrong lessons from them–looking up and thinking that the heat is the important thing. It’s never been about the heat. It’s always been about gravity. About things coming together even if it might kill them. That’s the thing about stars. Close enough, they can’t help drifting together, getting locked in galaxies, letting themselves be drawn into black holes. I know I couldn’t really but I think I get how that feels. What that’s like. I hope the stars know I see the bright heat and the stoic helplessness and I get it. I’m full of it like carbon, full of it like phosphorous. All I’ve got is this fragile body but I get it. I get it.”
— Elisabeth Hewer, If the Stars Are Looking Back
i think being husband and wife means that if she were to ask “would you still romance me even if i couldn’t take you to bed” he would say “yes” because loving her is its own reward
“There may be those who have first felt mere sexual appetite for a woman and then gone on at a later stage to ‘fall in love with her.’ But I doubt if this is at all that common. Very often what comes first is simply a delighted preoccupation with the Beloved… in her totality. A man in this state really hasn’t leisure to think about sex. He is too busy thinking of a person. The fact that she is a woman is far less important than the fact that she is herself… If you asked him what he wanted, the true reply would often be, ‘To go on thinking of her.’”
- C. S. Lewis, The Four Loves