#writing for my wives

[lotus-pear]

saw the labru trend and IMMEDIATELY thought of them

[malsorie]

i was waiting for a ship in BG3 to sweep me off my feet until i read @optiwashere’s Minthara x Lae’zel propaganda (their fics) and fell VICTIM. so i drew a little scene from this fic 🤕🤕

[azu1as]

once again thinking about sqq unintenionally becoming a harem master in the eyes of can qiong and civilians.

it starts off with him saving one of binghe's future wives because ! she was one of the more interesting wives !! with powers that ariplane retconned in later chapters for no reason !!!!!!

"What a sweet girl," Shen Qingqiu murmurs as he opened the thank you package delivered to him because she wanted to thank the immortal master for saving her from a beast that in PIDW had traumatized her into becoming a recluse.

Shen Qingqiu hums as he touches the new hand-painted fan. Sweat begins beading on his neck at the murderous glare his white lotus Binghe was directing at the object in his hands.

This master is sorry, Binghe, but this fan is too precious to throw!

Shen Qingqiu clears his throat, "It would be good if she sends more gifts," to her future husband Binghe, of course.

That way, his sweet bun realizes that this was nothing more but a gift to her father-in-law. Aiya, why is the glare even worse?

a week later, sqq saves another wife by complete coincidence on a trip down to the village. she insists on joining him back to cang qiong and sqq gives in because of how persistent she was.

binghe breaks the plate of snacks he was holding when he bumps into them.

sqq: oh shit binghe's jealous. quick gotta send her his way and make them spend more time together

and then the lady just asks him about sqq and whether he's married single looking for someone.

and it keeps happening. sqq isn't sure either why he's meeting all these future wives. maybe the system wanted him to give his future approval? the system was being a bitch and seemed to enjoy his confusion over the way events had been continuously unfolding.

but then one of binghe's sly wives—a scammer who airplane contradictorily describes as pure-hearted at her core—comes up to him one day and tells him, "I have your baby."

And she shamelessly does it in front of the whole cang qiong delegation.

Shen Qingqiu doesn't know where or who the shrill keening sound was coming from.

[competitivehole]

Is this the gift you asked for?

[grandapplewit]

Harem AU where Shen Yuan transmigrates into one of Bingge’s wives shortly after he returns from the other world. After a brief (and frantic) realization that’s she’s a woman (and always has been, but we’re not getting into that right now), she delves deep into this harem drama she’s been thrust into. It’s not until she comes face to face with Luo Bingge that she realizes just WHICH harem drama she’s living, and immediately sets about making his life as good as she can manage. Oh, harem infighting is causing strain on his containers? Simply nudge Liu Mingyan and Sha Hualing into working together to manage the harem. The Northern Desert is hinging on disaster because of clerical neglect? One of her harem sisters has a brother who’s in need of a job, no stress. Luo Binghe’s kids are unruly and there’s no clear successor? She has a college degree and a little sister, teaching a dozen or so demonic children is a breeze! All in the name of giving Luo Binghe the time to find a new wife, of course, one who will disperse with the need for this sprawling harem, and once that happens she’s free to travel and document monsters to her hearts content.

[miss-americanbi]

shout out to all the demons (dyslexic people) who are having the time of their lives trying to spell “ineffable” or “bureaucracy” correctly post good omens 2

[dollypopup]

"Penelope should have chosen Debling!"

My sister in Christ. . .he literally dumped her???

Like just before Colin Bridgerton was on his knees after outrunning her carriage to profess how he can't stop thinking about her in his love me, choose me, I'm yours speech, Debling did the Regency equivalent of calling her a floozy who would undoubtedly cheat on him when he abandoned her for several years to chase his passions (because she would never be one of said passions since she asked outright if he could ever come to care for her and he went 'hmmmm seems unlikely! good thing you have solitary hobbies to occupy you instead!') when he has been given 0 evidence of such other than realizing she liked to look out the window because she had a crush on the boy across the street. I was ready to challenge that man to a duel for Pen's honor

His feelings for her were middling at best, I mean Christ on a Pogostick, after he asked her mum for permission to propose he isn't even happy when he opens the door and Pen is there? She's looking like a snack- nay, a whole ass MEAL, and he can't even smile? He just nods at her and dips the fuck out? You don't think it would kill Penelope to know that both her sisters have husbands who absolutely adore them and she's out here with an absent dude who likely won't even write to her?

Portia's 'Love is make believe!' speech is so transparently full of shit when you realize that we've got Dankworth who is so obsessed with Prudence that he makes heart eyes at her every waking moment and considers her his little bonbon and Albion who loves Phillipa so much that he was waiting for her to consent to sex (not realizing she didn't know what it was) for two entire years because he would never pressure her and so he was content with finishing in his pants when he kissed her to make sure she was comfortable. And you want Penelope to settle for a life of loneliness? When Colin is so besotted with her that he dreams of her and breaks every societal expectation in the book as a notorious People Pleaser to run after her and cannot even wait for the morning after being intimate with her to introduce her as his wife to his family in the middle of the night? You want her to turn down Mr "When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible" Bridgerton? For LORD PENGUIN?

Be so serious right now

[darkstalker1247]

what if I write a post-movie sonadow fic. What then

[actual-changeling]

congratulations to @nightgoodomens for making me write the first ficlet of the year! this is so schmoopy and soft it almost makes me want to turn it super angsty instead—but i didn't, so enjoy the happiness while it lasts. inspired by this post.

you can also find it on ao3!

-

"Amazing how they came up with this all on their own, isn't it?"

Crowley leans back and stretches his neck as far as it will go, losing himself not in the noise but the spaces between sparks, the stars no one can see but are there living and shining nevertheless.

They find themselves on a different rooftop every year, always close enough to see it all but far enough away to create their own bubble of shared joy. His coat is hanging open, the cold, smoke-saturated air rushing past him, and when he closes his eyes just for a second, he can pretend the fireworks exploding above him are galaxies being born; his creations, still right where he put them after all this time.

Next to him, Aziraphale hums quietly, knowing all too well that Crowley is not expecting a response—nor would he hear it if he were to give him one. Instead, he keeps his gaze on his face, tracing the lines of his profile as he carefully pulls off his gloves, finger by finger, before stuffing them into his pocket. He remembers, oh, he remembers, the innocent love he saw flowing through him back then, before time, before earth, before Mother became God became the Almighty.

Before all they loved was lost, one way or another. Then again, while defying all possible odds, they managed to find it once more, not just in each other but in humanity.

Another explosion showers them with sparks that will never reach their skin, and a bright shout of joy follows right after, Crowley's eyes impossibly wide.

"Beautiful," he whispers, and Aziraphale cannot stop himself from tentatively pressing their palms together.

Absently yet with deeply ingrained care, Crowley intertwines their hands, pulling him closer to point at a spot in the sky, and there is smoke on his lips and warmth in their bodies—the same heat, given freely, shared.

"If you go that way, do you know where you'll land?"

Shuffling towards him until he can rest his chin on Crowley's shoulder, he carefully lifts their joined hands to brush a kiss over his knuckles, still watching him, carving out a spot for his fire-lit face in his memory.

"Alpha Centauri," he replies softly, leaving another, almost imperceptible kiss on his cheek.

"Alpha Centauri," Crowley confirms, leaning their heads together, and for a while, the world is everything he ever wanted it to be.

[scurvyboy]

wait were you serious about not liking gay people

[karalovesallthegirls]

“i’m not going to write this” you say as you simultaneously create a tag for any future instalments in the same universe. (i see you and i agree lena should have two wives.)

Listen obviously I’m not going to write this story BUT just imagine…. The tension, the forced conversations as Kara and Lena both pretend to still be the women they were all those years ago, pretend like they aren’t strangers with nearly a decade of distance between them. With Kara and Lena experiencing an anxious desperation to get away from each other as deep as their desire to never leave each other’s sight.

Andrea goes to bed before them - she has to, she’s trying to be strong but even she isn’t strong enough to navigate the sleeping arrangement - and when she wakes up in the middle of the night it’s not a surprise to find Lena’s side of the bed empty and untouched. The predictability doesn’t lessen the burn. The guest room sits empty, though, and instead she finds Lena curled up in a ball on the couch with Kara sleeping beside her. Not on the couch, no, instead sat propped on the floor at Lena’s feet, her hands gripping right at her ankles in her sleep. Like she was scared if she let go for a second Lena would vanish.

Everyone wants to know what this means for them - Kara was dead legally, so their marriage was voided in the law, but then Kryptonians mate for life, and it’s not like Lena ever really let her go in her heart - but they have no answers. It’s clear they don’t fit together anymore, not any of them, but the idea of any one of them letting go is unimaginable. So they fight and they fake it and they find ways to connect as the new, scarred versions of themselves, and there’s a palpable jealousy between the three of them.

Andrea can feel Kara’s eyes burning into her when she comforts Lena, when they share well-worn jokes Kara never learned. And Andrea can see the longing in Lena’s every move, every word, and it burns and burns and burns. Andrea stares at Kara and wishes she had stayed dead. Her dreams are filled with the other woman: dreams of her dying again, of her never returning at all. Of her smirk as Lena tells Andrea they’ve run their course because “really, did you think I’d pick you over her?”

Andrea dreams of what Kara’s mouth must taste like, of how her lips and tongue might move against her own, what she must do to have Lena so fully under her spell. Perhaps if she could kiss her then she could know how to give Lena everything she’s been missing for seven years. Maybe then she could be enough for her. She feels almost desperate thinking about it.

And Kara burns just as deeply in her own way, Andrea can feel it. Kara’s eyes track her every move, always studying and analyzing and overwhelming her. The questions are endless every day - tell me about your life, what do you love to do, what makes you tick.

“You are the one person she chose after me. She wanted you,” Kara explains after Andrea’s furious refusal to answer her forty ninth question about her perspective on things. She’s staring at her with a hunger Andrea feels in her toes. “I have to understand. I have to know every part of you.”

Kara looks at Andrea like she wants to devour her whole. Andrea feels the same.

[melodyofthevoid]

The Crane Wives: Beyond, Beyond, Beyond

(The finale, for now. Hard to believe that I've been working on these for almost 2 years. Anyways, enjoy)

Now we arrive at the threshold, album five. The first studio album in nearly a decade, and a testament to all that came before and between. Themed and defined by change in all its forms. The lack of, the desire for, the consequences in both its wake and absence. The price of moving forward and the price of standing still. Even the sound isn’t immune, with the newer tones and style developed over the singles shown off in solos that range from electric to more traditional. Some songs challenge ones from years past, others a continuation, but all part of an ongoing conversation that ends with resolve. A desire to cross through. 

The question is, will you follow through the looking glass?

Scars

How did this happen? It’s a question that comes naturally whether or not there’s truly a reason. Why am I like this? The eternal feud of nature vs nurture, whether the tangled mess of anger and bitter emotions stemmed from a single event or bloom from somewhere within. If the well was poisoned before the symptoms started to show. 

And does the source even know that they left the poison to begin with? 

The first few chords warp those of another song, a crooning cry from a parent who’s severed the ties and left the singer adrift. Their mournful tone twisted and distorted until it turns into the sharp twangs of a guitar, heavy footfalls that drive the song forward. A tired trudge burdened and haunted. 

The singer is not who they thought they were. The refrain that carries over and over again- starting each train of thought. They’re struggling to keep their head above water, aching in a way they’ve always known. Born to in a storm that left them with a piece of itself forever. The anguish hereditary. Or maybe there’s another reason. The effect is still the same. This misery is a constant companion, 

Ruefully they acknowledge all of the effort put towards them, the love and kindness, plans made with all good intentions to guide them towards a brighter and better future. Futile efforts made to no avail. They watched as they failed time and time again, trying to cross the gap to understand where the singer was and give a way forward, but a bridge constructed from only one side is doomed to fail. Letting that hard work near them risked vulnerability and letting the other close. 

And how could they let them close to who they are? Broken in some fundamental way from the beginning. Destined to fail and shatter leaving them scarred, to signal to the outside what was wrong within. 

Then the subject switches from those who’d tried to help, to the origin of their suffering. The piece is a companion to “Never Love an Anchor”, and the one left behind sees only the abandonment, the fact they weren’t enough to stay for. The anguish their parent felt at their personal failings and inability to care for the singer now passed on, a wound to their ego. A tire fire, caustic and toxic that refuses to be put out. 

They were meant to fall apart, to wind up with scars. 

Because isn’t it easier if there weren’t any other options? If this flaw sabotaged all of the work put in and rendered it all futile? Then there’s no fault, no blame to be laid. An easy surrender to the inevitable.

The question is will they continue to live like this. To allow the scars to fester, or seek out a balm despite the pain. For now, they accept their fate as the music cuts all at once. 

Bitter Medicine

Hard truths go down easier with a bit of sugar, you catch more flies with honey, axioms to explain the act. Of using a veil to cover up the unpleasant parts of life. Without it what’s left? Just the ugly, twisted, reality of it all. Sometimes it’s all you have. And it’s stifling. 

The singer looks at where they are. Wasted, inebriated either in a literal or metaphorical sense. Unable to be trusted to take themselves home or to drive their own life. A pathetic state of affairs, one they’re all too aware of. It’s the bed they’ve made for themselves, the consequences of their actions they accept with a blithe and self-effacing smile. They wonder how the one they love sees them. If they’re ashamed or if the front they’ve put on until now. A cheap imitation of some “better” person that isn’t long for this world. 

They could be worse, so much worse. Poison sits on their tongue and they swallow and bite it all back to keep it inside. The toxicity accumulates in their body and slowly kills them inside as it has nowhere else to go. No one else deserves it, to know how corroded and hollow they are on the inside. They’re sick, but they can’t let anyone in. They’ll play the part of everything they’re not in hopes it distracts and entertains but it’s hurting them just as much as the rest. 

And if someone sees through it, what then? Can look past the facade? The singer both yearns for it and fears it in turn. They need someone to clean up the mess around them, the mess they’re unable to touch. The accumulation of a thousand small cuts bleeding out into a river. Each on their own barely noticeable but together they build upon each other. 

Accepting an offered hand is another question in and of itself. Do they deserve it? Is it a gift given or is it taken? Someone’s else’s good intentions wasted on their act, for their own faults. It’d be a waste on them, and so they continue on as they were. Suffering in their own skin and hiding behind the mask that chokes them. 

In another life, they’d let it all go, but this isn’t that life. The singer’s convinced this is all there is. Convinced that their arsenic laced words are medicine. The truth. But they’ve decided that it is. 

And so it is.

Higher Ground

When you’re lost in the midst of an upheaval, when the earth itself is turning on its head, sometimes the only option, the only means of survival, is to go, to remove oneself from the situation. But there are things left behind, an impact not intended. A decision that can be as consequential as the event itself. 

Such is the singer’s predicament. They’re trying to look out ahead, but they can’t see the horizon, can’t see beyond today. Higher ground could give them a better view, a larger picture and save them, but there’s a cost to that choice. A domino effect is spiraling out after they spoke their mind, let go of the truth. What’s done can’t be undone and now everything is changing, shifting. What once was close drifts apart, what once was parted clashes, titanic shifting of tectonic plates. Inexorable forces that leave nothing untouched. 

And nothing undamaged. Someone’s going to get caught up, hurt. Once they come down they’ll see the full extent of it all and that terrifies them. But again, it’s out of their hands.  

Every warning sign is flaring, ravens and crows are heralding incoming danger. A predator. A threat to everything in sight. But with all that they’ve set into motion, is the warning for them? Or about them? This wasn’t the plan, not to hurt anyone, not to change everything, but they won’t know for sure. Not until the dust settles and they stand above it all. 

They’ve survived, at least. 

Predator

When every shadow becomes a claw, every smile hides a threat, the world becomes an endless hall of mirrors, reflecting back all of one’s fears. Nowhere is safe, not when you’re the world’s prey. 

“What’s the worst thing that could happen?” The rhetorical question, that to the anxious, isn’t rhetorical in the least. It’s the risk they measure the outside against, the guide to all actions. If they can imagine the worst possible outcome then it can be prepared for, warded against. Because disaster will come, inevitably. Staying on guard at all times, lest their comfort come at the cost of their safety (even if the sky is not falling, it’s easy to panic at every little crack. Perhaps they’re too prepared.) 

When it hits, as it always does, it’s their own fault. They know better. They let in a predator, lowered their walls and their guard to someone who, not for the first time, left them wounded and vulnerable. Signs were missed that they’d seen before, a lesson they should have learned the hard way but failed to truly comprehend. So it’ll happen again. 

Regardless of the fact that someone else took those actions. It’s their fault. It has to be. 

To the prey animal, confrontation is to be avoided at all costs, so the response to danger is to fawn. Follow the path of least resistance and never put up a fight. If there’s a problem, it’s probably their own misinterpretation of the situation, because… If they say no, if they push back, there could be consequences. They could get hurt, cut by sharp teeth and sharper words. 

But there’s only so much that someone can put up with and stand before it’s too much. Gaslighting finally igniting a spark of resistance. They’re already struggling to breathe, struggling with the constant anxiety and fear and this? They don’t need this too. What if they didn’t have to live like this anymore, and they finally said no? 

And at last they confront at least one of their fears. Calling out their treatment, the fact they’ve been used. Trying to better this person, hoping that they’ll see the harm they’re causing on their own, they’ve done it a hundred times and it’s never happened. They keep getting hurt. The predator can’t see the blood on their teeth, doesn’t know their own strength, the bodies in their wake.

But no, not this time. 

Say It

No one wants to be the first to leave. The first to sever ties. Admit defeat. Even in spite of years of change, of what once was withering on the vine, sometimes there’s still hope that the garden can recover, however impossible and slim. A loyal dog that waits, tied to a post, for an owner that won’t come back. Because what if it goes back to the way it used to be? That honeymoon phase where everything blossomed and bloomed. But it won’t. 

The singer wonders where it went wrong? Staring at the person they once considered so close and begging for an answer. Was it them? Was the reality of their personality, their flaws, too much to bear? Erasing the idealized version that their partner once held of them? Were they, are they disappointing to know truly? 

Without an answer, they demand a different one: tell them it’s done. Let them out. Let them stop hoping for a spark to rekindle the flame of passion. Otherwise they’ll remain there in the dark. Pining for better times. 

Because once upon a time their lover gave them everything. Provided a haven and home. A gentle hand that wiped away their tears and pulled back their layers. All of those memories of warmth against the bitter cold of the present call into doubt their sincerity. Did they really care before? Was it all pretend? 

Would it be better if it was? 

The guillotine hangs over their head, a blade that could sever and end their suffering but instead hovers. A reminder that it could end at any point but won’t. They wait dutifully, a dog who can’t help but take what they’re given. Loyal and faithful even when that love and devotion isn’t returned. 

But if it was real once, they would do it over again. Wouldn’t they? Or would the one the singer holds so dear choose to avoid their relationship altogether. To alter their paths so that they never met. Have things fallen apart to where it was never worth it in the first place? Is the thought of what they’ve become so toxic, so tainted, that they'd give up whatever good came of it to spare themselves?

The question lingers, and so the singer does nothing but wait, too afraid to take the first step. 

Waiting for them to say it. 

Mad Dog

A fruitless pursuit, an endless chase, the eternal drive to reach for that promised oasis shimmering just beyond the horizon a few steps away. There is no exit condition when a paycheck is all that stands between you and losing it all. Enter the workforce at 18 (or younger), keep working until you’re 72 (or older), then you can maybe lie down. Can’t grind yourself to the bone too early, can’t run out of steam yet. If just a little more money is made, a few more spare coins stuffed away for later, maybe it’ll resemble happiness. 

The singer’s blinders keep them on the same track they’ve always known, striving to achieve when all it’s done is lead them further and further from home. Tunnel visioned and yet it’s never in reach. No matter how far they run. How hard they work. 

But no one else is keeping their bills paid, no one else is going to make them a millionaire, so they keep repeating and repeating. Hoping that they’ll get an answer back that isn’t the same as before. 

Thus, the chase continues, a dog chained to a post snapping after a rabbit it can never catch. Running, and running, and running, yet forever tied to the same spot. Once that leash runs out of room the retaliation snaps back with a vengeance. Punishing the hound for stepping out of its role and putting it “where it belongs”. Daring to yearn for more cannot be tolerated.

As if the empty race weren’t enough, there’s debt to be paid too. A rock burdening every step, forcing those bound to it to step lightly. Any misstep could spell disaster, drop the guillotine, it’s a constant tightrope cutting into their feet. And it’d be easier if someone else, anyone else, could choose which way to go. To give a direction that won’t lead to disaster. To take that burden off their shoulders. 

Because water’s coming in, the debt’s getting worse, and they’re going to go down. The shore’s visible, it’s there, there’s something beyond the current situation, but it’s not getting any closer.

Whatever hope there is, it’s almost manic. The only thing keeping them afloat. Maybe they’ll get lucky and strike it rich, maybe they can make this paycheck go a little further. But there’s no support, no one to wipe their tears, keep them from teetering off of the edge. 

So the race continues. The pull and snap, the desperate clawing up the hill until Sisyphus’ boulder falls back down again. Stuck in a cycle out of their control. 

At least until they can find the one that chains them. They may not catch the rabbit, but they can bite a hand.

Arcturus Beaming

There’s something special about that moment at rock bottom. Not in the state of it, the despair, the agony, no. There’s something about that moment when it changes. Changes from an endlessly growing pit to… simply the bottom. A moment in time where suddenly the perspective shifts and now there’s a way out and up, a perspective changed by a sight once taken for granted. Maybe it’s the leaves changing in the fall, the sound of people laughing and talking in a cafe. A favorite drink you want to have again. 

Or maybe, it’s the sky. That shimmering tapestry. Dotted with a trillion points of light (should you live far enough away from any pollution to see it) it has served as an inspiration for so many. Ever changing and yet… always there. 

Arcturus glimmers as the 4th brightest star in the solar system, visible during summer in the northern hemisphere. Visible to those even in more light polluted areas, reminding them that there’s more out there than the limited vision of the pit.

The singer begins there, thanking that dark place, where despair threatened to ravage them. They hid from the world there, sheltering to wallow in their pain as it became all they could see for a time. It shrunk their view of what could be, leaving a feat that seems all but impossible. Plato describes a scenario in which a prisoner lives their entire life within a cave like the singer’s own, shown only shadows of objects. Those simulations as their only context, all that they know. But the singer is curious, and that fear can only hold them for so long. They may understand the cave, the pain, but what else is there? 

Hurt accumulates over time, sediment that solidifies into a weight that’s carried wherever one goes. It can be an impossible challenge to free oneself of it, to breathe easy after lifting that stone for years. One’s ribs aching from the strain. But stone is not permanent. Not invulnerable. A steady drip of water can erode, a river can carve a canyon so impossibly wide it’s visible from beyond our atmosphere. Those layers, both easily added, can also be worn away. Leaving something new in its wake. 

That time spent has a cost, of course. Dreams left abandoned, relationships broken, so many avenues that could have been simply… gone. That grief will linger, and that’s alright. But what exists beyond that? What happens when we look up and dream? 

Beyond what we know, beyond what we understand, are there others who look at our sun and wonder? Beyond ourselves are there others crawling out of their caves and seeing more. Maybe we could all dream more

It’s not too late to do something once the revelation hits. To forfeit is the only ending, when we resign ourselves to suffering. But that’s not all life is, it can be changed. We just have to do it. Have to take the steps to push past the indulgent self-flagellation of the cave, and resolve to keep moving. 

This experience rings true for myself. I found I’d dug into a mindset where I feared so much. The future, stagnation, the impossibility of becoming anything other than what I was. Littered with the half started remains of failures, hesitant half starts cushioned by a numb resignation. Couldn’t be disappointed if I never hoped. Cycles of self defeat. Overwhelmed, I laid on the deck outside and stared up into the same sky that inspired this song. Clear inky darkness pinpointed by a million specks of light. I laid there for some time, the same music I’ve detailed in these pages my only companion to a realization that felt so obvious in hindsight and yet I… I needed to come to the conclusion myself.

I can start again. 

It doesn’t matter if I’ve tried a hundred times and the patterns didn’t stick. I can try again. Old behaviors, failed coping mechanisms, they can rear their ugly heads but there is tomorrow. There is a future that I can find. A me I can guide with new tools if the old ones don’t serve me. It may take time, it may hurt. But that’s my decision to make. 

Nothing will change until I change. And we can. 

Time Will Change You

The constant, the inevitable, the sensation of sand slipping through fingers and waves wearing down a shore. A metronomic beat follows the sound of a rusted hinge, thudding footsteps from a never ending march that never relents even as a guitar twangs above it. A companion in the flow. 

The singer too is dragged along with it, pulled along as they almost gasp out the words. It hurts, some part deep inside them finally gave way and broke. It aches and it won’t end- They’ve loved and lost, planted the remains of their heart into a grave, a seed watered by their grief that may or may not bear fruit again. 

And yet there is a twisted comfort on the horizon. Time will continue as it always does, seasons will pass, and with it, things change. For better or worse the singer will change. Everyone will change, and as they do they’ll leave behind what remains stagnant. Phases and traits that once defined are now locked in amber. No longer a part of the present. 

Time doesn’t affect all equally, there is no system that doles out appropriate fates, some can swim and survive the current while others are subsumed entirely. The rush overwhelming in the moment, and it’s impossible to tell which way is up. But the tide will ease, nothing is forever, good or ill. Relax, let time move you and you’ll float along it. 

And you’ll be changed. Like the stone smoothed by a river, edges worn away, the place you once rested, now far in the past. 

And letting go takes effort, make no mistake. Healing even more so. If the grief never grows, doesn’t evolve, doesn’t become more than what was put there before, then it can stay where it is. Left to fade into nothing more than memory. A step along the winding path to the end. 

The journey no one leaves the same.  

Black Hole Fantasy

The concept of a black hole needs no explanation nor introduction. The complete and total collapse of a star, pulling in all light and substance. The basis of many a metaphor for endless hunger, destruction. The end of all things. Yet- they’re often theorized to contain more. Maybe the end of one thing could lead to somewhere else entirely. 

For her part, the singer finds herself stuck in place, whether by some inexorable gravity or circumstance. Repeating the same orbit, going through the motions of life and losing sense of herself. If there’s more to living, a chance or opportunity for a different path, it’s fading from view. The longer one stays complacent, the harder it becomes to move. To find that missing piece that their soul longs for, but doesn’t have the words for. 

Every day blends into the next, the walls of their home becoming smaller as their world shrinks. At the center lies the Black Hole, the gnawing yearning, the pit of absence that they’re ignoring. Hoping it will go away, but it won’t. Ignoring hunger won’t fix a want of food, pretending not to hear a leak won’t prevent the damage. 

And they know what they’re yearning for, or rather- who. But it’s- surely it’s nothing. Nothing more than a chemical reaction, serotonin and oxytocin playing tricks on her. It’d be easier if she could suppress it. She doesn’t know if it’s real, and so what if it is? Confessing, taking a chance… There’s a cost. The foundations she’d build could all crumble to ashes. 

That is if the hole in their chest doesn’t collapse it all first, the time lost to routine is getting longer, time speeding by even faster, with whole weeks passing in an indistinct mass. 

So she goes to confront it head on, driving to confess on the doorstep. But then she stops. What happens next. What happens if it all goes wrong? What if they lose them forever? What if they don’t feel the same? How could they feel the same. The singer doesn’t believe in a happy ending, frankly. Why would any dream of theirs have one? Even in the best case there’s so much that could go wrong that it’d be safer to leave the car running. To leave. Retreat back into themselves where they won’t get hurt. 

But the world keeps crumbling in around them, their room is suffocating, as they’re consumed by the limitations they’ve put in place. Months, years, what does any of it even mean? None of it means anything… and the temptation to look into the black hole finally wins out. 

Instead of a small, enclosed world, there’s more on the other side. She catches a glimpse of herself and there’s light in her eyes, laughter on her lips, and- is she even capable of that? Could she be? Can she find what could bring that life, that joy, that love- 

No, she does know. 

Stars shining above, the singer returns to the dream she shows away from once. But this time she’s turning off the car. This is what she wants. Throwing away the keys and the fear and running up to the door. And it opens. Their love is there and every doubt is gone as arms reach out for her. 

Wrapped in an embrace, the singer can finally catch her breath, and when she pulls back, she smiles. Laughing at how complicated she made this simple moment. Maybe she wasn’t alone in that, as her love joins her. They were waiting on the other side of the door, after all. Twin stars pulled into each other’s gravity, destroying what was before and starting something new. 

Gentle guitar replaces the singer as she walks towards her new life, no longer bound to what was. Closing the scene, rolling credits. 

Red Clay

Work harder, just put more effort into it, the struggle makes it worth it, nose to the grindstone, phrases that are ingrained into the zeitgeist. The more pain experienced, the better the outcome. 

Right? 

An endless climb up a clay mountain, never fully able to get a grip, a Sisyphean struggle that feels like reality. With the Sun beating down, the top never coming closer, the question occurs: what is this for? Why keep pursuing this path that’s only lead to more suffering? Suffering that’s self inflicted no less. 

That one pause is all it takes to break through the tunnel vision, for the singer to take in all of their surroundings. Another path, shaded and just within reach was there all along. They don’t need to do this “the hard way”. It may be all they’d known, but they can see beyond that mound now. 

Their struggle wasn’t for naught, they were afraid for many years, yes. But they understand their fear now, they can be brave, even with that fear. They don’t have to keep on this path. 

The shaded trees beacon. 

River Rushing

Something finally gave. The frustration mounting day by day, it’s too much. Dammed up and now the singer’s had enough. They’re breaking down the walls, the barriers, everything that keeps them crushed under the weight of their regrets. They’re going to change. To let loose their desires and follow the river. 

The singer craves freedom, the person they once were buried under layers of concrete and expectations. If they hold onto these regrets, all the grief of time wasted, then they’ll never grow. Beneath every thought is the phrase they know is true: that there’s no shortcuts here. The only way out is through, charging ahead no matter what. 

Maybe they hesitated before, waited too long and lost something. Someone. But a voice reassures them to hold themselves steady. To go when they’re ready. Because they are ready now. 

Just believing that everything will work out kept them in place, they’re full of defiance, they have bite, a voice that demands to be heard. They’re going to pry the hand around their throat off once and for all. They’ve set their mind to it. 

They’re ready to go beyond. 

[fideidefenswhore]

so tired of tudor dramas where there are no women… and even when there are women… there aren’t…ykwim?

[ndostairlyrium]

I wish I was the floor beneath her shoes

[annabolinas]

May 19, 1536 - Anne Boleyn is Beheaded

"Good Christian people, I have come here to die. For according to the law, and by the law, I am judged to die and therefore, I will speak nothing against it. I am come hither to accuse no man, nor to speak of that whereof I am accused and condemned to die. But I pray God save the King and send him long to reign over you, for a gentler nor a more merciful prince was there never. And to me he was ever a good, a gentle, and sovereign lord. And if any person will meddle of my cause, I require them to judge the best. And thus I take my leave of the world and of you all, and I heartily desire you all to pray for me. O Lord, have mercy on me. To God, I commend my soul.' And then she knelt down, saying, 'To Christ I commend my soul, Jesu receive my soul', divers times, till that her head was stricken off with the sword.” - Anne's execution, as reported in Hall's Chronicle (1548)

""On a scaffold made there for the said execution, the said Queen Anne said thus: 'Masters, I here humbly submit me to the law, as the law hath judged me. And as for mine offenses, I here accuse no man; God knoweth them. I remit them to God, beseeching him to have mercy on my soul. And I beseech Jesu, save my sovereign and master, the King - the most godly, noble, and gentle prince that is, and long to reign over you.' Which words were spoken with a goodly smiling countenance. And this done, she knelt down on her knees and said: "To Jesu Christ, I commend my soul'. And suddenly, the hangman smote off her head at a stroke with a sword." - Anne's execution, as reported in Wriothesley's Chronicle (1559)

"And so she went to the place of her ordeal

To obey the will of justice,

Still showing a serene countenance,

As if she did not grieve for this world in any way;

For her coloring and face were such

That never before did she seem so beautiful ...

There was no one who does not have firm hope

That her spirit will not be in agony,

Given her great faith and wise patience,

Which rose above womanly courage.

Everyone, on the basis of her mightily steady end,

Judges her life to have been prudent

And believes they have committed a great offense

In having thought so ill of her." - Lancelot de Carle's The Story of the Fall of Anne Boleyn (1536, trans. Joann Dellaneva)

"Anne, the late Queen, suffered with sword this day within the Tower upon a new scaffold and died boldly. Jesu take them [i.e. Anne and the five men] to His mercy if it be His will." - John Husee to Lord Lisle, May 19, 1536

[bisexualwintermoon]

one million qimir x reader fics please thank you