I Have About 12 Unfinished Fics Because Of This (I’m Trying To Finish Them I Swear, I Swearrrrr)

Okay but like hear me out -

love was the law, and hatred was taught (wip)

She’s thirty-four when she realizes there’s a good chance she won’t live to forty, but that’s getting ahead of ourselves.

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Daisy Jones is twenty-eight, two years sober, and halfway through writing her first solo album when she starts to hear rumors about a gay cancer.

Insert incoherent screaming

this test of the mountain

“i want you to know, i will love you as long as i breathe.”

dune part ii / ojibwa / waiting for this story to end before i begin another, jan heller lev

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judith grimes embodies funeral by phoebe bridgers and no i will not explain

Okay I’m finally writing this and it is literally just Fiyero and Glinda fighting over Elphaba, like she’s finally doing okay bc she’s getting love and support, and the two of them are just glaring at each other around her like she’s mine

(Don’t worry, they all grudgingly hold hands eventually)

YALL - hear me out, Wicked thruple but it’s mean lesbian Galinda, bi wife energy Fiyero with daddy issues, and Elphaba who had two hands and a mission to change the world

(Hear me out again, thruple takes over the world through magic, manipulations and being hot)

i love tragedy.

i love when a story is sworn to end horribly, no happy endings. it’s fated to fail, and everyone within it will either be dead or go mad or lose everything they love and then some. if only orpheus hadn’t turned back. if only achilles would have listened to patroclus. if only romeo had received the second letter. if only they weren’t all doomed right from the start.

but they’d do it anyway, every single time. to continue to go on knowing something will end in pain is the epitome of love.

if we didn’t love so much, there would be no tragedy. if we don’t accept tragedy, there would be no love at all.

We are witnessing the grotesque reality of the martyred Palestinians and thousands of their massacred children being written off as mere afterthoughts. The way western media outlets steadfastly refuse to call the Israeli aggression and onslaught for what it is, which is genocide and ethnic cleansing, is just another way of dehumanizing Palestinians. 

She’s humming some old lullaby her mother used to sing to her when she was young. The words are half lost on her, but the meaning still rings true. Alicent cradles her daughter, her sweet, lovely girl, her darling Helaena, and whispers, breathes i love you, oh my sweet child, my flesh and blood, i love you.

There is blood soaking through her white shift, there is blood trickling through the cracks of the Red Keep. Helaena does not cry.

altars made from your own bones on ao3