in this new language our bones say sun and sea

lis. she/they. writeblr. main: elwinged. ❝rome is built on ruins.❞

[solstce]

the wise and the lovely

Silmariën and Isilmë, from the beginning to the end.

Written for the Jubilee challenge (March 2019: Hidden Figures) on the SWG @silmarillionwritersguild ).

—

The tales of Númenor are few and far between, and fewer still are those of their ladies— lovely Tindómiel and bitter Erendis and bright Ancalimë; proud Telperiën and merry Vanimeldë and poor, doomed Míriel.

But what of the rest? The women of Númenor who did not directly influence the flow of history, the women who were simply content to exist. What of them?

—

In the end, it comes down to this: Silmariën is of the sea, and Isilmë is of the land.

That is all.

—

This tale begins in tears, and ends in laughter. This, of course, implies a happy ending.

But who says this tale does not begin in joy and end in sadness? Tears can be happy, and laughter can be wild. In the paradox that is Númenor, perhaps catharsis is never achieved.

But who knows? The age has ended; the women are gone.

Keep reading on AO3

[solstce]

these, our bodies, possessed by light.

“My love, take these walls, these wars. Dull my blades. I am tired of the hunt.” Jeanann Verlee, “Your Mouth Is A Church, I Forgot How To Pray”. - In the Halls of Mandos, Nienna comes to Maedhros.

—

these halls may be silent, my love, and the sound of your echoing voice but a mockery of what once was.

(but my love, do you remember? my love, can you forget?)

red blood white sand red sea red sand. red banners, snapping in the wind. the gleam of stars on steel. look, my love, do you remember? look at their faces— yes, look at them! my love, look at what you’ve done.

read it here on ao3!

[solstce]

call yourself the sun. see, you will rise.

Finduilas, baking bread, and a new day.

(written for @finweanladiesweek day four: later generations.)

—

It has been two hundred and thirty seven years since Finduilas returned from the Halls. Namo’s Maiar were amazed at her quick recovery.

“A fascinating case,” they said. “What an example! See, it can be done.”

It is true. It can indeed be done.

Finduilas would not recommend it.

It’s hard to explain. The vast emptiness, the gaping hole inside of you that you rush to fill by any means necessary— it’s hard to explain.

Her lungs ache.

read it here on ao3! 

[solstce]

so i’ll blame the metaphysical

a jatp alex drabble, for @tiriansjewel

words: 1019

pairings: willie/alex

tags: Willie Uses He/Him and They/Them Pronouns (Julie and The Phantoms), Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Religious Guilt, Established Alex Mercer/Willie (Julie and The Phantoms), Light Angst, Fluff, Humor, Alex Mercer's Parents Are Homophobic (Julie and The Phantoms), alex's parents were good until they found out he's gay, this is not him coming out tho, this is alex having a dilemma

He wonders if it’s blasphemy to think about Willie in a church, with the light streaming golden through arched windows and the pastor monologuing at the front.

Alex turns his partner’s name over & over in his head, and feels the unsaid weight of it on his tongue. It tastes like sacrilege and day-old blood.

The pastor’s words jolt Alex back. “You shall not lie with a male as with a woman; it is an abomination,” he reads, and Alex hears a loud amen from his mother & father, and suddenly, desperately, feels sick. He tugs at his collar, too tight around his neck.

Abruptly, he stands. “I need to use the bathroom,” he says in a half-whisper, and pushes his way past his parents, not waiting around to hear their answer.

In the dingy silver mirror, Alex has never looked less like himself. Starched shirt, khakis and hair stiff with product- he’s the furthest thing from Alex Mercer, resident drummer and ¼ of Julie & the Phantoms.

He exhales. The pastor’s words reverberate through his mind.

Alex knows loving Willie can’t be wrong- not when it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him, not with the indescribable joy that being around his partner always brings.

But he also knows, sure and steady as the beating heart in his chest, that he loves his parents. They’re not perfect- far from it- but he loves them all the same.

Even if he has to hide part of himself from them.

Keep reading

[wallflowerwritings]

the portrait of a young lady.

sometimes I wonder about you

how you feel about yourself

what portrait you are trying to paint

the paint you use for yourself is much different

than the beautiful portrait others see

you feel like you don’t have a voice

because who would want to listen to you?

you paint another shade of black over your heart

and whisper alone.

but I hear a harmonious song from your parted lips

and it draws me in with its serenity

color erupts into bloom on your canvas

from that quiet whisper alone.

you feel like you don’t have a friend

because who could ever love you?

you paint another shade of grey over your heart

and love alone.

but I feel cared for and welcomed in your presence

and I begin to love you as you are

your thoughtfulness paints another bright shade

from your selfless love alone.

you feel like you don’t have a shot

because who could find you intelligent?

you paint another shade of black over your heart

and ponder alone.

but I feel moved by your thoughts and insights

and I begin to learn from you as you do from me

your wisdom adds a rich background

from those deep ponderings alone.

yet, I know what you see when you gaze at your portrait.

it is all dark and black and empty and without worth

and you begin to wonder how you walked down the road of self hatred.

the truth of your portrait is far less dismal.

you are a work of art, dear, full of color and life and kindness and value.

you are beautiful.

I begin to wonder how I can help you see the same canvas that I do- the real one.

you yearn to see yourself in color

and I know that someday you will learn to.

[wallflowerwritings]

kind souls.

when I stopped believing

I was afraid of the uncertainty

The not knowing and the never learning

The promise of death being a stranger

But it is weird how

I never gained or lost certainty

The kind I had simply changed

And I know which I prefer

Before, I knew that I was saved

That I was special, that I was righteous

But how could that be

When all those around me

Wore the same kindness on their hearts

Without professing belief?

I laid awake at night, anxiety consumed

Counting all the lost souls

And wondering how God could love me so

If he had such wrath for the rest

It didn’t matter how saved I was

When other kind souls were damned

Now, I am no longer saved

I am no longer special, I am no longer righteous

I am like the kind souls around me

Burning bright in the present, in life

I lay awake at night wondering

What if I am wrong to not believe

What if my soul will receive

Wrath instead of love when I expire

But no matter

I will not be saved

For I stand in solidarity with my brethren

As another kind soul

Damned.

[solstce]

wear your heart on your sleeve

by statuesquue for embraidery, goldenretrievers46

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: F/F

Fandom: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types

Relationships: Susan Pevensie/Ramandu's Daughter | Liliandil, Lucy Pevensie & Susan Pevensie, Edmund Pevensie & Susan Pevensie, Peter Pevensie & Susan Pevensie

Characters: Susan Pevensie, Ramandu’s Daughter | Liliandil

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, designer au, Dress shop AU, Friends to Lovers, they're soft okay

Language: English

Summary:

Susan's been in love with Liliandil for literal years. She knows there's no chance of Liliandil liking her back.

But when Liliandil invites her to a gala, she can't turn the offer down, even if nothing will happen...

-----------

The bell jingles, and Susan feels a gust of wind enter the shop, no doubt ruffling the carefully arranged gowns. Inwardly, she curses.

“Hi, welcome to Radiance Designs, how may I help you?” The practiced words fall effortlessly from Susan’s lips, her fingers rapidly typing up the beginning of her essay. College was such a bitch .

“Su, look up from your work for one goddamn second,” a familiar voice says exasperatedly. Startled, Susan finishes her sentence and looks up.

“Lili!” She crows, abandoning her post behind the desk to hug her best friend of six years, Liliandil.

The other girl returns the hug with warmth. “It’s good to see you too.”

Susan releases her friend, and, standing back, looks her over.

Fuck, she looks stunning. As per usual.

“You’re taller,” she complains finally, hands on hips. “Now I’m the short one.”

Liliandil chuckles. “Which is precisely why I’m here.”

Keep reading

[solstce]

there is a pounding in my heart unlike anything i have ever heard- it fills my head until i can think of nothing but you. the ringing in my ears is the sound of your voice on repeat and it frightens me with how comforted i am by it; sometimes i wish i could drown out the noise and others i wish it would never stop. if i close my eyes there is a brief darkness before an image appears: your face, as lovely and clear as a cool stream of water and i wonder if i, also, am in your mind.

-heartsick; luminescence, by l.r.a. (via reneewalkr)

[elaichichais-deactivated2020121]

The Space Between the Stars, Ari B. 

[elaichichais-deactivated2020121]

GENERAL TAGLIST: @alicewestwater @sprigofbasil @goosemixtapes @talesofsorrowandofruin @dragonstoravens @peaches-n-creep @sky-scribbles @harehearts @zambayo @writerlywonders @marosine @glitterandstarshine @feanor @kirsten-is-writing @nsanelyawkward @piyawrites @ninthesnotbooper @starry-eyed-luna @wordsbynathan @aelenko @radiantsusan @zoja @fluoresensitive @simshollow @paxtonwrites @austrohungarianwriteblr @rainbowcoloreddays @oasis-of-you @literarywhimsy @themidnxghtwriter @perditism @mortallynuttyqueen @gutblood @andiwriteunderthemoon @throughwars @ravens-and-rivers @mdnightskies @maskedlady @chasing-givenchy @harlotrouscorduroy @gangstapee @avi-burton-writing @carumens @orangewlws @fablemancy @cream-and-tea @thescatteredscribbles @treybriggsthewriter @fishinabluesea @radiomacbeth @kitblogsthings @santinas @butchniqabi @fictional-semantics @pulitzers-world @eatingjupiter @quartzess @juuridesu @lanawritesalittle @melpomeny @kowlazovdi @semblanche @writing-snake @gokujyoufiction @yourlocaldisastergay @saltwaterbells @ofbloodandflowers @desigoth @dreamielyds @herelittlefish @madmaxst26

[elaichichais-deactivated2020121]

BURNISH, BURN – a short story by Ari B. 

images: letters to milena, frantz kafka // masaan (dir. neeraj, ghaywan, 2013) 

so wuthering heights is one of my all-time favourite books, and i’ve always wanted to write a loose reinterpretation/retelling of the text through a postcolonial lens (like how jean rhys approached wide sargasso sea) because… well… heathcliff is Not White!! and a few days ago i figured, oh what the hell, and sat down to write it, and here it is! also, while wuthering heights is the text that’s informed this story, a prior knowledge of not necessary to read this!! click on the link above to read on medium, scroll down to read on tumblr. WARNINGS: period-typical racism, mentions of violent thoughts, explicit colonial violence 

First memories are hard to keep track of, but you think yours was of fire. 

 It comes to you in bits and pieces: the scratch of khadi cloth against your skin, the weight of a large, squarish palm bearing down your uncertain sprout of your shoulder. The hungry licks of the blaze, and the strange, pale pits that dwelled in the centre of each flame. Perhaps it was just a dream, or a twisted remnant of an old story that had wriggled its way into the fat of your mind. Still, you can’t help but think of it.  

Perhaps you need to think of it. The city you live in is cold and hard-cut, and the promise of warmth evades you. Like boxes that ring with an empty thud when struck, the scraps of cloth that you seize from a passing fair shake out damp and mould, and the crusted tureen of workhouse soup skims your teeth with an icy chill. And so you are cold, and as the chill creeps into the crevices of your flesh and forces your body to curl into itself, you are hungry. You are ravenous.  

The cook at the workhouse regards you carefully when you ask for seconds. You want to meet his eyes, to present him with the braised black of your gaze, but something in you catches and you look at the polished tack buttons of his waistcoat instead. He reaches down and places a hand against the flat of your belly, and says a thing that you cannot understand, that you later piece together to mean “hungry boy”. In an instant he moves forward, but you stand still, held by the phantom press of his palm.  

You are hungry, but which part of you hungers? The stomach, veiled and bilious, pulsating slowly in a sac of fat; or the umber skin above it, longing for the sun? You are hungry, but why do you hunger? A hungry boy is an empty boy, a void that begets sating. You finish the soup from the workhouse and sleep, a hungry boy thinking hungry thoughts: of the world around you like a slow-burning inferno; and you it’s grasping, hollow core. 

 * * * 

Keep reading

[elaichichais-deactivated2020121]

GENERAL TAGLIST: @alicewestwater @sprigofbasil @goosemixtapes @talesofsorrowandofruin @dragonstoravens @peaches-n-creep @sky-scribbles @harehearts @zambayo @writerlywonders @marosine @glitterandstarshine @feanor @kirsten-is-writing @nsanelyawkward @piyawrites @ninthesnotbooper @starry-eyed-luna @wordsbynathan @aelenko @radiantsusan @pulitzers-world @zoja @fluoresensitive @simshollow @paxtonwrites @austrohungarianwriteblr @rainbowcoloreddays @oasis-of-you @literarywhimsy @themidnxghtwriter @perditism @mortallynuttyqueen @gutblood @andiwriteunderthemoon @throughwars @ravens-and-rivers @mdnightskies @maskedlady @chasing-givenchy @harlotrouscorduroy @gangstapee @avi-burton-writing @carumens @orangewlws @fablemancy @orangestairsjournalism @dragonfliies

[elaichichais-deactivated2020121]

some more indian heathcliff for your viewing pleasure… 👀

[elaichichais-deactivated2020121]

GENERAL TAGLIST: @alicewestwater @sprigofbasil @goosemixtapes @talesofsorrowandofruin @dragonstoravens @peaches-n-creep @sky-scribbles @harehearts @zambayo @writerlywonders @marosine @glitterandstarshine @feanor @kirsten-is-writing @nsanelyawkward @piyawrites @ninthesnotbooper @starry-eyed-luna @wordsbynathan @aelenko @radiantsusan @pulitzers-world @zoja @fluoresensitive @simshollow @paxtonwrites @austrohungarianwriteblr @rainbowcoloreddays @oasis-of-you @literarywhimsy @themidnxghtwriter @perditism @mortallynuttyqueen @gutblood @andiwriteunderthemoon @throughwars @ravens-and-rivers @mdnightskies @maskedlady @chasing-givenchy @harlotrouscorduroy @gangstapee @avi-burton-writing @carumens @orangewlws @fablemancy 

FOR THIS EXCERPT: @dragonfliies

[elaichichais-deactivated2020121]

so remember when i talked about indian heathcliff, literally nobody asked me to elaborate, and i said “let me elaborate in the form of a 5000 word short story”??? yeah…

[elaichichais-deactivated2020121]

GENERAL TAGLIST (please ask to be added or removed!): @alicewestwater @sprigofbasil @goose-books @talesofsorrowandofruin @dragonstoravens @peaches-n-creep @sky-scribbles @harehearts @zambayo @writerlywonders @marosine @glitterandstarshine @feanor @kirsten-is-writing @nsanelyawkward @piyawrites @ninthesnotbooper @starry-eyed-luna @wordsbynathan @aelenko @radiantsusan @pulitzers-world @zoja @fluoresensitive @simshollow @paxtonwrites @austrohungarianwriteblr @rainbowcoloreddays @oasis-of-you @literarywhimsy @themidnxghtwriter @perditism @mortallynuttyqueen @gutblood @andiwriteunderthemoon @throughwars @ravens-and-rivers @mdnightskies @maskedlady @chasing-givenchy @harlotrouscorduroy

[primulaceas]

Carmen Maria Machado, In the Dream House

[tophbefong]

— Vicent Van Gogh

[weltenwellen]

Wale Ayinla, from “Portrait of a Boy with Grief”

[elaichichais-deactivated2020121]

tw: food

INTRODUCING: ARI’S WIP COOKBOOK! 

so i’ve recently noticed that pretty much all my WIPs (but especially anchor-point) tend to make extensive references to food– which didn’t exactly come as a surprise for me, given what a massive foodie I am fjalkfjsdlfk. but after receiving a few messages about specific dishes that I’ve allude to/described, I figured that it might be easiest for me and all of you guys if I just compiled all the dishes mentioned in my WIPs into a single g-doc for easy access… and THEN food brain kicked in and said “but wait…. what if you ALSO included the recipes so that people could make them if they wanted???” so… that’s basically what this is!!! a (hopefully) comprehensive guide + recipes to all the food mentioned in my WIPs!! I’ll be continually updating with new recipes as my writing progresses, so keep an eye on this link!! 

happy cooking, everyone!! 

(taglists under the cut, please ask to be added or removed!!) 

Keep reading

[luthienne]

Madeline Miller, Circe