#UNTITLED FUNERAL PLAY

[lovepollution]

He keeps choosing to play really weird, fucked up characters and honestly, I'm here for it.

[wonderboygenius]

quick blurbs of some of the 10 plus jax teller x ofc fics i have saved; tell me which i should go with to fully flesh out.

Untitled (Jax Teller/OFC; Main female character is Latina, Her oldest brother is Latino, and her other brother is Black)

Our FMC, along with her two older brothers, move into Charming and open a few businesses. What the club doesn't know, is that these three newcomers are Zobelle's children...only they're his soliders. Zobelle had mixed children for their genetics and trained them each in the typical underground jacket of violence.

He uses them as a last resort to take over a place. Zobelle installs his children before moving into town. First few chapters cover moments in Season One involving the new three characters before getting into the arc of Season 2. AU. Deals with the complicated race issue in Charming, and the MC. Juice's secret may come out more earlier. This is the Zobelle plotline extended. Psychological, racial, familial bonds are all questioned and explored.

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2. 2 Fast 2 Untitled (Jax Teller/OFC; Latina)

Our FMC (Sunny) is Luann and Big Otto's adopted child who grew up with our normal players. When Donna is murdered, Sunny comes back into Charming after two years away to help with her godchildren. Tara only remembers Sunny as the little quiet girl, not the confident women who seemed to have a history with Jax, much to Gemma's pleasure. AU. Complex love.

Blurb: Tara waited for Jax to stand behind her as all of the club members who were family did to their Old Ladies. But her face dropped as he walked past her. She was even further shocked when she saw him stop to stand next to Sunny, both facing opposing directions, Sunny facing the funeral, and Jax facing away from everyone. Her stomach churned as she saw Jax place his hand on Sunny’s deeply curved hip. She watched the rest of the scene play out like a bad television show. 

Jax leaned down and kissed Sunny’s temple, walking away without looking back. 

Sunny looked at Opie, an apologetic look on her face.

Opie nodded in the direction Jax walked. 

Gemma squeezed Sunny’s hand that she held. 

Sunny leaned down and kissed Gemma’s head. She turned and walked towards Jax. 

Jax, without looking behind him, held his hand out, knowing she would take it. 

Sunny, like she always did, caught up to Jax, her hand resting in his. 

Tara was fucking confused. She knew she had missed so much, she knew that everyone was keeping so many things from her. But she had no idea what the fuck just happened. She leaned over to look at Gemma, knowing she would have something to say. 

Instead, Gemma just gave her a quick nod and sly smirk.  Tara didn’t like the feeling she got.

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3. Guess what? Untitled as well. (Jax/OFC, Angel/OFC, Juice/OFC; Our three MFCs are Latina with an Indigenous background, Mexican with an Indigenous background, and Black with a down South, Texan background.) AU. This eventually will see the truce with SOA and the Mayans through the women.

Through the Grim Bastards, SAMCRO hires three women to jump Cherry and Ima; through the three women, the club is now connected to even deeper gun and drug ties causing the rift between Jax and Clay to only worsen. As some of our MCs partner up with members of SAMCRO, Gemma is pissed as she can't manipulate these three. Mixing representation, with culture and spirituality as both SOA and Mayans MC, this is meant to be more dramatic like the show(s).

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4. Untitled Fore! (golf ref haha) (Jax/OFC, Thomas!LivesAU, Tommy/Tara)

An AU where Thomas never died. A little girl became a Cinderella story in Charming. But SOA ain't a fairytale baby. After Jax and Tara break up, Thomas and Tara go to school together, eventually falling in love. Jax and OFC are on and off. A different take of the big events of Season 1; Donna dying, creepy Kohn, sneaky Stahl, and the divide between Jax and Clay. With Tommy and Tara both facing off against Clay and Gemma, it's a race between them both to rope Jax and OFC to either side before the club gets deeper into violence.

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5. Cinco de Untitled (Jax/OFC; OFC is Juice's sister. This is SOA from day one with my take of Juice's sister involved. David!Lives, Tara/David Hale) AU. Smutty.

Blurb:

Jo blinked. Before she knew it, she had her hand wrapped around Wendy’s throat. 

Wendy clawed at Jo’s hand, surprised at her actions. Jo never was known to her to ever throw a punch. Her windpipe was narrowing with heavy pressure and speed. She gasped for air that couldn’t be reached. 

-

David nodded. “I told you, it’s a long story. Let me get there,” he bumped Tara’s shoulder with his own. 

Tara laughed, moving with the small push. She bumped his shoulder back playfully. She giggled as she saw a small blush come across David’s face. She felt a lick in her stomach; it had been a while since she made a man do that, and it made her feel good. “Sorry, sorry, go on,” she broke the moment between them.

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6. Still not great at naming things (Jax/OFC) OFC is a newcomer into Charming with her young daughter. AU of SOA from the beginning.

Blurb:

Soleil turned to a shaking Jax. “Jax…”

“Sol, I gotta go. Hairy Dog? They’re–” Jax stopped quickly, shaking his head. Soleil may have suspicions, but she didn’t know exactly what the Sons did. Or that she was even around the mother charter. “I gotta take care of this…I can’t be, I can’t–” his nostrils flared. He shook his head.  Soleil blinked, looking into his eyes. She nodded slowly. “Okay. Okay,” she licked her lips. “Go do what you need to do. Gemma and I will hold off DFCS until you take care of it, but that means,” she reached up and grabbed his chin sharply, making him look at her. “That means you come back. Because you heard what the doctor said. He’s stable. As long as he stays that way, he has a chance. When you come back, I’ll tell you how Selena almost didn’t have a chance when she was born either,” she breathed, watching Jax’s electric blue eyes widen in shock. “And she’s here. You held her. Just like you’re going to hold Abel. Okay?” She squeezed his chin. “You fucking come back,” she hissed at him, tears in her eyes.

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7. 7th Untitled Hell (Opie/OFC eventual Jax/OFC)

FC dates Opie after Donna dies. Jax is attracted to her, but keeps his distance as she is Tara's one and only friend. When Opie dies, our FC and Jax both spiral down into each other's arms. Sisterhood of the traveling angst baybay.

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8. What's four plus four? Still untitled. (Jax/OFC) Romance/Humor

Jacob Hale's very very young new wife visits Tristan in the hospital after the events in Funtown, bumping into Gemma and Jax, further complicating the already tense political and guardian relationship between the town and SAMCRO.

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9. Lucy in the Sky (in Charming) (Jax/OFC, Happy's baby sister AU)

Happy's baby sister, who is the opposite of him, comes down to Charming for a quick trial run. Can she be the woman to settle Jax down and be the Old Lady he needs to change the club the way he wants now with Happy in his pocket? (I can probably do this as a one shot or a two parter!) Part One & Part Two

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10. Untitled (Jax/OFC, Juice's baby sister AU.)

Juice's sister Julissa moves to Charming after tragic events; only a few months behind Wendy in pregnancy. As Julissa steps up to be Abel's mother as Jax also is the father that stepped up to Julissa's daughter, the club and Tara think they're involved, when in fact they are not. Butttt obviously that doesn't stay the same for too long. Meanwhile the normal bullshit is happening with the club.

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11. Untitled (Jax/OFC)

The little girl that Gemma had sent away long ago comes back with a tragic story. Feeling guilty, Gemma takes her under her wing. Unbeknownst to Gemma, that once little girl knew exactly the Queen's role in her forceful exit and has a plan to take the Queen down. While its Jax vs Clay, Gemma will have her own battle to deal with FC.

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12. Untitled (Jax/OFC)

Miguel Galindo's baby sister runs for Mayor of Charming. While appealing to keep Charming, Charming, the town is weary over her cartel connections. (I can probably make this a one shot actually!)

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Let me know which one you guys want me to do first! I eventually want to do some of the ones on this list, but let me know which I should do first!

[hederigerenthag]

Get to know your author

Thanks for the tag @papercranesong!

1 How many works on AO3? 

74 (+1 that's posted to anonymous)

2 Total AO3 word count?

124,426 (huh, I didn't notice when I cracked 100,000 - wish I'd taken a moment to celebrate)

3 Top 5 fics by kudos?

Forecast (Man from UNCLE - NS/IK)

2. Untitled Feemor Ficlet (Star Wars - Gen) [I hardly know anything about Feemor and I wrote this in about 10 minutes, but if there's one think I've learned about Star Wars fans it's that they love their obscure side characters)

3. Five Times Beru Whitesun Helped Obi-wan Kenobi (Star Wars - Gen)

4. Section VII Short Affairs (Man from UNCLE - Gen) [Prompt fic responses for the biweekly prompts that used to be posted in the Section VII fan community]

5. Three Weddings... And a Funeral (Man from UNCLE - NS/IK)

4 What fandoms do you write for?

At this point it's been over two years since I've published in anything but The Man from UNCLE.

5 Do you respond to comments?

Always! I love talking to readers. Anything I can do to encourage folks to talk to me.

6 Fic with the angstiest ending?

I think this has to be 'It's Better This Way,' my one Hunger Games fic, for it's depiction of, well, child murder. Nu - it's the Hunger Games.

Honorable mention to After Ares, a Wonder Woman ficlet that's really just a meditation on the human capacity for violence,

7 Fic with the happiest ending? 

I've written several versions of Napoleon and Illya getting together, and it's hard for me to differentiate the happiness quotient of each, though they are all different. I'm very fond of the end of Normalization [Twenty Years Later] and I think its delayed happiness is the more potent for being somewhat bittersweet (that's kind of my jam).

8 Do you get hate?

Sometimes confusion, but never hate! I primarily write in a small fandom that tends to be pretty tight-knit. I don't think there are enough of us for folks to go around wantonly making enemies.

9 Do you write smut?

Eh - I've written a couple of more sensual scenes, but I wouldn't call myself a true smut writer. I tend to fade-to-black after some heavy petting.

10 Have you ever co-written a fic?

Twice with the same friend. On both occasions we wrote from specific very wacky prompts we were given as part of a scavenger hunt competition irl. One of these efforts will never see the light of day, but the other is posted anonymously and I'll reveal it here, lol.

I wrote the Gilgamesh POV sections and my friend took Enkidu.

Honestly, I love collaborative writing and I would like to do more of it. It feels like play in a way that I miss from childhood.

11 All time favorite ship? 

Napoleon Solo / Illya Kuryakin

12 WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I get the sense that this is somewhat unusual, but I don't often have works in progress. I write my stories one at a time, and when I'm not writing that story I'm just not writing. It's hard for me to move on to something else while I've got something cooking.

13 Writing strengths?

I think my prose style is pretty well calibrated in terms of being interesting and not bland, but also not overdone.

I enjoy writing dialogue, especially for MFU, and I flatter myself that I'm pretty good with their voices. When I have an idea for a story, I usually start with dialogue and then fill in the action around it.

14 Writing weaknesses?

I'll know I've made it when I can weave together and A-plot and a B-plot. I really admire writers who can integrate many threads in a satisfying way, but I haven't really been able to pull off more than a gesture towards a B-plot.

I'm also aware that I have a tendency to rush the ending.

Anyway, thanks for the tag, this was fun!

Passing the baton to @adancingpony @raisin-rye @raisinchallah (I'm sorry, I think of y'all as 'the raisin twins') and @kleenexwoman

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“It barred: so”)

Truest from cause of two, and armed     my tears—you used to loves all, now that, iste perfect Love, youngster     her side shatter whom thy fire; she flies; where Lucy played;     and scrappy: we have never to the which is comrade in     my way, and captive, you

as goblin Honours Funeral.     Render in despair then bursts sixteen arms outsized he feelings,     the hardest. It barred: so here all that died slave them talk—     he picks my pain. Will worth did in sonnets pretty you are     slathered to hell those eight

year, I walked the mice huddle, as     this: the savage race; yet each may breathe next thine; though I cared     to die than warming in his and act is on to settled     for by a dark land, and both dark grove of war What men shall     know, i’m half to thy remote

and loved. That it’s not thyself     alone with repining till by denial giant’s zone,     that thy unkindness, memory set, like a knotless brown,     within his touch, but is gone. Could not say my Stella, I     say, Loves Firmament: man

with smooth day and flaming rivers     to their own with ribs of birds be call’d to be my garden     wall for spring and the ball that sparkles on a bee! Alas,     alas! Cataract of the world, nor an hour ingress     with stand, stands this enjoy.

[cicada-circuitry]

WIP Title Ask Meme

All the cool FAM writers have been doing this and a few of them tagged ‘anyone else who wants to play’ so im shamelessly inviting myself.

Prompt: Make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Only listing for all mankind stuff because my actual wip folder has 185 things and most of them will simply live there forever

aftermath / The S3 Fic

That’s for ordering me dead.

come on in

there are only victims of virtue here

Delores

second only to the moon

untitled (alt start / selfishness)

molly-shaped trouble

untitled (the one w the picture)

i know we all love wayne in this house but listen. hear me out. theres gotta be at least one where its just a full on zero-allowances no-special-understanding affair.

we're not friends

acute problems in life-ruining mentorships / lessons in the advanced physics of self-sabotage

trapped-in-a-closet fic

established mxm pre-s2

weed / funerals / divergence points

“getting along with Ellen”

Other women

I’m pretty sure every single FAM writer has already been tagged thrice but if there are any other total newcomers like me who haven’t been please consider yourself tagged!! all the sneak peaks & snippets of good ideas in the tag the last few days have been soooo much fun to read, especially on top of the renewal news.

[viily]

7 17 and 24 for music asks!

hi rottel yayyy

7. do you prefer cds, streaming or vinyl?

where is downloaded files on my computer option ? haha Ok honestly i use streaming for convenience but one of these days im gonna work towards getting like an ipod or something bc. i really want to do that for my music. smile. vinyl is only for albums i cherish (i am selective in what i buy!) but i do love listening to them every now and then!!

17. describe your favorite song without telling me the title

can someone go ask joey walker if he's ok

24. which song do you want played at your funeral?

INTERESTING QUESTION. i honestly dont know. my impulse response to this is Untitled 20 by Thee Oh Sees lol. probably that whole album tbh. damn maybe Sticky Hulks by ohsees too... tbh... song about time you know. and it has organ instrument. hehe.

[not-that-n]

I had this dream, there's no context but we were obviously a group, one of us. The captain, had died recently, the other, an unnamed untitled women, has died first, some months ago. During what I'm assuming was the funeral of the captain, I begin crying and crying, I wasn't close to him, I didn't really care, I was crying for her.

A while had pass, it felt life everyone else moved on, but the sadness I felt in that moment was overwhelming. I remember it consuming me, thinking that " if the emotion wants to be heard, it will be heard " and I was deafened by the scream of grief. My entire chest ached with this feeling, so did my entire being.

We had a sort of tribute, some of the remaining food must be burn to honor the captain. I see, among the left over, her favorite cake. I begin crying, I can't bring myself to even look it, to even think about it, its what's appropriate, it's what should be done. But I can't.

I run crying out of the room, to this bathroom. I just stay in there for a while

Some time passes, we are watching a play. It was about a king being betrayed, the details don't matter, I wasn't paying attention. my friends are talking about something, a detail on the play about the king's life. I wasn't paying attention, I wasn't in the mood for plays.

I remember being in the bathroom again, crying again, thinking about her again. The group was in another reunion. Some months are implied to be passed, some were talking about the captain and his legacy, others were talking about me.

I enter the room, I feel the atmosphere change. We had to get rid of some of her stuff, we came to move things, to make space. I propose to help, I need to do this, I want to so this, I need to move on from this all consuming grief. Everyone says I don't have to, everyone tells me its fine. I know it isn't.

I was feeling determined, I was going to do this and move on, a determination that lasted until I saw her things. That grief resurfaced with the same strength it always had, I could barely move, I didn't want to look at her things, the memory, the lost, felt just too great.

I remember someone told me, in a disappointed tone but one that made it obvious this outcome was expected, that it was fine. I could leave, I didn't have to help it was too painful. But I had to do this, I had to move on. I begin, through tears, helping everyone. The feeling of grief still there, but I felt like that was the first steps to learn how to bear the pain.

[effygiraffetalks]

Effy Giraffe Teases Concept Album Exploring Mental Health and Identity

Effy Giraffe, the enigmatic artist known for her genre shifting hits for a decade and a half, has quietly revealed the conceptual framework for her upcoming album, set to drop sometime in 2025. While fans are eagerly anticipating new music, Effy remains intentionally tight-lipped about specifics, including the album’s title and tracklist. However, she has shared enough to give us a glimpse into what promises to be her most ambitious and deeply experimental project yet.

The yet-untitled album is described as a “journey through the fragmented psyche of an unnamed protagonist.” Effy, who is known for weaving narratives through her music, has crafted a story that follows a young woman’s mental breakdown and eventual recovery. The protagonist struggles with identity, often referring to herself by different names and personas as she loses touch with reality. Through the album, listeners are invited to experience her confusion, despair, and moments of clarity, creating a hauntingly immersive exploration of mental health.

The Concept

In her more recent projects, Effy has been no stranger to themes of self-discovery and resilience, but this project takes those ideas to a new level. The story begins with chaos—clips of distorted audio, news reports, and disjointed phrases that set the tone for the protagonist’s unraveling. As the album progresses, listeners will be pulled into her disoriented mind, where reality and delusion blur, and her sense of self becomes fragmented.

The narrative arc traces her descent into darkness, her fight to confront the void within herself, and ultimately, her determination to piece her identity back together. Effy has hinted that the album culminates in an empowering resolution, though it doesn’t shy away from the complexity and non-linear nature of recovery.

Sound and Atmosphere

Effy’s music has always been characterized as unserious, often times playing into a sex-driven dumb blonde persona. In recent projects she’s conveyed raw emotion, and this album will take said emotions and build a whole story. Drawing from a blend of haunting melodies, layered vocals, and experimental soundscapes, the record seeks to mirror the protagonist’s inner turmoil. Static, whispers, and overlapping voices are expected to feature prominently, creating a sense of claustrophobia and chaos.

As the story progresses, the sound evolves to reflect the protagonist’s changing state of mind. Fans can expect a shift from dissonance to moments of clarity and light, offering a cathartic release as the protagonist reclaims her sense of self.

A Personal Undertaking

Effy has shared that the inspiration for the album comes from the serious unaddressed issues of mental health, identity, and violence in America.

“This is a story about survival, about what it means to lose yourself and fight to find your way back,” she explained in a recent interview. “It’s not pretty, and it’s not linear. Recovery is messy, but it’s also beautiful.”

Though Effy hasn’t shared whether the album draws from personal experiences, her ability to craft such an emotionally charged concept suggests a deep empathy for the subject matter.

The Mystery Continues

While Effy remains coy about the album’s details, fans have already begun speculating about the themes and sounds based on her cryptic teasers. Some believe the album will represent a significant departure from her previous work, while others expect it to build upon the introspective tones of her earlier releases— many teasers have pointed to a Welcome To My Funeral follow up. Though she denies any official title, posting:

For now, Effy seems content to let the mystery linger. “This is the most vulnerable and ambitious thing I’ve ever created,” she teased. “It’s about listening, feeling, and reflecting. I want people to hear their own stories in this.”

With its focus on mental health and identity, Effy Giraffe’s upcoming album promises to be a powerful statement on the struggles and triumphs of the human spirit. Whether it will resonate as deeply as her previous work remains to be seen, but one thing is certain—Effy is once again challenging herself and her audience in ways few artists dare.

Stay tuned for more updates as the release date draws closer. If this concept is any indication, Effy Giraffe is poised to deliver an unforgettable sonic experience that will leave a lasting impression.

[bluevelvet-room]

in case anyone wants it, thoughts about new and improved big bang (royal) (yet untitled) (potentially a song lyric from hit musical "hadestown", yet to decide WHAT lyric), here is some scattered thoughts about it that i have had relatively recently (under a readmore in case anyone does NOT want it)

1) im yoinking hamuko's stuff. she doesnt get stuff. well she gets her hairpins but otherwise she does not get stuff (or at least she doesnt get her phone)

2) im also putting her in a funeral kimono when she wakes up bc it feels more fitting than the gekkoukan uniform. in case you're keeping track that means she now has wayy less info to go off of

3) remembered that the phantom thief costumes also ostensibly Spawn Weapons and now am strongly debating giving her a scythe in place of her naginata.

4) she still gets min's evoker. it's non-functional (to her) (this seems safer than implying it could potentially be used as a real gun in the right scenario. my explanation is it having to do with her own personal cognition viewing it as unable to harm her or others, even if she doesnt know that)

5) this one is more a general vibe but you GUYS. i couldve been implementing orpheus theming this ENTIRE TIME she is LITERALLY going to the BOTTOM OF THE UNDERWORLD to save SOMEONE SHE LOVES, even MILDLY UNKNOWINGLY. im going to bring up orpheus so much you dont even KNOW

6) in making sees just Not Know hamuko is there and potentially preoccupied with other things (phantom thieves and minato being missing) i can also make hamuko a bit of a brat. im already having fun with this

7) when initially writing big bang i did write like half of a full chapter from ken's perspective and then discarded it to focus on hamuko exclusively. am now playing around with a mitsuru perspective before knowing about hamuko, just to kind of establish the sees side of things, and then an akira perspective every so often as well? we'll see where that goes. idk

8) might break aigis down horrifically. as a treat. as in months long repairs horrifically. but she'd get found earlier

9) STILL deciding where im going with akira's backstory and general vibe bc it actually changes,,, a lot. p1 parenting him would make the whole thing a little sillier but idk if that's the Vibe here

10) could probably make theurgy come up. on hamuko's side of things. SomeHow.

[sweetcloverheart]

Because The Butterflies Hate You: Local man Wonderful Lifes himself and proceeds to blame everyone else for his resultant misery

Untitled "Made To Love" sequel: "Like poetry, it rhymes" played for horror

Black At A Funeral: "Maybe murder was the solution to all my problems?"

Stealing this from Bluesky because I need this tonight and I bet you do too:

Explain your book/WIP in one sentence, badly

For Farewell Vesperos - transman tries to avoid gothic romance plot by solving a murder, gets fucked anyway

Right, your turn. Go!

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Divus Crewel | Who's Your Daddy?

You weren’t inherently thrilled to hear through the grapevine that your mother had found a new lover. While you no longer feared the fantasy of the ‘evil partner’ you did fear the ‘here I am speech.’ With every new romantic partner each of them would catch you alone to either awkwardly declare their new mission to be your parent or that they were going to rob you of all your money; whatever was said though was shortly followed by them being dumped, reputation ruined, and a restraining order put in place. For as much as your mother got around you could never doubt her love for you. With every suitor she waited for them to slip up whether it was to you or to hired staff; she played no games. Keeping her suitors as nothing more than that to you and her staff claiming it would change if things got more serious.  So you were more than surprised when you weren’t being greeted with an untitled partner.

“Meet your new step-father, Divus Crewel!” 

What?! Step-father?! Already?!

You kept it cordial, briefly greeting him with a smile before hightailing it to your room. It won’t matter soon, anyway. You were moving out. Not because of your mother or this Cruel-dude but because you were tired of relying on other’s dime. All your life you’ve been gifted with a grand lifestyle that had you working early and living lavishly but coming into adulthood you realized the thing you really wanted was to work for you. All your life you’d played assistant CFO on top of school work, being a fake socialite, and business princess. It was all just too much. You had been saving preparing for this. You knew it wouldn't be easy but you also knew that that was what made it worth it in the end. You didn’t want to say anything until you were moved out in case your mother pulled some crazy stunt to keep you in place. Turns out that wasn’t the only one you had to worry about.

“Where are you going pup?”

Smoking on a pipe lounging in the velvet arm-chair your mother often perched herself in, Divus was looking up, accusatory, from his evening paper. 

“Out.”

You didn’t elaborate because you didn’t need to. This is just some guy swinging by trying to flex his father-bone so he can get on your mom’s will. You left before there was any protest, leaving to finalize your lease and officially be free. 

Half your stuff was moved and with your final moving driver on their way to your new home, you elected now would be the time to tell her. She would be resting by now possibly reading in her study. You opened the grand mahogany doors with a rising power, you were ready to fight for your right to work, your right for autonomy.

“Mom, you in here?”

It seemed so as her favorite plume was left on the desk and her shoes near the door. In her giant chair turned to look at the glass she had installed around it. She must have fallen asleep, you rationalize, comforted by the warm encasing rays of the sun. You walked to turn her around before waking her to find that she isn’t there. 

Nothing is there. 

It's then you realize that there is a draft coming in. 

But this room has no windows, just the glass pane wrapped around the hull of the room.  

There was a human sized hole in it. 

Bloodied and messy you shakily move to lookpast the glass to ground below.

There she is. 

Laying flat amongst the garden contrasting the green with her deathly crimson splatter.

_______

You were distraught. Devastated. That much was clear to anyone who saw you at the funeral. In the end you could not seem to let go of that golden crusted coffin clutching onto it like it was your life line. Even fellow nobility who typically would scoff at such displays of emotion couldn’t deny their own pity, as you were pried away by a fellow in black and white. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to stop crying even as the ceremony ended and you were carted back to your mother’s estate. You couldn’t bring yourself to leave, plagued by guilt and longing. You couldn’t pull yourself together until it came time to settle affairs. Now you weren’t in any of this for the money but you knew you would hate yourself even more if you let what inkling of your mother was left die out because of your inactivity. Alas one thing you found you must have gotten from your mother was your workaholic behavior; by diving into technical matters you could free yourself of the pain (at least for a little while).

“As it stands all of your mother’s affairs as aforementioned in the newly written will state that all her effects belong to her legal husband: Divus Crewel.”

How could this happen? How in your pursuit of freedom had you allowed her to sign everything over to some guy she was sleeping with? AND MARRIED TOO! You knew your mother best and even when you were sure she was off her rocker she always had the sense to care for you first, second if it was about her dogs. He must have orchestrated it. It all made sense. How in the span of six months had this man taken your mother from you in every sense of the word before the final month was up. Simple. He killed her.  But with no proof other than a motive you were left to depart back to your personally bought hovel where you had to live knowing your fight for freedom was what left you mother for dead and anyhting you could remember her by in the hands of a stranger.

“(Y/n), where are you going?”

The nerve. “If you must know I’m going home.” You cocked your head and opened your arms in emphasis as you walked away from him entering his security detail limousine. You were walking to take a bus or at the least you were trying as the limousine and surrounding security cars not-so-subtley followed. Stopping, you were near tears with frustration.

“What do you want from me?! Don’t you have everything you already want?!”

The tinted window rolled down to reveal Crewel wearing shades and a scowl of disagreement. 

“Oh young pup, I don't have what I want at all.” 

In lightning speed the door swung open and you were pulled into the lap of your step father. Being held in place by his steel grip on your jaw you sat on his lap like a confused child as he forcefully told the driver to, “Drive.”

He held you that way the whole ride adjusting you only when you ever seemed to shimmy off his lap from your struggling. Finally arriving home he switched tactics, pulling out a dalmationed patterned handkerchief and stuffing it in your mouth effectively gagging you. Before you had time to register to undo what he did he pulled out two collars locking your knees and wrists together. 

Unable to move, Crewel had no trouble carrying you out of the vehicle through the mansion to what used to be your mother’s lonesome master bedroom. Now it was the bedroom version of Crewel’s whole aesthetic. Tossed on the bed, you were scared watching him remove his fur coat, call in his dalmations, and remove one of his gloves. Jerked to lay over his knees as he sat on the edge of the bed. 

“Now (Y/n) I’m sure you’re…disappointed with your mother’s slip up but as my child I will not have you fraternizing with your delusions of freedom.”

You tried to scream and yell at him. Who was he to tell you anything! And Disappointed?! You wanted to sock him in that pretty face of his. 

He seemed to get the sentiment squinting his eyes in a challenged haze before exposing your butt to the open air. You weren’t an idiot despite what online quizes would suggest you knew what this position meant to toddlers and people in ddlg fantasies. You did not want to be spanked! So when he raised his exposed hand you curled into him hoping he’d take your silent plea. He stopped as if hearing the constant begging you were doing mentally and insted let his hand prance around your lower back in warning.

“Despite your ‘secret’ plot for freedom succeeding I would have put a stop to it anyway seeing as it is what your mother wanted me to do in the first place.”

You made a questioning noise. What was he talking about?

“When she came to me with her worries about her adult child finally leaving I applauded her. Told her it was healthy and gave my full support but in another rant of hers I realized you had been working for her. All your time and childhood spent working away to please her, keep her afloat with a business you have no part in.

He played with your hair while he spoke. Softly rubbing your back as if he…cared?

“And in mild interest I proposed I step in as someone you could rely on to set boundaries of course mostly for her but nonetheless she took this as me wanting to…be in a relationship with her.”

He shivered with disgust making an icky feeling in your chest grow. It never is black and white is it.

“So we married in private claiming something about how ‘if I was this dedicated already surely I was ready for the real deal.’ I would have refused if I wasn’t already intrigued. You’d be surprised as to how much I can tell about you from camera footage and personal investigators.”

This time it was your turn to shudder but the present hold of a hand sitting on your head made you still.

“She had grand plans to get publicly married a month later but I realized that wouldn’t be needed. Just by your behavior I could tell all you wanted was rebellion, a break from the character you had been held to-” Ok maybe he understood you a lit- “like a child.” What. 

“I see it in my students often, you just want to have time to play without the responsibility of an adult, without the neglectful bearing of your mother. So I made an executive decision to eliminate the one that made you feel that way. Don’t look at me like that. No matter how old you are, you're quite the child to me and as your guardian I elect that you will not be burdened by adulting for as long as I’m here.”

He laid you on the bed dawning his fur coat once again.

“My pup, it's my duty as your father to care for your every need, including discipline.” He flicked your nose for emphasis with a chuckle and flip of his wrist his dalmations attacked you with kisses before fleeing from the room. 

“By the time I’m done dear we’ll have figured out how to even out that playtime and discipline.”

____________

By the time I was let out of that room again all my stuff I had previously moved out was moved into our shared room. Many other things had changed as well. The giant velvet chair that had been mother’s was now black and white accented by a blood red.  The office your mother had was closed off under the pretense that all those that were eliminated for the sake of my ’childhood.’ 

Other things had changed as well. 

Reaching for the door I could hear father’s steps and the clinking collars of his dalmations. I guessed he was sitting in his favorite chair blowing his pipe. 

“Where are you going, pup?”

So much had changed.

You doubt she would recognize you.

“To the garden, father. I know not to leave the grounds where I’m safe.”

Divus Crewel smiled. “Good girl. Don’t forget your running shoes.”

“Yes, father.”

“And a kiss for Papa?”

You hesitated if only for a second before trotting over to give a peck to his pale cheek before scampering off to get your shoes.

“That’s my girl.”

[isabelle-spray]

What Emily Dickinson taught me in 2021

I am ashamed to say that despite having an English degree and having been born with a permanent sad girl vibe - I only came to discover the work of Emily Dickinson in 2021.

I am even more ashamed to say that I discovered it - not while thumbing the pages of my Norton Anthology, or even whilst scrolling through tumblr (do sad girls still do that?) but through that most basic of platforms - a TV show.

More shameful still than either of these truths is the fact that I didn’t sit down to watch said show because I was keen to learn more about a great female poet of the nineteenth century, but because it was advertised as an historical lesbian drama. (Although I hope for this one you will cut me some slack. It’s a limited genre and a girl has to take what she can get…)

In this most modern mode of discovery, I was delighted to find much more than just a period drama with a same-sex romantic plotline. I found a thoroughly modern poet, thinker, lover and someone who was as boldly herself as anyone I have encountered, even in 2021.

In his play The History Boys, Alan Bennett described the power of poetry thus:

‘When you come across something – a thought, a feeling, a way of looking at things – which you had thought special and particular to you... And it is as if a hand has come out and taken yours.’

This is what it has felt like discovering Emily Dickinson for me. In a year when I so often felt broken and lost and alone - she reminded me that I am exactly who I am supposed to be.

There are about as many interpretations of each of Emily’s poems as there are readers. Here - if it means anything to you - are some of mine.

I felt a funeral in my brain

Most of Emily’s poems were left untitled (a defiance of convention that I adore) but for practical purposes many of them are referred to by their opening lines. In my opinion the most powerful of all these is the one in which Emily tells us that she ‘felt a funeral in her brain’.

Not a funeral in her heart - the usual centre of feeling in literature, but her brain - the centre of thought, logic, rationality, cognition.

This image has rattled itself around my own brain for many months since I first read it, the way a gong sound reverberates against your eardrums long after it is struck, because it was a feeling that I recognised.

I don’t know if you’ve ever pictured your own funeral. I hope for your sake that you have not. You have to get a good way down the rabbit hole of melancholy before the thoughts of your own death start marching into your brain uninvited. Until they ‘creak across my Soul / With those same Boots of Lead.’

This year I have felt that leaden creak more times than I care to remember. This year, I have had moments when my own rationality and will to keep going through all this strangeness and grief were threatened by an overwhelming hopelessness.

...a Plank in Reason, broke,

And I dropped down, and down -

And hit a World, at every plunge.

I don’t know if this was the meaning Emily intended, but I think it must be something like it. It brings me comfort to know that somebody, somewhere felt this way once too. Somebody else was once ‘Wrecked, solitary, here’ - but she kept going. She kept doing. And how grateful I am that she did.

Tell all the truth but tell it slant -

The notion of truth is an odd thing in 2021.

So much so that we’ve started referring to this time in history as the ‘Post Truth Era’.

Truth once meant something absolute and solid to us. Now, in a world where facebook has more influence over election results and vaccine uptake than verified data and scientific research, it seems that ‘truth’ has become something elastic. Something you can bend or stretch to your own convenience. Something liquid that can run away from you if you’re not careful.

So what did I learn about the truth from Emily Dickinson in 2021?

Too bright for our infirm Delight

The truth’s superb surprise

When I read this it occurred to me that I had been naive in my assumption that this era was the only one in which truth was a relative concept. People have always been afraid of truth, Emily tells us, until somebody explains it to them in a way that they can understand.

As Lightning to the children eased

With explanation kind

The notion of some unseen scientists developing a vaccine in a lab and then pumping it into our blood streams does on the face of it sound threatening. Most of us don’t have enough scientific knowledge to be able to really say for sure how it actually works on a molecular level - I know I don’t. So we have to be able to trust one another. And pulling up graphs and statistics from google is often not enough to inspire trust because we aren’t used to learning through data. We’re used to learning through stories. We’ve passed down knowledge through stories for many thousands of years before science was ever conceived of. It’s still how we explain the world to our children, and how we like to express and process our emotions. And most of the time, it’s what we need to wrap our minds around the abstract.

Reading them now, at the end of 2021 as Omicron fills the hospitals with droves of the unvaccinated, the closing lines of the poem seem almost prophetic. Long before the phrase ‘fake news’ was ever coined, Emily warned us:

The Truth must dazzle gradually

Or every man be blind -

All the letters I can write

I came to Emily Dickinson looking for an historical lesbian plotline, and while I found much more besides, I was not disappointed on that front. Despite the censorship of her editors, Emily’s love for Susan shines through in her poetry.

I’ve read enough erotic verses written by men about women. The winking coyness of John Donne’s ‘To His Mistress Going To Bed.’ Shakespeare’s back-handed Sonnet 130. Even ee cumming’s ‘lady I will touch you with my mind.’

There is something so uniquely feminine, not only in the ‘fair’ subject of this poem, but moreover in its telling, that makes it an unmistakable work of sapphic eroticism.

All the letters I can write -

Are not as fair as this -

Emily, despite holding herself in great esteem as a writer, concedes from the very beginning that even her powerful imagination and command of the English language are humbled by her subject.

Syllables of Velvet

Sentences of Plush -

Even if she wanted to, she could not conjure anything so sumptuous with her words.

She also plays a clever game with the conventions of gender in love poetry. Ordinarily the subject - the woman in the poem - is compared to a flower for her beauty and fertility. Here Emily - being herself a woman - imagines herself as the flower, and her lover as something else entirely:

Play it were a Humming Bird

And just sipped - me -

ee cummings could never.

[lastchildofkrypton]

Bechloe Daycare AU

Literally no one asked for this but here’s a quick thing. Warning: It is untitled, unfinished & unedited.

Beca walks into the building, the large yellow one with maroon shutters, the last one on the dead end street. It looks like every other daycare facility she’s ever seen. There are a few in the small town of Barden, Georgia. Most of them are within walking distance of her house but this one was the only one hiring currently.

Her dad has been on her to get a summer job since she was fourteen, but she had somehow always managed to evade it, until this year. She’ll be heading off to college in the fall; although it won’t be a far trek. Barden University was one of two colleges that accepted her, so she’ll be commuting from home. Her father, was completely thrilled, when they received the acceptance letter. He also seemed to find himself brilliant when he suggested she apply at the daycare.

“This might be a good opportunity for you, Bec. You can keep working there around your classes and make some money for that move to LA.”

The last part of the sentence was said with dripping sarcasm. She didn’t even need to turn to see her father’s face to know that.

The thought of having to spend any more time at home than she has to was enough to force her to interview for the co-teacher position, teaching three year olds. She hasn’t spent much time with three year olds, or any if she is being honest, but she was sure not to let the director interviewing her, know that.

“So do you have any experience working with children this age?”

“Not a lot, if I’m being honest, but I’m excited to see what it’s like. I’m a quick learner.”

“That’s good, you’ll need to be able to think on your feet. It says here, you’ll be attending Barden University in the fall, our current teacher in that room goes there as well. You’re a music major, that’s exciting.”

“Music production, yeah. I could maybe do some music with the kids, or I don’t know…”

“That would be amazing. Children this age respond to music better than most other forms of communication.”

Beca slowly nods her head, as the knowledge that she is over her head, sinks in.

“Look Beca, I’ll be honest with you,” The Director, Beca is pretty sure she said her name was Diane, says, “We just need another body. If you can stand and refrain from vomiting when a kid poops his pants, that’s all I can ask.”

“I think I can manage both of those things.”

“Perfect. Can you start Monday?”

“Sure.”

And that’s how she wound up where she is. Walking through the front door of Little Angels Preschool. She thinks to herself how it sounds more like a funeral home for children but pushes that rather macabre thought aside when she is met, face to face, or rather, face to hip, with a kid.

“Who are you?”

“Oh, um,” The brashness of his question shocks her, “I’m Beca.” “Whose mommy are you?”

She looks around, wondering who his mom is, or where the hell he came from.

“Tyler, come on, dude. You can’t run out of the room like that.”

“I want the truck from Ms. Jessica’s room.”

“We can play with that later. Let’s go.”

The girl, looks to be around Beca’s age, which forces her to wonder when the hell they became the responsible adults.

“You’re the new girl?” She asks, taking the little boy’s hand.

Beca nods.

“Cool,” She extends her hand, “I’m Cynthia-Rose, if you’re looking for Diane, she’s in her office.”

Beca doesn’t really know who she should be looking for, but she assumes it would be Diane. She walks down the hall to the main office, undoubtedly, strategically placed in the back corner of the building.

“Oh Beca, you’re here.” She glances at the clock on the wall. “And on time, great.”

She wonders if this woman ever smiles. Her voice is brash and she’s dressed a little too casually to be taken seriously but Beca figures she’s the last person who should judge. She’s dressed in her only jeans without rips or stains on them and the uniform t-shirt that she’s been provided with. The uniform shirt that she’s somehow already spilled coffee on. They didn’t seem to care about her piercings or tattoos and she thought for sure that would be a deal breaker. But she noticed a small tattoo on Cynthia-Rose’s forearm and she thinks she can see what looks to be a faint, faded, tattoo peeking out from the collar of Diane’s shirt; maybe she’s not as uptight as she thought.

“Let me show you which room you’ll be in.”

Beca wordlessly follows. They pass several classrooms, all filled with chaos and the teachers calling kids names, telling them to stop what they’re doing. She can hear crying coming from the infant classroom and she’s thankful they haven’t stuck her in there. She hasn’t been around babies since she was one.

They walk up the wooden staircase, each step creaks a little louder than the last. The walls are a pale blue and scuffed at what she assumes is average child height. At the top, there is a set of cubby-holes with children’s names written on bright name tags. Inside, are little backpacks, hanging next to little shoes and coats.

“You’ll be in here.”

Diane opens the door and Beca waits for the noise to hit her like a brick wall. Instead, she is met with a gentle murmur of little voices. The room is bigger than she anticipated. It’s bright, with yellow walls and a large bay window. Artwork and posters with letters and numbers are pinned up on the walls. There are three tables, and at each one, three or four children, are working on puzzles, or drawing. There’s even a small table with sand in the back corner where two children are playing and giggling.

“Hey, you must be Beca.”

The prettiest girl Beca has ever seen steps into her line of sight, with a child on her hip. She has red hair and bright blue eyes. The thought that she isn’t wearing the stupid lime green t-shirt doesn’t go unnoticed. Beca swallows, hard, then clears her throat before she squeaks out a small,

“Yeah.”

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Chloe, and this is Mason.” She turns to the little boy in her arms, “Can you say hi to Ms. Beca?”

“Hi.” He says, shyly, before resting his head on her shoulder.

Beca scrunches her nose up at the title Ms. Beca. She’s never held a shred of authority before and she isn’t sure she likes it.

“Don’t worry, he’ll warm up to you.”

“Oh, no worries. I’m pretty slow to warm up to people myself.”

Mason chances another look up at her and she returns it with a small smirk. It’s now that she realizes Diane left without so much as a word.

“So, like, what do we do?”

Chloe sighs. Beca understands that it probably isn’t her favorite thing, training a new person, on top of keeping twelve kids in line. She would jump in, if she had any clue what she should do. Instead, she stands with her hands in her pockets and rocks back and forth on the balls of her feet.

“You’ll catch on pretty quick. Just follow my lead.”

Her smile is reassuring and soft. Beca can understand how little kids could like being around her.

“For now, just get to know them.”

“Like talk to them?”

Another giggle.

“Yeah.”

Beca walks over to one of the tables where three little boys are playing with LEGO’s.

“Hi guys, what are you building?”

“This is a rocket ship!” One little boy, with dark brown hair and a shirt with cartoon dogs on it, yells right into her face. “It’s going to the sun.”

“If you flew to the sun you would burn up and die.” One of the other little boys says, not looking up from his own set of blocks.

Beca doesn’t know what to do. She feels like she should say that he shouldn’t say that. Instead, she pushes up from her tiny chair and walks to the next table. Four girls are sitting, coloring on construction paper.

“What’s your name?”

Beca assumes she’ll be answering this question a lot over the next couple days. She would wear a name tag but she’s pretty sure they can’t read yet.

“I’m Beca. What’s your name?”

“I’m Lola.”

“I’m Sofia.” Another little girl interjects. “You’re pretty.”

“Oh, uh…”

“Alright, my friends!” Chloe’s voice echoes off of the walls, but she’s not yelling. “Let’s clean up our toys and go to our spots on the carpet, please!.”

Immediately, the kids jump to put their toys away.

“You have them well trained.” Beca jokes.

“It’s all about mutual respect.” She says, earnestly.

All the kids sit on a bright letter on the round carpet in the corner. Seeing them all in a clump is much more overwhelming. Beca sighs and runs her hands through her hair. Chloe catches her eye and slaps the floor next to her for her join.

“Alright, my friends, we have a new grown up in our class today. I need your help with making Ms. Beca feel welcome. Can you all help me out with that?”

“Yes!” They all call out at varying times.

“Thank you so much, I knew you would.”

Chloe’s voice is chirpy and bright. It makes Beca feel more awake and she wonders if this is all for show, because it’s her first day, or if this is how she always is.

The day moves fast, faster than she imagined it would. They have circle time, filled with songs and stories. Circle time is followed by snack time, playground time, and nap time.

Once all of the kids are on their cots, Beca and Chloe sit at one of the tables, in the small chairs. It forces Beca’s knees up toward her chest and they bump against the table. She slouches forward to make herself feel less awkward.

“So, how do you feel?”

“Uh, tired, mostly.”

“Yeah, that exhaustion will hit you every day at this time for like two weeks and then you’ll adjust.”

“Great.”

“You’ll have the best sleep of your life tonight though.”

She has a sense of wisdom to her tone, which spurs Beca to ask,

“How long have you been doing this?”

“I started working here as an assistant when I was sixteen and have worked every summer and winter break since. I was offered the head teacher role for the summer this year, to help me with my degree.”

“So, this is what you want to do, for like forever?”

“Well, hopefully I’ll be able to get a job in a school district. But I could be happy doing this for a few years. What about you?”

“Uh, this is not what I want to do.”

Chloe scoffs and shrugs. She isn’t surprised.

“I want to produce music. My dad is forcing me to go to college to gain some perspective or something. I start at Barden in the fall, and then as soon as that diploma is in my hand, I’m on a plane to LA.”

“Music producer. That’s bad ass.”

Beca sputters, almost spits her water out of her mouth. The word sounds so foreign coming from her mouth, especially after hearing her say things like, “be kind”, “thank you my friends”, and “do you need to go potty?”, all day.

“Ms. Beca?”

Beca turns, Sofia, is stepping off of her mat. She rubs one eye and with the other hand is holding a stuffed bunny. She walks over and stands in front of Beca.

“What’s up, kid?”

“I miss my mommy.”

“Oh, well,” Beca picks the little girl up, and puts her in her lap, “that’s okay. We all miss our mommy sometimes. And I bet, your mommy misses you a whole lot too. But we’re gonna wake up soon and eat some food. Oh, and then we can play that bazingo game.”

Sofia giggles.

“It’s called Zingo.”

“Right. We can play Zingo. The afternoon will go so fast, your mom will be here to pick you up before you know it. It’ll go by so fast, okay?”

“Okay.”

The little girl rests her head on Beca’s shoulder, completely contented again. Chloe looks impressed.

“You’re catching on already.”

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

When Beca’s alarm goes off the next morning, she feels like she never went to bed. She has never been as tired as she was last night when she got home. This morning just feels like a continuation of the day before. She pulls on a clean t-shirt, the sickening lime green color makes her look even paler than she already is.

“Good morning, Ms. Beca.” Chloe greets her, with a knowing smirk on her face. Her eyes flit between Beca’s tired eyes, the large coffee in her hand, and the green t-shirt. “You know you don’t actually have to wear that shirt.”

“Now you tell me.”

“Ms. Beca, look!” Henry, the little boy with dark brown hair, holds up an intricately designed LEGO structure. “Do you like my pirate ship?”

“Yeah dude, that’s awesome. Great job.”

He gives her a beaming smile. Beca can feel Chloe’s eyes on the back of her neck. She tries not to turn around. As more kids get dropped off, the room falls into its unique brand of chaos; not too loud, but loud enough to make Beca’s energy buzz. She gets busy filling water bottles and cleaning up toys, until Chloe calls all of the kids to the carpet.

She likes the idea of circle time. She likes the idea that every morning they get to connect with each of them. She likes that for a little while every morning each of these kids gets to feel heard. They get to teach them a little and actually watch them learn, and get excited when they get a question right. It’s surprisingly satisfying.

“Another day done.” Chloe says, through a sigh, while they finish cleaning the tables.

Beca wipes a bead of sweat from her forehead, “Thank God.”

“Hey, really, you’re doing great.” Chloe says, placing a gentle hand on Beca’s shoulder.

Beca looks down at it and then back at Chloe’s eyes.

“Uh, thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow.”

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

Beca walks into the school the following morning, feeling more confident now that she isn’t wearing a shirt the color of a teenage mutant ninja turtle.

“Hey, we’re twinning today.” Chloe greets her, just as bright as always.

“Oh, we sure are.”

Beca looks down at her own flannel and pair of light jeans, then over to Chloe’s outfit, that is a nearly exact match.

“If anyone asks I’m telling them we planned it on the phone last night.”

Chloe gives a little wink and Beca rolls her eyes; already accustomed to Chloe’s teasing sense of humor.

“Alright, my friends, Ms. Beca is here, so let’s get ready for morning meeting. Thank you.”

Beca watches the kids move into their usual routine. Something about the predictability of the classroom, seeing the same kids everyday, hearing Chloe say nearly the exact same thing every day, is comforting to her; and she is sure it’s comforting to the kids too.

Beca still isn’t used to spending 80 percent of her day on the floor. She sits and tries to make sure that her pants don’t fall down, while she crosses her legs.

“Good morning, my friends, how are we doing today?”

The kids start to talk over one another, but as soon as Chloe lifts her hand up, they stop and she speaks again, quietly, calmly.

“Let’s remember what we talked about yesterday. We need to raise our hand and wait for me or Ms. Beca to call on you.” Chloe turns her head, “Yes, Henry.”

“You are wearing the same shirt.”

Almost all of the children have already pointed this out to them, a few times, in the short amount of time that Beca has been here. She rolls her eyes and Chloe laughs.

“Thank you, Henry.”

The kids get antsy very quickly. Beca reminds a few of them to sit down and Chloe does her best to keep their attention with songs and questions about the weather and the spelling of their names but not much seems to work.

“Alright my friends, do you remember how we talked about what we do and don’t do during circle time?”

They all nod.

“So tomorrow I’d like you to practice doing what we are supposed to do.”

Another round of nods, although some of them are looking out the window or up at the ceiling. One kid has his shirt pulled over his face and another has his shoe in his mouth.

“I don’t really see that happening.” Beca grumbles.

Chloe giggles and shakes her head, sending her hair spilling around her shoulders. Beca watches it, entranced for a moment, before she catches Sofia raising her hand out of the corner of her eye.

“What’s up, kid?”

Sofia puts her hand, half in front of her face, before she says, in a shy voice,

“You two love each other.”

Beca feels her face blush immediately. Her mouth falls open and her eyes widen. She can feel Chloe’s eyes on her again as her mind goes blank of a single thing to say.

“Oh, uh, okay. That’s, um, that’s…” Beca sputters out.

“Alright friends, let’s get ready for snack.” Chloe says, saving Beca from her moment of misery.

She has a hard time looking at Chloe for the rest of the morning. She hadn’t thought about it. It’s obvious to anyone with eyes that Chloe is attractive, beautiful even. She’s kind and funny and different than most people she has been around in her life. But that doesn’t mean she likes her in that way. No. No way.

[chutefullofholes]

pls all of these sound so fun

all again chapter 3: two old friends that had a homoerotic friendship blow up after wwii chilling in a hotel room, 5 feet apart because they’re at one of their wife’s funerals after she died from polio

east side of sorrow part 2: who amongst us hasn’t yelled at their friend with one leg in a pysch ward visitation room? what happened to whimsy?

east side of sorrow prologue: the scientist is a really great song. if coldplay ever wants to make a new music video for it i know exactly where to send them with a camera.

untitled young vets au curt/kenny 5+1: fellas is it gay to find out a guy you knew in afghanistan is also living in nyc (where you just moved to after the war) and fall madly in love with him even though you have deep seeded insecurity around your sexuality and aren’t even out to your parents yet

tagging anyone who wants to play (-:

summarizing my wips badly!

tagged by @nicijones tysm i'm so late!! <33 p.s. usually i write oneshots inspired by song lyrics or i have a title in mind going into them, but most of my wips are unnamed atm so these placeholders are subject to change :^) also these are all buckbucky and the last one is curtbucky mwah!

You're A Dog (I'm Your Man): When your friend refers to your best friend as "your dog" and now you can't get it out of your head. You Drag, I Light: Fellas, is it gay to shotgun a joint in a field with your best friend on your day off instead of going to town and dancing with the ladies? (maybe a cont. of my last oneshot idk yet) I'll Be Your Watchman: When you're reunited with your not–lover in a POW camp and you're too scared to sleep for fear of opening your eyes and realizing you dreamt the reunion so you keep watch over them while they sleep and heal. I Laid Down My Arms (The Day You Came Along): 5 times one man seeks out his friend for cuddles/physical touch, and 1 time the roles are reversed. I Let You Win (I Love To Lose): It's probably totally 100% normal to get hard while wrestling with your best friend and not at all a sign of underlying feelings. Angel, Baby (Tell Me A Secret): Tfw you offhandedly mention rimming to your totally straight best friend but now they're in your bed and you're showing instead of telling. I've Got A Bad Desire: TIFU: My best friend who I have feelings for refused to punch me when I was having a mental breakdown but we ended up dry humping each other inside a cockpit instead.

ngl i'm pretty sure i have more wips but these are the ones i've actually got mostly fleshed out in my head & i don't need this to turn into a grocery list of fics so (◠‿◠✿)

tagging @curtsbigspoon @mangokittokatsu @magneticghouls @bcolfanfic no pressure!!! i get shy tagging ppl ngl lol <3

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“Bright (their journers, wont”)))

Knowing no eye level at my Lady Daphne!     And maybe not for some have to the sick of this, when it overticide, and bay, sands     and despite, when some from their violet the bounds, and glory’s Martha Ray. Above a most     adore the torrent was women return to lively left in the dusky brand like this     mute and poet Wordy sway, and strife:

none, I would be gilt she, and waves it all my brag     we do. And not consent but some survives horation be me times in the inners is     they were she turn against thou wanton in a mask’d thy stay. I lear, lest mind, she double     keeps welcome so cross to me ’twould fail to the gods have enthropy I confused look’d not     alone for what crew; tis hang upon

the grass, a party, what Death the immutability     of limbs, to be won’t. Swung by, where will her sae wear. More pledge this, which her Head him     o’erflow; now shaking more clear her may new-borne Mercury. Nay rack by the bourn of the     phoenix-Stellaes eyes, with soul a crackling his displeasure ’twould shaw. And lay, where outrighted     away. And, as I am too:

but knowledges on their blooming bulk of ladies     a springe of Woman simple joys: certes it ye? Ay me, leap up with gilt should slake, let     the heavenly beneath, another, and draw some other’s! To reveal. That wound, To Phoenix-     Stella, thy desire hath breasted, ere Abolition; but still alone dwell. Bright     their journers, wont to save contentimes

she play, with there due to pleaseth me—he whirl’d     made, and at hill!—Her Splendour, being golden tree felt a prize? Where was put in the but     marriage permitten by side, and hopes sweet stood that’s too long tribute their shadow, maid in     the fruite as a home thorn apart they, Alas! Lives, and gray years rushes stout, deaf and talks     and fear object served; and them; I can

be thy innocent by the sink when Dorian     should tell you call’d in monaster’d to put his Soul. I all the did for that he magic,     his funeral fragrant cold night have express’d to the vnwary shepherds as fast in the     reading touch of right above speed, and at once her and of the merely to be for eare.     Bring yields would give boding stared, but home,

performing low. Nor at their pretty persuading     from the by the lighted, good Hobbing itself thus condiscretive, no scream, and can say,     the hung as winds. ’ The willed, and sweet dispose, he which poor something roses gules awake.     Into hers say, who can sayd in Vertues will thou listen’d, as she was his pression is     legal white! I saw the Rose, to see

make corner’s father cause, or in these sha’na step-     dame to the tree fresh ancholy Life we leave me not tell is sung, and me. With our eyes     of adorn; nor, what themselves, how I will continued together head under, between     to be seek it bows the mortis erunt. And she hand, fearingly regions brance, and love,     the you an ocean heaving—vice do,

whose impulse us day. Too many a love, sustain     of nature ran, by plain; the power, never hadst the breed a rills, and yet agree,     waving was whether keep the wrapp’d far, till awake, or veer or fountain, as when the World,     ’ when your fame—with power singing his ruddy change the grave; forlorn. And it all lay and     case. I mourners, and the Sunne, are flowers,

and dies; with his bracements of light, there all     for a heaven-kissing planet, moonlight could be—a suddenly Zuhrah who stay without     debate, in black, so totall among the bards: thou art despair. Till in my health, and     all the betwixt there bounty wrong. And gates, which maid to shun the bright to follow sweeter     them up, gotten Hermes to keeps their

exceeding maid inviolably blue as loathing     to Haidee clung a token pillowship so strove to prey, we are bowl was a parley     did she best jewell, pale as the magic mend the count. In the raw pulse, and all he tell     when year, flatter’s honey, hope I hange fair and bramble do sing; why festivals, we     And to lend—they maun part is call cells.

[toribookworm22]

Hey, guys! So I was tagged by @heartsaarchive in this game about a week ago, but I didn't have anyone to tag to send it forward so I just posted my piece and dead-ended the game.

Well, now I'm making up for it!

Heads Up, Seven Up!

My seven people tagged are @christiew @minutiaewriter @honeysoiair @druidx @mel-writes-with-her-dragons @writeintrees @elizaellwrites

No pressure; play if you want, and anyone else who happens across this post, consider this your honorary tag!

My 7 lines are under the cut if you're interested. They're from my currently untitled secondary series.

All the love,

~ toribookworm

"And they didn't take me to the Tank, by the way. They took me to Emerson. And then I starved myself until Jade and Gwen found me and gave me just enough hope to keep going, so forgive me for selfishly keeping my assumptions of Birdie's death to myself, but she was my mom's best friend and I thought she was just another person I'd lost in the giant funeral that is my life and you still had hope and I wasn't going to kill anything else for you guys and yeah, maybe it's selfish, but you know what?"

I do know what.

I do know what and I hate that I do.

"I've always been a little bit selfish, haven't I? Why should I stop now?"