Buzzfeed Should Look At Tumblr For Thirst Tweets!!! We Are So Much MORE Creative! Dammit.

my favorite poetry books (free PDF or epub)

the complete maya angelou

don't call us dead by danez smith

all the flowers kneeling by paul tran

time is a mother by ocean vuong

madness by sam sax

mayakovsky's revolver by matthew dickman

soft science by franny choi

thief in the interior by phillip b williams

ariel by sylvia plath

calling a wolf a wolf by kaveh akbar

together and by ourselves by alex dimitrov

not here by hieu minh nguyen

brute by emily skaja

post colonial love poem by natalie diaz

unaccompanied by javier zamora

prelude to bruise by saeed jones

howl & other poems by allen ginsberg

the big book of exit strategies by jamaal may

look by solmaz sharif

the crown ain't worth much by hanif abdurraqib

eyes bottle dark with a mouthful of flowers by jake skeets

finna by nate marshall

autopsy by donte collins

a place called no homeland by kai cheng thom

lunch poems by frank o'hara

lessons on expulsion by erika l sanchez

the new testament by jericho brown

said the manic to the muse by jeanann verlee

space struck by paige lewis

safe houses i have known by steve healey

the wound is a world by billy-ray belcourt

nature poem by tommy pico

owed by josua bennett

felon by reginald dwayne betts

come on all you ghosts by matthew zapruder

bluets by maggie nelson

life of the poetry by olivia gatwood

perennial by kelly forsythe

contradictions in the design by matthew olzmann

the big smoke by adrian matejka

peluda by melissa lozada-oliva

american sonnets for my past & future assassins by terrance hayes

king me by roger reeves

in a dream you saw a way to survive by clementine von radics

A stack of books that were either never finished, never published, or were destroyed.

Pratchett’s unfinished works were run over by a steamroller as per his wishes, Waugh set fire to his manuscript, Sappho’s poetry was burned by order of the Pope and Lady Wortley Montagu’s daughter threw her journals in the fire for being too incendiary, ironically. The others were either started or planned out but never completed.

oh my god. oh my GOD.

mercy pt. 6

What would you do for someone you love? Would you lie for them? Steal? Would you kill for them?

(a story of seduction, sin, and crime in six parts)

disclaimer: i apologize for everything you are about to read and take full responsibility

part 1-5 here

“Can you please tell us what happened, Mr. Black?”

“I-I-wish I knew. I-is this how I’m going to spend the rest of my life? Wondering what happened to my wife?” Sirius stammered out, hands shaking as he gripped a cup of tea in the hospital waiting room, police surrounding him.

“Just tell us what you know, Mr. Black.”

“I came home with Harry—we spend Thursday nights together, it’s our little tradition, gave Petunia time to relax, take a bath have some time for herself—and when I went upstairs, noticed the bath was overdrawn. The carpets were wet and-and, oh god,” Sirius choked out, looking down at his hands, “I opened the door to the bath and there she was.”

“What time was this?”

“About 7:30.”

“And what happened then?”

“I hoped she was just knocked out,” Sirius said, “There was so much…so much blood. I called for the paramedics immediately, maybe they could do something? But I don’t know…it was too late…I-I don’t know anything else. I…That probably doesn’t help.”

“We’re sorry for your loss, Mr. Black. That’s all we need from you. It…was a tragic accident.”

Sirius looked up at the policemen, “That’s…it?”

“We needed a statement for the records, but there’s nothing to be done, Mr. Black. I wish you and your son well.”

Sirius watched the policemen walk out the double doors of the hospital.

How long was the appropriate amount of time to fake cry in a waiting room for your dead-pseudo-wife? If he left too soon would it be suspicious? If he stayed too long would it look like overcompensation?

The authorities were gone. Petunia was dead, her body already covered in a sheet and Sirius had signed whatever paperwork he needed to sign.

Harry was at Number Four Privet Drive, with wet carpets and a bathroom covered in blood from where Petunia had slipped.

Slipped on the water getting out of the bath.

An accident.

Her head hit the side of the sink as she fell.

Another accident.

Oops.

--

Sirius sat in front of the desk at the ministry of magic, Harry next to him, legs swinging from the chair as more paperwork was rifled through, the two of them waiting for some worker to return. It had been easier than Sirius thought, introducing Harry to a brand new world of magic. It had been…simple enough, to convince Harry to leave Number Four, and move into Number 12, not even blinking when Remus was there as well.

“So, I just…live with you now?”

“We have to sign some papers, kind of like how we did with your aunt? But over in the magical world.”

“Are they magic papers?”

“They are,” Sirius grinned, “They glow when everything’s complete.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Brilliant!”

“You know…you don’t…have to live with me, Harry,” Sirius told him, even if inside he hoped that Harry would agree to that as well; hoping he had been able to establish enough of a relationship with the boy that living with him wouldn’t be so…strange.

“No one else wants me.” Harry shrugged, “I dunno where I would go. Do…you not—”

“I want nothing more than to stay with you, Harry,” Sirius said, turning his head to look at his kid, reaching a handover and putting it on top of his knee gently to stop the fidgeting, “For however long. As long as you want. Just…you and me, kid.”

“What about the magic school?”

“You’ll go there, and…I’ll be there to pick you up on holiday's. And we’ll get a tree, and we’ll go to the seaside and make sandcastles and—”

“Can I ride on your bike?”

Sirius laughed, “Yeah, I’ll teach you to ride eventually. When you’re a bit bigger, I think.”

“Just..us?”

“Mhmm. Remus too. Is that okay?”

“That’s…that’s okay.” Harry nodded, “Thanks for asking…if it was okay, I mean.”

“With me, you get choices. I promise.”

“Why are you so nice—” Harry’s voice was cut off by the door of the office opening once more, a ministry worker appearing with a file of paperwork and a bright smile.”

“Let’s get this sorted, shall we?” she said, with an air of finality, as she opened the file.

Several signatures and explanations later, things were signed off on, Sirius for once thankful that wizarding laws pertaining to childcare, outside of blood magic, were fickle and flawed. Muggles certainly didn’t have it right when it came to household tasks or money storage—a bank account that anyone could just access if they knew your birthday?—but seemed to have protocol right for keeping children safe, Sirius recalling the interview he had to partake in when he legally adopted Harry in their world. But this was over with a wave of a wand, and Sirius and Harry walked out of the office together, returning back to Number 12.

Where Remus was waiting, pumpkin juice and chocolate cake ready in celebration.

Joy to be found in the midst of heartache, supposedly.

The silver lining.

--

Days later, the wards at Number 12 buzzed with magic, someone coming to disrupt the peace that had settled amidst the grief. Something that looked like buying Harry new bedsheets and letting him pick out the color for his room; giggles at muggle television shows that he wasn’t allowed to watch and far too much indulgence of ice cream (which was often not run by Sirius at all and was a side-effect of living with Remus Lupin). Sirius went to the door, wand in his hand, half of his mind still waiting for the other shoe to drop, even if he knew and he did know, that there was…nothing to be done.

Death was final, after all.

“Albus,” Sirius said shortly

“May I come in?”

“No. What do I owe the pleasure?”

“You’re surprised to see me here?”

“Yes, actually. And without a casserole, nonetheless. Didn’t you learn any manners?” Sirius asked

Albus nodded, “I…am sorry for your loss, Sirius. It’s…quite the twist of fate, isn’t it?”

“Hardly.”

Sirius met his eyes, blue twinkling back into grey.

“Seems…this all worked out well for you, Sirius.”

“My wife is dead, I wouldn’t call that working out well.”

“I didn’t know you and Petunia were close.”

“Don’t pretend you know a damn thing about me.”

Identical words had been said 3 years ago when Sirius was first let out of Azkaban. When he was first cleared of charges and unable to take custody of Harry. Because Sirius was irresponsible, Sirius needed to get his own life together, Sirius didn’t have blood magic on his side. Sirius remembered looking at all the faces of the wizengamot; the minister; Dumbledore, all of them looking down so they didn’t have to look Sirius in the eyes. Because ex-convict or not, there was no safer protection than Black magic, and they all knew it.

“May I come in? To say hello to Harry?”

“No, you may not.”

“The truth will reveal itself, Sirius. It always does.”

“What exactly are you saying, Albus?”

“The…coincidences are…peculiar. You’ve been in the right place at the right time for years now.”

“They checked my wand.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

“I was bowling, with Harry.”

“I don’t doubt that either.”

“The only thing I am guilty of is love. I didn’t know that constituted a crime of passion.”

“Love makes us do the unthinkable, doesn’t it?”

“Do the unthinkable? Like what? Kill her husband and son so I could marry her and adopt Harry? And then kill her? Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds? I’m trying to move on. I suggest you do too.”

“Sirius—”

“Have a nice day, Albus,” Sirius said, stepping backward and pulling the door shut, casting a few spells for good measure. He walked back down the halls of the house where Remus and Harry were sitting, reading a chapter book together, Harry looking at Remus with wide eyes.

“What did I miss?” Sirius asked, sitting down next to Harry.

“Only the best part!”

“The best part? Well, you have to read it again, Remus.”

“Who was at the door?” Remus asked

“Just…someone coming to pay their respects but…I told them we were okay. We don’t need anything, right?”

“I never want to eat pasta again,” Harry said and Sirius laughed wrapping his arm around Harry’s shoulder.

“Well…you’re lucky I love you so much. I’ll do anything to make sure you never eat pasta again.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

--

“You were right,” Remus said, after Harry had gone to bed, tucked away in a bed at Number 12, the blood at Number Four Privet Drive still staining the bathroom tile. “How were you right?”

“I’ve been dating her. I married her. I knew everything about that woman. I made routines for that woman. Clumsy, isn’t she?” Sirius laughed, wiping a fingerprint off his glass.

“All I had to do was make a noise in the house..you extended the bathroom counter just the right amount and…she did the rest.” Remus held up his glass of champagne, “You clever bastard.”

“And the ministry will spend the rest of their lives trying to find out how I was involved…and they’ll find nothing.”

“Cheers, my love,” Remus said, and they hit their glasses together, toasting yet another successful murder.

honestly, you guys will be the death of me!!!!!! <33

stars, scars, and winning scores ☆ 

pink in the night

it's the levels of scrutiny too.

a movie that has a largely-female cast has to be well-written, well-shot, well-acted, well-advertised. people will spend 2 hours on youtube talking about a single plot hole; about a moment of bad pacing, about a singular background character's poor scripting. if there isn't something obvious, they will say - well there's nothing specifically bad, but it wasn't specifically good either.

they will turn out another all-male movie, and it's just a movie.

a book that has queer representation in it has to defy every convention of writing while also being true to traditional plot, structure, format, and pacing. it must have no boring chapters, no missteps, no awkward dialogue. it must be able to "prove" that any queer relationship "makes sense", their sparks must fly off the page and their love must be eternal. the writing must be clear and beautiful, the storyline original and fresh, the values traditional but with an undercurrent that is modern and saucy.

they will turn out another book without queer rep, where a man and woman just-fall-in-love, and it's just a book.

i am latinx. i am queer. i am nb & neurodivergent. my father said to me once: you will need to be exceptional to be just-as-good, and you will need to be beyond exceptional before they see you as just-a-person, and not your labels.

i am not beyond exceptional. i am a human person. i am skilled because i worked my ass off to be skilled.

i am currently reading a book that's so-bad-it's-good about a girl that falls in love with a vampire. i was 64% of the way through the book before she figures out tall-dark-fanged is not natural. i like books like these, i like letting myself relax while i just enjoy the read. but i do spend a lot of time wondering - would this have been published if it was about queer people? would this have gotten past the editors if the characters weren't white and sexy?

i want to write a movie about being a woman in a male space, and i want to start that movie with a 10 minute scene where the woman is lectured with the exact same whining that occurs in the youtube comments of even the trailers for those movies: "haven't we had enough diversity?" "we've had enough girl power movies" "sorry, this is just pandering. it's boring."

here's what's fucked up: it shouldn't matter, you're right. my identity shouldn't fold after my name like a battalion of stars: a cry of what i've gone through. what we all know i had to move past and through. i should just be a writer, plain and simple, without my work being shifted through with tweezers - i know everything i make, always, i am incredibly responsible for. beholden to. i don't like knowing that if i fuck up, i am also fucking up for every person like me. every person in a community i belong to.

once, back in undergrad, i wrote a short story about a girl who had been kicked by a horse. it was my first time writing about my experience with my ocd; i felt proud of it. the story was mostly about grief and slow recovery. the queerness of the main character was not important to the plot, my main character was just-queer. there wasn't even a romantic interest in it.

i remember one of my classmates being disappointed. "i just feel like you always write about girls who like girls, and i'm bored of it," he said. "you're a beautiful writer, but i'm like - oh, at some point, it's gonna be gay again." during the workshop, he folded his hands over my story and said, "and okay, i'm just going to say it. she's ocd, she's gay, she's depressed - it's a little much for me to believe is all happening to one person."

it is a little much to be that person (and more besides). i have therapy weekly, after all.

over and over, belonging to exception.

💌 poems for the month of love 💌

Having a Coke with You by Frank O’Hara

The Quiet World by Jeffrey McDaniel

Wait For Me by Konstantin Simonov (tr. by Mike Munford)

A Kiss on the Forehead by Marina Tsvetaeva

Love by Joseph Brodsky

Your Unripe Love by Paruyr Sevak (from “Anthology of Armenian poetry")

Love poem by Tishani Doshi 

Maybe Under Some Other Sky by Willie Perdomo

Warming Her Pearls by Carol Ann Duffy

Ich finde dich (I find you) by Rainer Maria Rilke

Where does such tenderness come from? by Marina Tsvetaeva

I Loved You by Alexander Pushkin

Like a Small Café, That’s Love by Mahmoud Darwish (translated by Mohammad Shaheen)

Our Story by William Stafford

The Kiss by Sara Teasdale

DONT. JUST DONT.

DONT play the part in making your child's life shit. home is supposed to feel safe, not a place a child cant wait to run away from as soon as they turn 18!!!!

it really does fuck with our life. so please JUST PLEASE STOP!

maaaaan-

Oh Moons.. Poor Sirius never stood a chance.

(2021)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Opened photoshop on an old computer to find it had been saving a recovery file of an old Remus Lupin sketch for almost three years!! (Based on that one picture of the person reading from that one tumblr post a VERY long time ago)

Needless to say, re-fell in love with my own idea and had to finish it. Overall I'm SUPER happy with the line work!! It worked so good and I'm so proud!! :D

If the face fits

Jily meet cute! ....well, this might be a meet ugly, but it's all I can think of. Based on a video I saw a while back, and I'll try to post it if I find it again. NSFW below the cut.

Lily hates the first day at a new gym. 

Trying out a new gym is always a bit uncomfortable. There are rules and expectations that are common across every gym, of course, but each one has its own culture that you really can’t know until you walk in the door. What is the flow around the equipment? What is the acceptable time on a machine? Where is the best vantage point to check out the gym hotties?

Lily despises walking in without knowing what to expect, but she and Mary moved to this city a month ago, and running outside is only going to get her by for so long. She needs some actual gym equipment. So, she’s braving gym visits. 

This one, Marauders Fitness (“We solemnly swear to get you swole!”) caught her eye. It’s run by four guys, each of whom are sexy in that sweaty-abs-on-display sort of way, if you’re someone who is into that sort of thing. (Lily… Lily was into that sort of thing). They offered a three-day visit pass, and this is Lily’s first day. 

She is already feeling the distinct exhaustion in her underused muscle, knowing that she’ll be deliciously sore tomorrow. All she needs is to lift some weights, and she’ll be done. 

She pulls out her phone to text Mary, who is stuck at work, as she sits down on the weight bench. Only, she doesn’t actually sit on the bench. 

Lily turns to look and jumps up again, just in time to see a guy with messy hair sit up from where he had laid down on the bench. “Oh, oh my god. I’m so–” 

She turns and runs. There’s really no other solution now, right? As much as she liked this gym, she can never, ever return. She honestly debates leaving her bag in the locker room, until she realizes her keys are in there, and she doubles back for it. 

“Hey, wait a minute!” 

She turns to see Mr. Messy Hair coming after her, jogging to catch up. “Nope, sorry. I have, um, an urgent appointment somewhere else. Across town. I have to go.” 

“You can’t go yet,” he says, walking beside her as she continues toward the locker room. 

“Yes, I can. Can’t be helped, must go.” She tries to walk a little faster, but this guy is tall and his long legs take big strides. 

“Well, before you run out, at least give me your name and number.” He looks down at her with a smirk, and she pretends it doesn’t make her stomach swoop. “You wouldn’t just sit on my face and run, would you?”

Lily groans. “You did not just use that line.” 

He laughs, and it’s such a full, happy sound. “It’s terrible, I know, but you can’t blame me. It’s like a once in a lifetime kind of a line.” 

“Listen, about that, I’m really sorry–” 

“NOPE!” He smiles as he cuts her off. “You don’t get to apologize for that. I think we were both a little at fault for that one, so if you apologize, I’m going to have to apologize, then you’ll think you have to apologize, and we’ll be stuck in a playback loop.” 

Lily scoffs. “Maybe, but only one of us sat on the other’s face.” 

“You’re really going to make me say it, aren’t you?” He crosses his arms over his chest, a playful tug to his lips. 

“Say what?”

He leans in, like he’s sharing a secret. “I really didn’t mind it that much.” 

Lily feels herself flush. “I really have to go.” 

“No, come on. You didn’t even finish your workout!” He gestures back at the gym. “Why don’t you finish? I can help if you want.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “Was that another double entendre?” 

His eyes go wide. “No. I mean, not intentionally. I just meant–” He sighs. “At least tell me you’ll come back?” 

Lily laughs, and there’s a hysterical note to it. “No, absolutely not.” 

“What if I throw in free personal trainer services?” 

She glares at him. “Do these services involve you laying on my weight bench?”

“No, I promise.” He waves over her shoulder. “I’ll even set it up with Sirius so you don’t have to deal with me.” 

She looks over her shoulder at three guys who are still standing by The Weight Bench (an incident like that deserves a Proper Title), grinning like they enjoy watching this train wreck. One of them–Sirius, presumably–waves back.

It’s only then that the realization lands hard in her stomach. She’s seen this guy before. All of them. “Oh my god. You’re the owner?” She walks past him, a bit in a daze. “I just sat on the gym owner’s face.” 

“It was a new experience for me, too.” He follows her as she walks back toward the locker room. “I’m James, by the way.” 

“Lily,” she says, but she’s hardly paying attention. 

“Are you still going to leave, Lily?”

A hysterical bubble of laughter pops out. “I should. I should move all the way back to my parents’ house and climb under my Barbie blanket and just give up.” 

“You could,” James says. “Or there’s another option and–I might be a bit biased, but I think it’s a better option.” 

“What’s that?” she asks, turning to face him. 

“Go on a date with me?” He’s really very cute when he smiles, glasses a little lopsided (that might be her fault) and a crooked grin. He holds his hands up in surrender. “Face sitting optional.” 

Lily laughs. She can’t help it; it’s just the most ridiculous thing to ever happen in her life. She holds up a finger. “One condition.” 

“Anything,” he says. 

“Please stop mentioning face sitting.”