#vaguely sapphic poetry

[sapphosclown]

i think the lesbian vibes that radiate off dan and phil comes from their well crafted vague dynamic, it’s the same as watching two sapphics interacting because one minute they are reciting poetry back and forth and the next they’re lighting each other on fire and both are actually a display of deep love, and it is continuously ambiguous whether they are making out or just really good pals

#does this make sense? #like i love that vibe for them #keep being weirdly lesbian coded you freaks #but does it make sense #dan and phil

[deepdeanvsweston]

Detective gang and their tumblr blogs

Daisy's blog: dykes4detecting

- has one blog for absolutely everything she posts, and it's all a pretty pink colour

- does also have a rarely used sideblog for fashion

- occasionally makes alarming but nonchalant posts like 'someone threw me into the Nile yesterday lmao'

- but in the tags of the same post it'll be the most devastatingly tragic admittance of feelings you've ever seen like #it was so scary though... #im scared of showers now because of it and it makes me feel so stupid #like getting my feet wet gives me heart palpitations wtf???

- also makes posts like "you'd think people would put a little more effort to kill me considering the effort I put into stopping exactly that" and nobody can tell if she's shitposting or not

- reblogs a lot of historical lesbian content and the occasional Killing Eve gifset

- also reblogs poetry, especially sapphic obviously

- posts her own blackout poetry which is quite popular

Hazel's blog: woctordatson

- back when she was 12/13 Hazel had an entirely BBC Sherlock themed blog which was in fact actually popular and well known, in tumblr anyway

- did not change her blog name from this phase

- used to write Sherlock/Watson fanfic and post it

- (Daisy brings it up every so often and when she does Hazel tells her she wished she'd drowned (jokingly ofc))

- now has several blogs for different things because she likes having everything organised

- one of the blogs is called a-stamp-a-day where she (you guessed it!) posts a stamp a day, and a little bit about it

- (I hc Hazel to collect them and have a focused interest in them)

- another blog is poetry themed, and she ofc reblogs all of Daisy's blackout poems

- reblogs a lot of those gif stimboards (visual stimmer fr fr)

- LOVES the haiku bot

George's blog: beetles-and-boatles

- posts a lot about the Mary Celeste which are half detailed research posts and the other half is just 'the mystery of the Mary Celeste lives in my head rent free'

- may also post about other unsolved mysteries too

- made one joke post about Daisy acting like he didn't know her and posting 'ok so in December the Guardian says this girl died after a cult member threw her overboard a boat in Egypt and yet the BBC had an article last week reporting how she was at her father's funeral??? I have Questions'

- however it blew up and now Daisy Wells is lowkey an unsolved mystery tumblr superstar. George finds this hilarious

- also posts pictures of his pet beetles and infodumps about them

- very very very occasionally makes an incredible vague post about his crush like 'he adjusted my school tie and I leant into his hand,,, having a crush is horrific'

Alex's blog: spaceistrans

- says he doesn't have a doctor who blog but so clearly has a doctor who blog

- has doctor who quote "In 900 years of time and space, I’ve never met anyone who wasn’t important" as his header

- draws a lot of cute little pride icons, especially aromantic ones that are fairly popular

- also posts a lot about space like "there's an eclipse today!!!" and then he makes a post of the times in different countries you can see it

- reblogs all of George's unsolved mystery researched posts with super supportive tags like #this is so well researched!!!

- has a scheduled post each month that just says 'fuck you mom' (Daisy spam reblogs this every time it shows up on her dash)

- reblogs a lot of dw fanart and gif stimboards

#murder most unladylike #mmu #daisy wells #hazel wong #george mukherjee #alexander arcady #mmu headcannons

[somethingclevermahogony]

OC Takeover Tag Game

I was tagged by @mk-writes-stuff ! Thank you for coming up with this idea, it was a lot of fun! Rules: for any OCs you’d like, if they stole your phone and got on your tumblr blog, what would they do/post on it? Narul: More than likely he would just be curious about how exactly phones work. He would almost certainly like and reblog many posts completely by accident. Ultimately, all he would post would probably be garbled nonsense as his fingers are just too big to function all that well on a smartphone (he's also illiterate so that doesn't help). Unfortunately, he would likely end up breaking the screen and would subsequently be very apologetic and embarrassed.

hjgiu evreyr1!!1 ioju donmt klnow3 hjoiw tyhgis weorksa

Ninma: She would love a smartphone. She would post dozens of selfies (once she figured out how to take one) alongside her vulgar poetry. She would comment on almost every post that came across the dash and would certainly not hold back on sharing her opinion on people's work. She would spam reblogs of posts concerning fashion and jewelry.

The Polycule (Istek, Dati, and Sihunu (mostly Istek)): Istek would be fascinated and would spam my blog with reblogs of a mixture of travel posts and shirtless men. He would insist on taking risque selfies with Sihunu and Dati. Dati would tentatively agree, Sihunu almost certainly would not. Dati might post something vaguely political, likely addressing an issue like colonization, Sihunu would respond or reblog with an additional insight, Istek would contribute with a nonsensical but ultimately well-meaning boomer meme.

Otilia: She would fall down a rabbit-hole of sapphic fan-fiction and art, and would request at least one art commission of her and her partner, Shela. She would post a poem or two and include a thousand tags, some only tangentially related to anything she wrote about. Zatar: He would post a single, long, rambling, violent, ranting post about the evil of the nobility (except Akard of course). He would post a single picture of Akard, which he would then heavily edit. His intention would be to make Akard look regal or divine, but it would ultimately look more like something that a 12 year old girl might do to the photo of a member of a boy-band.

The Deep Sun: Would post and reblog terrible climate doom content, would message and bully my followers, would delete all of my content, and would then ultimately delete the entire blog. Of course this is assuming that he doesn't just burn up the phone from the start.

Tagging @illarian-rambling, @dyrewrites, @yaghoulghosty, @the-octic-scribe, @americanfemcel, @axl-ul, @finickyfelix, and @foragedbonesblog

#testamentsofthegreensea #writeblr #writing #worldbuilding #fantasy writing #queer fantasy #narul #oc #tag game! #creative writing

[babylon-crashing]

Q: Who is poetry supposed to be interpreted for, or is it intended for a specific audience?

I can only speak for myself but when I started all this I assumed I was writing for the rest of you, “all the world's a stage,” and similar nonsense. It mattered, I thought, if The Reader (that vague, ghostly figure) liked what I had to say. So I fretted and published and rewrote and published and fretted some more … which was fine, since I was in my Glam rock phase, back when Poetry as Performance was pivotal.

[flowers of my youth: alejandra, ziggy, robert, patti, federico.]

Oscar Wilde's cosmic spectacle was fine; as motivations to write went it served me well … right up until my first crisis of the soul, when I discovered to my frustration that Extravaganza, in and of itself, could not speak the truths that I suddenly needed to say.

I think (though there’s no way to prove it) that when poets, first starting out, suddenly stop writing and go off and do something else it’s usually because they find that their whole reason for writing suddenly no longer pleases. What readers I had at the time didn’t enjoy my new poems about dying orphans in Armenia, which led to my botched suicide attempt. “Being sad for a while was one thing, but where was the humor? the erotic? the excess?” Therein lies the tension, I suppose, in the end who am I writing for?

Again, I can only speak for myself but, these days, if I’m not writing for an audience of 1 then I’m probably not writing at all.

In French, the whiskers of the Weird Sisters, les Bacchantes, meant plush pubes; or so said Sarah Bernhardt, saint of Sapphic pleasures. It was Belle Époque slang, “a lush spread;” back when Lady Macbeth was still called Camp. Sex starved starlets chewed more than scenery with, “shrew'd deceiver,” and, “outrageous vamp/ un'sex me here.” Débauchées. Gay Parée. Quaint old terms. Like me. You, dear Sarah, shook your head, though. “Aphrodite's cloven fern? That's fra Leeds. It's daft innuendoa. French? Theur wri' porn: schmaltzy, sad, maudlin.” Schmaltzy? Trust me the dead know. Here Hell's curse roils each time we poets say, “Damn, new verse!”

#sonnet #poem #poetry #motivation

[remy-the-rat-official]

The Space In-Between

So, a reminder for anyone who can afford or who may be interested, my book The Space In-Between is available for purchase! (When you search it on google it even comes up quickly!)

The collection is very vaguely about space, and love, and because I'm queer as fuck, it's very queer as fuck, despite not being sapphic it has very sapphic vibes if I do say so myself, so hear ye hear ye lesbians, if you want to gift your girlfriend some poetry, here you go?

(Side note: if anyone knows anyone who may be interested, please share! Book sales are hard when you're very autistic and do not know how to pitch it to the people!)

#lesbians #queer #lgbtq #sapphic #nblw #nblnb #genderqueer #gender #poetry #queer poetry #queer writer #disabled writer #published #self published #new author #new book #okay to reblog

[lowercasespaghetti]

Hello,

We are Saoirse, Morgana, and Wraith.

They/it are the pronouns we use.

We're a (mostly) sapphic bisexual non-binary trans woman. (I have a complicated relationship with gender and sexual orientation. And it keeps getting weirder sexier.) We're plural and autistic.

Please have your age listed to avoid being sent to the shadow realm.

I'm a certified fake goth, and I drink TERF blood for their estrogen.

Mutuals feel free to DM or send asks (I only bite if I really like you)

>I generally vague about my anxiety and depression with the tag [Panic Tag]

>I sometimes write poetry. It's about a lot of things the tag I use is [Bad Poetry]

>On the frequent (I guess lol) occasion that I do post horny (how I end up defining horny posting is very loose and inconsistent) I ask that you put your [Hard Hats On], you know to keep the workplace safe. Also be sure to be up to date on your WHMIS.

>General dysphoria is discussed in my [Bottom Dysphoria Conversational] Tag. It doesn't always however, relate to bottom dysphoria specifically. Lately it's been about the chaos and terror of being trans.

>Very rarely I'll talk about my experiences with self harm, alcoholism, and drugs; for this I use the tag [Razor Blades].

>7 years clean, 6 sober, 0 no SH<

>like all things this post will change.

Take some time to take care of yourself, you're worth it.

Love,

Saoirse, Morgana, and Wraith.

[iiicarus0]

blasphemy

here we are, given these tired bodies and calloused hands and feet,

the burden pushed upon us like this, so what are we going to do with them?

the angel comes to you in the night and scratches at your window til you let him in,

let him tell you all about rusting halos and war and lightning-strike bones, and

just before the tears spill over, let him pull you closer than you've ever been to anyone.

my aunt who always did drink too much told me once that an angel had hugged her one night

and that it had felt like collapsing into a pile of branches, twigs and bark poking into her skin,

but it didn't hurt, she said, looking up from the river rocks we'd been painting.

it didn't hurt. there was paint on her hands and something hiding behind her eyes.

being holy is too much. i don't see why you'd want it.

being a thing with dead eyes and an absent father, living in fear of anything less than Perfection.

so to hell with being holy, i tell you. instead let's opt for being here now with each other in these bodies

but even that is a lot to ask, i know it is. Selfish to ask that of you. Selfish to ask you to be with me.

but Selfish is what i am, so i run to your house at midnight and scratch at your window til you let me in,

and i tell you about feeling wind on your skin in autumn and waking from a nightmare

to the smell of bread baking in the kitchen and the person you love running a hand over your hair

and maybe it's a sin for Us to want these things, pure as they may be, pure as we may be,

and i don't know about you, but i'm tired of pursuing purity like this,

tired of pursuing this when there's a perfectly wonderful girl sitting across from me.

so out your window we go, nothing but drawstring bags on our backs,

and you're chasing me down to the creek near my house and every now and then

i'll feel your hand brush against mine and suddenly my bones feel like lightning.

young footsteps against asphalt and soil and leaves, and then there we are

at the place where the stones are not yet painted and it's not wrong of me to love you.

we leave our bibles by the roots of an old oak, kick off our shoes, wade in.

the water is cool in the night air when you push me under, cool when you slip on the mossy rocks and fall in after me.

here is a new start, i tell you as we lay against the bottom, and i see that there's already paint on your hands,

that you're already started on creating something new for Us, our own piece of scripture, a new life

free of old books that tell Us that we're wrong for holding each other,

and maybe it's blasphemy, but when you grab my hand again, i swear my skin has turned to branches.

#poetry #original poetry #writing #original writing #happy pride #vaguely sapphic poetry #not gay just feeling a lot of feelings lately #and this is how i cope #spilled ink #spilled writing #religious imagery #fuck the church get u a gf

[icys-poetry]

Mary

I remember her eyes

Featureless, kind

The abyss you could sail into and get lost

Like stars, reflected

On a deep ocean

Her smile made me long for it

And I did long

And ached in the quiet

And filled the silence 

Begging for a smile

Her voice rose and fell

I closed my eyes

Carried on the wave

Heart clenched.

Like I might drown.

Mary. It was a good name

for her, a churchgoer’s name, and 

yet—

All those girls now blur together

In my memories

Of church

The feelings are gone, but

the shape still lingers

And the certainty

That she would have hated me

If either of us had known

About my innocent puppy crush

On another girl

#my poetry #sapphic #vague religious trauma #alternate title: hindsight is a bitch and gays joke about how oblivious they were but denial is a shield from self hatred #because without denial we wouldn't be able to cope with it #and i'm just #feeling sad about that in this chili's tonight

[imperfectpretences]

I’d like to play doctor, and slice open her mind

with a deadly little scalpel like you see on tv

I’d poke around inside her head for the words I lost when I was lonely

Which she gathered up like spaghetti hoops I’d spilled onto her skirt.

I’ll pick them out like worms from mud and wash them in the sink

Discarding every trace of her as though she’d never touched them.

I’ll wrap them neatly in spider webs and tie them up with moss green ribbon

And post them in your letter box

The way I should have done the day I thought, oh, I see, so this is what it is to be lonely. ow.

Maybe you’d untie the bow and set my words on your kitchen table

And maybe your cat would stand on them by accident

Maybe you’d think oh, I see, this is what it is to be loved. ow.

Or maybe you’d tip all my shiny vowels and consonants into your bin with the chinese we ate the night before and maybe you’d think, oh, so this is what it is to be real.

Ow.

#poetry #spilled ink #sapphic #lgbt #wlw #prose #poems #19/1/20 #i couldnt get the meaning across so i left it vague youre welcome to interpret #Title: The Words I Didnt Write For You #alternative title: Dont Show People Your Shitty Tumblr Poetry #alternative alternative title: being vague helps nobody and crushes are Hard #mine

[lilacbombs]

tara dabbles in poetry. that wasn’t something I had really thought of but now I’m calling it!!

#agape.txt #tara was never the same after she found a vaguely sapphic poetry book in the monastery library #oc talk

[alphalesbian]

Fragile Friend

Oh my friend, my fragile friend,

 Lay strongly on your woolen bed.

 Let never yonder your head wander

 To those wicked graves again.

I've heard it once. Once before,

 In an ancient time, for sure

 Yet Marrow, aflight in the hall's night,

 Her beak that grinds against the floor. 

As quietly, her claws kept prepared, 

 And surely wore a rage so rare. 

 The halls were hers those hallow nights, 

 And they two were the cunning pair. 

Oh my friend, most dearest friend, 

 Pray thee never see again,

 That famished bird. Her eyes are sharper

 In the clouded inks of pens. 

They say it arrived with no disguises,

 A travelling soul of restless light, 

To challenge that darkness in fair fun, 

the friendliest game of seek and hide.

What hallow night, they chose to play, 

 And shortly after was born day.

 Moonlight, sunrise to sunset,

 As her eclipse  had watched its way. 

Night set fast as any other night.

 She let her wishes then subside. 

 Perhaps, she was trapped from the start, 

 Or maybe from another time. 

For this light could run forever on

 As Marrow's claw rips, chasing dawn 

In a game, in battle that never ends,

Through time, and even then beyond.

#poetry #sapphic #vague #wlw #poem #there yall go tell me what you think ////www\\\\ #this one is superrrrr weird imo i wrote it at like 3 am #but pls tell me what you think!!!!! i would love feedback on all my stufff!!!!!!!!! :'D

[shorthairedbrownqueer]

@wlwvintage tagged me in a 20 fun facts post (check their marvelous post too!) and y'all hella bet I spent a nice long time figuring 20 fun facts about myself

1. I'm from the south of India

2. Being young and sapphic and female and living in a South indian urban metro means I'm about as indian as chicken tikka masala (you think it is but nah not really)

3. My favourite thing to bake is apple pie

4. I have a golden retriever named Humphrey WHOS THE CUTIEST LIL PATOOTIE and the only dog/animal I've ever loved, don't @ me :(

5. I have a youtube channel and instagram called Short Haired Brown Queer too where I make content

6. I am currently WEAK for slowed and revered versions of bollywood songs (rataan lambiyan has my heart)

7. I'm 23 years old

8. I'm a pisces and constantly self offended by it :(

9. My dream suit is a sky Blue & dark blue plaid blazer with a Chinese collared white linen shirt (it's what I wish I wore to graduation)

10. My sims character outfit is just wearing a denim jacket and solid tshirt with jeans and vans

11. I play the tabla and crack a lot of sapphic jokes about it :))

12. My favourite queer book is Patience and Sarah. it's the 1800's sapphic love story that ACTUALLY should be made into a movie

13. I never watched the happiest season because I thought the plot was vaguely crappy

14. I never realised 20 was SO MANY

15. I love working out sometimes for the sole purpose of lifting up my partner more easily ( and it makes me feel really nice which is a shocker because I was a super non-sporty kid growing up)

16. My favourite colours are darker shades of green (olive, emerald), grey and purple

17. I occasionally write poetry to get the gay feelings out (used to a LOT in highschool)

18. I'm the youngest of three children and 90% of my personality comes from being a third child

19. I loveee vintage clothing too! @wlwvintage

20. I often delete my social media like instagram but never Tumblr because it's actually soothing and interesting to be on here

I'd like to tag @desbianherstory @desi-potato @desinonbiryani @shikhaaaa-thedevil @cyanidefemme @sapphicdesi22 @desi-lgbt-fest AND ANYONE ELSE WHO'D LIKE TO HOP ON THIS TRAIN LETS DO IT

#wlw #lgbt #lgbtqia #girls who like girls #indian lesbians #lesbian #butch women #desi dykes #india #indian lgbt #indian lesbian #sapphic #nblw #indian queer #queer India #gay india #gay indian #boo im gay #lgbt india #lesbian pride #sapphic pride

[drunk-on-writing]

the warm spray of water washes me clean of the hours before now her soap-slicked hands find my waist i lather shampoo through her hair and press myself as close to her as i can thank god for the lack of space in this tub not suited for two we switch places, she rinses the soap out of her thick locks, they cling to her skin she presses a bar of soap between my breasts, running her hands all over me as she washes me i can't take my eyes off of her - every inch of her skin scattered with freckles, moles, scars, marks i long to run my fingers through the thick hair between her legs, i crave the feeling of her beneath my fingertips she is so beautiful we kiss under the running water, our breaths tangled as lips touch the water goes cool, but we are so hot

(cc, 2016) // I WROTE A BOOK ♡ buy me a coffee?

#wlw #wlwcollective #sapphic #sapphic poetry #poets on tumblr #poets of tumblr #poetry #poem #words #writing #spilled ink #writers of tumblr #writers on tumblr #my writing #this is old and about my ex lmao maybe thats why im in a shitty mood now : ) #but i knew i wrote something similar that my prev anon was asking for i just cant remember if i posted it here or not #if i did oh whale here it is again! #and if i didnt then here's an old piece of mine! that isnt trash surprisingly #vaguely nsfw? maybe not? #idk fam im asexual

[a-froger-epic]

i’m not a big fan of these but i thought about this and it made me laugh—mutuals as types of ‘mutuals as’ asks

Hahaha!

I love it, very original. Brilliant. I'm going to be quite silly with this and also do it completely off the top of my head, don't hate me, y'all. 😉

@pumpkinlilyao3 - "Mutuals as cute French pastries"

@i-lay-my-life-before-queen - "Mutuals as stuffed animals"

@rhapsodicalfreddie - "Mutuals as sarcastic sitcom quotes"

@quirkysubject - "Mutuals as disproven conspiracy theories"

@plainxte - "Mutuals as types of apologies"

@rock-it-tonight - "Mutuals as strings of rare emojis"

@freesiafields - "Mutuals as lipstick colours"

@freddieofhearts - "Mutuals as quaint antique trinkets"

@bambirexwrites - "Mutuals as tasteful sapphic art"

@trixie-bobwhite - "Mutuals as no-nonsense life mottos"

@onegoldenglance - "Mutuals as pictures of Roger gazing intently at the camera"

@kensingtonmarketstall - :P "Mutuals as elusive dreams you start to forget the moment you wake up"

@myfairykingmercury - "Mutuals as vague snippets of poetry"

@bisexualroger - "Mutuals as ill-advised alcoholic concoctions"

...

👀

#Mutuals as #The ultimate mutuals ask #Everyone unfollows Ana lmao #I'm sorry #But I had fun

[cupofcowboys]

Love Letters for Molly - Molly O’Shea x Reader/OC/Canon

*crawls out of my grave* I LIIIIIIVE. It’s a year since I’ve written for RDR, but I couldn’t miss out on @rdrsapphicweek. I’m too gay for Molly for that. So here is my haphazardly written love ode to that angel. I wrote it vague enough you can fit yourself, an OC or any canon character you fancy. If they would write love letters that is!

Words: 986

Tags: RDR Sapphic Week, WLW, Dutch/Molly, Pining, Affairs

Read on AO3

-♥-

The first letter fluttered out of Molly’s book. She plucked it from the grass and read the slightly smudged words carefully. Once she had finished, she glanced nervously around. It was a very dangerous letter. There was no signature, but she knew it wasn’t from Dutch. He didn’t write like that. The love letter in her hands was from a secret admirer.

It was poetry. Not copied from a book, but written for her. It described how her copper curls caught the morning sun, haloing her in soft angelic light, and the envy they felt of her lipstick as they watched her paint her lips. How they longed to be closer so they may admire her better.

Molly couldn’t help thinking about it. As she lay in bed beside Dutch that night, her heart thrummed with curiosity. She wondered who else in camp thought about her like that. Were they thinking about her now, too?

She felt guilty. She shouldn’t let herself be swept away by an unknown admirer. Not when Dutch needed her to be by his side. And yet, she couldn’t stop looking around the next morning as she put on her makeup, hoping to catch her admirer in the act. But no one seemed to notice her.

The next letter she found in her pocket a few days later. It was longer than the first, filling the entire page with tender words. She felt embarrassed reading it. She had no idea someone was paying so much attention to her. They seemed to read her as though she were an open book, her heart laid bare, and they held it kindly.

They spoke of her green eyes, how they shone like emeralds, and the freckles which covered her from head to toe, little kisses from the sun. Her face when she read her favourite books, the leap in her voice when she smiled, the change in her walk when she knew Dutch was watching, and how she cried under the trees when she thought no one was looking.

The letters kept appearing every few days, always in a new place only she would look. They grew more emotional over time, giving Molly brief glimpses into their thoughts and feelings outside of love. They were conflicted about Dutch. They both loved him as a leader and envied him as Molly’s love, a battle of wills they had lost the moment they began to write. They hoped, at least, that the letters made Molly happier.

She was falling in love. Though she didn’t know who they were, not for a lack of trying their heart was easy for her to fall into. Dutch had become cold. She had forgotten what it felt like to hear she was beautiful and worthy of love. He barely spared a second glance to her these days. She was becoming the same. Her eyes scanned the camp hawk like all day, hoping to uncover her mysterious admirer.

When they were forced to move camps, the letters stopped. Molly found she missed them. There was little joy without them, as Dutch barely spoke to her and the others were as distant as ever. She wondered if her admirer hadn’t been one of them after all. Perhaps it had been a Pinkerton trap, hoping to lure her away.

Her fears were set aside when she got another letter. A pressed flower fell out of the envelope, an apology for the delay. They had noticed she was down, and they dared to hope she missed them. But they missed her smile, which lit up their whole world, and hoped to see it again now that they could write. And finally, they told her they loved her with all their might.

Molly couldn’t hide her joy. She smiled at everyone in camp and hummed without the gramophone. Dutch noticed, and he wondered why. He hadn’t been kind to her, or paid her any time, yet she was acting as if she didn’t mind. It bothered him, but he didn’t know why.

She found a letter in the hollow of her favourite tree. It was quite unlike the others, more forward and full of steam. She found herself breathless as she read how they’d like to hold and kiss her, and deeper thoughts than that. For the first time she closed her eyes and imagined her admirer, and at first imagined him.

Then she realised something, and he changed from him to her. Instead of waistcoats and trousers, she thought of long hair and skirts. She knew her admirer couldn’t be a man. They were different. Softer, kinder, warmer and reminded her of her. At first she was confused, but soon found herself excited to explore a whole new world.

Molly watched the other women as they worked. She thought about all of them in turn, trying to figure out which she preferred and who might be her admirer. They gave nothing away, seeming not to notice her. But Dutch noticed Molly and finally had enough. Their argument shook the camp and made everyone run off.

He demanded her attention, which had been stolen away. Privately, she blamed him for neglecting her. If he hadn’t made her feel lonely and unloved, she would have thrown the letters away. Of this she said nothing, but argued back at him. She demanded his attention but knew he wouldn’t give in. In her heart she knew she no longer loved him, and that he didn’t love her.

Three days she waited for the last letter. It was heavy and when she opened it, a necklace fell into her lap. Emeralds glittered in the gold, a perfect match to her eyes. She picked it up and looked at it with surprise. The note with it was short, barely more than a line. But it was the best of all the letters.

“If you love me, wear this tonight to the tree.”

#rdr sapphic week 2020 #molly oshea #molly o'shea x reader #molly o'shea x oc #molly o'shea x canon #wlw #red dead redemption 2 #dutch van der linde #hanatea

[alwaysalreadyangry]

Ok, so here's the kind of poetry I think they would write:

Nile: this one is cheating a bit because I know a few black women in their twenties from Chicago who write poetry & I'm thinking of them. But let's say Morgan Parker vibes with a Chicago bent, but a bit more about religion.

Booker: to caveat, I do like Booker. But he seems like the sort of white dude who leans into personal tragedies in his work, that are really just failed relationships & he gets lauded as literature because he know his way around blank verse & sad white men are ~universal~ obvs

Quynh is experimental & mythic. She writes very conceptual collections. Maybe an epic or two. Cathy Hong Park comes to mind, but so do Anne Carson or Derek Walcott re: long-form poems. Maybe some Tommy Pico but make it Sapphic. She's also the most "fuck it, let's make it entertainment" of everyone.

Lykon gives off Tommy Pico vibes to me. & maybe some Ross Gay because he's also the most optimistic of everyone.

Joe & Nicky I can see going a few different ways & I don't want to step on your toes re: your fic, so I'll hold off on comparisons, unless you really want.

I think I agree with all of this pretty much!

Booker I can kind of see as being a fan of writers like Oppen... like his writing feels like it would be very pared-back free verse to me rather than blank verse (but then I probably couldn’t recognise blank verse most of the time to save my life unless I was really looking out for it). But otherwise basically, yes. Very Sad Man Poems.

Your description of Quynh’s poetry also made me think of Mei-mei Berssenbrugge as a potential reference point. I can see her doing crossovers with visual and performance art. Maybe some verse plays, but decidedly avant-garde. Mythic and spiky.

I’ve actually been thinking of some of the more mythic moments of Anne Carson as a reference point for some of Joe’s poetry; the problem with that is that I’m not a great mimic and it’s very hard to mimic Carson well imo. I am very curious about your ideas regarding Joe and Nicky but might wait to ask to hear about them until after I’ve finished my fic, just because I’m still kind of working some things out and don’t want to start doubting myself.

When situating them within the world of poetry (lol) I’ve been thinking of stuff more in relation to vague schools/groupings of poets, and about how the characters conceive of their work, how it fits into their life, rather than in terms of poets they’re like, but this is also a fun way to think of it, and kind of cuts through some of that other stuff. It’s hard in a way to focus on them as writing students because they’re to a degree unformed, still working out what they want to write - the poems I’m writing for the fic have some intentional problems left in, and I hope I’m not just using this as cover for my own inadequacies. But poetry is, like everything else, a process of learning throughout, I guess. Trying to have fun playing around with that and not psych myself out too much about it.

Anyway thank you very much for this! It’s very fun to think about. And a good reminder to read Tommy Pico.

#answers #old guard fic musing #maybe that’s the tag for this stuff for now