to-know-how-it-ends

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Tiktok comment// Toni Morrison// Elizabeth Fishel// @bookwyrminspiration // tiktok comment// @stardustandvanilla // tiktok comment// The Sibling Connection by Jane Mersky Leder//tiktok comment// I’ll Give You The Sun by Jandy Nelson.

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do you own anything autographed items?

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fanfiction writers when they say "this is just a little oneshot" and then drop a 96k word emotional obliteration device

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SarahGrace has received the Marcia Novel. I repeat. SarahGrace has received the Marcia Novel.

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connecticut sexyman

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ohmyg-d goodnight indigo is so good!!!!!

Please tell me musical theater songs you think sound like lullabies/peacefull—y and if I don’t have it on my playlist already I will add it

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I have epic III (They danced), best of wives and best of women, stop the world, one hand one heart, not while I'm around (eleri ward version)

All of these sound great -- I'm just a never Next to Normal person because it makes me feel horribly depressed :)

Please tell me musical theater songs you think sound like lullabies/peacefull—y and if I don’t have it on my playlist already I will add it

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i have dear Theodosia, death's at my door, far away from Tulsa, soda's letter, and stay gold -- the others are great ideas! thanks!

Please tell me musical theater songs you think sound like lullabies/peacefull—y and if I don’t have it on my playlist already I will add it

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Reblog to give mutuals a break from whatever they're been going through

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Character ask bingo, Sodapop Curtis

thanks for the ask!

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Please tell me musical theater songs you think sound like lullabies/peacefull—y and if I don’t have it on my playlist already I will add it

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i have now become invested in brill thanks to your fic about him so um him for the character bingo?

OH my heart thank you so much. here you go!

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(bit from chapter 1 one of my fic)

Clark Brillstein didn't always hide, not when he was smaller, and with small people comes a wider world. It's easy not to hide when you don't know who you're hiding from.

Clark Brillstein didn't always hide — he didn’t like to, anyway. Hiding places were too dark, and being alone was scary. At 7, he declared himself the designated seeker at the beat-up, rusted metal playground behind the synagogue playing hide-and-seek with Sodapop Curtis and his big brother Darry. Nobody minded. Brill liked being the seeker, creeping behind the tall grasses (the worst hiding spot) or under the slide (the best, though there weren't many other options), the thrill of screeching behind them, to the uncontrollable giggles of Soda and the irritated glances of the congregants through the window (they'd get over it eventually, they'd always murmur, "it's good to see 'em havin' fun, ain't it?").

CUT TO TWO CHAPTERS LATER BOTH OF WHICH I HAVEN'T WRITTEN BUT THIS

I'm gonna find you!

The memory hits Brill like a punch, sharp and disorienting. He falters for a split second. Soda doesn't, his fist slamming into Brill's shoulder, sending him stumbling.

37, 36, 38, 39, 40!

"Fight me, goddamn it, this is a rumble!" Soda shouts, his voice cutting through the rain and the sounds of fighting.

He tries, he really tries, a wild swing cracks Soda in the jaw and he staggers but comes back quickly, his punches relentless.

"You're off, Brillstein." Soda mutters, socking him in the side. "What's wrong with you?"

Brill doesn't answer. He can't. His movements hesitate, his punches are losing their force, the world feels like it's slowing down.

Ready or not, here I come!

Soda's fist hits him square in the stomach and Brill doubles over, gasping for air.

"Fight back!" Soda's voice cracks, frustration bleeding in.

Brill raises his fists again, but they're weak and trembling now, useless. He swings, but it's pitiful, almost pathetic. Soda naturally dodges easily, his brow furrowing deeper than before.

"Chaim?" Soda says, his voice quieter, confused, the rain could have drowned him out.

Brill freezes, and Soda's next punch sends him sprawling to the ground, the gravel scraping his palms.

Found you!

Soda stands over him, his fists raised, hesitating. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Shakily, Brill gets up, and wordlessly, he runs away like a coward as Soda watches, eyes full of confusion, and what was but would never be seen -- loss.

It's good to see 'em havin' fun, ain't it?

[to-know-how-it-ends]

(bit from chapter 1 one of my fic)

Clark Brillstein didn't always hide, not when he was smaller, and with small people comes a wider world. It's easy not to hide when you don't know who you're hiding from.

Clark Brillstein didn't always hide — he didn’t like to, anyway. Hiding places were too dark, and being alone was scary. At 7, he declared himself the designated seeker at the beat-up, rusted metal playground behind the synagogue playing hide-and-seek with Sodapop Curtis and his big brother Darry. Nobody minded. Brill liked being the seeker, creeping behind the tall grasses (the worst hiding spot) or under the slide (the best, though there weren't many other options), the thrill of screeching behind them, to the uncontrollable giggles of Soda and the irritated glances of the congregants through the window (they'd get over it eventually, they'd always murmur, "it's good to see 'em havin' fun, ain't it?").

CUT TO TWO CHAPTERS LATER BOTH OF WHICH I HAVEN'T WRITTEN BUT THIS

I'm gonna find you!

The memory hits Brill like a punch, sharp and disorienting. He falters for a split second. Soda doesn't, his fist slamming into Brill's shoulder, sending him stumbling.

37, 36, 38, 39, 40!

"Fight me, goddamn it, this is a rumble!" Soda shouts, his voice cutting through the rain and the sounds of fighting.

He tries, he really tries, a wild swing cracks Soda in the jaw and he staggers but comes back quickly, his punches relentless.

"You're off, Brillstein." Soda mutters, socking him in the side. "What's wrong with you?"

Brill doesn't answer. He can't. His movements hesitate, his punches are losing their force, the world feels like it's slowing down.

Ready or not, here I come!

Soda's fist hits him square in the stomach and Brill doubles over, gasping for air.

"Fight back!" Soda's voice cracks, frustration bleeding in.

Brill raises his fists again, but they're weak and trembling now, useless. He swings, but it's pitiful, almost pathetic. Soda naturally dodges easily, his brow furrowing deeper than before.

"Chaim?" Soda says, his voice quieter, confused, the rain could have drowned him out.

Brill freezes, and Soda's next punch sends him sprawling to the ground, the gravel scraping his palms.

Found you!

Soda stands over him, his fists raised, hesitating. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Shakily, Brill gets up, and wordlessly, he runs away like a coward as Soda watches, eyes full of confusion, and what was but would never be seen -- loss.

It's good to see 'em havin' fun, ain't it?

[to-know-how-it-ends]

(bit from chapter 1 one of my fic)

Clark Brillstein didn't always hide, not when he was smaller, and with small people comes a wider world. It's easy not to hide when you don't know who you're hiding from.

Clark Brillstein didn't always hide — he didn’t like to, anyway. Hiding places were too dark, and being alone was scary. At 7, he declared himself the designated seeker at the beat-up, rusted metal playground behind the synagogue playing hide-and-seek with Sodapop Curtis and his big brother Darry. Nobody minded. Brill liked being the seeker, creeping behind the tall grasses (the worst hiding spot) or under the slide (the best, though there weren't many other options), the thrill of screeching behind them, to the uncontrollable giggles of Soda and the irritated glances of the congregants through the window (they'd get over it eventually, they'd always murmur, "it's good to see 'em havin' fun, ain't it?").

CUT TO TWO CHAPTERS LATER BOTH OF WHICH I HAVEN'T WRITTEN BUT THIS

I'm gonna find you!

The memory hits Brill like a punch, sharp and disorienting. He falters for a split second. Soda doesn't, his fist slamming into Brill's shoulder, sending him stumbling.

37, 36, 38, 39, 40!

"Fight me, goddamn it, this is a rumble!" Soda shouts, his voice cutting through the rain and the sounds of fighting.

He tries, he really tries, a wild swing cracks Soda in the jaw and he staggers but comes back quickly, his punches relentless.

"You're off, Brillstein." Soda mutters, socking him in the side. "What's wrong with you?"

Brill doesn't answer. He can't. His movements hesitate, his punches are losing their force, the world feels like it's slowing down.

Ready or not, here I come!

Soda's fist hits him square in the stomach and Brill doubles over, gasping for air.

"Fight back!" Soda's voice cracks, frustration bleeding in.

Brill raises his fists again, but they're weak and trembling now, useless. He swings, but it's pitiful, almost pathetic. Soda naturally dodges easily, his brow furrowing deeper than before.

"Chaim?" Soda says, his voice quieter, confused, the rain could have drowned him out.

Brill freezes, and Soda's next punch sends him sprawling to the ground, the gravel scraping his palms.

Found you!

Soda stands over him, his fists raised, hesitating. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Shakily, Brill gets up, and wordlessly, he runs away like a coward as Soda watches, eyes full of confusion, and what was but would never be seen -- loss.

It's good to see 'em havin' fun, ain't it?