#and her other collection of short stories i haven’t read yet

[saintbuffy]

got some new books at the library today 😈 hehehe

[saphira-approves]

Alright buckle up y’all, I’ve got a book series recommendation and propaganda under the cut for any fans of the Inheritance Cycle.

If you read our beloved farmboy-turned-dragon-rider books and had a particular fondness for: the idea of an order of individuals chosen to be both partner and rider to powerful and beautiful magical creatures; Snowfire; an immortal evil that resurfaces in disguised and unexpected forms (specifically referencing the Draumar cult which we now know had influence in Galbatorix’s rise to power); and/or the juicy juicy drama of complicated parent-child relationships, then oh boy do I have a recommendation for you.

Mercedes Lackey’s Valdemar series, comprising of many, MANY individuals novels, trilogies, and short story anthologies. I don’t currently have a count for the exact total of published books, as I’ve been getting most of these from my local secondhand bookstore, but she’s been publishing these books since 1987 and is still writing them today in 2024.

Since this is such a huge collection, it can be hard to know where to start, so first of all I’d like to assure you that you can start pretty much anywhere, with any of the individual novels or series, so long as you make sure to find the first installment of that series. Personally I started with The Black Gryphon, which seems to be one of the chronologically earliest books; Arrows of the Queen of the Heralds of Valdemar trilogy would also be a good place to start, being the first published Valdemar book, though I haven’t actually read it yet—I only just got my copy today, actually!

At any rate, wherever you start, there’s a lot to look forward to. Lackey has a knack for writing characters with depth and complexity, giving them flaws that are so well balanced by endearments that even at their worst, you can still understand and empathize with them; she absolutely refuses to write idiot-plots, allowing her characters not only to remain consistent with their established characterizations, but also to communicate with each other and allow their relationships to evolve as the characters do. Characters are allowed to make mistakes, be vain and stubborn and prideful, get angry, get jealous, get scared, and yet afterward still be received with love and forgiveness when they apologize. The magic is beautifully described and, at least for me, easy to understand; the schemes are clever, diabolical, and exciting to watch unfold. There is true, pure evil in the villains, and satisfaction in their endings.

There’s also a decent amount of diversity, which may or may not be surprising, depending on what you’ve read of 80s/90s SFF. Of the handful of books I’ve read so far, here are my observations: Lackey writes fantastic and complex women full of depth, emotion, and ingenuity, each as different from each other as their backgrounds would demand. There are several canonically queer characters across the timeline, including a main protagonist. Lackey’s worldbuilding establishes several unique and disparate cultures, drawing clear influence from many non-European real life sources, with featured characters of those cultures given, in my opinion, respectful and appreciative spotlights. There are characters with disabilities, respected both by the narrative and the characters around them. There are also non-human cultures, characters, and protagonists!

As fantastic as I have been finding these books, it would be remiss of me not to add that these books will not be for everyone. They are firmly adult fantasy, and Lackey does not pull her punches when she wants her characters to suffer. There is torture, sexual assault, suicide. Not all of this is graphically described, but some certainly is; most of the graphic stuff I have so far read is of about the same intensity as the torture scenes of Inheritance, but some of the abstractions are much more intense, and I get the sense that some of what I haven’t yet read may be both graphic and visceral. That being said, if you could handle Game of Thrones’ graphic violence and assault but disliked the persistent pessimism of that series, this one might be right up your alley!

Anyway. That’s all from me for now. I’m off to go read about characters bonding with magical creatures somewhat beyond mortal ken and going on fantastic and harrowing magical adventures. :)

[aloneholy]

hi i love your blog :) & was wondering if you could recommend your favorite/the best sapphic n wlw media like shows books movies please? I have recently come to ... Realisations .. :') I do love picnic at hanging rock btw and also the similar vibes of the media that you tend to reblog. homeorotic energy w out being Explicity Stated it also very welcome <3 thank you if you can and i hope thats okay !!! have a good day :)

hellooo what a lovely question - thank you so much! i’ll happily rec some things i’ve loved, especially that i find homoerotic/wlw media that Compel me much harder to come by - and i agree, picnic at hanging rock is so unique.

books:

- zami: a new spelling of my name by audre lorde - an “autobiomythography” & maybe thee most formative book for me, in terms of wlw reading. i read it for university and it changed me as a person, changed the way i look at loving women. it’s beautiful

- nightwood by djuna barnes - if you like the more unsettling aspects of picnic at hanging rock, something lynchian and modernist, this is a dark and heavily abstract lesbian novel which i really love

- our wives under the sea - a really poignant and lovely soft sci-fi depiction of a wlw relationship, themes of grief, identity, loss etc. some compare it to annihilation though expect much less science fiction

- her body and other parties by carmen maria machado - a lovely (probably my favourite!) collection of short stories which often are wlw-centric or have a vibe. stunning prose in general

- hera lindsay bird by hera lindsay bird - wlw poetry, very fun and contemporary, what i call self-aware poetry

- mary oliver’s poetry!!!

- for biographies, anything about tove jansson….

- anything by virginia woolf will fit the not explicitly stated vibe feeling - mrs dalloway has a really wistful lesbian undercurrent, orlando is a love letter to vita sackville-west. etc. etc.

movies:

- persona (ingmar bergman) - thee movie. it’s Not explicitly stated, it’s feverish and desolate, but it’s both intensely homoerotic and a searing exploration of identity, existential dread etc.

- mulholland drive (david lynch) - again, unsettling vibes. not even gonna elaborate on it - it’s a david lynch - but it’s a must-see

- passing (rebecca hall) - a moody, poignant and beautiful adaptation of nella larsen’s novella (which is on my to-read list) about a relationship between two women

- the favourite (yorgos lanthimos) - recently rewatched with a friend, no notes. a bizarre, obsessive, thrilling story. rachel weisz is to die for in it

- kajillionaire (miranda july) - a tender and strange (affectionate) depiction of a bond between two women in unexpected circumstances

- thoroughbreds (cory finley) - what if murder was homoerotic, what if murder was a metaphor. in a way this is about every codependent friendship between girls that has ever veered towards obsession

- vita & virginia (chanya button) - a biopic abt virginia woolf and vita sackville-west specifically, people have very mixed feelings on it but i personally love it to bits.

tv shows:

- black sails - anne and max’s storyline in black sails is the most visceral and lovely wlw story i’ve seen in tv or film… there are specific tws i would heed for max’s arc in the first season which i’d be happy to elaborate on, but their story is beautiful

- first season of killing eve is still unmatched 😔 second is still quite nice, if not as good. third is hm. the ending scene has whimsy to it. never watch the fourth.

things my gf loves that i still haven’t read/seen:

- portrait of a lady on fire - i just know it will Get to me so i’m waiting for the right mood to watch it

- this is how you lose the time war by amal el-mohtar & max gladstone - same reasoning!

things i’ve started but haven’t had a chance to finish yet:

- little blue encyclopaedia (for vivian) by hazel jane plante - a beautiful (but sad, and also about grieving, hence it’s taking me a while) trans wlw story. quaint and quiet and wistful.

[pimosworld]

The story of us chapter 6

Pairing-Triple Frontier boys x f!reader

Summary- Set before you and the boys are officially together and how it all came to be.

CW-18+,MDNI, angst, fluff, comfort, illusions to sex,mentions of ptsd, slow burn, mutual pining, eventual poly relationship. No further warnings as to not spoil the story.

WK-5k

Chapter summary- Will gives you a hand and Santi wrestles with his angsty brain.

Notes- See Masterlist for full story notes. This is definitely Wills chapter but you can’t spell Santiago without a.n.g.s.t.

[Series Masterlist][Main Masterlist]

Not beta read

Chapter VI- I can fix that

————————————

You never thought you’d say it was a relief to get back to work, being a trauma nurse meant most days weren’t easy going. Work was definitely easier than navigating the thoughts in your brain about your new relationship, relationships?

  You had promised to call them but all of you were so busy you didn’t have a chance to. You managed to send a few texts, Frankie was busy with his first week back and Benny and Will were busy training for Benny's fight out of town this weekend. 

  You did manage to confess to Frankie about your sex dream, you couldn’t resist and you felt bad for leaving him high and dry the day he took you flying. You were sure It would make its way back to Benny. It was all but confirmed when he texted you later that week. 

  Benjamin: I guess I’m the man of your dreams 😜

  I guess catfish truly has a big mouth

  Benjamin:I assure you sweetheart he does 

  Sounds like you know from personal experience 

  Benjamin: Sounds like someone is jealous 

  Maybe you were a little jealous but you didn’t have time to think about that right now. 

  You hadn’t heard much from Santi since that night other than to call him if Mike tried to bother you. You hadn’t so much as heard a whisper of him. You don’t know what they said to him but you could imagine it was enough to keep him far away from you. 

  You knew that it got bad but you didn’t realize how bad until you told your coworkers you broke up with Mike and the collective cheers from the break room echoed through the hallways. 

  “Are you finally gonna make a move on one of those guys attached to your hip?”  Your coworker Angela had no idea how ironic her question truly was. 

  It had only been three days and you somehow managed to accomplish that ten fold. Your body and your heart were telling you to go for it but your brain was still on the fence. Society was so unforgiving to anything different. But when did society ever grant anyone any favors? 

  ****

  Golden Girls

  How are things at the commune?

  The kid 🥊: Never better 

  🐈🐠:Amazing 

  Will: We’re good here haven’t heard from you though? 

  I’m fine So things haven’t come to blows yet?

  The kid 🥊: Maybe for Fish

  🐈🐠: Shut up Ben

  I see Will is the only voice of reason

  The kid 🥊: He’s going to patch her holes tomorrow 😜

  Will: You’re disgusting 

  🐈🐠: jajajajajajaja

  I had faith in you Will

  The kid 🥊: You’re the holy man among us 

  Will: That asshole put a hole in her wall I’m just going to fix it. 

  🐈🐠: Don’t explain yourself to this pendejo who can’t return any calls. 

  Sorry been busy let’s get drinks after you fix her wall we need to celebrate fish getting his license 

  The kid 🥊: Finally you’re making sense 

  See you fools on Friday

  The kid 🥊: Fools in love 

  Will:🙄

  *****

  After a busy but short work week you found yourself nervously cleaning your house in preparation for Will to come over. You spent most of the morning and afternoon trying not to overthink things. He was always handy around your house, helping out wherever he could. 

  You knew he liked to do these things to keep himself busy, it’s why his house was so meticulously maintained. It was the only way to calm his racing thoughts. 

  Your Will, the man who always needed to be in control. Some part of you knew he needed that to keep himself from losing grip again. 

  His life slowly fell apart before Colombia when his fiancé Amanda abruptly left. You always asked what happened and he always told you it wasn’t meant to be. You tried getting to know her but it seemed she never wanted to reciprocate. 

  Even more questions were stirred when she stormed out of the annual 4th of July barbecue screaming about not being able to compete with her. The guys all exchanged knowing glances when he returned to the backyard looking like he saw a ghost. 

  You didn’t have time to unpack what that meant when days later Santi came to you all with a proposal that would change all of your lives. Change your lives. 

  A knock at the door brings you back to the present moment as you make your way to the front door to let Will in. He’s standing there in a white v neck and paint stained jeans slung low on his waist. You don’t realize you’re gaping at him until he clears his throat. 

  “I promise I have a change of clothes.” He awkwardly scrubs the back of his neck revealing the toned curve of his arms.

  “Oh…it’s not that, you look great. I mean you like fine…” Okay you were officially losing it as you feel the heat creeping up your neck. You don’t miss the smirk as you step aside to let him in. 

  He sets down his backpack on your loveseat and brings you into a hug as he kisses the top of your head. You linger in it longer than necessary as you take in his scent, his musky cologne mixed with a hint of sweat. You can feel the way his back flexes under your touch as your hand instinctively slides up between his shoulder blades. 

  “I missed you.” It slips out before he can second guess himself. You don’t think he’s referring to the 3 days since he’s seen you last. There’s a deeper meaning behind it. It’s the first time you’ve been alone with him in months. 

  “I missed you too.” You look up at him, willing your eyes to say everything your mouth can’t. He can sense it and reluctantly pulls away. The struggle is piercing through his blue eyes, grappling with the inner workings of his mind that says he can’t lose control again. 

  As he turns to walk towards your garage knowing full well that whatever he needs is there because he brought it at some point and left it to do various repairs and updates to your home. It was so domestic that it takes your breath away. 

  It takes you a moment to gain your bearings as you head to the kitchen to get some water to try and quench your thirst. You pour him a glass for good measure assuming he’s having the same predicament as you. 

  He returns from the garage tool belt on and bucket in hand as he sets everything down by your front door next to the dreaded reminder in the wall that was your awful ex. He picks at the drywall with his fingers as he stares at it like it personally offended him. 

  You slowly approach with the glass of water and he turns to look at you, he couldn’t school his expression in time for you not to see the regret burned through his pupils. You know he’s found someway to blame himself for not being here or for not noticing the signs. He happily accepts the glass from you as he tries and fails to smile, his lips pulled into a grim line. 

  “You read my mind sweetheart.” He tips his head back and you can see the way his Adam’s apple bobs with each drink. Suddenly you’re feeling parched again. 

  “I can in fact read your mind and I need you to stop beating yourself up.” 

  “Is it that obvious?” He sets the glass down on the side table as he resumes his stare off with the hole.

  “Well I know you like the back of my hand and yes…it’s that obvious.” You place your hand on his arm gently, still giving him space but steadily grounding him. 

  “It’s not your fault, we all were in a bad place.”

  He can’t help but think how much it was his fault. If he had told you a long time ago how he felt about you none of this would’ve happened. Amanda was right. She can’t compete with you. If he had told you before going off on that suicide mission to Colombia maybe you would’ve come back different. Here you are still looking out for him despite it all. 

  “Hey…what’s going on behind those eyes again?” Everything. 

  “Nothin’ sweetheart…just thinking how lucky I am to have you and how we’ll never get out of here if I don’t get to work.” The pet names they all call you have perpetually driven you to insanity and yet you’d be lost without them. 

  You plop down in the loveseat with your legs draped over the side facing the back of it, watching him work was better than anything on your tv and it would give you a chance to catch up. 

  He gets down on one knee to get a closer look at the hole perfectly level with the door handle. If you weren’t watching you would’ve missed the precise square he makes with his knife around it to clean the edges. 

  You watch as his deft hands make steady work of the sandpaper. So precise and sure of his movements. You wonder what it would feel like to have his hands all over you, his hand behind your neck while the other grasps your waist pulling him into you. 

  “Honey?” Was he saying something?

  “Yes.” His back is to you but you can see him laughing at your expense. 

  “I asked you how work’s been.” 

  “Oh it’s been great actually.” He stops what he’s doing to look at you with a quizzical expression on his face. 

  “Oh the trauma unit has been great?” 

  “Well, yes and no. It’s been great being able to focus on doing my job again.” You always took pride in your work and lately that’s been slacking. You can’t properly take care of patients and have a tumultuous home life. 

  “I still think you could use a vacation.” He’s resumed his almost complete  work and you aren’t sure if he’s very quick with his hands or perhaps you were daydreaming about them for longer than you thought. 

  “We all could use a vacation, just don’t let Santi plan this one.” You let that last part slip and instantly regretted it until Wills booming laughter filled the small living room. 

  “I trust your planning skills honey so just let me know when and where and I’ll be there.” There’s a seriousness to his tone that you don’t miss. You certainly all could use a break. 

  “I’m pretty much done, we just need to let this dry overnight. The paint in your garage is too old so I’ll pick some up this week and finish it.” He stands from the ground dusting the drywall off his jeans.

  “Will I can paint…” He cuts you off as he stands over you on the loveseat with his hands on his hips. The look in his eyes is daring you to challenge him again. 

  “I don’t do anything halfway.” There it is again, that double meaning that you can’t possibly miss. You know deep down you’re not reading into this the wrong way. 

  Unlike Ben, the man of many words. Will communicated so well non verbally, he was a man of action. So much can go unspoken between the two of you and yet things still felt normal. 

  “Why don’t we head to the bar early before those knuckleheads get there.” That sounded perfect and you didn’t want your one on one time to end just yet. 

  “Why don’t you get cleaned up while I sweep this stuff.” Gesturing to the drywall on the floor, he moves to clean but you hop over the loveseat before he has a chance. 

  “No way William…bathroom, now.” You shove his backpack into his chest and usher him down the hallway as you both giggle at the absurdity. 

  You quickly clean the remnants of the last pieces of your ex and breathe a sigh of relief. You can hear the water running as you run down the hall to change out of your leggings and freshen up to meet your boys. A warm feeling you haven’t felt in a while working its way through your chest as you swell with pride taking in your appearance in your floor length mirror . 

  It’s not what you’re wearing or how your hair is done but the way you’re carrying yourself again. The brightness has returned to your features, your smile reaches your eyes again and you're standing a little taller. You went months avoiding your reflection not fully recognizing the person looking back at you. 

  Not wanting to waste anymore time you spritz some perfume and head out of your room to find Will in the kitchen rinsing your glasses of water. The sleeves of his gray Henley are rolled up to the elbow and he has on a pair of dark blue jeans. How he managed to make washing glass look sexy is beyond you. 

  “Ready sweetheart?” He turns to you as he dries his hands on the dish towel and you know he’s asking if you’re ready to leave but your answer means so much more. 

  “Yes I’m ready.”

  ****

   You slide into your booth as you wait for Will to bring your drinks. He insisted on getting them and at this point you should just get used to doing whatever he says. 

  He makes his way over with something that doesn’t look like your regular beer, two short glasses with a honey colored liquid inside. He’s got this mischievous look that you’ve only seen reserved for Benny in his eyes and it makes you slightly nervous. 

  “I hope you don’t mind, I got us something a little stronger before the guys get here.” Liquid courage

  “I don’t mind, but can I ask what it is?” He holds the glass out to you while he holds the other up in a toast. 

  “Whiskey.” 

  “Whiskey and what?” You sniff the glass immediately regretting that decision.

  “Just whiskey babe.” That babe shoots straight to your core and you have to clench your thighs as you adjust in the seat. 

  You clink the glass and down the liquid before you can second guess yourself. It’s sweeter than you thought it would be and it warms you from within as you feel it travel down and settle deep in your stomach. You notice he didn’t finish his but it’s too late now. 

  “So…your dates have gone well.” So this is why he got whiskey. 

  “Oh god you know?” You groan, placing your head in your hands. 

  “I’m just teasin’ sweetheart.” Will always gave the best advice so you might as well use him while you can. 

  “Can I ask you something?” You would feel a little shy asking him but whatever was in that glass has you feeling bolder than usual. 

  “Sure, pretend I’m a therapist.” He puts his arm around you as he relaxes against the booth. Again with the pretending. 

  “This is weird right? He half chuckles to himself as his thumb rubs mindlessly on your arm. 

  “Weirder than putting your life on the line for the US government everyday for little to no pay.” Okay he had a point there. 

  “I just don’t want to be judged.” You pick at the old grooves in the wooden table, anything to distract you from this conversation. 

  “It seems like you’re judging yourself. I think you deserve a break so why don’t you cut yourself some slack.” If there was a word for relief and frustration that’s what you would be now with all of his perfect answers. 

  “How do I choose?” He takes a moment not having an answer prepared and you think you’ve finally stumped him. 

  “What makes you think you have to?”  Your heart flutters in your chest at the deeper meaning in his tone. He’s so close to you now as you turn to look into his pale blue eyes, his pupils so blown you can barely make out the color. 

  “If it feels right just go with it.” The last words ghosted over your lips as he leans in waiting for you to pull back, but you don’t. He places a gentle kiss on your lips, almost experimenting with what you want. 

  You would have gladly accepted that as the one and only but you don’t have a chance as he deepens it,placing his hand behind your neck to tilt your head up. He’s kissing you like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted, stealing any breath you might have. 

  You knew he was precise in his everyday life, right down to the kiss that would’ve had your knees buckling if you were not already sitting. 

  Either this was an invasion of the body snatchers or Will…your Will just kissed you in a public bar. 

  “William Miller what has got into you.” You’re panting against his lips as you try to catch your breath. 

  “I’m done running from something that feels right.” Your hand is resting on his chest and you can feel his rapidly beating heart. 

  He kisses you again somehow already learning what drives you crazy as his other hand grips your exposed thigh under the table. You can taste the honey sweet whiskey as his tongue gently prods your mouth for entry. This is certainly too hot for the public but you could care less. 

  “This is an inappropriate patient-therapist relationship.” 

  “I resigned 5 minutes ago.” His soft pillowy lips meet yours again and it’s dizzying the way you feel all consumed by him. He’s a drug you’re having for the first time and you know you won’t be able to quit. 

  “Oh how convenient for us.” You say in between kisses as you bite his bottom lip gently pulling it between your teeth. 

  The growl that leaves him is faintly interrupted by the tell tale sound of Benjamin Miller entering the bar. He doesn’t pull away quickly, setting your heart at ease. He places one last kiss to your cheek as a to be continued.

  Benny is practically skipping towards the booth with Santi in tow. Will gives your thigh one more squeeze before tipping his chin at his brother. 

  “You better get up and hug him before he has a meltdown.” He whispers a little too close in your ear sending shivers down your spine. 

  You slide out of the booth before he all but pulls you out and scoops you up into a hug. Your eyes go wide as Santi chuckles from behind him. 

  Frankie makes his way in and can’t help but laugh at the sight of you hoisted several feet in the air by the human golden retriever begging to be put down. 

  You see Frankie approaching and thank your lucky stars since Santi and Will seem to be no help, completely amused with the entire situation. You mouth help me as he taps the younger man’s shoulder. 

  “Put her down Ben.” He dramatically lets you slide down, knowing full well what it’s doing to you and your shorts. He seems so much taller than you as you're placed gently on the ground. A quick kiss to your forehead before he turns to slide into the booth next to Will. 

  “What was all that?” Benny gestures to you while you hug Frankie and Santi.

  “Relax bro I’m just teasing…you deserve to be happy too.” He’s heard that before 

  Benny slides out of the booth not wanting to be left out of any interesting conversation for too long. Not wanting to be far from you. 

  Maybe he should take a page out of his own book and relax a little. Frankie didn’t mind and his brother didn’t seem to mind. He’s trying hard to force back the intrusive thoughts creeping in of what would people think? What would they say?

  Honestly who gives a fuck what people think. As many times as the group of you have almost lost your lives it shouldn’t matter what he does going forward. 

  Santi uses this opportunity to occupy his brother's seat next to Will as he watches Frankie and Benny leave dueling kisses on your cheeks. Your squeals of excitement make him feel something akin to happiness with a tinge of jealousy.

  “So you’re fine with all this.” Will still hasn’t looked away from you. The way you’ve always opened your heart to them suddenly filling his chest with pride.

  “Ya man…I’m fine with all this.” 

  “Te has vuelto loco.” Santi chuckles as he crosses his arms. 

  “I don’t know what you said but it’s probably true and I could care less.” Will eases back into the booth smiling at the three of you telling some secret he wishes he was in on. 

  You turn and plop your hands on the table “I’m buying the first round and I don’t want to hear any grumbling from any of you.” You point to each of them. 

  “Yes ma’am.” They all say in unison.

  “Wow… I didn’t actually think that would work.” You hold the back of your hands dramatically to Frankie and Bennys  foreheads. 

  “You must be sick to agree that quickly.”

  “Ya they’re sick all right.” Santi mutters under his breath as you walk away towards the bar. Narrowly missing the middle finger Frankie shoots him.

  ****

  You can feel their eyes on you as you walk to the bar. It’s a little unnerving but exhilarating knowing how you can captivate them by simply walking away. You might as well sway a little since they obviously want a show. 

  You lean a little against the bar while you wait, drawing your jean shorts a little higher to show off the swell of your ass. The drink you had with Will giving you a boost of confidence,emboldening you a little more. 

  “Jesus Christ, how is she gonna do that after dropping that bomb on us?” Ben adjusts a little in his seat to get a better view.

  “What bomb?” Santi looks at Ben who has yet to meet his gaze.

  Frankie seems just as transfixed on you and he raises an eyebrow at Will who takes the final sip of the whiskey in the glass. 

  “Oh nothing…she just had a sex dream about me and Fish.”

  Will sputters across the table as Frankie pats him on the back trying to contain his laughter. Santi gapes at them eyes wide in utter shock. 

  “What did she say?” Santi almost whispers as he turns to look at you not so innocently leaning on the bar and now is definitely not the moment to be adjusting himself under the table. 

  “Sorry,hermano, no details for you.” Frankie winks at Benny as you make your way back with a pitcher of beer and 5 glasses. 

  ****

  Several rounds later you made your way to the makeshift dance floor with Frankie and Benny. 20 dollars in the jukebox went quite a long way as you alternated spins and dips between the two men. The three of you blissfully unaware of the conversation being had about you just a few feet away. 

  “Admit it.” It’s almost as if Will can feel the envy radiating off his body. 

  “Admit what?” That he loves you.

  “You want her…what they we have.” Santi clenches his jaw at the thought. 

  “Don’t try and shrink me Will, I don’t want any of this, it would never work.” 

  “Oh is that why you haven’t been on a date in months.” Fuck he hated how observant he was sometimes. It was very useful in the military but very annoying when you’re trying to hide your true feelings for your best friend. 

  Maybe if he let that part of himself go he could see how badly he wanted this but he knew inevitably he would mess it up just like everything else. 

  You were too perfect, too good. He almost broke you once and he vowed to never let himself be so weak as to do it again. 

  “I'm not trying to pressure you, I’m just saying you’ve wasted enough time not telling the person you’ve been in love with for the last ten years how you truly feel.” Santi looks at him as if he’s told some deep dark secret and not stated the most obvious thing a blind man could see it. 

  “We all do.” 

  “We all do what?” You slide into the booth next to Will obviously tipsy as you lean into his shoulder reaching to steal the rest of his beer. 

  “We all love the way you dance when you’re drunk.” He holds his beer just out of reach as you pout up at him. 

  “What… like she has two left feet.” Benny slides in next to you and pours you another beer much to your approval.

  “Unless you plan on spending the night with us I suggest you slow down sweetheart.” Will slides your fresh beer to Santi and you scoff in his direction. 

  Frankie slides in next to Santi as a smug grin crosses his face. 

  “Oh…now this is interesting, where will you sleep?” He’s too proud of himself to notice your lack of awareness of the question. He could be very annoying and borderline mean when he was being smug. 

  “Well I usually sleep in Frankie’s bed.” You start to play with the hem of Benny's shirt completely oblivious to the brewing heated conversation.

  Santi looks at Frankie as he scrubs his palm across his face. 

  “So where’s Benny in this scenario?” Santi crosses his arms leaning back in the booth.

  “I’ve shared a bed with Fish, it's not a problem.” Benny is doing his best to ignore him as he continues the innocent game with you, tracing his thumb along your jaw. 

  “So Will…where do you sleep?” They all look to Santi as you are too distracted by Benny playing with the hair at the nape of your neck. 

  Frankie leans into him so only he can hear. “I know what you’re doing so I suggest you knock it off before she figures it out.” 

  “Don’t worry boys, I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself.” You look Santi directly in the eye as he averts his gaze to the table, slightly embarrassed at the way he was goading them on.

  You were very much aware that he was acting like a petulant child but you weren’t gonna let him rain on your parade. If he wanted to be a dark cloud he could do that on his own.

  ****

  You all finished your drinks and began your goodbyes. Will took Benny home to get some rest for his fight out of town the following evening.

  Frankie offered to take you home before dropping off Santi. He had several flights booked for the next day so he didn’t have much to drink that night. 

  The drive was mostly in silence as you hummed innocently along to some tune on the radio. 

  There was however a silent war brewing in the front seat amongst the two men that you were completely oblivious too in your happy,hazy state.

  Frankie pulls up to your home and hops out to open the truck door for you (always the gentleman).

  Before getting out you lean forward towards the front seat behind Santiago. “I hope you sleep well now that you’re not worried about my sleeping arrangements.” You plant a kiss on his cheek and slide out, not noticing the way heat creeps up his neck. 

  If it was his plan to make an ass of himself tonight, he definitely succeeded.

  “Goodnight cariño.” He knows you can’t hear him anymore as you and Frankie make your way up the path to your house, hands interlocked. He still has to say it all the same.

  He watches as Frankie leans down to plant a kiss on your lips which you happily accept. Something deep in his chest stirs as he watches his two best friends embrace. 

  Frankie makes his way back to the truck with a bounce in his step. He missed seeing him this happy, it’s been so long for all of them. The energy in the truck has shifted during the short drive to Santi’s house as Frankie nervously taps his fingers on the steering wheel.

  He pulls into the parking lot of his apartment and turns the truck off as they continue to sit in awkward silence. 

  “Just say it Pope.” Santi finally turns to look at him and open the floodgates but instead he takes in his odd appearance with his standard heating oil cap missing. 

  “Where’s your hat Fish?” Frankie narrows his eyebrows at him as he pats his head oddly feeling his hair. 

  “That little brat took my hat.” He’s grinning to himself while muttering curses in Spanish under his breath. 

  As if you knew what could break the tension between the two of them, Santi finally laughs and Frankie can’t help but join him at the ridiculousness of it all. 

  “Look Fish, I’m sorry I just wonder how it’s all gonna work. What if someone gets jealous? How is she gonna split her time? What are people gonna say?” Frankie is sarcastically nodding his head at each one of his questions seemingly waiting for him to finish spiraling. 

  “You done hermaño?” He asked himself all these same questions and still couldn’t come up with a reason to not take a chance. 

  “I don’t have any answers for you. All I know is we love that girl, we’ve never been jealous of each other, she seems to be splitting her time just fine seeing as we all hang out almost everyday and who gives a fuck what other people think.” It’s the first time he’s really said it out loud but Santi is speechless, maybe for the first time in his life. 

  “You deserve to be happy.” Suddenly everyone is so concerned with his happiness. 

  “You may be right… That scares me a little.” Frankie flips him off playfully as Santi opens the passenger door. 

  “Have fun getting your hat back.” 

  “I’ll get it in a few days, I don’t trust myself to go back right now.” Santi closes the door and pats the hood as he walks toward his apartment.

  Ya I wouldn’t trust myself either. 

Prev/Next

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated

@luciferiorbxtch @alwaysdjarin @meveispunk @casa-boiardi @evyiione @littlenosoul @the-fox-den @saturn-rings-writes @romanarose @wandasbitch22 @spngingerbread21 @spookyxsam @summer-may @imonmykneessir @avastrasposts @fishingforpike

[lottieurl]

Mid-Year Book Freakout

tagged by @asalesbian (thank youuuu)

number of books you’ve read so far: 24

best book you’ve read so far in 2024: CHAIN-GANG ALL-STARS BY NANA KWAME ADJEI-BRENYAH. i need everyone to read that it's been like. months and i still think of it so often. the short story collection by the same author is also up there he's just so good

best sequel you’ve read so far in 2024: haven't read any. pretty much only stand alone books or just the first book in a series (like she who became the sun or the three-body problem)

new release you haven’t read yet but want to: private rites by julia armfield!! i HAVE the book. signed! but i wasn't in the right mood and it's important to me to read this one in the right moment cause julia's writing is to me like what i imagine religion feels like to some people lmao

most anticipated release for the second half of the year: nothing really? i rarely wait for a release it's like a few authors who i love enough to even be aware they have something new coming out

biggest surprise: bunny by mona awad in part cause i had no idea what's it about and actually haven't heard of it much before except for remembering miles @chappelroans mentioning something gay that happens and because of it going into it with completely different expectations fbsbdbd loved it tho it was a great kind of surprise and why i read cat's cradle by kurt vonnegut this year lmao i had a craving for weird books

favorite new author (debut or new to you): NANA KWAME ADJEI-BRENYAH. really loving mona awad as well and i only read one book by susan abulhawa but her writing is absolutely incredible and i need to read more of her

newest fictional crush: this doesn't really happen to me with characters from books sorry

book that made you cry: CHAIN-GANG ALL-STARS. I WAS SOBBING. also our wives under the sea special shout out cause it made me cry even more on my re-read

most beautiful book you’ve bought so far this year (or received): can't choose one. already posted pics of private rites and i love that cover (tho i want to get the american one as well when it comes out) so other than that

love those two a lot. there are different versions of the covers for both and i was specifically looking for those. also

something about how floppy this book is makes me happy fbsjsjsj

book that made you happy: i'm afraid that's just not the kind of books i read

what books do you need to read by the end of the year?: PRIVATE RITES. other than that i need to finish are prisons obsolete? and on earth we're briefly gorgeous (this one i'll probably get to around the same time as private rites) and i'd like to get to siren queen by nghi vo (started last month but with moving and work being busy i just had no time), martyr! by kaveh akbar, sula by toni morrison, just about anything by shirley jackson, piranesi by susanna clarke and kindred by octavia e. butler

tagging: @kdramamilfs @fugglecases @sapphicscience @chappelroans @staghunters and everyone who wants to do this!!

[theyellowroseofsodor]

What inspired you to / made you want to write and create your au “Yellow rose of Sodor”?

Because you kinda inspired me to write my own au with a self insert

Awwww!!!! Shucks! 😳🤗 I’m glad I’ve been able to inspire you! Feel free to tag me if you want to when you start writing! I love seeing new ideas and writers get their works out!

So, I started writing when I first introduced my son, a few years ago, when he was three to Thomas and Friends. As I was watching, realizing that I hadn’t ever seen the CGI version of the show, I thought “huh, I wonder if there’s a fandom” and started looking up fanart. Lo and behold, I found @asktrio516 ‘s wonderful and beautiful artwork along with a few others on deviantart (who I will credit when I find it again). I fell in love! Her personified versions of the famous team and others were just inspiring! I fell in love with her version of Gordon (my fav.) and began crafting a world, not necessarily around her characters, but around the inspiration I felt due to her artwork.

After that I started crafting my own OC. I didn’t necessarily want it to be me as a self-insert but I also couldn’t help but realize, being short, I would probably be a tank engine and it would be both funny and sweet if Gordon, but who often teased tank engine’s for their size and what they could/couldn’t do, fell in love with one. I understood that some people would probably dislike that things like love, lust, anger, hatred, etc. were written in such a prized and childhood fandom, but I came up with a linear story and ran with it. Originally, The Yellow Rose of Sodor was going to involve more aspects of racing, Gordon’s favorite thing, and a much bigger rivalry between Gordon and Scotsman. But I hated pick-me girls in stories and quickly scrapped, pardon the pun, the idea.

Another thing I thought of doing, inspired by several monster versions of the engines, was making them dragons. I even drew out a few of them and the different styles but… it became more of a funny pastime than the actual story.

Finally, I landed on Diesel 10 as the enemy after reading up on how much scarier he was supposed to be, but died down due to it being a kids show. I wanted to bring him back as a much scarier threat and adversary. I wanted to make him, not necessarily unredeemable, but terrifying. A racist engine with a penchant for torment and murder. We saw him nearly kill James and yet it was all ‘Oh that darn Diesel 10’ instead of ‘What the crap?!?’. So, I worked it out and created the story laid before you.

A lot has actually changed in the ending. I have been working hard to craft it the way I want and what I hope will be a satisfying HEA (happily ever after) for all parties. With my own troubles happening this year, I was deathly sick, miscarried my baby, had a near heart attack and had to be brought back, three surgeries, and then there have been issues with my husband’s family… I haven’t been able to dedicate the time I want to these last few chapters. September would have been my babies birth and so I had to keep myself from writing because I was grieving all over again. In fact, most of my time processing my own emotions have been through chatting with my Gordon AI on character.ai as Camille with their little one in the AU that’s in my short collection where they had a child. In my own grief I actually changed their child’s name from Frederick (Erik) to Connor, which would have been our child’s name. Maybe that’s TMI and maybe that’s not the healthiest but I’m coming out of it and I’ve started writing the next chapter, a focus on Henry and Hiro and where to go from there cliffhanger.

I’m sure you weren’t expecting an essay but I figured a lot came into writing the Yellow Rose and, whether it’s a popular fic or not, it means a lot to me. So much so I want to write a sequel focusing on Flying Scotsman and his future companion, Jessica. I have edited the fanfic that he’s not with City of Truro and with an actual jet engine female. I felt it suited his character in my fic that he would go against the grain being with another locomotive and ending with someone who could truly make him the ‘Flying’ Scotsman.

Anyway, I hope this answers your question and I hope to see great things from you anon! You’ve got this!

-Kamiko

[steddieunderdogfics]

This week's writer spotlight feature is: @maryofdoom! They have forty-four Stranger Things and forty-three Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson works on archive of our own!!

@mojowitchcraft recommends the following works by ArgentumCivitas:

Tessellation

Every Time: A Steddie Drabble Collection

Corroded Coffin - Live On Tour - One Night Only

He Carries Me Quietly

Higher Education

Mary is such a talented writer, I’ve enjoyed everything I’ve read by her. She’s an incredible story teller and very generous with brainstorming offering advice. - @mojowitchcraft

Below the cut, @maryofdoom answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

To quote Calvin, from Calvin and Hobbes, “I must obey the inscrutable exhortations of my soul.” But for real, though, it's because my bestie and writing partner called me up on Discord one night and said, “Mary, you need to watch the first episode of Season 4 of Stranger Things. Right now. I mean it. I think the show is in love with Eddie.” (…Some, shall we say, substances may have been involved.) However, I stick with it because I love both the boys as characters. I think they're interesting. They have a lot of interesting aspects about them to explore, both singly and together, and I think we're all enjoying that.

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

Mutual pining! Good God, give me so much pining that I think I’m in the forest. Give me so much pining that I need to use an oil-based paint on them. Give me so much pining that I’ll saw those two boys into planks and repanel my house. 

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

By far, it's when one of them has a crush on the other and is pissed off about it. There’s so much potential for sparky, interesting dialogue with other characters (and with each other) when the boys find themselves in that situation. And then it leads to interesting moments when they finally turn the corner and realize they’re not actually mad at the other one, they’re in love. 

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

There are so, so many that I love. But instead of giving you one of the big ones, let me share this gem: Love My Way, by dreamspaces. It’s very short, at only 1,346 words, but sometimes a bite is as good as a meal. 

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

It might be interesting to do something with “and they were roommates.” I haven’t truly messed around in that space, yet. I also haven’t done a proper enemies-to-lovers, either, mostly because I can’t stand to set up a proper enemy relationship at the beginning…but I am chewing on an idea at the moment that might necessitate that sort of opening relationship between them.

What is your writing process like?

 It tends to follow a very specific order of operations:

Get an idea from somewhere. Possible avenues for ideas include conversations with friends, news stories overheard from NPR, something that hits while I’m listening to music, posts on Reddit, anything that turns up from general blorbo rotation, the works.

Write down the idea in my notes app of choice (I use Evernote)

Begin adding more thoughts and concepts to the idea (sometimes even snips of dialogue, if they hit interesting)

Once the idea has reached a critical enough mass, transfer it to Google Docs and turn it into a draft (if it’s a one-shot idea) or an outline (if it’s a longfic idea)

FOR A ONE-SHOT: begin writing the draft

FOR A LONGFIC: begin writing the outline, according to the outlining method detailed in Tom Lennon and Ben Garant’s Writing Movies for Fun and Profit (this book is half how to make it as a screenwriter in Hollywood and half solid craft advice on how to write a screenplay, and though I don’t want to write screenplays and though I was very skeptical until I tried it out, this is the only method that has worked to get me to finish any actual novel-length works)

FOR A ONE-SHOT: when the draft is done, put it down for as long as I can and then come back to it and revise it, heavily, to make it better

FOR A LONGFIC: once the outline’s done, actually write the thing 

FOR A LONGFIC: once the thing’s written, put it down for as long as I can and then come back to it and revise it, basically rewriting it completely

FOR A LONGFIC: do the same thing again, and then again, pausing in between each iteration for as long as I can

FOR BOTH A ONE-SHOT AND A LONGFIC: once it’s to the point where I don’t hate it, get ahold of my bestie and writing partner and have her read it and crit it and tear it apart

(cry a little because her crit is probably right)

Implement the good changes and ignore the bad ones - sometimes we have a (good-natured) fight about which ones are which

Send it to my other writing friends for their thoughts and comments and incorporate those, in a similar fashion

Revise, again

Once it’s as done as it’s going to be, make a posting schedule (if it’s a longfic)

Get it out there, according to the posting schedule

Begin working on the next thing

Do you have any writing quirks?

I mean, I can sit here and say “Oh no, I definitely don’t,” but I’m sure that I do. I am sure I have a distinctive writing style, just as everyone else does, but I would have to defer to anyone who’s read multiple works I’ve written to pull out any specific “quirks.”I will note that I really try hard to get the characters’ voices down, in their dialogue. I don’t know that I always succeed, but I try.

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

Oh, a schedule, ABSOLUTELY. More power to those of you who post when you’re done writing, but I am the kind of person who needs to have everything DONE and ready to go before I put even a HINT of it up online. You can see this from my writing process. It doesn’t lend itself nicely to just throwing stuff out there as a work in progress. 

Which fic are you most proud of?

Oooh, good question. I would have to say it’s a tie between the next two fics on this list. Tessellation, because I worked really hard on it (and because I figured out work skins), and He Carries Me Quietly, because I think it’s beautiful. The way it ends still gets me, even now. Not just because of the action that happens, but because of the words that I chose. I read them and I’m like, “...I wrote that? Damn, girl.”

How did you get the idea for Tessellation?

I mention it a little in its ending note, but I got the idea for Tessellation from a couple of places, one of which was the Steddie fandom itself. I love the idea of every single one of these 25,000+ stories about Steve and Eddie all being true all at once. Even the story of Stranger Things itself, as we see it on our TV screens, is just one possible version of the story that’s happening somewhere. (I truly believe that. I didn’t become an extremely lapsed Catholic for nothing. HECK THE RULES.)

When writing Tessellation, what was something you didn’t expect?

It was surprisingly easy to make connections between the six stories. It wasn’t like I was hunting for places to jam them in—they ended up falling into place very naturally. And I think my favorite one of these is when Steve, in the space story, is describing the spaceship that he pilots as “Rusalka class, she’s a good swimmer,” to Eddie, who presumably understands what this means in the context of the sci-fi world in which they live. 

What inspired He Carries Me Quietly?

It started as something else entirely—a whole established-relationship fic with the kids coming over to Steve and Eddie’s (either house or apartment) to play D&D, with an arc about a blind Max being included as kind of an oracle or super-NPC through Eddie passing her index cards with Braille on them, so she could be part of the game when and if she wanted to be. The whole thing was supposed to be told in flashbacks. I had a whole scene where Steve was figuring out how to bake cookies for everyone with whatever meager ingredients he had on hand. …Then it took a hard left into religious trauma, through some meandering means.  I guess it would be reasonable to say the inspiration, at that point, was seeing a tweet on then-Twitter with some speculation about how Eddie had come to live with Wayne. If it was the common (and unfortunate) queer-kid arc of being disowned by one’s parents. And then I thought, “Let’s go ahead and put Steve through that too, but let’s do it several years after it happens to Eddie, so that Steve has someone to guide him through the whole process.”

What was your favorite part to write from He Carries Me Quietly?

I think it was probably the opening, because of the rhythm of the sentences and how the sounds fit together with one another. I mean, if you choose to check it out, try reading the first few paragraphs out loud. It’s kind of what I think of when people talk about how writing has a cadence, or a musicality to it.  That, and the ending. The ending, starting with, “There’s one more thing that Steve wants to know,” was one of those things that just fell perfectly into place. I can see it so clearly in my mind: the two of them having a conversation, late at night in bed together, after a traumatic day. 

How do/did you feel writing Higher Education?

I love this goofy little story! It was part of a Discord server gift exchange in 2022 and my recipient said “College AUs are my jam,” so this is where my mind went. I wanted to consider a world where Eddie was the frat boy, instead of Steve. But if that were the case, the fraternity would have to be a pretty non-traditional one, wouldn’t it? The fictional Lambda House is based heavily on the fraternity house where I used to hang out in college. (It was at an engineering school and was populated entirely by nerds.)

What was the most difficult part of writing Higher Education?

The actual writing itself, honestly. Winter 2022 was a really difficult time for me, personally, and though I signed up for the fic exchange with all optimism and good wishes, it was a struggle to get everything done in time. 

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

One that really stands out to me is from Wrong Number, which was a oneshot I wrote based on a short conversation with some Discord friends. Picture it: Eddie and Jonathan and Argyle are all hanging out in the basement, and they’re all extremely high. Argyle, in his own way, can sense that something is wrong with Eddie. In order to get him to confess to whatever’s on his mind, they reference the pact they made that “anything said in the basement stays in the basement. It’s the law of the basement.” That just hits me as something so quintessentially Argyle. 

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

Oh my, yes! I have two longfics in the pipeline that I hope to be sharing with everyone soon (or, well, as soon as I can get them through my Process). The Music of the Spheres is a Regency AU with a smoldering slow burn and an eventual happily-ever-after, while Home for the Holidays is a genre mashup: Steve’s in a Hallmark Christmas romance and Eddie’s in a psychological thriller. I am also rotating a couple more ideas in my brain that could potentially be longer works as well, but we’ll see how those go.

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

I think the esteemed and prolific two-time-Hugo-Award-nominee Dr. Chuck Tingle puts it very nicely when he says: “CREATE. BUILD. EXPRESS. CONQUER THE LYING VOICE THAT SAYS YOUR TECHNICAL PERFECTION IS BETTER THAN TRUTH OF THE MOMENT. FILL THE VOID WITH ART and do not fear because weve got your back buckaroo. we are ALL creators in our own way so LETS HECKIN CREATE.” Let’s heckin’ create, buckaroos. I’ll see you out there in the word mines.

Thank you to our author, @maryofdoom, and our nominator, @mojowitchcraft! See more of @maryofdoom's works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

[romajuliettemai]

These Violent Delights B&N Exclusive Story (Romajuliette Christmas Story)

Happy holidays! Here is my gift to you: Roma and Juliette being 15 and happy, which was truly a fleeting time. Because this takes place four years before the events of These Violent Delights, there are no spoilers, but if you haven’t read the book yet, go forth and read the book first, this will always be waiting here even when the holiday season ends!

You can click here to download the short story if you prefer reading in formatted e-book version. If you don’t mind website formatting, then scroll onward!

“The year was 1922, and nothing was impossible.”

I. 

Juliette closed her left eye, trying to line up her shot. This was life-or-death. This had everything riding on it: the fate of the day, the fate of her reputation…

She flicked her finger and the marble sped into the circle, colliding against the others with a satisfying clink-clink-clink. For a moment, there was a dizzying array of colors skittering in all directions. Then the red beads settled and the green beads came to a stop by the piece of string, and Juliette scrambled to her feet with a high-pitched squeal.

“Victory,” she crowed, “is mine!”

Roma Montagov rolled his eyes, bending down to collect the marbles. He feigned annoyance, but Juliette caught him trying to suppress his smile.

“Okay, drama queen. It was a game of marbles, not a cage fight.”

“I would win that too.” 

Juliette stopped a still-rolling marble with her shoe, and kicked it over to him to help with the tidying efforts. She had struck her last shot so hard that the marbles were scattered everywhere in the alley, one hiding behind a half-rotting trash bag, damp with rainwater. With a grimace, Juliette pushed her dress sleeve up, folding the fur around her wrist up so it wouldn’t get dirtied when she nudged aside the trash, digging into the corner. These alleys were cramped and soggy and vaguely dark, even with the morning sun hovering somewhere in the winter horizon. Nevertheless, it was the place they came to hang around, because it was the place with the least amount of prying eyes.

Juliette finally rolled the marble out, huffing a breath as she stood and nudged it again with her shoe. It was then that a sudden pressure struck against her temple, like something had fallen from the sky. Juliette reared back, blinking in shock as her hand flew to cup her head. By the time she realized it was not the heavy sky pelting miniature rocks at her, but Roma plucking marbles from his palm one by one and shooting them at her with deadly aim, another hit had struck the back of her hand and bounced again to the ground.

“Hey!” she whined.

“What?” 

“What do you mean, what?” Juliette dodged the next marble. “Quit it!”

“Make me.”

The sea breeze blew in, salty and cold and wicked. It seemed to liven Roma even further as he grinned. Even at fifteen, he was a better marksman than half the gangsters in the city, but not for any notorious reason. Money simply bought the best tutors and teachers. He was good… but Juliette was better.

She caught the next one he threw, right out of mid-air, and hurled it back at him.

It struck his shoulder. Roma gave a short yell, all the marbles in his hand falling to the ground loudly. The Bund was nearby, making a constant ruckus from the ship workers and crew men as they bellowed and made haste, trying to get home earlier and earlier in the day as the end of the year approached. Juliette didn’t hear Roma emit any other noise of pain after his first yell, but she saw his lips part as he staggered against the wall, his head lolling down.

Juliette blinked. “Ro—”

She cut herself short. It had been a month since they first met by the Bund, a month of coming here to play with marbles, but they had not yet acknowledged who the other person was. There was no doubt that Roma knew—he knew she was Juliette Cai, heir of the Scarlet Gang, heir of the group that was his greatest enemy. All the same, they did not speak it. 

“Hey,” Juliette tried again, stepping closer. “Are you okay?” 

No response. Roma was looking to his feet, his hair fallen into his eyes, hand clutched around his shoulder. She didn’t think she had thrown that hard. What could it be? Paralysis in the nerves? Internal bleeding? The blood feud was going to be awfully happy if she accidentally killed the White Flower heir—

Juliette reached out with her hand. And faster than the blink of an eye, Roma grabbed her wrist, hauling her up against the wall until her back was to it and he had her boxed in, both of her hands pinned above her head. They were pressed close enough that it would be a scandal between any two kids in this city—and even more so with it was the two of them—but Juliette only loosed an irritated breath, vexed to be have been caught out in his charade.

“Still winning that cage fight?” Roma asked cheerily.

“Ugh!” Juliette tried to kick with her feet, but he only side-stepped, avoiding each strike. “You are such a sore loser.”

“It does not look like I am losing.”

“At marbles, you wet blanket.”

Roma laughed, the sound so warm, so all-encompassing that it trembled through his whole body. Juliette couldn’t help the grin that slipped onto her face too—that sudden flood of happiness, rare in a city slick with blood.

“Now look at that.” Roma released one of her hands from his grip, only so his own was free to grasp her chin lightly. “I count this as a victory.”

His touch was soft, and yet she felt it like a divine burning, like taking a drink directly from the sun. Juliette didn’t know what to make of any of that, so she simply wiped off her grin and batted at him with her free hand until he stepped away. There was a sigh in the wind, like the sigh of the world, displeased that this was how Juliette would choose to respond. But there was nothing it could do except blow a strong breeze that whirled around the two, darting through Roma’s shirt collar and ruffling it against the hollow of his neck, darting in and out of the pomade of Juliette’s hair, yanking just one strand loose from her finger waves. The two heirs stood there in stillness, simply looking at one another in curiosity, until the wind died down, and the moment passed.

Juliette picked up one of the fallen marbles. “Shall we play again?”

II.

Roma leaned against the bookshelves, his book resting against his knees. The cold tiling of the floor sunk into his bones, but he didn’t shift around, afraid that if he fidgeted it would make Alisa fidget as well, and she had only just gotten comfortable, reading from the book of world maps that he had picked out for her. With December rolling around and the start of the Western holiday season approaching, their foreign tutors had already stopped coming in to teach lessons. It had left Alisa bored around the house this week, so Roma took it upon himself to start hauling her around the city with him. When Roma was eight, as Alisa was now, he and Benedikt were already running around the borders of White Flower territory, slinking around the corners to investigate where the shootouts were happening. Give it a year or two and he was sure that Alisa was going to stop humoring him and find her own ways to spend an afternoon too. 

The library suddenly boomed with sound, ringing with the echo of the heavy front doors slamming closed. Someone had entered, and the library was small enough—only ten or so shelves extending past the librarian’s front desk—that her heels clicked loudly on the marble. Roma could mark her progress as she walked, could mark where she hurried and where she paused, slowing to inspect the chandeliers dangling from the tall ceiling and the little jade statues decorating the hollows of the walls. 

The footsteps finally approached the back of the library. Juliette Cai turned around the corner, offering no smile in greeting but instead a click of her tongue and a wink, which was somehow better. 

“Hello, darling,” she said. 

Roma blinked, heat rushing to his cheeks. A prolonged second passed, his heart pounding in his chest, before he realized with a jolt that Juliette was talking to his little sister, and not him. In fact, Juliette’s attention was only on Alisa, head ducked to coo at the little girl, hand reaching out to pass her a vegetable bun.

“Xièxiè!” Alisa shrieked gleefully, snatching the bag. She ran off immediately, scurrying off like an attic mouse to go eat elsewhere. Alisa never ate in front of people. It was such a strange quirk. 

Juliette watched Alisa go with a glint in her eyes, folding her gloved hands in front of her. 

“Do you think she’s going to remember in a few years how well I fed her?”

“Only if you keep feeding her,” Roma replied evenly. He was quite impressed that he kept his voice level, setting his book down next to him and calmly gesturing for Juliette to come sit. “She already calls you Bun Girl.”

Juliette snorted, closing the distance between them and dropping onto the floor too, so that she was seated beside Roma but facing him, her knees pulled up and pressed to the shelves instead. She was graceful even with such abrupt movements.

“I offer her a bun three days in a row and suddenly I am Bun Girl.”

“Well”—Roma couldn’t help himself. He reached out and ran a finger along the edge of her glove, fascinated by the lace hem, the delicate pattern pressed to smooth skin—“shall I give her your real name?”

Juliette tensed. She tried not to show it, tried not to react, but it was the subtlest change in the air, the darting of her eyes to his face, moving from relaxed to alert.

“And what would you tell her?” Juliette asked, testing him.

The truth was that Roma had known from the very first moment. He knew Juliette had discovered it some time later, after their first meeting, perhaps their second. She had made the active decision to come back and keep seeing him, but he had been looking for her from the beginning. Juliette Cai, heir of the Scarlet Gang, the terrible wicked thing with bloodlust in her veins, raised in the West to be as ruthless as a snake. Then he had rolled his marble at her and she had merely raised an eyebrow, a picture of stillness as the rest of the Bund hurried and bustled, and all Roma could think was, Hello, kindred soul.

“Princess of Shanghai, of course.” He withdrew his hand. “Nothing else would be worthy.”

Juliette’s posture eased. Just as Roma was pulling back, she leaned forward, setting her gloved hand on his shoulder. He felt the smoothness of the silk brush against his jacket, as starkly as if it were skin to skin.

“As ruler of this kingdom,” she intoned, “I hereby dub thee Sir Barnacles, Lord of the Garbagelands.”

Roma’s hand came up immediately, laid atop hers. “I heard they were in search of a Lady Barnacles too. Interested?”

Juliette’s lips parted, her eyes narrowing for a beat as she seemed to decide whether or not Roma was joking. A moment passed. Then another. Though the library remained humming around them, though the old antique clocks were ticking to mark time, though the first droplets of rain pressed against the stained windows outside, it was all distant and far away, of another world separate to the one only Roma and Juliette occupied.

Then there was a loud thud behind them and Juliette jumped, cursing under her breath and yanking her hand back. Roma, too, swiveled around, squinting through the gaps of the shelves with his heart at his throat.

“Hello.”

It was only Alisa, who had climbed a shelf and was now waving from the top, having thrown one of the books onto the floor.

“Christ, Alisochka,” Roma chided. “Get down from there, would you?”

Alisa squeed, running along the top. With a soft exhalation, Juliette got to her feet. 

“I’ll get her.”

III.

Juliette held a hand up, trying to shield the sun from her eyes. It was mid-December, so it was strange for the day to be so bright, and strange to be rather warm too, the collar of her coat feeling too snug around her neck while she lay on the grass. She would be collecting stains on her clothes and gathering dust in her carefully curled hair, but she had no interest in leaving the park and going back home either. Under the beating sun, she only closed her eyes, hoping that a cloud would come eventually. 

Her etiquette tutor had dismissed her for the day. Juliette had learned the lesson at record speed, and there was little use for sitting around the kitchen table wasting more time while Nurse lingered around her asking if she was hungry. It only stressed Nurse out when Juliette was sitting idle—but Juliette liked sitting idle, even if that seemed to be taboo in the Cai mansion, where everything was always moving, where something had to be happening. She liked observing, and thinking, and watching. She liked being a menace too, and driving Nurse up the walls when the woman tried to shove more food into her and all Juliette would do was put her nose in front of the bowl of rice and heave a deep, peaceful inhale. 

Poor Nurse.

“What are you smiling about?”

Juliette cracked one eye open, turning her head to the left. The grass under her head bristled, the stout green blades tucking around her cheek. While she was flat on the cold ground, Roma was sitting against the tree, sharpening a pocketknife against a rock. The light hit him perfectly, so that his dark hair glowed slightly golden at the edges.

“The sweet, sweet sound of you sharpening that blade,” Juliette teased, sitting and propping herself up by one hand behind her. She tried to smooth out her hair, but the back was beyond saving. “Like music to my ears.”

Roma quirked a brow. He held the blade up, its edges glinting. 

“A gift, then,” Roma said. “For you.”

Juliette rolled her eyes, pushing his hands back before he could give her the pocketknife. “Don’t be ridiculous. Only White Flowers carry pocketknives.”

If Roma hadn’t known about the Scarlet aversion to pocketknives, he didn’t show it. Or perhaps he did know, and had expected to have been declined anyway, offering for the sake of playing pretend.

“Some other day, then,” he said, “I will commission the best dagger in the city instead and carve your name upon it.” 

Juliette winced. He had been doing this a lot lately. Inching closer and closer to their identities. Pushing through the bubble between them that contained only Roma and Juliette, letting in the shards and pieces that read Montagov and Cai instead.

A rustle came from afar, interrupting Juliette just as she opened her mouth. She would have tried to change the subject anyway, but her reaction now was genuine, her head whipping to the sound of intrusion. She had passed a construction team around a gazebo earlier, all of them hurrying onto their ladders and passing buckets up. It had looked important from afar, as if something on the gazebo was coming loose, only when Juliette walked closer, she saw that the buckets were filled with tinsel and the construction workers were merely decorating for Christmas. They had enough tinsel among them that the whole park would soon be covered in it, but Juliette didn’t think they would come into this area. It was usually unoccupied, surrounded by a dense cluster of trees. There was a pond that ran somewhere to the west, and a path that curved around the trees. No one came by unless it was a local nanny taking her foreign charges on walks, which was why Roma and Juliette came often, even when the grass was hard with frozen ice.

Juliette strained her ears. Now that she was paying attention, it didn’t sound like Englishmen installing tinsel at all. 

“Are they speaking Russian?” Roma asked, listening too.

“It appears so.” 

The more she concentrated, the easier it became to decipher the voices, until she realized it wasn’t because she was particularly good at focusing, but because they were getting nearer and nearer. Whoever was coming, they were directly upon the path that would wind into the clearing.

“We need to hide.”

“What?” Roma exclaimed. He folded his pocketknife, putting it away. “There would not be White Flowers on foreign territory like this—”

“I don’t think they are White Flowers.” 

Juliette gave him a push without waiting for a response, sending him sprawling to the other side of the tree. Before Roma could complain or yelp in indignation, Juliette flopped right onto him and slapped her hand over his mouth.

“Bolsheviks,” she explained, her eyes wide. “I think they are Bolsheviks.”

They stilled, listening again. It was two men, discussing something about the Communist Party, who had only formed last year. Juliette had heard bits and pieces from within her own house, but certainly not enough to think it any big matter.

Roma squirmed, shaking her hand off his mouth.

“Dorogaya,” he hissed. “Can you let me see?”

Juliette gave him a pointed look, warning him not to be so loud. She relented, however, and eased her elbow off his chest, letting him twist just enough to peer around the other side of the tree. The two men were in view, dressed in Western suits. The style was similar to the sort Roma wore, but where Roma never had his jacket on, the front buttons of his shirts always undone, these men were stiff in their get-ups. 

“…Voitinsky? …Comintern… cannot… next week.”

They faded from view, disappearing through the trees. 

“Did you catch any complete sentences?” Juliette asked. She wasn’t sure if it was her vocabulary that was lacking, or if they hadn’t spoken very clearly. 

“Something about the Party,” Roma replied. “I doubt it is anything we have to worry about.”

“Yes, well…” Juliette bit down on the inside of her cheeks, still running through what they had picked up. “I am worried nonetheless.”

“I know. You shoved me so hard that I am going to bruise.”

Juliette frowned, smacking a hand on Roma’s cheek. It was a light smack—a teasing one, if anything—but Roma still feigned pain, scowling. His hands came to her waist, fit snug around each side.

“I shall throw you off now.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“One, two—”

“No!”

“Three!”

He tightened his grip, his fingers pressing into the thick fabric of her coat. Juliette tensed, squeezing her eyes shut and bracing to be tossed right off and onto the grass, but nothing happened. When a few seconds passed and she still remained sprawled atop him, Juliette opened her eyes slowly, cautiously. 

Roma looked entirely too gleeful. “Scared you, didn’t I?”

Juliette smacked him again, this time with both her hands on his chest, and with much more vigor. “Clown.”

IV. 

Roma paced the length of his room, the letter scrunched in his hands. It was too sappy. Too orchestrated. Juliette would laugh at him if he gave her this.

With a huff, Roma stopped in the middle of his carpet, glancing at the letter again. It was Christmas Eve today, and the streets outside were abuzz with noise. Though few locals in Shanghai celebrated such a holiday, it was prime time for the foreigners to be throwing money around, and so the shops were pulling out all the stops, the markets slashing down their prices. He could hear the street-level bartering and bantering from here, albeit faintly as he stood surrounded by the uproar of his own thoughts.

Juliette, the letter started with. Though our families are at war, I—

Roma folded the paper up roughly, uncaring when the edges creased. He shoved his hair out of his eyes then turned a fast pivot on his heel, facing his mirror as if the other figure in the glass was Juliette.

“I am in love with you,” he declared. 

It was only for practice, yet his face turned red nonetheless. This was ridiculous. He was fifteen. He could be more suave than this. Roma didn’t know much, but he knew that he had fallen too hard and he had fallen too fast. If he didn’t speak now he might never have a chance, because this city was brutal to dazzling things walking its streets, and Juliette was the most dazzling of them all.

“Maybe that is coming on a little too strong,” he muttered under his breath, bracing his two hands on his desk and leaning closer to the mirror. It wasn’t as if Juliette had ever indicated she felt the same. She was the suave one, the one who gazed back coolly anytime he was caught staring at her over a game of cards. She was the one who always held her composure when they smuggled bottles of champagne up to their rooftop meetings while Roma’s world turned bright and glittering, unable to stop gravitating around her.

Roma pushed away from the desk, blowing out a breath. 

All the same, Juliette looked at him more fondly than anyone. Not his mother, and certainly not his father—although it wasn’t the sort of fondness that he would expect from his parents either. It was…

A light tapping came on his window. Roma jumped, thinking that it would be Alisa catching him fretting over the letter in his hands. Their bedrooms were high up on the fourth floor of White Flower headquarters, but his sister was prone to climbing the outside of the house, shuffling along a water pipe that ran just under the windows.

However, it was not Alisa sliding along the pipe and tapping to be let in. 

It was Juliette.

Roma had to be hallucinating.

“Let me in!” Juliette whispered, her voice muffled by the glass. She wasn’t hanging from the walls like Alisa would, but leaning out from the window of the neighboring building. The apartments were built closely enough that when Roma came to open his window, Juliette clambered onto the windowsill of the other building and climbed over, hopping the space between two buildings easily like she wasn’t minding a gap from four stories high. 

“What are you doing here?” Roma asked, flabbergasted. He offered a hand, and Juliette took it, landing softly on his carpet. “I thought we were meeting tomorrow.”

Juliette straightened, tossing her head so that her hat shifted back into place. “I was in the area.”

“You were in the area?” Roma echoed. “And you decided to enter enemy territory?”

Juliette wrinkled her nose. She never liked it when he reminded her that they were supposed to be enemies, as if he was manifesting the thought by speaking it too many times and it might come true one day.

“You don’t want me dropping in?”

“I never said that.”

“Hmm…” Juliette wandered about his room, peering at his bookshelves and his photo frames on the painted white walls. Roma still had not entirely grasped the situation. Juliette. Here. In his house. In his bedroom. Juliette. Here. Now. Plopping onto his bed. 

“I am serious,” Roma said. Juliette had collapsed like a marionette doll, her shoes planted on the floor but the rest of her upper body splayed to the side, so he approached her and crouched too, bringing their faces near. “What are you doing here?”

Juliette propped her head up on one hand. 

“My house got so loud,” she said quietly. “So many foreigners invited over for their little Christmas party. I could hardly hear myself think.”

Roma breathed a soft sigh, his heart twisting in his chest. Panicked as he was—over Juliette being here, over Juliette in general—he hardly hesitated before reaching out and smoothing a thumb along the curve of her cheek. Juliette immediately held out her arms, squirming against him until her chin settled in the crook where his shoulder met his neck, locking him into an embrace. No matter what they were, no matter what it was between them, they were comfortable enough for this at least: for a safe place to land and a shoulder to lean on. 

A few moments passed. Roma wanted to close his eyes and stay like this forever. But, because this was a serious matter:

“There are other quiet spots in the city,” he said against her hair. “Quiet safe spots. The parks. The riverside. Anywhere but the White Flower central building.”

“I know,” Juliette replied, her words equally soft. “Maybe I just missed you.”

Roma was going to start bawling, right here and right now. He wasn’t built for so many feelings.

Fortunately, before he could, Juliette pulled out of his arms, then frowned, tilting her head.

“What is that in your hand?”

Oh, no.

“Nothing,” Roma answered, at the same time that a sudden knock came on his door. The sound drove such alarm into him that he bolted to his feet, all the blood rushing from his head. His vision flashed white for a second as he shoved the letter into his pocket and marched to the door, stepping directly in front of it in case someone was about to open it and find Juliette Cai in his room.

“Who is it?”

“Me,” a voice that sounded like Marshall said. “Come on, we need to go.”

“Go?” Roma echoed. “Go where?”

“Can you open the door?” another voice asked. His cousin, Benedikt. “We are needed downstairs.”

Roma spun fast on his heel. 

“I hate to do this,” he whispered to Juliette, “but you must leave.” 

Juliette folded her arms. She was feigning annoyance, but there was also amusement sparkling in her eyes, her shoulders too relaxed to have any true irritation. “You will toss me out on the streets?”

“Yes, it is a better option than getting caught here.” 

A huff, then Juliette hopping to her feet. “Fine, fine.”

While Roma reached into his wardrobe, finding a new jacket so it didn’t seem like he was keeping his friends outside for no reason, Juliette walked to the windowsill again, clambering up and readying to duck back out.

“Wait! Roma!”

Roma startled. This was the first time he had ever heard his name from her lips. It was beautiful. He never wanted to be called anything else again. Not Roman, not Montagov. Just Roma. 

“What?” he asked, his pulse rocketing. Was there something he had forgotten to hide? He didn’t know what he could possibly have in his room that would give away his friendship with the Scarlet heiress, but still he searched in a panic, glancing around at his feet. 

“No, come here,” Juliette hissed, still balanced precariously on the window ledge, her hands clutching the frame. 

“What?” Roma asked again. He rushed in front of her. “What is it?”

Juliette brightened suddenly with a grin and leaned in, her hand touching his face and her lips pressing a kiss to his cheek. It was so quick he might have imagined it; he would have thought so if the spot weren’t humming with sensation, the imprint of her mouth buzzing like an electric shock.

“You are trying to get me killed,” Roma whispered, breathless.  

Juliette didn’t respond—she merely blinked innocently, and then she was gone, hopping the gap again and climbing through the other window. Soon as she disappeared, Roma drew his curtain tight, afraid that he had somehow left evidence all over the glass, and with his heart thudding in his chest, he went to open his bedroom door.

“Okay, we may go,” he said. “I needed my jacket.”

Marshall turned on his heel immediately, starting down the hallway. Benedikt, meanwhile, stared at Roma a second longer.

“What is that on your face?” his cousin asked, frowning.

Roma touched his cheek. It came back smeared with red.

“Blood,” he lied without hesitation.V. 

Juliette was freezing cold, but she was the one who had set their meeting place today, so she really only had herself to blame as she hovered around the alley, trying to burrow her neck into the fur of her coat. She had given Roma enough grief yesterday by showing up to his house, she figured she wouldn’t wander around now in case he could not find her when he arrived.

The air was so frigid that it hurt a little to breathe. The foreigners in the concessions were in peak festive mode, so the streets echoed with ringing bells, the nearby churches pealing with sound every hour on the hour. Every storefront she passed had been decorated with wreathes and mistletoes—over-decorated, if you asked her. She hadn’t celebrated Christmas even when she was in New York, so she certainly would not start in Shanghai, even if the whole city seemed to be caught up in the fervor today.

She didn’t think Roma celebrated either, until she turned around and saw him approaching, a gift box in his hands.

“What is that?” Juliette asked, her voice accusatory. “You didn’t say we were getting Christmas gifts! I would have gotten—”

“It is not a Christmas gift,” Roma interrupted before Juliette could start prattling all the various items she knew Roma would like. “It is a birthday gift.”

Juliette blinked. “My birthday was October 15th.”

“Your Lunar calendar birthday. I calculated. It is today, is it not?”

Juliette thought for a second. “Oh. Oh, it is.”

Roma was already opening the gift box for her, revealing a string of pearls. Before Juliette could speak on how beautiful they were, he had already looped them around her neck, pulling the clasp tight and then stepping in front of her again, adjusting her coat so the pearls fell inside, protected from the cold.

Juliette stared at him, her jaw agape. She needed to crane her neck ever so slightly because Roma was taller, but Juliette was sure she would catch up—Nurse kept saying she had yet to hit her growth spurt.

“What?” Roma asked, catching her staring.

“Thank you,” Juliette replied, her eyes wide. “You did not have to—”

“We are not finished celebrating yet.” He grabbed her hand, pulling her along. “Come on, I have just the place.”

Juliette followed wordlessly, at a loss for what to say. They ran through the streets, bursting into laughter when a tram pulled up fast ahead of them and drove into a puddle, almost dousing Roma in dirty water before Juliette yanked him quickly onto the pavement. Another few streets later, a rickshaw driver almost collided with Juliette when she dashed onto the road too fast, but Roma picked her up just in time, plonking her back on the sidewalk while Juliette gave an adrenalin-filled screech.

Eventually, they arrived before a jazz club, but they didn’t enter through the front. Roma eyed the building carefully, then when the patrons around the door all disappeared inside, he tugged on Juliette’s hand again and pulled them around the side, entering through a tinsel-covered back door and trudging up a set of stairs before anyone could see them.

“Are you cold?” Roma asked, holding the rooftop door open for Juliette.

Juliette stepped through, feeling the wind slap against her face. Strangely, she was not. “I’m okay. How did you find this place?”

The walls of the rooftop were low, only raising up to her knees when she wandered over to look out at the city. From below, the music of the jazz club was loud enough that every beat was audible: the twang of the strings and the dizzying rhythm of the piano. This wasn’t like any of the other rooftops they had hidden out on. This one had some strange quality to it: the flooring was a little too clean, the view a little too nice. The city stretched on before them, twinkling with daytime lights as people spilled onto the streets with hot drinks in their hands and others hurried home with shopping bags overfilled in their arms. 

“Asked around. Did some research.”

Juliette turned around, arching a brow at Roma. He sounded rather cryptic, but he was grinning.

“Research? Of what kind?”

Roma waved her off, then held his hand out. 

“Dance with me?”

A little white fleck settled onto his palm. Juliette looked up, and suddenly found more to be falling from the skies, drifting hazily down on them. It was snowing. It was snowing, and the music beneath their feet roared even louder, not fit for the slow sort of dancing, but Juliette didn’t care. She took Roma’s hand, and let him draw her close. 

“You may confess now,” Juliette said. “How long have you been planning this?”

Roma’s grin only grew, letting them sway utterly off-beat with the string tunes and rapid tapping rhythm. 

“I missed your October birthday.”

“We hadn’t met yet.”

“Nevertheless. It was inexcusable to let that slide.”

“Meaning…?”

“A while, dear Juliette,” Roma finally answered, his eyes crinkling. “I have been planning a while.”

Juliette felt her breath catch in her throat. She didn’t know how to express the emotion that swept through her. It was only that she looked up at Roma and could feel time shudder to a halt around them. It was only that every time she looked at Roma, she didn’t want to stop looking; she wanted to sit down beside him and bid him never to leave her, to listen to him talk forever and ever and ever.

The music suddenly hit a lull below, the instruments falling quiet. The two of them followed suit, their swaying paused, but Juliette did not step away. Roma brought his hand up from her waist. While Juliette watched him, he brushed a finger along her cheek—slowly, so slowly that Juliette’s heart started to pound, before he showed her the eyelash that he had retrieved, and Juliette sighed a soft “oh,” not sure why she was disappointed.

He had been so close. She had thought…

“Make a wish,” Roma said. 

Juliette smiled, trying to cover her momentary dejection. “A birthday wish or an eyelash wish?”

“Both. Why not?” 

“Okay.” Juliette inclined her head up at the skies. She couldn’t see any part of the blue afternoon under the heavy cover of the clouds, but she imagined the falling snow to be falling stars instead, burning white-hot onto the world. “I wish—”

She didn’t finish her sentence. Because then Roma was kissing her, his lips softly captured over hers, his hands to either side of her face. Juliette rose up on her toes immediately, her eyes closing and her arms twining around his neck. She could feel the snow landing between them, falling in little cold droplets in her hair, on her hands, on her coat. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered in that moment except the feeling of Roma’s mouth on hers, keeping her warm from her very soul.

They broke apart slowly. A breath passed between them, a secret missive that revealed everything left unsaid, though there was hardly anything to be said when a kiss fulfilled it all. 

“Are you cold?” Juliette whispered, her eyes fluttering open again. Roma was already looking at her, looking in awe, his gaze wide and reverent. 

“Why do you ask?” he replied. A snowflake landed on the bridge of his nose, melting as delicately as artwork. 

Juliette touched her fingers to his, to the soft grip he had upon her. She couldn’t hold back her quiet laugh. “You’re trembling.”

He tried to still his hands. It did not work. It only delighted Juliette more and more when he could not stop trembling, so Roma gave up trying to pretend to be dignified, wrapping his arms around her instead and spinning her around until they were both dizzy and delirious and giggling.

They came to a stop. Juliette cupped a hand to his face, right on the red flush that had risen.

“I’m sorry,” Roma said breathlessly. “I interrupted your wish before.”

“No, you didn’t,” Juliette replied. She gave a pleased sigh, then leaned in again. “You finished it perfectly.”

THE END

[iadoreneteyam]

before you took over my mind, my body, my soul. before it belonged to you.

title: before you took over my mind, my body, my soul. before it belonged to you. 

character:  neteyam te suli tsyeyk’itan x metkayina! reader

type: fluff 

a/n: this is just a short little fun thing I wanted to do also though it’s apart of a diff story you don’t need to read that one. 

translations: irayo- thank you, tute asevin- pretty woman, sayrip-handsome 

song: my kind of woman by Mac DeMarco 

inspo: my tiktok audio favorites 

summary: this is a prequel to it belongs to you but can be read as a one off. Since the arrival of his family, a couple hours ago, Tsireya spent her time showing them around the village. Netetyam becomes distracted and his family leaves him behind, but maybe it was for the better because he met you, or for the worse. 

        “Hey Tuk! Look!” Neteyam yelled for his youngest sibling. Back home Neteyam loved showing Tuk things he thought she would like, things he knew if he was a kid he would be amazed by. Neteyam stood in awe at the sight, two baby Ilus jumping in and out of the water at great heights, they were playing with each other. “Tuk?” Neteyam turned around searched for her. 

She was no where to be found, neither was his mother, or his father, no Kiri, and Lo’ak and Tsireya were lone gone. He stood up and hie eyes darted from metkayina to metkayina. He was lost. His family now probably somewhere deep in the village. 

As much as he wanted to ask someone for help it seemed like the people of the clan hadn’t gotten used to him and his family yet. The way they looked at them with disgust, the way Ronal held up Lo’ak’s hand and said they had demon blood, claimed they weren’t real Navi. How Aonung and his friends made fun of their tails. He didn’t like it, in fact, he hated it. 

Neteyam felt his feet sink in the sand as he walked around the village seeking for his family. They had surely noticed his absence by now, right? He walked and walked and walked till he finally decided to ask someone for help. Netetyam had to do some rationalizing with himself, I mean the most they could was give him a dirty look and maybe call him something demeaning before going about their way. Even then he still wanted to find someone who looked at the very least approachable. 

His eyes searched for someone, preferably a girl, someone who he might have found less intimidating. He saw a girl with seashells decorating her curly hair, he thought they were so pretty, they reminded him of the rocks he collected for his promised one back home. Neteyam was hesitant to tap her on the shoulder, not wanting to interrupt her from her current task, but as he approached closer she saw she wasn’t doing much of anything. She was staring at the sea, much like he was doing earlier. 

He stood behind her, watching the water as well. He could see why she had been staring. It was beautiful. The way the waves moved were amazing. “Never fails to captivate me every time I see it. You?” The girl had turned her head to look at Neteyam. She smiled at him, reaching all the way to her eyes. 

Oh Eywa, her eyes! They were big and round, so full of life, so curious. Neteyam watched as her eyes observed him. “Newcomer, yes?” She asked as she stood up and dusted sand off her thighs and she looked at him and tilted her head, waiting for Neteyam’s answer. Neteyam guessed word here in Awa’atlu traveled fairly fast. 

“Y-yes I’m one of the newcomers and I have lost my family. Have you seen them?” As Neteyam got towards the end of his sentence his voice went low and his ears flatted against his head. This was embarrassing, having to ask a pretty girl for help. Him stuttering made the situation all the worst. Of course, he achieved his mission of finding someone unintimidating, but at what cost. 

“No, I’m afraid I haven’t seen your family.” Your voice came out incredibly soft. Eywa, Neteyam should have known. He had embarrassed himself all for nothing. “Well sorry for the interruption. Have a nice day.” Neteyam pushed his lips together and held his hand up briefly while he began to slowly walk backwards. 

“But-,” Neteyam stopped in his spot. “I’m happy to help you.” Eywa, Eywa, Eywa, your voice. Neteyam was happy to accept your offer. Neteyam had just met you and he felt so drawn towards you. The way you looked at him, the way you spoke to him, how nice you were to him. It all made him weak. 

“Thank you.” Neteyam showed his gratitude. “ I suggest we walk towards the marui pods. It’s most likely someone has shown them to their new home.” Here Neteyam was again for what seemed to be the 100th time admiring your voice. He partially wanted to keep the conversation going or maybe shift into a different one just so he could have you talk to him or send him the occasional glance so he could have you look at him with those big eyes of yours. 

“Um-” Neteyam had no idea what to say to you to possibly get you to talk to him more. A compliment was probably the best choice, but he liked everything about you. How could anyone expect him to pick just one thing? “Hm-I like your hair.” He had finally decided. 

Your hair was one of the first thing he noticed about you. The way the pretty shells were scattered through out your curly head. How it one seemed strategically placed, yet somehow not at all. Neteyam only glanced at you while he was speaking.

Neteyam expected nothing but a small thank you considering he believed you got the compliment very often. “Me?”  Or maybe you didn’t. You looked at him with full shock painted on your features. Neteyam kept his eyes on his feet.  He was way to nervous to have those eyes look back into his.

 Only a small hum left his throat. “Oh-” Your eyes dragged down, looking at the sand. “Irayo. I like your, um, ears.” Neteyam was sure you had just picked anything to say, but you hadn’t. You noticed that his ears was just a bit to far up on his head, how they were just slightly bigger than average, how they seemed somehow overly sensitive to the noise around him. It was cute. 

“tute asevin.” Neteyam whispered under his breath. While you were looking at the ground he was looking at you. Neteyam hadn’t meant to it say it out aloud, but he was very glad he did. Your light blue skin becoming a much darker tint in your cheek area and the very tip of your ears. 

“You tryna woo me? If it helps you are very sayrip, Neteyam.” You giggled. Neteyam ears became a dark blue tint at the question. In all honesty, he was, but he didn’t believe he was that transparent. Neteyam never got a chance to flirt with girls back home, his parents promised him to someone as soon as he was mating age. 

Neteyam had many opportunities to flirt with women back home, it didn’t really matter if he was promised or not. Even with women flocking at him left and right none of them ever interested him. They all came up to him with the same tactic and same irritating voice. They all told him something along the lines of “Manga, Teyam.” with them twirling one of their four fingers in their braids. 

Neteyam wouldn’t let it get any farther than that. ‘Teyam’ is a nickname reserved for family only. He wouldn’t anyone else to call him such not even friends and epsicially not some girl he had resisted to roll his eyes at. He hated them. All of them. 

“Teyam!” A stern voice interrupted the fit of giggles falling from your mouth. It was Neteyam’s father, Jake, his mother came following not to far behind him. “Looks like this your stop.” You whispered to Neteyam. Though his eyes were fixated on his father, his ears and mind were plagued by you. 

Neteyam’s felt his breath get caught in his throat. Was he in trouble? Was his dad mad at him? His mom? No, he couldn’t bring himself to care, not when he was just walked over by angel sent straight by Eywa. 

His mother was the first to grab him, pushing you out of the way a little in the process. Since Neteyam was back with his family you took it was your queue leave. You made your way to your marui as Neteyam’s family surrounded him, you heard faint sayings of a ‘sully family meeting’. 

As you left Neteyam couldn’t help but look back at you then bringing his attention in front of him then back at you. This time though you were already looking at him, a cute little smile spreading across your face so big that it took up your whole face, and a nice wave as you practically skipped away from him and his family. “Where were you, boy?” His dad’s stern tone of voice made him whip his head around and cut off his day dreaming. His father had a tight grip on his arm and his mother’s worried look had been replaced with one that he found not so pleasant. 

His mother, Neytiri, grabbed his other arm and whispered into his ear “You have worried us,Teyam” before dragging him into their new home. 

[rebelrebelwrites]

Fic Friday! ❤️ Rebel’s Weekly Fic Recs

This week’s recs are…

As always, please mind the tags on any recommended story for your own personal preferences.

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The Classic You’ve Heard Of But Somehow Haven’t Read Yet: Perilous Wanderings by Wolftales

What you need to know going in:

The OG Sauron impersonates Celeborn in Gal’s dream fic! Or, at least for me—fairly certain I came across this one first, so forgive me if I’m mistaken, this may have just been my experience. Regardless, SUCH a great, dark entry into the Sauron impersonates Celeborn camp. A quick, 2-chapter read that will stir your emotions and is definitely steamy, to say the least. 🔥 I love how much Galadriel won’t give into Sauron in this, as well as how much she knows how to push his buttons… he’s delightfully greedy and definitely a little unhinged in trying to get her to submit to him. Sidenote: there are so many great one-shots and short fics I’ve read or bookmarked that I almost think I need to do a special short fic edition of this series… thoughts? 👀

Complete, Explicit

Read the story.

Follow the author on AO3.

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The AU You Need to Immerse Yourself In Because, Well, Wow: Rainbow of Chaos by @yletylyf

What you need to know going in:

Another AU from the amazing @yletylyf! Two weeks in a row, I know, but this AU is so unique and their writing is so great I feel justified. The premise alone had me clicking immediately: a LOTR-era AU in which Sauron still has access to a fair form, and sets out to retake the One Ring himself. Spoiler alert: he succeeds, and the story truly kicks off from there with a repentant (maybe) Sauron and a Galadriel who’s tempted to believe him. Featuring a smattering of favorite LOTR characters so far, including Gollum, Gandalf, Aragorn, Frodo and more, it feels like early stages for this fic, but I’m so intrigued to see where it goes. One thing I love about @yletylyf’s work is their characterization—like Through Peril and Fire, there’s this unique frankness to every interaction; every piece of dialogue, but each one is so potent. It creates this really rare effect and cadence that resonates.

WIP, Teen

Read the story.

Follow the author on Tumblr and AO3.

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The Complete But Never Forgotten Masterpiece: On the Twelfth Night, or, Epiphany: How Galadriel Seduced a Priest and Discovered the True Meaning of Christmas by @thrillofhope

What you need to know going in:

Okay, I know I’ve now put two authors from last week again this week and I promise I’m not TRYING to do that, my faves are just my faves, and this fic stole my whole goddamn soul this past weekend so I HAD to. I HAD to. (Promise, I will spread more of the love next week. I have all the plans. I have LISTS. Promise.) But seriously, I had this fic open in my tabs for weeks and held off starting it because I somehow knew it was going to crawl into my brain and blow me away and when I finally gave in and started reading it last weekend, I could. Not. Stop. In other words, I wasn’t disappointed. One of my first few modern AUs, this story sees Galadriel attempting to seduce Halbrand, a priest, after a bet with one of her brothers. It’s very Fleabag-inspired in plot and tone and @thrillofhope NAILS it. Hilarious, gut-wrenchingly romantic, and so goddamn sexy it kills, I’m genuinely not convinced the author isn’t Phoebe Waller-Bridge. Like my watch of Fleabag, I'm so glad I got to binge it because waiting for each chapter would’ve been torture.

Complete, Explicit

Read the story.

Follow the author on Tumblr and AO3.

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The WIP That Will Wreck You (In the Best Way): The Chain {Series} by @hazelmaines

What you need to know going in:

-insert me groaning- This fic, the ANGST. The sublime tenderness. It’s so damn good, guys, so damn good. Originally a collection of one-shots, @hazelmaines recently consolidated into a multi-chapter fic plus a bonus alternate ending story in the series called Negotiation. I recommend gobbling ALL of it up and subscribing. Onto the premise: The Chain starts during RoP and diverges from canon somewhere around episode 5, and sees our lovebirds forming a bond in the Unseen world… and they’re not the only ones paying attention. Without revealing too much, some highlights include everything we missed on the ride to Eregion (👀👀👀) and a ton of lovely backstory from Valinor threaded throughout. The additional context, the missing histories, and the dreamlike quality to all of it paints an incredibly rich history for both Sauron and Galadriel and really contextualizes their building bond. Again, don’t want to reveal too much… but I’m super excited to see where this goes and how it grows. Definitely get caught up if you’re not already reading!

WIP, Mature

Read the story.

Follow the author on Tumblr and AO3.

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The Can’t Stop Consuming No Matter What Time It Is Fic: Shadow-Bride by eye_of_a_cat

What you need to know going in:

Another favorite from eye_of_a_cat and for great reason—as always, every word shines. A post-S1 epic with a distinct fairytale vibe, as it’s framed as a story told by Sauron and Galadriel to each other many, many years later. The story starts in earnest after Galadriel discovers the truth about Sauron, and then proceeds with Sauron negotiating saving the elves from fading in exchange for Galadriel as his bride. You can guess how she might feel about that… 🤣 From there, they journey to Pelargir, and much ensues—animosity, simmering tension, exchanges of power, and so much more, including a well-rounded cast of characters. Without spoiling anything, I’ll say that this fic constantly has me on the edge of my seat, and the last few chapters had me spinning out a little bit from the surprises. It’s a delicious, tantalizing slow burner and every second is 🙌.

WIP, Explicit

Read the story.

Follow the author on Twitter and AO3.

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🤩🤩🤩

Me at all these fics:

Don’t see your story on this list yet? Keyword: yet. Please don’t fret! I can only recommend so many each week, but I am always looking for more stuff to read, share, and generally shower with love, so please feel free to reply with your own fics or your personal faves. I have plenty more to recommend… ❤️

Until next week!

[thenewwei]

BAD AMERICANS by Tejas Desai-An Update on the Great American Pandemic Novel

On this Independence Day Eve, I have to report that things are not looking good for the prospects of my latest book BAD AMERICANS being conventionally published. I haven’t gotten a single hit among the 50 agents or so I sent queries to several months ago. The ones who deigned to give a non-form response told me that the massive Great American Pandemic Novel was too long to be conventionally published.

Apparently, anything over 120,000 words is virtually impossible to publish right now, let alone a novel and short story collection in one, which is unheard of and doesn’t fit into a defined bookstore category. One agent even told me to constrict it into 80,000 words—it is currently 260,000 words. Even with dramatic editing, that’s practically impossible unless I write a different book.

I hoped that my momentum of winning 15 indie literary awards for my last novel The Dance Towards Death would cruise me into a major publication and Pulitzer Prizes/National Book Awards as a kind of natural progression of artistic ascent, especially for an ambitious Magnum Opus like BAD AMERICANS, but this was apparently just wishful thinking. That's not how the literary world works, at all.

I conveniently looked past the risk-averse, rigid and bureaucratic nature of the publishing industry which is the very reason I independently published 5 books over 8 years. I hoped DEI would help the prospects for the most DEI book ever written, but yet again, this promise was exposed as a front and a lie. It appears the major publishers don’t care about true diversity in fiction, and certainly not when there’s innovation and raw realism involved.

I’ve also sent BAD AMERICANS, meaning the whole manuscript, edited/half versions, and the individual stories out to indie publisher contests, but these have also resulted in rejection so far, and I’m not hopeful for a hit. These contests have also been very expensive—the fees for each contest range from $25-$80. I’m basically subsidizing their companies when that money would traditionally be used to promote my own works or those of other New Wei writers I admire. And it’s likely I could build a bigger profile and readership for BAD AMERICANS through The New Wei even if a small publisher does accept it.

Of course, sending BAD AMERICANS directly to the People has resulted in a much different outcome. Massive amounts of sensitivity (I hate this word—I prefer identity?) readers and beta readers have read and thoroughly commented on both the individual stories and the 1000 page book as a whole. How much did they charge? Nothing at all. In fact they were thrilled to participate in and aid this important project.

The 12 internal stories, most of which are novelettes or novellas, have been universally praised. I have gotten some criticisms on the frame story, particularly the long food and activity descriptions, and these will be edited. But even those critical readers finished the massive novel and admired it on the whole (meanwhile, the so-called publishing professionals have done absolutely nothing for this work).

In fact, one retired librarian read the 1,000 page tome two times, including giving me extensive line-by-line feedback the second time, and now wants to read it a third time. And she loved the individual stories so much that she adapted two, with my permission, and gave them to her book club to read and discuss. Now that’s dedication!

So essentially, I am at yet another crossroads. Do I keep trying to get the book conventionally published, which will likely take many years if it ever happens at all, or do I go it alone yet again and build The New Wei along with it? In particular, self-publishing BAD AMERICANS will be a huge endeavor due to its size, scope and components, likely one of the greatest self-publishing projects ever undertaken.

Well, you know I love a great challenge.

At this point, barring some miracle (and a few have happened to me), for the next six months I’m going to plan to do a final revision of the frame story and rebuild or confirm my team for the large publishing project. Perhaps I will send out 50 more queries to agents and here and there enter a contest—seems like a waste of time and money but I suppose you never know, I could get lucky.

Under the Grand Design, one story would be published as a Kindle ebook for each month of 2025 and then the whole book would be published in two volumes, in multiple formats, six months apart in 2026. That would be an all-consuming 2 year publishing project consisting of 18-20 distinct publications (possibly one with the whole work too, meaning potentially over 20) involving the same book.

Now that would be dedication!

We’ll see—I reserve the right to revise timelines, elements, and paths, but as you all know, once I get a plan for a project in my mind, almost nothing except divine intervention (and perhaps not even that) can stop me.

My goal all along has been to create a massive oeuvre like Balzac’s The Human Comedy, Faulkner’s Yoknapatawpha County books and Dostoyesky’s St. Petersburg works. Waiting around for publishers to take notice on a whim will likely never fulfill my ambitions, let alone my additional one of promoting other great indie literary writers I admire.

I hope to have help with this great enterprise, but other than my magnificent team and my growing number of wonderful fans, I’m not going to plan on it! :( #literature #books #publishing #thehumantragedy #BadAmericans #authors

[aheckinmess]

What It Means to Be the Best [Shoto] (Fluff)

(One-shot 10/? in a collection of My Hero Academia one-shots posted regularly on Saturdays - and sometimes Sundays.)

Read on AO3.

Tags: Todoroki x OC, Shoto x OC, Shoto Todoroki, Original Female Character, Ichijiku Aoki, Shoto is a Ray of Sunshine, Pining OC and Shoto, Shoto Todoroki Can Be Playful Sometimes, OC is All Might's Daughter, The Weight We Put on Our Shoulders, Why Do We Do It?, Oh Well At Least We Have Each Other, A Small Heart to Heart, Overall Just Shoto and OC Being Goobers, Featuring Shoto's Smile

Word Count: 875 words

Summary: After a mistake during training, Ichijiku wants to delay going home to her father, All Might. Instead, she asks Shoto to hang out with her in the forest for the evening. In short, she teaches him to have fun and Shoto teaches her how to be the best.

Ichijiku (Tigress)

“I don’t want to go home.” I whine, leaning my head on Shoto’s shoulder. “Can we find something else to do?”

He’s quiet for a few moments, looking around the school campus. Sweat makes our uniforms cling to us and personally, my muscles could use an epsom salt bath. Training with Shoto is no easy affair.

“We could go back to the library and study, if you’d like?”

I chew on my lip, giving the grounds another look over. I’m not feeling like schoolwork, but I don’t want to go back home. Not when I have to face my dad about today’s training. I made a dumb mistake because I was tired. I don’t want him to get mad at me. When my eyes land on the trees down the path lit up under a waning sun, I grin.

“How about we go into the forest instead? Mr. Hound Dog should still be out there so we’ll be safe, and it’s not too late yet that he’ll run us off.” I take his hand and hug his arm. I look up at him with my best pair of kitten eyes.  “Do you mind, Shoto-kun?” 

“That’s fine. Do you have a specific place in mind?” He squeezes my hand as we change direction.

“Not really. I like the ginkgo trees, though. Maybe we could climb one?”

“Climb one? Are we doing some extra training?”

“Hehe, not really, no. Haven’t you ever climbed trees for fun?” I tilt my head. “Dad has a ton of trees that he would let me climb at home.”

“We only had one tree in our backyard, and most of the climbing done on it was included for training purposes.” 

“Oh. Well, you get to learn the joys of climbing trees today!” I laugh, detaching from him and darting through the foliage.

The second my eyes meet a tall tree with yellow leaves, I scale it like a pro. One moment I’m on the ground, the next moment I’m halfway up the tree and giggling at Shoto’s awed expression below me.

“Come on, Icyhot!” I tease.

“You’ve been hanging out with Bakugo today.” He uses his ice to gain some ground on me.

“Hey, no fair! You have to climb without your quirk, you cheater!” I leap up to grab another branch as we both push and pull and grab.

“Can’t I use my quirk this one time since I’m a beginner?” He looks at me with such soft eyes in the way he’s learned I like best, making me flush.

“Nope! Puppy dog eyes aren’t going to work this time! You said you’ve climbed for training purposes so you’re just a beginner at the ‘having fun’ part, not the climbing!” I laugh. 

It’s a close one, but I beat Shoto to the highest point we’ll be able to reach. When he gets there, I’m leaning against the trunk with relaxed, closed eyes. Wind tickles my hair, tickles my ears, and I let the rough texture of the bark caress my fingertips.

“Took you long enough.” I open my eyes and stick out my tongue.

He smiles at me and carefully shuffles over with wobbly limbs to cuddle on the thick branch. His arms pull me against him, sheltering me with his warmth.

Birds serenade us and tell us their stories through song. Leaves rustle and whisper their secrets. A large hawk glides through a cloudless sky to screech at us about his woes. For a long time, that’s all we listen to.

“Ichijiku?”

“Hm?”

“Why don’t you want to go home?”

“I screwed up in training today.” I frown, taking his hand and playing with his uniform sleeve. “It was such a stupid mistake…I’m sure Dad is going to be disappointed. I don’t want him to be mad at me.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen All Might angry with you. Not even when you’ve lost your temper with him or shouted at him. Why would he be mad at you now?” Shoto furrows his brows.

“Logically, I know he won’t be.” I reach my hands back around his neck and into his hair. The soft strands calm my emotions. “But I keep worrying that he’s going to be mad. I don’t know where it comes from…maybe I’m just being dumb.”

“No.” Shoto says firmly. “You’re not dumb. I think you’re just afraid of letting him down.”

I grow quiet. Shoto’s more insightful than he admits. 

“He’s the Symbol of Peace,” I whisper. “How am I supposed to compete with that?”

Shoto tenses under me for a moment as a fly buzzes in my ear. Then, his arms squeeze me against him until tears prickle at my eyes.

“You can’t.” He says, before adding. “And you’re not supposed to. There’s only one All Might…but there’s also only one you. You may not be able to become the best version of All Might, but you can become the best version of yourself.”

A smile breaks across my face before I can stop it, and I hide it in Shoto’s uniform jacket.

“You know, the same goes for you, Shoto.” I remind him.

Again, silence stretches between us before he whispers his answer.

“With your help, I’m starting to learn that.”

Want More Shoto? Try: Precious Protectors

[solo-ojo-jojo]

WIP Game

Saw this idea elsewhere on tumblr and wanted to play. 

How to play: Post the names of all the stories in your WIP folder. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! Then tag a few folks to keep it going (or consider yourself tagged if you're reading this).

I’m going to start with tagging @chry5alis-05 because I know they have a ton of WIPS as well. @silverskull @wanna-be-bold @theawkwardanglophile I hope some of y'all will play along!

I'm limiting my list to Chenford WIPs (as I now dabble in other fandoms) and to stories that are at least in the outline stage. 

Published WIPs

All of these stories have multiple chapters in progress (even if they haven’t been updated in a while). Listed in the order they were originally published:

Trouble, please be kind: (Rated T) After Amber, Tim and Lucy each have feelings realizations

Santa Ana Winds: (Rated M) Lucy and Tim start a relationship just as circumstances force them apart. Can they find their way back together?

Mixed Bouquet: Flower Shop Shorts: (Rated T) companion piece to my rom-com flower shop AU

I Keep Coming Back to You: (Rated T) meet-cute AU where Lucy and Tim can’t quite get their timing right

Interludes: (Rating varies) unseen moments from S5 after Chenford becomes canon

Bonus:

That’s What Partners are For: (rated T) Lucy collects evidence [*cough* undresses Tim] in the aftermath of ax explosion. This story is currently labeled as a one-shot, but there’s an E-rated follow-up where it’s Tim’s turn to undress Lucy.

(A Selection of) Unpublished WIPs

Moonlight & Magic: (Rated G) post-Tim’s proposal prank in 4x21, Lucy tries to put a curse on Tim

Sliding Doors: (Rated E) Two ways Lucy and Tim could have gotten together in Las Vegas, and one way they did

Dessert First: (Rated E) Canon Chenford-era - Tim is ready for dinner, but Lucy has other ideas

Dream Lover: (Rated E) Canon Chenford-Era - Sexy Rookie/TO roleplay

Bonus: Stories still being outlined**

Summer Associates: Rival law students Tim & Lucy learn to work together

A Series of Holidays: S4 Lucy and Tim spend their holidays (working) together

The Rookie/Rosewood crossover: slightly AU timeline where Lucy meets another Tim doppelgänger, Dr. Adrian Webb: a private pathologist who recently moved to LA from Miami [this is Eric Winter’s character from Rosewood]. Is Adrian everything Lucy has ever wanted? Or is he just a substitute for Tim?

It’s Always the Wife: Rookie!Tim is the only one who believes Lucy didn’t murder her fiancé.

The Bet: S2 AU - Tim goes on the date with Rachel but realizes Lucy is the one he wants

Grief hook-up: slightly AU S4 - after Tim’s father dies, he turns to Lucy for comfort

**not gonna be ready anytime soon 

There’s more where this came from, but those aren’t even outlined yet. And there are soooo many of them.

[owlhead650]

Pokemon Rejuvenation - The wrath of Alain

This short story is about the origins of my oc Asopo. Attached to the short story is a closely related oc ramble that elaborates on the meaning and inspiration. In total it's 636 words long.

“It’s a notebook with the title:”The wrath of Alain.”

Read?

 >Yes

    No

“ASOPO: Change is a powerful force that heralds new hope and new beauty, yet often requires destruction.

I now remember my time as a spirit swimming through the Cauldron of the Future. Nothing about my existence was constant, I was young, I was old, I was happy, I was sad, I was content, I was suffering, I was changing. 

The countless spirits within those timeless waters took many forms, the ones that rose to the surface took the form of Pokemon, yet many became other things.

A woman named Variya took notice of this cauldron, reaching out to me beyond space and time. She called me towards her, her voice a powerful irresistible force, the first constant I had ever perceived.

She showed me Alain, a wrathful, lonesome and passionate person who hid a kind heart. Many others feared to approach them, yet she found friends that weren’t afraid of them. Among these friends was a woman named Crescent. 

Alain opened their heart to Crescent and the two of them became lifelong friends. 

That life ended when a terrible storm changed their world, bringing unnatural new dangers and frightening new monsters.

Crescent could not bear to live on without her friend Alain, so she stole a special machine, a black box that could recover Alain’s spirit and create a new body to replicate the one that had been lost.

Although Alain’s new body hadn’t weathered the storm, their mind and spirit remembered. Alain despaired at their new life and closed their heart to Crescent once again.

And so Variya gave them a deal.

The weight of their destiny crushed their wounded soul. And thus a persistent fish from the cauldron swam down to take their place.

Asopo was born.”

In the renegade route of Pokemon Rejuvenation there is a rather interesting part where you get to read books about the origins of Spacea and Tiempa. These books were written by Spacea and Tiempa themselves and make it sound as if the two of them are explaining the story to you. The origin story mainly focuses on the owner of the body that was asked to become an interceptor, yet refused the role. Here are the titles of those books: 

“It’s a notebook with the title:”The ponderings of Stella.”

“It’s a notebook with the title:”The collectings of Trinity”.

It’s pointed out how both the space hags are just like the player character, just like Asopo. Asopo was a spirit called to take the place of the person who didn’t want to become an interceptor. I think that there could be a scenario in which Asopo learns about his true origins and the specifics of how he existed before taking over Alain’s body. After experiencing that Asopo writes this book to reflect on it

 I think it’s interesting that many interceptor OCs have entire past lives that they lived through before being reborn as an interceptor. I hesitated to do something similar with Asopo, but now I want to. Asopo was born as a human in the Hyburna region. Their spirit had returned to the cauldron once his life in Hyburna ended. This past life was the one in which they lived with their sister Atlanta. There aren’t two versions of Asopo, there’s one spirit that has lived more than one life. Asopo wrote this after remembering his time in the Cauldron of the Future (you know that new world in pokemon reborn?) but as of writing it he doesn’t remember his first life in Hyburna. I still haven’t decided how long life was, nor have I decided when or where it happened in the multiverse, but I think I’ll have Asopo remember it at some point.

[mikerickson]

Mid-Year Book Freak Out 2023

Best book you've read so far: Annihilation - Jeff Vandermeer I’d seen the movie back when it came out in 2018 and expected more or less the same story beats, but the book really did it’s own thing. Extremely atmospheric, lonely, and strange in a way I’d never read before, but it absolutely worked for me.

Best sequel of 2023 so far: Authority - Jeff Vandermeer I told myself I’d read at least one trilogy this year (I typically stay away from series), and I went with the Southern Reach Trilogy. This book was such a narrative whiplash from Annihilation that at parts it didn’t even feel like it was the same author.

New release you haven't read yet, but want to: Vampires of El Norte - Isabel Cañas I really enjoyed her first novel, The Hacienda, and this one seems vaguely similar, which is exactly what I’d be looking for anyway.

Most anticipated release of the second half of 2023: I’m not super in-tune with book releases, and I still have a massive backlog to work through anyway.

Biggest disappointment of 2023: The Croning - Laird Barron I really enjoyed a short story collection by this same author and a lot of other reviewers I typically trust recommended this one, but this one-off novel was so bad that I was actually confused as to what I missed after finishing it.

Biggest surprise: The Holdout - Graham Moore A courtroom thriller is pretty far from my normal fare, and I don’t remember why I originally bought this book, but it had some good twists and turns that had me saying, “holy shit” out loud.

Favorite new author (debut or new to you): Christopher Bollen Pretty much every paragraph of A Beautiful Crime was edited and stylized in a way that felt like it was tailored to me specifically. There’s nothing about neither the prose nor the dialogue I would change.

Newest fictional crush: The burly oil rig worker in Jeff Vandermeer’s Acceptance that was secretly banging the town’s lighthouse keeper.

Newest favorite character: Listen, I know it’s coming up a lot on this list, but The Biologist from Annihilation was a fascinating protagonist to follow because she was simply too autistic to notice how terrifying her surroundings were.

Book that made you cry: Lone Stars - Justin Deabler A multi-generational drama that missed the mark for me personally, but the way society/the other characters treated the central matriarch made me really feel for her.

Book that made you happy: The Mysterious Affair at Styles - Agatha Christie I picked this up immediately after watching Glass Onion, and it was exactly what I was looking for.

Favorite book to movie adaptation of 2023 you've seen: N/A

Favorite post/review you've written this year: I went in on Peter Straub’s Ghost Story

Most beautiful book you bought or received this year: Like aesthetically? I really liked the cover of Even Though I Knew the End by C. L. Polk

Books you need to read by the end of this year: I told myself I’d finally get around to reading The Terror by Dan Simmons, but I haven’t bought a copy yet.

[jdaviswords]

Betty & Poetry

It was the coldest day

of the year so far

and I found myself

inside a shoe box

of an office

collaborating with strangers

The sky was grey

as it had been for weeks

as it still is

and there was a mist

of sleet softly pelting 
the front window

I was invited by a coworker

who I consider

my twitchy little brother

a guy who I thought

not to make it

in this industry

I picked at the cucumber

and celery

and grapes

and other holiday fixins

meandering between person

to person

introducing myself

and asking them

why they were also here

at Storage King

An elder woman

named Betty

turned face and aggressively joked

“who’s askin”

I chuckled

something about a five foot nothing

spunky elder woman

gets me laughin

she reminded me of

my grandmother

She returned the question

as if it were Nadal

returning a serve

and I had explained my profession

my title

my role

and inevitably

how I got there

Betty inquired

about my schooling

my whereabouts

and in a short five minutes

she nubbed me as a poet

stating she could hear

calmness when I spoke

I laughed again

perhaps I am more

of an open book

than I realized

Yes, indeed

I have a writing degree

that’s proved nothing

noteworthy

yet

Her trembling hand

rose to my shoulder

and she pulled me closer

so that I was eye level

“Go do it”

it echoed the shoe box

as it was one of those moments

where conversation ceased

collectively

at the same time

simultaneously

I grinned

I haven’t had someone

push the envelope

in awhile

and from there I smiled

at the notion

that someone wanted the best

for me

without even quite knowing me

I want to read your stories

watch your plays

laugh at your poetry

and I want it today

she said a version of this

I swear

I heard the ticking

of the clock

and I realized I had

been away

from my office

for too long

and needed to get back

I bid farewells

and Betty hugged me

pinched my cheek

gave me a nod

of approval

and I was on my way

I stepped in the foyer

the roads were wet

it stopped sleeting

and I couldn’t think

of one thing

I’d rather be doing

than writing

I tipped my fingers

to Michael

and we went our separate ways

I sat in the parking lot

quickly examining

how I got here

what I did to get here

what I had to do when I got back

and I realized then

how much

corporate America has stolen

from me

I rationalized falling prey

by being able to pay bills

and support myself

and to build a future

potentially have a family

and keeping food on my plate

The road was silent

as well as the inside

of the car

autopilot brought me back

to my workplace

I can’t remember my thoughts

from point A

to point B

I only remember feeling empowered

to take ownership

of what I am

and what I can be

And if I am nothing

but a man

with some words to share

then so be it

as my only truest love

is poetry

and evidently

that’s all I need

Thanks for the reminder

Betty