put me back in it

amanda / saguaro. 30s. dabbling. occasional commenter on ao3 as “saguarowriting” (ships i read: tarlos, firstprince, hollanov)

[saguaroblossom]

I finally have a job interview scheduled.

Fucking finally.

[becherdireinen]

trust that everything will fall into place without you forcing it there.

[run-for-chamo-miles]

I Am Yours, I Am Yours

“I’ll text you, then.”

Alex finishes his drink and slides off the stool. “I’m gonna be so normal about it and not reply within thirty seconds.”

“Rooting for you,” Henry snarks. Alex flips him off as he leaves the bar.

Or: Henry is coming out of a rough breakup. He spent two years dating a man whom his dog, David, hated. Now that he’s single, Alex is unabashedly flirting with him—and Henry must make a decision when David meets Alex and loves him.

The David-centric fic has dropped! Featuring a candid portrayal of mental health, a bit of spice, and Alex being down atrocious.

Tagging some friends as well as some folks who expressed interest, feel free to ignore:

@fiend-for-culture @facewithoutheart @thewholelemon @anyroomsrio @crownedinlove

[chrissiewatts]

RED, WHITE & ROYAL BLUE

"It definitely stays secret until after the election. And I know it'll be messy. But if we can get ahead of the narrative, wait for the right time and do it on our own terms, I think it could be okay." "How long have you been thinking about this?" "Consciously? Since, like, the DNC. Subconsciously, in total denial? A long-ass time. At least since you kissed me." Henry stares at him from the pillow. "That's... kind of incredible"

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

Do you like this song? #870

Yes I like it, I already know it

Yes I like it, first time listening

No I don't like it, I already know it

No I don't like it, first time listening

Voting ended onJul 20

✨ Please reblog the polls to make them reach out to as many people as possible, but KEEP IT SPOILER-FREE to make people listen to the music with an open mind 💖

✨ Artists and titles will be revealed with the full song after the poll's conclusion, check the original post for an update!

⚠️➡️ Yes, spoilers includes posting the lyrics. Please don't spoil. There are other ways to have fun with the post if you reblog it, maybe be sneaky/witty about it with obscure references. Have fun while following the rules! 😄💖 Fandom blogs/communities are welcome to reblog, but please keep that as far as it goes with spoilers!

[cha-melodius]

I almost forgot it was Wednesday and time for a sneak preview of the next chapter of High Ticket Attractions! What's this? A flashback in Alex POV? 👀

Gingerly, he helped Roger into a more upright position so he could wrap the makeshift bandages around his middle. How they were going to get out of here was another question. It turned out that Roger had another nasty puncture wound on his leg, hidden by his pants, and all Alex could do for that is use his belt as a tourniquet to try to slow the bleeding. “You gotta get out of here,” Roger said grimly as Alex worked on trying to stabilize him. “There’s no way I’m gonna make it. But you still can.” “I’m not leaving you here to die,” Alex gritted out. “It’s not so bad. First human ever to be baby rex food,” Roger tried to joke. Alex glared at him, but that didn’t mean Roger wasn’t right. Alex was strong, but Roger was a burly man, and there was no way Alex could carry him out alone. Be that as it may, Alex was also extremely stubborn, and he wasn’t going to leave without trying. Not even when the thud of approaching footsteps hailed the return of the rexes.

Thank you for the tags today (and Sunday!) @loki-is-my-kink-awakening and @thosegayoldmen! Throwing out a wide tag net again this week even though for a chunk of you it's definitely no longer Wednesday lol.

@cricketnationrise @welcometololaland @alasse9 @caterpills @heytheredeann @rmd-writes @theyre-in-love @faketrex @anincompletelist @porcelainmortal @sparklepocalypse @eusuntgratie @ninzied @indestructibleheart @liminalmemories21 @iboatedhere @leaves-of-laurelin @14carrotghoul @orchidscript @clottedcreamfudge @tintagel-or-cockleshells @three-drink-amy @freneticfloetry @mirilyawrites @pippinoftheshire @onpurposewrites @songliili @anyroomsrio @strwbrryagcd @whispered-story @whimsyhuh @youtookmethere @kiwiana-writes @jafffacakess @dani-dabbles @xthelastknownsurvivorx @nicijones @wolfpup026 @bighandsforabigheart @actual-sleeping-beauty @thetamehistorian @onthewaytosomewhere @books2beach @justabigoldnerd

[saguaroblossom]

*

[orchidscript]

Cursebreaking for Cretins | OrchidScript

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Claremont-Diaz answered, smile suddenly sharper than the scalpel he twirled in his fingers. “It’s just a little curse.” Henry Fox has lived with a generational curse, one known to kill it's victims before their thirtieth birthday. His friend and family's determination to break it puts him in front of Alex Claremont-Diaz, a curandero and self-styled witch, just after his twenty-ninth birthday. The pair start in on a multi-month excursion to legendary sites around England, fueled by stubbornness and a scant bit of hope. When the solution doesn't come quite so easily, will the whole thing fall apart, or will they find new reasons to keep at it.

Now on Ao3

songs of orion | kairos | tequila pairs well with curses | poisoned bonds | cunning folk | built by day shall fall by night | carpe noctem | for the good of souls | fire run up your form | the tidal way | circumpolar | in the valley of the nith | dust of snow | rota fortuna | fidelus | dance of fates | epilogue

[orchidscript]

A lot of my fic ideas come from daydreaming I do, and my favorite is the staring-into-space that resulted in my medieval AU version of the Hollander family. David being a European trader, Yuna a lady in waiting for a princess of the Golden Hoarde, Shane their child who is the subject of rumors and gossip at court… The love is real but court is brutal. Anyway, @mybloodstream-caffeine, writing the whole story out is one of the things your posts are fueling. This is just the taster from Shane’s POV ;)

A moment later, a second hand wrapped around Ilya’s wrist. Warm, dry, careful. Shane’s fingers, elegant and strong, curled around the fine bird bones just under the skin. His mother’s embroidery glinted on Shane’s own tunic in the low candlelight – glass-seeded pomegranates roped in gold and Saint Olga’s sparrows with golden eyes – exactly as she meant it. As it was always meant to.

“My mother isn’t from Sarai,” Shane began, voice hushed in the space. “She came with a princess, as part of her wedding retinue. She was from further east, to another ocean, she said.” Shane paused. “I’ve never seen an ocean. I couldn’t imagine it without her telling me, I don’t think.”

“I have,” Ilya murmured. “So much water you cannot see across. Terrifying in a storm.”

Shane nodded to himself.

“So, you are a prince?”

“No, but I grew up around them.”

“Ah. So this is why you talk like one.” Ilya murmured, a sly smile livening up his face again. “This is how you know what one wants before they ask.”

“You’re not a prince, Ilya.”

“But you thought I was.” Ilya pressed closer.

“I watched them, mostly,” Shane continued. “We played together, had tutors, sword and horse lessons. Our mothers thought we were best of friends, like they were.”

“You were not?” Ilya prompted.

Shane glanced at him sideways. “You said the court thinks you aren’t your father’s son.”

Ilya hummed a single note. The assertion kept him up nights, worried about the cruelty that lived in his skin without him knowing. It certainly lived in his brother’s mind, creeping closer to the forefront as their father aged into senility.

Shane exhaled. “The court I grew up in, they all called me a mistake. An accident. Bastard. Never to my mother, only to me. And it didn’t matter when I was young.”

Ilya wondered how Shane could repeat the words without a stroke of anger. He wondered at the exhaustion in his tone, the weariness of them. “Were you?”

“No.” Shane offered him a glance. His eyes glittered in the lowlight, almost dreamy with memory. “I was wanted. Loved.”

“Then why did they think this?”

“My father is European. He came with his uncle, a trader, who the princess’ husband knew and liked.” Shane leaned heavily into Ilya’s side, needing to be held up now as much as he had been holding Ilya. “My father was introduced to the princess, her husband, and eventually, to my mother. She was, is, a lady in waiting.”

“What was her name?” Ilya asked quietly.

“Yuna,” Shane whispered. “My dad thought she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.”

Ilya frowned. “But he left her?”

“No,” Shane snapped, turning towards him fully. His expression was tight, jaw clenched and nose curling up. He saw Ilya meant no harm by it, then relaxed. “Yes, but not for long. He had to go back to neaten things with his family but he knew about me before he left.”

“How long?”

“Almost three years.” Shane exhaled slowly, the rest of the tension fizzling out. “He met me for the first time when I was two years old. I don’t remember it, but my mother said I was suspicious until he held me. Or, until I let him hold me.” He squeezed Ilya’s hands where they rested between their legs. “He never left again, not without us with him.”

[beardedmrbean]

[theman]

I GOT A FUCKING RAISE THE POTATO WORKED WTF

[tattooedzombigirl]

This potato works. Every. Fucking. Time.

[imanutcase-10]

Then bring me luck

[thirddeadlysin]

the day after I posted this last time I was notified that I was selected for a really cool mentorship gig and got an unrelated glowing review at work

[icantbearsedtothinkofone]

Hey Potato, cure my -ing cold so I can have a good time while away.

[dduane]

Here's the potato. Make what use of it you will. :)

[orchidscript]

this scene is part of a much larger, longer fic I’m working on, in my trans!Shane universe, where Ilya finds time to visit during holiday break. This is technically my 2nd draft, so know that going in ;)

Shane slipped into the kitchen, head tucked and face turned. She busied herself with a mug and the pot of tea Yuna had left standing on the counter. Keeping her back to them, Ilya realized; purposefully, studiously hiding.

He hesitated for a long moment. Yuna and David seemed to notice as well, but weren’t leaping from their chairs. They had a quiet watchfulness about them, not the kind of people to ever be alarmist or prone to overreaction unless pushed. Once more, Ilya understood Shane’s tendencies a little more clearly. After a few more seconds, he chose his gut reaction over perception. He stood from his chair at the table and moved behind Shane, laying a hand in the center of her back as a fair warning.

He tucked his chin to her shoulder. “Are you alright?”

Shane set her hands at the edge of the countertop. Her eyes stayed down. A watery sigh escaped her. “Not really.”

“What is it?” Ilya slid his hand over her shoulders as he turned his own body outwards. He leaned back against the counters, the edge making itself known just above the waistline of his trousers. He crossed his legs at the ankle, crossed his arms over his chest, and waited as Shane deliberated.

Eventually, her gaze slid up. Her makeup was done — simple but precise, making her mouth look softer, her freckles more apparent, her eyes moth like — but not enough to disguise the red at her lashes or the pink at the tip of her nose.

Upset, Ilya thought. Defeated.

Two words that should not be in the same geographic area as Shane Hollander.

A twinge of annoyance rose in the center of his chest, the newfound defensiveness he had for her making itself known. Whatever it was that had bothered her so badly, Ilya’s instincts wanted to beat it away with a stick. He, in turn, held that feeling in check; he’d only pounce at her mark.

“Nothing fits,” she mumbled, miserably. Her eyes slid down again. “The stuff I like I mean. The stuff that’s, y’know, nice enough.”

If her parents heard any of her words, they didn’t react. Ilya almost wanted them to, but he wouldn’t say anything. That would be a gross overstep, and he wasn’t so ingratiated to the Hollanders. Not yet. Not for a bit longer, he imagined.

“Nothing?” Ilya whispered back. “Are you sure?”

Shane nodded, sighed again. “Everything’s tight, or won’t button, or something else. I just—.” Her lips pursed and her nose curled as she fought off a bigger reaction. “I didn’t think it was that bad. I thought, maybe…”

She trailed off with a fresh sigh, shaking her head as she lifted her mug to her lips. Ilya sucked in a breath and nodded.

“It’s stupid.”

Ilya shrugged. “Not really.” Shane shot him a burning sort of look but there was no real heart in it. Ilya lifted his brows. “You say this like you are the only one ever.”

Shane rolled her eyes. “I know I’m not.”

“Okay.”

“I just don’t, you know. Like it.” Shane swallowed tightly. “I don’t like feeling. Like this. It’s so frustrating.”

Ilya hummed a single note. “Like what? Like you are thinking too much, too sensitive, too—.”

“Out of control,” Shane said. Her voice was stronger then, and it seemed to startle her. Her cheeks pinked and she dropped her voice. “Everything has been one way for so long. And now it’s out the window. And I hate it, Ilya, I fucking hate it.”

“Tell me.” He pressed. He uncrossed his legs to nudge her in the ankle. “Tell me, lyubimaya.”

Shane straightened up, staring at him with distaste all over her face. “My body has looked one way for twenty eight years, and now that’s shot to hell. I can’t even fucking skate anymore because apparently all that shiftiness throws your center of gravity. My face looks different, my day is different, everything is off kilter and I picked it. I chose it, and it sucks, and I wish it was over.”

Her breathing had turned ragged. Her voice was cracked down the center, slipping back and forth between forceful and quivery. The cadence had attracted her parents’ attention, finally, but Ilya didn’t take his eyes off of her. There wasn’t an easy answer, but he knew the right next step. He reached for her, placed a hand on her arm, and guided Shane into a hug. She went willingly, he noted; turned slack against him the moment her arms were around him, palms pressed to his back.

Ilya tucked his cheek against her head, smoothed a hand down the curve of her spine. “I am sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” Shane said, muffled against his shirt collar. “Not your fault.”

“No, not like that.” Another drag of fingers down her back and she pressed in closer. Ilya closed his eyes. “I am sorry it is so much for you. I am sorry it makes your head do this to you. I am sorry I cannot fix it.”

“Ilya, you can’t—.”

“I know. I know.”

“I mean, only way out is through, but fuck.” Shane exhaled hard against his skin. “It sucks so fucking much.”

“I know.” Ilya pulled up then tipped his head to try catching her eye. “What would make it suck less? Right now?”

“Being fifteen pounds lighter.”

“Shane.”

“Ilya.” She huffed and straightened back up again. Her eyes didn’t meet his, but Ilya had long since learned that wasn’t anything to take offense by. It didn’t mean anything to her, so he learned not to let it mean anything to him. “Clothes.”

Ilya nodded. “You want help?”

“Yeah. I just.” Shane’s shoulders dropped. “Just, help me pick something that isn’t workout gear?”

Ilya indulged in a small smile. He lifted a hand and dragged his thumb over the smattering of freckles, made paler by winter. “We can do that.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Ilya cupped her cheek. “If you would like, you can open a present early? Maybe it would help?”

Shane looked up at him. “What do you mean?”

“You want the whole answer or the hiding answer?”

A smile flitted across her features. “The whole answer.”

Ilya nodded. “Svetlana, my friend, she bought you more clothes.”

“Ah.”

“She thought you would like it because it is all like a sweater. Soft, stretchy—.”

“Knit?”

“Mhmm. Knit. It is a set, she said,” Ilya continued. “A skirt, a top, together. Wear both, wear one, does not matter.”

Shane pursed her lips. “Can I see it?”

“It is in bedroom, I can show you.”

“Please. If anything it’ll be a good distraction.” Shane took his hand, leading him out of the kitchen towards her room. The tea stayed behind, completely forgotten. Ilya didn’t say anything, only followed, keeping a half step behind her the whole way.

More here

He pressed his back to the wall, smile unfurling as he watched her preen in the mirror. “Nenaglyadnaya,” he breathed, more than a little awestruck.

Shane glanced back at him, a brow arched. “You keep saying that.”

“Only because it is true.”

“What does it mean?” Shane asked. “You can’t keep calling me something if I don’t know what it means.”

Ilya pushed off the wall and strode towards her. “It means beautiful. Most beautiful.” He bent to kiss her cheek. “You, Shane. Moya nenglyadnaya, my most beautiful.”

“Oh.” She tipped her head, pressing them temple to temple. “You can’t just say shit like that Ilya, it’s not fair.”

“No, it is very fair. I have to behave, be a good boy and keep hands off of you all night because we will be with your family, but it is so hard, Shane.” He caught her in another kiss. Warm, and deep, and promising. “You tease me like this all night, all I can do is tell you how much I love it. Fair trade, Hollander.”

“Fine,” she laughed under her breath. “Fair trade, Rozanov.”

She pushed him away, making enough room for her to turn around in front of the dresser, to face the mirror again. She sucked in a deep breath, considering herself. When Ilya crowded up behind her again, wrapped her arms around her stomach, she didn’t push away. She didn’t make a face. She leaned back against him, giving him some of her weight. He tucked his face to her neck and kissed her there, right over the steady beat of her pulse.

“Not bad, right?” Shane said to no one in particular. A faint smile curled her lips. “I didn’t think the color would look good on me.”

Ilya gave her a bland look. “Sveta has a good eye for these things. She said it would look good with your skin.”

“Yeah.”

“Mhmm, something about warm colors.” Ilya kissed her neck again. “You can ask her sometime.”

Shane smirked. “I just might.”

“So. You like it?”

Shane nodded. “Yeah. I like it.” She smoothed her hands over the front again, nodded again. “It’s, you know, a little more form-fitting than I’m used to, but it’s comfortable. I can move.”

Ilya grinned and squeezed. “Good.” She laughed as he rocked them. “Ready to go, zavarnoy krem?”

Shane squinted at him, exasperated . “What on earth, Roz?”

Ilya dropped a smacking kiss on her cheek. “Cream. Dessert cream.”

“Jesus Christ.” She rolled her eyes hard enough, Ilya could practically hear them. “You did not just call me a fucking cream puff.”

“It’s good.”

“It’s fuckin’ sappy.”

“No, it’s perfect. You are so sweet, and the color—.” Ilya squeezed and kissed her again, even though she whacked him on the arm. Not much of a fight, and Shane’s laughter said she really hadn’t been trying to. “Zhenya s’kremom, yes? Shane, with cream.”

She couldn’t help laughing at him. “I can’t believe I love you.”

“But you do,” Ilya sing-singed. “You love me so much.”

“I hate your guts.”

“You miss me so much.”

“I can’t believe we share basic genetic material.” She ruffled his hair, then patted his cheek and squeezed. “You’re the worst, Rozanov.”

“And you will kill me, Hollander,” he replied with a serious nod. “But it will be the best way to go.”

Quick small tag list of folks I know like my girl Shane (no pressure obvs but I figured it wouldn’t be totally reprehensible): @bezzia1403 @piratefalls @chunkyshane @lovemedifferentmp3 @eusuntgratie @saguaroblossom

I’ve also now learned how to use the small text feature and will be a menace because of it 😈

[onpurposewrites]

Below is an abridged letter from Alex to Henry, as read out by CMQ at obsessed fest:

May 20, 2022

H,

I love this idea. Wow. I've missed this too. I'm so glad my boyfriend's a genius. I never realised how much I missed it until I picked up my pen. Maybe I tried to think of our letters as something I did more for you than for me, so I missed it a little less. But, that's bullshit. I needed it too.

I think about you so much sometimes I don't even know where to start. This page seems like the place.

Let's see. Give me a second to remember how to do this. All the writing I've done for the past year has been in legalese, except for my texts to you, which you told me are, quote 'borderline incomphrensible'. Not my fault you were raised in a haunted tower by evil governesses and don't know memes.

Currently, I'm sitting on your couch. I don't really like being at my place right now, and David doesn't like it when my neighbours make noise, so I've been spending a lot of time at yours. You probably already know, given I'm sure your security team logs every time I use my key, but I like it here. It smells like you, it feels like you.

I used to imagine what kind of place you'd design for yourself if you could, and this is so perfectly you that I swear my brain quiets the second I'm inside. I love all the pens lost inside this couch, I love the stinky artisnal cheese in the fridge, I love your fingerprints on the kettle, the way you fold your sweaters. I love the picture of you and Bea on the piano, the one where you're 12 and she's 15 and she's wearing all that eyeliner and you're looking at her like she's the coolest girl in the world. I love the Chelsea scarf over the fireplace even though Pez told me they're shit and I should support Arsenal. I love that you've already accumulated a dozen cookbooks, and I would say there's no possible way you've opened all of them, but I can see the sticky tabs and sauce stains from here. I love your books and your rainboots by the back door. I love how the corner of the rug in your study curls up just a little because you toe at it when you're thinking. I love your smell on the bed sheets.

I miss you so much already. I swear I spent every possible second that I wasn't at school or studying with you. But I still didn't get enough of you to last me until July. I should have been more careful about storing you up. I was burning through you like like there was all the Henry in the world and now I'm in a Henry shortage. It's awful.

Write back soon, okay? It'll help me miss you less.

Love you,

A

[onpurposewrites]

Below is an abridged letter from Henry to Alex, as read out by CMQ at obsessed fest:

17 May 2022

My love,

Well done completing your first year of law school, or as you and your underslept compatriots call it: 1L. I think I speak for us both when I say how glad I am that the year is done, but, my god, what a wonder to watch you in command of your powers. Your tenacity and grit are exceeded only by that wicked, insatiable mind of yours. I've never doubted this course for you, but I am certain now more than ever, that you will be the stuff of nightmares for your opposing counsel. We are tremendously lucky to have you on the side of good.

I'm sorry I couldn't be with you to celebrate the last of your exams. I hope the flowers will suffice.

While doing research at the library recently, I came across an 1857 compendium of Victorian flower language and predictably became obsessed with it. Ranunculus is said to mean, 'I am dazzled by your charms', so naturally, you require this. I know we've discussed this already, and you've assured me that your classmates will take you out and get you too pissed to even remember about me, but I fear I am troubled by a more selfish prospect: my absence from your memory at such an important moment.

At some point in the early days, I resigned myself to witnessing your best from afar. I imagined reading your accomplishments in the news, clasping glass champange flutes from the back corners of halls in spotlights in which you stood. At my most masochistic, I would conjure the cool shadow of your gaze as I shook your hand, a state guest at your wedding. I am not yet so accostomed to our new reality to have forgotten that feeling. I want to be with you always; present and part of everything.

As I packed to leave, I foudn myself reminiscing on the letters we used to write. I wonder if you might indulge me in writing each other again. Proper paper and ink letters. We could keep them in the safe in my closet after reading, no one else would ever know they exist until we drop dead of old age and our great-grandchildren published it posthumously to rapturous praise, of course.

What do you say, my dear scholar? The return address on this envelope is Shaan's personal inbox, so anything sent there comes directly to me by his hand. Might you spare your sweetheart a missive or two from your cluttered desk? It could even be a bit cheeky if you wanted. It could be anything, so long as it was from you. I could use the entertainment where I'm going.

Remember to look after yourself darling. I'll know if you don't.

Yours incessantly,

Henry

[cha-melodius]

High Ticket Attractions

Alex snorts and shakes his head. “Bullshit. Ok, I can’t know for sure since this is the first time we’re actually witnessing Tyrannosaurus behaviour, but I can just tell, you know?” he says with an emphatic gesture. “What they’re doing has all the hallmarks of mating behaviour. I’m certain that if we gave them an egg, they’d raise it together.” “So, what you’re telling me is that my family has unwittingly created a lesbian dinosaur utopia.” “I mean… yeah, you could certainly put it that way,” Alex allows. Henry laughs, practically giddy. “I think that may be the best thing I’ve heard all year.”

(After spending too many years writing internal memos, Henry's looking forward to his new assignment: writing educational materials for an unprecedented theme park that promises to change the world. He's also not complaining about the fact that he'll have to work in close proximity to the park's scorching hot chief paleontologist, Dr. Alex Claremont-Diaz. After a rocky start, they find common ground and a successful partnership in helping protect the park's residents—until an unexpected tropical storm and a security shutdown leaves them fighting for their lives.)

T, 7 chapters, posting weekly on Thursday

Chapter 1: Welcome to Jurassic Park | Chapter 2: Conversations (and the Lack Thereof) | Chapter 3: Courtship Behaviours

[cha-melodius]

Chapter 3: Courtship Behaviours is up now!

Aka, now you too can play "dinosaur behavior or dumb boys behavior"

[cha-melodius]

“Not funny, Henry.”

(He can’t resist kisses, though 🤭)

[rmd-writes]

beyond luck and feels like fate || E || 2.3k (Chapter 1/6)

Alex feels like his life is falling apart. His girlfriend broke up with him because she thinks he’d rather be married to his job than to her. He fucking hates his job. Obviously, this is a clear fucking sign that he should get a tattoo. A big one. What Alex doesn’t expect when he walks into the tattoo studio, is to be faced with his past and regrets he’s been living with for a decade. Maybe it’s a sign – June would call it fate. Whatever it is, Alex hopes it might lead to a second chance. OR In the present, Alex knows that he's bi. Henry still causes him gay (bi) panic.

read now on ao3

Almost completely written and updating weekly!

Rae making a return to firstprince fic? More likely than you think!! If you've been around here for long enough, you might recognise snippets of this fic - it's the firstprince childhood friends to lovers tattoo shop AU that I have been talking about (and writing) for literal years.

I decided to finally finish it to celebrate both my 100th fic and the 5th anniversary of posting my very first RWRB fic!

Extract from Chapter 1 under the cut 💖

“Are you done extorting me? I need to go back to fixing my life.” “You were saying you want to be more spontaneous,” June prompts. “Yeah! Like getting a tattoo. Where’s my phone?” “Why do you need your phone?” “So I can get a tattoo.” “Alex,” June says, using the voice she uses when she thinks he’s doing something stupid. Alex is extremely familiar with it. “You can’t just get a tattoo right now.” “Why not? We live in New York. There are a million tattoo studios around. Of course I can get a tattoo. I can probably go for a walk and find somewhere now. Don’t even need my phone.” June pinches the bridge of her nose and looks startlingly like their mother for a second. Nora looks like she’s trying not to laugh but for once in her life doesn’t say anything. “I cannot believe I’m saying this, but we could do something less … permanent. Like bungee jumping. Maybe try a zip line. Or sky diving?” “You’re scared of heights, Bug.” “I know.” “And I’m scared of heights. Remember when Dad tried to take me cliff diving?” Nora cackles. “Let's get tattoos.” “Wait. Why am I getting a tattoo?" June protests. “Solidarity, duh,” Nora explains, as if it’s obvious. June sighs. “Fine. I know a place that’s like, clean. And where they do good tattoos. Just give me a sec.”

[queen-of-the-seven-kingdoms]

Sometimes you just jump and hope it’s not a cliff.