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always-coffee · 5 months

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Darlings! I have a new poem out today at The Deadlands! I am really excited for you to read it”Five of Cups Considers Forgiveness,” and I hope you like it!!!

#poet #poetry #poem #writing #writing community #writer #nerd #SFF #SFF Community #Ali Trotta #Tarot Poem #Tarot Poems #Spec Fic #art

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kittybricks · 10 months

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Do You Love the Colour of the Sky? (Or: This Must be the Place)

(I apologize for the resolution in advance. Still troubleshooting.)

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torpublishinggroup · 5 months

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Fetter was raised to kill, honed as a knife to cut down his sainted father. This gave him plenty to talk about in therapy.

WHAT’S IT ABOUT

As a child, Fetter walked among invisible powers: devils and anti-gods that mock the mortal form. He learned a lethal catechism, lost his shadow, and gained a habit for secrecy. After a blood-soaked childhood, Fetter escaped his rural hometown for the big city, and fell into a broader world where divine destinies are a dime a dozen.

Everything in Luriat is more than it seems. Group therapy is recruitment for a revolutionary cadre. Junk email hints at the arrival of a god. Every door is laden with potential, and once closed may never open again. The city is scattered with Bright Doors, looming portals through which a cold wind blows. In this unknowable metropolis, Fetter will discover what kind of man he is, and his discovery will rewrite the world.

The Saint of Bright Doors sets the high drama of divine revolutionaries and transcendent cults against the mundane struggles of modern life, resulting in a novel both revelatory and resonant.

#vajra chandrasekera #the saint of bright doors #spec fic #south asian sff #tbr #booklr #science fiction #new books #tordotcom publishing

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butraura · 25 days

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Several Sentences Sunday!

tagged by @aspecbuddie

They head to the others and are greeted with boundless excitement. A couple basketballs are being dribbled for practice; about four of them are at the park, including Aaron. “Heyyyy,” Buck drawls, greeting them.

“Yo,” Aaron answers, pulling Buck in for a quick one-armed chest hug. “How’ve you been, man?” He turns to the others who start to encircle them. “Guys, this is the dude from the Academy I told you about. The one who was hit by lightning.”

“No way,” murmurs trickle across the group.

“Uh, y-yeah,” Buck chuckles warily. “That’s me.”

“Damn,” someone says.

Aaron shrugs. “Anyway,” he starts, extending a hand to Chimney. “I’m Aaron. Buck and I were in the Academy together. I’m with the 143.”

Chim takes his hand easily. “Nice to meet you, I’m Chimney.”

“Chimney?” The man is incredulous. “Sounds like a story behind that nickname.”

Buck snorts. “Maybe we’ll tell you about it when we win,” he winks.

“Oh, it’s like that,” Aaron taunts, everyone piling on at once animatedly. “Any more of you?”

“No, just us,” Buck answers.

“Actually,” Chimney interjects, “I invited Eddie.”

“You did?” Buck is taken aback.

He nods. “Yeah, they should be here any time.”

“They?”

As if summoned, Eddie’s voice can be heard laughing about something behind Buck as he approaches the group.

I thought he was busy, he thinks to himself.

Nothing in the world could have prepared him both for what he sees when he turns around, and the feeling that flourishes in the pit of his stomach as he takes them in.

Tommy.

It’s a hundred different feelings wrapped in a fleeting moment as he sees them walking together. Closely, and the space between their shoulders as they walk rivaling his own closeness with Eddie.

Tommy says something to his friend that Buck can’t hear, and the way Eddie throws his head back as he laughs makes his heart beat too quickly and painfully. He said he was BUSY.

No one pays attention to his spiraling and when they get to the group, Buck and Chimney are greeted familiarly. Tommy brings Chimney in for a pound hug and Buck is caught off guard when Eddie lighty nudges his arm with elbow. “What’s up?” he asks.

Buck stammers, panic sprouting in his features. “Uh, n-nothing. I thought you were busy today.” It comes out a little more accusatory than he means it to, but far less angry than he actually is.

Eddie is unphased. “Yeah, Tommy and I went for a ride in the chopper. We were talking about what it took to join Air Support.”

He says it so flippantly, so casual and easily, that Buck wonders if he could actually stab him with a sword just as carelessly.

tagging: @watchyourbuck @steadfastsaturnsrings @fortheloveofbuddie

#buck is a jealous baby boy and i love him dearly #buddie #911 #buck x eddie #spoilers #evan buckley #eddie diaz #mine #eddie x buck #tommy kinard #911 7x04 #spec fic #will be a one shot #trying my hardest to finish this before tuesday #idk

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dangerpronebuddie · 13 days

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Fuck It Friday!!

Tagged by @tizniz @bidisasterbuckdiaz @wikiangela who all wrote INCREDIBLE stuff!! 🩷🩵

The promo for 7x06 has sparked a spec fic! The outfits, the karaoke, the Madney parallels??? My mind decided to run with it. So, have some of the guys just discovering Chim is MIA:

Buck scrambled to Albert and Ravi’s suite and pounded on the door. A bleary eyed Ravi opened it and frowned at Buck. “Where's the fire?” he grumbled. “Under you, hopefully,” Buck said. “We've got to get changed and be at the venue in an hour!” Ravi's eyes bugged out like Eddie's had a moment ago. He darted back into his room, yelling at Albert to get a move on. Buck rushed to Chim's room and banged on the door. No answer. Not even a whiny complaint through the door. Buck opened the door, to find the room completely empty. Chim's tux still hung on the door, and the bed hadn't been slept in. The fancy mint from the cleaning staff still lay on the pillow. Oh shit. “Eddie!” Buck yelled. Eddie trudged to him, still trying to open his eyes fully. He'd shed his tattered jacket, leaving him shirtless except for the mauve collar of his shirt. Buck still can't remember where the shirt ended up. It was a shame too. Eddie looked gorgeous last night (which was no different than any other night, Buck’s coming to realize). “What?” Eddie rasped. Buck nodded to the empty room. Eddie leaned in the doorway. “Oh shit.” “What's going on?” Ravi asked from behind them. Eddie stepped back for him to take a look. “Oh shit,” he muttered.

Absolutely no pressure tagging: @13shadesofanni @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1 @daffi-990 @loveyouanyway @exhuastedpigeon @spagheddiediaz @thekristen999 @theotherbuckley @wildlife4life @steadfastsaturnsrings @ronordmann @kitteneddiediaz @fortheloveofbuddie @rainbow-nerdss @actuallyitsellie @daniwib and anyone else who wants to share!! 🥰🩷

#911 #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #911 abc #911 spoilers #fanfic #my writing #fuck it friday #i actually have a title too!#We crashed through the walls and into the street #spec fic

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eddiebabygirldiaz · 1 year

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So, my darling @spaceprincessem and I were losing our minds about the shooting conversation and future possibilities and then this happened. I am sorry. I blame Em 😉😘

"For fuck’s sake, I know what your blood tastes like, Eddie!"

Eddie stumbles back as if struck. The words split through him harder than any bullet ever could.

Buck’s chest heaves as he pants, his eyes glazed over as if completely lost in the memory. "I had your blood all over me. Searing into my skin. Settling along my tongue. And all I could think was 'No, this can't be the only taste of him I'll ever have' and 'I'll bear this taste for the rest of my life if you just let him live.'" He shakes his head as tears spill down his face. A laugh breaks free from him, broken and brittle and bitter. "Praying to a God I don't even believe in. All for you."

Eddie doesn't bother to fight against his own tears. They blaze hot trails down his face, burning like the fiery splash of blood that painted Buck’s face that day.

Eddie remembers. Of course he remembers.

How could he forget the moment everything changed? How could he forget the moment a piece of metal tore through his skin and forced all of his love to explode out of him in a flood of red?

"I prayed too," Eddie whispers. "I prayed that I'd live long enough to look in your eyes again. I prayed that somehow, you'd feel my love as it stained your face."

Buck’s expression shutters and a visible tremor runs through his body. "W-what?" Blue blue blue eyes bore into him, vast and bright, a shining beacon of light that sears into Eddie’s soul.

Eddie furiously wipes away his tears and even though this isn't how he wanted to do this, he is helpless to stop the confession from finally falling off his lips. "That was the moment I knew, Buck. That moment, as searing pain ricocheted throughout my body, I realized how in love with you I was. I am."

Buck gapes at him, his mouth opening and closing. Fear and awe and pain and hope all blaze across his face. A face Eddie knows better than his own. A face beautifully carved and wonderfully soft and bright. A face he has seen ravaged by devastation and grief, glowing with happiness and love, twisted in confusion and anger, peaceful in sleep and quiet moments spent at Eddie’s side.

It all makes it so incredibly easy for Eddie to keep going. He might as well tell Buck everything now. "I held it back for so long, because-" he grapples with the words, unsure of how to properly express it but more than willing to try for Buck. He deserves it. He deserves to hear how loved he is. "Because it's so overwhelming and powerful and fucking effervescent and I didn't know what to do with it. And things kept going wrong and I lost my fucking mind, but you were there. Always there, making me feel important and loved even when I was at my lowest. And then I thought maybe, maybe we could be ready. Then fucking lightning struck."

A sob threatens to tear out of his throat. He can feel it building and breaking, cutting at the flesh of his throat like glass, but he can't let it out. Not yet.

"You died, Buck." The first time he had said the words, they were hushed and gentle, meant for Buck and not himself, but now-now they tear through the air and splatter at their feet, harsh and rough and soaked in the still lingering despair that clutches tightly at his chest some nights.

"Eddie-" Buck steps forward, reaching out for Eddie but Eddie holds up a hand to stop him.

Not yet. Not yet.

"You died and so did I. Those minutes you were gone I was a ghost, hollow and incorporeal and drowning in grief. I vowed to myself that if we got you back then I'd tell you how I felt because every day that you go without knowing how deeply and irrevocably in love with you I am is torture."

"But you didn't," Buck says, voice cracking. "You didn't tell me."

Eddie huffs and looks away. "No. I-I got scared and then you admitted to me that you were struggling and I couldn't put all of that on you. It wouldn't have been fair."

Buck steps toward him, the bulk of him closing around Eddie and caging him against the counter, wrapping Eddie in softness and warmth and strength. "And now?"

A ragged sigh escapes Eddie's lips as he reached up a shaking hand and cups Buck’s cheek. "There’s so much we need to talk about, Buck. I couldn't bear to rush into anything with you and fuck this up. I need you in my life, okay? You're my best friend, my partner, my fucking co-parent, and I. Cannot. Lose. You."

Something between a whine and sob crawls out of Buck's chest and it vibrates in the air between them. Buck nuzzles into his hand and the wet, sticky residue of his tears smears across Eddie's palm.

"You're right," Buck says. "I-I need to get better. For the both of us."

Eddie brings up his other hand so he is cradling Buck’s face and waits until those blue eyes meet his. "I love you," Eddie declares. "I love all of you, every wonderful and horrible piece, and I can wait until you're ready."

Buck exhales shakily and nudges forward until he can rest his forehead against Eddie’s. "I love you, too."

They stay like that, pressed against each other, sharing sweet, sacred, life-giving breaths until the tears and tremors subside.

#buddie #buddie ficlet #eddie diaz #evan buck buckley #911 fox #spec fic #sort of #i am so unwell about everything from monday's episode and i cant be held responsible #ryan writes

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extasiswings · 1 year

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out of things unsaid

No one should be surprised by this...have some spec fic for 6x10, my beloved.

When Eddie was a kid, his abuela kept a big novelty clock on the wall in her living room. Every time it chimed the hour, a door would open and little miniature figures would slide out for different scenes. It wasn’t quiet the rest of the time either—if you were in the room, you could hear it tick, tick, tick every second down. The figures used to freak him out a little, but the noise the rest of the time, that steady tick in the background, was soothing somehow. A reminder that time always kept moving forward. And if time could keep moving, then no matter what happened, Eddie could too.

The clock fell off the wall the day his abuelo died and shattered when it hit the ground. It wasn’t replaced. The next time Eddie was in that room, the thing he noticed most was the silence. It left the space feeling…frozen. Suffused with absence. Foreign and cold and wrong. Maybe time kept moving, but at least in that room it never felt like it again.

His abuela moved to LA after that. Sold the house full of memories that were colored over with a kaleidoscope of grief and growing stale. Put a new clock on the wall of her new house. A quieter one. And time started again. But not the same as before.

Never the same as before.

It’s funny, the things you think of when your world falls apart. Because Buck gets struck by lightning and thrown off the ladder, is hanging in the air like a ragdoll at the end of his line, and despite not having remembered the thing in years, Eddie thinks about that damn novelty clock.

Tick.

Eddie moves without thinking, just feeling, running on pure instinct. His throat is raw from a scream that he doesn’t remember letting out, and his hands grip the ladder—

He’s blasted off by another electric shock and lands hard on his back, his ears ringing. But he still hears the ticking of the clock, the old memory echoing in the back of his mind.

Tick.

He scrambles to his feet and takes a step towards the ladder again, only for hands to grab the back of his turnout. Eddie tries to pull away, but the grip holds fast.

“I need to—”

“That thing is a lightning rod,” Bobby interrupts, tugging Eddie around to face him. “You just experienced it yourself. I can’t let you go up there.”

“Cap—” Eddie’s voice cracks. A year ago, that might have bothered him. Because a year ago, he never let anything get to him on calls. A year ago, he knew how to shut down and get to work, to stay focused and keep out all the noise. A year ago, he knew how not to show when he was breaking.

But now—

Now he feels everything. Too much to keep inside. Too much to ignore or push through. He’s shaking, and he doesn’t think it has anything to do with the electricity that just zapped him.

“You have to,” Eddie replies. “I can’t—we can’t just leave him up there!”

The weight of responsibility is etched into every line of Bobby’s face. “We won’t, but we need a plan—”

“We don’t have time!” His voice cracks again, and Bobby’s eyes close, but his grip still doesn’t loosen.

Tick.

Eight minutes. If Buck’s heart stopped when he got hit—which seems likely since he isn’t moving—he has about eight minutes without CPR. Brain damage can happen after five.

Sometimes Eddie wishes he wasn’t a medic. Because then he wouldn’t have to know things like that. He could be blissfully ignorant instead of counting every single tick of the clock in his head.

Tick.

“Bobby.” Not Cap. And Eddie doesn’t care that he’s flaying himself open with a single word, shining a spotlight on every feeling, every wish, every desire that he’s been trying not to look at himself, let alone share with anyone else. He feels like an animal caught in a trap, wriggling and desperate and terrified out of his head. He feels like he’s been shot again—no, worse than when he was shot, because at least then it was only him, at least then dying was the worst thing that could happen to him.

Eddie doesn’t know what’s going to happen when the clock stops this time, but that moment is looming ever closer, threatening to swallow him up in a frozen, silent wasteland, and he can’t—

Tick.

There’s a shout from behind them, and Eddie is finally able to rip away from Bobby’s hands. When he whirls around, Hen is halfway up the ladder to Buck.

Eddie holds his breath as he watches her climb each rung. And he listens to the ticking of the clock.

Four minutes, five, five and a half—

Tick.

She’s on the ground by the time his count hits six, and Eddie knows he should let her do her job, let anyone else do it, but she doesn’t argue when he helps her get Buck’s terrifyingly still form on a board. She doesn’t say a word when he rips open Buck’s shirt and presses his palms to Buck’s chest to confirm what he already knew.

Nothing.

In his mind, Eddie sees the clock crashing to the floor.

“No.” It slips out as his own heart picks up double-time. “No, you don’t get to do this. You don’t—”

He doesn’t notice the look Hen and Chim exchange over his shoulder, or Bobby stepping up beside him, can’t be bothered to even think about what he’s giving away right now. He fits his hands together as Chim switches places with Hen and presses them to Buck’s chest, starting compressions.

Time seems suspended between them all.

They get Buck into the ambulance.

They shock him with the portable defibrillator. Once, twice—

The drone of the heart monitor replaces the silence of the stopped clock in Eddie’s head. And just when he thinks that might be worse—

Beep.

Tick.

Time starts again.

And Eddie’s legs give out from under him as he lets Chim gently push him aside.

His hands are still shaking when they arrive at the hospital, when Buck is wheeled through the ER doors. He thinks his whole body might be.

“He didn’t wake up,” he croaks out finally, giving voice to what neither of them were willing to think about while in the ambulance.

“We got his heart started,” Chim replies. “He’s alive.”

“Yeah…but he didn’t wake up.”

Tick.

Chim blows out a long, slow breath.

“He will.”

“He was down for so long—”

“Eddie.” Chim grabs Eddie’s shoulder as he sways, a wave of dizziness crashing into him. “Buck will wake up, okay? We just have to give him some time.”

Time.

Sure.

Chim tips his head, eyes narrowing as he looks at Eddie carefully. “Are you okay? Physically, that is. You got shocked pretty good back there too—you should get checked out.”

“I’m fine, I’m—” Another wave of dizziness, and Eddie’s head spins, black creeping in at the edges of his vision.

“I need some help over here!” He hears Chim shout, and then he’s falling, fading, slipping away.

Somewhere, a clock ticks on.

#chapel writes #911 spoilers #buddie #6B about to be That Girl #eddie diaz #spec fic

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brazenskald · 2 months

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In my first year of university, I was going through a very tumultuous time. There was all the many new things that come from leaving home, some good, some bad. There were the difficulties of a demanding if rewarding job, and I first became acquainted with the not-so-fondly-remembered and not yet fully un-internalized “student lifestyle.” Terrible food, awful sleep schedule, and this omnipresent sense of impending doom that was, at least in my case in Fall 2019, surprisingly prescient. Throughout all of this, I was not prepared to be struck by the warmth and depth and resonant Truth that cut through the noise and spoke to me with a certain book I picked up, by happenstance, because of its pretty cover. That book was A Conspiracy of Truths by @ariaste. You may have heard of them. https://www.alexandrarowland.net/a-conspiracy-of-truths

Now, needless to say I devoured aCoT, and subsequently its excellent sequel A Choir of Lies. I was sorrowfully disappointed to find out after finishing the absolute rollercoaster of Choir that there was in fact, no further reading yet to do. And so, profoundly affected as I was by this (for now) duology, which I will doubtless craft a dedicated and appropriately lengthy treatise at some point in the future, I set the books in a prime place upon my shelf and turned to face the rest of the year buoyed in my hopes for the brightness of Spring and the long lusty laughter of Summer. Alas, they were all of them deceived for another global epidemic was to begin. One (or two) life-altering years in a pandemic later… I returned to university, fully prepared to enjoy the hell out of an actual honest-to-gods academic institution that didn’t begin and end with a computer screen. It hit like a truck. Same awful student lifestyle, more bad habits piling up, and a rapidly growing sense of my own undiagnosed issue rearing its ugly head. I made one decision that saved me, probably. I kept buying and reading phenomenal books. I kept looking for stories to motivate, enervate, and inspire. Somewhere deep in my subconscious, I remembered that fateful message spoken by a Chant on a page three years past. To loosely paraphrase, “Stories [are] people, and the way people are.” I chose to focus on resilience, made it my motto, and sure I still had lots of work to do, but it helped. It gave me the push I needed to keep going.

That last long Winter that seemed so dark that the sun was never going to come back? I went a-wandering, and lo, a new instalment from @ariaste ‘s Mithalgeard universe! Not a Chant sequel as such, but I couldn’t get my hands on it fast enough. It was an oasis. A respite from the grind and dreary routines. It was also gay as… well as gay as a rainbow covered in gold, let’s say. And I cannot recommend A Taste of Gold and Iron fiercely enough, because although in many ways I managed to end my degree on a high note, that book drew me out of the darkness of the coldest part of the year. It gave me the sense to smell the flowers, to bask in the green and golden glow of a soon-to-be-attained victory, long overdue.

Alex had by this point also published several shorter works, (and a whole library’s worth of content on AO3, naturally) which I leapt to read whenever they crossed my radar. It helped that I joined their discord community which was leaps and bounds more reliable in terms of getting updates and also just having the chance to share in mutual fandom gushing. If you’re even remotely interested in learning more about what I’ve talked about here, you should join in! https://discord.gg/XHJ9Uy5gef Everybody there is absolutely lovely. So why do I bring all this up? To summarize a preamble that is, to put it mildly, not short, Alex’s writing sings to my soul. I love it more deeply than my non-existent children, and their body of work continues to evolve and grow and deliver on the themes and core messages that hooked me with that first book.

But wait, there’s more! Life carries on, and with it comes new stories! Specifically, Running Close to the Wind! It’s Our Flag Means Death meets Mithalgeard, which if I haven’t convinced you to go and read those other instalments, well just trust me when I say that is a potent and persuasive pairing! It’s also going to be dropping at an important time for me, what with convocation, another big move in my life, and a whole whack of uncertainty. Much like Avra, Teveri, and Julian though, I’ll just have to brave the rocky waters and hold on to those nearest to me, and that’s what I’d like to focus on at the end of this post. A Conspiracy of Truth taught me that stories are people, A Choir of Lies showed how stories can change people, and A Taste of Gold and Iron drove home that stories we tell ourselves are the hardest to rewrite, but also the most rewarding when we take ownership of them. I anticipate that with Running Close to the Wind, Alex will likely show us (with ample amounts of pomp and queer circumstances) how the story of ourselves can only ever be written by interweaving the tales of those closest to us. Perhaps, we’ll even discover how to navigate the often stormy seas of uncertainty that seem omnipresent these days, whenever we deign to pull our noses out from whichever books we’re currently nestled within. I know that’s certainly something I’ll be looking out for, come this June, and now hopefully you will be too! (This last link does go to the webpage for Running Close to the Wind, Tumblr’s just being weird I guess.)

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hepaidattention · 10 months

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that one where Nancy says Ace's full name

Ace looks at Nancy, exhaling a big puff of breath from his lungs, and the smallest of smiles creeping up the corners of his mouth. "Feels kinda weird, doesn't it? Being free from the supernatural drama for once?"

Nancy, eyes wide, mind racing, turned her head slowly as she looked up at her smiling Ace. Free from supernatural drama. Free. They were free. They had been free for months and they didn't even know, and now here they were, side by side, free, and neither of them had done anything about that. "Yeah, it uh... kinda makes you wanna do something crazy, you know? Something uncharacteristic, something..."

"Spontaneous?" He wiggled his brows at her and Nancy couldn't help but give a splitting face grin back. Then he added, "What're you thinkin'? Paris?"

She nodded thoughtfully, then turned to face him completely. "I was thinking something a little more spontaneous than that,"

"Yeah?" Ace laughed, his hand running through his hair just to place it back in the perfect spot. "What could be more spontaneous than Paris? Getting married?"

He was joking, it was obvious. He was laughing and expecting Nancy to be laughing with him, but his smile deflated when he met her serious, bright blue eyes and said, "Yeah," then she shrugged, then said, "Honeymoon in Paris would make it even better."

His mouth opened, then closed. Then it opened again, then it closed again. His hands were on his hips in a very confused and serious stance, and finally he said, "Nance, are you saying what I think you're saying?"

Nancy shrugged, "I'm saying I love you, and not being able to say that I love you has been torture for the past few months. Now that I can, I don't intend of ever not saying it again."

"Nancy..." He was searching her eyes, panic in his, clearly terrified she wasn't real right now, or she was messing with him, or this was all another part of Temperance's ploy to ruin their happiness all over again.

So, Nancy took it upon herself to make it very real. "I am asking you in the middle of the sidewalk of Horseshoe Bay, in the purest spirit of spontaneity and love, that you, Joseph 'Ace' Hardy, will marry me."

"Resurected and proposed to all in the same day," he chuckled, his grin growing bigger and bigger by the minute. "Most definitely will be telling our grandkids about this one."

At this point, Nancy was wrapped securely in Ace's arms. She rolled her eyes teasingly as she said, "So... is that a yes?"

"Can I think about it?" Nancy would have said yes if he wasn't obviously joking. Before she could even answer he said, "I thought about it. I think Greece might be a better honeymoon destination."

Nancy rolled her eyes at him again, said, "Hell no," and pulled him from the collar of his shirt, bringing their lips together in a messy but sweet kiss. It was a kiss to make up for all of their lost ones, every opportunity stolen from Temperance, now being taken back and reclaimed as their own.

"Hey, get a room," they heard in a deep voice, a little too deep. They both pulled apart to see Bess walking up behind the two of them with a wide and beaming smile on her face, the obvious culprit of the fake deep voice. She gave a little wave and said, "Sorry to interrupt, but Nancy your dad's are looking for you."

"Oh perfect -" Nancy looked back up at Ace, knowing Bess was about to lose her mind. "Do you think they both can walk me down the aisle? Or what are we thinking, court house?"

Bess turned the color of a ghost - which would be white. She clenched both of their arms with a tight grip and said, "I'm sorry, is there something I'm missing?"

"Nothing much, just planning a wedding is all-" Ace pretended not to seem effected by Bess' squeals, "do you think Bess could be a best man - best woman?"

"Hmm, I don't know, I think Nick would be offended by that," Nancy was just being cruel at this point.

"Oh, to hell with Nickerson!" Bess exclaimed, both Ace and Nancy no longer able to hide their laughter, "If anyone is going to be Ace Hardy's best man it is going to be me." She crossed her arms over her chest and firmly said, "Now, what's this nonsense about a courthouse?"

Nancy smiled at her friend. She intertwined her fingers with Ace's and they walked hand in hand as they listened to Bess plan the most extravagant last minute wedding in Nancy's houses backyard. They walked their way up the sidewalk, up into the apartment, and with grins on their faces, shared the news with a roaring of applause.

Because after all they'd had been through together, no one could think of a better happy ending.

#nancy drew cw #nancy drew #cw nancy drew #nace #nancy x ace #ace x nancy #nd fanfic #nancy drew fanfic #cw nancy drew fanfic #cw nancy drew fanfiction #fanfiction #one shot #someone brought up NANCY proposing and i couldn't get the idea out of my head #spec fic #nace spec fic

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tawaifeddiediaz · 1 year

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when it rains (it pours)

this is a spec fic, so spoilers for 6b ahead!

Pairing: Evan “Buck” Buckley/Eddie Diaz

Rating: T

Chapter: 1/1

Word Count: 4,101 words

Snippet:

Ten days after Buck flat-lines on a stretcher in the pouring rain, Eddie’s allowed to take him home.

His skin feels stretched tight over his bones, a kinetic energy vibrating through his bones, twitching through his fingers as he watches Buck clumsily pull on a hoodie. Eddie watches him like a hawk, unable to keep him out of his sights for longer than he has to.

He hadn’t had to fight very hard to get Buck back to his place instead of anyone else’s, the consensus being that he wasn’t going home alone. There had been something knowing in Bobby’s expression as he’d explained that Buck would be most comfortable in the Diaz home, but something even more incriminating as he’d looked at Eddie — as if he knew the impulse to keep Buck as close as possible, the reasons behind it.

Maybe it’s because he had to listen to the God-awful silence that accompanied his partner’s heart stopping, or because he watched Buck dangle from a ladder while desperately trying to hide his own injuries so no one would pay attention to him over the one who needed it most, or because, or because—

[Read on AO3]

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heywriters · 1 year

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I’m attempting to write a romance in my otherwise fantasy adventure story, which ends in the love interest dying to further the main character’s goal of finding solace and fighting against the forces that bring death to her loved ones. Any tips on how to write it to steer away from cliches?

Romance and fantasy are genres that thrive on their tropes and cliches though! Most dedicated readers of either genre want what they enjoyed in other books, so it doesn't hurt to read repeat tropes. Maybe it would help to know what the pros and cons are of some are first?

Love Interest Dies to Further Story is a common trope when it's a woman who dies, but it can also be a man. The cliche itself isn't bad, I've used it myself and it changed my character's entire arc. Readers might get tired of it, but impactful deaths are useful! It has been done well in several stories, especially ones where the romance is secondary to the plot.

Love Interest Only Exists to Die is a less great trope, especially for the reader. The love interest may be a great character, but if they never have a real influence on the story or even the main character, keen readers will catch on "wait, this person's just fodder!" Whatever the stakes are for the love interest, they should be equivalent to those faced by the main character. It hurts more to see a loyal partner die than an obvious vehicle for angst.

Love Interest is Secretly Bad has a dramatic use, but unfortunately it gets abused often for shock value. When it comes out of nowhere it's especially unfair to the reader. It can be used to redeem a character last minute, for example "Yes, I did help them break into your house, but then I called the police because I felt guilty. I should have told you sooner."

There are tons more, but you do not need to worry about them. It would be better to just right the story any way that feels right to you. You can use the cliches I mentioned, put your own spin on them, and create something new and interesting!

Found an article on Writer's Digest that may also help -> 4 Tips for Writing Fantasy Romance

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bobsfic · 1 year

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Summary: A week after returning home from South America, Kiara's struggling, and JJ knows exactly how to help.

A/N: This is a continuation of sorts to my previous post S3 fic "you're all i need", following along in the same universe and filling in what happened after South America. It's not necessary to read that one first, but it does lead into this fic!

A million thank yous to Diana (@jojameswinter) for betaing and for all of your help, advice, and encouragement with this fic and always!

Word Count: 10,622

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“Where would we even go?” she asks eventually, and she watches the concern in his eyes fade into the background.

JJ just quirks an eyebrow and pokes her gently in the side. “It’s a surprise.”

“I hate surprises, JJ,” she groans, the familiar banter helping to banish her fear too. “Just tell me.”

“I can’t tell you. It would ruin the surprise.”

“But I–”

“Hate surprises,” he finishes for her. “Yeah, yeah. You’ll like this one, I promise.”

He smiles at her fondly, and even though she doesn’t want to go anywhere, she is a tiny bit curious about what he’s planned. But before the thought is even fully formed, she’s remembering cold hands tightly gripping her arms, her mom apologizing as Kiara begged and pleaded with her to stop, to let her go, wriggling to escape their ironclad grasp.

No, it’s safer to stay here, she thinks.

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