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flordeamatista · 1 year

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March’s Author of the Month

@syntheticavenger is a talented writer on this site.

Her masterlist is full of daydreams.

Her stories take readers on a journey to remarkable places, and she's always creating something new and exciting.

She is constantly pushing the boundaries of storytelling and crafting unique and captivating stories that capture her readers' imaginations. She has a passion for exploring the depths of her characters and crafting stories that will stay with her readers long after the fic is finished.

There is a wide range of fics she has, ranging from sweet fluff to intense dark daydreams.

personal favorites:

Are you looking for the most beautiful Ari Levinson AU who adores you and just wants to make you happy?

The only thing I can recommend is to read it ASAP! This Ari is the dream!

Life in the Fast Lane

CEO! Alpha Ari Levinson x Mechanic! Omega Reader

The last thing you need is a distraction while trying to run a small auto shop. Ari Levinson is just that and more

Synth ability to weave multiple storylines and connect them together adds an extra layer of richness to her work, making it stand out from the crowd.

When I read Life in the Fast Lane, I noticed another character was mentioned, I saw Dark Alpha Steve Rogers had his own storyline.

Fragile, one of the best dark Steve fics I've read.

This story is crafted with exquisite detail, taking me on an emotional rollercoaster ride of highs and lows.

Read the warnings for this series.

Fragile

Dark! Alpha Steve Rogers x Female Reader

Working at the Avengers compound is a dream come true. You have everything you’ve ever wanted until a small security breach reveals a secret that has Steve Rogers very interested in who you truly are.

The following are some of the fics I got to treasure to read around in March:

Manicure All You Need Drive Time to Run - Part Thirteen

Your One and Only So Close

Man or Monster (sequel to So Close) Good Girl

Steve murders your boyfriend (drabble) Mean!Steve (drabble)

#fan fiction author #writer rec 💐#bucky barnes fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #ari levinson fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #woc writers

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tom-whore-dleston · 8 months

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Super Moon

Notes: Back to writing poetry because the super moon got me feeling all types of things. Remember to reblog and comment if you enjoyed! 😊

I look up at the moon tonight

And I can’t help but think

Is he looking at the same moon

That I see at this very moment

Is it shining across the sea

Where you find serenity?

I wish I could see you and feel you

The way I do the moon

But the giant bright light in the sky

Is my only reassurance you’re not too far

But I can’t help but long for you

The way the moon yearns to illuminate the night

There won’t be a moon like this until 2037

I’ll be 38 and you 42

We will have lived beautiful lives

Ones that we are just beginning

I will wait for your hug and kiss

Like the rest of the world

Will be waiting for the next super moon

Navigation | Original Works

#original work #original art #original writing #writings #poetry #prose #short poem #prose poem #prose poetry #poetic prose #love prose #short story #quick write #writers on tumblr #female writers #woc writers #creative writing #non fandom

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mohomotsi · 10 months

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Love

Love. A concept I'm so obsessed with. I'm an absolute fiend for romance. My solace is found amongst romance books when I just need to unwind. I even have a playlist dedicated to my future lovers. This weekend, I've been blessed with Red Moon in Venus, an album by Kali Uchis, and On Rotation, a novel written by Shirlene Obuobi. It's really magical when you get the opportunity to experience stories about love from women of colour. To be seen and heard with such empathy and kindness is something that's so important to me. The articulations expressed by Shirlene and Kali are so raw and light, complex yet simple. Shirlene reminded me of the different faces of love and to be patient. Kali taught me that choosing love is something scary and sacred, but the fullness your life will gain is worth the risk. They both have forced me to evaluate love. Now I know romantic love is barely enough for an individual, even though that's the narrative we are made to believe. But I never truly embraced the love I have for the people in my life. I have yet to be graced with romantic love, but I have experienced so much love in my life that I feel beautifully suffocated. I had a dream about a close friend of mine dying, and my heart shattered. Losing her would break a part of my heart, and I don't think I'd be able to get it back. And that's just how I feel about every one of the people in my life. My friends. My family. They are my people. People who are beautiful in all ways. People who I think about when I see something I think they will like. People who I want to be around and make smile. People who make me want to live. Live to be my best, my worst, my mediocre. And that's just so sublime. There's nothing in this world that will take their place, and I just have to declare my love to them. I love my friends and family. So much, and I'm so grateful for this gift that God has bestowed upon me.

MOHOMOTŠI

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ambisun · 10 months

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3 days to goooo

#made a lil promo video #mythology #illustration #indie oracle deck #anthology #south east asian legends #stories from south east asia #woc writers #woc artist

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harrysgoldenbum · 2 years

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Chai for Two

Harry x Jiya

word count: 1819

warnings: none, just soft and fluff

it had been proofread, but I am sure I might have missed a mistake or two

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translations/pronunciation/extra info

Harry woke up mid-morning wrapped around Jiya. Harry laid on his side and had a thick thigh thrown over Jiya’s legs and his arm was wrapped around her waist, while her face was tucked into his chest.

Harry woke up from the sunshine streaming into the bedroom. Jiya’s sage green sheets covered him from the waist down. He moves his head back far enough to look at his girlfriend.

A content smile forms on his lips.

Pressing a gentle kiss on Jiya’s forehead, he relaxes into the mattress and just holds her. It was the first night he stayed over at her place and he is already looking forward to the next time.

It was about five minutes later when Jiya woke up and presses closer to his body. She was just in a cute cotton pajama set that consisted of a pink button-down shirt and sleep shorts. “Morning,” she mumbled against his skin.

He didn’t say anything, but his hand continued to caress her back. They lay in silence for some time just enjoying the warmth that came from the sun and each other.

He liked how he felt when he was around her. It was effortless. He didn’t have to worry about what he was doing or saying, he didn’t feel like he had to put on a show for Jiya. He was able to be himself around her.

It took a little bit of courage from Harry before he asked her, “Will you teach me how to make chai?”

Jiya pulled back in surprise and looked at him. “Really?”

“I want to be able to make it for you,” he whispers shyly. “The way you like it.”

A rush runs through Jiya’s body. Just the thought of Harry wanting to make her tea warms her from her fingers to her toes. A bright smile stretches across her face.

And that's what gets them to get out of bed. The two of them freshen up and took turns brushing their teeth. Harry now had a brush in Jiya’s toothbrush holder. He pulls on the soft yellow shirt he was wearing yesterday and his jeans. Jiya added a sports bra under her sleep shirt and slid on a pair of house slippers.

Pulling out a small copper-colored pot, Jiya showed him how much water to put in. “It depends on how many people are going to drink it. My Bibi Ji taught me how to make chai, but my Nani Ji helped me get it to my taste.”

She explained to him that over the years she had made so many cups of chai, that she has gotten used to just eyeballing how much water she needs to boil. “Even if I have to make a large pot, I’ve just gotten used to it. What you have to keep in mind is that along with the water, you will be adding milk too.”

Harry was quiet as he watched her move around in her kitchen. She was in her element, bubbly, and light. He took in every word she was saying.

The stove ticked a few times just before the flame caught.

Much like the rest of her duplex, her kitchen was cozy and welcoming. Her colored cabinets popped against the white backsplash, and wooden floors. Her wooden floating shelves provided more space. The shelves were covered with various cookbooks, spices, and dishes. Jiya’s windowsill, just above her sink, was decorated with a few plants, one looked like spearmint and another looked like basil, and there were a few others that Harry couldn’t recognize. Near her stove, sat a tray that had ceramic jars labeled ‘sugar’ and ‘tea’, next to it was a container that held wooden spoons, spatulas, and what looked like a small steel sieve.

While the kitchen colors were gray and white, the stillwater blue kitchen island provided a sharp contrast. Which happened to match the living room sofa. Jiya also inserted a shot of color with the different mugs and dishes she used in the house. Along with a couple of flower bouquets, that sit on the kitchen counter and living room table - she also has one in her office. For the last couple of months, Harry had taken it upon himself to make sure that the flowers were exchanged for fresh ones, changing them about every two weeks.

Jiya placed the pan over the fire, “I hope you know that I am making you a cup too.” She tosses him a smile over her shoulder as she reaches into the cabinet. She pulls out jars that contain cardamom, clove, and cinnamon sticks. “I personally don’t add sugar, but you can always add it after.” She also pulls a mortar off the shelves. Moving, Harry comes to stand beside her. Placing a tea towel under the grinder, Jiya added two cardamom pods and one stick of clove into the bowl. She snaps a cinnamon stick into a fourth and drops it into the water. Taking the pestle, Jiya pounds the green cardamom pods and the clove a few times before she drops them into the water too. “There are so many different spices that you can add to chai, it just depends on the taste you are going for. Like, some days instead of adding cinnamon, clove, and cardamom, I’ll use fennel seeds. The amount of spices you use changes, depending on how many people you're making tea for. Of course, you don’t have to add spices if you don’t want to. You could just make a plain cup too.” Placing the lid onto the pot, she leans back against the counter and tells him to wait until the water boils.

Standing close to each other, Jiya looks up at him and can see the concentration on his face. She hesitates for a second before she works up the courage to ask him, “Can I ask what prompted you to want to learn how to make chai?” His eyes catch hers. And a small smile forms on his pretty face, just giving her a hint of his dimples.

“You’re the first person I’ve been with who has taken the time to learn the things that I like. And every time you do, it reminds me how effortless a relationship should be. I wanted to return the gesture, and not because I want to even things out, but because I want to.”

Leaning in, Harry presses a gentle kiss on her lips. “It’s just something I want to be able to do for you.” He murmurs against the apple of her cheek. Cupping her head in his hands, Harry presses delicate kisses on her eyelids. “Is that okay?”

Pecking his pink lips, Jiya whispers a soft, “Yes.”

They stand in each other's warmth, enjoying each other’s presence, while they wait for the water to boil.

It takes about two minutes until the water starts rolling.

“So usually with loose leaf tea, one spoon is enough for about two cups, if you want stronger tea then you add more and let it simmer for longer.” Scooping the black tea from the designated jar, Jiya adds a spoonful to the pot. They wait about 2 minutes before she moves toward her refrigerator and pulls out a gallon of milk. “Okay so this is going to sound silly, but it was the only way I could remember how much milk to add when I was younger. I was never taught how much to measure, my grandmothers took ‘measure with the heart’ literally.”

Tipping the milk gallon, Jiya poured the milk into the pot. She continued to do so until the liquid turned into a medium tan color. “As a kid, I would always compare the color of the tea to my skin color.”

It took Harry a second to process what his girlfriend just said, “What?!”

Jiya felt her face heat up, and a slight blush showed on her tan complexion, “I told you it’s silly,” she cried out. “It doesn’t work for everyone but that was a connection I made when I was a kid!” Shy, she turned her face away from Harry. “Hey, hey,” he turns her head so she’ll look at him. “Just wasn’t expecting you to say that, Jiya. It was the last comparison I was expecting you to make.”

A small chuckle rumbled out of Harry, “If that is the way you remembered it, it's the way you remembered it.”

“Okay…” Jiya starts, desperately wanting to move away from the subject, she fidgets in his embrace. “When we add milk into the pan, you want to keep a close eye on it because when it starts to rise, which happens very quickly, it can boil over.”

And sure enough, it was a few minutes later, Harry heard a hiss coming from the pot, and saw the milk starting to rise. Moving quickly, Jiya turned the flame down and set the liquid to a simmer. “I usually let it simmer for fiveish minutes so that way it's not watery.”

She presses herself against his body and wraps her arms around his waist. “While we wait for the water to boil, what do we want for breakfast?”

They agree to avocado toast with a side of fresh fruit. While the toast heats up in the toaster, Harry takes on the task of cutting and seasoning the avocado. “When did you learn how to make chai?”

“My Bebe Ji taught me when I was around six or seven,” Jiya responded as she washed up some blackberries and blueberries.

“And your Nani Ji, helped you figure out the way you liked it to taste?”

A wide smile took over her face, she loved it when he would refer to her grandparents in Punjabi. “Yeah. She was the one who taught me what different spices to use, and which ones complimented each other well.”

Harry stretched against the kitchen island and placed the plate of toast and the bowls of berries on the other side. And watched Jiya turn the flame off the stove and cover the pot with its lid. She took out two mugs from the cabinet and reached for the sieve. Harry watched his dream girl uncover the pot and placed the small sieve over one of the cups and poured the liquid through the netted material, leaving the used spices behind.

She clearly had years of practice with the way she did it with such ease and natural fluidity. Once both cups are filled, Harry picks both of them up from their handles and walks around the island to where their breakfast waits. Jiya follows him and settles down on the barstool next to him.

After waiting for a few minutes, Harry blows in his cup to cool the hot drink before he takes his first sip. He tastes the spice blend. It's not overwhelming but just enough to give the tea flavor. “I hope you know darling, you’re going to have to give me this lesson a few times before I’ll get it down pat.”

With a gleam of happiness in her eyes, Jiya nods her head as she takes her first sip of the morning.

what do yall think :)

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Talk to me // Masterlist // More of Harry and Jiya

#harry styles x desi oc #harry styles x desi character #harry styles x jiya #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fluff #harry styles fan fic #harry styles blurb #harry style fan fiction #harry styles writing #harry styles concept series #harry styles oneshot #harry styles #harries #harry styles au #woc writers #poc writers

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klutzymaiden123 · 1 year

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Something about writing or witnessing angry women characters is so satisfying

#and i dunno what it is #writing #female characters #female rage #authors #poc authors #black authors #black writers #poc writers #woc writers

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this-world-of-beautiful-monsters · 9 months

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From the author's site:

In June 2001, Rahna Reiko Rizzuto went to Hiroshima in search of a deeper understanding of her war-torn heritage. She planned to spend six months there, interviewing the few remaining survivors of the atomic bomb. A mother of two young boys, she was encouraged to go by her husband, who quickly became disenchanted by her absence.

It is her first solo life adventure, immediately exhilarating for her, but her research starts off badly. Interviews with the hibakusha feel rehearsed, and the survivors reveal little beyond published accounts. Then the attacks on September 11 change everything. The survivors’ carefully constructed memories are shattered, causing them to relive their agonizing experiences and to open up to Rizzuto in astonishing ways.

Separated from family and country while the world seems to fall apart, Rizzuto’s marriage begins to crumble as she wrestles with her ambivalence about being a wife and mother. Woven into the story of her own awakening are the stories of Hiroshima in the survivors’ own words. The parallel narratives explore the role of memory in our lives, and show how memory is not history but a story we tell ourselves to explain who we are.

___

For anyone interested in a perspective on the Hiroshima bombings from Literally Anyone Besides The People Who Did It, I'd definitely recommend this book at least as a starting point. It does a really good job of balancing personal narrative with careful testimonies from the Hiroshima bombings from a wide array of perspectives, all while balanced with an exploration of post-Hiroshima Japan in the early aughts.

There's some truly beautiful language that dances across the line between poetry and prose, showing a dedication to the craft of writing, creating, feeling, and knowing that I really admire and respect. There's also a lot of fascinating stuff about the way different people come to terms with trauma and change, and the messy work that comes with believing in peace when the war never seems to fucking stop, all shit that feels as relevant now as it ever has

(tw include graphic descriptions of death and suffering, discussions of racism and xenophobia, brief segments involving victim blaming and mentions of sexual assault, discussions of pregnancy)

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princesatracionera · 1 year

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an original poem by me💓

#poets on tumblr #poetry #short poem #girlblogging #women in poetry #original poem #poems and poetry #women #women writers #woc poetry #woc writers

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tom-whore-dleston · 2 years

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Wishes on an Eyelash

Notes: I haven't written any non-fanfic works in a while but I've been going thru some shit lately and wanted to write my feelings out. Even though this isn't fanfic, reblogs and comments are greatly encouraged 😊

When I was a little girl, my mother told me that if I made a wish on an eyelash that fell from my eye, that wish would come true.

After we said goodbye, I cried and cried. I cried for you. I cried for more memories. More tender touches. More kisses. More laughs. More ways of expressing “I love you” without explicitly saying “I love you”.

As I wiped away my tears, the tissue collected a few wet eyelashes. I picked up an eyelash, another tear of sadness trickling down my eye.

I wish I told you that I love you. I may not have known you for very long, but when you know, you know. And I would have meant every bit of those three words.

Blow.

I wish we made more love. To feel the love we will never express in words. To feel connected to the soul I have yearned for my whole life. To feel sensations that I thought only existed in fantasy.

Blow.

I wish we shared more laughs and smiles. To hear your dumb jokes that made me snort and cackle. To see your sparkling smile that I’ve become so mesmerized by. To see your face turn red when you realize how much funnier I am than you. You don’t have to admit it though, I already know.

Blow.

I wish we kissed more. To feel your soft lips one more time. To memorize what it was like to be molded against your lips. To taste a sweetness that not even the sweetest berry could satisfy. To smile against your smile, knowing that the world finally made sense with you in it.

Blow.

I wish I could touch you again. To feel safe in your warm embrace. To know you will protect me even when there is no immediate danger. To warm your cold hands with mine. And you would bring my hand to your heart before placing a tender kiss on top it.

Blow.

I wish we had more time. More memories. More moments where I could stop the clock and be present with you. I wish you could meet my friends and family. I wish I could meet your friends and family. I can’t help but imagine how much our families would like one another.

Blow.

I wish we were more than what we were. I wish you were mine.

Blow.

One more eyelash.

I wish you were mine. Just in case the last eyelash didn’t fly away far enough.

Blow.

I open my eyes but you’re still gone. I’m all out of eyelashes but not out of wishes. I can’t help but cry harder and louder. I curse at the universe for putting me through something so beautifully tragic.

If there is another universe where we are together, I hope they cherish the love that was created just for them. So then she would never have to cry and make wishes on eyelashes.

#original work #original art #original writing #writers on tumblr #female writers #woc writers #creative writing #unwell thoughts with jordan #tom-whore-dleston #non fandom

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officialcojabrown · 1 year

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hiatuswhore · 2 years

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I am a coward

A/N: I never write about myself. Which makes sense given I mainly write fan fictions. I did today though. It is okay if no one interacts with this, I just need to know I posted it. Lately my anxiety has been really high and writing is my outlet but I have never used it to process my feelings only to escape them.

I am a coward. I place the facade of confidence on in almost everything about myself. Repressing the feeling of resentment of each part of myself. I hate my acne prone skin, my high maintenance hair, and sometimes my button shaped nose. I hate my confrontational personality, my unflinching need for academic validation, and how I often spiral into an episode of self doubt. Most of all I hate that I sometimes hate the color of my skin. Not the actual color but the complications that come with it. I am always aware when I am the only brown person in the room. The subtle glances and watchful eyes as if I am an unknown species. Even when there is another brown person in the room my anxiety spikes at the thought of not meeting their standards.

I am a coward. I push my friends and family to chase their dreams no matter how ridiculous. I laugh at the notion of possible failure and tell them it does not matter. It does matter. Just like the people around me fear failure, I fear failure. Maybe that is what makes it all worse, because I pretend that I do not. I have to make it happen. I have to be societies standard of successful because no one else in my family has. I have to be more. It has taken nearly two decades to realize that pressure has piled on, brick by brick it only piles higher. Is my passion social work or is the paper validating I got a higher education where my determination stems from.

I am a coward. I love writing stories. It brings me joy. Whether it is an original piece or fan fiction, I love the escapism. Even now I close the doors to sharing this piece of myself with the people I care about. The people I have to look in the eyes. Rejection. Like a true coward, I fear I am not good enough. So I hide behind a pen name and seek validation through an anonymous source.

I am a coward. Too afraid to admit my families shortcomings. Uprooted far too many times and told in not so many words to be okay with it. Told to accept my parents no matter the hurt because they are my parents.

I am a coward most of all because I have convinced myself that I can handle all of my emotions myself. Too afraid to ask for help but not in fear of judgement but in fear of all the anxiety and turmoil I truly struggle with. I am an old house and everyday I just give her a fresh coat of paint. When the paint peels, I apply more. Why? Because I am Najee, and Najee always has it together.

#anxiety #writing #poc writers #mental health #fan fiction writer #woc writers #hispanic writer

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