There’s a kind of time travel in letters, isn’t there? I imagine you laughing at my small joke; I imagine you groaning; I imagine you throwing my words away. Do I have you still? Do I address empty air and the flies that will eat this carcass? You could leave me for five years, you could return never- and I have to write the rest of this not knowing.

I prefer read-receipts, all things considered- the instant handshake of slow telepathy through our wires. But this is a fascinating technology, in its limits.

-This Is How You Lose the Time War, Amal El-Mohtar & Max Gladstone, p. 42

I appreciate your subtlety. Not every battle’s grand, not every weapon fierce. Even we who fight wars through time forget the value of a word in the right moment, a rattle in the right car engine, a nail in the right horseshoe… It’s so easy to crush a planet that you may overlook the value of a whisper to a snowbank.

-This Is How You Lose the Time War, Amal El-Mohtar & Max Gladstone, p.13

Quitting grad school and pouring herself, heart and soul, into Oh My Stars hadn’t been easy. Making that leap into the unknown had been terrifying, but it had always felt right, because she wasn’t one to settle. She wanted more. This, kissing Darcy beside the rainbow light of a Christmas tree with more heat than pine needles, was the closest Elle had ever come to experiencing real magic, the kind that sparkled inside her veins and electrified her from the ends of her hair to the tips of her toes.

Written in the Stars, Alexandria Bellefleur, p. 272

Something snapped, want overriding everything else. She pressed Elle firmly against the wall and tasted the blunt edges of Elle’s teeth, dipped her tongue deeper, traced the roof of Elle’s mouth and dropped her hands, palming Elle’s hips when Elle shivered and melted. Sweet, Elle’s lips tasted like strawberries and her tongue like peppermint. Darcy wanted more, was suddenly greedy for a taste of-

Reality crashed down on her in the form of someone laying on a car horn. Elle rolled her lips together, eyes flitting away. Darcy turned, glaring at the car where her brother was hanging out the window, grinning stupidly.

“Get a room.” He winked. Tried to wink.

Brendon was getting fucking socks for Christmas. Boring, black, argyle ones.


Written in the Stars, Alexandria Bellefleur, p. 133-134

Elle held her breath as Darcy frowned thoughtfully. “Okay, got it. May I ask a question?”

“Absolutely.” Elle gestured for Darcy to go on. “There’s no such thing as a stupid question. There’s a definite learning curve to this.”

Darcy nodded. “All right. If your Jupiter is… in Virgo?” Elle nodded. “Where’s your Uranus?”

“My Uranus is in Capri-” Elle froze. “Wow.”

Darcy’s dimples deepened as she smiled impishly. “Sorry, it was just right there.”



Written in the Stars, Alexandria Bellefleur, p. 86

"

I meant it when I told you before: I want every version of you.” A fingertip lands in the center of my lower lip. “I love every version of you.

"

-  Weather Girl, Rachel Lynn Solomon, p. 319

"

Eventually, you deal with something for long enough that it becomes such an intrinsic part of you, and you can’t imagine yourself without it. You accept it, maybe because you think you deserve it but also because you’re scared that if you tried to change it, it wouldn’t work. It feels easier to live in that somber place because you don’t know who you are otherwise, and you’re worried about putting in all that effort without a guaranteed outcome.

"

-  Weather Girl, Rachel Lynn Solomon, p. 306-307

"

That’s the thing about depression. You can know it’s there, know it’s part of you, but you can go ages without seeing it. It lives with you, an invisible roommate, up until the time you start sinking, and then it sprawls itself across your couch and kicks its feet up on your coffee table and uses up all the hot water. Never pays its half of the rent, either.  
  
You can be okay for months, for years, before it creeps back in, telling you lies like ‘you will always feel this way’ and 'no one will love you because of it’ and 'why bother.’ Once, you could tell they were lies, but now they weigh down your shoulders and take up space in your lungs. Sometimes they come out of nowhere. Other times, some grim event helps yank you back to that dark place.  
  
And god, you are so fucking exhausted, so you let it happen.

"

-  Weather Girl, Rachel Lynn Solomon, p. 287

"

Whatever it’s called- I like it. I like all of you."  
  
"I like all of you, too. Every version.” He brushes some of my hair out of the way, pressing a kiss to my temple. “I like you when you’re talking about the sun in the forecast.” His mouth moves lower, lips fluttering over my eyelashes. “I like you when you’re gleefully telling everyone to expect about a hundred more days of rain.” A kiss at the corner of my mouth. “But I like the real version best. And I feel really fucking lucky that I get to see that Ari Abrams.

"

-  Weather Girl, Rachel Lynn Solomon, p. 264

"

What I’m realizing,” I continue, “is that I like myself the most when I’m around you. And I think it’s because I’m the most honest version of myself. I don’t have to try as hard, and I don’t have to hide. I can just… be.

"

-  Weather Girl, Rachel Lynn Solomon, p. 254

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