The Andrew Carnegie Medals for Excellence in Fiction and Nonfiction
The Andrew Carnegie Medal for Excellence in Fiction and the Andrew Carnegie Medal for Excellence in Nonfiction were established in 2012 to recognize the best fiction and nonfiction books for adult readers published in the U.S. the previous year.
Berry Pickers by Amanda Peters
We Were Once a Family by Roxanna Asgarian
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If you enjoy Merthur stories in which Merlin or Arthur (or both) work with animals, then I highly recommend reading these:
“Twitch Your Whiskers and Pull My Tail” by @bluesimplicity73 (explicit, 61k)
and
“All Things Loved And Lovesick” by horsecrazy / @cbk1000 (explicit, 90k)
If anyone knows of any other similarly themed stories, please feel free to add!
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I don't know who needs to hear this but if a story makes you laugh or smile or cry or even just walk out of it saying, "huh, that was an interesting way to spend a few hours", then that's actually a pretty cool work of art. This idea that every piece needs to be some World-Altering, profound work that will restructure the very fabric of reality itself to be considered good or worthwhile is absurd and also counterproductive. All art serves a purpose and sometimes that purpose is to reestablish important threads within the fabric of culture and the human experience and sometimes that purpose is to make you giggle at 2am and nothing else.
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ok so i'm re-reading blood and beauty once again, and i have to say that sarah dunant is the superior borgia fiction writer out there. i absolutely love her delicate and evocative writing as well as how she brilliantly humanizes the characters through compelling narratives. not to mention her attention to detail and meticulous research creates a rich historical backdrop, immersing us in the fascinating world of the borgia family. she also has an exceptional understanding of how hot and terrible cesare can be while still making him nuanced. it's a personal win for me as someone who's pretty much bored of his character being softened up and romanticized in other works. the more he does something awful, the more compelling he becomes to me (although he wasn't romanticized much in showtime's the borgias but his image of an over-ambitious, sadistic, gaslighting, and manipulative guy seems to appear innocent that watchers tend to overlook it, and some of his misdeeds were dumped onto juan, like making him the only one having an affair with sancia of aragon when cesare was involved as well, or having him kill lucrezia's lover, paolo, etc., which is why i wasn't as interested in cesare as i was in juan because juan does nasty acts, but you get an idea of why he did what he did and still find the human in the heinous.) the most phenomenal writing part for me was to not lean into the rumors by not having cesare kill juan because it's closer to historical reality. and as much as cesare's 'from envy to fratricide' pipeline can be groundbreaking like how it worked in showtime's the borgias, dunant proved that juan's murder can still be astounding without the fratricide. because even if cesare did have a tempting motive to kill him, as he wanted his position so badly, cesare's letters to him make me doubt that he ever had any involvement in his murder since the letters show so much fraternal love. i also want to add that rodrigo's deep love for his children, while being self-aware and devastated over the fact that he uses them and forces them into roles they're incompetent for and marriages for political gain, was a standout aspect in the book. in short, the book is emotionally engaging because it delves into the intriguing world of the borgia family's renaissance. imo, it's a must-read for borgia enthusiasts.
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For @hinnymicrofic Prompt 10: Flower
Read on ao3 or above and below the cut. Bit more than 500 words.
“The pink just won’t work, not with your complexion.” Fleur was clicking her tongue. Ginny wore a dangerous look that he hadn’t seen in weeks: Harry watched her snatch the notebook and spin out of the room.
If he knocked, she wouldn’t answer. She wouldn’t know it was him. He pushed the door open just a little, an offering. He’d counted to nine when she opened the rest.
Harry gestured to the notebook, still held close to her chest.
“Can I see?”
Ginny frowned. “I thought we agreed that you’d let us take care of it.”
“I thought you agreed to let Fleur take care of most of it.”
She shook her head. “Not my corsage. Not your boutonniere.”
“What even is that? Why does it matter?”
Her eyes flashed again: Harry took one step back. “I just mean…you seemed angry, there. Is it worth that?”
“The groom’s parents ought to walk with him, Harry. If my dad, then your mum. That’s the part that matters.” Ginny sat on her bed and patted the space beside her. Harry sat down.
She flipped the cream-colored pages and laid the book open. At the top of one page, the lapel of his jacket. Below, a closer drawing of the flowers to be pinned.
One simple white lily on a bed of pink carnations.
“Your mother was born in January,” she said quietly. “January…it’s carnations. But that’s not all they mean.”
A swelling in his throat as he leaned closer to her. “What else?”
“All of them mean memory. But the pink ones mean…her. The way that a mother loves her child. To death, and beyond it. I want you to wear this, when you walk down the aisle.”
Her expression shifted to almost a smirk. “And Auntie sodding Muriel will leave us alone about it, if what’s on your suit matches what’s on my arm.”
Her chest was puffed out beneath the Harpies t-shirt, brown eyes blazing. It had taken quite a while for the love he knew she felt for him to take the form of tenderness, to release that edge of anger. The way she had snatched away the notebook in the living room, the glare she’d shot at Fleur. The rows she’d had on his behalf, her small fist shaking at Malfoy as she’d barked, “leave him alone!” His mother’s love, too, had been that fierce, by necessity. The softer things still felt a bit like someone else’s life.
More comfortable, out loud at least, to meet her where she was. “Auntie sodding Muriel would never stand a chance.” He paused, passing one finger lightly over the open page, reaching then for the upward corner with a question in his eyes. She nodded and carefully, he turned to the page right before.
A corsage, she had called it. Had Luna drawn all of them? The same flowers gathered, wrapped around a freckled wrist.
Tears pricked in his eyes and he blinked them away, before setting down the notebook like it was a sleeping child. He reached for her arm and stroked it, then bent his lips to press them where the flowers would be placed.
I get it, Auntie Muriel. I never stood one, either.
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