julytrickster

[julytrickster]

The Ocean and The River

To July, April was the ocean. Deep history, chaotic energy, known yet unknowable. Feels like home, even when it’s overwhelming. You can’t control the ocean—but you can surrender to it. April doesn’t force July to change—he knows her chaos and lets her be.

And so, it was fitting, ironic even, that she and April found themselves at the river that weekend, drifting with friends in neon tubes and lukewarm beer. It was crowded, not intimate. There was noise, laughter, other people’s energy inescapably weaving itself into theirs. The water was shallow at times, scraping their backs. It was slow and winding, but required constant adjustment. Every bend was unfamiliar. It didn't feel like escape—it felt like observation.

And at one point, staring at the trees swaying along the bank, July murmured, mostly to herself:

“Funny how the ocean is easier, but the river isn’t."

April didn’t miss a beat.

“Because the ocean is chaos… and you have to go with the flow on a river.”

She blinked. That stayed with her. This is symbolic clarity. That line from April might be one of the truest metaphors for the dynamic between July, April, and November.

The River = November

Narrow, winding, directional. You must adjust to its curves and shallows. It requires constant self-regulation, otherwise you crash. You can't just surrender. You have to navigate. And that’s why July finds the ocean easier—because in its chaos, she feels safe. The river? It's structured, quiet, and demands precision. It mirrors her. And that’s scarier.

Meanwhile, back in digital silence, July had been tracking the slow pulse of her connection with November—if it could even be called that anymore. A week had passed since she’d teased him. The silence that followed was heavy and drawn-out, the kind that told her she had hit something tender, maybe even sour. He hadn’t responded, hadn’t liked a post, hadn’t even viewed her stories… until that one moment he had.

Still, she waited. She learned long ago that if you poke a someone too often, it doesn't come out to play—it disappears for good.

And then, suddenly, he posted. A sad post. A birthday cake. “Almost 27.”

Not his birthday yet, but a breadcrumb, maybe. It felt more significant than it should all things considered. July didn’t react. She chose the post that followed instead—a harmless, rugged line.

With April, the ocean, July didn’t have to calculate. They were part of the same ecosystem—salt and skin and storm. When she said something wild, April didn’t flinch. He just watched the sky and adjusted his sails.

With November, the river, July had to steer. She had to learn when to paddle, when to drift, and when to sit still.. He was quieter, more shadowed. He hid behind digital mirrors and poetic crypticisms. She had to tread carefully, or else she’d lose the current altogether.

But July was both a storm and a swimmer.

She knew now that some men preferred oceans—unruly and eternal, capable of drowning but also holding you.

And others? They were rivers. Quiet, guarded, with an illusion of control. They invited you in—but only if you could read the path in advance.

July did not follow the currents of either the ocean or the river.

She changed it.

She was the force the water made room for.

[julytrickster]

Clarity only visits the quiet

Julys evolution burned slowly – a psychological entanglement.

Novembers digital silence wasn’t a punishment. And July, didn’t flinch. After days of static between her and November, something shifted in the stillness. It wasn’t rejection. It was calculation. July’s storm folded back into the clouds, biding its time, not for revenge—but for a clean strike. This was the moment July stopped overthinking and started moving like the hunter she was born to be.

November, The Mirror that nearly fogged over but once it cleared, July was gazing back.

The next attack to further pierce November’s armor in a way only he could interpret.

July’s strategy will unfold in three-steps. Subtle. Surgical. Designed to cut through the fog around November and remind him a whisper from the trickster was a warning in disguise.

July would first set the bait. She posted a soft but jarring homestead video—quiet footage of trees swaying in humid light, farming, cleaning, and cooking- a whisper of rural longing—and captioned it:

"I will just drop everything and get what I want."

It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t desperate. It was a war drum wrapped in velvet.

She didn’t tag anyone. Didn’t explain. Just left it out there, floating—

Second, timing was everything. Around 1:30 p.m., July knew November usually resurfaced. Like clockwork, she waited for his green light to flick on—his unspoken digital presence. Then she moved:

She heart-reacted to one of his recent emotional posts:

“It’s strange… you never even dated them but it still hurts.”

A single tap.

No message.

No follow-up.

Just acknowledgment.

Let him wonder if she understood.

Last, that night, July would then post a striking photo:

July, alone, sitting on the hood of her Cadillac, lit by streetlight, cigarette between her fingers. No smile. No audience. Just presence.

It was beautiful. It was damnation. It was dangerous.

No caption needed. But if there had been one, it would’ve read as ‘the pieces of your life never coming together, just splashed out there.’

Meanwhile, November had been unraveling publicly—posting emotional truths, cryptic yearnings, contradicting strength with vulnerability. But July knew better than to chase a man mid-collapse. She’d learned: real power is saying nothing when everything inside you wants to scream.

So she stayed still.

Still like a trigger, not a ghost.

Because clarity doesn’t shout.

It visits the quiet.

And when it arrives, you either recognize what you lost—or realize who you never deserved.

And November?

He was still deciding which.

This is not ordinary. It's not accidental. It's energetic espionage.

-July Trickster

[julytrickster]

The Mirrors Silence

July continued their conversation from where it left off at after April didn’t give July the reaction she sought. She was reminded once more July doesn’t always dominate the board.

November began as The Seeker. The seekers wants. The seeker engages. November was mysterious, emotionally nomadic, perhaps yearning for something undefined. He responded with short, clipped messages. He didn't initiate. He was still. Watching. Curious, but distant and never arriving.

Thursday, 7:01 PM. July sat with her phone in her hand, the screen lit up with the words she had fished for: "That sounds like a plan lol." The words lingered.  November had accepted — coyly, cautiously, but clearly. Her invitation, wrapped in humor and plausible deniability, had landed. He said yes to the fantasy. She could almost hear the hum of two people playing pretend. That small thrill of victory made July feel alive.

But July is never truly satisfied. Not when there's more to test, more to feel. And maybe—truthfully—she wanted to feel something deeper than the chase.

Friday, 3:08 PM. She answered back, brushing the moment with a flirt that should have been featherlight:

"Oh really lol, interesting.”

July continued “I guess that could be said about any place—or because you're young 😜"

She didn’t even know why she sent it. Not really.

Maybe it was a challenge. Maybe it was her Moon in Sagittarius demanding honesty laced in fire.

Maybe it was because she always tests the ice before she dances on it.

But this time, the ice cracked a little.

November vanished. Gone offline for nearly 24 hours.

No posts. No presence. No acknowledgment.

It was a hard deviation from their recent rhythm — where messages came easily, jokes flitted back and forth, and likes appeared within minutes.

July felt it like a chill behind her shoulder.

Was it the joke? The emoji? The truth behind the tease?

Had she made him feel small — something he would never admit, especially not a Scorpio with a Taurus Moon?

She couldn't help herself. And a second message was sent.

Gentler. Recalibrated. But it hung in the air, unread, untouched.

Monday, 7:46 AM. The message opened. Nothing came back.

No likes. No replies. No retreat, but no advance.

Three full days of digital silence. For someone else, this might have been a dead end.

But July has always played a longer game. A patience hunt.

She remained steady, at least outwardly.

There would be no third message. No door held open.

Because July doesn’t beg.

She’s a hunter. She knows how the wind moves before the prey steps forward.

She’s learned to let silence do the beckoning. But even hunters can be shaken. Still, July holds herself in the knowing...everyone she ever wanted — truly wanted — she eventually got. And this? This might just take a little longer.

July also knows, in the back of her mind, this isn't a real invitation until she’s free.

Not emotionally. Not logistically. Not yet. Maybe things would be different if she were. When July shifted the tone from possibility to provocation — even if playfully —

The seeker seemed to awaken. November stopped seeking. Instead, he made July confront herself: her desire, her uncertainty, her control. November didn’t disappear, he reflected.

A Mirror waits. A mirror reveals. The Mirror can't be tricked. It shows her herself. Her impulses. Her cracks. Her longing. Whether July will soften, or escalate, or walk away — the Mirror will not chase.

But it might just reflect her one once more…

-July Trickster

https://www.tumblr.com/julytrickster

https://substack.com/@julytrickster

[julytrickster]

a storm wearing silk gloves

July was always full of quick wit. Carefully orchestrating emotional tension. She responded to November knowing that he was watching and responding in ways that preserve plausible deniability.

“Well, if I ever find myself out there with a pole I don’t know how to use at a river I have never been to, I'll reach out to you. The town you mentioned living in sounds small, like everyone knows of everyone. In the city, you meet someone and its like you never see them again.”

November acknowledging her coded message “That sounds like a plan lol. And here you'll recognize a face you've seen before. But not everyone is pleasant to meet here either lol”

July reasserts control of the tone of the interaction. She's not waiting for November’s reply—she’s setting the atmosphere. She sets her phone down and rested comfortably in the bed, wine glass in hand, untouched.

April came in quietly, his patrol jacket still on. He didn’t ask where she’d been. That wasn’t their dynamic. Not anymore.

July wanted a reaction. She began to expose just enough truth to sting but not burn, hoping it might rattle April or reignite something buried in their connection. Her strategy wasn’t about betrayal—it was about emotional leverage, curiosity, and reclaiming that dangerous edge she craves. She wanted to feel something again—aliveness, tension, consequence.

But April didn’t flinch. He refused to play defense—he kept calm, detached, even philosophical. April mirrored July’s shadow, but instead of collapsing under her fire, he coolly walked around it.

“I see you. You’re the trickster here. You think you’re in control, but this game leaves people in ruins. And I’m just glad I’m not your mark this time.”

April didn’t look up, just peeled off his jacket and folded it across the back of a chair.

Because it shocked her ego. For the first time in a while, she didn’t dominate the board. July smiled faintly, a dangerous curve to her mouth. July ruled the realm of emotional foreplay.

Everyone is performing—July as the storm, November curious about lightning, and April pretending not to feel the thunder.

-July Trickster

https://substack.com/@julytrickster

[julytrickster]

Better the devil you know than the devil you don't

April stood in the kitchen, barefoot, the late afternoon light slanting through the blinds in a warm, golden hush. July leaned across the counter casually sipping on her champagne across from him, her expression unreadable but sharp, like glass held under tension.

The conversation had started simple—about storage payments, his mother’s insistence, the guilt of letting his father’s bike sit or be sold. But then July had smiled. An idea enter her mind masterfully and eloquently, even she chuckled and its craft.

“I’ll make a deal with you,” she said. “You can bring the bike home and own it…”

April’s eyes narrowed. He knew July. That smile wasn’t generosity. It was a spark in the forest just before it caught fire.

“What’s the catch?”

“One favor,” she said. “You cannot refuse. You won’t know when or what. You just can’t refuse.”

April stared. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not. I assure you, you will hate it as much as I hate the idea of you riding your bike. My favor is equally as dangerous.”

The silence wrapped around them like a wire tightening.

“That’s like making a deal with the devil!” he said slowly. “You can’t sleep with someone else or make me get rid of something else I love, and I won’t quit my job.”

“Of course not” she said. She laughed. July made a power play.

July hates motorcycles and saw this moment as a symbolic line in the sand, a territory she claims in the relationship. July offers April a psychological contract. The real “favor” is permission to test fate with November. This isn’t about the bike. This is about reclaiming her own danger, a primal part of herself that April has asked her to suppress. It’s like the myth of Persephone descending into the underworld — except July chooses to walk into it. If November falls for July, she wins her fire back. If he doesn’t, she walks away having faced the ghost lover. Can she break the magnetic pull toward November if she actually makes contact? It’s not about leaving April or getting with November — it’s about activating the parts of herself that April suppresses - Her mythic dangerous, chaotic, huntress soul. If July wins November’s heart, she may not want to return to safety. She’s betting on her own emotional control — a game she’s not guaranteed to win.

April tried to laugh. “Then what would you ask?”

“That’s the fun part,” July said, her tone almost tender. “You don’t get to know. That’s what makes it a real deal.”

April stepped back, suddenly aware of the shift in temperature. July wasn’t being cruel. She was being serious. Deadly serious.

She didn’t blink. “You love that bike. You want to keep it. Fine. But if you do, you’ll owe me. And when the time comes, you’ll pay in full. That is when you will learn what the true price is to be paid.”

It felt like standing at a crossroads with smoke curling from the dirt beneath your feet. Every instinct told April to walk away, that this wasn’t about a motorcycle. This was about something else. By accepting the deal, April unknowingly grants July the psychic freedom she’s long denied herself. Even if he doesn’t know the truth, on some level, he knows the favor will test their bond.

But April’s pride was a quiet thing. It didn’t scream, it whispered. She won’t break me.

So he nodded. Slowly. Like sealing a letter he wasn’t allowed to read.

“Deal.”

July’s smile widened, and in that moment, April felt something cold brush his spine. He had said yes—but he didn’t understand what he’d just accepted.

And that was the point.

Later that night, July sat on the floor of the living room, alone. April was patrolling the streets that evening. Lights were low. Her phone sat idle beside her, she re-read the message she sent to November “You don't strike me as a beach go-er.”

November replied at a late hour, 9:26pm. She knew he would be the most emotional vulnerable..

“If I'm free on a weekend I like to go to swim or fish usually. I really go to rivers mostly because they're closer.”

Beaches were cinematic. But a river is private. July responded tactfully in an attempt to break through his thick amour while his defenses were down. July began to carefully sew her own fate into reality.

“I bet, a good beach is far from me. I've never been fishing. I've always been the one to clean them, cook them...then eat them.

At 1:45am, November replied “I need someone who would do that with me.”

She didn’t want November’s body. She wanted his belief. His surrender. His heartbeat on a hook so she could prove to herself that she could take it—and then walk away. November’s response was quietly seismic. It’s not just a flirt. It’s a crack in the Scorpio armor, a soft confession disguised as banter.

July didn’t flinch when she read his response, the trickster never does.

[julytrickster]

The Caretaker & The Trickster

July sat across from April at the small kitchen table in an upscale apartment overlooking the city skyline, the late afternoon city lights filtering through the blinds. He was her steady—solid, dependable, the anchor to the storm she had once been. The coolest guy in the room, the one who brought the party but carried his own silent weight beneath the laughter. His eyes, dark green and steady, held the shadows of loss she has never experienced or allowed herself to see—the ghosts of his brothers, the absence of his father, the strained distance from his mother.

She admired him fiercely. She loved the life they were building, even if it felt too safe sometimes. Too predictable.

“Do you ever miss the edge?” July’s voice was low, almost a tease, but with an undercurrent of longing in her stormy blue eyes. Those eyes searched for his answer, she was always ready for anything. July was a master chess player when it came to navigating complex emotions. She had a way of drawing emotions out of even the most guarded person.

April shrugged, his usual calm wavering just enough. “Of course, I do. But how do you go back to living life on the edge.”

July nodded, her own poker face in place, but inside something stirred, —a screaming rebellion. “Find a new edge, rediscovery.” She wasn’t the girl who could settle into caution anymore. Not fully. She was the woman who flirted with emotional danger, who walked the fine line between loyalty and chaos, who refused to shrink herself to fit anyone else’s mold.

April, ever the caretaker, wanted to protect the life they had. To shield them both from pain and risk. But July was restless, hungry for a fire that wasn’t just safe and contained. “Surprise me.”

She saw the tension in his eyes, the silent negotiation playing out beneath their shared muted moment. The balance of power, of control, of unspoken needs have always been in July’s court. In many ways, she mirrored his shadows—the fear of loss, the pull between order and wildness—but her shadow danced with different flames. Her inner counterpart demanded passion, unpredictability, a challenge.

April was her grounding force, but also the safe harbor she was starting to question. July a trickster in high form. The magnetic heroine who appears composed but burns with internal contradiction. She's the alchemist of tension and shadow, emotionally dangerous yet endlessly fascinating. She is the emotional engine.

After 8 years, her personal growth may have evolved beyond the stable security that April has provided.