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laundrybiscuits · 1 year

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Eddie’s doing some dumb trick with a couple of wooden spoons, clever hands making them move through the air in improbable ways, and Steve’s about to bite his whisk in half.

He’d thought for sure that Eddie would be going home the first week; Edward Munson, 29, bartender/musician from Brighton with mismatched tattoos and wild hair, seemed like exactly the kind of pretentious asshole who would flame out early with some ill-advised hipster experimentation. If Steve (28, social worker from Indiana, USA) had been a complete asshole, he’d have said that Eddie didn’t have the fundamentals. That he was all sizzle, no steak.

It’s a good thing Steve’s not a complete asshole, because Eddie’s been blowing the technicals out of the water so consistently it’s actually pretty fucking embarrassing. His signatures and showstoppers are making a very respectable showing too, except for the time he tried to incorporate some fresh pandan extract and fucked up the liquid ratio, leaving him with a dripping mess that Mary’d declined to even try.

Afterwards, Steve had seen him leaning against a tree and struggling to light a cigarette. Steve went over for no particular reason, flicking on his lighter and holding it out like a peace offering. Eddie looked at him warily, but bent over the offered flame.

“Can’t believe I made it through this one,” Eddie said after a moment, white smoke curling out of his mouth.

“Yeah, I feel like that every week.” Steve leaned against the tree next to Eddie. It was a big tree, the kind that’s probably been growing in this field since before England was even England.

“Nah, but—c’mon, you know what I mean.”

“You had some bad luck with your showstopper. Happens to the best of us, man. Your signature hand pies looked sick as hell.” Steve’s own hand pies had turned out pretty well, so he was feeling generous. It had only been the third week; plenty of time for Steve to snag Star Baker, though even by that point, Steve had been getting the creeping feeling that he was being a little too American about the whole thing. Everyone else seemed to think competitiveness was some kind of deadly sin. It was—actually kind of nice, to get the same kind of nerves he’d always gotten before high school basketball games, but know that he wasn’t really fighting against anyone except himself in the tent.

Anyway, the very next week, Eddie had done some kind of kickass gothic castle with a shiny chocolate dragon and gotten Star Baker for the second time. Steve had clapped him on the back, appropriately manly. Eddie had pulled Steve into a real hug, arms tight around Steve’s shoulders and his whole lean body pressed up close and warm. It had only lasted a moment, and then Eddie had bounded over to Mel and Sue, both of whom he’s been thoroughly charming since the get-go.

Steve thinks that when this season—or, uh, series—airs, no matter where Eddie places, the entire country is going to be just as charmed. Eddie’s going to get whatever kind of cookbook deal or streaming show he wants. Sponsors will take one look at that handsome face and charismatic grin, and a whole world of possibilities is going to open up for Eddie.

Steve’s not in it for any of that, of course. He’s here kind of by accident, because Robin pushed him to apply, and it’s a goddamn miracle he’s been holding his own. Hell, it’s a miracle he’s in this country at all. When Robin had started looking at the Cambridge MPhil program in linguistics, she’d said wouldn’t it be great if and he’d snorted, yeah right, like I could ever get whatever job I’d need to move to another freaking country, but then—well. Things had happened the way they’d happened, and now Robin’s almost finished with her degree and Steve is taking time off from the London charity he works at in order to be on Bake Off.

He’s told all this to the cameras, plus the stuff about how baking started as a way for him to connect with the kids he used to babysit in Indiana, blah blah blah. He thinks it’s probably too boring for them to air, but he gets that they have to try to get a story anyway.

Eddie Munson, on the other hand, is probably going to be featured in all the series promos. Steve is rabidly curious about what Eddie’s story is, but he hasn’t worked up the nerve to just ask. It should be the easiest thing in the world. They’ve got kind of a camaraderie going, the two of them; a bit of a bromance, as Mel’s put it more than once.

It’s true they get along pretty well, and the cameras have been picking up on it: on the way Eddie’ll wander over to Steve’s bench like a stray cat whenever they get some downtime, how they wind up horsing around sometimes, working off leftover adrenaline from the frantic rush of caramelization or whatever. There’s the time Eddie had hopped up on a stool to deliver some kind of speech from Macbeth, of all things, and overbalanced right onto Steve, who had barely managed to keep them both from careening into a stand mixer. Sue had patted Eddie on the shoulder and said, “Well, boys, that’ll be going in the episode for sure.”

They both get along with the other contestants just fine, of course, but they’re two guys of about the same age with no wife and kids waiting at home. It’s only natural that they’re gravitating together, becoming something like friends, Steve figures. It’s pretty great that he’s getting at least one real friend out of this whole thing.

It would be even greater if Steve could stop thinking about Eddie’s hands in decidedly non-friendly ways. With all the paperwork he’s signed, he can’t even complain to Robin about how Eddie looks with his sleeves pushed up to show off the tattoos on his forearms, kneading dough and grunting a little under his breath with effort. Steve had almost forgotten to pre-heat his oven that day.

Two benches away, Eddie fumbles the spoons he’s been juggling with a clatter, and he bursts out laughing, glancing over at Steve like Steve’s in on the joke. Steve grins back, heart twanging painfully in his chest, and thinks: well, fuck. Guess this is happening.

#this is a TRULY bonkers AU like wtf even is the venn diagram of steddie fans and people who exclusively like the BBC GBBO #I know nothing about the process of creating reality tv so I most likely will not be continuing this #(plus ST is just so intrinsically American to me)#but I saw the GBBO musical last week and that's what prompted this little abomination #steddie #GBBO AU #ETA: ftr I rated the GBBO musical 2.5/5. I have a colour-coded spreadsheet.#decent songwriting & solid performances but the emotional beats/pacing were all over the place and it did some weird revisionist callbacks #plus the level of assumed thirst for not!Paul Hollywood was wildly off-putting to me #a person who finds neither his personality nor his appearance in any way attractive #anyway I paid £15 for my ticket and that felt right to me. I will see literally any show for £15.

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toxiccrybabyart · 5 months

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Skeles as humans but with all my headcanons and design choices

Because in my eyes they’re all queer as fuck and no one can take that from me

Ink is nonbinary, uses any pronouns, is aroace and from Filipino decent. They’re a tattoo artist, though his own tattoos are actually just henna. They like to do henna at the local ren fair when it’s open. He also does art commissions on the side, when they’re not prepping for various tattoo gigs.

Blue is a cis guy, uses he/him pronouns, is bisexual, and half Hawaiian half Puerto Rican.

Dream is a trans man, uses he/him pronouns, is pansexual, and from Scottish and fae decent. He likes to garden and do photography. He’s currently a free lance photographer.

Error is a cis guy, uses he/they pronouns, is demiromantic and demisexual, and a black American. Despite his rather closed off and almost rude nature, he finds that he enjoys streaming, and has a decent following. He also enjoys crocheting, and sometimes just streams himself crocheting while talking with chat. He brings string alone with him in his coat pocket, and weaves it between his fingers when he’s overwhelmed.

Cross is a cis guy, uses he/him pronouns, is bisexual, and Dominican Puerto Rican. He works as security for Nightmare, though Nightmare technically doesn’t need it, but he has the money and it makes Cross feel better to make sure he’s okay.

Nightmare is genderfluid, uses he/she/they pronouns (in preference order), is queer, and is of Scottish and fae decent. He is also a natural red head like Dream, but dyes his hair black. He’s embarrassed of the red color, which is silly because he looks lovely with red hair. She’s a gothic model, mostly encouraged into it by Dream, but she secretly loves the positive attention.

Dust is a cis guy, uses any pronouns, is pan, and is a mixed black American. He’s incredibly closed off and is pretty paranoid. She gets the shakes pretty bad, especially in her hands. They’re rather cold. But around his two other friends he lightens up a little bit.

Horror is a cis guy, uses he/him pronouns, is bisexual, and a white American. He tries to be friendly and approachable despite his own issues he’s working through. He’s got a few memories issues and a thing about food, but he’s a great friend, and his friends will kill you if you even imply otherwise.

Killer is gender queer, uses he/they pronouns, is omnisexual, and is a mixed Korean American. He comes across as just a chill relaxed guy despite his morbid sense of humor. Though he’s got issues, you’ll be hard pressed to learn of them unless you’re close to him.

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sgiandubh · 5 months

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The Couple Next Door - a very, very short overview and my 50 cents, in the process

With as little spoilers as possible. My first plan was to make a post per episode, but I quickly realized that would be useless (so much talking, already, plus a very plethoric press ) and risky (the more you write about it, the less able you are to avoid spoiling it and no, that is not this page's editorial line). You will have to do with this short review, instead.

This is the story of a botched swinger coupling experiment, somewhere in the middle of a non-descript, Truman Show-esque Midlands suburbia. Where nothing is what it seems to be and curtains always flutter for a reason. Adjacent storylines complement this sexy & risqué core, which I personally found more interesting than S puffing and panting on top of Tomlinson. Corruption, life crisis situations, lost late pregnancies, a hidden child, bigot parents looking not unlike Grant Wood's American Gothic odd couple (especially the mother, enough spoiling it), voyeurism and privacy violations - this is a LOT to take in. With a bit more tact when it comes to script writing (sometimes things are really in your face and almost didactic: never a good thing), it could have been BAFTA material. It is not, and no, Disgruntled Tumblrettes - not because of S, but because of numerous plot holes, useless plot devices that could have been gags but totally miss the mark (walking little old lady, anyone?) and an overall superficial approach. It's like trying to cram half a dressing into a carry on: burst at the seams it will or you will end up with odd bits and pieces that do not necessarily make sense.

So if you set your bar very high or are poised to watch it in contempt, this is not going to be fun at all. If you have no expectations and also no idea about the rest of the cast, you will find it interesting and enjoyable. I personally think Enoch is a perfect cast, as is the very intelligent Jessica de Gouw: she knows how it's done and she knows where and especially when to stop. Tomlinson, eh - not so much. I have zero idea about how she fared in Poldark, but here I found her inattentive, formulaic and totally cliché. She has some good intuitions, but she fails to deliver, especially at the end. So, that's a 4/10 for me.

Now for S, as I am sure you are all interested to know. After all, this is why I even bothered watching and getting a paid VPN for it. I will say only this: there is a before Episode 3 and an after Episode 3, by far superior. You'll get my point when you watch it. It's not OL, but thank Heavens, it's not Where the Starlight Ends, either. With all the indulgence in the world, I'd say 8,5/10 - not his fault, the script was brutal to Danny ('Take a good look' is a major, MAJOR eyeroll and it did make me spit my Coke). Also, that intergalactic arse makes it on screen for about 5 minutes, which is nothing- so long for Mordor's honest reviews. Last but not least: he tried, bless his heart, to help Eleanor, but to no avail. Sorry.

The most interesting secondary storyline is Alan's, by far. The press shite - meh, that was there just to give Enoch's character a job, I suppose. And the child - it left me completely hungry and there was definitely room for more.

Rewatch? Christ, no.

Overall? a solid 7/10.

Recommend? not to my mum, but to my best -offline shipper- friend, for sure. She'll watch for S and we'll cackle over the phone.

Potential springboard? I hope so, but he still needs a real, well written role. This is decently good, but still not good enough to showcase what I know he is perfectly able to deliver.

Home eye candy takeaway? Oh, come on, the one involving this item:

I mean, what is more sexy than a bear of a man carrying a washing machine like I would carry my purse?

#TCND

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uwmspeccoll · 1 year

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Typography Tuesday

BLACKLETTER

Blackletter, also called Gothic, was the first typographic form to be founded in metal type by Johannes Gutenberg in the mid-fifteenth century. The first book printed in English was in blackletter, as was the first book printed in England (both by William Caxton; the first printed in Bruges in 1473, which was also the very first book printed in Bruges, and the latter in Westminster in 1476). It is called blackletter because its narrow, condensed forms produce a darker appearance on the page than do Roman fonts. By the late 16th century, most Western national printers had dropped blackletter in favor of the arguably more readable Roman-style fonts, except for some Scandinavian countries which held onto blackletter forms until the late 18th century, and Germany being the last holdout until 1941.

Blackletter fonts are still used today, however, as display faces, for ceremonial use, and for certain kinds of emphases. That’s certainly how Theodore Low De Vinne (1828-1914) would have used it at his De Vinne Press in New York. These examples come from Types of the De Vinne Press, published in New York by the De Vinne Press in 1907. Theodore De Vinne founded his press in 1883. He was also a co-founder of the prestigious Grolier Club and one of the leading commercial printers of his day, whose enterprise had a profound influence on American printing and typography. This book was intended as a promotional specimen book “for the use of compositors, proofreaders, and publishers,” to demonstrate the wide variety of typographic possibilities that could be available to their clients.

View more posts from Types of the De Vinne Press.

View more posts on Gothic/Blackletter type faces.

View more Typography Tuesday posts.

#Typography Tuesday #typetuesday #Typography Tuesday #Blackletter #Gothic type #Theodore Low De Vinne #De Vinne Press #Types of the De Vinne Press #book history #20th century type

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ghostherlig · 5 months

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gothic western au drabble 3

dropping another drabble bc i cant get them out of my head and planning a fic at almost 12 am is a bad idea- so take this instead: johnny and kenshi having a sweet moment under the stars :)

"Takahashi?" Johnny's hushed whisper flew out into the night, the actor staring over the hill they were camped on, seeing a figure at the bottom, staring up at the stars. "Kenshi!" Johnny whisper-yelled, the marksman not moving from his spot at the base of the hill.

The actor sighed, looking back into his tent at the warm blankets he was leaving behind to sit with Kenshi in the desert night cold.

He took a few steps forward before the night air nipped his skin, a gust of wind blowing any residual heat he had out and off of him, the American immediately returning to his tent, grabbing his thickest quilt and wrapping it around himself before trudging to the base of the hill.

He stood next to where Kenshi was laid, staring at the sky. The actor let his gaze drift from Kenshi's dark eyes to the even darker sky. He looked back down, the marksman silent, lips pursed, not even acknowledging Johnny's existence.

The actor sighed. It wasn't the first time he had seen that face on Kenshi.

Instead of trying to speak to him, knowing he'd be blown off or ignored anyway, he sat down, laying next to him on the angled grass.

It was, unsurprisingly, uncomfortable. But, Johnny had his blanket and he was warm enough to not complain. He let his hands come up to rest behind his head, spread out despite the chill.

"You've studied mathematics," Kenshi started, and Johnny hummed in response, "Have you studied astronomy?" He pressed, and the actor frowned.

"Naw, was too drug out after uni." Johnny answered, accent in full swing with the late hour, a tinge of disappointment in his tone at the confession.

Despite Johnny's very mini crisis, Kenshi hummed a laugh. Instead of giving the American any hint as to what he was laughing at, Johnny watched Kenshi's tattooed hands point up at a set of stars.

"That there, the bright one," The marksman pointed, leaning into Johnny's space so he knew he was pointing at the right star, "That's the North star." He spoke, and Johnny nodded, humming.

"Uh huh," He muttered, Kenshi's finger tracing lines to a few other stars, before stopping at one at the end of the line he had drawn.

"This constellation, is Ursa Major." Kenshi spoke, voice soft and low, unlike anything Johnny had heard from him before.

"Ursa what?" Johnny replied, and Kenshi chuckled again.

"Ursa Major. It means 'greater bear.'" He answered simply, and Johnny swallowed. This was the softest Kenshi had been around him.

"Do you know any more, darlin'?" He asked, turning slightly in Kenshi's direction, eyes still directed at the sky.

"Most of the constellations I learned are from home, but I know the planets in this hemisphere," Kenshi answered, his hand returning to the sky after a moment. "There, that bright, red-ish one, is Mars." He pointed, and Johnny followed the line of his arm, seeing the red-tinted dot in the sky.

"It's powerful bright," The actor noted, and Kenshi laughed again, louder this time.

"It's a planet, Johnny," He answered, as if the actor should've known. "That one, bright, bluish, is Venus." Kenshi pointed, his arm falling to rest on his abdomen again right after, a sigh leaving him.

"Something about Venus got you down?" Johnny asked, fully turning this time to face Kenshi.

The marksman sighed, his eyes gently closing, a relieved breath seeing the tension in his shoulders gone.

"No, not Venus," Kenshi answered, and Johnny almost looked surprised at the marksman's non-dismissal.

"Well, what is it, darlin'?" He pressed, the marksman humming another laugh.

"Why do you call me that?" Kenshi asked, and Johnny turned to face the sky again, feeling Kenshi's gaze hit his cheek.

"I call everyone that," Johnny deflected, refusing to look at the Japanese man. Kenshi rolled onto his side, closer to Johnny, and leaned on his elbow, propping himself up and into Johnny's vision.

"No, you don't. Sugar, yes. Babydoll, baby, and doll, yes. Pumpkin, sometimes. But I'm the only one you call 'darlin'," Kenshi mimicked Johnny's accent, the actor unable to bite his smile at the tease, "Why?" He pushed, and the American blew out a breath.

"Well, you are," Johnny sighed, turning the last inch it took for him to look at Kenshi head on.

"I'm what, Johnny?" The marksman pushed, his hand inching ever closer to Johnny's side.

"Darling. To me." The actor admitted, and Kenshi hummed, his face impassive, not giving away what he may or may not have been feeling.

"Do you know what 'darling' means, Johnny?" Kenshi asked, and the actor thought it should be illegal for him to say his name like that, all sultry and silky and perfect-

"Beloved." He answered, breathless off of Kenshi's presence alone.

"I'm darling to you? Beloved by you?" He pushed, and Johnny was sure he had the answer written all over his face.

"Dreadfully so," Johnny breathed, Kenshi humming, his eyes raking over the actor's face, his hands, calloused and rough, so gentle as they came to hold his face.

"Are you sure?" Kenshi asked, an uncertainty there that Johnny had never before, one he never wanted to hear again.

"Sound on the goose," Johnny answered, getting a huff and an annoyed cheek pinch from Kenshi.

"In a language I understand, please," He grumbled, not truly annoyed with his companion.

"Never been surer in my life," Johnny answered, his palm hitting Kenshi's chest, fingers curling into his shirt and pulling him down.

Kenshi hesitated another moment, the uncertainty in his eyes flittering away as Johnny whispered a plea against his lips, every ounce of it replaced by ravenous hunger, the marksman chapped lips communicating his need.

It was everything, finally being able to tug Kenshi into his lap, the man stealing his warmth in the bitter cold of night, but Johnny would've let himself freeze in full if it meant having Kenshi like this, even just the once.

"We-" Kenshi tried, Johnny tugging him back down to swallow his words, getting a sweet hum in return, his bottom lip nipped when Kenshi pulled away again. A nonverbal warning, don't interrupt me.

"We should move to our tent," Kenshi spoke, his lips kiss bitten and red, even in the darkness of night.

"Right, yeah," Johnny breathed, staring up at the beautiful man in his lap, resting with him in the dead of night, the stars and moon the only light by which they could see each other.

Kenshi looked ethereal, otherworldly, so intangible that Johnny almost thought he was dreaming.

"Pinch me, darlin'," He joked, and Kenshi huffed, kicking their now shared blanket off of them, Johnny hissing at the crisp night air. "Hey!" He complained, shivering and grabbing his blanket, Kenshi already making his way to their tent.

Johnny stopped to stare, watching Kenshi walk back up the hill, the man turning back once he reached their tent, rolling his eyes, though Johnny could see the smile on his face.

"You complain a lot for someone so willing to stand in the cold. Pony up, Johnny, and I'll keep you warm," Kenshi promised, the actor huffing a laugh at one of his own phrases used against him before trudging up the hill, wrapping his blanket around himself again.

"You better make good on your promises, darlin'," Johnny smiled, planting a kiss to the corner of Kenshi's mouth, the marksman smiling.

"You know I will."

#drabbles by greg #johnshi #johnny cage #kenshi takahashi #gothic western au #i love them too much #someone turn me into an oyster /j

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tarrenterror25 · 1 year

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Alfred Pennyworth (Batman 2022) x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 2.7K

Summary: Part 2 - You and Alfred move things to a more private area.

Tags: MxF, unprotected PiV, slight Dom!Alfred, mention of age-gap, oral (f!receiving), mention of shower sex (don’t try this at home), spanking, slight aftercare

🔥NSFW🔥

Note: I’m rusty at writing smut, but please enjoy! This was inspired mostly by the first conversation we see in the film with Alfred and Bruce; Alfred is really stern, harsh, and a little no-nonsense.

A lamp offers enough illumination for you to make out the details of Alfred’s plain bedroom. Tones of deep browns and red decorate the room with gray accents. It shares the same gothic undertones as the rest of the manor.

There’s not much personality to the room other than some photos on the dresser of a younger Alfred and a few other men posing sternly for the camera. They appear to be in some kind of military uniform.

Some books rest on the nightstand next to a pair of reading glasses. You sit on the bed and observe the titles. There’s a tome on classic American cars that’s been left open next to a stack of books. Alfred’s bookmarked a page with a 1968 Dodge Charger. The top book on the stack is called “Intermediate’s Guide to Keysi”. You open the book and peek at a few pages and now understand Keysi to be a fighting style.

You let the book fall close as Alfred clears his throat and turns to face you. He walks toward the bed, his fingers working on undoing his tie and the buttons to his vest. You bite your lip and watch him. He neatly sets aside the garments on an armchair. “Lay down, love,” he instructs casually, gesturing for you to lay on the bed.

Oh dear.

Somehow you weren’t expecting him to jump right into things, but here he was exceeding all of your expectations. Those three words from him, directing you, were so fucking hot. Your thighs press together tightly to quell the ache of your cunt as you watch him remove his cufflinks and watch. You could feel your panties were already soaked by now.

Your knees feel weak, but you stand and remove your clothes until you’re wearing nothing but your matching lingerie set. Alfred stands at the foot of the bed and watches you lay down. You trail your hands up your sides enticingly until they rest just above your head.

You can see that the sight of you presenting yourself so alluringly to Alfred has had an effect. You can see where his cock strains against his trousers. He undoes the top buttons of his shirt, letting the curls from his chest peek out. God, you just want to run your hands all over him, but he seems to be savoring keeping you in suspense.

“You are a sight, you know that?” he says leaning down so he’s between your legs. He hooks one over his shoulder and presses soft kisses on the inside of your thigh. “Is this what you’ve imagined?” he asks.

“Y-Yes. All the t-time,” you let out shakily, feeling your cunt clench around nothing.

His beard tickles your skin and it makes you squirm. His eyes peek up at you from between your legs. “Let me know if at any point I need to stop,” he says.

Never has he looked more attractive than he does now; between your legs, a hair’s breadth away from where you need him most, and being respectful of your decision should you decide to stop.

“Okay,” you say trying to disguise your wanton pants.

This man that you’ve fantasized about for so long, finally doing what you’ve only dreamed about, has barely touched you and yet your heart was pounding. You could feel it all through your body down to your core that was now pulsing with your arousal. With each of his kisses he gets closer to your center. You throw you head back and release a whining plea.

A soft chuckle rumbles from Alfred as he kisses everywhere but there. His hands hold your thighs apart and takes in the sight of your soaked panties. “I know you probably want me to just fuck you,” he says. “But indulge an old man, sweetheart.”

He removes your panties, revealing your dripping cunt. “You’re fucking soaked, sweetheart. Is that all for me?” he asks positioning himself between your legs again.

“Yes,” you say softly, accepting now that your release is at his mercy.

His tongue is on you, lapping up your essence. His movements are slow and drawn out making you ache for more. You try to move your hips to gain more friction, but he holds your thighs apart and keeps you from moving. Alfred’s tongue licks and sucks all over your cunt, flicking the pearl between your folds making you whimper. You turn your head and bury your face in the pillow trying to muffle your moans lest anyone hears you. “Look at me,” you hear Alfred say. “Let me watch you.”

You meet his gaze, his eyes not leaving yours as he lowers his head again. “Don’t look away,” he says before he returns to pleasuring you with his mouth.

His unwavering and intense stare has you so wound up and the pressure he’s applying to your clit with his nose have your legs starting to shake, but he’s still holding them apart. Your cunt is exposed completely to him and he’s relentless. Your hands grip the pillow by your head as jolts of pleasure rock through you and you come with a loud moan, your eyes never leaving his.

Alfred lets out a deep satisfied moan as he takes his fill of you. He releases your thighs, but wraps his arms around your legs to pull your close to his face and hold your in place. He doesn’t skip a beat in making you come a second and third time. The third time he inserts two fingers inside of you and lets his thumb tease your clit.

“You made such a mess, love,” he says.

“Alfred, please,” you beg. “I need you.”

There’s a sheen of sweat coating you and the sheets are wrinkled from where you’ve twisted them in your hands. You feel your cunt is sensitive and weak from him. “One more,” Alfred says more as an instruction than a request. “One more time and then I’ll fuck you.”

He slowly inserts another finger inside of you and you whine with pleasure at feeling him stretch you open. “Alfred, please,” you beg again with more need.

“Need to make sure you can take me, sweetheart,” he says. “Just one more time.”

“Oh god,” you moan as his thick digits pump inside of you, stretching you open, and curling against your walls. He knows he’s big and something about that level of confidence makes you even more wet.

Alfred’s eyes are trained on your cunt taking his fingers. “Good girl,” he says.

He hisses through his teeth and lets out a soft curse as the sounds of him finger fucking you fill the room.

You pull Alfred to you and kiss him deeply. Alfred’s always been soft spoken and polite, nothing short of a gentleman, but here he was now, cursing and commanding you in a way you didn’t expect from him. You were fully prepared to take the reins on this one, but now you see you had severely underestimated him.

You come around his fingers. He leaves them stuffed in your for a moment before he removed them and begins cleaning them off with his mouth. You sit up and watch him, his eyes on you the whole time he does it. Most partners just close their eyes during this stuff, but Alfred watches you and his stare insists that you watch him.

Your eyes traverse down his body to where his cock begs to be freed from its confines. You start to undo his belt as he removes his shirt. “Allow me to return the favor?” you ask.

“I’d love that, darling,” he says running his thumb across your bottom lip. “I’d love to see that pretty mouth take me, but I believe I promised that I would fuck you. I’m a man of my word, love”

Hearing him speak this way, so unlike how you’re used to hearing him has your cunt aching for him, needing to be filled by him.

“Do you have...anything?” he asks.

You nod. “I’m clean and I'm taking something,” you say softly, slightly embarrassed that he might suspect you were looking forward to this.

“Good,” he says.

Alfred groans as he frees his cock. He wasn’t kidding when he said he wanted to make sure you could take him. He’s thick with his erection at full attention with a bead of pre-cum dripping from his tip. you make out a thick vein on the underside of his cock as you watch him remove his trousers and neatly set them aside with the rest of his clothes.

He returns to you and you pull him on top of you. He kisses you passionately while he palms your breast; his hand dips past your lace bra to roll your nipple in his fingers. Alfred pulls away from kissing you and lines himself up with your cunt. He looks at you with a look in your eyes asking for your permission to continue. You let out a soft “please” and enters you slowly.

You grip him tightly, your fingers digging into his back. He gradually continues until he’s fully sheathed in you. You cry out loudly as he stretches you open, not caring who hears you. You wrap your legs around him and let out his name with a breathy moan.

He doesn’t move and so you whimper as you rock your hips against his to gain some kind of friction. He chuckles and you can feel it rumble from within his chest. You never expected Alfred Pennyworth to be such a tease. He leans in close until you can feel his hot breath on his ear. Those notes of sage hit your sense again, but much stronger now with him so close. “Indulge me again, love,” he says. “Can you beg for me?”

“Fuck yes!” you whine not ashamed of how you were desperately trying to thrust against him. “Please, Alfred, fuck me, please!”

“As you wish,” he groans as he pulls out from you almost completely before thrusting back in.

You tilt your head up to catch his lips and kiss him while he fucks you. You coax his tongue into your mouth making him moan. Your hands trail from his broad back to his head where your fingers tangle into his hair making it disheveled.

You are unhinged underneath Alfred; no longer the prim and proper lady at the office, but instead the brazen and shameless woman begging to be fucked by him.

Once again, you underestimate Alfred. He hooks his hands behind your knees and pushes them up towards your head. You squeal in surprise at the motion as Alfred sits up and continues pounding into you at this new angle.

“Fuck, sweetheart, look at you taking me so well,” he groans as he watches his cock glide back and forth into your cunt.

Your hand comes down to tease your clit as his strong hands hold your legs up still. Your other hand takes hold of your breast and teases your nipple. Alfred lets out a shaky breath at watching you touch yourself.

You’ve always found Alfred astonishingly handsome with his pressed suits, combed hair, and courteous smile, but he is much more attractive like this; sweat coating his body and glistening off the curls on his chest and the hair on his arms, locks of his usually coiffed hair out of place, and his jaw clenched as he rams into you.

“Where do you want me to finish, love?” he asks. “Shall I come all over those lovely tits or-”

“In me,” you interrupt while having the breath knocked out of you with each of his thrusts. “Please, come inside me.”

He fucks you harder and faster and from his labored breaths you can tell he’s close. Watching him on the brink of coming undone sends you over the edge again. You feel yourself squirt around his cock and hear the loud slick slaps of him fucking you. “Oh, fuck,” he groans unabashedly in that thick accent of his.

He pushes his cock as deep as he can inside you and fills you with his spend. His hips rock against you a few more times making before he pulls out and lays next to you, sweating and panting.

“Are you alright?” you ask quickly turning on your side to tend to him.

He smiles and nods. “Forgive me if I wasn’t up to par, it’s been some time,” he says in between breaths.

“There’s nothing to forgive,” you say with a smile before placing a kiss on his cheek. “You were perfect.”

The two of you shower together where Alfred takes you a second time. Your hands press against the shower walls while your ass pushes out for him. He takes you from behind, surprising you with his stamina. The hot water streams down your back where he leaves even hotter kisses on your shoulder. At some point he smacks your ass a bit making you whimper. Caught up in the euphoria of the moment, you barely realize that you ask him to do it harder. He obliges and brings his hand down on your ass a little harder this time. It stings with the hot water running over where you are sure there is to be a handprint. You cry out his name as you come again and and he follows shortly after.

The two of you proceed to get cleaned up. Alfred puts on a clean set of trousers and retrieves a fresh shirt from his closet. From the bed where you button up your blouse you watch his fingers expertly tie his tie. He doesn’t look down nor does he need a mirror to do it, you can tell it’s a very practiced motion. You follow him to the bathroom where he combs his hair back into place. You stand next to him and throw your own hair up into a ponytail. Alfred smiles your way and reaches for his cologne. You extend your hand to rest on top of his on the bottle. “May I?” you ask.

He nods.

You pick up the dark glass bottle and take off the cap. Alfred clears his throat and faces you. You take one of his wrists and push the sleeve up a bit before spritzing the cologne some inches away from him. You feel his gaze on you. When you look up, your eyes immediately meet his. He doesn’t look away from you while rubbing his wrists together, dispersing the aroma onto his person. “Look up,” you say.

He tilts his head back and you spritz the cologne onto his neck. You replace the cap onto the bottle and set it back down. Alfred is quiet when he begins buttoning his sleeves. You pick up some cufflinks from the jewelry tray and begin fastening them onto him while deciding you want to be the one to break the silence. “I understand if this is just a one time thing,” you say. “I don’t want you to get the wrong impression of me.”

“What?” he asks. “No, gods, no. I hope you don’t have that impression of me?”

You finish and kiss his cheek. “My impression of you has always been nothing but great things. I just don’t want you to feel pressured into anything.”

He chuckles and returns the favor of you sprucing him up. He grabs a brown bottle with some kind of liquid inside. “Rose water,” he says as if reading your mind. “Made with the ones grown in our gardens.”

He clears his throat and spritzes the liquid over your head and helps style a few loose tendrils of your hair. “Is that what you wish, for this to be a stand alone occurrence?” he asks.

“No,” you say softly. “And you?”

Alfred smiles as he sets the bottle down. “If you’d like, I think we both could go for continuing this by starting on a different foot,” he says. “Allow me to at least treat you to dinner if we are to go any further.”

His hand caresses your face as you wrap your arms around him. “I would like that very much,” you reply.

He leans down and kisses you, gently and lovingly.

#alfred pennyworth #alfred x reader #alfred pennyworth x reader #dance with me

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musingsofmonica · 8 months

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August 2023 Diverse Reads

��”Happiness Falls” by Angie Kim, August 29, Hogarth Press, Literary Mystery

•”Every Drop Is a Man's Nightmare” by Megan Kamalei Kakimoto, August 29, Bloomsbury Publishing, Short Story Collection — Fairy Tales, Folk Tales, Legends & Mythology (Hawaiian Identify)

•”The Heaven & Earth Grocery Store” by James McBride, Riverhead Books, Historical

•”Family Lore” by Elizabeth Acevedo, August 1, Ecco Press, Literary/Magical Realism

“A Council of Dolls” by Mona Susan Power, August 7, Mariner Books, Literary — Coming of Age/Native American & Aboriginal/Magical Realism

•”Tomb Sweeping: Stories” by Alexandra Chang, August 8, Ecco Press, Short Story Collection — Asian American

•”The End of August” by Yu Miri, Translated by Morgan Giles, August 1, Riverhead Books, Historical/Saga

•”Holler, Child: Stories” by Latoya Watkins, August 29, Tiny Reparations Books, Short Story Collection — African American

•”Vampires of El Norte” by Isabel Cañas, August 15, Berkley Books, Gothic Thriller/Horror/Suspense

•”Las Madres” by Esmeralda Santiago, August 1,

Knopf Publishing Group, Literary

•”Daughters of Latin America: An International Anthology of Writing by Latine Women” by Sandra Guzman, August 15, Amistad Press, Anthology — American: Hispanic & Latino

•”Falling Back in Love with Being Human: Letters to Lost Souls” by Kai Cheng Thom, August 01, Dual Press, Nonfiction/Poetry/Motivation

•”The Art of Scandal” by Regina Black, August 1, Grand Central Publishing, Romance

•”Her Radiant Curse” by Elizabeth Lim, August 29, Alfred A. Knopf Books for Young Readers, Fantasy/Fairy Tales/Folklore

•”The Apology” by Jimin Han, August 1, Little Brown and Company, Family Saga/Magical Realism

•”The Water Outlaws” by S. L. Huang, August 22, Tordotcom, Fantasy

•”The Queen of the Valley” by Lorena Hughes, August 22, Kensington Publishing, Historical

•”I Will Greet the Sun Again” by Khashayar J. Khabushani, August 1, Hogarth Press, Contemporary — Coming of Age/LGBTQ+/Muslim

•”The Peach Seed” by Anita Gail Jones, August 1, Henry Holt & Company, Literary

•”Lush Lives” by J. Vanessa Lyon, August 1, Roxane Gay Books, Literary

Happy Reading!

Mo✌️

#books #bookworm #bookish #bibliophile #book lover #bookaddict #reading #book #booklr #bookaholic #reading list #read #reader #books and reading #booklover #reading life #reading recommendations #book rec #book list

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texasthrillbilly · 2 years

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Danger! Danger!

#lost in space #will robinson #the curious galactics #sci fi & fantasy #american gothic press #alien

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monsterasia-zero · 1 year

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#idw comics #american gothic press #legendary #godzilla #pacific rim #projectnemesis

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intheorangebedroom · 1 year

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Pleased to meet you, a drabble

Summary: you and Benny have been dating for a little over three months when you finally agree to go hiking with him.

Pairing: Ben Miller x French fem!Reader.

Rating: Explicit 🔞

A/N: @nicolethered, this is a very humble gift for you, my dearest, dearest friend. I know smut is not my strong suit (unfortunately), and I wish I could present you with a much better gift, because you deserve the absolute fucking best, but I did do my very very best to give you the Benny I think you might like. You've given me and this fandom so much. Happy birthday season, ily ♥

I'm tagging every one, I hope no one will mind, because I managed to sneak in a little bit of plot, and, of course, subliminal mentions of Frankie 😜 (I can't help myself)

Count: 2.8k

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A drabble: Proud Mary

You’ve got to give it to this country, it really knows how to do autumn. And autumn is the one thing you love but could never fully enjoy in Paris. A city with a dense urban fabric, there’s not enough space for nature to perform its flamboyant swan song in crimson and golden gradient, the parks and public gardens too tidy, too tamed to your taste.

In your late 20s, you would rent a car and spend the last week of October by the Normand or Picard shores, on your own, and revel in the colours you’d find along the road. Until you met Éric and, a couple of years into your relationship, he started demanding you stay by his side and accompany him as he attended the many parties and diners of the rentrée littéraire, the most important time of year for French publishers.

That memory belongs to another life, however. Almost to another girl, it seems.

Comfortably sitting on the leather seat on the passenger’s side of Will’s truck, your forehead pressed against the window, you take in all the shapes and shades of trees and bushes you can’t name in any of the languages you know. Your new boyfriend’s solid presence next to you, driving under the fiery canopy of an undergrowth country road. A little too fast for your liking, but that’s just how he does everything and, to be honest, you don’t mind, really.

Benny likes the outdoor. He thrives amidst nature. As soon as you two started dating, back in July, he began asking you to come with him on hiking trips upstate, exploring national parks the size of your hometown. You can spend entire afternoons picking pebbles and shells underneath the chalk cliffs of Picardie’s coast, silently observing the rising tides of the Channel, but you’ve never gone hiking, so to speak. You didn’t even own a good pair of walking shoes until you had to gear up for this trip.

This time you said yes, your heart wrapped in an unknown, warm embrace at his enthusiastic and spontaneous reaction. A wolfish howl and a little jump, before he grabbed his phone to text his brother that he needed to borrow his truck, the Mustang far too precious to drive on graveled and dusty country roads.

What convinced you to come is precisely this: the undeterred fondness with which he steadily reacts, every time you try and push back. The space and time he never fails to give you to be you and do your things.

And, of course, the prospect of a real North-American autumn. You don’t care what everybody says, you just like autumn. It is, hands down, your favourite season. You’ve debated it over countless times with Rosie, who, of course, only loves summer, laughing at her perennial final and closing argument, “you can’t prefer fall because it’s basic, and you’re not.”

She says fall, you say autumn. Inches and centimetres, flat and apartment…

Besides, autumn has Halloween. And that’s the one holiday your gothic heart not only tolerates, but love. The hypothesis -the hope- of being visited by the dead, once a year. You were never good with closure, goodbyes or mourning. The concept of the departed lingering about you keeps you going.

In an essay about death and its perceptions throughout history, you once read that the idea exists, in one form or another, in many different cultures throughout the world. That it’s about the living convoking the dead to help them prepare as they enter winter.

Winter sure is bleak. Christmas’s supposed to be fun, you suppose, if you have a functioning family. Which you seldom ever had. No, winter is not your thing.

No light, no hope.

You wonder what this winter is going to be like. Probably the best you’ve had in a long, long while.

You’ve got pure sunshine sitting next to you in the truck.

A khaki cap worn backward over his overgrown blond strands, his last haircut a distant memory, he’s wearing his usual worn-out dirty blue jeans that have you questioning whether he owns a second pair, and a faded blue shirt over a camouflage t-shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbow, his strong forearms on display. His massive frame dwarfs the spacious cab of the truck.

He hooked up his phone to the car’s stereo and Johnny Cash’s Live at Folsom is blasting through the old speakers, his own baritone resounding in the cab and sinking into your chest as he sings along to The Long Black Veil. It’s one of your favourite songs from this album, and you can’t get over how fond of this man’s voice you’ve become in only three months. It’s warm and comfortable and when you try to describe his laughter, the only word you can come up with is “luminous”.

He sings more and more often when you’re around, and you wonder if you can consider it a tangible proof of your fast-growing intimacy. Or perhaps he’s always singing, and the only reason why you get to hear it more often is because of the increasing amount of time you two spend together. It doesn’t cross your mind you might be the reason why he constantly sings.

Forgetting about the landscape for a moment, you set your gaze on your boyfriend, his tall figure and his soft face. His brow furrowed over his dark eyes, mirroring the lyrics’ somber melancholy as he joins in the chorus.

She walks these hills in a long black veil

She visits my grave when the night winds wail

You found a common ground in music with blues, folk, old country and vintage rock. Old habits die hard and at first, you feared he would impose on you the music plastered in loud album covers on his band t-shirts, Kiss, Metallica, Iron Maiden. You’d been agreeably proven wrong. For that’s not Benny. Benny makes everything easy. Benny adjusts.

You reach out for his thigh and give it a little squeeze, affection expanding your chest. His expression shifts immediately as he takes his eyes off the road to look your way, flashing you a flirty wink and a toothy grin. Oh, he’s a performer, alright.

You can’t help but laugh and skate your hand a little higher along his leg.

Hank William’s Alone and Forsaken is next in queue on his playlist, but Benny’s mind is not on the music anymore.

Every so often, his eyes leave the open road as he throws sideways glances at your thighs with about as much subtlety as a kid trying to nick candy from the kitchen cupboard, and you observe this little choreography with a bemused smile.

“You know I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing leggings in the city,” you say halfway through the song.

“That’s a shame because your legs look damn good in it. And your ass–” he trails off, narrowing his eyes with an explicit humming sound.

“But what’s the difference with my black jeans, for instance, the skinny ones?” you ask casually, as if he just didn’t light up a small fire in your core.

“I don’t know. It’s just— it’s not the same,” his voice drags and dips lower on the last words.

It sounds like he’s still singing even when he talks. You start to blush like a bashful teenager, so you immediately counter, opening your legs wider and propping your left knee on the bench.

His eyes return to the road, with a shake of his head and a chuckle that says you’re not playing fair.

Ike and Tina’s Proud Mary come up on the stereo and momentarily interrupt the game.

“Oh I love this song!” you exclaim as you lean forward to turn up the volume, “sorry, but I’m gonna sing.”

“Why you’re sorry? You got a nice voice.”

“How would you know that?” you whip your head towards him with an accusatory look.

“Heard you sing under the shower. I love the smell of your shampoo,” he provides with an apologetic, endearing smile.

“Well I’m singing to this, anyway,” you reply, now downright flustered.

The song still at its spoken preamble, your voice is a little shaky as you tune in to the first Nice and easy.

You flick your eyes up to Benny’s and find him already staring you down with a hungry look.

But there's just one thing…

Pulling on the safety belt to give it some slack, you slide on the bench to get closer to him, his eyes flicking rapidly between the road and your lips.

You see we never do nothing nice and easy…

You rest your right hand on his inner thigh and bite down a victorious smile when he sharply inhales, straining his gaze straight ahead.

We always do it nice and rough…

Your voice turns husky on the last word, a smile lifting the corner of your lips. Head tilted upward, you softly speak into his neck, letting your breath fan the thin blond hair on his nape, and rear back just enough to see them stand up.

So we're gonna take the beginning of this song…

You scoot closer still, pointedly pressing your breast against his side, his hands gripping the steering wheel, a growing bulge straining against the fabric of his jeans.

And do it easy…

You poke out your tongue, tracing the shell of his ear, nipping at his earlobe, as he draws in a sharp breath with a hissing sound, his grip on the wheel turning his knuckles white.

But then we're gonna do the finish rough…

The last word comes out of your throat in a rumble, your hand quickly sliding over to his throbbing erection as you cup him through his pants, pressing down with the flat of your palm.

This is the way we do–

“Ok, that’s it!” he barks, and your laughter tinkles.

—

The truck is parked on a light slope where Benny steered it precipitously, on the side of the road, coming to a halt in the middle of nowhere, barely deep enough into the woods to hide it from view. You slide on the leather bench when you move your leg to straddle him where he came to meet you on the passenger’s side. Your leggings lie on the car floor in a rumpled heap next to your new hiking shoes, and you grasp the headrest to regain your balance.

“You’re a fucking menace,” he pants, unbuckling his belt before raising his hips to slide down jeans and briefs in one hurried motion. He’s fully erect now and his smooth cock bobs against his clothed belly.

“I was only singing,” you object, giving the blond curls at his base an innocent little scratch before taking him in your hand.

He feels heavy and warm between your fingers, and you want to play with it a little, but he already ripped open the condom’s wrapping in his haste. You take it from him, with a breathless whisper of “lemmedoit”, and you push him against the seat back, pinning him under your gaze to make sure he looks at you when you lick a broad stripe into the flat of your palm, and give him a couple of hard, long strokes.

“Fuck, woman, just let me inside you, already,” he exhales, his head lolling backward against the headrest. “When you gonna let me fuck you without a rubber, baby?”

You’ve only ever let one man do that, and it’s not something you want to be thinking about right now, so you shut him up, plunging forward and moulding your lips onto his, fisting him harder. He deepens the kiss immediately, licking inside you like a starved man, fucking your mouth with his tongue as he sits up straight and grips your ass, kneading your soft flesh.

He pulls out to ask, “You wet for me, baby?”

“Huh huh,” you answer, nodding, chasing his lips, but he’s not done talking. Benny likes to talk.

“Good girl,” he says through another cocky smile, “gonna fuck you fast and good.”

You’d have slapped Éric for calling you a “good girl”, instead you feel another rush of slick pooling down your core, trickling down your spread thighs, as he slides you back on his lap by the flesh of your bottom.

“Been wanting to rip them leggings off your ass since I picked you up this morning, you won’t be able to walk when I’m finished with you.”

You want to shoot back that it defeats the purpose, but he doesn’t let you, skating through your folds and sliding his rough fingers over your entrance, rewarding you for what he finds there with a broad smile. You jump lightly at the exquisite breach when he slides two digits inside you, a hand still loosely wrapped around his length, the one holding the condom lying limply on the car bench.

“Fuck, listen to that,” he says at the squelching sounds of your wet pussy, as he roughly thrusts his fingers in and out, thinning your clit, his eyes darted down onto where he’s opening you for him. All you can manage is a lewd moan and a hooded look.

“Come on, baby, wrap me up and put me in,” he orders in his musical voice.

He’s still fucking you on his fingers, and you chase his hand a little longer, rocking shamelessly into it, before you finally comply and unroll the condom down on his length.

“Don’t tell my brother what we did in his truck.”

“Jesus fucking– what exactly do you think we talk about when we–”

You can’t finish your sentence, for he just knocked the air out of your lungs, shoving his cock inside your warmth all the way down, after swiftly withdrawing his fingers from your cunt, seizing your waist with one hand and lining himself up with the other. Benny moves surprisingly fast for a man of his size and his strength. Must be all that training for the fights.

Your forehead drops against his, your head heavy and weak with the sudden spearing sensation. There’s been no nice, straight to rough, his feet are planted firmly on the car floor and he fucks up into you at a dizzying pace, holding you down on his cock with both hands around your waist, a nearly bruising grip, and for a moment there’s nothing you can do but take it. Thinking about how much you like that he’s always in such a hurry to give it to you.

“Shit, that sweet pussy of yours,” he groans into your mouth, before kissing you again, and he makes it messy, bestial, licking into your mouth with unbridled hunger, it’s absolutely delicious, the way he devours you, always. Somehow your brain resurfaces and you brace a hand on his chest, tugging his hair harshly with the other. You know he likes it, when you pull, and scratch, and bite, and he groans with delight at the sting.

Fisting the fabric of his t-shirt, you shuffle your knees closer to him and start meeting him, rolling your hips in rhythm, fucking him right back, earning yourself a low and strained “fuck yeah” that reverberates in your stomach, the friction of the leather burning your skin.

His right hand skates around your curves to the cleft of your ass, and he tentatively presses there, but you shake your head no, and his voice is like sandpaper on wood when he asks,

“When you gonna let me fuck that gorgeous ass, baby?”

You tug on his hair harder, then let go, cupping his chin and sliding two fingers in his mouth to silence him. When he responds with an unexpectedly soft suckle, your cunt clenches around him, and his eyes flutter shut, his head rolling back as he groans.

You bear down on him and grip him again, as tightly as you can, and his hips fall out of their rhythm, his fingers clutching your ass in a twitch. You make a mental note of it, so you can give it to him again, later, before biting his jaw for good measure.

He puts all his strength into the following thrusts and a loud moan escapes you. You might not be able to walk once he’s done, after all.

“Make me come, Benjamin, I don’t want anyone to walk on us.”

He gives your fingers a hard suck and releases them with the popping sound you’ve come to associate with him.

“Ok but I’m fucking you again as soon as we get there, from behind. And I’m coming on your ass.”

He slides down over the edge of the seat and place both his large hands back on your hips, grinding you back and forth on his cock, ruthlessly, like you weight nothing, your clit rubbing against his pelvis. He’s stroking deeper, harder, brushing against that spot that makes you lose it, the angle is mind-bending, your vision turns white and you brace your hand on the car’s window, your whining voice desperate when you try to warn him,

“Oh shit Benny, I’m gonna come, shit, gonna be loud, can’t hold it–”

“That’s right, baby, sing for me.”

****

Taglist (thank you 💕): @elegantduckturtle @mashomasho @lola766 @flowersandpotplantsandsunshine @nicolethered @littleone65 @bands-tv-movies-is-me @the-rambling-nerd @saintbedelia @pedrostories @trickstersp8 @all-the-way-down-here @deadmantis @hbc8 @princessdjarin

#Francisco Catfish Morales #The Pilot™️#Frankie Morales #triple frontier fic #frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie morales x you #ben miller #benny miller #ben miller x fem!reader #ben miller x you #will miller #william ironhead miller #pedro pascal #garret hedlund #triple frontier

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justforbooks · 5 months

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Best crime and thrillers of 2023

Given this year’s headlines, it’s unsurprising that our appetite for cosy crime continues unabated, with the latest title in Richard Osman’s Thursday Murder Club series, The Last Devil to Die (Viking), topping the bestseller lists. Janice Hallett’s novels The Mysterious Case of the Alperton Angels, which also features a group of amateur crime-solvers, and The Christmas Appeal (both Viper) have proved phenomenally popular, too.

Hallett’s books, which are constructed as dossiers – transcripts, emails, WhatsApp messages and the like – are part of a growing trend of experimentation with form, ranging from Cara Hunter’s intricate Murder in the Family (HarperCollins), which is structured around the making of a cold case documentary, to Gareth Rubin’s tête-bêche The Turnglass (Simon & Schuster). Books that hark back to the golden age of crime, such as Tom Mead’s splendidly tricksy locked-room mystery Death and the Conjuror (Head of Zeus), are also on the rise. The late Christopher Fowler, author of the wonderful Bryant & May detective series, who often lamented the sacrifice of inventiveness and fun on the altar of realism, would surely have approved. Word Monkey (Doubleday), published posthumously, is his funny and moving memoir of a life spent writing popular fiction.

Notable debuts include Callum McSorley’s Glaswegian gangland thriller Squeaky Clean (Pushkin Vertigo); Jo Callaghan’s In the Blink of an Eye (Simon & Schuster), a police procedural with an AI detective; Scorched Grace by Margot Douaihy (Pushkin Vertigo), featuring queer punk nun investigator Sister Holiday; and the caustically funny Thirty Days of Darkness (Orenda) by Jenny Lund Madsen (translated from the Danish by Megan E Turney).

There have been welcome additions to series, including a third book, Case Sensitive (Zaffre), for AK Turner’s forensic investigator Cassie Raven, and a second, The Wheel of Doll (Pushkin Vertigo), for Jonathan Ames’s LA private eye Happy Doll, who is shaping up to be the perfect hardboiled 21st-century hero.

Other must-reads for fans of American crime fiction include Ozark Dogs (Headline) by Eli Cranor, a powerful story of feuding Arkansas families; SA Cosby’s Virginia-set police procedural All the Sinners Bleed (Headline); Megan Abbott’s nightmarish Beware the Woman (Virago); and Rebecca Makkai’s foray into very dark academia, I Have Some Questions for You (Fleet). There are shades of James Ellroy in Jordan Harper’s Hollywood-set tour de force Everybody Knows (Faber), while Raymond Chandler’s hero Philip Marlowe gets a timely do-over from Scottish crime doyenne Denise Mina in The Second Murderer (Harvill Secker).

As Mick Herron observed in his Slow Horses origin novel, The Secret Hours (Baskerville), there’s a long list of spy novelists who have been pegged as the heir to John le Carré. Herron must be in pole position for principal legatee, but it’s been a good year for espionage generally: standout novels include Matthew Richardson’s The Scarlet Papers (Michael Joseph), John Lawton’s Moscow Exile (Grove Press) and Harriet Crawley’s The Translator (Bitter Lemon).

Historical crime has also been well served. Highlights include Emma Flint’s excellent Other Women (Picador), based on a real 1924 murder case; Laura Shepherd-Robinson’s story of a fortune teller’s quest for identity in Georgian high society, The Square of Sevens (Mantle); and SG MacLean’s tale of Restoration revenge and retribution, The Winter List (Quercus). There are echoes of Chester Himes in Viper’s Dream (No Exit) by Jake Lamar, which begins in 1930s Harlem, while Palace of Shadows (Mantle) by Ray Celestin, set in the late 19th century, takes the true story of American weapons heiress Sarah Winchester’s San Jose mansion and transports it to Yorkshire, with chillingly gothic results.

The latest novel in Vaseem Khan’s postcolonial India series, Death of a Lesser God (Hodder), is also well worth the read, as are Deepti Kapoor’s present-day organised crime saga Age of Vice (Fleet) and Parini Shroff’s darkly antic feminist revenge drama The Bandit Queens (Atlantic).

While psychological thrillers are thinner on the ground than in previous years, the quality remains high, with Liz Nugent’s complex and heartbreaking tale of abuse, Strange Sally Diamond (Penguin Sandycove), and Sarah Hilary’s disturbing portrait of a family in freefall, Black Thorn (Macmillan), being two of the best.

Penguin Modern Classics has revived its crime series, complete with iconic green livery, with works by Georges Simenon, Dorothy B Hughes and Ross MacDonald. There have been reissues by other publishers, too – forgotten gems including Celia Fremlin’s 1959 holiday‑from-hell novel, Uncle Paul (Faber), and Richard Wright’s The Man Who Lived Underground (Vintage). Finished in 1942 but only now published in its entirety, the latter is an account of an innocent man who takes refuge from racist police officers in the sewers of Chicago – part allegorical, part brutally realistic and, unfortunately, wholly topical.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

#just for books #Best crime and thrillers of 2023 #book review

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richincolor · 11 months

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New Releases

A whole slew of books to start our summer off right. Which of these is your first summer read?

Northranger by Rey Terciero illustrated by Bre Indigo HarperAlley

Cade has always loved to escape into the world of a good horror movie. After all, horror movies are scary–but to Cade, a closeted queer Latino teen growing up in rural Texas–real life can be way scarier.

When Cade is sent to spend the summer working as a ranch hand to help earn extra money for his family, he is horrified. Cade hates everything about the ranch, from the early mornings to the mountains of horse poop he has to clean up. The only silver lining is the company of the two teens who live there–in particular, the ruggedly handsome and enigmatic Henry.

But as unexpected sparks begin to fly between Cade and Henry, things get… complicated. Henry is reluctant to share the details of his mother’s death, and Cade begins to wonder what else he might be hiding. Inspired by the gothic romance of Jane Austen’s Northanger Abbey and perfect for fans of Heartstopper and Bloom comes a modern love story so romantic it’s scary.

Pedro & Daniel by Federico Erebia illustrated by Julie Kwon Levine Querido

Pedro and Daniel are Mexican American brothers growing up in 1970s Ohio. Their mother resents that Pedro is a spitting image of their darker-skinned father; that Daniel likes dolls; that neither boy plays sports. Both are gay and neurodivergent. They are alike, but they are dissimilar in their struggles, their dreams, their approach to life.

Pedro & Daniel is a sweeping and deeply personal novel that spans from childhood, through their teen years, and into adulthood. Theirs is a bond that won’t be broken. Together they endure an abusive home life, coming out, first loves, first jobs, and the AIDS pandemic, in a coming-of-age story unlike any other.

Despite everything, there is much joy in the stories in the book. Their resilience and special bond help the boys face one evil after another. While Pedro suffers more at home, Daniel is particularly susceptible to the malevolence of the outside world.

They are similar: gay, neurodivergent Latinos in love with all things Mexico.

Son tal para cual. They are cut from the same cloth.

They are different: Pedro is darker-skinned, oppressed, repressed, introverted, and agnostic. Daniel is precocious, carefree, mischievous, religious, and unguarded.

Mismo perro, distinto collar. Same dog, different collar.

When it All Syncs Up by Maya Ameyaw Annick Press

Ballet is Aisha’s life. So when she’s denied yet another lead at her elite academy because she doesn’t “look” the part, she knows something has to change–the constant discrimination is harming her mental health. Switching to her best friend Neil’s art school seems like the perfect plan at first. But she soon discovers racism and bullying are entrenched in the ballet program here, too, and there’s a new, troubling distance between her and Neil. And as past traumas surface, pressure from friends and family, a new romance, and questions about her dance career threaten to overwhelm her. There’s no choreography to follow–for high school or for healing. Aisha will have to find the strength within herself–and place her trust in others–to make her next move.

Good as Gold by Candace Buford Disney Hyperion

Casey’s life in Langston has been charmed. She’s the queen bee of her prep school, a shoe-in for prom queen, and on her way to the Ivy League come fall. She can’t wait to leave the whole town of Langston behind her. That is until her father loses his job and she finds herself on the brink of losing her ticket out of town.

The town of Langston is known for its picturesque lake and robust summer tourism. Everyone who lives in town has heard the rumors at some point– there is a treasure buried deep below the surface that no one has ever been able to find. Few people actually believe in the treasure, and even fewer have searched for it. But some have tried . . .

Suddenly an outcast from her popular squad, Casey falls in with a new group of friends who are exactly the opposite of her usual crowd, but are more accepting. Together they devise a plan to find the elusive treasure, in a quest to get the money and save Casey’s family and her future. But what they find is much more complicated than just a pile of gold. With thrilling twists and turns and high stakes adventure, fans of Outer Banks will devour this summer adventure.

The Dos and Donuts of Love by Adiba Jaigirdar Feiwel & Friends

“Welcome to the first ever Junior Irish Baking Show!”

Shireen Malik is still reeling from the breakup with her ex-girlfriend, Chris, when she receives news that she’s been accepted as a contestant on a new televised baking competition show. This is Shireen’s dream come true! Because winning will not only mean prize money, but it will also bring some much-needed attention to You Drive Me Glazy, her parents’ beloved donut shop.

Things get complicated, though, because Chris is also a contestant on the show. Then there’s the very outgoing Niamh, a fellow contestant who is becoming fast friends with Shireen. Things are heating up between them, and not just in the kitchen.

As the competition intensifies , Shireen will have to ignore all these factors and more― including potential sabotage―if she wants a sweet victory!

The Grimoire of Grave Fates edited by Hanna Alkaf & Margaret Owen Delacorte Press

Professor of Magical History Septimius Dropwort has just been murdered, and now everyone at the Galileo Academy for the Extraordinary is a suspect.

A prestigious school for young magicians, the Galileo Academy has recently undergone a comprehensive overhaul, reinventing itself as a roaming academy in which students of all cultures and identities are celebrated. In this new Galileo, every pupil is welcome—but there are some who aren’t so happy with the recent changes. That includes everyone’s least favorite professor, Septimius Dropwort, a stodgy old man known for his harsh rules and harsher punishments. But when the professor’s body is discovered on school grounds with a mysterious note clenched in his lifeless hand, the Academy’s students must solve the murder themselves, because everyone’s a suspect.

Told from more than a dozen alternating and diverse perspectives, The Grimoire of Grave Fates follows Galileo’s best and brightest young magicians as they race to discover the truth behind Dropwort’s mysterious death. Each one of them is confident that only they have the skills needed to unravel the web of secrets hidden within Galileo’s halls. But they’re about to discover that even for straight-A students, magic doesn’t always play by the rules. . . .

Contributors include: Cam Montgomery, Darcie Little Badger, Hafsah Faizal, Jessica Lewis, Julian Winters, Karuna Riazi, Kat Cho, Kayla Whaley, Kwame Mbalia, L. L. McKinney, Marieke Nijkamp, Mason Deaver, Natasha Díaz, Preeti Chhibber, Randy Ribay, Tehlor Kay Mejia, Victoria Lee, and Yamile Saied Méndez

Secret of the Moon Conch by David Bowles and Guadalupe Garcia McCall Bloomsbury

In modern-day Mexico, Sitlali has no family left and has caught the attention of a dangerous gang leader. She has no choice but to make the perilous trip to the US border and track down her long-absent father. The night before her journey, she finds a beautiful conch shell detailed with ancient markings.

In 1521, Calizto is an Aztec young warrior in Tenochtitlan, fighting desperately to save his city from Spanish imperialists. With his family dead and the horrors of war surrounding him, Calizto asks a sacred moon conch for guidance.

Connected by the magical conch, Sitlali and Calizto can communicate across centuries, finding comfort in each other as they fight to survive. With each conversation, they fall deeper in love, but will they be able to find a way to each other?

Ride or Die by Gail-Agnes Musikavanhu Soho Teen

Best friends Loli Crawford and Ryan Pope have earned their nickname, the “Bonnie and Clyde of Woolridge High.” From illegal snack swapping in kindergarten to reckless car surfing in high school, they have been causing trouble in their uptight California town forever. Everyone knows that the mischief starts with Loli. When it comes to chasing thrills, drama, and adventure, no one is on her level.

At least until Loli throws the wildest party Woolridge High has ever seen just to steal a necklace and meets X, a strange, unidentified boy in a coat closet, who challenges her to a game she can’t refuse—one that promises to put her love of danger to the ultimate test.

Loli and X begin an anonymous correspondence, exchanging increasingly risky missions. Loli’s fun has always been free and easy, but things spin out of control as she attempts to one-up X’s every move. As Loli risks losing everything—including her oldest friend—she’ll face the most dangerous thing of all: falling for someone she shouldn’t.

The Queens of New York by E.L. Shen Quill Tree

Best friends Jia Lee, Ariel Kim, and Everett Hoang are inseparable. But this summer, they won’t be together. Everett, aspiring Broadway star, hopes to nab the lead role in an Ohio theater production, but soon realizes that talent and drive can only get her so far. Brainy Ariel is flying to San Francisco for a prestigious STEM scholarship, even though her heart is in South Korea, where her sister died last year. And stable, solid Jia will be home in Flushing, juggling her parents’ Chinatown restaurant, a cute new neighbor, and dreams for an uncertain future. As the girls navigate heartbreaking surprises and shocking self-discoveries, they find that even though they’re physically apart, they are still mighty together.

Always Isn’t Forever by J.C. Cervantes Razorbill

Best friends and soul mates since they were kids, Hart Augusto and Ruby Armenta were poised to take on senior year together when Hart tragically drowns in a boating accident. Absolutely shattered, Ruby struggles to move on from the person she knows was her forever love.

Hart can’t let go of Ruby either…. Due to some divine intervention, he’s offered a second chance. Only it won’t be as simple as bringing him back to life—instead, Hart’s soul is transferred to the body of local bad boy.

When Hart returns to town as Jameson, he realizes that winning Ruby back will be more challenging than he’d imagined. For one, he’s forbidden from telling Ruby the truth. And with each day he spends as Jameson, memories of his life as Hart begin to fade away.

Though Ruby still mourns Hart, she can’t deny that something is drawing her to Jameson. As much as she doesn’t understand the sudden pull, it can’t be ignored. And why does he remind her so much of Hart? Desperate to see if the connection she feels is real, Ruby begins to open her heart to Jameson—but will their love be enough to bridge the distance between them?

Something More by Jackie Khalilieh Tundra Books

Fifteen-year-old Jessie, a quirky loner obsessed with the nineties, is diagnosed as autistic just weeks before starting high school. Determined to make a fresh start and keep her diagnosis a secret, Jessie creates a list of goals that range from acquiring two distinct eyebrows to getting a magical first kiss and landing a spot in the school play. Within the halls of Holy Trinity High, she finds a world where things are no longer black and white and quickly learns that living in color is much more fun. But Jessie gets more than she bargained for when two very different boys steal her heart, forcing her to go off-script.

#new releases #weneeddiversebooks

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